The Council of Nine have called for the best players across Tolkheim to come together for a test of skill and Chance.
As the Age of Conflict passed, it was in the prosperous port city of Anchormarsh that the Age of Chance really began. The mysterious Council of Nine within the great keep at the heart of the city guided Anchormarsh — and all of Tokheim — out of the darkness and into a new golden age… one where sword and siege gave way to contests of skill and Chance.
The Nine are typically unseen, but all of Tokheim is influenced by their whims and fancies. Once per year, however, they throw open the doors of the keep to the people. Just after the planting, The Council hosts a great festival for all the people to celebrate what they’ve overcome.
Hundreds of thousands gather to celebrate the Mayhem Ultimas — The End of the Mayhem. Over the centuries, this has led to both the festival itself and the month in which it falls being commonly referred to as “May”.
During the May festival, the city of Anchormarsh erupts into merriment. Dancing, feasts and fine drink can be found in every establishment. Most importantly, this festival is the home of the Tournament of Chance. As The Nine watch from their balcony, the greatest Chance players in the realm battle to see who is crowned the champion.
The mayhem is coming to Chance tables in Venues across Tolkheim! The Tournament of Chance will begin on Wednesday, May 17th, and sign ups have already started!
Now that our May playtest is up and running on both Steam and Gala Games, it’s time to get down to celebrating May Mayhem in Legends Reborn: Age of Chance. Welcome to The Tournament of Chance!
Next Wednesday, we’ll start a special leaderboard competition for all players on Gala Games. This will run from the leaderboard reset on May 17th through the reset on May 24th. Players will receive rewards based on their final leaderboard rank across the entire week.
Depending on the leaderboard rank they achieve, players can receive Creature Packs or Dragon Stones as rewards. Dragon Stones are the premium currency of Legends Reborn, and will be delivered directly to the account of the victors at the full launch of the game.
After the competition ends, we’ll record the results and send out NFT Creature Packs to the top players’ wallets!
Enter the Mayhem!
This may be an open, but players will need to sign up in advance to take part and be eligible for rewards. Sign ups have already started, and any aspiring champions will need to get their name on the lists by Monday, May 15th.
As long as you’re signing up, why not get in some practice before the big event? Our playtest is live right now, and will continue through May 24th. This competition will run right up until the last day of the playtest, so you better get ready for an intense week of May Mayhem!
All kids will eventually have to face the world on their own, but that never makes it any easier.
“Absolutely not Rom, you’re not going anywhere!” Seri’s face was flushed as he paced up and down the planks of the kitchen, gesturing wildly with his hands. “To Anchormarsh? With a brute like HIM!? Absolutely out of the question.”
“Hey, woah Seri! I’m right here.” Gontro raised his hands in a defensive gesture from his seat in the corner. While his body language feigned insult, his eyes smiled at Seri.
Seri snapped back. “I am talking with my son if you don’t mind.” Gontro nodded, but not without a small chuckle.
“Da, he’s going to take me to The Tournament.” Rom’s voice cracked mid-sentence in his excitement. “On the way, he can teach me so much about Chance. He even showed me how to use one of nan’s old tokens.”
“Rom, there’s things to learn here too.” Seri put his forehead in his hand, rubbing to relieve his pounding headache. “Chance is a part of most people’s life, but it’s just a game son.”
“How can you say that as the son of Harriet Destudo!? She was the greatest there ever was, and I want to follow in her footsteps!” Rom shouted indignantly, his hands on hips.
“Rom, I grew up with all that and–” the kettle whistling interrupted Seri. Gontro rose to pour the tea. Seri’s eyes drifted around their small cottage as his mind drifted back to his childhood — Harriet always out on a quest or on tour. “She did what she had to so we could eat. We don’t need this… you don’t need this.”
“I do need this da! It’s my destiny!”
Seri rolled his eyes. “Don’t be foolish Rom. You’ve got years ahead of you to figure out what your life is.” Gontro handed a cup of tea across to Seri. Momentarily forgetting his hatred of the orc, Seri thanked him as he took a deep sip. He looked at the teacup… fine imported porcelain from the near East. He’d built all he had without childish delusions of greatness at Chance. “At any rate, I am your father. The answer is no.”
Rom looked at his father for moment. Seri had never listened to his dreams or cared what he wanted out of life. He only wanted to get by… Rom wanted to be great. He leaned in and slammed his hand on the table. “I don’t care what you say! I’m going anyway!” He had never talked to his father this way, and he had a feeling there was no going back.
“Rom, don’t you star… start to mouth.. Off to m…” Seri swayed in his chair a bit. He swallowed deeply, then looked confusedly at the tea cup in his hands. His eyes muddied and struggled to focus around the room. Suddenly coming to his wits, his eyes squared on the orc across the table. “You!”
“No hard feelings Seri. Boy says he’s going one way or t’other. I’ll make sure he’s ok.” Gontro slung his bag over his shoulder and gestured for Rom to come with him. “Can’t argue with a kid’s destiny, right?”
Seri focused on Gontro, though with great difficulty. Head swimming now. “Don’t you… you leave my son alone.” He gripped at the burlap tablecloth, desperately trying to stay upright.
“Tell you what Seri, you just sleep off that tea and don’t worry about a thing. By the time you wake we’ll be halfway to Anchormarsh.” Gontro turned to look at the slumping Seri over his shoulder. “If it’s a problem, we can always play Chance to sort it. No? Hmph, that’s what I thought.”
