1165AL

Dear Dlemertha,

Word has reached my ears of an engineer in your employ by the name of Leonardo de Galna. It is said he was of great assistance to you at the siege of Thiluthu where he constructed an enormous mechanical arm that successfully delivered flaming wreckage to the undead that besieged your troops. It is also said he recently created a sort of seeing lens for crossbows, thus allowing our Vereni conscripts to fire with increased accuracy. While I have no doubt this man is of great value to you, I believe the Empire has greater need of him along the southern borders of Territory Seven..

As you are no doubt aware, the undead assault upon Territory Seven has increased tenfold in the last month (two months by the time this missive reaches you). To further complicate matters, the Maosian shepherds of the area have lowered themselves to open rebellion, thus forcing our dedicated warriors to fight two wars on the same front. The Maosians refuse to bow to the wisdom of Bender protection from the Fallen Kingdom, and I fear we cannot fight enemies from within and without. The entire territory is threatened.

Still, our position here is relatively strong for the time being, and I believe the ingenuity of an engineer such as de Galna could tip the balance in our favor. I respectfully request for you to send him to us along with whatever reserves you can afford.

Praise the Third Eye,

Vleshmu




1165AL

Dear Dlemertha,

I cannot thank you enough for your trust and continued support. I confess I was surprised to discover that Leonardo was older than had been suggested, but could instantly see why he makes such an inspiring figure. In only two weeks time he constructed a large balloon with a small metal undercarriage slung beneath. If you can believe it, a single man sits in the undercarriage and pedals gears with his feet to make it move. The pulling of a small lever allows the balloon to release its cargo (set afire by the same device that inflates the balloon) upon the unsuspecting enemy below. We employed the balloon twice against the dead with great results, though the balloon self-destructed upon its second use. Even then, its final conflagration was satisfying to behold. Leonardo assures me he can build another, but I believe he has already provided us with the advantage needed to drive off the undead menace for the time being. I shall instead direct his attentions to the Maosian shepherds who continue to vex us. A balloon is useless against a scattered and unorganized foe, but I am certain de Galna is capable of creating new wonders.

Praise the Third Eye,

Vleshmu




1165AL

Dear Dlemertha,

I must confess I hesitated writing you this letter, for surely you will laugh at what are no doubt unfounded worries. I suppose that following our swift victories over the dead, I had hoped progress against the Maosians would be just as vigorous. But it would appear that Leonardo´s newest invention will require considerably more time to construct. At first I doubted his resolve when he began to question my orders considering the shepherds, but I reminded him of his duties to the Empire, not to mention the duties of the neglectful Maosians, and that seemed to end the matter.

Yet previously, Leonardo drew up a fantastic schematic for his balloon and I was able to follow the general idea though it was strange and hard to comprehend. Now I have no idea what he is doing, despite looking at his plans and having them explained to me. Is he building a weapon? A tool? I do not know. Leonardo has put the fortress smithy to work constructing thousands of black metal pots. Actually, they are more like spheres than pots. And Leonardo had his whole workshop moved to a basement only yesterday, saying the cool air of the lower levels was critical for his invention. I know some magics require cool air to be successfully controlled, but Leonardo seems to use a kind of practical magic I fail to comprehend. On top of that, he and his apprentice have been harvesting discarded rock from our mines at an alarming rate. They spend most of their time having the rock carted down to the cellar, then rendered into powders which they spend countless hours measuring, blending, and testing. I am probably being foolish in my worry, but there is another matter.

Soon after I quelled Leonardo´s concerns about the shepherds, the Dreamstealer I send into his room at night reported that he was now unable to read Leonardo´s mind. I have had the engineer´s quarters searched and there was no sign of any device capable of suspending our psychomancy. I had the Dreamstealer focus on the apprentice Vlox, but it proved just as fruitless.

You know the man better than I do sweet Dlemertha, so please, allay my concerns.

Praise the Third Eye,

Vleshmu




1165AL

Lord of Thoughts,

It is as you feared. Our party arrived at Bloggu two days ago, only to find smoking ruin. There are fires still burning and predators come at night to harass what burnt corpses aren´t entirely buried in the rubble. There is naught left save shattered masonry and large fragments of black metal. I cannot begin to describe the awesome level of destruction to be found here. Something has reduced the greatest fortress in the southwest to nothing, and I cannot explain it. If Leonardo is not buried in the ruin, then he is long gone from this place. We have found no sign of survivors, nor are there are tracks of anything but wolves. We shall move out tomorrow for already our scouts have spotted undead being summoned into the area, and the bodies in the wreckage have begun to stir. Please notify the Empire. Territory Seven has fallen.

