D&D Snippets

[Machuchang]

Story can be found here (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showpost.php?p=9415393&postcount=73)

:smalleek:

How did I possibly miss that?
I thought I had read all of these snippets! Time to go thread-diving...

[Lady Moreta]

Heh :smallsmile:

I was thinking of updating the first post with a kind of library catalogue to all the stories, so no one has to go wandering if all they want is to read a specific snippet.

Done by author, title of snippet and a brief blurb... I know sometimes I'm going looking for something specific and I hate having to wander through the pages looking for it, especially when I don't remember what they're called. Heck, I barely remember the names of my own! let alone anyone elses.

Seem like a good idea?

[big teej]

Heh :smallsmile:

I was thinking of updating the first post with a kind of library catalogue to all the stories, so no one has to go wandering if all they want is to read a specific snippet.

Done by author, title of snippet and a brief blurb... I know sometimes I'm going looking for something specific and I hate having to wander through the pages looking for it, especially when I don't remember what they're called. Heck, I barely remember the names of my own! let alone anyone elses.

Seem like a good idea?

sounds like a great idea to me.
perhaps also (if its not to much effort/somebody helps) organize them by 'series' or 'character'
for instance, everything about natalie and varren could be put under 'varren' and 'natalie' as two seperate series, or put together under 'varren and natalie' or some such thing.
but that sounds like lots of work...

that said....................
-hangs head in shame-
I apologize profusely for not getting the guardsman snippet done, real life has been kicking my butt.
ramble
between essays, (trying) to get in shape for football, and my newfound group of friends (and their even newer found addiction to Quelf) I haven't been able to write or read anything at all lately, in this thread or any others. and I am rather perturbed that I have not been able to keep up with this most awesome thread

however,
my absence has born out some good things. (aside from the aforementioned new buddies)

I have at least 2 new character concepts I need to flesh out, and I plan to do it here.
Tylndyr the Resolute - an Elf cleric of Kaila Mensha Kaine
and
Gideon, Knight Errant

so after this week(end?) I will hopefully be able to go back to reading and posting...

/ramble/apology

[Lady Moreta]

sounds like a great idea to me.
perhaps also (if its not to much effort/somebody helps) organize them by 'series' or 'character'
for instance, everything about natalie and varren could be put under 'varren' and 'natalie' as two seperate series, or put together under 'varren and natalie' or some such thing.
but that sounds like lots of work...

I was planning to do that anyway :smallsmile:

Shall we rise up en masse and kick real life's butt for you, so you can come back to us? :smallbiggrin:

I have one snippet still to finish, and I think another to start - actually two more to start. One for backstory for yet another pbp character, and then we've actually done stuff worthy of snippeting in the Red Death one, so stay tuned for stuff from Rosalind! :smallsmile:

[Machuchang]

I was thinking of updating the first post with a kind of library catalogue to all the stories, so no one has to go wandering if all they want is to read a specific snippet.

Done by author, title of snippet and a brief blurb... I know sometimes I'm going looking for something specific and I hate having to wander through the pages looking for it, especially when I don't remember what they're called. Heck, I barely remember the names of my own! let alone anyone elses.

Seem like a good idea?

Yes! That sounds like an excellent idea!


sounds like a great idea to me.
perhaps also (if its not to much effort/somebody helps) organize them by 'series' or 'character'

I definitely support this suggestion, but again, only if its not too much work.



*snip*

Sorry to hear about real life kicking you around.:smallfrown: I hope things ease up for you soon.

[Lady Moreta]

I definitely support this suggestion, but again, only if its not too much work.

Already planned to do it :smallsmile:

I've actually almost done it - well, almost done listing each person's snippets and the appropriate link. I think I'm on page 8. When that's done, I'll go through and order them.

One question though - do people want to write their own blurbs, or are they happy for me to do it?

[Machuchang]

One question though - do people want to write their own blurbs, or are they happy for me to do it?

I'm perfectly fine with you writing blurbs for my stories. You would be able to make them sound a lot more interesting.

Though I'm going to have to be mean to you and introduce a whole bunch of new characters soon.:smallfrown:

[Lady Moreta]

I'm perfectly fine with you writing blurbs for my stories. You would be able to make them sound a lot more interesting.

Though I'm going to have to be mean to you and introduce a whole bunch of new characters soon.:smallfrown:

Yay! More stories! :smallbiggrin:

While I'm here... do you want Varen & Natalia's snippets classed together, since they're from the same game, or would you like them separate?

And for that matter, I've been curious about this for a while and kept forgetting to ask... is Natalia a PC in your game or an NPC? I can't tell :smallsmile:

[Machuchang]

Yay! More stories! :smallbiggrin:
While I'm here... do you want Varen & Natalia's snippets classed together, since they're from the same game, or would you like them separate?

Separate, please. They are different people after all.:smalltongue:



And for that matter, I've been curious about this for a while and kept forgetting to ask... is Natalia a PC in your game or an NPC? I can't tell :smallsmile:

Natalia started out as an NPC. Then when Varen was knocked unconscious, my DM handed me a character sheet with her name on it and said "You will be playing a different character for a little bit. Have fun,"

Since then, she's been a PC.:smallbiggrin:

[big teej]

One question though - do people want to write their own blurbs, or are they happy for me to do it?

I second the blurbishness

yours will sound far more interesting than anything I could come up with*


*I would like the tiltles to remain intact, as I feel that some of those are actually humerous.






Though I'm going to have to be mean to you and introduce a whole bunch of new characters soon.:smallfrown:

same here, I am now kicking real life's butt and plan to spend the rest of psycheology ...psycology....crap..
my class, writing up a snippet... a background snippet.... for....................................


Tylndyr... or the Imperial guardsman.

EDIT: okay, I take it back, guardsman is off the table, I don't remember/didn't have enough to really make a go of it.... the campaign kinda flopped.

[big teej]

Lady and gentleman of the thread, I present to you Tylndyr's new eyes...

if there seems to be a huge shift in tone/verbage in the last paragraph I'm sorry, I wrote everything up to "I drank" this morning and just wrote the rest and popped it through spellchecker


enjoy.


Some things stay with you… even for one so long lived as I. Things of pain, of hope, of pleasure and joy, of grief…. For me, being rather young as my race measures time, I have thankfully encountered very few moments of pain that stay with me….. There are 2 events of my life that continue to dwell within my Reverie… and they are closely linked, very very close. My acceptance into the Priesthood of Kaela Mensha Kaine, the bloody handed God. And receiving my new eyes through Kaine’s blessing…..
Remembering the eyes comes far more often than the pride I felt at acceptance….“Initiate Tylyndyr!” My eyes open, they are blue, like the sky above our home… I have no surname; it is stripped from us as initiates and cast into the Cauldron of Kaine. We are instructed that once we enter the priesthood, we will be required to do great things that will earn us new names. I turn my head to see who has summoned me. It is one of the faceless retainers of Urial, high priest of this temple. “It is time?” I ask, knowing, and fearing, the answer. “It is” comes the voice behind the mask, it is the voice of a sepulcher, issued forth from a skull helmet made from bronze. I rise from my pallet and put on my robes, they were white once… though the closest they come to white is a few pink areas where blood rarely splatters, and the rest is a deep red and black of clotted gore. Once my time as an initiate is done I will throw these robes after my name. Into the Cauldron for Kaine’s glory…

The retainer leads me to the high alter, where the Temples Cauldron sits, smoking and bubbling, the blood within it never rotting. I cannot see them, but I know that every full-priest within the temple is present, watching from the shadows. With eyes like the greatest of augurs, searching my mind, body and soul for a flaw, a sin in my devotion to Kaine. Urial (I think it’s urial, though it could simply be another one of his retainers for all I know, with the mask the man wears.) Stands behind the altar, he carries a goblet carved from bone and skulls. “Initiate Tylyndyr, ye have been accepted into the fold of the priesthood of Kaine. “Saying this, he dips the goblet into the cauldron. “To enter the fold, ye must drink from the cup of Kaine’s fury and Kaine’s blessing… what say you?” To deny the cup is death… “I will drink from the vessel of Kaine’s wrath and Kaine’s bounty” I reply, as is custom.
The goblet is handed to me, filled almost to the brim, “drink then, initiate, and join us.” I take the goblet carefully; to spill a drop is to endure a fate worse than death. I look down into the crimson liquid within, bubbles swirl within the blood, a skull?! No… simply my imagination… I commend my soul to The Bloody Handed God, in the event that I am found wanting….

And drink…

Pain… lots of it, a molten, stabbing pain pushing into my eyes, running along my nerves and exploding into my brain! It feels as if liquid metal is being poured into the sockets of my skull, dissolving my eyes and seeping into my brain. Do I cry out? I don’t know? Did I fall to my knees? Perhaps, I have no recollection of doing so. Eventually, the pain recedes, I open my eyes… it is still dark within the chamber, it seems as if no time has passed, I stand holding the goblet – it has been drained dry as the bone as its made from – the only difference I can see is in the man before me, his armour… it shines, it’s like a mirror its polished so clear…. Surely it was covered up by his cloak earlier… this must be the case.
“Brother Tylyndyr” …hey that’s me…. “Brother Tylndyr, hast thou returned to us?” I open my eyes – they were closed? – And stare at the man before me in his armour. “I have dread lord.” I reply the priest gestures to his armour with one blackened gauntlet and states “look upon the mirrored surface of mine armour, and see what kaine has wrought.” I look into his armour, into the mirror that covers his chest… I see me, Tylndyr, initia- no, brother priest! Of Kaela Mensha Kaine. My robes are gone, I see them sinking into the blood in the cauldron. In their place I wear lamellar armour, the leather strips black with red highlights, the nails of polished brass… I look into my face, it stares back at me…. Where my sky blue eyes once looked out upon the world, now something different looks out upon the world… like two molten brass coins, my new eyes stare out upon the world…

…Oh the possibilities……..

[Lady Moreta]

I second the blurbishness

yours will sound far more interesting than anything I could come up with*

*I would like the tiltles to remain intact, as I feel that some of those are actually humerous.

I think you're all overestimating my capabilities :smalltongue:

I wouldn't change the titles :smallsmile: What about ones that don't have a title - like your one below?


psycheology ...psycology....crap..

That word is impossible to spell.



I rise from my pallet and put on my robes, they were white once… though the closest they come to white is a few pink areas where blood rarely splatters, and the rest is a deep red and black of clotted gore. Once my time as an initiate is done I will throw these robes after my name. Into the Cauldron for Kaine’s glory…

Ewww, gross. Effective, but gross :smalltongue:


Urial (I think it’s urial, though it could simply be another one of his retainers for all I know, with the mask the man wears.) Stands behind the altar, he carries a goblet carved from bone and skulls.

Slight error here... the bit in brackets shouldn't have a full stop, and 'stands' shouldn't be capitalised, since it's a continuation of the sentence. If what you want to stick in parentheses is particularly long, or could be a sentence in itself, you're better off to rewrite it as a full sentence on its own.


Pain… lots of it, a molten, stabbing pain pushing into my eyes, running along my nerves and exploding into my brain! It feels as if liquid metal is being poured into the sockets of my skull, dissolving my eyes and seeping into my brain.

Very good description. I don't know whether or not to say I liked it, 'cause it's a bit nasty-sounding, but it was very descriptive and very good.


“Brother Tylyndyr” …hey that’s me…. “Brother Tylndyr, hast thou returned to us?”

heehee... this is the only part that seemed a little out of kilter with the rest, but it worked. This guy's just been through a fair bit, it's reasonable he'd be a bit giddy with pain etc. I really liked it :smallsmile: Very well written, and different from the usual heroics. Or at least, darker with definite 'evil' tones.

[big teej]

I think you're all overestimating my capabilities :smalltongue:


underestimating the abilities of the Lady Moreta?
poppycock.



I wouldn't change the titles :smallsmile: What about ones that don't have a title - like your one below?



That word is impossible to spell.



if you're talking about tylndyr, its called "Tylndyr's new eyes"
I just couldn't think of a suitibale 'or x' so I just left it there

also
I have conquered the word
psychology
it dawned on me rereading it that I said psyche ology
and I was like
UGH!!!

anyways




Ewww, gross. Effective, but gross :smalltongue:


yay ^_^
heh, I was only one letter off from provoking another 'awww' :smallbiggrin:

thankyou


Slight error here... the bit in brackets shouldn't have a full stop, and 'stands' shouldn't be capitalised, since it's a continuation of the sentence. If what you want to stick in parentheses is particularly long, or could be a sentence in itself, you're better off to rewrite it as a full sentence on its own.



that would be spellcheck's fault, mhm, my story and I'm stickin to it!



Very good description. I don't know whether or not to say I liked it, 'cause it's a bit nasty-sounding, but it was very descriptive and very good.



haha, funny thing about head trauma, its an excellent source for how to describe pain in your head
:smallcool: *



heehee... this is the only part that seemed a little out of kilter with the rest, but it worked. This guy's just been through a fair bit, it's reasonable he'd be a bit giddy with pain etc. I really liked it :smallsmile: Very well written, and different from the usual heroics. Or at least, darker with definite 'evil' tones.

yea, it jarred a little bit to me too, but I've seen so many people reduced to that sort of thinking from pain that it just kinda.... worked, ish... okay I couldnt' figure out what to say, so I went with my gut.

I'm glad you liked it -bows-

also, bout 'evil tones'.... funnily enough, Tylndyr and Kaine are Lawful Neutral (Kaine probably true neutral

*seriously though, don't get hurt. its not cool, having a concussion is NOT FUN, its even less fun when the doctors (who are the top 2 concussion people in the nation) say anything along the lines of "this is one of the worst ones we've ever seen" especially if thats what they say... verbatim... thats bad.

the whole 'eyes' thing, not quite my idea, credit goes to mister Dan Abnett for that

[Lady Moreta]

underestimating the abilities of the Lady Moreta?
poppycock.

Awwwww :smallredface: (heh, there you go, one 'awww' :smalltongue:) You just made my day :smallsmile:


if you're talking about tylndyr, its called "Tylndyr's new eyes"
I just couldn't think of a suitibale 'or x' so I just left it there

So you did, I'm blind.

Also *facepalm* that's the best way of remembering how to spell psychology I've ever heard. Now I just have to remember how to spell psych... 'ology' I can handle :smalltongue:


yea, it jarred a little bit to me too, but I've seen so many people reduced to that sort of thinking from pain that it just kinda.... worked, ish... okay I couldnt' figure out what to say, so I went with my gut.

That's why I liked it. I've never done anything particularly drastic to myself, but I have occassionally had bad headaches* and even those were sometimes enough to make me go all silly. If the whole paragraph had been like that, it might have jarred, but really for all that you wrote it over a couple of days, you can't tell. Heck, you mentioned it and I still couldn't tell.

Besides, you don't really think I write my snippets in one go do you? Each one usually takes me about a week. (Except Baby Fix that one I wrote in about half an hour.)


also, bout 'evil tones'.... funnily enough, Tylndyr and Kaine are Lawful Neutral (Kaine probably true neutral

Evil probably wasn't the right word there... how about 'not in the heroic bent most of the snippets have been, and seriously creepy besides?' It's a good thing I like creepy.


*seriously though, don't get hurt. its not cool, having a concussion is NOT FUN, its even less fun when the doctors (who are the top 2 concussion people in the nation) say anything along the lines of "this is one of the worst ones we've ever seen" especially if thats what they say... verbatim... thats bad.

I've had a couple of concussions - not serious ones, but enough to know they suck. Also - what the hang did you do to yourself?!? :smalleek:

edit:* much like the headache I have right now in fact...

[big teej]

Awwwww :smallredface: (heh, there you go, one 'awww' :smalltongue:) You just made my day :smallsmile:



perhaps I should start a tally of "awwws" earned.... or perhaps keep count of how many 'awws' the thread has eliceted :smallsmile:

also -victory fist pump- on making somebody's day:smallbiggrin:




So you did, I'm blind.

Also *facepalm* that's the best way of remembering how to spell psychology I've ever heard. Now I just have to remember how to spell psych... 'ology' I can handle :smalltongue:
[/SIZE]

it's okay, my fellow students acknowledge the fact I"m a ninja.
and at first I was like :smallconfused:
and then I saw what you meant
what I was saying though was during my repeated attempts to spell psychology I spelled it psychEology.. so it didn't look right (but my concious mind didn't get why)

and then I went back and reread it and facepalmed...
but I digress...






That's why I liked it. I've never done anything particularly drastic to myself, but I have occassionally had bad headaches* and even those were sometimes enough to make me go all silly. If the whole paragraph had been like that, it might have jarred, but really for all that you wrote it over a couple of days, you can't tell. Heck, you mentioned it and I still couldn't tell.

Besides, you don't really think I write my snippets in one go do you? Each one usually takes me about a week. (Except Baby Fix that one I wrote in about half an hour.)


uhm.... I believe either I severely mistyped something, or you misread something
only a few hours passed between me writing before "I drank" and the rest of it (6 to 8 if I recall the time stamps correctly)

I tend to sit down and crank out a whole snippet at a time.... what takes so long between each post is waiting for insipration to strike or for the idea to congeal in my mind in a manner that I am satisfied with....
:smalltongue:


Evil probably wasn't the right word there... how about 'not in the heroic bent most of the snippets have been, and seriously creepy besides?' It's a good thing I like creepy.



ah, I see, well then I'd have to agree with you there :smallsmile:
and yay, creepy was what I was going for, heroic can come later
after all, I still have to explain why he's known as "Tylndyr, the Resolute"
...but I'm waiting for inspiration to strike...


I've had a couple of concussions - not serious ones, but enough to know they suck. Also - what the hang did you do to yourself?!? :smalleek:


well, if you must know.
spoilered for rambling lengthly story/explanation
well... it was back in '09 football season, it was the first day of class of my first semester in college (haha) and also our first game week (game was friday, it was monday) and the coaches wanted to run hitting drills so we'd get used to contact and actually play friday night.
so the drill basically involves running into each other dead on, with the sole purpose of hittign each other (in hindsight, a very not-smart drill, but hey, it was my 2nd season, how would I know) anyways, my turn to go. I run up to the other player (don't remember/know who it was)
and I remember running up to him....
black spot in my memory (I distinctly recall the concept of 'impact', sorta how like you can still feel things with your eyes closed, but there's a black spot in my memory from 2 steps away from him, till about 5 stumbling steps away... there's simply nothing there.) anyways, I had a really bad headache after that (worst ever had I think) and I decided I didn't need to do that drill again till my head stopped hurting, by the time it did, drill was over (thank God) and I felt pretty good so I kept practicing.... did fine. we get to the end of practice however... and the offense (I was a starting O lineman :smallbiggrin:) was working on running plays, offensive coach would tell the quarter-back the play, QB would call the play, we'd walk up to the line, but by the time we were up to the line... I'd forgotten the play, so I'd ask the guy next to me "hey, are we running or passing?" and he'd tell me, and I'd get back in my stance..... but by then I'd forgotten again, so every play I had no idea what was going on....
after a few plays the coach noticed this and had the nurse check me out. I checked out fine to her (could follow her finger, stand up straight, etc) but my mother (who is an awesome awesome parent, and our water lady at the time) noticed that my speech was much slower and I was walking funny. the nurse told us that I didn't seem to have symptoms, but had me sit out the rest of practice and told us to go see the doctor if I still had symptoms in 2 days.... now, memory's kinda hazy about this (and it was for a while) but at some point in this I felt like I needed to cry... not in the emotional sense mind you, just that physical ick feeling you get when you're trying to cry... and that bugged me, I hadn't cried in years (still haven't) but anyways. moving on with the story... the next day I go to class, and its okay, sorta.... I think I had math that day... had to have been, I didn't practice...
anyways, so math starts, and I'm doing okay, but about 5-10 minutes into class (when numbers start getting put up on the board) I get this stabbing pounding, crushing pain in my head behind my eyes, I could feel the light running along my nerves to the back of my skull (sound familiar Lady Moreta?) so by the end of class, I was holding my hand over my eyes and just barely looking at the board trying to copy down notes... so anyways, we go to the doctor and they have me take the concussion test again and my scores were....... abysmal, whereas my baseline (taken during preseason) was higher than average. so it was bad, between that and them talking with me and me describing how I felt, I got that oh so lovely phrase "one of the worst I've ever seen"

so, time passes,
I make little to no progress, I'm irritible, I'm moody, I'm in pain, etc etc.....and most of the football season passes me by... with me simply showing up at practice and occaisionally helping with water. (yes, I realize there was no point in me going to practice... but you know.. lawful, I'm a real stickler for obligations and commitments and promises) so eventually, during one of my visits, I ask the doctors, flat out "am I going to play again this season?" and they said no....
I was crushed..... I missed practice that day

now, a few days before this happened (if my recollection of the order of events is right) I told my coach I probably wasn't going to play again this season. and he had the team pray over me.) so next day when I'm told I can't play this season, we go straight from the MD dr's office to our 'naturalist' doctor*. this is the guy who got me off my meds years ago (thats a story for another day) he examined me, took a look at me, found out that I had a compressed spinal cord (something the other drs didn't even test for) and told me that not only could he fix it, but that I'd be on the field playing in 2 weeks.....
so 2 weeks later after roughly daily visits with Dr. Song.... I'm feeling great (if really outa shape)

but we go back to the MD dr.s office (I needed them to clear me for game play) and took the concussion test again....
told me I had some of the fastest reflexes they'd ever seen on a test, deemed me fit to play and that my recovery was 'phenomenal'

I went on to play in 3-4 games before the season ended, and now I'm trying to make the college team.

granted, if I ever have another head injury, I'm done with the sport (I'm still slightly sensitive to light and sound) but... I have to know if I'm good enough to play on the next level...

so long story short, God is awesome, there really is power in prayer, and thats the story of how I had a really, really, really bad concussion.


*who I still refer to as 'the miracle man' and/or 'mister fix it'
tl;dr - (american) football practice
it got better.....

[Lady Moreta]

uhm.... I believe either I severely mistyped something, or you misread something
only a few hours passed between me writing before "I drank" and the rest of it (6 to 8 if I recall the time stamps correctly)

I misread :smallsmile: I thought there'd been an entire day between writings, probably because that's how I write. Either way, you can't tell there was a break.


I get this stabbing pounding, crushing pain in my head behind my eyes, I could feel the light running along my nerves to the back of my skull (sound familiar Lady Moreta?)

Alas, yes...


so long story short, God is awesome, there really is power in prayer, and thats the story of how I had a really, really, really bad concussion.

Amen. :smallbiggrin:

I will never understand American football though - I'm surprised there aren't more injuries the way it looks when played...

First concussion I got was from slipping over in the snow, I didn't hit my head, but I jerked it hard enough to rattle my brains anyway. Fun fact - I had a test the next day, worth 50% of my final grade.

Last one was me not paying attention while climbing on rocks (in a long skirt no less), I was paying attention to where I was putting my feet, not what was over my head. Naturally I slammed my head into the jagged rock above me. Fun fact - heads bleed. A lot.

I have a feeling there was a third one inbetween those two, but - ironically enough, I can't remember.

EDIT: NEW SNIPPET
made big and bold so it's noticable


Defiance
or, Why Lyra Hates Paladins
“Garret!” I screamed. He spun and saw me hesitating. He drew a slender dirk from his boot.

“Go!” he yelled at me. “Lyra go!”

I hung in a crystalline moment of indecision. The wizard, whose name I’d forgotten, was hanging back – as wizards do. But Tredan and Perin were advancing, keeping space between them, but clearly planning some sort of pinning manoeuvre. Damn them. I couldn’t leave Garret to face them alone. No matter what they planned to do to me.

I drew my sword and took a deep breath.

Garret gave me the barest of sideways glances as I stepped up next to him.

“Bloody fool” he hissed between clenched teeth. I ignored him, he was probably right and the odds were good we’d both be bloody before long.

Tredan shot a look over his shoulder at the wizard behind him

“I don’t care what you do with the halfling,” he snapped. “But we need the girl alive.”

The wizard shrugged his shoulders, he didn’t care. I snarled, he didn’t care – as long as he got paid. Well, I didn’t get paid for this. And neither did Garret. Not in coins anyway. I would pay with my mind, my sanity. Garret? He would pay with his life.

Not if I had anything to say about it.

I hit the ground with a thud, my elbows slamming into the cobblestones. Garret rolled off me onto his feet, dirk still in hand.

“Pay attention!” He snarled at me, his voice low and angry. Over the shoulders of the two advancing on us I saw the wizard throw something angrily to the pavement. He had tried to cast a spell on me, a spell that had failed when Garret knocked me out of the way. He was right, if I didn’t pay attention we’d both pay for it.

I scrambled to my feet, twisting my hand around to get a better grip on my sword.

As Tredan and Perin moved in, I realised we had one huge advantage over them. Sure, they were in armour, and neither of us wore anything heavier than stiff leather jerkins. Their weapons were large and clumsy, ours were light and quick. They would move slowly, we were quick. More than all of that, Garret and I had spent a year working together, sometimes even living together. We knew each other – better than most married couples know each other! These two idiots were too busy vying to be in charge.

Tredan moved straight towards Garret, who grinned up at the tall human, and promptly threw a neat forward somersault between the paladin’s legs, slicing with the dirk as he went.

I grinned as Perin moved towards me, his heavy mace swinging ponderously from side to side. He swung at me, and I blocked him, straining to keep his heavier weapon away from me. Abruptly I stepped back and he stumbled forwards. Garret moved in, stabbing between the armour plates to a sensitive spot in the kidneys. Perin screamed and staggered to the left. I danced past him; he wouldn’t be a problem for a while.

“Why do you fight us, devil-child?” Tredan’s words chilled me, despite my best efforts to ignore him. He is ignorant and foolish and I find it hard to believe he has the favour of any god. But he has terrified me from my earliest childhood – and he knows it. He moved towards me, step by slow step. I stared up at him, trying to force frozen muscles to bring my sword in front of me.

<Don’t get caught Lyra! Don’t get caught!> Garret yelled the words in halfling, even as he raced past me towards the wizard, who looked suddenly alarmed. Don’t get caught Lyra. How many times had I heard Garret telling me this? Drumming it into my brain as he taught me how to steal.

My sword spun around, sparks flying and the sound of screeching metal assaulting my eardrums as I blocked Tredan. Barely.

A scream and a cry of delight. We both spared hasty glances to the right – Garret grinned at me, full of triumph, even as he pulled the dirk from the eye of the wizard. Whose name I still couldn’t remember. I grinned back.

Tredan swore, quite viciously too. I giggled, and he glared at me as he stalked away towards Garret, who was already running. I slashed at Tredan as he moved away from me and missed. Offering up a swear word or two of my own, I dropped into a crouch and tugged the dagger from its hiding place in my boot.

“LYRA!”

My head jerked up. And stayed there. I moved my hand. Nothing. I twitched my fingers. Nothing. I turned my head. Nothing.

Then I heard footsteps behind me. Perin. We had both forgotten about him. Whatever he’d done had me held fast. He stepped up alongside me, I could see him in my peripheral vision as he kicked my now-useless sword away, and plucked the dagger from my fingers.

Touch me. I thought fiercely. Go on, touch me! You’ll see that holding me in place doesn’t make me any less dangerous.

He moved in front of me, staring down self-satisfied. I hated him. He ignored me then, instead watching as Tredan stalked towards Garret. My little halfling friend grinned, ducking once again between the paladin’s legs slashing and stabbing as he went. I saw fear flash through his eyes as he came out of the tumble and saw me, frozen.
Perin swung his mace at Garret then, a massive overhand blow that would have taken his head off had it connected.

I screamed. Wordless, soundless, my jaw frozen.

I had seen what Garret, ducking to avoid Perin’s mace, had not. Moving with surprising speed and silence for a man in heavy armour, Tredan had closed with them and then, with a sudden clanking crash, dropped to his knees. His sword braced with the hilt against his shoulder.

Garret danced sideways and back away from the mace.

Garret danced sideways and back into the sword.

There is a sound metal makes when it contacts bone, when it hits and grinds and screeches. When it slams into the back of your ears, and howls through your eyes. It’s accompanied by the liquid gurgle of blood flowing. When it splatters over your feet. When you can taste it as bile in the back of your throat.

It was then I discovered that a spell that prevents you from moving doesn’t stop you from crying. Tears ran down my face and into my mouth, threatened to choke me, I couldn’t swallow them.

There is a sound the mind makes when it pulls free from a spell. When pain splinters your mind in two. When you can feel a force pulling, tugging, forcing. It’s accompanied by a scream of rage and pain. When vision contracts to a single focus. When sound and sight and death and fury all become one.

I screamed as I wrenched free of Perin’s spell. And then I was moving. He had barely enough time to turn to face me before I was on him. I wasn’t interested in him though.

I touched him.

In the past, I have been wary about using my curse. Garret calls it a g- This time I was not so wary. I pulsed every ounce of power I could find through my hand, slapping scraped knuckles.

I felt the familiar ache in my mind, in my whole body. The pulling, desperate wrongness seeking to embrace me with oblivion’s dark arms. I ignored it. Garret…

I heard Perin retch behind me. Good. It worked. That was all the thought I had time for. Tredan was ahead of me. Tredan who had killed my friend. My only friend. The man who found me in the gutter, clouding minds day after day just to stay alive. Permanent headaches, my wrongness my only companion. Cursing my mind day-by-day, I had been on the verge of cursing my body as well. And now he was gone.

I would tear him with my bare hands, this murderer. This stealer of the only family I had left. My fingers became hooks, I saw them sharp as knifes – as the dirk Garret carried. He was standing now, gaping at me in shock. Good. Let him see me. Let him face his death.

I sprang at him. Teeth bared and fingers bent. I would not rest.

My head rang on the cobblestones.

I… I wha?

I tried to lift my head. Something pricked my throat. A sword point. Tredan’s sword point. He had… he had. I felt despair rise up to swallow me whole. The shield. Tredan had grabbed his shield and knocked me out of midair. I had landed on the cobblestones. This is why my head aches and I can’t breath. No wind.

I stared up at him, at the shining point of his sword. The sound of Perin retching gave me no pleasure, but a bleak and hopeless satisfaction poured out of me. It must have shown in my face, for Tredan knelt and put his face close to mine.

“I don’t know what you did to him, witch. But I will see you pay.”

I ignored him. My hand was on something soft. Something I had just realised was Garret’s leg. Don’t get caught Lyra. Don’t get caught. His first and last lesson and I had failed it miserably. Tears filled my eyes and spilled over, pouring down my cheeks. It felt like a river.

“Huh. I didn’t know witches cried.” Perin. Still retching, still throwing up, he had crawled over. Tredan pulled back from me and shot him a look.

“Are you all right?” He asked. Oh, concern, how touching.

“I will be,” Perin choked, gagged and threw up again.

My head was swimming, all the wrongness within me, oblivion’s dark fingers, and the cobblestones hard hitters swarmed over me, pulling me down.

Still, I smiled.

I smirked.

I was wrong. Garret’s last lesson to me wasn’t don’t get caught. It was defiance.

Fury in his face, Tredan lost control. His armoured fist swept down and slammed hard into the side of my head.

[darkpuppy]

I tend to sit down and crank out a whole snippet at a time.... what takes so long between each post is waiting for insipration to strike or for the idea to congeal in my mind in a manner that I am satisfied with....
:smalltongue:

Yeah, I do that too, hence my long time between posts. I'm working on some right now, but I'm also working on 50 squillion other things... like toning down my hyperbole. :smallwink:


well, if you must know.
spoilered for rambling lengthly story/explanation [rambling, yet awesomesauce true tale]

Well, I didn't have anything nearly as bad as yourself, m'friend (I did almost drown, but that was just one of those things, and in defence of a friend, to boot) , but I will quite happily share the story of how I broke my own nose (the first time), because it tends to make people laugh, and will hopefully cheer everyone up (speaking of which, daaaaamn, that was a bad end for Garret, Lady Moreta! I really felt Lyra's pain there!)


How Darkpuppy Broke His Own Nose (The First Time)
A True Life Tale, also known as "Pride Comes Before A Gush"
This was back in my comprehensive school days (I suppose americans would call it most of High School), and life was not exactly great. I was the outcast of the class, but in gymnastics, I could forget all that for the most part, and just have a good time. If it weren't for this, I wouldn't be so nervous about doing further gymnastics, but hey, life goes on, and it's still a funny story, in its way...

My class were doing gymnastics, with our gym teacher Dave Manley (who, I later discovered, played for the Scarlets (Llanelli rugby league team)), and the setup was, as far as I was concerned, pretty simple. Trampet, small horse lengthways, trampet, large horse sideways, crash mat. All we had to do was jump, vault, jump, stand, summy, and land. Simple as. Except, of course, even something that simple can go horribly wrong...