Seri gazed at Rom before he closed his eyes and slumped out of his chair entirely. “Will he be ok?” asked Rom, suddenly concerned for his father.
“Ya, he’ll manage.” Gontro said with a little chuckle. “Mean headache, but he’ll be fine in a few hours. Come on kid, let’s go get that destiny.”
“I can’t understand why you allow the shop to get into this state!? Don’t you take any pride in your work at all?” Noggin filled his hands with cobwebs from the display case with only two swipes. The shop was atrocious. It looked positively ready to be condemned… even worse than normal.
“Ugggh, it’s called aesthetic father. You wouldn’t get it.” Al turned to walk away from Noggin with a huff.
Noggin clasped the young gnome by the shoulder. “Listen, your little cult isn’t an excuse to be lazy. It’s just bad business.”
Al turned suddenly, his blase attitude replaced by rage. “It’s not a cult! It’s a guild, and I’m a sworn initiate!”
Al rubbed his brow in annoyance. “Listen to yourself. A ‘sworn initiate’?” Noggin remembered his son as he was a decade or so ago… long, flowing blonde hair… now died black. Naive, childlike eyes, now lined in dark makeup. A tear came to his eye. “You change the way you dress, act, talk… feels a lot like a cult Al.”
While martial skill is largely unnecessary outside of N.O.T.E.C. sponsored exploration, there are many niche guilds that keep the traditions alive with alt fashions and strange customs.
The young gnome grabbed Noggin’s hand, wrenching it off his shoulder. “We’re a dedicated group of night blades who respect the old ways of the rogue– assassin and trickster alike.”
He pushed away Noggin and stormed towards the back door of the shop towards the forge yard, shouting behind him, “Why can’t you understand father? To discover the secrets of the darkness is my destiny!
With this Al stormed out the back door of the shop into the forge yard, leaving Noggin alone with his troubles.
Little Al was nearly 50– a grown gnome by classical tradition. Noggin knew it was time to let him choose his own path, but a life skulking around and playing spy with these death fanatics!? In these times, Noggin missed his wife. Slocka had always had a special connection with Al, and since she’d gone Noggin had never quite been able to bridge the gap between him and the boy.
With Al gone, he continued to clean cobwebs alone. He often was hard on the boy about his work around the shop instead of connecting with him about any other part of his life. Noggin didn’t know why he always made it about work — in truth, the shop had seen next to no customers in years. They were surviving at this point by doing contract duplication work for other tokensmiths in nearby towns. Was what Al wanted to do really that much more dismal than the path Noggin had put him on?
Just as he reflected on the absolute lack of traffic that had come into his place of business in years, a sudden poof of dust from the door as sunlight invaded the dingy room. CREAAAAAK. In strode that brigand Gontro. Behind him, much more timidly, came a young human boy. As he entered, he asked Gontro, “Are you sure we’re supposed to be here? It smells like something died… a while ago.”
“I am not dead yet.” Noggin shouted indignantly as he walked briskly towards the pair. “Welcome to my shop. How gracious you are to be so complimentary of my place of trade and home.”
“Hey Noggin!” Gontro clapped the gnome on the shoulder as he approached, then gestured back to the boy. “Rom, Noggin. Noggin, Rom.”
“Sorry sir, I didn’t mean to offend.” Rom cast his eyes down with embarrassment… very, very down to dodge the stare of the robed gnome who was several hooflengths shorter than he.
After a pause, Noggin sighed. “It’s ok. It is pretty rough in here. Was just talking to my son about that a minute ago.” His gaze softened as he spoke, then he looked back and forth between the two, concerned glance returning. “What are you doing traveling with this oaf? Has he hurt you?”
“What!? No!” Rom was taken aback and looked to Gontro, confused.
“Nothing like that Noggin. He wanted to come along. This is Seri’s kid.” He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head towards Noggin. Noggin immediately understood. Noggin wasn’t as old as Gontro, but he remembered Seri and Harriet well. He also remembered Seri’s attitude towards Gontro.
“Woah, woah. This is not what I thought was happening when you said you’d be back in a few days.” Noggin threw up his hands and began to back up, shaking his head. “Does Seri know he’s here?”
“Yeah, he knows. It’ll be fine.” Gontro walked after the little gnome, covering three times the distance with each stride. “Just put us up for the night, you can work tomorrow, then tomorrow night we fast travel to Anchormarsh.”
Noggin stopped in his tracks and raised his eyebrow. “For The Tournament?”
Gontro smiled and nodded. “Think of all those people who will see your craftsmanship. Every serious player in Tolkheim. The Nine themselves!”
Noggin paused for a moment. His business had crumbled, his love was gone, he was losing his only son day by day. To have his creatures stand on the in the Grand Coliseum at the great Tournament of Chance…. It could turn everything around. He looked around his crumbling shop. Empty shelves, cobwebs and broken dreams seemed to be all he had left.
He stared squarely at Gontro. “You leave tomorrow, I get paid up front.” After a pause he glanced quickly at Rom who seemed totally lost in what was transpiring. “And absolutely nobody gets hurt.”
The smile momentarily wiped off Gontro’s face before he nodded somberly. “Nobody gets hurt old friend.”