Praise the Third Eye,

Ghirlagga, Fifth Legion Magus

First Entry
Danen 13th, 1173 AL

While I do possess doubts as to the effectiveness of this endeavor, I shall nonetheless attempt to record the details of my imprisonment. I shall not be able to record regularly as my supply of paper and charcoal are meager . I was travelling by caravan to Heap to seek employment with a printer there, but we were attacked by the dead only two days outside of Southbury. My companions were all put to the sword, but myself and another man were spared. The black-robed creature that captained the ambush was interested in my being a man of letters. I am not certain as to what interest the creature had in the other gentleman, nor have I seen him since. Sadly, I have seen some of my other former companions since the attack, and their passing has not delivered their earthly remains from the exertions of labor. I was bound and blindfolded following my interview, and after countless hours in the back of a cart I was ushered into a building of ancient magnificence. My bonds cut and my blindfold removed, I deduced that my prison was none other than the necropolis of Gil-Nam, the Fortress-City of Murder. For three days I have languished in this tower with no clue as to the purpose of my imprisonment. No doubt these quarters were once highly luxurious, but now they smell of dust and mold, and their once beautiful tapestries have succumbed to rot. I have slept on hard stone as I am wary of the stains that cover the moldering bed. I have been served food once each day, but have elected to eat only the bread I am given. I will not touch the dried meats that lie twisted and dark on my plate. But of all the discomforts I suffer, none are worse than the noises that emanate from outside. The legends of this city are true - the outside walls and towers are covered in the chained remains of the dead. They hang from every place imaginable and they are not quiet. Each has been raised in the manner their dead master is so fond of, and they howl and writhe at all times of the day. And so my existence is that of hellish dread and terror, and I know not what the future holds.



Second Entry
Danen 17th, 1173 AL

My nightmares have been given form. While no stranger to the threat of the dead, my life has until now remained blessedly free of their presence. But my new master surely seeks to remedy my inexperience, for the past three days have seemed like many lifetimes of horror. There can be no doubt who it is I serve - he is Ret-Talus, the Rotten King, the bane of all Itharia. I have been tasked as his scribe. I will not relate what material serves as my paper, nor will good taste allow me to detail what substance I must use as ink, but there is no amount of water that could now wash these sullied hands clean. At first I was confused as to why my new master would require my assistance, but time has yielded clues. He is prone to moving very little, as if reserving his energy for more important matters. I have also guessed that the majority of the dead that serve him must be controlled by him directly, making it far easier for him to dictate to me than to them. My writing has been limited to some sort of accounting. He has me tallying "walls" though what these walls may be I do not know. I list their numbers, their locations, and I attach names to them. I do not know what purpose my lists have, but I have recognized many of the names there. There must be some linear organization here, for at first the only names attached to the walls were my master´s and Dane Lightbringer´s, the long-dead, almost mythical founder of the Vanguards. But now many of the names are of leaders of various nations or factions that I recognize. For instance, I have listed Grognack, one of the fearsome leaders of the northern orcs several times now. I have also scribed names such as Oldin and Sera Eldwyn. On numerous occasions I have marked certain walls as destroyed, something which bothers Ret-Talus immeasurably. He makes frequent disparaging comments about those individuals he holds responsible for a wall´s destruction, saying they hasten the end of the power of the gods, though what this power is, and what gods he is referring to I do not know. I once heard him mutter, "They can tear Godshome to pieces, wield its power like the ignorant children they are, but like children they will cry when the toy is broken and lost to them forever." Whatever the case he plays the hypocrite for as I said, I have recorded him as a destroyer of walls as well.


Third Entry
Danen 19th, 1173 AL

My brain burns with fever, and my joints ache. My digestion suffers as well. Great hunger drove me to finally feed upon the meat they serve me. While salty, foul, and suspect, I can no longer live alone on the crusts they give me. My illness was apparent to my master today. I imagined him looking down upon my shaking mortal frame with disgust, but truthfully his face was as dead and unreadable as it usually is. He pardoned me from my labors at an earlier hour than normal and I assume it is due to my poor health. I learned today that the walls I record are none other than the walls used by the summoners to bring forth their legions into battle. I suspect I am privy to some great secret, for I have always been of the understanding that those walls were merely raised from the earth itself by the magic users. Given Ret-Talus´s comments I cannot help but conclude that the summoners of Itharia do not fully understand the source of their power, for Ret-Talus clearly believes the summoning stones are pulling the walls from some strange destination - some place of divine origin. This knowledge has filled me with purpose, for now I know I must live. I must find the means to escape this place. I will travel to the Citadel of the Fist and tell the Vanguards there what I have learned. Surely it will be useful in their struggles against the dead.