...I could see, as I leapt, that I'd judged the angle wrong, and was going to hit the trampet too hard. But, of course, momentum is a bit of a bitch, so I had to do the best I could. And the best I could was still pretty good. I vaulted, almost tearing me bloody arms off in the process, and, despite a misjump, misvault, and another misjump, I was on the large horse...

...On... the edge of the large horse. The rounded edge. So I had a simple choice: Fall on my arse, which would hurt a little, but would also get me noticed... again, in a class full of bullies. Or I could jump. And, by damn, I summied!

Now this, ladies and gents, is where the story diverges. You see, I know damn well I blacked out as I somersaulted, but the class say I hit my face as I landed. Regardless, I woke up, face down on the crash-mat, with the next guy yelling for me to get up. Of course, I was still a little woozy, and did just that. Nobody had noticed, nobody except Mr. Manley was even vaguely concerned. School's like that. Anyways, I realised what had happened.

Realised I was alive and well, after all that.

Laughed at the ridiculousness of it.

Sniff.

WHOOSH!

I didn't even blink, just reached for my nostrils, pinched hard, and said something along the lines of "Oh, great, somebody get me some tissue paper, will ya?" After all, I used to have lots of nosebleeds, so this was nothing new to me. I sat down (the tissue, quickly found, was bright scarlet quite quickly, and another was found, me f-ing and blinding, not from pain, but in frustration at how I needed a new tissue so quickly. Again, a tissue was brought, and both my gym teachers (the other, Mr. Jones, was a real trooper) were looking at me with some concern. Mr. Manley touches around my nose, asks me the usual things ("how many fingers?" "Three", all that jazz), and then, out of the blue, says "We'd better get him to the hospital, his nose is broken."

My reaction? "Oh, okay!" Didn't hurt, didn't mess me up any. And there, m'friends, is the amusing tale of how I broke my own nose, and, apart from a more cautious attitude toward gymnastic stunts, no real damage. xD

EDIT: Weird thing about that story... I know, damn well, that my body still remembers, and I could do that whole routine with no problem, but I also know that every time I visualise anything as dangerous as that, I get butterflies and second thoughts unless there's a friend nearby to make sure.

Well, after that, I think we need another snippet! so, for the first time, a snippet of the best characters I've ever seen in a roleplaying game in my area... The Axenshield brothers!


The Axenshield Brothers: A Remembrance (As Told To Volothamp Geddarn)
Or "Ne'er Were There Two So Grand... Or So Stupid."
What, the Axenshield twins? Tymora, I remember that pair. We split up after a while, when they finally worked out where their home was, but, by Elminster's beard, those two were interesting to be around!

We first met them after our foray into the Underdark. Bad times, we lost two down there, and they never received a decent burial... but imagine our surprise when, instead of coming out where we thought we should, we end up in the middle of the Anauroch, blazing sun beating down on us, and two dwarves in spiked plate and helms, arguing over a map! It was... surreal...

...So yeah, the conversation, when you got down to it, was bewildering. Here were these two dwarves, in the middle of Faerun's hottest desert, arguing in full plate, steel plate, about this map. "I told ye we shoulda turned left at Waterdeep!" "Yeah? Well which one o' us decided it would be a good idea to jump into that portal?" "Hey, at least I dinnae buy a map that neither of us can read!"

That gives you a damn good idea of what they were like. In battle they were terrifying, kept yelling about a guy called "Pwent", and how they were carrying on his legacy... looked like they had the shaking fever when they grapped someone, but it was effective... sliced their enemies to ribbons with their spikes, or impaled them on their horned helms when they charged... Of course, when they missed, they would embed themselves in doors, or bend their spikes... oh, Beshaba's bosom, when they bent their spikes! They'd be inconsolable until they were all straightened out, treated their armour better than they did!

But the one thing that stuck in my mind? The sphere. That was one mean trap, and these guys... well, lemme start from the beginning. There was this trap, a sphere with two rock doors on either side. You stepped out the one, and you would fall. But you wouldn't stop falling. You'd bounce off wherever you hit, but without losing speed. We swear, when Hammer Axenshield did it, he was starting to burn up, he was moving so fast. But he made it, and we saw what happened next.

Our elven ranger, she couldn't look. He was headed straight for the opposite door, a stone door, about 3 foot thick, at a speed you wouldn't believe... and... he just tucked himself into a ball as he hit... went straight through it, and...

...I need a drink for this part. Zzar, something strong like that. You'd need one too, if you found what we found when we got across safely. Flail, of course, went the same way Hammer did. He knew he was as tough as his brother, after all.

So Hammer and Flail Axenshield were there, standing on the other side of this door. About 50 feet down the corridor from this door, to be precise. Hammer was a little woozy, but that didn't stop him calling his brother a coward for not having "so much fun!" first. That's seriously what they said... and, inbetween the shattered door, and the two Axenshield brothers? Perhaps 8 or 9 kuo-toa. They'd been ripped to shreds, and, judging by the gore on Hammer's bent spikes, we'd guessed what happened. We also knew he was a bit concussed, because he hadn't noticed the bent spikes yet. Or his broken helmet horns. Gods, he was upset about that helmet!

He'd gone through them. Literally... this spiky dwarven ball had... gone through them, at that amazing speed... he'd skidded on the floor another 10 or 12 feet, and then got up. You see now why I drink so much now? Those two... they were honourable, great warriors... and certifiably insane.

Another drink? I would love one. Only make it a stronger one. This zzar isn't helping me forget that story I just told you...

True fact: After Hammer went through, he had 5 HP from unconsciousness left. And Flail had 7. After 24d6 and 19d6 respectively. They were tough. Level 7, I believe...

[Lady Moreta]

(speaking of which, daaaaamn, that was a bad end for Garret, Lady Moreta! I really felt Lyra's pain there!)

I'm sorry! He's not actually dead...



How Darkpuppy Broke His Own Nose (The First Time)
A True Life Tale, also known as "Pride Comes Before A Gush"

Ouch. You poor thing :smalleek:


*snip*

Awesome. Awesome awesome awesome.

Can you tell I liked this? :smalltongue:

I loved the personality of the storyteller, you really got across his awe and sense of 'just damn' really well. The brothers were brilliant, funny and well written. I have a beautiful mental image of two dwarves yelling and screaming in a desert, and then crying over busted armour.

I think it was one of the most realistic snippets in the thread. You just created the entire world so well. It felt like a real place.

Only one thing... I'm not sure if 'zzar' was an actual name of a drink or if you made it up. But the first time you mentioned it, it wasn't clear if that's what you meant, or if it was just meant to be some sort of exasperated exhalation "oh zzar..." Made sense the second time, but just thought I'd mention it. :smallsmile:

[big teej]

on topic:
excellent work everybody, I can always count on reading this thread to be a enjoyable experience :smallsmile:


off topic:
so apparently my computer hates me, as it refuses to connect to the internet. :smallannoyed: "but teej" one wonders "how are you typing this if your computer isn't cooperating?" simple, I am in the lobby of my dorm hall using an obsolete piece of cheap junk to post, in an attempt to check my email and my social networking site of choice. only to discover that said piece of junk refuses to do as I say :smallmad:

I'm hoping that the problem has sorted itself out by tomorrow, if not, I get to go bug the techies in administration.

it is unlikely that I will be posting any more snippets until this is resolved, so I am afraid I must announce a (hopefully very very very brief) hiatus from posting snippets. hopefully I'll manage to work up the mentality to write some out in this absence....

the fat man is not happy:smallfurious::smallfurious:

/rant.

[Machuchang]

*BIG TEEJ IS A BADASS*
tl;dr - (american) football practice
it got better.....

That, my friend, is pretty damn impressive. Glad to hear everything turned out all right for you for the most part, and excellent story. Thanks for sharing!




Defiance
or, Why Lyra Hates Paladins


Well, I guess I finally got my answers. They made me really sad though...:smallfrown:

But really, excellent job. The narrative voice was very well done, and Lyra's personality was prominent, as it should be. I loved how it hinted at past events throughout, and I was very curious about how that whole confrontation got started, and am even more curious as to the exact nature of Lyra's condition. I'm really looking forward to more!




How Darkpuppy Broke His Own Nose (The First Time)
A True Life Tale, also known as "Pride Comes Before A Gush"


Wow...:smalleek:

That's pretty crazy. In comparison to you and teej, my sports-related injuries are nothing! While I'm sorry that that happened to you, it was really an awesome story.:smallbiggrin:




The Axenshield Brothers: A Remembrance (As Told To Volothamp Geddarn)
Or "Ne'er Were There Two So Grand... Or So Stupid."


Now this is just epic. I love the narrator's tone, gruff, witty, and humorous, though that last one may not have been intended. The story of the Axenshield brothers is really just fantastic as well. I especially loved the dwarf-cannonball bit! All-in-all, the world really just came alive in this snippet, and I have to say that I'm really impressed. Good job!

But now I want to know who the narrator is and who the guy he's telling the story to is...


And since I just love to participate so much, I have another snippet. With a NEW CHARACTER! You guys were probably getting sick of Varen and Natalia anyway.:smalltongue:

Anyway, I now proudly introduce to you Abigail Weathers, Witch Apprentice!


The First Time is Always the Hardest
(or Civilization's Scarier Than You Think!)

I definitely wasn’t ready.

In fact, I was deathly afraid. But Gramma needed those herbs badly, and I couldn’t let her down! Besides, she said there was nothing to worry about, so I would be fine, right? Right! Gramma knew everything! I could handle this!

Feeling much more confident, I threw on my cloak. I couldn’t help but admire it. It was just so black and silky and pretty after all. Gramma said it was a family heirloom, so it was very important that I wore it whenever I was out of the house.

…Wait, she said a lot of stuff was important, huh? I had to make sure I had everything!

Cloak? Check. Boots? Check. Spell component pouch? Check. Bag for the herbs? Check. Money, just in case? Check. Yep! I had everything!

But just as I opened the door, I heard a shrill voice from behind me.

“Abigail Weathers!”

Uh-oh…

“Surely ye weren’t goin’ t’ leave lookin’ like that?”

“S-sorry Gramma…” I mumbled. What did I do wrong this time? I had the cloak!

“Ah bet ye doon’t even know what yer missin’, do ye lass?” her tone was very critical. And I had tried so hard this time too…

“Yer hat, girl!” Gramma held it up and shook it in front of me. “Really naow, how d’ye expect anyone t’ see ye as a witch if ye doon’t wear yer ‘at? Yer eighteen years old f’r gods’ sakes! They need t’ see ye as a witch so that they’ll respect ye oot there, y’noo?”

“R-right, Gramma!” I took the hat and twirled it nervously in my hands. It had a wide brim and long, tall point, and just like the cape, it was black and silky. I couldn’t believe I was about to forget it! It was even more important than the cape! Whenever people saw a hat like that, they immediately thought ‘witch’, after all. How could I have been so stupid? I even liked it and everything!

“There,” Gramma smiled approvingly as I put it on. “Naow ye’re ready t’ go oot inta the world!” She ushered me out the door. “Go on naow! Doon’t take too long! Ah’m not gettin’ any younger!”

I waved back to let her know I would be fine, and satisfied, Gramma closed the door.


For the first time in my life, I would be going into town on my own.



And with that, I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you guys for a while. School seems intent on keeping me busy, and college application due dates keep getting closer and closer.:smalleek: And I'm not very far as of yet...

[Lady Moreta]

Well, I guess I finally got my answers. They made me really sad though...:smallfrown:

But really, excellent job. The narrative voice was very well done, and Lyra's personality was prominent, as it should be. I loved how it hinted at past events throughout, and I was very curious about how that whole confrontation got started, and am even more curious as to the exact nature of Lyra's condition. I'm really looking forward to more!

I'm sorry! He's still not dead you know :-P

I don't even know how that confrontation started, so your guess is as good as mine!

Wait. Yes I do. I just haven't written it yet.


And since I just love to participate so much, I have another snippet. With a NEW CHARACTER! You guys were probably getting sick of Varen and Natalia anyway.:smalltongue:

Never! But new characters are always fun :smallsmile:


Anyway, I now proudly introduce to you Abigail Weathers, Witch Apprentice!

Oh, I like her :smallbiggrin: She's adorable, and Gramma is terrifying. She strikes me as a real innocent, or perhaps just a little bit naive. But I love the way you take the stereotypical witch and make them so very real. Loved it :smallbiggrin:


And with that, I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave you guys for a while. School seems intent on keeping me busy, and college application due dates keep getting closer and closer.:smalleek: And I'm not very far as of yet...

Awwwww :smallfrown: First Teej, and now you... Darkpuppy and I are gonna be left all alone... We'll miss you.

On the other hand, with less people posting, I might be able to get the catalogue done...

[big teej]

Awwwww :smallfrown: First Teej, and now you... Darkpuppy and I are gonna be left all alone... We'll miss you.

On the other hand, with less people posting, I might be able to get the catalogue done...

you called? :smallamused:
my computer stopped hating me.

no down time for you! :smallbiggrin:

in fact, after I finish registering for classes, I believe I have another snippet... an idea has begun to congeal in my mind.

also, off topic
Lady Moreta, how do you link to a post like that in your sig? I wanna save that 'teej is a badass' comment... it makes me happeh:smallredface:

[Lady Moreta]

you called? :smallamused:
my computer stopped hating me.

no down time for you! :smallbiggrin:

Yay! What? it's not like I actually wanted any down time.

I have the catalogue up to date (did it last night) I just have to write blurbs and format it for the Tav er Playground... and possibly find a nice friendly neighbourhood mod to edit the post for me, since I have a feeling it might not let me any more.


in fact, after I finish registering for classes, I believe I have another snippet... an idea has begun to congeal in my mind.

I don't know why... but there is just something so utterly - gross, about the concept of something congealing in one's mind. It's just bringing to mind all sorts of nastiness I'm picturing congealed food, only in one's head...

Helpful help:
What you need to type is: *your text here* (just take out the italics, that was just to fool the system into not turning it into a link.)
So it'll look like this: Teej is a badass (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showpost.php?p=9733403&postcount=270)
Also off topic, can I steal the 'the Lady Moreta' comment. I likes having a reputation :smallbiggrin:

[big teej]

Yay! What? it's not like I actually wanted any down time.

I have the catalogue up to date (did it last night) I just have to write blurbs and format it for the Tav er Playground... and possibly find a nice friendly neighbourhood mod to edit the post for me, since I have a feeling it might not let me any more.



good to know :smallamused:

whats tav? :smallconfused:

and I'm sure a mod will be more than willing to help organize that (hopeful hopeful hopeful)




I don't know why... but there is just something so utterly - gross, about the concept of something congealing in one's mind. It's just bringing to mind all sorts of nastiness I'm picturing congealed food, only in one's head...


heh oops /lie :smallbiggrin:

when I use the term 'congeal' in that sense, I mean in the sense that details have started to stick, and the idea is taking a definite useable shape/form.

for instance, all thats really pending on the Gideon snippet is time to sit down and right it.



Helpful help:
What you need to type is: *your text here* (just take out the italics, that was just to fool the system into not turning it into a link.)
So it'll look like this: Teej is a badass (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showpost.php?p=9733403&postcount=270)
Also off topic, can I steal the 'the Lady Moreta' comment. I likes having a reputation :smallbiggrin:

yay!
and of course you may.

[big teej]

I'm kinda frusterated here....

I'm working on Gideon's snippet and I've written a good 2 pages and going strong on the 3rd.... and I'm just not happy with it... the general idea behind it has stuck and I'm happy with that, but I am not pleased with the execution...

has anyone else had an experience like this? if so, what did you do?

I'm torn between finishing it out and posting it anyways then rewriting it... or just tearing it apart and trying all over again
or both
or
or
:smallfurious:
I don't even know.

help/ideas/suggestions?
does somebody wanna see what I have so far so I can get some feedback? (I'll PM cause I only wanna put up a finished work)

grr......

[Lady Moreta]

whats tav? :smallconfused:

The Mallorean Tavern - my other forum. I keep getting the two muddled up in my head.


when I use the term 'congeal' in that sense, I mean in the sense that details have started to stick, and the idea is taking a definite useable shape/form.

I know :smallsmile: it's just a very evocative word and my brain is weird.


I'm kinda frusterated here....

I'm working on Gideon's snippet and I've written a good 2 pages and going strong on the 3rd.... and I'm just not happy with it... the general idea behind it has stuck and I'm happy with that, but I am not pleased with the execution...

has anyone else had an experience like this? if so, what did you do?

Constantly. Chuck it and start again.

That's the short answer. The long answer is a bit more complicated, and it depends on the nature of the problem - and is also spoilered for length.
Is it that the story is trying to tug you off in a different direction to the one you intended? Or is it just that it doesn’t seem to say what you want it to, or it feels clumsy or just badly written?

If the former – let the story go where it will. Don’t try and fight it. I have this problem every single time I write anything that has Lyra in it. She is a stubborn little rogue and she consistently refuses to go where I want her to. When I write I always have a rough idea in my head of where the snippet is meant to go, and generally of how I want it to get there. With Lyra, I can’t do that. She may be a figment of my imagination, but that girl has a mind of my own. I don’t think any one of the snippets with her in them have ended the way I meant them to. And most of them have gotten to the ending not in the way I intended. With Lyra, I have learned to just let her go where she wants.

If it’s the latter – then yeah, chuck it and start again. Go over it and see if you can pinpoint where you stopped being happy with it. You might be able to keep the start and still use it. I wouldn’t through it out or delete it outright though. Open a fresh file and start again, but keep the original, you may find that you need it, or that you like it after all and want it back. I make it a policy to never delete anything if I think I may want it again later. (Of course, this is why I have so much crap saved on my hard drive.)

If you like the idea, think about how you plan to get there. How is it meant to end? How can you get it to that place? That’s what I usually do when something just won’t write the way it’s meant to.


help/ideas/suggestions?
does somebody wanna see what I have so far so I can get some feedback? (I'll PM cause I only wanna put up a finished work)

grr......

Send it to me if you want :smallsmile: I don't mind taking a look.

[big teej]

.
Is it that the story is trying to tug you off in a different direction to the one you intended? Or is it just that it doesn’t seem to say what you want it to, or it feels clumsy or just badly written?

If the former – let the story go where it will. Don’t try and fight it. I have this problem every single time I write anything that has Lyra in it. She is a stubborn little rogue and she consistently refuses to go where I want her to. When I write I always have a rough idea in my head of where the snippet is meant to go, and generally of how I want it to get there. With Lyra, I can’t do that. She may be a figment of my imagination, but that girl has a mind of my own. I don’t think any one of the snippets with her in them have ended the way I meant them to. And most of them have gotten to the ending not in the way I intended. With Lyra, I have learned to just let her go where she wants.

If it’s the latter – then yeah, chuck it and start again. Go over it and see if you can pinpoint where you stopped being happy with it. You might be able to keep the start and still use it. I wouldn’t through it out or delete it outright though. Open a fresh file and start again, but keep the original, you may find that you need it, or that you like it after all and want it back. I make it a policy to never delete anything if I think I may want it again later. (Of course, this is why I have so much crap saved on my hard drive.)

If you like the idea, think about how you plan to get there. How is it meant to end? How can you get it to that place? That’s what I usually do when something just won’t write the way it’s meant to.



Send it to me if you want :smallsmile: I don't mind taking a look.

long story short, its a combination of............most/all of these things

there was ALOT more to this response, but I figured since I'm about to send you what I have in a PM, I'll just copy paste over what I had typed here.:smalltongue:

I really appreciate you willing to help me with this :elan:

[Lady Moreta]

I finally replied to you!

Also, I have snippets waiting in the wings for me to write :smallsmile:

[darkpuppy]

I also have an idea waiting to grow into a snippet (using some characters from my OU final assignment, HM 1st Clockwork Irregulars... well, a pair of them, anyways), but it has to wait until I've slept. I am stupidly tired. :(

[big teej]

at the risk of not having all of THE Lady Moreta's suggested revisions in place, I present to the playground my latest snippet, the first to actually take more than a single sit down to complete.


I present to the assembled pixies-titans of the playground -

Gideon's Tale (or, Why My Knight Doesn't Have a Horse)

enjoy.


Gideon’s tale…


As a newly spurred knight, I had been issued with armour and weapon, along with a mount and lance. I had decided to start my quest for glory by heading towards the city of Andor, I found it likely that within its walls I could find compatriots with which to adventure and earn fame for myself. Even if lacking in potential comrades-in-arms, surely someone within a city of this size would have use for a knight.

I was travelling through the mountains near Andor, when I rounded a bend in the path and saw before me a band of ruffians dressed in leathers and looking down the path towards me expectantly.

“Oh goodie” I mumbled to myself, disdainful of the idea of sullying my weapons with the blood of these wretched rapscallion – for surely these were mountain men, intent upon lightening passerbys purses.

I prod my horse forward, taking heart in looking at things in a new light “ ah well, at least this will be a good workout eh Star?” My horse snorted beneath me and tossed his head as if in contempt. I chuckled to myself. The bandits, for surely this is what they are, had begun to pick themselves up from the dirt and ready themselves. One of them sticks out to my eyes, he wears a silver metal mask of a design I am not familiar with. He carries two hookswords as well as an oversized spear I am unfamiliar with. He appears to be the leader, or at least a man of import amongst these thieves, as he directs their movements with curt words and an aura of command.

A wretch steps forward as I bring Star up short several horselengths from the group. “good day sur, could ye perheps spare sum coin for a man down on ‘is luck?” I notice the slightly rusted and heavily notched axe upon his back, and the gold hoop in his ear. “I’m afraid not my good man, I’ve barely a pence to my name, and that must first go to my horse.” The man replies, “surely good sir, as a blessed knight, fortune rides with ye, and you can surely spare something for the likes of us.” I grow tired of this charade, many of the members of the group are anxiously fingering weapons. “I am afraid that all I have for you is either kind words, or a swift death. I ask that you please stand aside.” The bandit grins evilly, revealing crooked and broken teeth “now there’s no need for talk like that milord.. heh heh heh” he backs towards the group, keeping a wary eye on me (as well he should, insignificant peasant). As he reaches the main group he draws his axe and rolls his arm around to loosen it.

I scan the crowd, looking for any amongst them who are worthy of my steel. I find them wanting… I shall have to educate them on the folly of accosting a knight in this manner. I spread my arms out wide, shield strapped to one, lance held in the other. I raise my voice in the manner I was taught. My voice drops several octaves, into a tone of command, one that demands attention, regardless of its audience. a voice thata can be heard ringing over the chorus of battle, of steel on steel, of metal cruncing into bone and the sound of flesh being sliced to pieces…
“I am a humble worshipper of sigmar, a knight who rides in his name.” I announce in this voice. “I have no quarrel with thee, but if you do not stand aside, surely it shall mean your deaths.” I pause just for a moment.
I am known to the creatures of this world as Gideon, the rolling thunder of the mountain peaks. Knight of the Order of the Hammer-Commet. I give you one last chance to save your lives, or feel my wrath.” I chuckle inwardly, ‘may as well start making a name for myself’ I think to myself.
The fact my monicker as ‘rolling thunder’ came as much from my belly and my snoring just as much as the sound of Me charging down a foe is irrelevant….

My piece said, I clap down my visor and walk Star back in a circle, adding several more horse-lengths between myself and the mob. They seem angered by my words, angered, arrogant, and ready for a fight.
Good….
The mob begins to move forward, moving slowly but picking up speed, obviously intending to bowl over my mount and I through overwhelming numbers.
They’ve obviously never seen what happens when armoured cavalry charges foot troops – another lesson I must teach them.
I spur star into a trot; picking out my targets and planning a path through the group. I see the man with the silver mask hanging back from the crowd, holding his massive spear. He seems confidant – overly confidant.
“well I’ll fix that right now!”

I dig my spurs into Star’s flanks, driving him to a full length sprint. The sound of his hooves echo through the mountain air, like rolling thunder, a storm gathering on the horizon. I lower my lance and couch it beneath my arm. I begin to make the thousands of minute adjustments necessary to bring the tip of my lance through the chest of my target, and the man beyond him – and mayhap the man beyond that. My lance points directly at some poor sod in the front of the mob, driving towards him like a thunderbolt. Closer…..

Closer…

The bandits are but a few strides from me now….

Time slows down and seems to speed up all at once. I continue to adjust the aim of my lance, keeping it in line with the man’s chest. I see many of the bandits begin to draw back their arms, preparing to swing…

Hoofbeat

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the man with the mask attaching a length of chain to an apparatus on his upper arm…. Curious.. the other end seems attached to the blunt end of the spear…

Hoofbeat.

Impact!

In a riot of sound, screaming, and the crunch of flesh and bone, my charge connects with the mob of bandits. My lance punches through the chest of the man I aimed for, as well as the 3 men behind him – 4 men in one charge- I gloat. I let the lance fall from my hand as their blows rain down upon me. Axes, swords, spears, they all glance away from my armour and shield. I rear Star back, having him lash out into the press with his hooves. As he breaks bones beneath his mighty legs, I reach across my back and grab my battle axe (mounted combat against knaves such as these is not task for my hammer). I begin to reap, spurring Star onwards, driving him to lash out at the mob again and again whilst I scythe my axe back and forth through the bandits, felling at least a man with every blow.
After an eternity that lasted only seconds I break through the trailing end of the mob and slow to a cnater. Star is lathered in sweat and pants beneath me. My axe is covered in gore, and I keep an eye on the man in the mask as I turn to survey my handiwork.

There are few bandits left alive, a wide swathe of destruction marks my passage. The remaining bandits do not look very intent on approaching me through the lane of human slush I have created; Even if I were to turn my back.

Acknowledgeing my victory, I walk Star back amidst the human wreckage and pluck my lance from the dirt. I turn towards the leader, the man in the mask, and say to him “surely it is folly to continue this massacre. Allow me to pass and the rest of you may keep your lives.”

I hear a strange choking sound coming from behind the mask, which has a grate across the mouth. After a moment I realize this insolent peasent is LAUGHING!

“if you be so brave, sir knight” he rasps from behind the mask, “face me. Ride me down as you did my men.”
I am more than happy to oblige. I spur star back into a gallop, quickly covering the ground between me and the man in the mask. He does not panic, he merely picks up his oversized spear, hefts it over his shoulder and with a mighty heave and a grunt of effort hurls it at me…

The oversized spear crunches into Star’s chest - completely destroying his momentum and sending us both crashing to the ground. I land hard and bounce… twice. I struggle to my feet and turn to observe the tragedy that I know has occurred.

My horse, Star, lies upon the ground; drenching it with his life’s blood. The oversized spear sticks out of Star’s ruined chest. I turn to face the man in the mask, who is winding in the chain attached to the spear, drawing out from my mount’s chest, along with the majority of his innards.

I take stock of my own situation: bruised? Oh certainly. Anything broken? Only my heart. My weapons and gear? Anything not crushed by Star should be fine, my lance is ruined (I landed on it). The rest of my equipment is in passable shape for the task at hand, though my axe is somewhere near the cliff face.

I ignore the grief, that can come later. Death before dishonor. I speak to the man “ye killed my horse.” I state plainly. He winds in the rest of the chain and yanks the oversized spear from Sar. “ye killed my men” he says, mocking my speech.

The fool does not understand. I am a Knight. I. need. My. Horse.

I draw my hammer.

I stride towards him, fury threatening to overcome my self control.
YOU
KILLED
MY
HORSE!!!

I cover the remaining distance in three long strides, hammer raised to dash out his brains upon the earth. He blocks my swing with his spear, but I break several of his fingers as the hammer skids down the length.

I hook my weapon under his and pull, tearing it from his grasp as he fumbles around his pockets for something. He finds it before I can put him down. He laughs that metallic rasp again and throws it at the ground at my feet, it explodes into a blinding cloud of smoke, completely obscuring him…

When the smoke clears, he is gone….

The sun will be setting soon, I turn and admire the beautiful vista before me with ashes in my mouth. I see Andor on the horizon, and a small town much nearer to me, I should be able to make it there by nightfall….


I will find you, man in the mask, and I will kill you.

[Lady Moreta]

I present to the assembled pixies-titans of the playground -

I'm a bugbear :smalltongue: and you're a barbarian for that matter...

Anyway! You already know I like this :smallsmile:

I think the second half is much better than the first, mostly because it's funny. I love the "ye killed my horse" / "ye killed my men" exchange. And "The fool does not understand. I am a Knight. I. need. My. Horse." is also wonderful.

To answer the question you had about speech and paragraphs, I shall show you :smallsmile:

You had:


A wretch steps forward as I bring Star up short several horselengths from the group. “good day sur, could ye perheps spare sum coin for a man down on ‘is luck?” I notice the slightly rusted and heavily notched axe upon his back, and the gold hoop in his ear. “I’m afraid not my good man, I’ve barely a pence to my name, and that must first go to my horse.” The man replies, “surely good sir, as a blessed knight, fortune rides with ye, and you can surely spare something for the likes of us.” I grow tired of this charade, many of the members of the group are anxiously fingering weapons. “I am afraid that all I have for you is either kind words, or a swift death. I ask that you please stand aside.” The bandit grins evilly, revealing crooked and broken teeth “now there’s no need for talk like that milord.. heh heh heh” he backs towards the group, keeping a wary eye on me (as well he should, insignificant peasant). As he reaches the main group he draws his axe and rolls his arm around to loosen it.

It should look like this:
A wretch steps forward as I bring Star up short several horselengths from the group.

“Good day sur, could ye perheps spare sum coin for a man down on ‘is luck?” I notice the slightly rusted and heavily notched axe upon his back, and the gold hoop in his ear.

“I’m afraid not my good man, I’ve barely a pence to my name, and that must first go to my horse.” The man replies,

“Surely good sir, as a blessed knight, fortune rides with ye, and you can surely spare something for the likes of us.” I grow tired of this charade, many of the members of the group are anxiously fingering weapons.

“I am afraid that all I have for you is either kind words, or a swift death. I ask that you please stand aside.” The bandit grins evilly, revealing crooked and broken teeth

“Now there’s no need for talk like that milord.. heh heh heh” he backs towards the group, keeping a wary eye on me (as well he should, insignificant peasant). As he reaches the main group he draws his axe and rolls his arm around to loosen it.

[lord pringle]

Hey, Moreta should I write more about Tanner or start Eric the Red

[Lady Moreta]

Hey, it's you! :smallsmile:

Well, I would say you should write about who you want to write about, but since you asked, I'd love to see more of Tanner. He was cute and funny :smallsmile:

[big teej]

I'm a bugbear :smalltongue: and you're a barbarian for that matter...


I meant pixie-titans as inclusive between the two, :smalltongue:




I think the second half is much better than the first, mostly because it's funny. I love the "ye killed my horse" / "ye killed my men" exchange. And "The fool does not understand. I am a Knight. I. need. My. Horse." is also wonderful.

To answer the question you had about speech and paragraphs, I shall show you :smallsmile:

-snip-

oooooooooooooh

that makes way more sense now :smallsmile:

you kept saying "new speech" and I was going "but nobody's giving a speech!" >.< -teej does not understand!!!-

but now I get it:smallbiggrin:

thankyou much.

[lord pringle]

Up soon will be tanner part 2: hiring montage.

[Lady Moreta]

I meant pixie-titans as inclusive between the two, :smalltongue:

Didn't realise pixies and titans were the two extremes. Haven't really paid that much attention to them :smalltongue:


oooooooooooooh

that makes way more sense now :smallsmile:

you kept saying "new speech" and I was going "but nobody's giving a speech!" >.< -teej does not understand!!!-

but now I get it:smallbiggrin:

thankyou much.

Yes, I'm sorry. I fail at explaining :smallannoyed::smallsigh:

I should have said that every new line of speech needs to be a separate paragraph. If one character starts to speak, then you go off into some description of how he's talking, and then he speaks some more - that's fine as one paragraph. As soon as a new person starts to talk, new line.

Sometimes I'll do a new line even if it's the same person talking. If whatever decriptive/non-speechy stuff ends up being more than two or three lines, before they go back to talking, I'll tend to put the new stuff as a new paragraph. Makes it easier to read.

[Marillion]

I return!

But not with a story about Raphael. It's turned out to be a bit harder to recount that story than I though.

So instead, I present some snippets for games that, sadly, never got off the ground. I wrote them well over a year ago and just stumbled upon them again. Enjoy!


Magaska, called Venomwind
or, Would You Kiss Your Father With That Mouth!?