Just then Al reappeared through the back door. At first he didn’t notice the almost unheard of occurrence of actual customers in the shop. Absent-mindedly flipping a tiny dagger in his hands, he still had not noticed the two when he walked straight into Gontro’s knee.
As he gathered himself up from the dusty floor he pulled another dagger from its sheath on his belt and pointed them both up at the (relatively giant) orc with a flourish. “Cursed travelers from beyond the pale of the night realm! Stand behind me father, and take shelter in the darkness!”
Gontro cooed in glee. “Awwww!!! A real-life Night Blade? It’s been at least 100 years.” He grabbed Al by the scruff of his neck and picked him up. He proceeded to tickle the young gnome’s chin while Al swung his blades and kicked wildly.
“Gontro! Put my son down!” The gnome sounded furious, but quickly continued with a more scolding tone. “Though it does serve you right, son. We haven’t had customers in months then you pull knives on the first two!? I raised you better than that!”
Gontro dropped Al abruptly onto the dusty plank floor. “Aw come on, go easy on him. He’s just doing the Night Blade thing. Is there actually a guild here, kid?” Al nodded, rising again from the floor. “What do you even do anymore? I mean, there really aren’t assassinations and espionage these days.”
Al puffed his chest proudly. “We honor the darkness by honing our blades and our bodies to be ready for when the nightmares again return to the land beyond the — ”
Gontro cut him off. “You know what, that’s about as far as my caring goes. Still though, good on you. Night blades are cool.”
They’re going to be staying the night with us, Al.” Noggin began to walk towards the back door. He needed time in his forge yard to think. Tomorrow, he’d have to repeat three of his life’s greatest works in one day.
“We are all welcome in the night, friends, and I apologize for my impasses. Follow me to your lodgings.”
Gontro leaned down to Rom. “What a weirdo,”
“He just believes in something. What’s wrong with that?” Rom quietly retorted.
The orc laughed. “Like I said. Weirdo.”
Our May playtest is currently live on both Gala Games and Steam!
While Gontro and Rom’s meeting seemed pure chance, it was more than fate that brought them together that day outside the Coliseum.
The history of Tolkheim is inseparable from the chronicles of great sorcery and intrepid adventurers. Unlike our past in the Age of Conflict, however, heroes and sorcerors no longer squander resources seeking greater ways to destroy each other in combat. Wars of conquest seldom rage through our lands. This is the Age of Chance, and we solve our disputes great and small through more civilized means.
Our story begins– or rather began– with an unlikely adventurer named Rom and a drunken cynic named Gontro (who STILL owes me more than a few shields). That, however, is only half of what happened. In truth, the story began two days earlier– a day when Gontro smelled particularly of stale whiskey and false bravado.
It was about a three day ride north of Shallowharbor…
“What in tha hells do ya think you doing!?” A scattershot of potatoes accompanied the screams coming from the door to the room. A distinctively lopsided one smacked Gontro right between the eyes, knocking him onto his rear. He was naked for all but his shorts, the pale scars all over his green body seeming to shimmer after so rarely seeing the sun. Over his shoulder he hastily slung a sack, cramming clothes into it as he dodged the root vegetables.
“Sorry Sorry!” He shouted, getting to his feet while shielding his face with his hands. “I was riding. I was tired. There was an empty bed in an empty room.”
“This. Is. MA. HOUSE!” the woman screamed, bursting into the bedroom with an iron frying pan in one hand and a potato in the other.
“I know– Well, I didn’t know.” He struggled to his feet, still spitting out pieces of raw potato. “I’d been ridin all day and I was tired and drunk. It was just a bed.”
“You think you can just climb inta people’s windows!? Sleep in tha beds?” She chucked the potato just as his hands lowered, nailing his unshielded face again. She darted back inside the door for a moment, quickly returning with no frying pan. Instead she held a smooth stick as tall as her. The end was covered in bright red runes and glowed dimly.
“Woah woah, what are you doing with that? I just saw a bed. It was empty. I thought this was an inn.” He backed away from the woman, clearly terrified. He continued in an apologetic tone, doing his best to muster some charm. “It really was a lovely bed by the way. Best inn I’ve ever slept in. How much ya charge?”
“We use this to fire tha clay,” the woman said dryly. “It’d probably treat you liken clay too.”
“Oh my dear lady, can’t we settle this with an honorable game?” Still backing up. Faster now.
“I know ya Gontro Greytooth!” The woman shouted, gesturing as if stabbing him from a distance with the staff. “You just want to beat me in Legends Reborn and taken whatever ya like. This is ma land! Ma house! Shoo!”
A massive fireball suddenly sprung from the end of the staff towards Gontro. He turned tail and ran out the front door, darting sharply to the right to dodge. The fireball nearly singed his sparse gray hair on the way by, but then it slowed and wheeled… turning around to race back towards him!
Normal people across Tolkheim frequently have potentially dangerous magical artifacts on hand. In the Age of Chance, even a brigand like Gontro would never expect someone to engage him in direct aggression and violence!
“Oh, that’s cheating.” Gontro muttered to himself, now frantically digging into his bag while running full speed and mostly naked. He lost three earrings and one tunic while he was digging about, but finally he discovered what he was looking for. His hand emerged from the bag carrying a delicate scroll bound with gold string. He fumbled a great deal with the knot– so much that he had to stop running as his massive orc hands desperately tried to untie the flimsy gold.