Final Entry
Danen 26th, 1173 AL

The fever has rolled back from my mind like clouds leaving the sky after a long rain. The ache still fills my joints, but I confess to finding it oddly pleasurable. It reminds me of being a child and having a loose tooth - they would hurt so, yet I could never leave one alone, always wiggling it with my tongue. I find that my spirit is somewhat buoyed of late. Indeed, I spent several hours this evening counting the bones I felt beneath my skin. There was something marvelous about it, and once I was sure I had counted each one, I repeated the effort and laughed in delight at my recreation. The food seems to have improved as well. Perhaps my master is pleased by my service? While the meat looks the same as it always has, the taste has improved immensely. It is sweet and rich, and I feel it nourish me even as I first swallow it. Its excellence has lead me to ignore the bread which now seems so overly dry and grainy. Such improvements in my stay here make me wish to show my thanks so that Ret-Talus will see they do not go unnoticed. I have considered giving him this collection of papers so that he will see my labors for him do not stop, even when he has no need for me. I shall consider the matter again tomorrow, but for now I will content myself with lying here in bed, and listening to the song that wafts in through my window from outside.

The history of the unique oddity known as Heap began when Dane Lightbringer, general of the long-lost nation of Waells discovered a summoning stone in the Vale of Brennan. At the time it was the only other summoning stone known to exist, the other held by Ret-Talus, the lord of the Fallen Kingdom. Upon finding the stone, Lightbringer resigned his commission with Waells and taking those of his men who would follow, set out with the goal of establishing a military force that had but one purpose: to counter the forces of the Fallen Kingdom. Lightbringer and his men established a base of operations five months after their exodus from Waells. Calling themselves the Vanguards, they built what would later be named the Citadel of the Fist atop a wide plateau. The citadel was many things: monastery, small city, barracks, and its fortifications were amongst the best engineered of its time. It also had the distinct honor of being one of the few points of civilization that did not have a necropolis with three leagues of it.

News of the Vanguards spread far and wide, and after several successful military actions against the armies of the dead, they became legends in their own time. And so something happened that Lightbringer had never considered: the people of Itharia flocked to the Citadel of the Fist in droves. There were refugees of every nation; some merely desiring to protect their families, others the refuse of conquered lands. There were golden-skinned elves from the southern jungles, almond-eyed humans from the eastern grasslands, and every other variance imaginable. They camped at the base of the plateau where they thought the Vanguard presence would provide protection. But what started as a loose collection of camps turned into buildings of stone, and the Vanguards watched as refugees continued to arrive with each day´s passing. Soon the plateau was completely encircled. Many of the Vanguard grumbled that they were supposed to be an army and not parents of wayward children. But chief among Lightbringer´s Seven Principles of Justice was the care of those in need, and so the makes hift city and its inhabitants were allowed to stay. The Vanguards kept themselves out of the city´s governance but they reserved the right to make military decrees to ensure they would never be hampered by those who sought their protection.



Fear of the undead hordes, of enemies who could teleport into their midst, drove the exiles to build up the side of the plateau rather than outward from it. And so began the strange evolution into what would be dubbed Heap. In the long generations that followed its birth, houses and other structures were built upon each other in termite hill fashion, always seeking to be closer to the Vanguards who were the city´s salvation. Time passed and soon a hierarchy developed. The wealthiest citizens built towers to live in, and the poorest dwelt in the bottommost portions of Heap, a district known as the Shambles. In the year 1104 the Vanguards issued a decree that lead to the creation of Dane´s Highways - four highways that connected the citadel to the base of the plateau below. No part of the city was allowed to obstruct the highways which allowed the Vanguard military to reach the ground without having to wind through Heap´s labyrinthine streets. In 1124 the Vanguards heard of plans to build a spire so high it would peer down upon their citadel. They deemed this outrageous and passed a decree stating that no part of Heap could crest the plateau´s top. Aside from these two decrees however, Heap´s growth has largely been a chaotic and unchecked thing. Travelers nearing Heap always marvel at the bizarre, top-heavy appearance of the city, as if some monstrous creature vomited random stacks of buildings there.

Citizens living in the spires of Heap are often referred to as Ups by those who live beneath him, and most of Heap refers to those who dwell in the Shambles as Grounders. The life of a Grounder is a perilous thing, as often the city´s criminal elements will flee to the depths when in straits in the districts above. The Shambles is also home to numerous nests of giant rats that prey on those who wander alone. But it is the Grounders whose border farms feed the city above, and without them Heap could not survive.



The City of Heap is one of Itharia´s greatest unnatural wonders. It is a city that lacks any sense of design and has taken on the most unusual of shapes. Its citizenry is composed of such diversity as to be unheard of elsewhere. In a world where survival often means sticking to one´s own kind, Heap represents a break from logic, but prospers nonetheless. As the War for Itharia rumbles on, and the Great Races clash against each other, new refugees struggle into Heap every day. In the end, it may be Heap itself, the city of homeless outcasts that stands as the last bulwark against darkness.