Mag grunts as his punch lands in her gut. She tries to strike back, but her opponent is already out of reach. Out of reach, and out of sight. She is shoved from behind, and she very nearly falls over, but rolls at the last second and rights herself. Spinning around with a back kick, her foot grazes skin, and she feels a surge of pride before he grabs her leg, sets his heel behind her support, wraps his arm beneath her breasts, and unceremoniously dumps her on the ground. There were several sickening cracks despite the soft earth of the forest, all the wind left her body so quickly that she couldn't even make a noise, and she spent almost a minute arching her back and screaming silently before her lungs would work again, breathing in what felt like fire instead of air. She rolls over and slowly pushes herself off the ground, coughing and sputtering the whole way.

"Stay down, lass. I've broken five of your ribs, and cracked the rest. To fight with an injury such as that is admirable, but ultimately stupid. The battle is over."
She mutters something derogatory about his manhood, then finishes standing, keeping her arms in a low guard as it hurt too much to bring them up. "It's not over until I'm unconscious, you son of a troll."
The slight elf chuckled. "I see the fire that flows from the snake's fangs also flows from your tongue. If you desire to keep learning, I suppose I have no alternative than to teach." With that, he dashed forward, intent on knocking her out before she insisted that he hurt her too much.

She fought well, all things considered, but was in no shape to go toe to toe with Feras the Giant. He wound up behind her, applying pressure to her carotid arteries with his forearm. She struggled, then fell limp. When he let go, she slumped to the floor. Suddenly worried that he had hurt her too much after all, he bent over her. "Mag? Magaska, are you alright, can you hear me?" Her eyelids fluttered, and a light sigh escaped her lips. He exhaled in relief, and was unable to inhale again because she was digging her fingernails into his trachea. Blood welled up around the punctures, but she didn't let go. Wheezing between words, she said "Remember the first thing you taught me? Never let your guard down." He gurgled, and suddenly she was digging her nails into a very, very, very large serpent. She could no longer penetrate the muscle, and though she was still holding onto the neck, she could not hold it still as it thrashed from side to side, and she soon found herself wrapped in it's powerful coils. It gave the slightest of squeezes, and she shrieked as the rest of her ribs shattered under the immense pressure.

Feras the Giant shifted back into his 4'8, 110 pound self, collapsed next to Mag, and began rubbing the holes in his throat. Each time his fingers passed over them, they became smaller and smaller, until all that was left was 5 crescent shaped scars, raw and red. Chest heaving with the effort of breathing, he growled "Now are you finished?" She merely nodded, unable to speak. "You've learned well. Had it been anyone but me, you very well may have taken your first life today. But you must remember: No one else you fight will care whether you live or die. In fact, they'll probably be trying to kill you. That is rather the point of a fight." She nodded again. "Good." With great effort, he rolled himself over to face her. "More importantly, it doesn't matter that you almost killed me. Almost gets you almost. You either win, or you do not." She nodded once more, nearly crying from the pain. "Good. Give me a minute, and I will tend to your injuries." After catching his breath, he gently turned her over and repaired her ribs the way he did his neck. She then limped to her bedroll, saying nothing else, and fell asleep.

The next morning, she is shaken awake. "Come. There is something I must show you." Still sullen from last night, she nevertheless obeys Feras for fear of incurring his ire. He led her miles into the woods away from the camp, and though she was curious, she asked no questions and he volunteered no information. Without warning, he stopped. "What do you see?"
"I...I see the forest. I see the forest that has been our home for many seasons now."
"Is it beautiful?"
"Yes, of course it is. Have you gone soft in the head to ask me such a thing?"
"Turn around."
She turns around, and gasps. The forest they had passed through was no longer there. In its place was another forest, brighter, greener, softer, and more beautiful than anything she had ever seen.
"This is the Feywild, the most beautiful, magical forest in all the planes. Here, all live in peace and harmony, with nature and with themselves. I hope one day you can stay here."
"Wh...What? Why can't I now?"
"Didn't you hear me? I said 'all live in peace and harmony.' Even if you could hold your tongue, which you couldn't, very soon the boys would all be fighting over you."
"Then why show me this, you stupid ox!?"
"Is that any way to talk to the man who found you as an infant, abandoned to the elements? My homeforest is here. Last night, I received a message from an owl who owed me a favor, sent by my brother. There is...trouble, of an extremely personal nature, and I must leave you, years before I'd intended."
"You were going to leave me? You're LEAVING me!?"
"Yes. I am. But I did not bring you here just to make you jealous."
With that, there was a rustling in the grass, and a beautiful black and green viper reared its head, staring intently into Mag's eyes.
"I do not know if you chose the snake, or if the snake chose you. But you take after your old man more than you think, and my friend here has agreed to initiate you."
The snake approached, slithering up her body until it was gazing into her eyes once more. Minutes that seemed like hours passed as she felt it probe her soul. Without warning, it sank its fangs into her neck. As liquid fire surged through her veins, she found she could not move at all, not even to breathe, but she wasn't in nearly as much pain as she thought dying would bring.
"You are not dying, Mag. When the venom wears off and you wake up, you will find yourself imbued with magical powers such as I have. Take a week or so to get used to them. Learn your limits. And then, I have one last favor to ask of you. The owl also brought very troubling news out of Blackweald. I need you to go to Blackweald, and sign up with the local mercenaries guild. Mention my name, and you'll have no issue with them. Captain Helmspur is a good man, more than competent from what I hear, but this is simply beyond him, and he will turn to the mercenaries eventually. Good luck, Magaska Venomwind." Though unable to speak, she thought very hard at him "Who are you to give me a family name? I will rip you to pieces and throw your carcass to the wolves." This seemed to have some effect, because he sighed and laid a kiss on her forehead. "What am I unleashing on the world?" he wondered aloud. And everything went black.


The Next Fix
or, Celestial Voice, Infernal Soul

Lines of brilliant red and luxurious purple followed his movements. Some days, he could entertain himself for hours simply by waving his hand in front of his face. But not today. Today, he was running low. Today, he was on assignment.

Marillion Silverwind hummed a simple melody to himself, reshaping the contours of his face as he altered his pitch and tone. Soon, he looked nothing like his beautiful self. He was plain, utterly forgettable. Good. A man of Marillion Silverwind's status could not afford to be seen where he was going.

He left his den, stumbling down the street towards the poor district, pulling his cloak around him, relishing in the feeling of wool on his skin in contrast to the cold air. Gods, what a beautiful day! It was a good thing he'd remembered to put on his cloak before he left; otherwise, he'd have danced down the street naked, reveling in the cool winter crispness.

"Mari? Is that you?"

A surge of red hot anger flowed through him, threatening to consume him alive, and he slammed the halfling against the wall of the inn. When did he get here? No matter: He'd broken the rules.

"How many times have I told you, Daris? NO. DAMN. NAMES." The essence of hatred flowed through his teeth, seeming to color the air green.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry Ma...I'm sorry. Let's just be cool, ok? It was an accident."

Instantly a wave of remorse washed over Marillion, dousing his rage. He didn't mean to cause any problems. He just slipped up. Everyone slips up sometimes. "It's alright, friend. I am sorry, I...I just get frustrated sometimes."

"Don't worry about it, it's already forgotten." And indeed it was. Daris was one of the few genuinely nice people Marillion had met in his line of business. It would be his death someday, but right now, it was giving Marillion a steady supply of what he needed. "The target's in room 208. You don't need to know the specifics, but he's really been coming down on us, and it'd be most appreciated if you could make it go away. Here's a bottle of wine. Tell him the hotel sent you. It'll be simple, in and out. You know what to do."

"And when this is over?"

"You'll get your Mayella, no worries. Now get it on."

Marillion rolled his eyes, and began to sing again, this time a complex piece. He felt his bones rearranging inside his body as he sang. His legs lengthened, his hair turned raven, his hips widened, his chest swelled...very soon he wasn't a he at all.

Marillion dropped her cloak, revealing a tasteful yet teasing outfit. He felt his arm, reassuring him that it was still there under the sleeve, adjusted her cleavage, tossed his hair, and strolled into the hotel carrying a bottle of wine so cheap it was closer to vinegar.

Three knocks at the door.

"Hello?"

"Good evening, sir. I'm from the hotel's welcoming committee, here to thank you for choosing to stay at The Flea-Bitten Cat."

The door opened.

A middle aged man, fat, and slightly balding. It was obvious he knew what she'd really been sent to do, and he couldn't be happier that she'd arrived. Marillion flashed his winningest smile at the man. "May I come in?"

"Of course, miss..."

"Please! Miss was my mother. Call me Mina." She set the bottle of wine on the table, waiting for the target to close the door before she turned around.

"So, uh...How, uhh..How do you, you know...I mean, this is my first time. No, it's not my first time, but it's my first time, you know? I mean -" Marillion shushed him, toying with the idea of giving the man what he wanted before Mina took what she needed. But Liri's dark haired and fine featured visage surfaced in his mind...Disturbed at this unusual display of care, Marillion stepped back.

"Don't worry, sweetie. Just let it happen. Sit down over there." The target happily obeyed. "Shall I sing for you?" Though slightly confused, he nodded, and Marillion began to sing. There were no words, but there didn't need to be; the sheer sound of his voice provided all the meaning that was needed.

"Oh my, Mina. You're very talented." The man was fairly wriggling on the seat, eager to get on with it. But Marillion wouldn't hear of it. He simply smiled, and continued to sing, beginning to weave his magic into the words.

"You're very good, but...I have a headache."

Mina pretended not to hear him, continuing to sing, now walking seductively towards the man.

"Really, please Mina, my head...It..." He began to whine and moan, softly at first, growing louder as Mina walked closer. His face contorted in agony, his body writhing on the couch, and still Marillion sang. He began to scream, but couldn't hear himself over her angelic voice.

As Marillion sustained the last note, he flicked his wrist, extending the hidden dagger and slashing the man's throat in the same swift motion. A corresponding but much shallower cut appeared on Mina's neck, filling him with ecstasy without missing a beat. The last strains of Marillion's voice died as blood sprayed from his severed arteries, painting the ceiling in brilliant colors that only Marillion could see, until his heart finally stopped beating.

A minute later, Mina stepped out of the man's room. He'd used magic to clean herself up and remove any traces of her from the man's room. The body wouldn't be discovered until morning, by which time he'd be singing for the head of the local merchant's guild. In the extremely unlikely event that an alibi were even needed -after all, who'd suspect Marillion Silverwind, the loveliest voice this town had seen, of being a drug-addled murderer?- Liri would swear on Corellon's Bow that he'd passed the night in her passionate embrace.

But he would not spend this night with Liri.

He would spend this night in the arms of his mistress, his lady, his one true love...Mayella.


And 3 background snippets for the same character, in roughly chronological order. The first one is Leon as a young man, the next two occur after his retirement.


A Dilemma
or, Goblins Are Stubborn

"Kryyg snyshya lynhey!! Pynhya nas Nenda!"
Leon winced at the harsh, guttural sound of the chief's voice. "Wha' did tha' gobbo say?"
Ribald, who was rather short and stout for an elf, peered down his pointy nose at the scrappy little greenskin. "My goblin's a little rusty, but if I had to take a guess, it would be something along the lines of 'Go mate with a manticore.'" The chief laughed hoarsely, and even though he was dangling upside down from Andar's massive fist, he looked like he felt he'd accomplished something useful.
Jinnie said "He used less polite words, but you're essentially right." The dark-haired halfling knelt down to the chief's level and said "I know you speak Common."
To this, the goblin responded with a series of gestures and noises that were as obscene as they were offensive.
Percy sighed in disgust. "Can't we just kill him and be done with it? The rest of the tribe will scatter after we've dealt with him. Problem solved."
Wiping goblin spittle off of her cheek, Jinnie said "You know, I think I'm inclined to agree with you."
"Go ahead! Kill me then! Cut my neck! I am Riknik, king of the Greeneye Clan, and my tongue shall be eaten out my head by ants before I dishonor myself and my people by consorting with TooTalls and TooSmalls!"
Ribald cleared his throat. "I, er, can make that ant thing happen, if that'll speed things up."
"Would you mind? He's kinda heavy."
"ALRIGHTALRIGHTALRIGHT! There's no need to be uncivil!"
"Well then, tell us; Why has your tribe been taking people from the village?"
Riknik opened his mouth, then closed it and stared sullenly at Jinnie.

Andar lifted the goblin until their faces were even and said in a low, threatening voice "Alright, you little turd, listen closely. My arm's getting tired, so this is what's going to happen. You're going to tell us what's going on, and then we'll kill you... or we lock everyone in that nice little church to...whatever god it is would accept such disgusting followers as you, and we burn it to the ground, and THEN we kill you. Am I clear?"
Leon felt sick to his stomach. How could he...But the goblin spoke up before he did.
"Fine! Fine, you barbarian! A mage has been coming around, telling me to kidnap the TooTalls or that he'd burn the village down. He comes around every couple months to pick them up. I don't know where he takes them." Andar shook him a little. "I swear on my tribe that's the truth! All I know is that my scouts say he always heads to the east afterwards. Now kill me! I am not afraid to die for my people!"

“Ugh, finally.” Jinnie rolled her eyes, and drew her dagger out of her boot. “Hold him still. I don’t want goblin blood on my shirt.”
“Jinnie, ye put that knife back in yer boot right now!”
Surprised to hear such forceful language from Leon, she stopped moving towards Riknik, though she didn’t sheathe her dagger. “Excuse me?”
“Ye heard me. We cannae kill a hapless person like this!”
Percy snorted. “I see no ‘person’ here.”
Leon whirled on Percy. “Have ye gone daft, or have ye forgotten which god it is ye serve!? Ye know as well as I do that Pelor cares not for yer species.”
“But Leon, this goblin ordered the kidnapping of tens of humans! Who knows what he's condemned them to?”
“Aye, under threat o’ tha destruction o’ his village. Would any of ye no’ have done tha same? The goblins ha’ lived peacefully with tha humans for generations, and they would again, and ye would start a blood feud by killing their chief!?” Percy looked like he was about to speak, then thought better of it; everyone else looked away, suddenly feeling ashamed. Andar was the first to speak.
“I never thought I’d say this, but Leon’s right. We let our anger get the best of us. Let us move on from this place, to the east.”
“No! Kill me, you cowards! I can't face my tribe now!! Ny hen Yygga! ******** ******** ******* ***********!!!!!” Jinnie blushed despite herself; though she was the only one in the group who could speak Goblin, she’d never heard a string of invective quite this foul. Ribald drew a complex symbol in the air, scattering rose petals as he did so and punctuating it with what sounded like a lizard attempting to bark. Riknik’s litany of expletives gradually faded, to be replaced by a gentle snoring as Andar set him down on the grass.

“Well, we all learned something today, and we have Leon to thank for it.”
Aye…I learned somethin' as well.

The adventurers headed off, sun at their backs. After about a half hour walking in silence, Andar came up alongside Leon and coughed awkwardly. “I, er…I was bluffing. About the whole…burning…thing. I, uh…I just thought I should tell you.”
Yer a terrible liar, Andar.
“Of course ye were. Don’t worry about it, friend, it’s water under the bridge.”



Graverobbers
or, Ye've Been Hornswoggled!
"Come on, Dirk! Hurry up and dig! We need to be out of here by sun-up!"
"Yeah, well, there's another shovel."
"Jeth's busy being the lookout, and we both know I'd just get in the way."
The enormous greenskin in the hole sighed, his small tusks jutting out in frustration. "That's true enough. Tell me, Pad, were you BORN this squishy, or did you have to work at it?"
"A little bit of both."
Dirk chuckled, then bent back to his work. Minutes passed without conversation, the only sound the half-orc's shovel striking earth and the occasional owl hoot.

"Ya know, Pad, I've been thinking."
"A dangerous past-time."
"I know. The thing is, we fooled the whole town, and it was so...easy. I mean, you'd think SOMEONE would have been suspicious when we said there was a lair of Otyugh's nearby and they were headed this way."
"Yeah, but they weren't."
"Well...I don't know. That priest seemed a little...off."
"Please! The old fart doesn't suspect a thing."
"Oh, I would no' say that."
"Dirk...When did you get an accent?"
The half-orc looked up, puzzled. "What are you talking ab-OOF!" he asked as a roughly halfling shape landed on his head.
Now knowing that something was not quite going the way he'd planned, Padmich fumbled at his waist for his pouch, pulled out some guano, and sent a fireball screaming over the pit. The ensuing explosion illuminated the graveyard, and the mage glanced around wildly...

Just in time to see what appeared to be a large ham crash into the bridge of his nose. Blind with pain, he stumbled backward and fell into the pit. Fortunately Dirk, who'd just gotten back on his feet, broke Pad's fall. Leon stood at the lip of the hole, holding a small pouch that moments ago was tied to Pad's belt.
"Well, I dinnae think ye'll be needin' this anymore." With that, he turned the bag upside down, emptied it, kicked some earth over the heap of components, and flipped the bag over his shoulder. "By the way, lad, I think next time, ye might want ta make sure ye know where I am 'fore ye fire off a spell like that. Ye coulda hurt someone."
"Believe me *sniff* I will."
"Now, then...what brings ye to me little town?"
The halfling piped up. "Please, sir, we only want to help your town!"
"Aye, and I've got a dwarf growing out of me stomach." The priest rolled his eyes. "Why don't ye tell me what yer REALLY here for?"

The three exchanged glances, and then Padmich looked up at him. "We were told that...a powerful wizard was buried here centuries ago with his spellbook and several of his powerful items. I...I just wanted a look, I swear!"
Leon stared at the mage, beginning to shake. At first, it seemed like he was shaking with anger...and then he began to chuckle.
"S-sir?"
Leon fell over on the ground, laughing so hard that he began to cry. He managed to say between gulps of air "Ha ha! Oh my goodness, lads! Ye-Ye've been swindled! Hornswoggled! Hehehehe...A WIZARD! HERE!? BWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! How...How much did ye PAY him for tha' tripe!?"
Dirk looked down at his feet and sighed. "A thousand gold pieces."
Leon had just managed to regain composure when he heard this. He fell over again and began to slap the ground with mirth. After a few minutes, he calmed down. Wiping tears from his eyes, he said "Oh, ye poor things. Here, let me grab hold o' tha shovel, I'll pull ye out."

A few minutes later, they were all standing around the pit, Dirk and Leon refilling the grave.
"I would just like to say again, Mr. Abbot, that I am VERY sorry about that fireball."
"I'm sorry about wallopin' ye. And about dumpin' yer pouch out. And Dirk, I'm sorry for droppin' yer friends on ye."
"Eh, bigger things have fallen on me from higher. Don't worry about it."
Jeth took off her pack and held it out. "Here, Mr. Abbot. It's the supplies the town gave us to help deal with the Otyughs."
"Och, don't worry. Ye need tha potions an' such more than we. We're a quiet little place. In fact, ye're the most excitement we've had in years."
Unsure of how to feel about this, the adventurers kept quiet until the grave was filled.

Afterwards, Leon borrowed Jeth's pen and paper and scribbled some names and addresses on it. "Here, if ye ever find yerself in the town of Riveroak, ask for Ribald Moonwhisper. Tell him Leon sent ye, he'll let ye sneak a peek at his spellbook. And this card gives ye full protection from tha thieves in North Bend. Now go on, get outta here 'fore I change me mind. And don't worry about the town, I'll tell em...Ah, I'll tell em you were too embarrassed to come back and be thanked and such." He grinned, shook hands with all three of them, and then sent them on their way.

Ahh...Ta be young again...They're good kids. I hope they don't have it too hard out there.

With a smile on his face, Leon turned around and made his way back to the church, promptly falling asleep in his chambers.

He woke up at first light two hours later with a splitting headache, cursing those darned kids.


A Holy Calling
or, Go Away Already!

"Merciful Pelor, whose loving rays nourish tha land, I ask that Ye look after your loyal subjects in this humble province. Shine your holy light on us, and cause tha tiny seeds ta become the grains that will feed us all. And though the night is long, and the darkness full of terrors, we shall be comforted knowing that your brilliance will radiate the sky...And, as always, give me tha strength to endure those who would wish me dead. Amen."
Ilnin cleared his throat.
"You, ah...You do realize that we're standing right here."
Without opening his eyes or unclasping his hands, Leon responded "Aye, and ye've been there for a while now. I drew my prayers out 'specially for you. I hope you liked it."
Maari wheezed "Oh yes, your prayers were lovely. I quite enjoyed the bit about the gra-wha?", interrupted by Ilnin's elbow. "Oh yes. Have you given any thought to our request?"
"Have I given any thought? I've done nary a thing but give it thought, and my answer is tha same as it was last week. Find someone better suited to this task. I am old, and tired, a horse tha's been put out ta pasture."
"But, Leon, there IS no one better suited to this task. Maari and I may be higher in the hierarchy than you, but that is only because you insist on staying in this town. No other priest has the experience that you do."
"Ya mean that no other priest has ever raised arms, or even traveled?"
"I just returned from my mission to the southern continent two months ago, but it was dreadfully boring." Maari piped up.
"They ha' CANNIBALS there."
"Oh, nonsense! They're really more civilized than people think, and quite friendly too! Delightful cooks, as well. They served me the most exquisite pork chop for my last meal with them."
At this, Leon's eyes popped open. He blinked twice, then looked at Ilnin. "Er...Ye wanna tell him, or should I?"
"Tell me what?" Ilnin shook his head so violently that he became dizzy for a second while Maari remained oblivious.
"Er, never ye mind. Still, I'm afraid I must decline. Now please, leave me be."
"As you wish." Ilnin took the still-bemused Maari by the arm and steered him out the door, gently closing it as they left.
"Ach, finally! I dinnae trust them, and now I can finally return to my prayers."
But Leon discovered that he could no longer concentrate on his prayers, and after a fruitless 10 minutes, he stood, disgruntled, and went into his chambers.

It was a simple room; A bed in one corner, a dresser in the other, a desk in the third, and a rack for armor in the last, decorated only with a sketch that Jinnie had drawn of their deceased captain, which his eyes were drawn to more than usual. She had a remarkable talent, really. He pulled himself away, and looked instead at the shattered phylactery on the desk. Most men would have buried it upside down at a crossroads and set several heavy rocks on it, but not Leon. He needed it close, needed to remember that evil could lurk anywhere, even in the hearts of those who claimed to be Pelor's servants...Even in the hearts of his friends. He traced the sunburst pattern, still warm to the touch. Percy...I still cannae understand...

Opposite was suspended a suit of full-plate armor; it was of truly fantastic craftsmanship, if a bit fuzzy around the edges.
How long's it been...9 years since I last wore this...9 years since... He recoiled at the memories, looking away, then looking down at his gut. It'd probably still fit me.
Next to the armor hung his mace and dagger. Leon reached out, drawing a finger across one of the flanges on his mace, repeating aloud what Andar had replied to Jinnie when asked why HE needed to destroy the Lich.
"If no' I...then who?"

A half hour later, Leon had kissed his mother goodbye, loaded his things into a chest, put the chest on the wagon, and was riding out of town with Ilnin and Maari.

I still dinnae trust them.

[darkpuppy]

Ah, lovely snippets all, especially the ones about Leon! Loving it!

Anyways, for the first time on the snippets thread (or anywhere but my OU coursework!) a little snippet of HM 1st Clockwork Regulars!


A Slight Predicament
or Why You Should Burn Your Bridges Afterwards

"Well, sir, this is a right ol' mess, innit? They're bloody tampin'!" The comment, coming as it did from a small, jolly welshman in ill fitting leathers, seemed a little ludicrous, but made perfect sense to his commanding officer, Colonel Smedley Smythe.

After all, while the inital reports had said the rioting force was "Another bloody bunch of Pankhursts", it had failed to mention that said women were both wilder than your average women's rights group, and were well versed in the older, bloodier form of druidry. Things were looking quite grim, and the situation was not helped by the lack of dignity in fleeing from said women in, of all things, Sgt. Barry Jones' mechanical monowheel. The experience was one that never failed to make Colonel "Smedders", as he was known among his men, wish fervently to never have the need for such a contraption again.

Alas, his wish was always fated not to be, and he hung onto his hat as Barry wildly swerved and leaned, dodging the rather large seedpods that were hurtling from the sky.

"Oh, sod!", cried Barry, and Colonel Smythe could quite easily see what occasioned such an undisciplined use of uncouth language. The bridge ahead, while still passable, possessed, as its central feature, an extremely large venus flytrap. One which, despite being of the plant, rather than animal kingdom, did a surprisingly good job of looking hungry.

Barry Jones, however, was a man of keen instincts, and, without further ado, hit the button on his single wheeled contraption. Everyone, including Colonel Smythe, knew what the button did, and dutifully averted his eyes as the rockets stationed on top of the wheel let fly...

The dreaded contraption skidded to a halt, and, with eyes tightly shut, Colonel Smythe heard only two things: A twin explosion, and Barry's ebullient cry of "Bloody 'ell, that's one 'ell of a sight, innit, butt!"

Slowly and cautiously, Colonel Smythe opened his eyes... and was horrified to find that, while the large plant was gone, so, in fact, was a good half of the bridge. Specifically, the middle of the bridge... Their only escape route.

Colonel Smythe was seething with fury, but, remembering his officer's manual, and the use of lighthearted jollity in times of stress, he simply turned to the still cackling Sgt. Jones, and stated breezily:

"Well, that presents a slight problem, doesn't it, Sergeant?"

Barry didn't really understand until he turned around.

"Oh, sod!"

[TheBlackShadow]

Good sir, you transcribe the accent and colloquial speech of our nation with great efficacy, if a trifle stereotypically. I also find the effect of the juxtaposition of our countryman's dialect with the stiff, precise narrative and the general ludicrousness of the situation to be highly amusing.

[Lady Moreta]

Much much funniness :smallbiggrin: I approve of this.

Marillion - Marillion (heh) is kinda creepy. Well done. I love Leon, I love the way he talks and how he gets himself out of retirement. I want to know what happened with Percy.

Very impressive array of characters you've got there.

Darkpuppy - I'm not entirely sure I followed what was happening, but it was funny and that's what counts :smallsmile:

[darkpuppy]

Good sir, you transcribe the accent and colloquial speech of our nation with great efficacy, if a trifle stereotypically. I also find the effect of the juxtaposition of our countryman's dialect with the stiff, precise narrative and the general ludicrousness of the situation to be highly amusing.

*chuckles* being a welshman cursed with an english accent, my learned friend, I can dutifully report that stereotypical accents can be easily found in both the Swansea and Kent areas of our fine (*snigger*) country.

Lady Moreta, I can sum the particulars up thusly: The world is a steampunk alternate history/parody (hence the stereotypes of "The Rupert" and "The Mad Welsh Bomber/Techie"), and, as such, still has victorian prejudices. Pankhursts refer to radical feminists, and these particular feminists knew druidic magic, causing a lot of trouble for the Clockies... after all, the Lady St. Germain (an occultist and un-ladylike lady) was not present at that particular engagement, embarassing another character of mine in front of his ladyfriend in another world entirely... :smallbiggrin:

EDIT: I might try for a Fading Suns character next, we'll see if anything interesting comes out of the original 2nd Ed character gen (as for FSD20... BAH! and I say again, BAH!)

[big teej]

I finally got to play gideon last night......

my dice told the Law of averages to piss off

I rolled 3 20s essentially in a row

and then rolled below 10 the rest of the night.

as soon as my dignity has a positive hit point total large enough to take another pummeling, I'll have a snippet

"in the name of the hammer! (oh bollocks)" or 'my dice liked me better as a DM'

[Lady Moreta]

"in the name of the hammer! (oh bollocks)" or 'my dice liked me better as a DM'

Sounds fun :smallbiggrin:

I actually got stuff written! Well one thing... I was going to wait til I had a bunch, but meh...


Growing Up
or I love you Mam

“Tela? Tela where are you?”

Mam. Mam is safe. Mam won’t try and hurt me. I stuck my head out from under my bed. No one ever looks for me there. No one realises I fit.

“Tela! There you are,” Mam sounds happy. She won’t stay that way. Not for long. She crouches down to see me. “Come out from there,” she says. I don’t want to. But I don’t argue with Mam. I crawl out, lifting my head as I do. She’ll be mad. Everyone else is mad. She hisses when she sees my face.

“Tela, what happened?” I don’t argue with Mam when she uses that tone.

“I hit Taid...” I said it quietly. Mam would be mad at me. She looks mad and she sounds mad too.

“And what did Taid do to you?”

“He hit me.” Mam stared down at me before bending down and getting onto her hands and knees.

“How many times did he hit you?” I was startled. I didn’t realise Mam could read minds. The wizard down the street can.

“Umm... it was – lots?” I’m not good with numbers. It was enough to hurt. Enough to make my nose bleed. Enough to make me angry. I don’t like being angry.

“Oh Tela..” Mam reached out and pulled me up. She looked upset. And angry. She tugged me forwards then, towards the front of the house. Before we got there, there was a loud banging on the door.

“Open up Kella!”

“We know you’re in there!”

“We want to talk to you and your spawn!”

Mam stopped so fast I ran into her. She stumbled and I grabbed the back of her dress. She shoved me backwards and followed me into the bedroom. She grabbed me and pulled me down to look at her.

“Tela, do you trust me?”

“Yes Mam,” I said. Now I was getting nervous. The voices were loud and yelling and angry.

“Good girl. Now I want to you do exactly as I tell you.” Mam hurried around the room, grabbing things and shoving them into a bag. She tiptoed into the main room and came back with food from the kitchen. She put that into the bag as well and then shoved it at me. I took it.

“Tela, my dearest girl. You have to go. It isn’t safe here any more.” Mam looked like she might cry. She reached out and touched my face. “They might have killed you...”

She helped me put my cloak on and the bag as well. Then she gave me the big walking stick.

“Listen to me child. You have to leave this place. I want you to take these things and go. Leave by the back door and go straight into the forest. You’re a strong girl, you’ll be able to find work easily enough.” Mam looked unhappy, she looked that way sometimes – when she was talking to the people she didn’t like. Telling them that they looked pretty in this dress or that tunic.

“When can I come home?” I asked, putting the bag on my shoulders.

“Oh Tela... not for a while. Not until you’re older. Wait-” Mam stopped suddenly, then started again. “Wait til you’re 20. Then come home again, if you can.”

She started shoving me towards the back door, the one that leads out to the forest.

“Kella!”

More angry voices from the front of the house. I couldn’t leave Mam alone to face them. I stopped. She seemed to know what I was thinking.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.” She smiled at me, and opened the door just a little bit. I stared outside, it was cloudy outside, probably would rain soon.

“Go Tela. Please go.” Mam was getting even more upset and I realised she was afraid. For me. That made me afraid. I would go. And then I would come back, just as Mam said. I was a good daughter. Mam said so.

“All right Mam,” I said, stepping outside. I turned back to look at her. “I love you.”

[big teej]

the good
I have 2 new snippets, the bollocks one, and the one from last night's session (both for gideon)

only 2 more weeks of school (this week and monday, and then the rest of next week is exams!!)

the bad
LAST 2 WEEKS OF SCHOOL!!!
i have 2 papers due tomorrow (heh...)
and a book to read for an exam
+ articles in one text book
+ 3-6 chapters in another textbook

I will most likely NOT be able to post these snippets until this work is complete (i may however, write them up at least in draft form, while taking a break from productivity)

the ugly

one of said papers is on global warming, so I'll be ranting in text form for about 2395349577 pages:smallfurious:

after next session, I may not have another one with my current group until january (school is out from dec 14th till jan 14th


/news

[Lady Moreta]

Study hard :smallsmile:

and when you need a break - I wrote a new one! Quick background - new game, my character and another know each other, mine is the only member of the group who knows he's a binder. If he fails the check against one vestige he manifests goats hooves. This is the story they came up with to explain it away. So it never actually happened, it was just too cool an idea not to write about.


Bluff, bluff, bluff the rest of the party
I let my longsword fall slack as Marlowe rammed his sword point through the last of the demon’s victims. I winced as the poor thing let loose a horrible screaming wail – the demon I presumed. I glanced around the field in which we stood, blood and bits of bodies scattered everywhere. I absentmindedly brushed sweaty blood-soaked hair from my face. The cut on my forehead wasn’t bad, but blood in my eyes had just about gotten me killed twice. I shuddered. Demon-possessed people died just like regular people – but in an eerie silence that made it awfully hard to concentrate on the work at hand.

The screaming wail cut off as Marlowe wrenched his sword free of the body. It fell with a clatter of old armour. I saw something flicker in the dead man’s eyes before the head lolled to one side, away from me. The next second, Marlowe’s head snapped backwards and he screamed – both surprise and pain. Before I could act, he dropped to his knees, clutching his sword for support. This couldn’t be good.