He turned to see the coming inferno. Just seconds now. He bit the gold ribbon with his massive teeth, ripping the scroll open. “Take me to Kolton!” he yelled. He disappeared a wisp wink before the fireball roared past where he had just been.
Now, one who has never fast traveled before can’t properly respect the amount of pain and terror that happen in the few seconds while your body has no substance on this plane, but it’s rather similar to being shot with a large fireball. You can understand then that when Gontro reappeared in a muddy ditch about two days’ ride to the southwest, he continued howling in agony as if on fire. After a few moments, he realized he had in fact not been incinerated and his screams melted into laughter.
Several hours later… and after a well needed trip to the Kolton tavern, Gontro felt like a new orc. The scroll wasn’t the most pleasant way to travel, but at least it got him where he was going. He stopped in front of an old building, out of place among the well kept thatched roofs around. It seemed as if it would collapse at any moment. Somehow, the front door was entirely covered in cobwebs, even though the sign read ‘Open.’ A rusted and crooked sign above the door identified the shop as ‘Noggin’s Portents and Curiosities’.
Gontro had been here many times before, and he knew NPC had always looked like a hole in the ground. He confidently pushed through the cobwebs to open the door.
He strode into the dust covered shop. The door seemed to let the first light in years into the room. Glass cases full of oddities were scattered about the room. Gontro leaned towards one of the curios… unable to see through it due to filth built up on it. He pulled his glove off his hand and drew a quick illustration too scandalous to speak of here.
“Stop sullying my shop with your depravities you green son of a bugbear.” said a small figure at the front counter– almost entirely imperceptible in his tattered robes amongst the dust and grime. He stood on a stool behind the counter and still only rose up to Gontro’s shoulder.
“Noggin!” Gontro shouted with a suspiciously exaggerated smile coming across his face, rushing towards the speaker with outstretched arms. “It’s been too long! How’s the family?” The orc embraced Noggin in his massive arms and picked him up off his stool, twirling him.
“Put me down! Put me down this instant!” The Orc laughed as he plopped Noggin irreverently on the floor. The gnome straightened his robe, annoyed. “This is why gnomes don’t associate with orcs. It’s not been too long– better part of a decade is not long enough to be without you and the trouble you always bring, I warrant.”
“Oh c’mon Noggin. It’s not like that this time. Totally worth your while.” Gontro dropped to one knee to meet the gnome’s eyes. “I need new creatures– just like the old days. You forge me some tokens, we both get rich and famous.”
“This,” the gnome gestured around the shop as he walked back around the counter to his stool, “is not the old days. I could honestly use the work. My son has partially taken over and he’s giving NPC a slow death. Likes it dark and dreary in here, hangs with a weird crowd. Calls himself a ‘rogue’. Wife says it’s just a phase, but 67 years is nearly a full grown gnome!”
As the gnome grew more comfortable, Gontro leaned in closer over the counter. “Remember the Onyx Dragon? From Harry’s old tokens?”
“Hard to forget that one. Never been another like Harry’s Onyx Dragon.” The gnome nodded in satisfaction of the memory of his work.
“I need one. I know it’s been awhile… you can make another one, right?” Gontro gripped the edge of the counter in anticipation, his green knuckles turning white against the display glass.
“I’m an old gnome Gontro. I don’t remember what I had for breakfast yesterday, let alone how to recraft the finest beast I ever knew.” The gnome glanced down at Gontro’s hand. “And pray tell why you so desperately need one of Harry’s signature creatures? You could get any number of Creatures in any city along your travels.”
Gontro narrowed his eyes at his old friend, then sighed, backing away slightly from the counter. “You’re right. It’s not the old days Noggin. I can’t compete like I used to. Why do you think I keep my SCL invitation through Shallowharbor? I couldn’t hold a title anywhere but some backwater burg like that.”
He slumped against a display cabinet nearby. “I need some new tricks. I’m just using old ones in sillier ways. Becoming a has been in front of my own eyes. That dragon would make a statement. Wow people again.”
“Well, I still think it’s stupid that you would need Harry’s tricks,” the gnome said, standing and walking across the room to a desk in the corner, “but I hate to see a big, proud moron like you so sad, so yes, I’ll help… for an appropriate price.”
Several hours of drunken sleep later, Gontro awoke where he laid on the grass in the forging yard with a poke from Noggin’s walking stick. “Get up ya bag of grass. You need to fill in some info here”
As the orc lazily rose off the ground, the gnome was already busy at his forge. 10 stone disks lay ready, and a complex array of symbols were drawn on several pieces of parchment that were sloppily spread across the surface of the forge.
While surely made for someone of his stature, Noggin still looked comically small, double checking his work at the great stone circle atop the device. Gontro could smell the fumes from the mana combustion engine inside the pedestal starting to charge its magic.
Token forges can be a wide variety of shapes and sizes depending on the needs (and wealth) of the tokensmith. Forges can imbue many different magical items, but many smiths favor tokens, cards, staves, or some other common item.
“I still have the template,” Gnoggin said without so much as a glance up from his work, “but I crafted it using a Permanent Image Containment lens that Harry had of the real deal. Unless you have a PIC this time, you’re going to need to help me.”
“You’re the smith,” whined Gontro as he stretched and yawned. “How am I supposed to help
“Because I’m older than dirt, and you’re lucky I remember your name,” the gnome snapped. “Now get over here and describe the thing while I engrave.”
