No quarter collection vo.., p.1
No Quarter Collection: Volume One, page 1
THE NO QUARTER COLLECTION:
VOLUME ONE
AERYN RUDEL
DOUGLAS SEACAT
WILLIAM SHICK
Cover by
JOSH MANDERVILLE
CONTENTS
WELCOME TO THE IRON KINGDOMS
FOREWORD
MAP
BETTER LEFT FORGOTTEN
DEAD STOP
INNER SANCTUM
PREY
THE SHAE MUTINY
THE BETTER PART OF VALOR
GLOSSARY
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
WELCOME TO THE IRON KINGDOMS
The world you are about to enter is the Iron Kingdoms, a place where the power and presence of gods are beyond dispute, where mankind battles itself as well as all manner of fantastic races and exotic beasts, and where a blend of magic and technology called mechanika shape industry and warfare. Outside the Iron Kingdoms themselves—the human nations of the continent called Immoren—the vast and unexplored world of Caen extends to unknown reaches, firing the imaginations and ambitions of a new generation.
Strife frequently shakes these nations, and amid the battles of the region the most powerful weapon is the warjack, a steam-powered automaton that boasts great mobility, thick armor, and devastating weaponry. A warjack’s effectiveness is at its greatest when commanded by a warcaster, a powerful soldier-sorcerer who can forge a mental link with the great machine to magnify its abilities tremendously. Masters of both arcane and martial combat, these warcasters are often the deciding factor in war.
For the Iron Kingdoms, what is past is prologue. No event more clearly defines these nations than the extended dark age suffered under the oppression of the Orgoth, a brutal and merciless race from unexplored lands across the great western ocean known as the Meredius. For centuries these fearsome invaders enslaved the people of western Immoren, maintaining a vise-like grip until at last the people rose up in rebellion. This began a long and bloody process of battles and defeats. This rebellion would have been doomed to failure if a dark arrangement by the gods had not bestowed the Gift of Magic on the Immorese, unlocking previously undreamed-of powers.
Every effective weapon employed by the Rebellion against the Orgoth was a consequence of great minds putting arcane talents to work. Not only did sorcery allow evocations of fire, ice, and storm on the battlefield, but scholars combined scientific principles to blend technology with the arcane. Rapid advancements in alchemy gave rise to blasting powder and the invention of deadly firearms. Methods were developed to fuse arcane formulae into metal runeplates, creating augmented tools and weapons: the invention of mechanika. The culmination of these efforts was the invention of the first colossals, precursors to the modern warjack. These towering machines of war gave the Immorese a weapon the invaders could not counter. With the colossals the armies of the Rebellion drove the Orgoth from their fortresses and back to the sea.
The people of the ravaged lands drew new borders, giving birth to the Iron Kingdoms: Cygnar, Khador, Llael, and Ord. It was not long before ancient rivalries ignited between these new nations. Warfare became a simple fact of life. Over the last four centuries periodic wars have been broken up by brief periods of tense but wary peace, with technology steadily advancing all the while. Alchemy and mechanika have simultaneously eased and complicated the lives of the people of the Iron Kingdoms while evolving the weapons employed by their armies in these days of industrial revolution.
The most long-standing and bitter enmity in the region is that between Cygnar in the south and Khador in the north. The Khadorans are a militant people occupying a harsh and unforgiving territory. The armies of Khador have periodically fought to reclaim lands their forebears had once seized through conquest. The two smaller kingdoms of Llael and Ord were forged from contested territories and so have often served as battlegrounds between the two stronger powers. The prosperous and populous southern nation of Cygnar has periodically allied with these nations in efforts to check Khador’s imperial aspirations.
Just over a century ago, Cygnar endured a religious civil war that ultimately led to the founding of the Protectorate of Menoth. This nation, the newest of the Iron Kingdoms, stands as an unforgiving theocracy entirely devoted to Menoth, the ancient god credited with creating mankind.
In the current era, war has ignited with particular ferocity. This began with the Khadoran invasion of Llael, which succeeded in toppling the smaller kingdom in 605 AR. The fall of Llael ignited an escalating conflict that has embroiled the region for the last three years. Only Ord has remained neutral in these wars, profiting by becoming a haven for mercenaries. The Protectorate has launched the Great Crusade to convert all of humanity to the worship of Menoth. With the other nations occupied with war, this crusade was able to make significant gains and seize territories in northeastern Llael.
Other powers have been drawn into this strife, either swept up in events or taking advantage of them for their own purposes. The Scharde Islands west of Immoren are home to the Nightmare Empire of Cryx, which is ruled by the dragon Toruk and sends endless waves of undead and their necromantic masters to bolster its armies with the fallen of other nations. To the northeast the insular elven nation of Ios is host to a radical sect called the Retribution of Scyrah that is driven to hunt down human arcanists, whom they believe are anathema to their gods.