Warily, thankful I hadn’t let go of my sword completely, I approached my friend.

“Marlowe? Are you all right?” He was clutching his head as if it pained him, making little moaning sounds. Something wasn’t right. “Marlowe?” I asked again, flicking a sliced-off hand out of my way with the point of the sword I held in my right hand. I reached my friend and leaned over him.

“Are you okay?” His head came up slowly, staring at me like he’d never seen me before. I lost patience. “Damnit Marlowe, we don’t have time – for… this…” My voice trailed off as I saw his eyes. They were white. Completely white. That is not normal.

“Hell…" I started backing off, slowly. He smiled at me, slowly, coldly, delightedly.

“You’re quite right,” he said. And then he moved faster than he’s ever moved before. If it was even Marlowe any more.

One second I was standing, moving cautiously away. The next, I was dangling in mid-air, held up by his hand around my throat. I gargled helplessly, struggling to keep a grip on my sword. I swung my feet wildly, hoping to kick him somewhere – anywhere it might help me get free.

He laughed at me, extending his arm fully – even if I could have gotten enough power behind a kick to make him release me, now I couldn’t reach. Then he squeezed. I gagged, fighting to draw breath. His hand tightened further and I saw spots in front of my eyes. Spots of ever encroaching darkness. I felt my sword slip from my fingers and drew my hands up to claw feebly at his hand.

“Mar- lowe…” I choked out his name desperately. Trying to reach my friend. He had to be in there somewhere. He chuckled, the sound grating on my ears

“Little bard,” he laughed. “I am not Marlowe. Your friend is gone. I am Grazz’Vog.”

You’re a bastard I thought, but I lacked the breath to say it. Besides, completely unintentionally, the demon had given me an idea. I abandoned my useless scrabbling at his hands and reached for the pouch on my belt. Fumbling frantically, I pulled the carefully twisted paper package containing ground mica. If I could just get the words out, I could cast a spell to blind him and get away.

“Ha- haer-rrrrr...” I struggled to get the words out past his grip on my throat. More laughter and the grip tightened further. Now I couldn’t breath. Couldn’t speak. I was going to die. My closest friend, my only friend was going to kill me. How ironic. My hands curled into fists, too many attempts on my life had failed for me to give up now. The paper in my hand crinkled as my fingers curled. Suddenly I smiled, glared at the demon-wearing-Marlowe’s-face and threw the mica into his eyes.

He snarled, automatically bringing his hands up to his face to rub at his eyes. I dropped like a stone. I hit the ground at his feet and crumpled up, gasping for breath. One hand went to my throat even as I scrambled backwards. No time to grab my sword, I had to get out of there. Had to come up with a way to get the demon, this Grazz’Vog out of Marlowe’s head.

I heard a scream of rage behind me and the sound of heavy footsteps as I forced air past my bruised throat and into my lungs. I didn’t dare look behind me. Instead I concentrated on running. On thinking. I needed a priest, a cleric, a paladin, a church. Something.

Wait. A church! We had passed a Temple of the Silver Flame on our way out here. I cast a glance behind me, stumbled and almost fell. Grazz’Vog laughed again; he was clearly in no hurry. But if I could convince him to follow me to the temple, and somehow trick him into going inside… Surely there would be someone there who could help. Either way, it was my only chance.

I was at the edge of town now. I skidded to a halt, only partly faking my need for oxygen. Holding my chest, oh how it ached! I stared up at the face of my friend

“Marlowe, please.” My begging was not feigned. If I could reach him, if he could defeat the demon, I could get my friend back.

“Run little bard! Run!” There was a bass rumble in Marlowe’s voice I’d never heard before. It almost entirely masked the whistling sound my longsword made as the demon chucked it at my head. I threw myself to one side at the last minute, snatched the weapon from the ground and ran. Praying as I did there’d be a priest or cleric in the temple who could help.

This had to be the most bizarre chase I have ever experienced. I could barely breathe still, and I fought for every one. My lungs burned as I dodged and darted around buildings, into doorways and under the occasional cart. Marlowe had always been faster than me and the demon now inhabiting his body seemed to be delighting in taking pot shots at me. Thankfully it wasn’t as good a shot as Marlowe and they all missed. Either that or he was deliberately avoiding hitting me. I wasn’t sure which option I preferred to be honest.

He hurled taunts and insults at me, making sure I knew he was toying with me. I didn’t really care; I didn’t understand half of them. Just as long as he didn’t realise I was toying with him. I skidded around a corner and almost fell again; I grabbed at a nearby wall and managed to stay on my feet. Marlowe-Grazz’Vog was gaining on me, but I could see the temple in front of me. Ducking my head, I sprinted for the stairs and raced up them.

Time to set the deception.

I flung my head up, looking towards the temple and skidded to a halt. I stared up at the door, my shoulders sagging. I’d come the wrong way. This wasn’t the temple. This was the old temple. The demon behind me laughed again as he followed me up. I cast a desperate glance over my shoulder at him and prepared to run again.

Too slow. I threw myself forwards, trying to get behind a pillar. Too slow again. Grazz’Vog grabbed the back of my cloak and yanked. My feet flew out from under me and I hit the stairs hard. Before the haze cleared, he’d dragged me to my feet and slammed me against the pillar, Marlowe’s ridiculous-looking halberd in his hand. Only, as pain burst through my skull, it didn’t look so ridiculous any more.

“Ahh,” I gasped, pulling air into my lungs as the pointy end of the halberd came to rest against my throat.

“You thought you would trick me?!” Marlowe’s usurped voice roared and thundered, crescendoing upwards in a way he’d never be able to pull off himself. “You try to trap Grazz’Vog?” He sounded both furious and incredulous; I guess no one had ever had the guts to stand up to him before.

“ANSWER ME!” He shook me violently, then slammed me back against the pillar, halberd still in place, still threatening. I struggled to stay conscious and managed to stammer out

“I didn’t- I hoped. I- I… It’s not…” I trailed off, despair filling me. There was a time I could have sung it away, but you need air to sing and I had none left.

“Spit. It. Out.” The demon shoved Marlowe’s face into mine, increasing the pressure on the halberd so that I felt blood trickle down my neck into my tunic.

“It’s not a temple!” I blurted it all out, desperation filling my voice and face. My voice rose to a sobbing scream. “It used to be! It used to be! It’s not used any more…” My voice faltered as the demon twisted my friend’s face into a horrible similitude of a smile. Oh the irony, killed by my possessed best friend. He started laughing, horrible and high pitched.

“Oh little bard, do not despair,” he chuckled. “We’ll go inside anyway, you and I. Since you want to so badly.” And with the halberd tucked under his arm he wrenched me off my feet and dragged me into the temple-that-was.

The temple-that-is!

As soon as we set foot inside, I threw myself sideways and started screaming

“HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!” A sudden hiss and the demon realised my trick. He turned his head slowly to stare at me, death in his eyes. I lifted my longsword, miraculously I had held onto it this time, and stared back.

“That is my friend’s body,” I told him, with a calmness I did not feel. “I’ll thank you to leave it now.” He roared with laughter.

“I like this body, little bard. I think I shall keep it for a while longer.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it!” A new voice. I turned my head the barest inch and caught sight of a young man dressed in a robe of the Silver Flame, with the gentle clink of chain mail coming from beneath it. “A demon?” The question directed at me. I nodded grimly, not daring to take my eyes off Grazz’Vog-Marlowe.

“Distract him!” The priest yelled and flung himself sideways as Grazz’Vog apparently bored, charged the both of us.

The cleric started chanting, and I threw myself in front of him, longsword raised to parry the downward stroke of the halberd. It was Marlowe’s favourite weapon. To my everlasting gratitude it didn’t appear to be that of the demon’s. He handled it clumsily and that enabled me to stay two steps ahead of him. I tried to sing, to bolster myself and the unknown cleric whose voice rose and fell in chant behind me, but failed. I had no voice left. I would have to rely on more mundane skills to get through this.

“Damn you back to hell demon!” The cleric behind me screamed in righteous defiance. How I wished he’d shut up. I don’t know what it was, but suddenly Grazz’Vog ignored me. He seemed to have realised there was a chance this cleric could actually do what he was attempting to.

“MOVE!” I screamed at him, cutting in front of Grazz’Vog and hammering a blow at my friend. The demon, growing more comfortable with his weapon, caught the hilt of my longsword with the halberd and wrenched it out of my hands. Before I had time to reach for the bow on my back, he slammed the haft of the halberd into my wrist. I screamed as the bones shattered into pieces and stumbled backwards. The demon stared down at me as I wavered on my feet, wondering if I was worth the effort. The cleric still chanted and while there was hope I could not abandon Marlowe. I stepped forwards.

With an aggravated huffing sound, the demon simply swept me to one side. Reaching down with one hand, he grabbed me by the neck – again. With barely a breath of effort, he lifted me off my feet and flung me across the room. Into a pillar.

Pain and bright colours flared in my skull and the world went dark.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Screaming woke me.

Marlowe screaming.

“Stop! Stop! Stop! Stop!”

I forced my eyes open and almost immediately wished I hadn’t. The crazy little cleric was standing over my friend, hands raised, an expression of religious ecstasy on his face.

“BE GONE, DEMON!” He cried in a great, resonant voice. He’d probably make a good singer. If he wasn’t in the process of killing my friend that is.

“Stop!” I cried, “you’re killing him!”

“The demon must be exorcised!” The cleric didn’t even turn his head as he focused his energy on my friend. I got my hands underneath me and tried to push myself up

“Aieee!” I screamed as I put my weight on my broken hand. I’d forgotten all about it. I slid back to the floor, panting and cradling my hand. All right, take two. Using only my left hand I managed to get onto my knees. This alone made my head spin and I retched. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself onto my feet and upright. I clung to the pillar with my good hand, fighting nausea and opened my eyes.

Marlowe was on his knees, screaming. I’d never heard a person make such a horrible sound before. It was as if his life, his very soul was being torn from him. I realised then what the cleric must be attempting to do. He was trying to exorcise the demon from my friend’s body. But Grazz’Vog had attached himself – somehow to Marlowe’s soul. The cleric was literally tearing them apart. It might work. But it would almost certainly kill my friend.

I staggered forwards, away from my comforting pillar. Head pounding, my throat swollen and aching, I stumbled up to the cleric and yanked at his upraised hands.

“Stop.” I begged him. “Please. You’ll kill him!” I don’t think he heard me. There was a shout from Marlowe – a desperate bellow from the demon. I stared in horror as it took form in front of us. Grazz’Vog had only a shadowy form, and for that I was grateful. It took in the scene, Marlowe’s body had slumped to one side, his chest crushed in by the force. The demon stared at us instead, vaporous lips forming words I could not here. It swooped at us.

“DO SOMETHING!” I screamed at the cleric, who looked rather stunned. As if surprised his little exorcism had worked. If that demon didn’t kill me, I promised myself I’d have words with this fanatical little cleric. He cried something incoherent and thrust his holy symbol in front of his face. I have no idea what he said, but it worked. Grazz’Vog froze in place.

And then… And then, he spread outwards, the formless edges of his hazy body fading and blurring as he gathered speed. Until finally with a faint popping noise, he blew apart. A burning wind slammed into both of us and we went down in a tangle of limbs. I heard myself scream as I landed on my broken wrist and somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that I’d received yet another blow to my head and that it wasn’t going to be good news for me.

I struggled to shove the stunned cleric off my legs and used my elbows as leverage. Nausea hit me again, along with a blinding pain behind my eyes and this time I did throw up. Oddly enough, it seemed to clear my head.

Marlowe lay on his side not far away. I scrambled over to him on my knees, balancing with my good hand. I nearly fell onto him trying to stop myself. Dizziness swamped me as I searched for a pulse. I couldn’t find anything with my hand, so I laid my head on his chest. The dull ache in the back of my head turned into a pulsing pain. I ignored it and felt what I was looking for. Barely, but Marlowe was breathing. I struggled to push myself upright again and turned to the cleric.

“He’s alive! Help me!” I stared, the cleric was out cold, lying on the floor with his arms flung out. I had some healing, but it wouldn’t be anywhere nearly enough to heal Marlowe. But I could stop him from dying. Pushing my own pain to the back of my mind, I summoned up the healing magic and poured it out into Marlowe’s body. Again and again I flooded him, until I had run out of magic myself. It wasn’t enough.

I felt despair surging up through me, he would die, and all because I didn’t have enough healing spells available to save him.

“NO!” I screamed it at him, furious. Marlowe was my only friend, I couldn’t lose him. The throbbing pain came flooding back. It started behind my eyes, then swarmed up to my temples before shooting down my neck into my shoulders and spine. I closed my eyes as the room started spinning again. If he was going to die, I would be awake for it damnit.

“Terryn?” That voice… soft and uncertain, but undoubtedly Marlowe.

My eyes flew open and I winced at the sudden onrush of light. He was still curled on his side, but his eyes were open. On their knees opposite him sat another cleric, this one wearing the robes of a more senior priest than my crazy little friend. I half-turned, there was yet another cleric attending to their fellow.

“Ma’low’,” I felt literally faint with relief. Or perhaps I just felt faint. Marlowe was looking at me funny, as if I was talking strangely. I didn’t care, he was all right. I learned forwards, to tell him how glad I was he was okay. I slid a little on my knees and caught myself without thinking. Pain tore through the hand I simply could not remember was broken and I whimpered. Light was fading from the room, but my burning dry eyes welcomed the darkness.

“Terryn? Terryn, are you all rig-”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

This time when I woke up, I was in a bed. A soft, comfortable, lovely, wonderful bed. My it had been a long time since I’d slept in a bed that was actually comfortable, and that I didn’t have to share with the bugs. A shadow fell over my face and I looked up into Marlowe’s face.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, his voice soft and concerned and – thankfully – back to normal. I blinked for a minute, taking silent stock. Headache? Still there, but fading rapidly. Hand? I rotated my wrist, all better. Throat? I coughed experimentally, it’d be tender for a couple of days and I’d better lay off the heavier songs, but I could breathe again and that was the important part. “The clerics say the headache will fade and you’ll have full use of your voice again in a couple of days.”

Bless him, he always knew the right thing to say.

“I’m okay,” I said finally, realising I still hadn’t answered his question. I shoved back the blankets over me and fought my way to an upright position. Marlowe leaned forwards and helped me clear the bedclothes. Travelling on the road, I’m not used to more than a bedroll.

“Good,” he said. “You scared the hell out of me, collapsing like that.”

“I? I scared you?! I-!?” I spluttered at him disbelieving. “After all that?! You were possessed and I scared you?!” I would have undoubtedly gone on, I can talk after all, had I not noticed his sudden grin. Damn fool was teasing me.

I threw my pillow at him.

He caught it easily and tossed it back, grinning.

“Now I know you’re all right,” he chuckled.

“And you?” I asked, suddenly serious. “Are you all right?”

He smiled at me, a more serious expression than before and I noted with relief that his eyes had gone back to their normal green instead of that horrible white.

“I am all right,” he assured me. “Except possibly for this…” he gestured at his feet and I leaned over the edge of the bed to take a look, wincing as it triggered a sore spot in my head.

“Oh… oh my.” I blinked rapidly, staring down at Marlowe’s – hooves. Goat’s hooves to be exact. I lifted my head and looked at him, eyebrows raised.

“The cleric assures me it won’t be a problem. In fact, they’ll only manifest sometimes – along with a ‘certain shortness of temper’” his voice rose slightly on that last, mimicking the cleric obviously. He sounded a little short of temper already.

“Well,” I said finally, a smug smile forming. “It’ll make a great story.”

[Marxism]

A snippet from a very wonderful campaign DMed by my brother (I was a 20th level wizard in 3.5 and I was evil(yeah my dear bro did not think that one through enough)
"OUCH" Its only after the first few times that you really remember how much getting punched hurts. The bright side is that once they hit you its not a crime. With that in mind I recited the incantation and raised the index finger on my right hand. A smile escaped me as the flames blasted the foolish dwarf that had punched me and the surrounding tables chairs and stools backward. Nothing like a nice explosion to make you feel alive. There was an odd silence as the flames crackled and the crowed stared. They had expected a normal bar fight. That's more their style nobody dies and there is very little property damage. Then came the panic screams and yells prayers and shock. That kind of thing the dwarf was dead that was sure his body was charred and ruined. The panic had set in officially as everyone began sprinting for the door. The smoke began to rise and my associate tapped me on the shoulder. "That was not your greatest Idea you know this place is going to be filled with guards any minute now." He was right but Id be dammed if I left this place that peacefully. I looked around to see if there was a viable escape route or if teleportation was the only option. This however became the last thing on my mind as I noticed the last person in the bar it was a human. He was staring at me not moving at all even as the flames spread further and further. "well? going to run like the rest of the vermin?" "From the spell you cast I can tell that you are not that skilled in magic. Besides I want to see the fun." In my days I had never once let anybody talk back to me and I was not going to let it pass. That and hey I had already decided we would be leaving so why not go for the grand effect. I held up my hand and felt the magic grow. Though it was a boring spell it would serve. The huge hand that my power had created in the air drew back and smashed into the man before me throwing him against a wall and holding him there. "Well? are you sure I'm unskilled?" "Maybe." he grunted the magic burst as he spat another word I recognized it as a dispelling technique one of the more advanced ones. dispelling is an odd thing you can never really tell how powerful someone is by it. Because of that I did not bother to hold back. My whole body shuddered as the four spheres exploded out of my open palm. It was such a pain to use a large spell like that looking for the body is so hard once you've done it. The explosions ripped the building apart. another spell and ten seconds later I was standing 20 feet over the rubble with dozens of guards staring at me and my associate next to me. Oh the woes of being too powerful hah just kidding there are none.

[Lady Moreta]

A snippet from a very wonderful campaign DMed by my brother (I was a 20th level wizard in 3.5 and I was evil(yeah my dear bro did not think that one through enough)
"OUCH" Its only after the first few times that you really remember how much getting punched hurts. The bright side is that once they hit you its not a crime. With that in mind I recited the incantation and raised the index finger on my right hand. A smile escaped me as the flames blasted the foolish dwarf that had punched me and the surrounding tables chairs and stools backward. Nothing like a nice explosion to make you feel alive. There was an odd silence as the flames crackled and the crowed stared. They had expected a normal bar fight. That's more their style nobody dies and there is very little property damage. Then came the panic screams and yells prayers and shock. That kind of thing the dwarf was dead that was sure his body was charred and ruined. The panic had set in officially as everyone began sprinting for the door. The smoke began to rise and my associate tapped me on the shoulder. "That was not your greatest Idea you know this place is going to be filled with guards any minute now." He was right but Id be dammed if I left this place that peacefully. I looked around to see if there was a viable escape route or if teleportation was the only option. This however became the last thing on my mind as I noticed the last person in the bar it was a human. He was staring at me not moving at all even as the flames spread further and further. "well? going to run like the rest of the vermin?" "From the spell you cast I can tell that you are not that skilled in magic. Besides I want to see the fun." In my days I had never once let anybody talk back to me and I was not going to let it pass. That and hey I had already decided we would be leaving so why not go for the grand effect. I held up my hand and felt the magic grow. Though it was a boring spell it would serve. The huge hand that my power had created in the air drew back and smashed into the man before me throwing him against a wall and holding him there. "Well? are you sure I'm unskilled?" "Maybe." he grunted the magic burst as he spat another word I recognized it as a dispelling technique one of the more advanced ones. dispelling is an odd thing you can never really tell how powerful someone is by it. Because of that I did not bother to hold back. My whole body shuddered as the four spheres exploded out of my open palm. It was such a pain to use a large spell like that looking for the body is so hard once you've done it. The explosions ripped the building apart. another spell and ten seconds later I was standing 20 feet over the rubble with dozens of guards staring at me and my associate next to me. Oh the woes of being too powerful hah just kidding there are none.


Heehee, I agree, brother didn't quite think that one through.

However, it made for a fantastically funny story :smallbiggrin:

The characterisation was brilliant. You can tell that he's evil, but it comes across not only in his actions, but in his speech and thoughts. He has a definite "you are a bug in my eyes" attitude about him that just works. Well done :smallsmile:

My only critisim is the formatting - because well, it's not.

As I have said to Teej before, each new line of speech should be started on a new line (as if it were a new paragraph). For that matter, you haven't included any paragraphs, which makes it much harder to read and detracts from the overall cleverness of the story and your writing. There are a couple of instances where you've used the wrong plural or wrong tense and you seem to dislike the comma... most of your sentences aren't punctuated at all, which makes it very hard to read. Try reading it out loud - every time you find yourself naturall pausing to take a breath - stick a comma in there. That's what they're for :smallsmile:

Overall, it was very good... but fixing the formatting/grammar issues will make it easier to read and turn it into a brilliant piece of writing. :smallsmile:

[lord pringle]

The tale of Eric the Red
or the tale of the biggest jackass I ever played
10/12/763 AKW

Dear diary,
Today I was hired as a pirate for a king! Sandstorm is mean though. He keeps grunting at me and mocking magic. Lubbi is a nice little goblin but that elf keeps wanting to fight everything. Stevenson the paladin makes fun of me and my past. When we fought the army of wights who saved the wagon? Me. Who cast the fireball? Me. Stevie got it handed to him when the wights killed his horse. He wanted to stay and bury him after a scout ran off! he'll regret that tomorrow when he's a wight.

10/13/763 AKW
Dear Diary,
The farmers got sick. It isn't any of my books and registers as evil. A lizard folk tribe attacked us today right after we sent the farmers home. Kentucky fried lizard folk:)

10/14/763 AKW
Dear diary,
Everyone but me and the paladin got sick with the evil illness. Sandstorm is nowhere to be found. We found the lair of a lich but all the paladin did was yell at me. this will probably be the last time I right in yell as the paladin wants to kill me to much. I'll see you when I'm done.
-Love Eric the Red, Mystic Theurge

[Lady Moreta]

Heeehee, this made me giggle :smallsmile:

I only have one problem - he doesn't sound like much of a jackass! In fact, the paladin sounds more like a jerk than anyone else.

[lord pringle]

Trust me in game he was a jackass but his diary made him a hero. A quote:
Paladin: We are going up against a lich, everyone knows how to fight one right?
Eric: My godfather was a lich.
Paladin:How is that information useful in any sense of the word?
Eric: I don't care! I'm a wizard!
Lubbi: *facepalm*

[Lady Moreta]

Trust me in game he was a jackass but his diary made him a hero. A quote:
Paladin: We are going up against a lich, everyone knows how to fight one right?
Eric: My godfather was a lich.
Paladin:How is that information useful in any sense of the word?
Eric: I don't care! I'm a wizard!
Lubbi: *facepalm*

Teehee, that's awesome. You should work that into a snippet :smallbiggrin:

[big teej]

hey everyone, just taking a moment out of studying/finishing projects/papers/etc. to say that

I have at least a few more snippets in the works.

I have a snippet from Gideon

I have a snippet from the "bone knight" that I've been posting so much about lately.

I'm working on another snippet for Tylndyr

and I may have another snippet for valek in the works as well
they're all percolating

haven't had time to read any snippets since my last post, but I will very soon.

[Machuchang]

Man, I'm loving all the snippets so far! And I've got a couple of my own to contribute (finally).:smallbiggrin:

First off, Abigail makes her triumphant return!


Well, It Seemed Like A Perfectly Reasonable Idea at the Time

(or, Threatening Half-Orcs for Fun and Profit)

Well, this certainly wasn’t what I expected. The shop had been completely out of herbs. In fact, all of the shops had seemed to have been pretty much out of everything.

According to the herbalist, all of the town’s shops had slowly been losing goods over a long period of time. Then all of a sudden, everything had just vanished! I found that quite peculiar! After all, items weren’t supposed to do that! At least not mundane ones. It almost seemed like magic! Maybe it even was magic! At the very least, it warranted an investigation! That, and if I didn’t get those herbs to Gramma… Well, that just didn’t bear thinking about!

And so I found myself wandering about the town, searching and searching for any signs of residual magic. I was just getting frustrated, when suddenly I was interrupted by a voice.

“What the hell are you doing?” It was a little Halfling. It was the first time I had ever seen one up close. She had very short hair, one part blonde, the other dyed black. Or maybe it was one part black and the other dyed blonde. I couldn’t really tell. Either way, it was largely covered by a raggedy pale blue bandana that she had tied around her head. On her back was a tiny little bow and a quiver filled with arrows, and around her waist was a big, thick belt that housed a variety of daggers, lock picks, tools, and pouches. Her large, bright blue eyes seemed to watch my every move.

She was so cute! I just wanted to cuddle her!

“Hi there!” I was so excited to meet her. “I’m Abigail. Right now, I’m looking for magic! You see, all of the goods in this village have disappeared, and I’m trying to find out where they went so that I can buy some herbs for my Gramma,”

The little Halfling lady just stared at me for a while. Finally, she asked me a question.

“How old are you…?” she stared at me quizzically, her eyebrow cocked high. She sort of reminded me of how Gramma looked when I said something stupid.

“Eighteen,” I replied, confused.

“And you went out to buy herbs for your grandma, but since there are no herbs, you‘re looking for magic that may have stolen the herbs?”

“Yep, that‘s about right,” I answered proudly.

“What are you, stupid? Magic residue dissipates within minutes. Considering how long the stuff has been gone, there won‘t be any of it left,”

I was completely taken aback. I had thought that it was such a good plan too. And just like that, this little Halfling had completely torn it to shreds. And she wasn’t even dressed like a witch!

“Oh…” I was getting very upset. “Oh, Gramma is going to be so disappointed in me! I can’t do anything right!”

“Hey, hey, don’t get worked up!” the little Halfling lady said agitatedly. “Geez, if you want to get those herbs so bad, just ask the half-orc who’s tied up in the square! He’s supposed to be the one who’s stolen all that stuff,”

Oh, that just made me so happy. I gave the little Halfling lady a great big, grateful hug. She yelped in shock as I lifted her off the ground and spun her.

“Ohthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!” I squealed. “You’re a life saver! Thank you, Ms….?”
“Cass,” the little Halfling lady mumbled. “And if you let me down, I’ll even take you there! How about that, eh?”


Soon we found ourselves in the town square. And there, in the pillory, was the half-orc. He looked like he was sleeping. I shuddered a little when I saw him. His broad, bestial face was covered in scars, and his head was covered in long, dirty, white hair. His hands looked like they were as big as my face. He was the first half-orc I had ever seen, and he was a lot scarier than I thought they were going to be. Cautiously, I approached him.

“Um, hello?” I squeaked. No response. Warily, I poked his stubby nose.

Suddenly, his eyes burst open. I screamed.

“UGH! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” he bellowed. “HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU DAMNED PEOPLE THAT I DIDN’T STEAL ANYTHING?!?”

“Sorry!” I whimpered. “I thought you did! I apologize! See, I’mnewtotownandsomeonetoldmethatmaybeyouwerethethi efandIthoughtthatmaybeyoucouldhelpmefindsomeherbsa nd-”

“HEY!” he interrupted me, as he shifted his attention to someone else. “WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?! DON’T THINK THAT I’VE FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU!”

I turned, and there I saw Cass, trying very hard to sneak away.

“YOU THINK I DON’T SEE YOU, YOU LITTLE BITCH?! I’M GOING TO KILL YOU FOR PUTTING ME UP HERE!”

I stared at Cass in shock.

“You had an innocent man put in the stocks?!” I was horrified.

“Innocent my ass! He was trying to kill me!”

“ONLY BECAUSE YOU TRIED TO STEAL FROM ME FIRST, YOU LITTLE-”

“QUIET!” I yelled, surprised at the commanding tone in my voice. “Quiet! Both of you! Cass, let the poor man out! He’s suffered a lot because of you, and he deserves to be set free,”

“Are you crazy?” Cass was frantic. “He’s going to kill me!”

“No he won’t,” I turned to the half-orc. “Because I’ll stop him if he even tries!”

At that, they both burst into laughter. The half-orc was laughing so hard it looked like he was about to cry.

“Ahahah! I like your attitude, little witch! Alright,” the half-orc chortled. “If you let me go, I promise that I won’t hurt the Halfling,”

I turned to Cass.

“You have lock picks don’t you? Let him out,”

Reluctantly, Cass pulled out her thieves’ tools and unlocked the stocks. The half-orc threw off the stocks and stood up to his full height, massaging the feeling back into his wrists.

He was really, really, really big…

“Alright,” I smiled at both of them. “Now we can all be civil! I’m Abigail Weathers, and this is Cass,”

“Kurgan, Son-of-None,” the half-orc bowed to me. “And while I’m thankful for what you have done for me, I can’t stick around,”

“What? Why not?” I asked.

“Because I’m an escaped prisoner right now,” he smiled wryly. “Besides that, I made a promise to some new friends of mine that I would break them out as soon as I got free…”

And now, another NEW character! This is Tavor, the unluckiest lucky ex-gladiator, reminiscing about a reminiscence. Yes, really. No not really.


Echoes of the Past

I watched his blood fall in droplets, splashing into the dirt, being drawn in by the embrace of Mother Earth. And soon, he had fallen too, first to his knees, and then face-first into the pool of his own blood. I grabbed him, and turned his face so that it faced mine.

“ISAAC! ISAAC!” I screamed as I cradled his limp body. But my cries were for naught. He was dead even before he had hit the ground. He was dead as soon as I had slashed open his throat.

The lash of the whip forced me to relinquish my friend.

“Get up, boy!” the lanista spat as he whipped me again. “He is dead, and you are alive! Now get up, before I end your worthless life as well!”

I screamed as I felt the whip against my back.


I screamed myself awake as I bolted upright, and jumped in shock as a shape suddenly moved beside me.

“Tavor…?” a woman's voice mumbled from next to me. “Tavor, are you all right?” My thoughts returned to me. Adina. My wife. My bed. My home. This was my life now.

“Y-yes,” I stammered. “I am fine, Adina. It was just a dream,”

She gave me a wry smile.

“Do not lie to me, Tavor. That was obviously no mere dream,” Adina shifted herself upright. “Now tell me, or I’ll have you put to death for lying to a noble,” she smiled teasingly.

“It was Isaac,”

“Oh,” she laid her hand on my shoulder. We sat together in the bed for a while, until she finally saw it fit to speak once again.

“You should not blame yourself for his death, Tavor,” she said. “You had no choice in the matter! You lived, and you managed to escape it all. He would have wanted you to be free, not to fight until you died! You were his friend after all! Do not chastise yourself up for living!”


I kept mulling over her words long after she had fallen back to sleep. Was she really right? I had a title. I had a palace. I had a wife. I no longer had to fight. I was alive. I was living the dream of every gladiator, but why was I still unsure of everything? Would Isaac really have wanted this for me?


Was this right?


And finally, Varen's back!


Family Reunions Are Always Awkward
(or No, I honestly can't write a story without someone crying in it)

She said that she loved me. But after she had said so, it felt like our relationship had regressed. She hardly spoke. She never came close to me if she could help it. I was used to her shutting me out, trying to keep alone with her thoughts. But this was different. It almost seemed like she was trying ignore me, to forget that I existed, and to forget that she ever admitted to caring for me.

It seemed that the closer we came to our destination, the farther she got from me. And now we were finally there. We were waiting in the Emperor’s castle, surrounded by guards, just waiting for him finally to show. And Natalia wouldn’t even look me in the eyes.

I guess she didn’t have to, as the door suddenly burst open, the Emperor entering with long, confident strides. The guards snapped to attention, but the Emperor looked just as easy-going as ever. Smiling widely, he approached us.

“Varen! Good to see you!” he grasped my hand and shook it vigorously. “How long has it been? Three years? Good gods!” He laughed warmly, then suddenly cut himself off upon seeing Natalia. He stood and stared at her for what seemed like ages, my hand clenched tightly in his. Finally, he spoke.

“…Is that her?” he released my hand and approached her, still looking as though he were inspecting her.

“I am Natalia, your highness,” Natalia smiled at him. It seemed like the first time I had seen her smile in weeks. It probably was.

“It is lovely to finally meet you, Natalia,” the King took her hand and kissed it. “We have heard so much about you from Varen. My little daughter Sadia has been praying for your safety every night, for the past three years! I daresay that she will be incredibly excited to meet you,”

“You are very kind, your Highness,” Natalia curtsied.

This was too weird. Natalia wasn’t acting like herself. She was far too polite, too demure. As the Deathwind, she had never hesitated to curse the Emperor’s name, and now she was practically kissing his feet. And Natalia was never, ever, one to do anything like that.