The gnome pulled out the first stone and the surface of the forge spun as red lightning crackled around it. He placed it in the groove in the center of the spinning circular table and took two hooked implements from the nearby table, turning them towards the now whirling stone. “Go, now! How big was it?”
“It was at least the size of several small houses. Probably about as tall as the New Sanctuary Arena, and two… no three times as wide.”
“That… doesn’t sound right. Are your sure?” The gnome raised an eyebrow.
“Oh yeah, you’re right. Probably as big as four of those arenas. And its tail spikes were larger than jousting lances.”
Noggin took a break from engraving briefly and held up a sheet of parchment, narrowing his eyes. “Like that?”
“No, no! The spines jutted out further… curved at the end like Sylaxian swords. And the teeth need to be bigger.”
“Yes, I think that’s it. I remember it clearly now.” He went back to his work at the forge and his hands moved in a flash, etching as the disc spun so quickly Gontro couldn’t even see it. “Alright. That oughta to do it.”
He handed the token to Gontro. He held it up in the light and admired it before putting it down and preparing to summon. “Noggin, the years certainly haven’t diminished the quality of your work.” The token began to flash purple, then in a poof of smoke, the Creature came.
At first Gontro put his hands on his hips, beaming at his new Onyx Dragon coming to life on the test table, but then the creature opened its jaws to reveal a mouth with dreadfully terrifying teeth… but not quite in the way the orc had hoped. Its teeth curved and split into multi pronged jagged points. Terrible to behold, but much more terrible to have in your mouth! It roared and backpedaled, seemingly trying to jump away in fear of the mass of daggers in its mouth.
The spines that had dotted its tail and back began growing larger as it backed up. It turned around as if confused, before its head abruptly transformed into a wing. Its left wing let out a poof of smoke, suddenly becoming an extra leg. Then the… thing stumbled. And down it came. As it hit the ground, it made the sound of shattering glass, then the pieces of dragon started to drip away. Just like wax too close to the fire. First just a few drips, then mercifully only a puddle in the workyard.
After a few minutes of silence with both the gnome and orc standing around the sticky spot where the token had been, Noggin finally broke the silence as he went to clean up his workstation. “Well. That sure was something.”
“Something?” Gontro let out an annoyed grunt. “That wasn’t my Onyx Dragon.”
“Well, obviously we don’t remember it as well as we thought.” Noggin reached into his pocket to fetch a pipe. “I may be in my 170s, but you’re the old man here Gontro.”
“So what do we do now? Try again?” Gontro fell to his haunches in the dirt.
“Ha. Do you want to take your chances on that again?” Noggin shook his head somberly. “I imbue a token by making a magical facsimile of a real magical creature. This one clearly wasn’t close enough to the real thing… not by a longshot. I told you, Harry had a PIC last time. Without a magical imprint from the creature itself, I’m just a gnome making a forgery.”
“So we’re just out of luck entirely?” Gontro growled. Noggin couldn’t decide if it was defeat or frustration.
Noggin shrugged and began to walk back into his shop. “Well, unless you want to go hunt an Onyx Dragon or you have Harry’s original token… yep.”
“…Harry’s token” Gontro said with a smile, standing up. “Noggin, either you’re a genius or I’m an idiot-”
“Both” Interjected Noggin as he puffed on his briar.
“Anyway, I know right where Harry’s token is. Conveniently, I got a match there in a few days.” He stood up and dusted himself off, his brash confidence renewed. “I’m riding out for Shallowharbor. I’ll be back with the token by week’s end.”
Though they didn’t know it, one fateful expedition in the employ of N.O.T.E.C. would change Harry and Gontro’s lives forever.
“No, no. You’ve got it all wrong.” The man stopped to take a long draught of ale. “Kobolds aren’t weak to fire… just sensitive to sunlight.”
“Wait,” a woman across the campfire responded, “I thought kobolds were weak to cold, and undead are hurt by sunlight.”
Through odd jobs as N.O.T.E.C. explorers, Harry and Gontro had come across so many different Creatures they could hardly remember which was which.
“Na, it’s both, isn’t it Harry? Aren’t kobolds cold blooded?” Gontro approached the fire from out of the dark, fastening up the buttons on his pants as he walked into the light. “Didn’t we chill those ones back in ’47 out of the underhenge?”
“What!?” Harry laughed derisively. “Those were salamanders. A salamander isn’t even close to a kobold, you old trog.
“You’re wrong too Harry,” The original speaker interjected. He was a massive man wearing shining gold armor and a white, lace cloak. ”Not all undead are weak to sunlight and fire.”
“Well, not all,” Harry quipped back. “But all your garden variety ones — like zombies, mummies and vampires.”
The armored man shook his head. “Actually that’s not true. In the N.O.T.E.C 3.5 edition guidebook it said zombies were weak to fire, but that was technically a mistake. In the 5.0 guidebook, it correctly clarifies.”
Harry stared expressionlessly back in response. “Thank you Quentis. Everyone loves it when they have a friend that can correct them about bureaucratic porc scat.”
Gontro shook his head with confusion. “Wait. So does this mean if I see a zombie, I don’t light it on fire?”
“No, I think fire still kills things in general,” Quentis replied as he rose from the fireside. “Where is Kaldan? Does he even know supper is ready?”
Quentis of course was right. Fire DOES generally still kill things, regardles of what the handbook says.