The savage wilds within and beyond the Iron Kingdoms contain various factions fighting for their own agendas. From the frozen north a disembodied dragon called Everblight leads a legion of blight-empowered warlocks and draconic spawn. The proud, tribal race known as the trollkin work to unite their once-disparate people to defend their lands. Deep in the wilds of western Immoren, a secretive order of druids commands nature’s beasts to oppose Everblight and advance their own various plans. Far to the east across the Bloodstone Marches, the warrior nation of the Skorne Empire marches inexorably closer, bent on conquering their ancient enemies in Ios as a step toward greater dominion. Shadowy conspiracies have arisen from hidden strongholds to play their own part in unfolding events. These include the Convergence of Cyriss, an enigmatic machine-cult that worships a distant goddess of mathematics, as well as their bitter enemies the cephalyx, a race of extremely intelligent and sadistic slavers who surgically transform captives into mindless drudges.
The Iron Kingdoms is a setting whose inhabitants must rely on heroes with the courage to defend them using magic and steel, whether in the form of rune-laden firearms or steam-driven weapons of war. The factions of western Immoren are vulnerable to corruption from within and subject to political intrigue and power struggles. All the while, opportunistic mercenaries profit from conflict by selling their temporary allegiance for coin or other favors. It is a world of epic legends and endless sagas.
Enter the Iron Kingdoms, and discover a world like no other!
FOREWORD
Since 2005 No Quarter magazine has brought enthusiasts of the Iron Kingdoms and the tabletops games WARMACHINE and HORDES a variety of content designed to both expand the rules and impact of the games and add depth to the world in which they take place. This collection brings together a selection of the narrative fiction that has appeared in the pages of No Quarter over the years.
Fiction presented in the magazine has run the gamut between flash fiction and novella, with purposes just as varied. Stories like “Dead Stop” and “Better Left Forgotten” serve to further define existing story lines, adding missing pieces to longer narratives while still standing on their own. Others, such as “Inner Sanctum” and “Prey,” present completely original story lines often designed to explore specific aspects of the Iron Kingdoms more deeply than is possible in the over-arching fiction of the world. Finally, pieces like “The Shae Mutiny” introduce readers to new and influential characters who will go on to have a profound impact on major events of the Iron Kingdoms.
This volume of the No Quarter Collection gathers stories that have appeared in several separate issues of the magazine, some of which have been long out of print, and presents them in a single, easy-to-read volume. In addition, it includes “The Better Part of Valor,” a bonus novella originally printed in Forces of WARMACHINE: Pirates of the Broken Coast that dovetails with “The Shae Mutiny,” putting these two pivotal pieces of pirate fiction together for the very first time.
These sojourns into the Iron Kingdoms offer plenty of excitement for readers, whether they are new visitors to western Immoren or returning to a favorite nation. Those familiar with WARMACHINE and HORDES should note that most of these stories are based on the first edition of the games, though, so not all descriptions of creatures and characters correspond to abilities in the current edition.
We’re very excited to be able to present these pieces once again to new and returning readers alike. The Iron Kingdoms awaits—just turn the page and step into a world of steam-powered fantasy.
Aeryn Rudel
Privateer Press Publications Manager
BETTER LEFT FORGOTTEN
AUTHOR’S NOTES
The Witchfire Trilogy was the start of Privateer Press and the beginning of our exploring the world of the Iron Kingdoms. The original, individual RPG adventures had already become scarce by the time we launched No Quarter magazine in the middle of 2005, and plans were underway to collect them in a single hardback volume. The story “Better Left Forgotten” was written for No Quarter #3 to provide a glimpse of the history be
This was one of the first stories we published in the magazine and one of my earliest pieces. Since I started working for Privateer Press in the middle of the original Witchfire Trilogy and was heavily involved in revising the collected edition, it was quite a treat to write this untold story of an ill-fated expedition to Cryx to recover an ancient and malevolent relic. In the process I had a chance to explore the twisted mind of Dexer Sirac as well as his relationship with Kell Bailoch, one of the setting’s most notorious assassins.
—Douglas Seacat
BETTER LEFT FORGOTTEN
591 AR, during the reign of Vinter Raelthorne IV, Clockers Cove
Dexer Sirac descended the steps into the shadowed basement of the disheveled house and sniffed once in disdain. There was a peculiar and unpleasant aroma in the air, a layered stale smell of fear and sweat. He might have been surprised at the squalor of the place if he were not familiar with the type of person who dwelled here—a man so absorbed in his miserable obsession and haunted by his choices that the mundane details of life were forgotten.
The basement was dimly lit by candles and one lantern that sent flickering shadows across every book-filled surface. The floor was littered with scraps of parchment, bloody strips of cloth, and other indistinct items that appeared vaguely unpleasant in the inadequate light. An odor of ripe decay indicated some food had been left to rot here, perhaps buried beneath more recent piles of books and manuscripts. Sirac scanned the titles on the book spines, dismissed most of them, and lingered on others. Across the room in the shadows hunched a man who had not yet heard him.
“Gorzen Montlebore.” Sirac spoke the name loudly.
“Ah!” Gorzen turned in haste. The slender man had sunken eyes and thin, waxen skin, and he stooped slightly as if his spine had been bent. “It’s you. You startled me.”
“Clearly.” Sirac spoke in a droll tone. “Your door was locked and warded. Did you forget our appointment?”