Was she trying to make a good impression, so that when we told the Emperor about her previously being a Crownbreaker, he would still heed her warning? Was there something he had that she wanted? Did she think he would only respond to polite behavior? Had she had some sort of epiphany while she had been keeping to herself? What was going on?

“Ah! Please, do pardon my rudeness!” the Emperor said suddenly, as though he had just remembered something. “You two must have been traveling for ages! Come, we will talk more in my study. There are plenty of seats where you can rest there,”

The King led us through the enormous, stone halls of the castle, surrounded by his retinue of heavily armed guards. For some reason, he seemed incredibly interested in Natalia, and chatted with her ceaselessly as we walked.

“So tell me, Natalia, from what family do you come from?” the Emperor asked when we finally reached his study. It was an innocent enough question, but Natalia’s response was far from ordinary. Her demure little smile transformed into a devious grin.

“I’m glad you asked, my lord,” she seemed like she had been waiting for that question all day. “I come from the Sen’Gowran family. My father was Adam Sen’Gowran, and my mother was Dawn Kolne. My uncle is Emperor Acton Sen’Gowran. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”

The Emperor stared at her, dumbstruck, for what seemed like ages. Then he suddenly burst into a fit of hearty laughter.

“I knew you looked familiar!” the Emperor caught her in a tight embrace. “You look just like your mother! Hahah! And that joke there! Leading me on like that! Ahahah! Such a clever girl! Aha…”

I realized with alarm that in between his fits of laughter were wracking sobs. Soon, he was crying openly, tears flowing down his face. Natalia looked completely stunned. Whatever she was expecting, it certainly wasn’t that.

It certainly wasn’t what I was expecting either. I could scarcely believe my ears. Natalia, Tali, my oldest friend, my love, was royalty! It seemed like too much to believe. But seeing her there, next to the Emperor, there was no doubt. The familial resemblance was uncanny.

“I thought you were dead,” the Emperor bawled. “I thought that my brother’s bloodline had b-been gone f-for good…”

Natalia stood there silently. Then finally, she patted the Emperor’s back gently.

“I… I understand,” her voice sounded choked. She seemed like she was about to cry as well. “But, I’m afraid that this is not what we came here for.


“You see, my lord, we have come to warn you,”

[Lady Moreta]

STORIES!!!

Ahem... Hi :smallbiggrin:



First off, Abigail makes her triumphant return!

And triumphant she is! :smallbiggrin: Loved it. She's so utterly clueless and yet so sweetly naive that it just works...


And now, another NEW character! This is Tavor, the unluckiest lucky ex-gladiator, reminiscing about a reminiscence. Yes, really.

I liked this - only I have to say that it didn't feel like someone reminiscing about a reminiscence. The part where he wakes up felt like what was happening at the time... unless the dream is him reminscing about a reminiscence. Not that it really matters mind you. I still liked it. Felt sorry for the poor thing too :smallfrown:


And finally, Varen's back!

Yay! Yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay yay.

Can you tell I like Varen?

I do like the way you frequently have your snippets written from one person's point of view, but focused on the other character. It works really well, and I don't think I'd be able to pull it off which makes me jealous :smalltongue:

Okay... what do I write about next? I'm at work, I've still got about 2 hours before home time and I am struggling to stay awake. I thought I'd try my hand at a snippet to try and stay awake, but I don't know what to write about...


Story relating to Rosalind (the castle ravenloft game)
The second part of the story where Garret died
How Terryn & Marlowe met
Orrrr... how Terryn & Marlowe nearly got themselves killed and finally owned up to each other who & what they really were

[Machuchang]

STORIES!!!

Ahem... Hi :smallbiggrin:

Hello to you as well.




And triumphant she is! :smallbiggrin: Loved it. She's so utterly clueless and yet so sweetly naive that it just works...

Just what I intended! It's good to know that I was able to pull it off.:smallbiggrin:




I liked this - only I have to say that it didn't feel like someone reminiscing about a reminiscence. The part where he wakes up felt like what was happening at the time... unless the dream is him reminscing about a reminiscence. Not that it really matters mind you. I still liked it. Felt sorry for the poor thing too :smallfrown:


Yeah... the snippet actually was written as though it were occurring at the time. I just wrote that he was reminiscing of a reminiscence to imply that where he is now is far removed from the event in that snippet. And I just wanted to say 'reminiscing of a reminiscence'.:smalltongue: But yeah, what I said there is entirely wrong.:smallsigh:



I do like the way you frequently have your snippets written from one person's point of view, but focused on the other character. It works really well, and I don't think I'd be able to pull it off which makes me jealous :smalltongue:

I'm very glad that you think so. But I'm sure that you could pull it off.




Story relating to Rosalind (the castle ravenloft game)
The second part of the story where Garret died
How Terryn & Marlowe met
Orrrr... how Terryn & Marlowe nearly got themselves killed and finally owned up to each other who & what they really were


All of them sound awesome, but those three in particular really get me excited.:smallbiggrin:

[Lady Moreta]

All of them sound awesome, but those three in particular really get me excited.:smallbiggrin:

Would you believe I just got landed with work to do... :smallfrown:

And it's 4:25pm so I am outta here in about half an hour... on the weekend... maybe?

[absolmorph]

Oh, dear. I haven't gotten Ezlo's glorious kobold charge written up yet, but I do have a newer story. When you make an insane, pyromaniac sorcerer angry or just get him acting on combat instinct, things go FWOOSH!

Burning the Man who Burnt Us
Or Oh my God that man made our bugbear explode.

Bubs was a bit weary. They'd traveled to the temple of Bloodlust, cleared it out and gotten the essence. Then it fell apart. Joe McBob (yes, that's really his name) was happy with his two swords. One, named Holy, was meant for fighting evil. The other, Unholy, was meant for fighting good. Bubs wondered briefly who came up with these names. He shrugged his shoulders, hefting the pack with Bubbles, his pet, higher on his back. His helmet, made from the skull of a tortoise and reinforced with adamantite, chafed slightly. They were making their way back toward the tower of the wizard who had given Joe, the succubus and Chrono this quest before they'd found him hanging from a cave entrance by his feet.
Fortunately, they were close. Soon after this line of thoughts passed through Bubs's mind, they were knocking on the door and entering the tower.
"So, how goes your quest?" the wizard asked. Bubs wondered if his name had been mentioned or if he was hiding it.
"Well, we got the first three essences. And, in the temple of Bloodlust, we found these swords!" Chrono said, bragging a bit. The wizard was impressed and launched into a story about how the two blades were opposite twins of each other. Opposite twins? Twins are identical. Bubs barely paid attention to the history lecture.
"I wonder why a skeleton would have these blades..." the wizard mused.
Wait. Nobody mentioned the skeleton.
"Who said anything about a skeleton?" Bubs asked.
The wizard sputtered. After a few tense moments, he yelled "GET THEM!" and ran out of the tower. With a mental command, Bubs sent Bubbles to chase him down. The skeleton, all that remained of a wolf, leapt out of the sack, reforming itself to chase down the wizard. Three burly thugs flipped the table they were around, sending Bubs and the succubus sprawling. Chrono and Joe, however, avoided it. With a shout and a quick gesture, Bubs summoned a cloud of glowing particles around the thugs, accidentally catching Chrono in the cloud as well. Oops.
The three front-line fighters attacked the thugs, quickly dispatching them. During the short fight, a loud scream came from outside. That'd be the wizard. Good dog.
The four "heroes" exited the tower and were greeted by the sight of Bubbles proudly sitting on the wizard, wagging its skeletal tail.
"Who's a good boy? You're a good boy! You're a good boy!" Bubs cooed as he petted Bubbles. With another gesture and word, his hands and eyes ignited and he glared down at the traitorous wizard. "Who're you working for?"
"Hah! Like I'd ever tell you!"
Bubs snarled, motioned Bubbles off the wizard and kneeled on the man's stomach, dropping into it. "I'll ask you again. Who had you do this?"
"What the...!" Chrono yelled. Bubs's head whipped up, looking in the direction Chrono was pointing. A bugbear was charging down the hill at them.
"BURN!" screamed the furious Bubs. A small glowing orb shot from his hand and struck the bugbear in the chest, creating a blast of fire which left barely a skeleton. In his fury, the rest of his body began to burn as well. He growled at the wizard beneath him "Tell me if you want to live."
"But they'll kill me!" protested the now terrified man.
Bubs looked at where the bugbear had charged from and saw three robed figures and three skeletons. The skeletons were moving toward them. Bubbles sprinted forward, attacking the center skeleton. Chrono took the one on the left and the ranger and cleric took the right. The necromancers each hurled a sphere which contained some weak spells, aside from one fireball that Bubs managed to avoid getting more than minor burns from. In return, he hurled a fireball which immolated all three necromancers. The three skeletons were a pittance for his companions to destroy.
"If you tell me, I'll give you a quick death. If you don't, I'll take my time. Understand?" Bubs told the wizard. The flames wreathing him flared and he glared at the man.
"Y-yes. I work for the Knights Templar. They want to free Ra-" the explanation was cut short as an arrow went through the man's skull. The group looked to where the arrow had shot from and saw a figure in golden armor retreat back behind a tree.

[Amiel]

I've thoroughly enjoyed reading all snippets, they're all very well written :smallsmile:



Maleidolon
I Hear The Voices

The ground was slick with blood and crushed ice. Slashing wounds upon the earth and mangled forms bore silent testimony to the struggle that played out here.

An armoured body heaved with exertion - aching arms barely managing to grip a pitted sword. Each breath drew shards of hoar-frost into lungs, stabbing like too sharp daggers.

It was sprawled there, mewing pitifully like a newborn lamb. Stupefied and affixed to the earth by a mindblast, its left arm hung uselessly at its side - a thin strip of muscle the only bridge between shoulder and forearm.

Shaira raised a gauntled fist for the coup de grace; her face contorted by battle lust. Madness, fleeting yet present, roiled behind auburn lens.

Like lightning, the naked blade hewed off the creature's head. A face, animalistic yet unnatural with great unblinking eyes stared from a tiger's visage.
It was a rakshasa.

Shaira remembered it well, it who chose to devour innocents and consume their forms. She had being hunting this particular quarry for an age, and time had not been kind to her. Once hale, her red hair had turned a wan silver, and though her figure was still trim, muscle had been replaced by fat.

Dark circles bespoke of the fatigue gripping her then, and she longed to hug her daughter, left in the local inn and lower her aching body in a bath of hot water.

Wiping her sword upon the body of the dead rakshasa, she drew flint and stone, intent on purging the mortal form of the creature with cleansing fire. Fire was the great purifier, and with its spark, this village would be re-consecrated.

Unnaturally flammable, the creature's body soon sent putrid fumes skyward, choking Shaira. Yet, she gritted her teeth and steeled her resolve. Once began, she would see a quest to the very end.

As the flames sputtered out, she stalked upon the squelching mud to the tavern at the edge of the village. A sudden gust of chilling wind threw her tattered cloak like great, sullen wings behind her.

Something was not right. The tavern was too silent. Too dark. She kicked open the door, calling her daughter's name. The sudden adrenaline giving her vitality and energy.

She raced upon the stairs - heedless of the silence - boots thudding against the oak-wood, its rhythm matching the pounding of her heart.

Shaira hesitated at the portal to her room. Anxiety warring with courtesy stayed her hand. The silence could mean that everyone in the tavern was fast asleep, she did wish not to disturb her daughter or the other guests. It would be poor form.

Finally, Shaira opened the door. Maternal instinct won. Her daughter still lay in the bed as she left her. Angelic, Shaira's daughter was the only light in a room cowled with shadows and darkness.

Some noise startled her daughter, who sat bolt upright upon the bed and looked in the direction of Shaira. Shaira's daughter did not reach up to wipe the sleep and drowsiness from her eyes. In fact, she did not appear to blink at all.

"Creature", Shaira's daughter spoke in a volume far too low and sonorous to have come from a child, "why do you wear my mother's form?"

[big teej]

@ (the) Lady Moreta

the second part of the Garret story, definitly, I'd enjoy being able to return to this thread with that on top of everything else I have to read.

or the castle ravenloft game, I'm ever fond of stories of "the devil Strahd"


EDIT: am I going insane from exams? or do we have people writing gareth snippets now?

or did I just forget who's character he was during the exam mind fog? :smalleek:

[Lady Moreta]

Oh, dear. I haven't gotten Ezlo's glorious kobold charge written up yet, but I do have a newer story. When you make an insane, pyromaniac sorcerer angry or just get him acting on combat instinct, things go FWOOSH!

Indeed they do! I found myself getting to the end and going "oh dear..." :smalleek:

The ending felt a little - jerky though I have to say. It kinda felt like you were in a hurry to finish and just tacked something on at the end.


I've thoroughly enjoyed reading all snippets, they're all very well written :smallsmile:



Maleidolon
I Hear The Voices

The ground was slick with blood and crushed ice. Slashing wounds upon the earth and mangled forms bore silent testimony to the struggle that played out here.

An armoured body heaved with exertion - aching arms barely managing to grip a pitted sword. Each breath drew shards of hoar-frost into lungs, stabbing like too sharp daggers.

It was sprawled there, mewing pitifully like a newborn lamb. Stupefied and affixed to the earth by a mindblast, its left arm hung uselessly at its side - a thin strip of muscle the only bridge between shoulder and forearm.

Shaira raised a gauntled fist for the coup de grace; her face contorted by battle lust. Madness, fleeting yet present, roiled behind auburn lens.

Like lightning, the naked blade hewed off the creature's head. A face, animalistic yet unnatural with great unblinking eyes stared from a tiger's visage.
It was a rakshasa.

Shaira remembered it well, it who chose to devour innocents and consume their forms. She had being hunting this particular quarry for an age, and time had not been kind to her. Once hale, her red hair had turned a wan silver, and though her figure was still trim, muscle had been replaced by fat.

Dark circles bespoke of the fatigue gripping her then, and she longed to hug her daughter, left in the local inn and lower her aching body in a bath of hot water.

Wiping her sword upon the body of the dead rakshasa, she drew flint and stone, intent on purging the mortal form of the creature with cleansing fire. Fire was the great purifier, and with its spark, this village would be re-consecrated.

Unnaturally flammable, the creature's body soon sent putrid fumes skyward, choking Shaira. Yet, she gritted her teeth and steeled her resolve. Once began, she would see a quest to the very end.

As the flames sputtered out, she stalked upon the squelching mud to the tavern at the edge of the village. A sudden gust of chilling wind threw her tattered cloak like great, sullen wings behind her.

Something was not right. The tavern was too silent. Too dark. She kicked open the door, calling her daughter's name. The sudden adrenaline giving her vitality and energy.

She raced upon the stairs - heedless of the silence - boots thudding against the oak-wood, its rhythm matching the pounding of her heart.

Shaira hesitated at the portal to her room. Anxiety warring with courtesy stayed her hand. The silence could mean that everyone in the tavern was fast asleep, she did wish not to disturb her daughter or the other guests. It would be poor form.

Finally, Shaira opened the door. Maternal instinct won. Her daughter still lay in the bed as she left her. Angelic, Shaira's daughter was the only light in a room cowled with shadows and darkness.

Some noise startled her daughter, who sat bolt upright upon the bed and looked in the direction of Shaira. Shaira's daughter did not reach up to wipe the sleep and drowsiness from her eyes. In fact, she did not appear to blink at all.

"Creature", Shaira's daughter spoke in a volume far too low and sonorous to have come from a child, "why do you wear my mother's form?"

:smalleek::smalleek: This is... exactly the sort of mind-bending, what-the-heck-just-happened ending I would expect from you :smalltongue:

Very well written, loved the twist at the end. I like :smallsmile: I'd like more :smallsmile:

[Lord_Gareth]

And here's Gareth with another combat snippet!


Steel Song
Or: The Danse Macabre

From the records of Manus Inkfingers, official scribe and aide to General Tialla Hammerblade of Karvak, dated 217 RR

"Sending a strike force was a bold move. Not like Khyber at all. Manus, if you were a betting man, would you say that they acted without orders?"

My lady, Tialla, was often given to these sorts of questions. She was always curious, despite her sole occupation being the ending of lives and the parting of property from its rightful owners in the name of Karvak. That she was beautiful was not in doubt at all; tall, regal, with long blond hair and soft blue eyes, she could have been a bard or a spy, but instead she hid her curves under armor and let her hand rest on one of the two swords at her belt, smiling a small smile. She turned and grinned widely at me.

"They're coming to take the relay codes from us. One of them is coming for me. I know. She told me."

And as if on command, the door was kicked open. In front of it was a half-elven youth, barely even a man, with a shock of short brown hair and green eyes. His body was covered in what looked like sheathed daggers, but we knew better - they were longswords, shrunk by magic and kept in astounding numbers on his person, each a trophy taken from a worthy foe.

"I got this one guys. Move on ahead!"

His voice was arrogant, cocky, but strong, and he took a step into the room with his hands empty. The young man moved with an assured grace that put into mind images of cats stalking their prey, or of the swooping dive of a dragon that has seen its foe.

"You're Tialla, right? The Lady of War and Karvek's biggest asset? I've been looking for you for a long time."

My lady laughed joyously, without a trace of irony or contempt.

"I'd expected you to be taller, Sword Saint. Aren't you supposed to be taller than a giant?"

The youth grinned impishly, "Call me Francis, ma'am, and you'll find that rumors of my god-like properties are greatly exaggerated. Who's your friend with the parchment? Some kind of scribe?"

"He is, at that, Francis. He'll not interfere."

As if by unspoken signal, Francis sprinted into the room, twin blades leaping from their sheaths into his hands. Before he'd taken two steps, the swords had left his hands, flying end over end at Tialla, and two more soon joined them. Tialla drew her own blade from its sheath, ducking low at the same time to dodge the first flying blade. She advanced, swatting another blade out of the air and rolling her shoulder pauldron forward to deflect the third. She rose, caught the fourth blade, and threw it aside in time to meet the Sword Saint's furious charge, whipping her sword in front of her in time to block a vicious double slash. The impact drove her back half a foot; clearly, the half-elf was stronger than he looked.

I have seen warriors battle for their lives before, witnessed the cautious dance that precedes the violence. There was none of that here; the Sword Saint threw himself at Tialla in a storm of steel and fury, blurring the air gray with his sheer rapidity of his strikes. Tialla gave ground before him, bringing her blade up again and again for desperate parries, letting blows through to crash painfully against the plates of her armor. A song of steel filled the air, like bells crying out in beautiful pain.

Even still, blows crept through; a slice so fast as to be barely seen clipped off the top of her ear. A crushing blow stove in the side of her breastplate, cracking a rib. She gritted her teeth through the pain, giving way slowly, letting her opponent exhaust himself.

The two of them broke apart after what felt like an age, panting and smiling goblin grins of joy and blood lust.

"You're good," the youth said eagerly. "You're damn good. I've never had a fight like this!"

"You're pretty impressive yourself, Sword Saint. Sadly, I know something you do not."

His grin widened, "Let me guess, you are not left handed?"

"No. This is not a longsword."

My lady stepped forward with a sweeping slash well short of the Sword Saint, and as her blade came around, it lengthened, becoming a slightly shortened claymore scything for his neck. With a yelp, he threw himself backwards, leaning back and throwing his momentum into a flip that took him over Tialla's next blow, an ankle swipe. He spun to the side as she whipped her claymore back and brought it crashing down. Tialla used her heavy blade like it was lighter than air, moving it without a care in the world in ways that would make a giant swordsman green with envy. The Sword Saint bent his body in increasingly astonishing ways to stay out of the path of its knife-sharp edge, keeping himself a hair's width away from a swift end.

Then he did something unexpected - he attacked, his form blurring as he shouted a command word in elven. I recognized the haste spell affecting him as he threw himself into the assault, leaping into the air for a series of spinning slashes that came down like hammer's blows on Tialla's blade. His feet hit the ground and he advanced like a metal hurricane, forcing her to block blow after blow with her wide blade.

Why do this? It wasn't getting him anywhere. Unless...

The spell wore off and my lady lashed out with her booted foot, catching the elf in the chest. He spun as he fell, his swords going flying out of his hands, and she brought her weapon up and around - only to see Francis catch himself, regain his feet, and draw a single weapon in one smooth motion. As her claymore hit the floorboards, he brought an adamantine longsword down on its blade, cracking the already weakened metal in half and spraying its shards all over the floor. His free hand reached out and drew Tialla's other blade from her sheath, and he flicked it across her throat with a backhanded slash. A neat red line appeared on her throat, which then became a rapid gush of blood. For a moment I could swear that the blade he'd done the deed with pulsed, as though breathing.

"What will you do now?"

"My job," he said with a shrug. "I have my trophy. I'm done here."

He left after that. I never saw him again.


Three Days Later, in the Sword Saint's tent

"So, soul-stealing sword, huh?"

"Soul-storing, really. I thought you might use it against me, and I figured I could be safe rather than sorry. Do you intend on killing me?"

"No way! We've got a lot to teach each other. And it's not like I can't afford the spell if I can get you on our side."

"Oh, definitely. Are you...?

"What, single? Yeah, actually. You wouldn't think it, but yeah. Want to get some drinks or something to celebrate coming back from the dead once we get back to Porthaven?"

"Sounds marvelous."

[Lady Moreta]

All right, all right, I'm coming! :smalltongue:

First off - you win writing. Forever.

This made me laugh like nothing else :smallbiggrin:



"You're good," the youth said eagerly. "You're damn good. I've never had a fight like this!"

"You're pretty impressive yourself, Sword Saint. Sadly, I know something you do not."

His grin widened, "Let me guess, you are not left handed?"

"No. This is not a longsword."

I had visions of Inigo Montoya and Westley here. I loved the "not left-handed" part :smallbiggrin: I read it out to my husband and he started laughing as well.




Three Days Later, in the Sword Saint's tent

"So, soul-stealing sword, huh?"

"Soul-storing, really. I thought you might use it against me, and I figured I could be safe rather than sorry. Do you intend on killing me?"

"No way! We've got a lot to teach each other. And it's not like I can't afford the spell if I can get you on our side."

"Oh, definitely. Are you...?

"What, single? Yeah, actually. You wouldn't think it, but yeah. Want to get some drinks or something to celebrate coming back from the dead once we get back to Porthaven?"

"Sounds marvelous."

Best. Ending. Ever I don't think any snippet here has made me laugh quite as hard as this did :smallbiggrin:

Writing was brilliant as always - got a bit confused as to who Francis (:smallbiggrin:) was talking to with his first line "don't worry I'll take it from here" - gotta admit I'm not entirely sure who he was talking to and what's meant to be happening here. That would be the only critisim though. The rest of it had me cracking up laughing. The combat is well done and easy to follow and the whole thing flows smoothly. I like having it from the scribe's point of view, it worked really well.

And the whole concept of "I killed you, hey now let's date!" "You killed me, hey now let's date!" just has me wanting to burst out laughing at work. It was so utterly out there and yet it still works within the story. Much love and you win :smallbiggrin:

[absolmorph]

Indeed they do! I found myself getting to the end and going "oh dear..." :smalleek:

The ending felt a little - jerky though I have to say. It kinda felt like you were in a hurry to finish and just tacked something on at the end.
Well, we wanted to wrap things up, since I was the only player still around (hence the focus on what I did), and it was a really short combat. It took two rounds for the bugbear and necromancers to all be dead and it took another round to finish off the skeletons. All in all, I think it took about 10 minutes to finish. That's about how long one round takes in a typical combat with that group.

And, soon (later tonight, if I have time and the will), I'll tell a tale of my new paladin, Virei Goldeneyes, and the first battle I played him in. It was kind of hilarious and kind of awesome. It was also our first session using 4e, so the other players aren't used to using powers yet.
To quote myself, in response to the shocked looks as I explained the effects of an ability: "I'm a defender! :smallbiggrin: "

[Lord_Gareth]

And the whole concept of "I killed you, hey now let's date!" "You killed me, hey now let's date!" just has me wanting to burst out laughing at work. It was so utterly out there and yet it still works within the story. Much love and you win :smallbiggrin:

When your entire life is combat (and the two of you are the chosen of goddess-potentiates seeking to emerge into reality ex nihilo) you tend to be kinda odd.

[Lady Moreta]

Well, we wanted to wrap things up, since I was the only player still around (hence the focus on what I did), and it was a really short combat. It took two rounds for the bugbear and necromancers to all be dead and it took another round to finish off the skeletons. All in all, I think it took about 10 minutes to finish. That's about how long one round takes in a typical combat with that group.

And, soon (later tonight, if I have time and the will), I'll tell a tale of my new paladin, Virei Goldeneyes, and the first battle I played him in. It was kind of hilarious and kind of awesome. It was also our first session using 4e, so the other players aren't used to using powers yet.
To quote myself, in response to the shocked looks as I explained the effects of an ability: "I'm a defender! :smallbiggrin: "

Ahhh... that makes a lot more sense. First person tends to focus more on the person telling the story, but it seemed odd that your guy (whose name I've forgotten I'm sorry) was the only one doing anything. Finding out you were the only one at the session makes so much more sense :smallsmile:

And where's the paladin? I wanna see this fancy ability :smalltongue:


When your entire life is combat (and the two of you are the chosen of goddess-potentiates seeking to emerge into reality ex nihilo) you tend to be kinda odd.

Yes... yes I can see that making someone a bit odd...

I am still working on my snippet, time and inspiration have been in short supply. I'm on holiday from next week, but also under doctor's orders to stay off the computer as much as possible so I don't know how much writing I'll actually get done.

[Werekat]

And here I try to make my return again. :) There hasn't been much to write about, and there has been a lot of real life stuff to deal with, but I missed you people too much. I need to catch up on reviews, but that'll probably be tomorrow (I really-really hope). I haven't even had time to rewrite the last Bashira story. But I did manage to get a short snippet done today. It's another vampire story, same Morgana, but without her Sire and in San Francisco.


Righting a Wrong
or
Is standing up to a Baron crazy or having moral fiber?
The taxi drives away, and I am left alone with the Gangrel and Brujah, in the middle of the most dangerous district in San Francisco.

Nicoletta fixates me with a stare. "And what is your business in Colma tonight, Morgana?"

Her voice is calm, but it still betrays her distrust of non-locals. I've so far been able not to step on any sore toes a particularly patriotic Kindred might have, having seen my share of them previously, but there's always a first time.

"I want to talk to the Giovanni." I reply carefully. "You're fairly lucky to have necromancers in a city with ghost and zombie problems. I'm hoping they can shed some light on these restless spirits. If I may ask, are you here for the same?"

"Not until now, no." She replies. "We are going to meet the Baron Evan, as he has been out of touch with the other Barons recently. The Malkavian is prone to disappearances, but now is really not a good time. I want to know if he's all right."

"I see."

"You are going to meet the necromancers alone?"

I shrug. "It is not as if I have much of a choice."

"Come with us." She offers. "And we will accompany you to the Giovanni." A low growl escapes her. "I want to know what is going on in my city."

"Certainly." I've been able to talk my way out of being killed by more powerful Kindred after sticking my nose in their affairs before, but having a Gangrel and Brujah as backup is rather reassuring. Especially since we've already fought by one another's side, and have formed a tentative alliance.

She nods curtly, and struts towards the cemetery. Rebecca follows her, visibly bored, and I follow Rebecca.

Our road winds on through the many graves. Luckily, it's a fairly calm cemetery for now. No restless spirits come out to taunt or harm us. But there is no Baron, either.

The Gangrel calls out to the Baron, and as we wait, I let my eyes wander. A grave marker catches my attention. It reads, "Morgana Lakes. 1837-1855."

"Why, hello." I say quietly. "It's not often you find someone named exactly as you are."

As if in reply, something moves behind me. I spin around, only to see a thin, gaunt blonde man, smartly dressed, slowly moving towards me. He smiles a welcoming smile, but there is an axe in his hand that kills the reassuring effect completely.

I back away at the same slow pace.

"Nicoletta," I call. "Is this the Baron?"

"Oh! Evan! Glad to see you!" The Gangrel says. "I need to talk to you, please."

But he's looking only at me, and smiling in obvious relief. He finally speaks in a quiet voice, "I'm so glad you came. So very glad. It would have been hard to find you, this is a big city. But you came on your own. Thank you."

"Is there a way I can be of service to the Baron of Colma?"

"Yes." He stops close to the grave of Morgana Lakes. "I need your hand. Please. It won't hurt. It won't take long. I need to return it to its rightful owner."

Ah. He is hounded by a wraith, I presume. And, yes, the solution does make sense if she's missing a hand. The magic of name is important, and it *is* possible that the wraith will move on if I provide her with what has been taken away.

But I'm really not too keen on giving away an important magical link to some wraith I don't even know. Maybe there's another way around this?

"Wait, Evan." Nicoletta says, coming up to us. "Morgana *is* her own hand's rightful owner."

"No, you don't understand." The Malkavian says kindly. "I need to help her. Please, miss. Your hand."

"It's all right, Nicoletta. May I look at her grave? I may be able to help her without such drastic measures."

He looks uncertain. "Y-yes, yes, but quickly, please. I am a very busy man."

"Rebecca," I turn to the redhead. "I have a favor to ask of you."

The Brujah raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Catch me if things get out of hand." A medium who fears the spirit world is almost a joke. A vampire medium whose Beast fears the spirit world is nearly always a joke. I need backup these nights, backup to hold me while I deal with fear. It frustrates me to no end.

"Ok, fine." The Brujah shrugs.

I come up to the grave, and kneel beside it. My hands stroke the grave marker as I concentrate.

...And sickness overcomes me. There is sharp pain in my stomach, and the blood in my body rises up, and I cannot keep it down, vomiting blood over the grave. When the fit passes, I see the ground of the graveyard seep with yellow bile. I hear voices that whisper "leracholeracholeracho..."

Oh gods. A whole cemetery of cholera victims. They are reaching for me! They will infect me!

My body jerks away from the grave, but two strong hands catch me in time.

Stay, you fool, you are undead and in no danger here! Don't you dare run!

"Morrigan, Washer at the Ford, prophet who knows of the dead, give me strength to see through their pain, give me the sight to know what happened to this girl!" I mutter in Irish, forcing myself to concentrate. "I am better. Release me, Rebecca."

The Brujah does as I ask. The pain fades into the background, and I can look down into the grave. Into? Yes, for the earth has been torn open by a man with a shovel. He resembles Evan, but has a greedy glint in his eyes and a wicked grin on his face. A grave robber?

He finally reaches the coffin, and opens it. The girl looks nothing like me, whether in death or in life. But she does have a few valuables on her. He quickly tears the jewelery off, but has some difficulty with the bracelet on her left arm. The bracelet is some kind of charm, I think, worthless except as a memento. But the greed of the man is too great. He tries to remove it, but it sits too tightly. The grave robber scowls, and removes her hand with a few certain chops of the shovel. He is obviously used to doing this.

Someone whimpers behind me, and I turn to see a scared-looking young boy, who will grow up in one hundred and fifty years to become the Baron of Colma. The grave robber notices him, too. He screams at the boy shrilly.

"Evan, you little bastard! Get the hell to sleep! Get out! Get out!"

The boy takes a step away and starts to fade. I take one last look at the girl and know with the certainty of a medium: her spirit is not restless. She passed on long ago, and with relative ease.

This is not a matter of restless spirits, but the Malkavian's guilt speaking within him.

The real world comes into view, and I find myself on hands and knees on an undisturbed grave, with blood streaming down my cheeks.

"Well?" The Baron says sharply. "Are you done? I need your hand."

I stand up and meet his eye. I am far taller than he is, and yet he is Baron, over a hundred years older than I am, and with a very sharp axe.

But I cannot give way to insanity and lies.

"I am sorry, Baron." I say firmly. "The girl's spirit is long gone. My hand would not help her in any way. It is you who need help, not her."

"What are you talking about?" Confused and angry, like all who must meet with their lies to themselves. "I need your hand, miss, please. I thought I was so lucky, that it's not going to be like always, in dark alleys, with the police and all the noise afterwards, please, do not disappoint me!"

Oh gods, I wonder how many people he killed to right the wrongs done by his father. And possibly in vain, too. I really can't leave this be, I must tell him the truth. Looks like I'm going to make an enemy of a Baron. Just. My. Luck.

"She does not need it." I repeat. "She is long gone from this world, and nothing remains. I do understand that you would like to right the wrong of a grave robber." His face contorts in fear. He knows that I know. "But this is not the way to do it. If you like, we can talk about how we can help you."

"I thought you understood!" He looks lost. "Please don't make me hunt you in an alley somewhere!"

"I do understand, Evan." I come up to him, and try to hold his shoulders reassuringly. Oh gods, save me from a close combat Frenzy, I'm going to die if he Frenzies, he's older than I am... "I do understand why you want to repent. But this is really not the way to do it. I can help, if you want. But it's not the kind of help you're asking for."