Suddenly there was a peculiar whirrrrr sound that pierced the silence of the night. Before Quentis even took his first step towards the pot, a figure clothed entirely in black flashed from the trees above, dangling upside down from a rope. “For Furul’s sake Quentis! I said don’t talk about me!” the overhead arrival exclaimed with exasperation. “What if we were being followed!? Anyone eavesdropping would know there’s four of us now!”
Quentis did not even so much as look at the elf dangling upside down hooflengths in front of his face. “Grow up Kaldan. No one is following us. No one is listening. Beans are ready.”
With a graceful flip Kaldan sprung to the ground. His rope shot back up into the tree he previously occupied with another, higher pitched whirrrrr. “Ugghh! I don’t know why you even brought me! I wish I’d have gone with Talmar to Growda!” Kaldan threw up his arms and stormed off into the darkness, kicking up plumes of dirt along with him. One such small cloud of dirt found its way into the bean pot.
I, Paladin Quentis of the order of Barda, do request that my ward Kaldan be reassigned to me for the duration of the campaign in Growda.
I have no lack of faith in his abilities, but his impulsive nature limits my confidence in how he will perform in a long-term expedition, and I believe I may have the opportunity to provide vital training for him on our upcoming mission to Gratar.
-from N.O.T.E.C. public archives — Document G376.b7 “Formal Communications on Record — G376”
“Not the beans!” Gontro said with a groan. “Why do all rogues have such fragile feelings?”
“I don’t. And all good anyway. I already got my bowl.” Harry gave a big, sarcastic smile and shoveled down a mouthful of her own dirt-free beans. “So Quentis, you going to actually brief us? What are we after?”
Quentis sat down with surprising grace for the amount of armor he was wearing. “Well, to start with we’re going to survey a cliffside over on the side of the Gratar Straight. New variety of harpy has been spotted up there.”
“Bag and tag some token templates, you get your creatures, N.O.T.E.C. gets land, I get my money,” Harry quickly replied. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Maybe,” Quentis took a long drink from his ale. “May have some bonus work this time around though. Word is that there’s a real, living dragon on the peak of Mt. Throsho.”
Harriet and Gontro exchanged troubled glances. “And how exactly do you plan to take down a dragon?” Gontro said with wide eyes.
Quentis reached into his cloak and pulled out an old, dingy cloth. “Well I hope that we’ll just be able to document and observe. You know, by the book.” Unwrapping the parcel, he revealed an ornate dagger. The hilt was shaped in the face of a demon with brilliant sapphire eyes, and the curved blade was serrated at the end in a vicious point. “If we get into trouble though… The dwarves of The Mollin Hills Mine call this Dragonsbane, and it is going to help us.”
Harry and Gontro looked uncomfortable, but neither spoke between their concerned glances to each other. Quentis rose, setting his empty bowl down by the edge of the fire. “Can you imagine how rich we’ll become? Every serious Chance player across Tolkheim will pay anything to add a dragon to their lineup. Tomorrow, we’re going to make history as the first expedition ever to bag us a dragon.”
The next day, Harry stared in wonder at a massive dragon as it circled above its orc prey, hiding beneath a small bridge over a stream and ready to light it up. “Gontro, look out!” she tried to shout, but it was too late.
KRBOOOOOOOM!
The explosion deafened Harry temporarily. Her vision spun and her head rung. Peering over the little hill she was hiding behind, she could see Gontro was fine — more or less. Above him was the wreckage of what had previously been a bridge.
The orc sprung forth and ran along the streambed, shouting profanities as he fled. The dragon circled back and started to dive along Gontro’s path.
“Maximum power assassin’s BLADE!” As the winged monstrosity passed the line of trees along the side of the brook, Kaldan sprung forth from out of nowhere with a great war cry… scimitars gleaming in the sunlight. The elf was poised to land the blades square into the dragon’s back. Just as the blow nearly found its home, however, the great creature tilted ever so slightly. The rogue plummeted to the riverbed below with lingering cries of dismay.
“Kaldan, you stupid porc.” Harry grumbled to herself as she watched the scene from her cover.
HARRIET- It’s not that REDACTED is a bad rogue, it’s that he always shouts the name of whatever PS move he’s going to do seconds before he does it!
PALADIN ROGER:Surely it can’t be as bad as all that?
HARRIET: Can you imagine if I yelled “ANSWER QUESTION!” before I answered your questions each time!? That’s what we deal with every day! Those are inhumanee working conditions!
-from N.O.T.E.C. public archives — Document G376.c11 “Debriefing of Hariet Destudo — G376”
The dragon was back headed towards Gontro now. Harry notched a bolt in her crossbow and lept over her hill, running frantically towards the fleeing orc. “Over here you bag of decycle slime! If you had half a brain you’d know I taste better than him!”
The taunt seemed to be super effective. The creature immediately turned and it was Harry’s turn to turn tail and run. Back over the hill and down the green slope. She was certain she’d never run so fast in her life, but it was to no avail. The great dragon was easily catching her quickly. He’d overtake her soon, and that would be it.
What was that? Something shiny up ahead. “Quentis!” Harry shouted from airless lungs. “You better have a plan!”
Quentis stood at the peak of the next hill. He held up his great bluemetal sword in two hands and closed his eyes in focus. He recited an inaudible mantra, whispered into the flat of the blade. As Harry approached, she could see a yellow light beginning to spread from Quentis, reaching out towards the oncoming dragon with tendrils like a morning corona through the mist.