The man stammered, “Of . . . of course not, no.” He noticed for the first time that Dexer Sirac was wearing his full head inquisitor uniform—something he had not done in any of their earlier visits. Gorzen swallowed nervously and put a hand on his desk to steady himself.
Dexer Sirac watched him with a face cast in shadow. “Your debt is due.”
At this Gorzen smiled tentatively. A gleam of excitement formed in his eyes as if an echo of some forgotten time before his soul was blackened. “I have it this time; your search is at an end.”
If Sirac felt any stirrings of anticipation, he did not betray it with his unwavering eyes. “Deceive me at your peril, Gorzen. One more death will not trouble me.”
“Remember your promise to me,” Gorzen said with a cringe. He had not meant to ask for reassurance, but he could not stop himself.
“No harm will come to you by my hand, nor by my orders, if you have what I require. You have every reason to fear me, but my position is only tenable with information, and you are an asset. You have the ability through your . . . contacts . . . ,” he said with restrained derision, “to discover that which I cannot.”
The nervous man stared at Sirac with suspicious uncertainty. “I suppose . . .”
“Before I grow more impatient, tell me what you know.”
The enthusiastic gleam reappeared in Gorzen’s eyes. His grin was an unfortunate production that displayed a jagged assortment of rotten teeth. “It is genius, really. I do not know why we did not think of it before—one place where it could rest for centuries without drawing attention.”
“Stop speaking in riddles.” Sirac moved toward Gorzen and by his undeniable presence seemed to loom over him.
The man shrank in on himself at Sirac’s approach and spoke quickly. “No other agency could have found it.” His fingers traced documents on the desk before him, and then he passed a scrap obsequiously to the head inquisitor. It was old, and Sirac’s trained eye detected it was a copy; the manuscript had likely been transcribed repeatedly in old halls of records. The archaic dating system was one that had been used before the Orgoth invasion.
“A registry of ships?”
Gorzen nodded. “Stolen from a small sect of Doleth’s monks west of Orven. They preserve records of ancient shipping. I am convinced the Thuria’s Promise was carrying the blade.”
Dexer Sirac felt growing excitement, but he controlled his expression. He prided himself on his ability to smell deceit and lies. There was normally a familiar stink on Gorzen Montlebore, but it was absent now. “What was the fate of this ship?”
Gorzen’s voice gained confidence. “I believe it was captured south of what is now Ramarck, in the Gulf of Middlebank. It was beset by the pirate king, Lord Borges Moorcraig.”
“What year?”
“A millennium before the Rebellion, four centuries before the Orgoth invasion. The old records are imprecise, but that is my best estimate.”
“When Lord Toruk annihilated those kings who would not bow to him.” Sirac looked away from Gorzen and stared into the darkness as if peering through the intervening centuries. “Toruk sundered Castle Moorcraig personally and blasted it to oblivion with his breath and claws.”
“Yes! The blade would have been with fresh spoils. Lord Toruk would not know about it—all lesser malignancies are invisible in his blight, and Moorcraig was never properly plundered. Toruk’s law forbids his minions entry.”
Sirac turned back to Gorzen, his voice accusing. “What game is this? Are you hoping to be rid of me?”
Gorzen held up his hands as if to ward off a blow. “I speak the truth! That is precisely what they told me.” His spidery fingers fluttered across other disordered papers before picking one up and passing it to Sirac. It had a series of lines drawn into a peculiar symbol. “Below the castle in the catacombs, its resting place is marked by that symbol. I am not deceiving you, Lord Sirac.”
“I am no lord.” His voice held little reproof, for he spoke in distraction as he examined the symbol. “Although I know that word comes easier from your lips than ‘inquisitor.’” His eyes when they returned to Gorzen were languid yet cold.
Gorzen shuddered at the last word, reminded of his peril. “They told me I am protected. If you betray me, you will be doomed to die by the blade you seek. I tell you as a warning.”
Sirac’s eyes narrowed and his upper lip curled into a sneer. “That is unworthy of you, Montlebore.” He reached into his coat, and once again Gorzen shrank back. The inquisitor pulled forth only a heavy leather-bound book, its black cover unmarred by lettering. “Here is your promised payment.”
Gorzen‘s eyes were fixed hungrily on the black book as Sirac tossed it onto the desk. It landed with a thud and the crunch of something below the papers it scattered. As he turned to leave, Sirac could feel eyes on his back, a disbelieving stare as the man could not credit his good fortune. A smirk touched the inquisitor’s lips.
He stepped down the front steps outside toward a cluster of men in similar jackets. They bowed deeply at his approach. Their leader was a zealous and well-scrubbed wizard whom Sirac had stolen from the Order of Illumination. “Head Inquisitor Sirac!” The wizard saluted with military precision.
“Lieutenant Reginold.” Sirac despised this lieutenant for his naïve piety, but such men had their uses. “The man within this house is definitely the infernalist you are seeking. He is depraved, well protected, and unrepentant. You’ll find him barricaded in his basement. He may be summoning allies as we speak.”
The lieutenant’s face reddened with anger. “We will attack with overwhelming force, sir. There will be no repeat of the last time we tracked him down.”