He sobs - and disappears from my hands.

I brace myself for impact.

But the axe blow does not come.

"Evan! Call Nicholas, please!" Nicoletta says, and then scribbles the same message on the earthy path with her foot. Then she turns to me. "What's going on, Morgana?"

"He wants to right an old wrong. But there is no one to make it right to." I reply. "There is no ghost here. Merely his own imagination. I am sorry for hurting your negotiations."

"I got what I came here for." The Gangrel answers. "Let's move on to your Giovanni.

[Lady Moreta]

And here I try to make my return again. :) There hasn't been much to write about, and there has been a lot of real life stuff to deal with, but I missed you people too much. I need to catch up on reviews, but that'll probably be tomorrow (I really-really hope). I haven't even had time to rewrite the last Bashira story. But I did manage to get a short snippet done today. It's another vampire story, same Morgana, but without her Sire and in San Francisco.


Righting a Wrong
or
Is standing up to a Baron crazy or having moral fiber?
The taxi drives away, and I am left alone with the Gangrel and Brujah, in the middle of the most dangerous district in San Francisco.

Nicoletta fixates me with a stare. "And what is your business in Colma tonight, Morgana?"

Her voice is calm, but it still betrays her distrust of non-locals. I've so far been able not to step on any sore toes a particularly patriotic Kindred might have, having seen my share of them previously, but there's always a first time.

"I want to talk to the Giovanni." I reply carefully. "You're fairly lucky to have necromancers in a city with ghost and zombie problems. I'm hoping they can shed some light on these restless spirits. If I may ask, are you here for the same?"

"Not until now, no." She replies. "We are going to meet the Baron Evan, as he has been out of touch with the other Barons recently. The Malkavian is prone to disappearances, but now is really not a good time. I want to know if he's all right."

"I see."

"You are going to meet the necromancers alone?"

I shrug. "It is not as if I have much of a choice."

"Come with us." She offers. "And we will accompany you to the Giovanni." A low growl escapes her. "I want to know what is going on in my city."

"Certainly." I've been able to talk my way out of being killed by more powerful Kindred after sticking my nose in their affairs before, but having a Gangrel and Brujah as backup is rather reassuring. Especially since we've already fought by one another's side, and have formed a tentative alliance.

She nods curtly, and struts towards the cemetery. Rebecca follows her, visibly bored, and I follow Rebecca.

Our road winds on through the many graves. Luckily, it's a fairly calm cemetery for now. No restless spirits come out to taunt or harm us. But there is no Baron, either.

The Gangrel calls out to the Baron, and as we wait, I let my eyes wander. A grave marker catches my attention. It reads, "Morgana Lakes. 1837-1855."

"Why, hello." I say quietly. "It's not often you find someone named exactly as you are."

As if in reply, something moves behind me. I spin around, only to see a thin, gaunt blonde man, smartly dressed, slowly moving towards me. He smiles a welcoming smile, but there is an axe in his hand that kills the reassuring effect completely.

I back away at the same slow pace.

"Nicoletta," I call. "Is this the Baron?"

"Oh! Evan! Glad to see you!" The Gangrel says. "I need to talk to you, please."

But he's looking only at me, and smiling in obvious relief. He finally speaks in a quiet voice, "I'm so glad you came. So very glad. It would have been hard to find you, this is a big city. But you came on your own. Thank you."

"Is there a way I can be of service to the Baron of Colma?"

"Yes." He stops close to the grave of Morgana Lakes. "I need your hand. Please. It won't hurt. It won't take long. I need to return it to its rightful owner."

Ah. He is hounded by a wraith, I presume. And, yes, the solution does make sense if she's missing a hand. The magic of name is important, and it *is* possible that the wraith will move on if I provide her with what has been taken away.

But I'm really not too keen on giving away an important magical link to some wraith I don't even know. Maybe there's another way around this?

"Wait, Evan." Nicoletta says, coming up to us. "Morgana *is* her own hand's rightful owner."

"No, you don't understand." The Malkavian says kindly. "I need to help her. Please, miss. Your hand."

"It's all right, Nicoletta. May I look at her grave? I may be able to help her without such drastic measures."

He looks uncertain. "Y-yes, yes, but quickly, please. I am a very busy man."

"Rebecca," I turn to the redhead. "I have a favor to ask of you."

The Brujah raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Catch me if things get out of hand." A medium who fears the spirit world is almost a joke. A vampire medium whose Beast fears the spirit world is nearly always a joke. I need backup these nights, backup to hold me while I deal with fear. It frustrates me to no end.

"Ok, fine." The Brujah shrugs.

I come up to the grave, and kneel beside it. My hands stroke the grave marker as I concentrate.

...And sickness overcomes me. There is sharp pain in my stomach, and the blood in my body rises up, and I cannot keep it down, vomiting blood over the grave. When the fit passes, I see the ground of the graveyard seep with yellow bile. I hear voices that whisper "leracholeracholeracho..."

Oh gods. A whole cemetery of cholera victims. They are reaching for me! They will infect me!

My body jerks away from the grave, but two strong hands catch me in time.

Stay, you fool, you are undead and in no danger here! Don't you dare run!

"Morrigan, Washer at the Ford, prophet who knows of the dead, give me strength to see through their pain, give me the sight to know what happened to this girl!" I mutter in Irish, forcing myself to concentrate. "I am better. Release me, Rebecca."

The Brujah does as I ask. The pain fades into the background, and I can look down into the grave. Into? Yes, for the earth has been torn open by a man with a shovel. He resembles Evan, but has a greedy glint in his eyes and a wicked grin on his face. A grave robber?

He finally reaches the coffin, and opens it. The girl looks nothing like me, whether in death or in life. But she does have a few valuables on her. He quickly tears the jewelery off, but has some difficulty with the bracelet on her left arm. The bracelet is some kind of charm, I think, worthless except as a memento. But the greed of the man is too great. He tries to remove it, but it sits too tightly. The grave robber scowls, and removes her hand with a few certain chops of the shovel. He is obviously used to doing this.

Someone whimpers behind me, and I turn to see a scared-looking young boy, who will grow up in one hundred and fifty years to become the Baron of Colma. The grave robber notices him, too. He screams at the boy shrilly.

"Evan, you little bastard! Get the hell to sleep! Get out! Get out!"

The boy takes a step away and starts to fade. I take one last look at the girl and know with the certainty of a medium: her spirit is not restless. She passed on long ago, and with relative ease.

This is not a matter of restless spirits, but the Malkavian's guilt speaking within him.

The real world comes into view, and I find myself on hands and knees on an undisturbed grave, with blood streaming down my cheeks.

"Well?" The Baron says sharply. "Are you done? I need your hand."

I stand up and meet his eye. I am far taller than he is, and yet he is Baron, over a hundred years older than I am, and with a very sharp axe.

But I cannot give way to insanity and lies.

"I am sorry, Baron." I say firmly. "The girl's spirit is long gone. My hand would not help her in any way. It is you who need help, not her."

"What are you talking about?" Confused and angry, like all who must meet with their lies to themselves. "I need your hand, miss, please. I thought I was so lucky, that it's not going to be like always, in dark alleys, with the police and all the noise afterwards, please, do not disappoint me!"

Oh gods, I wonder how many people he killed to right the wrongs done by his father. And possibly in vain, too. I really can't leave this be, I must tell him the truth. Looks like I'm going to make an enemy of a Baron. Just. My. Luck.

"She does not need it." I repeat. "She is long gone from this world, and nothing remains. I do understand that you would like to right the wrong of a grave robber." His face contorts in fear. He knows that I know. "But this is not the way to do it. If you like, we can talk about how we can help you."

"I thought you understood!" He looks lost. "Please don't make me hunt you in an alley somewhere!"

"I do understand, Evan." I come up to him, and try to hold his shoulders reassuringly. Oh gods, save me from a close combat Frenzy, I'm going to die if he Frenzies, he's older than I am... "I do understand why you want to repent. But this is really not the way to do it. I can help, if you want. But it's not the kind of help you're asking for."

He sobs - and disappears from my hands.

I brace myself for impact.

But the axe blow does not come.

"Evan! Call Nicholas, please!" Nicoletta says, and then scribbles the same message on the earthy path with her foot. Then she turns to me. "What's going on, Morgana?"

"He wants to right an old wrong. But there is no one to make it right to." I reply. "There is no ghost here. Merely his own imagination. I am sorry for hurting your negotiations."

"I got what I came here for." The Gangrel answers. "Let's move on to your Giovanni.

WEREKAT!!! *pounce-hugs* :smallbiggrin:

Missed you :smallsmile:

I love this, but then I've always had a thing for vampire stories, ever since I read Dracula, and this one is awesome. I like seeing a traditional vampire as the good-guy for a change.

I love the names, although the introduction of 'Evan' startled me a bit, the name just didn't mesh with the others very well. Though I can easily understand that might not be your problem if you didn't name them. Same with Rebecca (though not as much) And has far more to do with the fact that Rebecca is my name :-P

Just a matter of formatting - you know you don't have to use *word* for empahsis right? You can just use italics/bold etc as normal?

[Werekat]

Lady Moreta: Thanks for the greeting back!

Yeah, I know the thing about formatting - I just forgot, because I write in a .txt editor which doesn't have italics or bold. I correct that when I post, but sometimes I forget.

The names really aren't mine. And Morgana always calls people by their full names, unless specifically told not to. So the plucky little red-haired Brujah is called "Rebecca" when writing from her PoV and not "Becky," and the stripperific Gangrel is called "Nicoletta." Evan isn't mine, he's our ST's. :)

Morgana's more True Neutral than Good, really, as far as alignments go. She has a number of principles she lives by, and those have driven her both to do good at great risk to herself and to do evil because duty demands. Not Lawful Neutral because, well, she's a vampire, she has to break a number of laws just to stay alive. She was like that when she was human, as well. Got her the grudging respect of Camarilla and Sabbat vampires alike, but utter disdain from the one human that knew of her double life...

Instead of just saying that, though, your comment inspired me illustrate - so here's a short story from her initial, mortal life with vampires.


Choosing Sides
or
Writing a character with 10th century morals in a Humanity-centered game is asking for trouble
The battle is finally over. I place my gun back in its holster and assess the situation.

We are in trouble.

Karmen, her body torn apart by the creature's claws, barely staggers to her feet. Timothy is down and out cold. Ted stands over him, wounded and surprised. Mind control forced the two Brujah to duel, and Ted unexpectedly came out on top. Mind control. As if necromancy and fleshcraft and illusions were not enough. What *else* can these creatures do? And there are eight more left...

Karmen, healing rapidly, walks up to her Pack priest, kneels to see just how badly hurt he is, and roars in her powerful voice of a powerful, if hurt, Lasombra. "WHO?"

"I did." Ted says sullenly.

The Ductus rises and discharges her machine gun into the other Brujah, and Ted falls, limp and unconscious. She turns to me, eyes flashing in barely-restrained hungry fury.

I'm dead.

But she manages to restrain herself.

"Mortal!" Karmen growls, fingers flexing, predatory grin on her face. "Go down the stairs! Find another one of you, or better two! Quickly!"

I nod and step outside the room. No use in taunting the vampires with my living blood now. I need to get them to the city. There's nobody here, anyway. The island where we had fought had been cleansed of humans before we came. I need to get them to the helicopter, If not - they'll eat each other. And me. Merely spill blood, and the two out cold will rise, and there will be a blood bath.

I press the button for the elevator. It rises up slowly, so very slowly, but finally a chime signals its arrival.

Oh Gods, no.

There is a man inside the elevator, lying in a pool of his own blood. Clothed as a janitor. Openly fractured leg. Blood stain on chest. Eyes glazed over with pain. A soft whisper, "H-help... Me... God.. Swe-it Je-esus... Help.."

And the choices I have are crystal-clear.

I forget my promises and duties and try to save him. I take him down the elevator, and to the helicopter which I can't fly and can't land. And the people I am in one boat with will kill each other for their hunger.

I try to take him with us, arguing with a Sabbat pack for his life. While they are allies for now, they are on the edge of Frenzy. I remember Frenzy from the inside. It does not ask whether this insolent insect before you is your ally. An argument will send them over the edge. And then we're both dead. The vampires survive, though: they'll sate the initial hunger on us.

I leave him here to die on his own. Those wounds will be the death of him before long without medical help. But maybe, just maybe it will come soon enough. But without food the vampires Frenzy, and we are all dead regardless.

And I can give him to them. To Karmen, whose bite is not ecstasy, but endless pain.

Well, Morgana? Did you not swear so long ago, back in another life, that if choosing between the lives of your allies and strangers you will choose allies?

Will you now walk away from that oath?

No. But I will not let him feel pain, either.

I draw the dagger Ted gave me to keep. The man is barely conscious. There will be no struggle.

It's decided, Morgana. I place the dagger to his chest.

"Forgive me."

There is no struggle. I pierce his heart and the man soon stops moving, quietly.

I drag the fresh corpse into the room.

"Here." And step back.

Karmen falls upon him like a vulture, biting into his neck.

And just for a second I hear a shrill scream.

Oh great Gods. Can't I even kill a man right, if it is what I must do?! Can I not grant him mercy?!

I do not look away as she feeds. I have no right to look away.

So: starting with the review debts. I'll be going back in chronological order, so I'll do the most recent stories first.

As always, disclaimer: this is the opinion of someone for whom English is not a first language, and quite subjective. If someone's not interested in the questions on style I ask, you have but to tell me, and I'll shut up and restrict myself to asking questions about the characters and their actions.

Lord Gareth, Steel Song: First emotional response: awesome! One question not related to the writing: who were the PC's? I assume Francis and his group, but you leave just enough doubt for me to have to ask.

More concrete text stuff: I like the way you did the battle - I could see it in my mind, and that's what matters most for me. I like how the scribe is slowly clued in to the half-elf's strength. And I love the ending! I'd like to see more how the relationship between the two developed.

Criticism: none, really. Good snippet for our format.

Amiel, Maleidolon: The pluses: you got Shaira's feelings and actions across well. I liked the feeling of an old warrior, too: you can feel that she's not the youngsters that usually adventure, which is a refreshing break for me, really. You rarely, if ever, repeat words of description.

The minuses: I feel kinda weird here, because I had a hard time getting your style. This does not mean it's bad, you're very much proficient with English - it probably just means that English is a second language for me, so I'll just list the stuff that threw me off-track and let the others comment upon style. I had to look up new words, which is always good, but rather than clearing my confusion, it increased them. Particular examples:

"auburn lens" - that means eyes, right?

"Once hale, her red hair" - once healthy? Strong? It is unhealthy and unkempt now, is that what you meant?

"Dark circles bespoke of the fatigue gripping her then" - you mean the dark circles swimming in one's eyes when one's fatigued, right?

Other stuff that seemed weird: why was Shaira surprised when she understood that her quarry was a Rakshasa? At least, that's the impression the following fragment gives for me:


Like lightning, the naked blade hewed off the creature's head. A face, animalistic yet unnatural with great unblinking eyes stared from a tiger's visage.
It was a rakshasa.

Why does Shaira first kick in the door and shout her daughter's name and then think of the silence and the other guests? Why cannot she enter the room quietly if nothing is wrong, anyway - I presume that she sleeps in the same room as her daughter? Is she just too nervous and tired to think straight (certainly possible after such an ordeal)?

And, uh, feeling like a complete dunce here, but what happened at the end? There were two Rakshasa rather than one, and the second Rakshasa killed everyone? Or did something more sinister happen?

Absolmorph, Burning the man who burnt us: one criticism. I personally can only see the narrator. It's like I'm listening to you telling an RP story, which is not necessarily bad, but not exactly immersive into the world and/or character themselves. If that was the feeling you were going for, you got it, but it doesn't seem to me as if you were. If you're interested in more particular stuff - I'm game to provide.

Bubs the Sorcerer sounds like fun to play, though! Mostly Necromancy and Evocation in the spell lists, right?

Machuchang: for now, I'll just say that I enjoyed your work a lot - I have some work to do now, but I'll get back to you next post. Varen's storyline is probably my favorite, but Abigail's quickly catching up in my personal rating! ;-)

[Machuchang]

Werekat! Good to see you around here again! I've really been missing your writing and advice! :smallbiggrin:




Righting a Wrong
or
Is standing up to a Baron crazy or having moral fiber?

I would say that Morgana definitely demonstrated moral fiber here, but then again, I'm an idealist. :smallwink:

I really enjoyed this story. Morgana is quite a compelling character, and
I especially enjoyed all of your descriptions. They really gave me an idea of what the characters were feeling and seeing, which made me feel very immersed in the story and setting. Great work, as always. :smallbiggrin:




Choosing Sides
or
Writing a character with 10th century morals in a Humanity-centered game is asking for trouble


Wow. This was dark. Not that I'm complaining though! I love this one!

What I really love about these stories is that even though I know absolutely nothing about WoD, I still feel like I'm right there in the middle of the story, which is totally awesome. Though this also makes me really want to know exactly what happened right before this snippet took place. Then again, I always want to know what happened exactly before a snippet took place.



Machuchang: for now, I'll just say that I enjoyed your work a lot - I have some work to do now, but I'll get back to you next post. Varen's storyline is probably my favorite, but Abigail's quickly catching up in my personal rating! ;-)

You are far too kind! Though I think that the compliments for the storylines should go to my DM. :smallredface:

[Lady Moreta]

Choosing Sides
or
Writing a character with 10th century morals in a Humanity-centered game is asking for trouble

Initial reaction: a softly spoken, heartfelt "Damn..." I agree with Machuchang, that was very dark. The ending actually rather startled me, with her realisation she didn't kill the guy properly and feeling like she doesn't deserve to look away. She may be true neutral but I like her.


Karmen, her body torn apart by the creature's claws, barely staggers to her feet. Timothy is down and out cold. Ted stands over him, wounded and surprised. Mind control forced the two Brujah to duel, and Ted unexpectedly came out on top. Mind control. As if necromancy and fleshcraft and illusions were not enough. What *else* can these creatures do? And there are eight more left...

I have to admit, this confused me a little, I wasn't sure if 'these creatures' were the vampires or something else. It took a little time to realise who the vampires were and that Morgana was the only human there (I think). Doesn't detract from the story, and coupled with the dark feel and her thoughts I think it actually works rather well.


Karmen, healing rapidly, walks up to her Pack priest, kneels to see just how badly hurt he is, and roars in her powerful voice of a powerful, if hurt, Lasombra. "WHO?"

This is my only critisim... the 'powerful voice of a powerful' - too many uses of the same word in one sentence. It detracts from the sentence and I find that I at least got distracted from the sense of who Karmen is and what she's like by the sudden jarring.

Other questions are simply what is a Brujah? Lasombra? Gangrel? I'm curious :smallsmile:

Oh, about the formatting - I write in MS Word, but what I do is just use the formatting tools as normal and then once I'm done, I go back through and put the html tags around the appropriate words. I used to do it as I wrote, but it got too distracting and I'd lose my train of thought so I just went back afterwords and did it then.

[Machuchang]

I just learned that both Varen and Natalia's names are very fitting in regards to this holiday season. Varen apparently means gift, and Natalia means born on Christmas day. So what does this newfound knowledge get you? Snippets from both!


Family Feud

(or Family Reunions Usually Aren't THIS Awkward)

Gods, why did I get so teary there? I couldn’t trust him! Not yet! There was still so much I had to know, and if I let my guard down now, I would never have my answers.

But he was happy to see me. And he was surprised by our warning of the Crownbreakers’ plan of attack. If he really had managed to manipulate the Crownbreakers beforehand, to kill me no less, then his reactions just didn’t add up. Either he was completely genuine, or he was one of the best liars I had ever met. I wasn’t sure which one was more unnerving.

But Varen trusted him. And he was always much, much better at reading people than I ever was…

But Varen was gone now. After we had warned him, the Emperor sent him off to warn his generals of the impending attack, but I stayed behind. Good thing too. There was no way I’d be able to think with him hovering around nearby.

“Are you not going with him?” the Emperor asked curiously.

“Actually, my lord,” I said. “I was wondering if we could talk,”

“Of course!” the Emperor gave a confused little smile as sank into his chair. “And please, call me Acton,”

“I want to know about my father,”

“Ah…” the Emperor’s demeanor changed dramatically. His bemused expression was immediately replaced with one of trauma and resignation, and he seemed to sink even deeper into his chair.

“Your father, Adam…” he sighed despondently. “He was my older brother, and the heir to the throne. But more than that, he was my best friend. I loved him and respected him like no one else, before or since,” he chuckled a little bit to himself. “When we were little, we would sneak out into the town and go swimming in King’s Bay. Our nanny would always have a fit when we came back with sand in our hair…” his eyes lit up as he spoke, and he beamed mischievously, as though he had just now gotten back from such an adventure. I couldn’t help but smile too.

“He was a prodigy you know,” the Emperor shifted himself in his seat and leaned forward intently. “They said he was a genius. It really was no surprise at all though, at least to me,” the Emperor grinned and shook his head. “Adam had a memory like no one else. And oh! Was he good with people! He could get anything he wanted with that silver tongue of his! Not that he ever did…” the Emperor suddenly became contemplative. “No, he would always do things on others’ behalves. Adam lived to please others. That’s why your mother loved him so much,” he snickered at first, then burst into laughter, before quickly cutting himself off. I could only stare at him incredulously. I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

“Forgive me,” he chuckled again. “But they really were quite a pair! Adam would do anything for Dawn, and she would have done anything for him. They were so in love, it was almost disgusting,” he chuckled. “And I introduced them you know. Dawn was the best person in the world for him. They were always together, They were the talk of the country! Everyone knew who they were. But unfortunately, they were not so famed because of their feelings for one another,” he sighed again. “You see, Dawn was not of any royal family. In fact, she was merely a peasant woman. And because of it, my parents were furious. Only caring about their political standing in the world, my parents refused to accept their love. They would have rather forced Adam into some arranged marriage to obtain more political power! They said that they would disown him if he chose to pursue his relationship with your mother!” the Emperor’s tone shifted to that of righteous indignation.

“Of course, I’m sure you can guess how it turned out,” the Emperor said gloomily. “Adam chose to stand by Dawn, no matter what. And my parents threw him out, their compassionate, genius son, and made me the heir to the throne. Adam and Dawn moved out into the country, where, eventually, they had you,” Then suddenly, the Emperor burst. “My parents were fools! Their pride and lust for power doomed this country! If they would have only accepted your parents’ love, then Adam, the better man, the smarter man, would have been king! If only it were so, then perhaps this country would not be in such a mess due to my incompetence!” Visibly drained, he sank back into his chair again, his story apparently finished.

I was struck immediately. Now everything made sense! Why I was never aware of my royal status, why I had never met my family before, why I was completely cut off from everything. Everything made sense but one thing. Why did my father send me away? That just didn’t make sense! There had to be more to the story.

“But how did he die, Acton?” I asked. “When I was only seven years old, he took me away and left me in a monastery of the Eight-Pointed star. He said that we were in danger. After that, I never saw him or my mother again. Please,” I begged. “What happened?”

The Emperor sat in silence for what seemed like forever, purposefully trying to avoid my gaze. Then, tears began to well in his eyes, and soon, they were falling freely down his cheeks.

“Fifteen years ago… I finally saw your father again,” the Emperor wept. “He told me that he was being hunted. That assassins had… taken Dawn’s life… and were after his as well,” the Emperor buried his face in his hands. “I promised him that I would protect him! That I would find out who was behind it, and that I would make them pay-” the Emperor cut himself off as he tried to choke back the tears. “Th-then that very night… F-for the first time I h-had seen him in eight years, I h-heard a t-terrible scream,” the Emperor sobbed. “I w-walked into h-his room, and th-there he was. H-his th-throat sl-slit and h-his eyes r-rolled b-back… Th-there was b-blood everywh-where…”

My stomach sank.

“S-so I l-launched an investigation,” the Emperor rubbed his eyes. “A-and d-do you kn-know who was behind it?” he began to weep uncontrollably. “M-my parents… Apparently, by s-some law, A-Adam was st-still heir. S-so th-they k-killed him for me…” the Emperor wailed. “So y-you kn-know what I d-did? I k-killed them. I h-had them h-hung! I m-murdered my own p-parents t-to avenge m-my brother… My whole family was killed because of me!”

The Emperor was disconsolate. I had no idea what I could do, what I could say, to try and make things better for him. But now I understood why he was so shocked to see me, why he was so emotional when he met me. I had gone and dredged up all of these old feelings about his family just by being around.

I laid my hand on his shoulder.

“Not your whole family, Acton,”


How it Should Have Been

(or Dancing in the Moonlight)


Well, it certainly had been an eventful day.

The Emperor had taken our warning of the Crownbreakers with great seriousness, and within a few hours, it seemed like the whole capitol city was preparing for war. He had us spread the warning to all of his generals and he himself had even sent word to the ten Dukes. It seemed like all of Geridia was waiting with feverish anticipation for the Crownbreakers, but he still seemed preoccupied with Natalia.

Honestly, I was too.

She just kept acting stranger and stranger as the day went on, and when the Emperor gave her her own room in the palace, she just disappeared into it. I had to know what was wrong.

But something held me back. Only when it was late at night was I able gather enough courage to speak to her. And even then, I must have stood outside her door for ages before even trying to knock.

But finally, I managed to gain enough composure to act. I opened the door.

She was sitting on her bed, apparently lost in thought. Pale moonlight poured in from her window, illuminating her slender form, her long, golden hair glowing in the soft light. Gods, she was so beautiful.

“Tali?” I asked hesitantly as I entered. “Can we talk?”

She looked up in shock when I spoke.

“Oh! Varen!” she said, surprised. “Why are you here?”

“I’m worried about you,” I said. “You’ve been acting strangely recently, and I want to know if you’re alright,”

“What is it with you?” She gave a slight laugh. “I’m perfectly fine. You don’t need to worry about me,” She tried to give me a reassuring smile.

“But I do,” I said. “You’ve barely spoken to me in weeks, and you hardly ever even look at me. Why? Have I done something wrong? Are you ashamed of me? Do you not really love me…?” I was starting to get choked up. “Please Tali… I’m afraid I’m going to lose you,”

Natalia turned away from me, and just sat in silence for what seemed like ages. Then, slowly, she began to roll back her dress, revealing a tiny scabbard that had been tied around her leg. Carefully, she unsheathed a long, slender knife and laid it on the bed.

“Why?” she turned to me. “Because I was going to break your heart,” Her large blue eyes seemed to be staring right through me. “I was going to kill the Emperor, and I was going to tear you apart… But maybe if we weren’t so close anymore, neither of us would have been hurt as much... At least that’s what I thought,” she kept getting quieter and quieter as she spoke. “And then I just couldn’t bring myself to kill him. He really wasn’t what I thought…”

A chill ran down my spine. I was absolutely stunned. I had no idea what to think. She had just confessed that she had planned to murder the Emperor! I thought that she had changed! I thought that she was through with the Crownbreakers! I was stressed and confused, but as I looked at her, as I saw her pained expression, I knew that there had to be more going on than what I was thinking. And Gods, no matter what, I would love her. So not knowing what to think, I walked over to the bed and sat down next to her.

“Tali, what is going on?”

She sighed heavily.

“One year ago, I met my father for the first time since I was seven years old,” she said sadly. “He was at the ruins of the monastery, with Father Daugherty. He said that the Emperor was behind the attack, that he was trying to kill me to ensure his claim to the throne would be safe!” she kept getting more and more agitated as she spoke. “So I had to take over the Crownbreakers! I had to lead them, to do everything in my power to strike out against the Emperor! So when you finally gave me a chance to see the Emperor face-to face, I had to be prepared to kill him! He had to be evil! That would have been the only way that I could have justified my actions! That would have been the only way I could have ever brought out a greater good from the deaths of all of those innocent people! But after meeting him, after getting to know him, there is just no way that it could have been him!” she broke down into tears. Not knowing what else to do, I tentatively grasped her hand in mine. “Gods,” she laid her head against my shoulder. “I’m a complete failure! Everything that I’ve done has been for nothing! I’m worthless!”

“No,” I said firmly. “You are anything but. You’ve made mistakes, and you’ve done things that you regret, but it’s never too late to start over, to finally make things right. Now you know the truth of the situation, and now you can finally act. There’s still just so much that you can do!” She smiled through her tears and squeezed my hand appreciatively.

“Start over, huh?” She laughed again, but this time she seemed genuinely happy.

The next thing I knew, she had wrapped her arms tightly around my neck and her lips were locked tightly around mine. I became lost in the moment. It just seemed to go on forever, but when she finally pulled her lips away from mine, it seemed far too short.

“This,” she murmured. “This is how it should have been,”

Then she pushed me down into the bed.

[Lady Moreta]

I just learned that both Varen and Natalia's names are very fitting in regards to this holiday season. Varen apparently means gift, and Natalia means born on Christmas day. So what does this newfound knowledge get you? Snippets from both!


Family Feud

(or Family Reunions Usually Aren't THIS Awkward)

Gods, why did I get so teary there? I couldn’t trust him! Not yet! There was still so much I had to know, and if I let my guard down now, I would never have my answers.

But he was happy to see me. And he was surprised by our warning of the Crownbreakers’ plan of attack. If he really had managed to manipulate the Crownbreakers beforehand, to kill me no less, then his reactions just didn’t add up. Either he was completely genuine, or he was one of the best liars I had ever met. I wasn’t sure which one was more unnerving.

But Varen trusted him. And he was always much, much better at reading people than I ever was…

But Varen was gone now. After we had warned him, the Emperor sent him off to warn his generals of the impending attack, but I stayed behind. Good thing too. There was no way I’d be able to think with him hovering around nearby.

“Are you not going with him?” the Emperor asked curiously.

“Actually, my lord,” I said. “I was wondering if we could talk,”

“Of course!” the Emperor gave a confused little smile as sank into his chair. “And please, call me Acton,”

“I want to know about my father,”

“Ah…” the Emperor’s demeanor changed dramatically. His bemused expression was immediately replaced with one of trauma and resignation, and he seemed to sink even deeper into his chair.

“Your father, Adam…” he sighed despondently. “He was my older brother, and the heir to the throne. But more than that, he was my best friend. I loved him and respected him like no one else, before or since,” he chuckled a little bit to himself. “When we were little, we would sneak out into the town and go swimming in King’s Bay. Our nanny would always have a fit when we came back with sand in our hair…” his eyes lit up as he spoke, and he beamed mischievously, as though he had just now gotten back from such an adventure. I couldn’t help but smile too.

“He was a prodigy you know,” the Emperor shifted himself in his seat and leaned forward intently. “They said he was a genius. It really was no surprise at all though, at least to me,” the Emperor grinned and shook his head. “Adam had a memory like no one else. And oh! Was he good with people! He could get anything he wanted with that silver tongue of his! Not that he ever did…” the Emperor suddenly became contemplative. “No, he would always do things on others’ behalves. Adam lived to please others. That’s why your mother loved him so much,” he snickered at first, then burst into laughter, before quickly cutting himself off. I could only stare at him incredulously. I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about.

“Forgive me,” he chuckled again. “But they really were quite a pair! Adam would do anything for Dawn, and she would have done anything for him. They were so in love, it was almost disgusting,” he chuckled. “And I introduced them you know. Dawn was the best person in the world for him. They were always together, They were the talk of the country! Everyone knew who they were. But unfortunately, they were not so famed because of their feelings for one another,” he sighed again. “You see, Dawn was not of any royal family. In fact, she was merely a peasant woman. And because of it, my parents were furious. Only caring about their political standing in the world, my parents refused to accept their love. They would have rather forced Adam into some arranged marriage to obtain more political power! They said that they would disown him if he chose to pursue his relationship with your mother!” the Emperor’s tone shifted to that of righteous indignation.

“Of course, I’m sure you can guess how it turned out,” the Emperor said gloomily. “Adam chose to stand by Dawn, no matter what. And my parents threw him out, their compassionate, genius son, and made me the heir to the throne. Adam and Dawn moved out into the country, where, eventually, they had you,” Then suddenly, the Emperor burst. “My parents were fools! Their pride and lust for power doomed this country! If they would have only accepted your parents’ love, then Adam, the better man, the smarter man, would have been king! If only it were so, then perhaps this country would not be in such a mess due to my incompetence!” Visibly drained, he sank back into his chair again, his story apparently finished.

I was struck immediately. Now everything made sense! Why I was never aware of my royal status, why I had never met my family before, why I was completely cut off from everything. Everything made sense but one thing. Why did my father send me away? That just didn’t make sense! There had to be more to the story.