Wrangling harpies and tagging goblinoids is a fine and respectable livlihood, I know. At some point a man hopes to have something better to his legacy than just a trail of blood and token templates. There is hope though. I’m far too afraid to disclose the details even here, but Harry and I may have found a better way. Tomorrow we’ll find out.
— from N.O.T.E.C. public archives — Document G376.e7 “Recovered Journal of Paladin Quentis’— G376"
Harry was just at the bottom of the hill now. The dragon had overtaken her. She dared not turn around, but she could hear the great wings beating and knew her time was short. “Maybe he’ll choke on me” she thought, and she chuckled to herself for what she could only assume was the last time.
But then something curious happened. She could see Quentis standing on the hill, but his movements had become strained and sporadic… like he was pulling against a great weight. The yellow light around him was nearly blinding and was directed in a beam straight over Harry’s head.
The dragon whizzed past Harry’s head– so close that she ducked. To her delightful surprise, it didn’t snap, claw, or explode her. Totally bathed in the yellow light emitting from Quentis, it zoomed straight for the paladin on the hilltop. Without regard for her safety– already having assumed she was dead any second– Harriet raced up the hill to Quentis.
The creature alit a good distance from Quentis– close enough for its large blasts to be ineffective, but far enough for the great mouth to pose less immediate threats. As Harry approached, he brandished his sword and waved her back. “No, I think this one is my fight. That prayer will compel him to pursue me and only me until I’m dead.”
He looked back towards Harry briefly, sword still ready. “Do you still have it?” Harry nodded. “I hope you remember how… it’s more important than me. I’ll put up a fight, but save yourself and use it when the time is right.”
“We’ve been in tougher spots than this, Q.” Harry’s lips tightened. “I will. They won’t get it.”
Quentis smiled as he turned. The yellow light was dimmer now, but it continued to shine forth from the paladin himself, making his armor glisten in the sun. He walked towards the creature and Harriet watched for a moment before running down the hill to meet the oncoming Gontro.
“Be warned creature! I am Paladin Quentis of the Knights Barda, and no harm shall come to my friends!” He pointed his sword squarely in the face of the great purple and black dragon as he spoke.
After an initial snarl in response, the dragon did not lunge or breathe fire, but instead lowered its head and slowly crawled forward towards Quentis. For a moment, it silently approached, and seemed to be studying the man’s face.
“Your friends!? What is wrong with you!?” screamed the dragon with a flail of its wings. “I was having tea. Literally just sitting down to tea and I hear someone scream ‘LONELY BLADE’ and a knife hits me in the shoulder.” The dragon gestured towards its front shoulder where a throwing knife was still lodged.
Quentis backed away slightly and shuffled nervously. “I, uhhh… We had assumed you were just some beast. We didn’t know you were intelligent.”
“Oh, so if I couldn’t talk you’d be totally fine throwing knives into my den and using wild magic on me? You think I’m a beast? I thought wild magic was looked down on among the Paladins of Barda…you beast.”
Quentis furrowed his brow and stood up straighter. “That wasn’t wild magic… it was a prayer. A holy incantation.”
“Oh, are we pretending that your mind control spell isn’t wild magic just because you shrouded it in religion?” The dragon laughed, relaxing a little. “So, you don’t want to kill me now because I can talk, but I am now compelled to kill you because of your ‘definitely not wild magic’, which was some pretty impressive sorcery. So it would now seem we have a conundrum, little one.” The dragon rose up to tower over Quentis and once again began walking towards him.
“No wait! We can figure this out.” Quentis scrambled backwards in increasing terror. Unfortunately, his heavy armor betrayed him and a stumble over a rock left him stranded on his rear facing the creature, his sword dozens of hooflengths away.
As he pushed himself backwards and struggled to get up he pleaded to the creature, panic increasingly set in. Unarmed and prone was no honorable way to die.
It suddenly occurred to him– he viciously tore off the side panel of his breast plate to expose the cloth package stored below. Tearing off the ancient coverings, he revealed the blade. “Dragon’s Bane, be with me!” he shouted, holding the blade aloft. The glow from his prayer was fading, but as Gontro and Harry looked on, Quentis seemed illuminated by more than just residual mana in that moment.
“Oh hells NO!!!!!” the dragon shouted as he saw the blade. WHIIIIP– his tail smacked the dagger from Quentis’s gauntlet. SCTHWOOOOP– his great jaws engulfed the Paladin, swallowing him whole.
Watching below, Harriet let out a cry of surprised dismay. Gontro, however, was too preoccupied with the dagger skittering down the hill.
HARRIET: Look, I have no clue what you’re talking about. Quentis and I had worked together more than 20 years. If he was up to something, I’d know. PALADIN ROGER: That is precisely my concern actually. We think that you and Quentis may have been hiding some side dealings. What do you know about Quentis hunting a dragon? HARRIET: A Dragon!? Did you know Quentis? He was all talk. Harpies and goblins, he was your guy. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to go unless I’m under arrest.
-from N.O.T.E.C. public archives — Document G376.c11 “Debriefing of Hariet Destudo — G376”
“ACKKK KKRIIGGHAHH…SPLOT.. KGGHR.” The dragon sat on the ground where Quentis stood previously, retching and spasming. It continued struggling to clear its airway, eventually rolling onto its back… arching violently. After a few moments, it finally loosened the gob of metal in its throat. With a great swallow it sat up, tears in its eyes from the ordeal.
Out of nowhere a poof of green smoke appeared by the dragon’s face. “VORPAAAAL…. STAB!!!” Kaldan shot out of the smoke, both scimitars pointing at the dragon’s snout. Without so much as a thought the dragon’s great paw smacked him out of the air, pinning him to the ground. Harriet rushed up the hill, not seeing that Gontro ran the other way…towards the dagger that had fallen from Quentis’s hands.
GONTRO: Dragonswha? Is it some kind of new trendy herb? PALADIN ROGER: No, a special knife requisitioned by Quentis before he left. Especially potent weapon against dragons, it’s told. GONTRO: Huh, never seen a dragon. Never saw any of Quentis’ stuff either, and I don’t really like what you’re implying here.
-from N.O.T.E.C. public archives — Document G376.c4 “Debriefing of Gontro ‘Greytooth’ Beebleboop — G376”
“Why don’t you people just leave me alone!?” the dragon yelled into Kaldan’s face, tearing off his black mask with a single claw.
“Oh my gods, you can talk.” Kaldan muttered, his fair skin turning even paler and his eyes stretching wide. “Are you going to eat me now?”
“Eat you!? Did you not just see that? I had assumed you people were gooey and soft. Unnecessarily crunchy.” The dragon slowly let his paw off the elf. “I just want to go back to my den. I left the kettle on.”
The dragon backed away from the rogue and sat down on his haunches. “I’ll make a deal with you elfling. You run as far towards any horizon you choose as you can. Once you can’t run anymore, never come back this way.” Kaldan glanced at Harriet approaching and backed away nervously, as if about to defend himself. “I may not eat you… but I can still tear your top legs off. You never come back, and you keep your stabby little elf legs. How does that sound?”
Kaldan hesitated for a moment, again looking towards Harriet. With no warning, he threw a leather packet at the ground and disappeared in a poof of green smoke. Unfortunately, the dust cloud from him tumbling down the embankment on the far side of the hill made his exit less smooth than he probably would’ve liked.
The creature turned towards Harriet, eying the small crossbow in her left hand. “Are you a stabby little one as well?”
Harriet looked down at her hand, suddenly realizing a bolt was still loaded. She disarmed the weapon and sat it at her feet. With her hands up, she slowly approached the creature. “My name is Harriet, and whatever I planned to stab today isn’t the plan anymore. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Ooo, an intelligent human. Likewise Harriet. You may call me Raidon.”
Players can now shuffle up and take to the tables on Gala Games or Steam platforms!
“Are you saying they found an entirely new world out there?”
“Well, technically it is a part of Tolkheim. In the depths of the Mountains of Steam.” The herald began unfurling a long scroll as he rapidly shuffled over to the fat noble, who was currently splitting his attention between a juicy turkey leg and a goblet of wine.
“You see, according to N.O.T.E.C. reports, they seem like a splinter culture from our own… separated by walls of some ancient discipline of magic called platformancy that is now fading from the world.” The herald grinned enthusiastically as he pressed his documents into the noble’s face. “They are a sporting people for recreational purposes mostly, but with one major difference… they’ve never heard of Chance.
The noble dropped his goblet. “No Chance… but what do they use to solve disputes? To determine station? To dispense justice?” The noble stood from the table, still shaking his head in disbelief.
“Well my lord, I’m told in the absence of Chance they often resort to autocracy, bureaucracy… or even violence.”
“Barbarians!” the noble said with a deep gasp. He sunk back into his chair, dropping the turkey leg back on his place, forgotten. “How can we leave a people who were once just like us in the dark ages. We must help them!”
“An excellent idea my lord!” The herald immediately drew forth new documents, as if he expected this reaction all along. “We can begin sending out cultural delegations immediately.”
“Yes Jeeves, make it fast.” The noble rose from his seat and walked across the room to the great window overlooking Anchor Marsh. “Spare no expense. Tell every tokensmith in the land to ready their forges… We’re going to show this land of Steam a better life with Chance.”
Legends Reborn Is Live on Steam!
The game that defines a world is now live on Steam. The magic of Legends Reborn is now open to more than 60 million people who use the platform!
While this is a major step in our plan towards launch, this is still just a playtest as we finalize a fully launch ready game. We do think, however, that the mechanics in Legends Reborn are engaging and unique enough that a wider group of players can easily enjoy interacting with and getting to know what features are currently available in the game.
Allowing more players into these playtests through a platform like Steam also means that we can gather more critical feedback as we head towards launch.
Play Where and How You Want
Players who love playing on Gala Games can still play here. In fact, cross play will be available with players on either platform. This means more matches available for everyone.
Player-owned items can only be used through your Gala Games account and not on the Steam Platform. Otherwise, anyone is able to head on over to Steam right now and start playing some Legends Reborn there for free!
After requesting access, you’ll get a notification alerting you that access has been granted. From this point on, you’ll see that button be replaced with a “Play Now” button.
After that, all you have to do is hop in and get to making decks!
More Legends
More players means more matches, better player interaction and overall more robust feedback throughout playtesting. Spreading the word about Legends Reborn to the wider world of gaming means a better game for everyone.
Are you ready to see how you fare at the tables? Head to Gala Games or Steam today to start playing!