“But how did he die, Acton?” I asked. “When I was only seven years old, he took me away and left me in a monastery of the Eight-Pointed star. He said that we were in danger. After that, I never saw him or my mother again. Please,” I begged. “What happened?”

The Emperor sat in silence for what seemed like forever, purposefully trying to avoid my gaze. Then, tears began to well in his eyes, and soon, they were falling freely down his cheeks.

“Fifteen years ago… I finally saw your father again,” the Emperor wept. “He told me that he was being hunted. That assassins had… taken Dawn’s life… and were after his as well,” the Emperor buried his face in his hands. “I promised him that I would protect him! That I would find out who was behind it, and that I would make them pay-” the Emperor cut himself off as he tried to choke back the tears. “Th-then that very night… F-for the first time I h-had seen him in eight years, I h-heard a t-terrible scream,” the Emperor sobbed. “I w-walked into h-his room, and th-there he was. H-his th-throat sl-slit and h-his eyes r-rolled b-back… Th-there was b-blood everywh-where…”

My stomach sank.

“S-so I l-launched an investigation,” the Emperor rubbed his eyes. “A-and d-do you kn-know who was behind it?” he began to weep uncontrollably. “M-my parents… Apparently, by s-some law, A-Adam was st-still heir. S-so th-they k-killed him for me…” the Emperor wailed. “So y-you kn-know what I d-did? I k-killed them. I h-had them h-hung! I m-murdered my own p-parents t-to avenge m-my brother… My whole family was killed because of me!”

The Emperor was disconsolate. I had no idea what I could do, what I could say, to try and make things better for him. But now I understood why he was so shocked to see me, why he was so emotional when he met me. I had gone and dredged up all of these old feelings about his family just by being around.

I laid my hand on his shoulder.

“Not your whole family, Acton,”


How it Should Have Been

(or Dancing in the Moonlight)


Well, it certainly had been an eventful day.

The Emperor had taken our warning of the Crownbreakers with great seriousness, and within a few hours, it seemed like the whole capitol city was preparing for war. He had us spread the warning to all of his generals and he himself had even sent word to the ten Dukes. It seemed like all of Geridia was waiting with feverish anticipation for the Crownbreakers, but he still seemed preoccupied with Natalia.

Honestly, I was too.

She just kept acting stranger and stranger as the day went on, when the Emperor gave her her own room in the palace, she just disappeared into it. I had to know what was wrong.

But something held me back. Only when it was late at night was I able gather enough courage to speak to her. And even then, I must have stood outside her door for ages before even trying to knock.

But finally, I managed to gain enough composure to act. I opened the door.

She was sitting on her bed, apparently lost in thought. Pale moonlight poured in from her window, illuminating her slender form, her long, golden hair glowing in the soft light. Gods, she was so beautiful.

“Tali?” I asked hesitantly as I entered. “Can we talk?”

She looked up in shock when I spoke.

“Oh! Varen!” she said, surprised. “Why are you here?”

“I’m worried about you,” I said. “You’ve been acting strangely recently, and I want to know if you’re alright,”

“What is it with you?” She gave a slight laugh. “I’m perfectly fine. You don’t need to worry about me,” She tried to give me a reassuring smile.

“But I do,” I said. “You’ve barely spoken to me in weeks, and you hardly ever even look at me. Why? Have I done something wrong? Are you ashamed of me? Do you not really love me…?” I was starting to get choked up. “Please Tali… I’m afraid I’m going to lose you,”

Natalia turned away from me, and just sat in silence for what seemed like ages. Then, slowly, she began to roll back her dress, revealing a tiny scabbard that had been tied around her leg. Carefully, she unsheathed a long, slender knife and laid it on the bed.

“Why?” she turned to me. “Because I was going to break your heart,” Her large blue eyes seemed to be staring right through me. “I was going to kill the Emperor, and I was going to tear you apart… But maybe if we weren’t so close anymore, neither of us would have been hurt as much. At least that’s what I thought,” she kept getting quieter and quieter as she spoke. “And then I just couldn’t bring myself to kill him… He really wasn’t what I thought…”

A chill ran down my spine. I was absolutely stunned. I had no idea what to think. She had just confessed that she had planned to murder the Emperor! I thought that she had changed! I thought that she was through with the Crownbreakers! I was stressed and confused, but as I looked at her, as I saw her pained expression, I knew that there had to be more going on than what I was thinking. And Gods, no matter what, I would love her. So not knowing what to think, I walked over to the bed and sat down next to her.

“Tali, what is going on?”

She sighed heavily.

“One year ago, I met my father for the first time since I was seven years old,” she said sadly. “He was at the ruins of the monastery, with Father Daugherty. He said that the Emperor was behind the attack, that he was trying to kill me to ensure his claim to the throne would be safe!” she kept getting more and more agitated as she spoke. “So I had to take over the Crownbreakers! I had to lead them, to do everything in my power to strike out against the Emperor! So when you finally gave me a chance to see the Emperor face-to face, I had to be prepared to kill him! He had to be evil! That would have been the only way that I could have justified my actions! That would have been the only way I could have ever brought out a greater good from the deaths of all of those innocent people! But after meeting him, after getting to know him, there is just no way that it could have been him!” she broke down into tears. Not knowing what else to do, I tentatively grasped her hand in mine. “Gods,” she laid her head against my shoulder. “I’m a complete failure! Everything that I’ve done has been for nothing! I’m worthless!”

“No,” I said firmly. “You are anything but. You’ve made mistakes, and you’ve done things that you regret, but it’s never too late to start over, to finally make things right. Now you know the truth of the situation, and now you can finally act. There’s still just so much that you can do!” She smiled through her tears and squeezed my hand appreciatively.

“Start over, huh?” She laughed again, but this time she seemed genuinely happy.

The next thing I knew, she had wrapped her arms tightly around my neck and her lips were locked tightly around mine. I became lost in the moment. It seemed to go on forever, but when she finally pulled her lips away from mine, it seemed far too short.

“This,” she murmured. “This is how it should have been,”

Then, she pushed me down into the bed.

I have nothing bad to say about either of them! The emperor's walls-of-text were well, wallish, but there's nothing you can do about that really. I enjoyed them both. Loved the ending of the last one :smallwink::smallbiggrin:

I promise I am still writing! Time and inspiration have been in short supply, but I'm on holiday now so I'll have more time.. maybe... I'm also under doctor's orders to stay off the computer as much as possible...

[Machuchang]

I promise I am still writing! Time and inspiration have been in short supply, but I'm on holiday now so I'll have more time.. maybe... I'm also under doctor's orders to stay off the computer as much as possible...

Hope you have a great holiday, and that you get better soon! I am greatly looking forward to your triumphant return.:smallbiggrin:

[Lady Moreta]

Hope you have a great holiday, and that you get better soon! I am greatly looking forward to your triumphant return.:smallbiggrin:

Eh right now I'm trying to fight the paranoia that surgery will end up being the only option :smallfrown: I'm paranoid and I freely admit that, doesn't mean it makes me feel any better though :smalltongue:

I will probably still write. I was looking forward to doing some writing while on holiday...

[big teej]

hey everybody, I still haven't had time to sit down and read all the new stuff (an awesome girlfriend, holidays, and other stuff been keeping me busy)

but to help bring in the new year, I've rolled up about 15 new characters.... and they all need back stories


loook forward to a huge mass of text soon. (likely the day after new years)


happy new years everybody
and I hope you all had a great christmas

[Marillion]

Hello all. I just finished a snippet for a character I'm hoping to get into a game, and I'd like to know what you think.


Broken Promises, Broken Wings
Or, One Last Job

"Excuse me, sir, how much for this loaf?"
The gnome popped out from behind his oddly plain cart, grey tufts poking out over his ears. Was he standing on a box? "EH!?"
Oh, fantastic. He's hard of hearing. Derrick raised his voice. "HOW MUCH-"
"TEN COPPER."
"Ten copper!? That's absurd."
"EH!?"
"THAT'S ABSURD. I CAN SEE WHERE THE RATS HAVE NIBBLED THE ENDS OFF."
"TEN COPPER."
Derrick blew through his lips, disturbing a lock of brownish hair that'd fallen into his eye, and dug out his worryingly light purse. He weighed it in his rough hands, mentally calculating what meager finances he had left.
"I can gi- I CAN GIVE YOU FIVE."
"TEN COPPER."
"EIGHT, AND THAT'S AS HIGH AS I CAN GO."
"NO SALE!" The wizened creature struck his hand on the side of the cart, then hopped back down out of sight, leaving his cart unguarded. Almost subconsciously, Derrick's hand reached forward.
It's right there. I could just take it. It's one loaf of bread...No. I promised. A whisper responded in his mind unbidden, a whisper that sounded of youth and worry-free days. Yeah, well, you've promised lots of things to lots of people. What's one promise, give or take? What's the difference? He stretched further, before snatching his hand back and turning away briskly. Her. I promised her. That's the difference.

Derrick walked away, trying to reconcile his promise with Simons' empty stomach. Perhaps there was yet another merchant still selling at this hour...
"STOP!"
Derrick froze, his heart racing. What now? He hadn't even taken anything! He almost broke out running, but calmed himself. If he ran, he'd look guilty. Instead, he turned to face the voice, willing an expression of bemusement onto his visage. The wrinkled gnome was...not walking, so much as wobbling in Derricks' general direction, clutching something under his robes.
"What seems to be the trouble, sir?" The merchant glared up at him, eyes seeming to peer into his mind, and from 2 and a half feet down that's no mean feat. He grunted, then thrust his hands out.
"HERE. TAKE IT."
Derrick glanced at the gnome's hands, then back to the gnome. "I... I can't..."
"TAKE."
Derrick reached out his hand, palm-up, and choked back a tear as the coin sang in his hands. "Thank you."
"NOW BUY." The gnome half-walked, half-waddled back to his cart and hopped back onto his box. Derrick followed him, exchanging his coin for a mostly-clean loaf of day-old bread. The gnome leaned in, lowering his voice. "The other merchants, they tell me about you. They tell me...You're good man. You try. You have child."
"I'm a charity case." Derrick whispered to himself.
"Better in charity case than in pine case, eh? Now go home. If anyone ask, you rob me."
"You...can hear me?"
"EH!?"
---------------------------------------------------------------

"DADDYYY!!!" A sugar-blur ran into Derrick's knees and hugged him tightly, holding on as though he'd been gone for a year instead of just a day. Derrick laughed, kneeling down to hug his son back with one arm, keeping the loaf of bread from being crushed.
"Ohh, Simon I missed you!"
"Daddy a man came over an' he an' Nana talked for a while an' she got sad for a bit but then it was ok an' then he played dwarves an' gobbins with me, an' I got to be the dwarf! An' then-"
Derrick laughed, tustling the shock of red hair Simon had inherited from his mother. "You always get to be the dwarf! Where's Nana?"
"She's in the kitchen, starting dinner. It's mystery stew, and it smells delicious. Frankly, it's a shame I can't stay."
A chill ran down Derrick's spine. That voice... He stood, and faced the man. It was him...
"Simon, buddy, take this and go give it to Nana, ok? Your friend and I need to talk." The child ran into the kitchen clutching the bread. "So Gavin...How have you been?" Without a word, the stranger who'd been Derrick's best friend crossed the room and wrapped Derrick in a hug that seemed to span years.
"I heard about Lark, Derrick. I'm so sorry."

----------------------------------------

On rickety stairs outside a decrepit old house sat two men, laughing and passing a bottle between them. Where one was tall and strong the other was short and slight; Where one was dark, the other was fair. One had eyes the color of a clear sky, while the others were the green of foam on an ocean wave. If one of them had a tail, they could not have appeared more different; and yet, a passerby could scarce distinguish between them.
"Six MONTHS, you bastard!"
"How was I s'posed to know it was a gift from his grandpa? It was a belt!"
"He still wears it, you know."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Hikes up his pants every time he passes me in the street too!" At this they both burst into laughter. Gavin passed the bottle, and Derrick took a long swig. Suddenly sombre, Derrick kept talking. "Six months. And...You weren't there."
"No, but Lark was." Gavin said, with perhaps more bitterness than he intended.
"Wha's that s'posed to mean?"
"Nothing, Derrick. I...I'm sorry. I just..." He paused, wistful longing passing across his face. "I mean, I figured she could never...I mean, I'm not that great a guy, I knew what my chances were, but watching her pine over you...It was more than I could stand. Not to mention how pissed she was at me for talking you into that. I just thought...I dunno, I thought maybe if I left for a little bit, it'd help me get things in focus, y'know? I didn't mean to be gone as long as I was."
Confusion was chased from Derrick's face by realization. "You and she...?" Derrick paused, fearing to speak the rest aloud.
"No. It was all me. I don't think she even knew I felt that way. After I left, I traveled the continent. I saw a lot of things, things I thought I'd never get to see, and I had some truly amazing experiences, but my thoughts kept coming back to her, how happy she'd be, what she would say if she saw what I saw. But you know something, Derrick? I'm glad. You made her happier than I've ever seen her. It was like, when she was with you, nothing could possibly be wrong in her world."
"I felt the same way." Derrick whispered, fingering the locket hidden under his shirt.
"I know. That's why I couldn't stand in your way."
"I miss her, Gavin." It contained a lock of Larks' hair, and a portrait of them created by a wandering bard on their wedding day.
"I miss her too."
"I try to be strong for Simon, but it's so hard. I never knew how much I needed her, until..." How she'd smiled and laughed that day!
"I know."
"I made her a promise, the day we knew about Simon." Auburn curls glistening in the sun, eyes the color of a doe's coat, full red lips that were always parted ever so slightly. "I promised her I'd straighten out my life. No more stealing, even if times were tough." The look in her eyes when she'd made the vows..."I needed to set a good example for Simon." Her kiss, as though it was their first all over again, a promise of their life...
"That's why I'm here, Derrick. I had a long talk with Nana. She told me how tough things have been for you, how hard you've been trying. She's worried that you won't have a place to live this time next month. But I can change that."
Still staring at his shoes, Derrick asked "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." Gavin slid closer, lowering his voice. "Two thousand gold pieces are moving through the docks tonight. I know which warehouse, which crate, which guards are on duty, everything. But I need your help getting in."
Derrick scooted away, shaking his head. "No, Gavin. I told you. I'm clean now."
"Derrick, listen -"
"No! I made her a promise. I can't go back on it, not now."
"Derrick, please. You won't be making this a lifestyle. Even if we only take 20 apiece, that'll set us up for life!"
Something stirred within Derrick, his fingers twitching as he moved the pins in an imaginary lock. "But...My promise..."
"Derrick, I loved her too. I know what a promise to her means. But you can't keep promises based on the past. What about Simon? How many times have you had to choose between feeding him and feeding yourself?"
"It was never a choice."
"Of course not, Derrick. But you need to take the best care of him you can, whatever that means. If you come with me, you'll never have to worry about where he's going to sleep or what he's going to eat. You need to do this, not for me, not for yourself, but for Simon." Gavin laid his hand on Derrick's shoulder. "For Lark."
For my little songbird...

-------------------------------------------------------

Derrick retched, gasping for air as another blow sank into his stomach.
"Where is it!?"
Panting between words, Derrick hissed "I don't know what you're talking about." He cried out in pain as a fist the size of a gnome's head thudded into him.
"Don't be stupid! We know you took it!"
"Took WHAT!?" Derrick tensed, awaiting the impact of a blow that never came. Instead, there was only the clack of boot-heels on stone. Derrick couldn't see very well through his swollen eyes, but they sounded expensive.
"Come now, Derrick." A manicured voice, smooth like silk. "Give it up."
"I don't know what you want from me!" Silk-covered fingers grabbed his raw chin, turning his head this way and that. For a moment, Derrick thought he felt those fingers in his very brain, but the moment passed.
"I believe you."
"Good! Now tell your goons to let me go."
"Can't do that, I'm afraid. Whether or not you know what item we desire, you've still stolen from us. Quite a substantial amount, in fact. A hundred thousand gold pieces."
"A hundred thou-! But he said..." Too late, Derrick bit his tongue.
"Ahh, now we come closer to the truth of the matter. You weren't alone." Derrick remained silent. "And your friend skipped town, leaving you behind to take the brunt of our anger." Derrick refused to answer, but he didn't need to; The soft voice was speaking in statements, not questions. The fingers withdrew from Derrick's face, then suddenly whipped across his skull.
"I am not." CRACK. "Entirely without sympathy." CRACK. "I know how difficult." CRACK. "It can be to raise." CRACK. "A child alone. But unfortunately, I can't simply let you go. Whatever gold you have is of no consequence. Money can be bought." CRACK. "Your friend, however, has something infinitely more valuable to us. Something that cannot be remade." CRACK. "So, what's going to happen is, I'm going to let you live, and you're going to find this person and retrieve what he stole from us."
Spitting blood, Derrick took the opportunity to express his wishes that the voice should become suddenly and violently intimate with an entire tribe of Gnolls.
"Give this up, Derrick. Your friend betrayed you. And besides...It would be a shame if anything were to happen to Simon. He's a cute one. Not so cute, however, as some children my other enemies have had. It would be a shame." The voice paused, allowing Derricks' imagination to end that sentence in the most horrifying way it could. Often, the best threats were left unspoken. "We have an arrangement then. Do as I wish, and nothing will happen to your child. You will likely still die, of course, but your son will be safe. Find. Your. Friend."
Pain thundered across Derrick's temples, and then the voice, and everything, was silent.

----------------------------------------------------------
"Excuse me, sir, do you remem-"
"EH!?"
Derrick rolled his still-sore eyes. "DO YOU REMEMBER THE MAN WHO BOUGHT THE DWARVEN DRINK FROM YOU TWO WEEKS AGO?"
"OF COURSE I REMEMBER."
"TALL, DARK HAIR, BLUE-"
"I SAID I REMEMBER. WHAT ABOUT HIM?"
"HAVE YOU SEEN HIM SINCE THEN?"
"NO."
Derrick swore under his breath. "THANK YOU ANYWAY."
"I HEARD HIM THOUGH."
"But...you...can't?"
"EH!?"
Confused, nevertheless Derrick pressed on. "WHAT DID YOU HEAR?"
"FRIEND TOLD ME ABOUT STRANGE MAN. TALL, DARK HAIR, BLUE-"
"I KNOW WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE."
"ASKING ABOUT PASSAGE AND SECURITY."
"PASSAGE WHERE? FOR WHAT?"
"SOMEWHERE NORTH. WOULDN'T SAY."
"But....Why go north?" Derrick mused to himself.
In a normal voice, the gnome answered "Haven't you heard about the gold rush?"
"EH!?"
"HAVEN'T YOU HEARD ABOUT THE GOLD RUSH?"
"OF COURSE I HAVE. And he certainly doesn't need any more gold than he has..."
"WELL, GOLD'S NOT ALL THAT'S UP THERE."
"WHAT ELSE?"
"SNOW MOSTLY."
Well, if he's going up there, I guess I have to follow him."
"Good luck, friend. Don't worry, I take good care of your son. He won't be hungry while you're gone."
Derrick swallowed, suddenly paranoid. Was this gnome...No, he was just being a good neighbor. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." The gnome leaned across his cart. "And I don't want to worry you, but your hearing weak. See cleric."
Derrick went cross-eyed momentarily, unsure if the gnome was kidding or just insane. He shrugged it off, and bid goodbye.

An hour later, he had secured passage to the Northlands on the Eisblume, and they left the next day. He stood on the deck, hands clutching his locket.
I'm sorry, my songbird. I promise, I'll fix this. I'll find Gavin, I'll take back what he stole, and I'll keep Simon safe. You have my word...I'll never break another promise to you again.


P.S: Yes, the gnome's speaking patterns are inconsistent. That was semi-intentional :smalltongue:

[Lady Moreta]

Hello all. I just finished a snippet for a character I'm hoping to get into a game, and I'd like to know what you think.


Broken Promises, Broken Wings
Or, One Last Job

"Excuse me, sir, how much for this loaf?"
The gnome popped out from behind his oddly plain cart, grey tufts poking out over his ears. Was he standing on a box? "EH!?"
Oh, fantastic. He's hard of hearing. Derrick raised his voice. "HOW MUCH-"
"TEN COPPER."
"Ten copper!? That's absurd."
"EH!?"
"THAT'S ABSURD. I CAN SEE WHERE THE RATS HAVE NIBBLED THE ENDS OFF."
"TEN COPPER."
Derrick blew through his lips, disturbing a lock of brownish hair that'd fallen into his eye, and dug out his worryingly light purse. He weighed it in his rough hands, mentally calculating what meager finances he had left.
"I can gi- I CAN GIVE YOU FIVE."
"TEN COPPER."
"EIGHT, AND THAT'S AS HIGH AS I CAN GO."
"NO SALE!" The wizened creature struck his hand on the side of the cart, then hopped back down out of sight, leaving his cart unguarded. Almost subconsciously, Derrick's hand reached forward.
It's right there. I could just take it. It's one loaf of bread...No. I promised. A whisper responded in his mind unbidden, a whisper that sounded of youth and worry-free days. Yeah, well, you've promised lots of things to lots of people. What's one promise, give or take? What's the difference? He stretched further, before snatching his hand back and turning away briskly. Her. I promised her. That's the difference.

Derrick walked away, trying to reconcile his promise with Simons' empty stomach. Perhaps there was yet another merchant still selling at this hour...
"STOP!"
Derrick froze, his heart racing. What now? He hadn't even taken anything! He almost broke out running, but calmed himself. If he ran, he'd look guilty. Instead, he turned to face the voice, willing an expression of bemusement onto his visage. The wrinkled gnome was...not walking, so much as wobbling in Derricks' general direction, clutching something under his robes.
"What seems to be the trouble, sir?" The merchant glared up at him, eyes seeming to peer into his mind, and from 2 and a half feet down that's no mean feat. He grunted, then thrust his hands out.
"HERE. TAKE IT."
Derrick glanced at the gnome's hands, then back to the gnome. "I... I can't..."
"TAKE."
Derrick reached out his hand, palm-up, and choked back a tear as the coin sang in his hands. "Thank you."
"NOW BUY." The gnome half-walked, half-waddled back to his cart and hopped back onto his box. Derrick followed him, exchanging his coin for a mostly-clean loaf of day-old bread. The gnome leaned in, lowering his voice. "The other merchants, they tell me about you. They tell me...You're good man. You try. You have child."
"I'm a charity case." Derrick whispered to himself.
"Better in charity case than in pine case, eh? Now go home. If anyone ask, you rob me."
"You...can hear me?"
"EH!?"
---------------------------------------------------------------

"DADDYYY!!!" A sugar-blur ran into Derrick's knees and hugged him tightly, holding on as though he'd been gone for a year instead of just a day. Derrick laughed, kneeling down to hug his son back with one arm, keeping the loaf of bread from being crushed.
"Ohh, Simon I missed you!"
"Daddy a man came over an' he an' Nana talked for a while an' she got sad for a bit but then it was ok an' then he played dwarves an' gobbins with me, an' I got to be the dwarf! An' then-"
Derrick laughed, tustling the shock of red hair Simon had inherited from his mother. "You always get to be the dwarf! Where's Nana?"
"She's in the kitchen, starting dinner. It's mystery stew, and it smells delicious. Frankly, it's a shame I can't stay."
A chill ran down Derrick's spine. That voice... He stood, and faced the man. It was him...
"Simon, buddy, take this and go give it to Nana, ok? Your friend and I need to talk." The child ran into the kitchen clutching the bread. "So Gavin...How have you been?" Without a word, the stranger who'd been Derrick's best friend crossed the room and wrapped Derrick in a hug that seemed to span years.
"I heard about Lark, Derrick. I'm so sorry."

----------------------------------------

On rickety stairs outside a decrepit old house sat two men, laughing and passing a bottle between them. Where one was tall and strong the other was short and slight; Where one was dark, the other was fair. One had eyes the color of a clear sky, while the others were the green of foam on an ocean wave. If one of them had a tail, they could not have appeared more different; and yet, a passerby could scarce distinguish between them.
"Six MONTHS, you bastard!"
"How was I s'posed to know it was a gift from his grandpa? It was a belt!"
"He still wears it, you know."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Hikes up his pants every time he passes me in the street too!" At this they both burst into laughter. Gavin passed the bottle, and Derrick took a long swig. Suddenly sombre, Derrick kept talking. "Six months. And...You weren't there."
"No, but Lark was." Gavin said, with perhaps more bitterness than he intended.
"Wha's that s'posed to mean?"
"Nothing, Derrick. I...I'm sorry. I just..." He paused, wistful longing passing across his face. "I mean, I figured she could never...I mean, I'm not that great a guy, I knew what my chances were, but watching her pine over you...It was more than I could stand. Not to mention how pissed she was at me for talking you into that. I just thought...I dunno, I thought maybe if I left for a little bit, it'd help me get things in focus, y'know? I didn't mean to be gone as long as I was."
Confusion was chased from Derrick's face by realization. "You and she...?" Derrick paused, fearing to speak the rest aloud.
"No. It was all me. I don't think she even knew I felt that way. After I left, I traveled the continent. I saw a lot of things, things I thought I'd never get to see, and I had some truly amazing experiences, but my thoughts kept coming back to her, how happy she'd be, what she would say if she saw what I saw. But you know something, Derrick? I'm glad. You made her happier than I've ever seen her. It was like, when she was with you, nothing could possibly be wrong in her world."
"I felt the same way." Derrick whispered, fingering the locket hidden under his shirt.
"I know. That's why I couldn't stand in your way."
"I miss her, Gavin." It contained a lock of Larks' hair, and a portrait of them created by a wandering bard on their wedding day.
"I miss her too."
"I try to be strong for Simon, but it's so hard. I never knew how much I needed her, until..." How she'd smiled and laughed that day!
"I know."
"I made her a promise, the day we knew about Simon." Auburn curls glistening in the sun, eyes the color of a doe's coat, full red lips that were always parted ever so slightly. "I promised her I'd straighten out my life. No more stealing, even if times were tough." The look in her eyes when she'd made the vows..."I needed to set a good example for Simon." Her kiss, as though it was their first all over again, a promise of their life...
"That's why I'm here, Derrick. I had a long talk with Nana. She told me how tough things have been for you, how hard you've been trying. She's worried that you won't have a place to live this time next month. But I can change that."
Still staring at his shoes, Derrick asked "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." Gavin slid closer, lowering his voice. "Two thousand gold pieces are moving through the docks tonight. I know which warehouse, which crate, which guards are on duty, everything. But I need your help getting in."
Derrick scooted away, shaking his head. "No, Gavin. I told you. I'm clean now."
"Derrick, listen -"
"No! I made her a promise. I can't go back on it, not now."
"Derrick, please. You won't be making this a lifestyle. Even if we only take 20 apiece, that'll set us up for life!"
Something stirred within Derrick, his fingers twitching as he moved the pins in an imaginary lock. "But...My promise..."
"Derrick, I loved her too. I know what a promise to her means. But you can't keep promises based on the past. What about Simon? How many times have you had to choose between feeding him and feeding yourself?"
"It was never a choice."
"Of course not, Derrick. But you need to take the best care of him you can, whatever that means. If you come with me, you'll never have to worry about where he's going to sleep or what he's going to eat. You need to do this, not for me, not for yourself, but for Simon." Gavin laid his hand on Derrick's shoulder. "For Lark."
For my little songbird...

-------------------------------------------------------

Derrick retched, gasping for air as another blow sank into his stomach.
"Where is it!?"
Panting between words, Derrick hissed "I don't know what you're talking about." He cried out in pain as a fist the size of a gnome's head thudded into him.
"Don't be stupid! We know you took it!"
"Took WHAT!?" Derrick tensed, awaiting the impact of a blow that never came. Instead, there was only the clack of boot-heels on stone. Derrick couldn't see very well through his swollen eyes, but they sounded expensive.
"Come now, Derrick." A manicured voice, smooth like silk. "Give it up."
"I don't know what you want from me!" Silk-covered fingers grabbed his raw chin, turning his head this way and that. For a moment, Derrick thought he felt those fingers in his very brain, but the moment passed.
"I believe you."
"Good! Now tell your goons to let me go."
"Can't do that, I'm afraid. Whether or not you know what item we desire, you've still stolen from us. Quite a substantial amount, in fact. A hundred thousand gold pieces."
"A hundred thou-! But he said..." Too late, Derrick bit his tongue.
"Ahh, now we come closer to the truth of the matter. You weren't alone." Derrick remained silent. "And your friend skipped town, leaving you behind to take the brunt of our anger." Derrick refused to answer, but he didn't need to; The soft voice was speaking in statements, not questions. The fingers withdrew from Derrick's face, then suddenly whipped across his skull.
"I am not." CRACK. "Entirely without sympathy." CRACK. "I know how difficult." CRACK. "It can be to raise." CRACK. "A child alone. But unfortunately, I can't simply let you go. Whatever gold you have is of no consequence. Money can be bought." CRACK. "Your friend, however, has something infinitely more valuable to us. Something that cannot be remade." CRACK. "So, what's going to happen is, I'm going to let you live, and you're going to find this person and retrieve what he stole from us."
Spitting blood, Derrick took the opportunity to express his wishes that the voice should become suddenly and violently intimate with an entire tribe of Gnolls.
"Give this up, Derrick. Your friend betrayed you. And besides...It would be a shame if anything were to happen to Simon. He's a cute one. Not so cute, however, as some children my other enemies have had. It would be a shame." The voice paused, allowing Derricks' imagination to end that sentence in the most horrifying way it could. Often, the best threats were left unspoken. "We have an arrangement then. Do as I wish, and nothing will happen to your child. You will likely still die, of course, but your son will be safe. Find. Your. Friend."
Pain thundered across Derrick's temples, and then the voice, and everything, was silent.

----------------------------------------------------------
"Excuse me, sir, do you remem-"
"EH!?"
Derrick rolled his still-sore eyes. "DO YOU REMEMBER THE MAN WHO BOUGHT THE DWARVEN DRINK FROM YOU TWO WEEKS AGO?"
"OF COURSE I REMEMBER."
"TALL, DARK HAIR, BLUE-"
"I SAID I REMEMBER. WHAT ABOUT HIM?"
"HAVE YOU SEEN HIM SINCE THEN?"
"NO."
Derrick swore under his breath. "THANK YOU ANYWAY."
"I HEARD HIM THOUGH."
"But...you...can't?"
"EH!?"
Confused, nevertheless Derrick pressed on. "WHAT DID YOU HEAR?"
"FRIEND TOLD ME ABOUT STRANGE MAN. TALL, DARK HAIR, BLUE-"
"I KNOW WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE."
"ASKING ABOUT PASSAGE AND SECURITY."
"PASSAGE WHERE? FOR WHAT?"
"SOMEWHERE NORTH. WOULDN'T SAY."
"But....Why go north?" Derrick mused to himself.
In a normal voice, the gnome answered "Haven't you heard about the gold rush?"
"EH!?"
"HAVEN'T YOU HEARD ABOUT THE GOLD RUSH?"
"OF COURSE I HAVE. And he certainly doesn't need any more gold than he has..."
"WELL, GOLD'S NOT ALL THAT'S UP THERE."
"WHAT ELSE?"
"SNOW MOSTLY."
Well, if he's going up there, I guess I have to follow him."
"Good luck, friend. Don't worry, I take good care of your son. He won't be hungry while you're gone."
Derrick swallowed, suddenly paranoid. Was this gnome...No, he was just being a good neighbor. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." The gnome leaned across his cart. "And I don't want to worry you, but your hearing weak. See cleric."
Derrick went cross-eyed momentarily, unsure if the gnome was kidding or just insane. He shrugged it off, and bid goodbye.

An hour later, he had secured passage to the Northlands on the Eisblume, and they left the next day. He stood on the deck, hands clutching his locket.
I'm sorry, my songbird. I promise, I'll fix this. I'll find Gavin, I'll take back what he stole, and I'll keep Simon safe. You have my word...I'll never break another promise to you again.


P.S: Yes, the gnome's speaking patterns are inconsistent. That was semi-intentional :smalltongue:

Awww, I like this one :smallsmile: I think the gnome might have been my favourite character - he certainly was a character :smalltongue:

Two things confuse me a little - one 'a sugar-blur'? is that meant to suggest Simon was hyped up on sugar or something?

Only other thing was that in the scene with just Derrick and Gavin talking it was a bit hard to figure out who was talking when. I suppose overall it's not that important, but not being able to tell who's talking is one of my pet peeves.

[Lady Moreta]

Hey! I wrote a new snippet! :smallsmile: Our RL group just started up again and we had our first game yesterday. Inspiration struck (which it hasn't been doing with anything else) so I went for it and wrote this...


Poniard of Death
or, I Knew That Thing Was Bad

I have a headache, and I feel sick. It’s probably that damn dagger. Ugh. I can’t believe what I did to that man. I mean yeah, okay, human and male, not the best combination, but still – I can only think of one man I’d willingly do that to – and this guy wasn’t him.

We’d finished the fight, Nera and Rifus had controlled themselves nicely and we had three mages and five of the soldiers unconscious and awaiting our interrogation. Okay, my interrogation. Tanc woke one of the men and took up his place behind him, ready to make a grab in case he went for me. As he always does. He’s really not that bad – for a human male. I still had the black poniard in my hand, Rifus had given it back to me after checking it for magical auras.

“You know the drill. I ask the questions and you answer them,” I said. No response.

“Okay, let me try and actual question. Where were you going?” Nothing.

“Where did the other mages go?” No response.

“What’s in the box?” Nothing. I hate these fanatics, I really do. It’s impossible to get anything out of them. My hands tightened into fists in frustration and I felt the hilt of the poniard in my right hand. It was obviously important and Rifus had confirmed it was magical, though not what it did exactly. It was worth a try.

I stepped forwards, brandishing the weapon, I glared and lowered my voice,

“You will start giving me some answers, or-” I never finished the sentence. He flung himself forwards onto the damn poniard! Before Tanc could grab him or I could pull away he’d stuck himself with it. He stared up at me, his eyes boring into mine. They were full of madness.

“Damn.” I swore, carefully pulling the poniard from his side. As much as I wouldn’t weep for such as these, I also didn’t want them and their valuable information skewering themselves!

“I don’t think they’re going to talk,” I admitted ruefully.

“It’s always the same,” Nera grumbled. “These guys never want to talk. It’s starting to piss me off.”

“Me too,” I agreed with a grim smile. “Time to try the next stage I think.”

“Which guy?” Tanc asked, looking over all our options.

“Same one I think,” I replied. “No point in waking up more than we need.” I could see Lester shaking his head out of the corner of my eye. “It won’t hurt him my Lord, it’ll just make him – tractable.” He grimaced, apparently still not impressed. I shrugged and turned away from him. If he still has a problem with how we do business after all this time well – that’s his problem, not mine. Right now, my problem was gasping on his knees in front of me.

I took my time with this spell, I didn’t want to chance it failing. I spoke the commands carefully and wove my hands in the accompanying gestures with all the accuracy my dancer’s training could afford. Finally I reached down and stroked my hand down the side of his face, gently, as a lover would. I managed to hide how much it disgusted me from my friends.

I had him. I knew it the minute I released the spell. His mind was my own – completely dominated.

He screamed. I stared in disbelief – I hadn’t done anything! He screamed again and clutched at his head. His whole body jerked to a stiff, jerking halt and he threw back his head, still screaming. With a high-pitched wail he tipped over backwards and blood exploded from his eyes, his nose, his ears. Then it was all over. He was dead.

Tanc let out a choked cry of disgust and pulled away from the blood. Rifus and Nera both let loose startled cries and Lester hurried forwards. I stared dumbfounded, my hands falling open and my mouth not far behind.

“But! But, I didn’t do anything!” I cried. “And even if I had, I had him, that spell shouldn’t have had that affect. What happened?” I was baffled. I took a step towards him, as if his body would answer my questions. As I did so, my toe nudged the poniard. I stared down at it, unblinking and stupid. I must have dropped it in my surprise. Then...

“Rifus!” I rounded on him, “what did you say this dagger did?”

“I didn’t,” he replied. “Strong aura of necromancy evil, I think it acts in a similar way to those rings these guys wear.”

The rings... What were they called? Rings of the Fanatic? The rings that killed a man if they failed to defend their minds against a compulsion effect. And what were most of my spells? Compulsion. And what had that man just thrown himself on? That dagger. And what had...

I snatched the poniard off the ground and holding it horizontally shoved it at Rifus.

“Take another look!” I demanded. “I need to know exactly what that poniard does.”

“All right, all right. Don’t get your pants in a twist,” he said mildly, taking the weapon from me and screwing his monocle into his eye. The others crowded around curious, but I refused to explain. I wanted to know if I was right first.

“Yup, it acts just like one of the rings,” Rifus said after a while, taking the monocle out of his eye. “Get stuck with it and – well, just pray no one like Silver here casts a spell on you any time soon.” He clapped me on the shoulder and grinned, offering the poniard back to me. I didn’t take it. I suddenly felt sick.

“What?” He asked, looking confused. “It’s a pretty cool when you do that. Like earlier when you killed that bunch with a spell... What was it?”

“It wasn’t a spell. It was one of my new dances – the wearying one,” I replied absently. “And it’s NOT cool!” I snatched the dagger away from him, holding it warily by the hilt. “Someone-” I turned slightly and pointed at the dead man with the dagger, “him in fact, stabbed me with this thing!”

There was silence for a moment, then

“Oh, well, we’ll just make sure spellcasters stay away from you-” Nera began, only to be interrupted by Rifus.

“Oh. Oh dear. Uhhh... that’s not all the dagger does,” he said, sounding upset. I ran through elven curses in my head then faced him.

“All right,” I sighed. “Tell me the worst.”

“It – er... well, it... ummm... Itslowlykillsanyonewhogetsstabbedwithit,” he blurted it all out in a rush, sounding horribly upset. I didn’t blame him.

Very slowly I turned to stare at Rifus, who was twisting a couple of fingers around each other, looking miserable. I stared. I could feel the blood draining from my face. The stunned silence of the others just made it worse. I’d just been condemned to death. Three weeks! It’d only been three weeks since the last time I’d been killed and had been brought back, thank the greedy Abarites. And now here we were, stuck in the middle of a foreign continent not even I had heard much about.

“The good thing-” Rifus broke off, with a sheepish cough, “well, the not-so-bad thing at least. The ring effect will only last about 24 hours. So if we just stay clear of spellcasters you’ll be fine.”

“Oh yes, fine,” I snapped. “I’ll be just peachy until this damn thing can kill me slowly! Wonderful!” I flung my arms up, forgetting I still held the damn blade and everyone ducked away from me. Now it was my turn to be sheepish. I lowered my arms and held out my hand, wanting someone to take this thing off me. No one did. I didn’t blame them.

“Silver, you’ve been dead before. You got better,” Tanc said wryly. “We can fight this, we won’t lose you. I wouldn’t want to deprive The Mage’s Hand of your dancing,” he grinned at me. I glared at him and Lester came up behind me, resting a hand in the small of my back. I was so upset I forgot to move away from him. After all this time, idiot paladin still hasn’t realised I don’t like being touched.

“Things this evil should be destroyed immediately,” he said, “before they can do any more harm.” He held out his hand for the poniard.

“Well, it only has one charge left in it,” Rifus started. He broke off upon seeing my face and the face of Lester beside me. “You know what, let’s just get rid of it.”

“But – what about getting healing for Silver?” Nera asked, “what if we need to show someone the dagger?”

“Poniard,” I muttered, as Lester spoke over me.

“I will try a restorative spell on the lady Silver later, that may help. Otherwise, we should only need the shards of the blade itself to show a cleric or paladin like myself. The weapon itself should be broken.”

I nodded,

“Just do it” I told him. “I’m willing to take my chances and I’d be happier without that thing wandering around.” He nodded gravely at me, then took the poniard off me and stepped away from us as we gathered in a tight little group around the dead solider. He carefully placed the poniard on the ground and unsheathed his sword, preparing himself for a blow. With a cry to his god he smote the blade – the hilt vanished in a flitter of black smoke, while the blade shattered into pieces. With care, Lester gathered them and wrapping them in a piece of cloth, tucked them away into his gear.

“Well, what now?” Rifus asked, looking around the group.

“What do you mean, ‘what now’?” Nera cried, “we go and find help for Silver!” Gods love the girl, she has a good heart.

“Not right now,” I said. “This sort of thing won’t have an immediate affect, am I right?” Both Rifus and Lester nodded. “So right now we need to get every scrap of information out of these guys that we can. Lester, you said you had a couple of those speak-with-the-dead oils?”

He nodded and stepped forward, pulling a small vial out of his pouch,

“I suggest one of the mages-”
“Use it on one of the mages-”

Lester and Tanc spoke together and both chuckled.

“Which one?” Lester asked, gesturing with the vial. Tanc shrugged and looked at the rest of us. Nera and I exchanged blank looks and shrugged at each other. Rifus looked between the three dead mages for a while and finally said

“That one!” Pointing definitively to the one lying on the right, in rather horribly clashing robes of dark orange and tan. Lester nodded and walked to the corpse. Kneeling beside it he carefully worked the stopper free and with one hand spread the oil over the mage’s face. Behind him, Nera asked Rifus curiously,

“How did you decide which mage?”

“Eenie, meanie, minie, mo?” Rifus said, looking sheepish. Nera looked like she couldn’t believe her ears, then burst out laughing. I rolled my eyes behind them, idiot elf.

“We should hurry, it won’t last long and we’ve only got three questions,” Lester said. This of course engendered a hasty discussion between the rest of us as to what we needed to know. It was obvious really and soon Lester was posing the first question.

“What is inside this box, that is scanning so strongly as evil?”

“The great source of knowledge.”

“What is the nearest town to the location the other mages teleported themselves?”

“Freemantown.”

“Freeman-what?” Nera whispered, “what the heck sort of a name is that?”

“I dunno.”

“Shut up guys,” I hissed. “It’s the largest settlement on the east coast. It was started here since the end of the Shadow War.” I waved my hand vaguely in the direction of the east coast, far more interested in the hurried conversation Tanc and Lester were having about what the third question should be – more details on the thing in the box, or more details on their location? Eventually the thing in the box won out and Lester concluded his questions with

“Will whatever is in the box pose a direct danger should we open it?”

“Yes.”

Oh goody.

Lester stood up, looking unhappy. He wiped his hands and tucked the empty vial back into his pack.

“I strongly suggest we take the box with us. We should ensure it remains undisturbed until we reach a temple or some other hallowed ground and can investigate more closely. We will need a temple to help the lady Silver anyway. We can take care of this then.” He looked around, a little belligerent I thought. I don’t know that I blamed him. We didn’t always treat our paladin – friend, with the respect he received from everyone else on the Trade Coast. We – well, Nera – tended to belittle him at every opportunity and rarely bothered to listen when he spoke – except Tanc that is. They seemed to have an understanding the rest of us didn’t. Still, if he wasn’t used to it by now, that wasn’t my problem.

For once there was no argument from anyone and we turned to the problem of transportation. Thanks to Tanc’s speed - gods that man can run!- Nera and I managed to calm enough of the horses to bear each of us and we left the horses that were attached to the wagon the ‘great source of knowledge’ was on and led them away. We were all ready to leave, when -

“What way should we go?” Nera asked. Everyone stopped and stared round at each other, then all turned to me.

“Why are you all looking at me?” I asked.

“Because you usually know these things...?” Nera suggested.

“And you’re most likely to know anything at all about this continent,” Tanc added.

“Well I don’t!” I shot back. “You’re lucky I’d even heard the name Freemantown. Still,” I thought aloud, “settlements are going to be along the coastline probably and stick to watercourses. We either need a river or a road that leads to the coast.”

“Rifus, go scout,” Tanc said, “take a look around and tell us what’s out there.” Rifus nodded and floated off, quickly vanishing to our sight. He was back again soon and dropped to the ground to tell us what he’d found.

“There’s a river to the north, but it just flows through the forest, no road anywhere near it. The road is south and it goes along a ridge before coming to a valley. Couldn’t see anything else.”

“There is likely a river in the valley and the road itself is heading in the right direction for the coast. Besides, where there’s a road there are people-”

“And we should avoid sleeping out in the open, if we can,” Lester interjected. I simply nodded. He seemed awfully jumpy, but after the day I’d just had, my slow – and probably painful -death sentence and a mysterious wooden box that would kill us if we opened it – I wasn’t in the mood to take chances either.

“The road it is then,” Tanc said turning his horse in that direction.

And that is how we’ve ended up here, sheltering off the side of the road beneath some trees because we were unable to find shelter before nightfall. We’ve kept extra watches and slept even more uneasily than usual. Well, I assume Tanc, Nera and Lester slept worse than usual. I found it harder than usual to get into a trance, but Rifus? Well, nothing bothers Rifus. He’s probably fine.

“Are you all right Silver?” Lester’s voice, coming out of the dim early morning light. He crawled awkwardly to join me, his armour only half on. “You look pale.”

I automatically moved to help him, and it wasn’t until I had done up a couple of buckles and fought down the bile rising in my throat that it occurred to me to answer his question.

“Actually, no, I don’t think I am. I feel – nauseous – and I have a horrible headache,” I dropped my head into my hands and felt Lester’s hand on my back. I didn’t bother to shake him off. That’s the second time in as many days I haven’t reacted to his touch. I must be losing mine.

“We’ll get you help,” he assured me. “If need be, you can travel in the wagon.”

“With the evil?” I said sceptically. “I appreciate the thought, but I think I’d rather ride.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Nera asked, concerned. The others had gathered around us.

“Yeah,” I said. “Stay away from me. I don’t want to throw up on anyone.” That got chuckles, but Tanc looked thoughtful.

“Rifus, that rod of yours... would that help?”

Rifus looked blank for a minute, then his face brightened and he pulled a slender rod from his pack.

“Yeah, it should,” he said, handing it to me. I made no move to take it, just looked at him, with my ‘please explain’ expression. “It’s a rod of - bodily restoration. I use it to counteract the affects of my hellfire,” he grinned mischievously. “I don’t need it right now and it works three times a day anyway. Try it, see if it helps.” He pushed the wand at me and I took it. I eyed it briefly then touched it to the back of my left hand and activated it. I don’t know what it did, but it helped. The headache cleared and the nausea vanished like it had never existed.

“Thank you Rifus,” I said, actually meaning it this time. “It really did help.”

“No problem. Looks like this dagger-thing is going to drain you every morning. We’ll just counteract it with this every day until we can find someone to remove it permanently,” he grinned, looking and sounding utterly pleased with himself. Still grinning, he scrambled to shove the rod back into his pack and tugged his horse towards the road – we had convinced him that flying alongside us might be great fun for him, but wouldn’t make us the inconspicuous group of travellers we were trying to be. He shoved through the bush around the edge of the road and stepped out.

As I watched he paused for a second, then immediately turned back to the rest of us.

“Uh guys... I think we may have another problem...”

[Machuchang]

Hey! I wrote a new snippet! :smallsmile: Our RL group just started up again and we had our first game yesterday. Inspiration struck (which it hasn't been doing with anything else) so I went for it and wrote this...


Poniard of Death
or, I Knew That Thing Was Bad


Yay! You're back! And Silver's back too! I've been looking forward to this for quite a while, and you definitely followed through.:smallbiggrin:

The snippet was brilliant as usual. The dialogue was very nicely done, and I especially liked the parts about Freemantown and the Speak-With-Dead oil. What really impressed me was that you conveyed a dark, gritty mood but still managed to incorporate a good amount of humor. And of course, a nerve-wracking cliffhanger. I just hope everything turns out all right for Silver.:smalleek:

I've also made a lot of progress in Varen and Natalia's campaign. And by that, I mean it's been completed.:smallfrown: So I'm kind of at a loss for what to write next about them. Do I write about some of the cool adventures that happened way early on that haven't been touched on yet? Things that have been hinted at, but not shown? Just continue from where I left off until I get to the ending?

I have no idea, so instead I just wrote about Abigail.:smalltongue:


A Party is Formed
or, Why does everyone always meet in a tavern or prison anyway?

The prison was very dark, and very smelly, and very scary. I guess it made sense though. It was a prison after all, and prisons were supposed to be dark and smelly and scary. And now we were wandering through one, looking for some presumably dark and smelly and scary prisoners. It was all so very exciting!

And soon enough, we had found them! Locked in two adjoining cells were some of the strangest people I had ever seen. In the first was a burly, brown-skinned dwarf with a hawk-like nose and one steely grey eye. His beard was really short for a dwarf and kind of bedraggled. He wore so many bandagey-looking things that he looked almost just like a mummy, if mummies wore armor and boots and weren‘t dead.

The other was a tall, pale, human with long black hair and dark red eyes. He was incredibly skinny and wore a nasty smirk. Something about him made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. If the dwarf was a mummy, then this guy was a vampire.

Kurgan laughed when he saw them.

“Eviss! Selhallen! Look who’s back, eh?” he was grinning so widely that I was pretty sure I could count all of his teeth.

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t Kurgan!” the skinny man called Eviss grinned devilishly. Although his voice was definitely happy, everything about him just seemed snide and insincere.

I didn’t like him very much.

“O’t of the stocks ahlraidy?” Selhallen didn’t sound very surprised at all. He also didn’t sound very dwarfy. “Haw’d ya pull that uff?”

“My new friends here were nice enough to let me out,” Kurgan grinned. “Now we’re gonna do the same for you,” He turned to Cass and gave a big smile. She groaned exasperatedly.

“You always leave me to do all the bloody work,” she mumbled as she pulled out her thieves’ tools. That was actually pretty true though. I mean, she did let Kurgan out of his stocks, and she did get the guard to let us in. He had been really rude and unhelpful, and then the next thing I knew, she had cast a charm spell on him, and then he was as helpful as can be! She was really amazing!

But still, it was a little strange, because out of nowhere, I had forgotten the exact same spell right before she had cast it! Oh well. It was probably just me being stupid and forgetful again. Good thing Gramma wasn’t here.

I was getting lost in my head when some alarms suddenly went off. Cass looked really pale.

“Oh bugger…”

[big teej]

fraid I haven't had time to catch up on reading

however
I bring a new snippet


from savage worlds - Necessary Evil
I bring you
"Blacklist's first jailbreak" or, now that we're finally done with character creation, lets drop into some combat!

Blackness…

The sensation of flying…

And suddenly
LIGHT!!!


I’m falling down through the air, hurtling towards the ground; below me I see a prison compound

More importantly, I see the roof a building racing up to meet me.

….. Perhaps I should introduce myself…..

I am the vigilante Known as Blacklist. As a youth a friend and I were shot up in a Convenience store robbery, I had the fortune of waking up inside body gab en route to the morgue. It was discovered that I have a genetic mutation that causes me to heal at a vastly accelerated rate, even beyond death. Incensed over the death of my friend (and my own death, temporary as it was) I vowed to have revenge for any who have been taken advantage of by those that escape “the law” I will go to any lengths necessary to achieve this goal. However, I will do whatever I can to minimize “innocent” human casualties (after all, that’s what I was) in the years since, I have discovered that my mutation allows me to… reverse the healing process in others, causing them to decay and rot.
It’s currently tied with a manslayer shell to the face for my favorite method of ‘blacklisting’ someone

But I digress
When the aliens came, the warehouse I was holed up in was hit hard, I only managed to escape with my life (pretty hard to lose it given my condition) my favorite pump-action shotgun, and a handful of ‘surprises’ for our guests…

Now
Back to the present….

I’m falling…
Quickly I might add

“Fine, I’ll do it” I mentally respond to the presence in my head.

The plastique explosive attached to the nullifiers around my wrists explode, leaving me free, I reach out and grab my shotgun from freefall and feel it over for flaws or damage.

6 seconds to impact
I see a robot has been dropped with me; lucky bastard seems to have rockets built into his boots.

5 seconds to impact
I look around the prison complex, I see that we’re dropping into the main holding cell

4 seconds to impact
No sharks… and no blues… that’s good.

3 seconds to impact
“Time to rock n’ roll” I think to myself

2 seconds to impact
I rack the slide on my shotgun, chambering a deer slug

CRASH!

I come down straight through the ceiling, leaving a rather large hole in the middle of the roof for the robot to follow me through, I manage to stick the landing and roll to my feet assessing the situation.

The robot comes to a landing behind me

“Blacklist, you?” I say as way of introduction, not taking my eyes off of my surroundings

“Mandlebot, now, let us deal with these… things”

The ‘things’ Tin Man is referring to are the 4 drone guards that surround us. We’ve landed in the exact center of a cross intersection in the prison building, at the end of each hall is a drone guard leveling their blaster rifle at us.

“Right, I’ll take the fat one and the thin one; you take the ugly one and the pretty one”
I roll down one of the corridors, halving the amount of incoming fire. Rolling to my feet I raise my shot-gun and send the deer slug into the chest of the drone. It staggers back and returns fire, which is absorbed into my duraweave suit. I rack the slide and fire again bringing the drone down.

I hear shrieking metal behind me and turn to see that doc sprocket’s got his hands on one of those fancy ‘hero killer’ guns…. Show off… he’s obliterated two of them.

“Handle the others! I’ll track down Mindjack”

I open the eye slot on the door nearest me
Civilian
Human female
Innocent
….
Crap

I pump shells into the door until it opens

“Are you okay?” I ask

“Yea, I’ll be fine” she responds

And so the process continues, until I’ve freed all the prisoners.

Mandlebot was holding off an enforcer squad of drones with some sort of shockwave emitter, seemed pretty effective.


I pulled Mindjack, the guy we were sent to bust out, too his feet and call for extraction….



enjoy.

[Lady Moreta]

I just hope everything turns out all right for Silver.:smalleek:

Eh, it's debatable. After the game, DM/Husband turned to me and said "remind me to keep making you role fort saves", me: "okay". And then we proceeded to talk about how to arrange things/separate the party to make the con damage/drain an actual threat. We're all around level 13 right now, which means that something has to be pretty darn serious to be really threatening. Poor husband was a little 'I hate you people so much' when Rifus/Tanc pulled out their toys and handed them to Silver. Still, he assures me that he has plans to make it more of a threat, and I approve of this. Not that I know what the plans are, and if he kills my character (again) I shall be upset.


I've also made a lot of progress in Varen and Natalia's campaign. And by that, I mean it's been completed.:smallfrown: So I'm kind of at a loss for what to write next about them. Do I write about some of the cool adventures that happened way early on that haven't been touched on yet? Things that have been hinted at, but not shown? Just continue from where I left off until I get to the ending?

I choose Option D: All of the above :smallbiggrin:



A Party is Formed
or, Why does everyone always meet in a tavern or prison anyway?

Oh Abigail, Abigail, Abigail. Your granma is going to be so pissed at you when you get home. If you ever get home.

Loved it :smallbiggrin:



from savage worlds - Necessary Evil
I bring you
"Blacklist's first jailbreak" or, now that we're finally done with character creation, lets drop into some combat!

Wait. Lemon Chiffon? We have a font colour called Lemon Chiffon? Oh dear...

Ahem, sorry Teej. I loved this one too. I like seeing something that's not typical fantasy world D&D :smallsmile:

Only two spots that confused me a bit...


It’s currently tied with a manslayer shell to the face for my favorite method of ‘blacklisting’ someone

This sentence doesn't really make sense. I'm afraid I've got no idea what you're trying to say.


I hear shrieking metal behind me and turn to see that doc sprocket’s got his hands on one of those fancy ‘hero killer’ guns…. Show off… he’s obliterated two of them.

Here, it's not quite clear who 'doc sprocket' is... is it Mandlebot or one of the guards you're fighting?

Other than that, I really enjoyed it. You captured the essence of the character really well. I liked his taking a break in falling through the sky to introduce himself. I thought it suited the character really well, and you got a really good impression of how he views life. I like it :smallsmile:

[big teej]

Wait. Lemon Chiffon? We have a font colour called Lemon Chiffon? Oh dear...

Ahem, sorry Teej. I loved this one too. I like seeing something that's not typical fantasy world D&D :smallsmile:

Only two spots that confused me a bit...



This sentence doesn't really make sense. I'm afraid I've got no idea what you're trying to say.



Here, it's not quite clear who 'doc sprocket' is... is it Mandlebot or one of the guards you're fighting?

Other than that, I really enjoyed it. You captured the essence of the character really well. I liked his taking a break in falling through the sky to introduce himself. I thought it suited the character really well, and you got a really good impression of how he views life. I like it :smallsmile:

yea, I wanted something that wasn't invisible... but close
and I totally mistook that for white once in the past
why does that elicit an "oh dear"?

as for critique 1
that was my bad
"blacklisting" is the character's little pet term for killing someone in a stylized fashion
a 'manslayer' shell is the term my group uses for a shotgun shell filled with scrap metal, chunks of razor-wire, glass, etc.

so blasting somebody in the face with that is tied with making people rot as my blacklists' favorite way to kill people.

doc sprocket, tin man, iron man, etc.

all are names I use interchangebly for Mandlebot

his original name was mandlebrot, which I couldn't pronounce consistently, hence the nicknames.


on a related note
gideon has a new snippet
forthcoming tomorrow

i'm afraid it dosent have a name yet

the working name is "....
okay it doesn't have a working name either....

but I digress.

[One Tin Soldier]

I have a strong desire to flex my writing muscles on this. I even have a story writing itself in my head as I type. But I have class in the morning....

Oh, well. I probably won't get to sleep until I finish it in my head anyway. So I give you a snippet about everyone's favorite topic: dying! :smallbiggrin:
Wait...


A Largely Inconsequential Death
Or: The First Time I Had a Character Die on Me

Sorry, but even though this took place pretty recently, I don't really remember the characters' actual names, (or place names) for the most part. I will be using the closest approximations, or just making them up.

"Look, I appreciate your efforts. Really, I do. But next time, it would be wonderful if you would just wait and see if we are to be let out in the morning before you break us out of jail." Alia, the elven woman that I spoke to, shuffled her shoulders, disgruntled.
"Fine, fine," she said, clearly trying to brush me off. "I got it."
"Good," I said, putting a more comfortable distance between us and catching back up to the rest of our group. "So Haldor, where are we heading next, exactly?"
"We are going to the town of Arrowdale," he replied. "It seems to be a rather unpleasant place, filled with scum. I do not look forward to dealing with its inhabitants." Haldor was a tall, silver-haired man, and I admit hesitantly to myself that he was quite handsome. With his plate armor gleaming in the sun, his noble air seemed almost otherworldly.
"ONWARD!" screamed Glorian at no one in particular, holding his sword up in the air, and rushing ahead of Haldor. The rest of us winced tiredly. He did this all too often, and we were getting tired of it.
My poor ears... I thought to myself, rubbing them. Being locked up in a cell with him the night before had not been pleasant at all.
As we neared the edge of the town, my attention was caught by a man lying on the ground that resembled nothing more than a pile of rags. "Haldor, look at that," I said. The man groaned audibly.
"Yes," Haldor said, "he seems to be in pain. We should help him." He and I walked over to him to investigate.
"Do we have to?" said Alia. She seemed rather impatient with us. I just nodded in response. It was about this time that Glorian seemed to notice that we were no longer walking, and circled back.
"Is there something wrong?" Haldor said to the groaning man.
"My stomach," he grunted, in a pained voice. "It hurts." He squrimed on the ground. I had trouble looking over him, as he was almost entirely obscured by the dirty rags he wore. I couldn't even see his face clearly.
"What do you mean, are you sick? Injured?" I asked. "I have healing magic, would you like me to use it?"
The man's only response was to roll a bit and groan again.
That was enough of an answer for me. I held my symbol of Pelor in my left hand, and reached down, ready to cast my spell at him. Before I could do so, however, the man jumped with surprising agility and grabbed my arm. Before I could react, he grabbed something from his rags and spoke a number of words that I did not recognize. But though I did not recognize the words, I could not mistake the pain I felt as negative energy surged through my body.
I yelled in pain and surprise, and threw him off of me, backing away. "We're under attack!" I yelled at the others, bringing my morningstar out of its holster.
The man sprang up and threw off the rags over his robes. Around his neck I could see a symbol of Nerhul. As he did so, another man in identical clothing popped into visibility, holding two scythes. He threw one to his unarmed companion, and they faced off against us.
"You people," I said. I still felt weak from the energy the now-apparent cleric had sent through me. I spoke a few words and laid my hand on my chest, feeling positive energy flow through to heal the injury. I still didn't feel 100%, but it was enough that I felt confident about fighting them.
As I did this, Haldor and Glorian ran in, swords drawn. They attacked the clerics, and managed to get in at least a hit. Meanwhile, Alia ran over to a nearby tree and began climbing, I presumed to get a better shot with her crossbow. The cleric further away from me held up his symbol and spoke more words of divine power, and suddenly an enormous scorpion formed off to Glorian's left.
Now ready for combat, I raised my morningstar and ran towards the cleric that was currently fighting Haldor, the one that had attacked me. I swung down at him, but he managed to dodge to my left, leaving me swinging through empty air. The same move brought him away from Haldor's swing. His eyes burned, and he once again grasped his unholy symbol, spitting out foul-sounding syllables that could barely be described as words. He reached out toward me. I desperately tried to get away from the hand, glowing black with negative energy. Unfortunately, I am no acrobat, and my heavy armor caused me to blunder backwards. His hand plunged in and touched my neck.

This wave of energy was even more painful than the last, so much so that I fell to the ground in agony. It didn't last long, though. Before I knew it, the world went black around me.
My memory of what happened next is extremely vague. I have dream-like memories of watching my companions finish the fight with our enemies, but the angles that I viewed it from were impossible from the ground, not to mention that I remember seeing my body remain motionless on the ground. I also think I remember watching Haldor drag it off down the street.
At any rate, my next clear memory was of me lying on a healer's bed with my armor hastily removed, a man with a symbol identical to mine chanting over me. I recognized the words of the chant; it was a ressurection ritual. I moaned and sat up, groggily.
Haldor stood there, with a relieved look on his face. "Sorry," he said, "He got you with some sort of death spell. We couldn't do anything."
I shook my head, bringing myself back to alertness. "Did you at least get rid of them?"
"Yes," he said.
"Good." I stood up off the bed, and began pulling my armor back on. "Those bastards. Dying hurts."

[absolmorph]

Alright, here's a story about my paladin, Virei Goldeneyes. Who, yes, has golden eyes.


Possession of a Swordmaster
or Strangers who want to give you stuff intend to do bad things to you and shouldn't be trusted.

Virei trudged along on the road beside Mirale. This was only their second mission, but the woman seemed trustworthy enough, despite being a demon like most of their enemies. And yet she worked with this idiot...

They'd been sent out to Lirner to deal with a big guy with red hair and a knack for swinging big swords. Who, as it turned out, had gotten Mirale, Joe McBob and Bubs into their quest to gather the pieces that held Rapthor. And was also the general's brother. I guess compensation runs in the family, he thought amusedly. Given the size of the general's sword, which he used as a bludgeon, it seemed possible.

Virei shielded his eyes from the sun. "I think I see someone," he told Mirale. She nodded. "I wasn't sure if it was someone or just a mirage," she responded. As they got closer, they found it was a large man in armor, carrying a big sword. He walked toward them, his legs slightly stiffer than seemed right. Virei muttered to Mirale. "Do you think that's him?" "Yeah, it is."

The paladin sighed and readied his shield, preparing his sword to be drawn. "Chrono von Power! We've been sent to detain you! Would you mind coming with us?" The man's gaze focused on them, and Virei realized he hadn't seemed to be looking at them. A groan was the only response as the larger man stalked toward the pair, drawing his blade. Figures. What a jerk. Virei dashed toward him, drawing his blade and swinging, with golden light flowing along his blade and the ground he covered. Their blades clashed, and Virei roared a wordless challenge. Mirale followed him, drawing her maul, which had a head roughly the size of his chest, and slamming it into Chrono.

Chrono's great sword smashed into Virei's shield, nearly knocking the stunned paladin over. Virei could feel several bruises forming and suspected his wrist was sprained. Mirale, noting his pained look, used a healing spell. Then, Virei and Mirale began to attack Chrono full force. None of the three could land a solid hit. Virei felt a growing, pulsing evil on his opponent's chest. He suspected it was radiating from the amulet hanging there, which looked... suspicious.

Chrono's blade stopped midswing. "Nnnnnnnnnnnoooooo, dooooonnnnn' wannn' tooooo," he said. His speech seemed to be strained, as if he were struggling to control his own body.

By the gods, was this idiot really stupid enough to accept an amulet that possessed him? Someone as dangerous as he apparently is? ... What the hell. (http://www.myfacewhen.com/images/196.jpg) Virei's blade struck faster as he searched for an opening in Chrono's defenses. Despite the awkward, jerking motions of a possession, he still managed to deflect most strikes Mirale or Virei threw. On the other hand, Virei was able to avoid almost all of Chrono's attacks, and almost none were directed at Mirale.

An arrow zipped past Virei and lodged in Chrono's arm. He swung at Virei, much weaker than before. A second arrow stuck into the ground, and a third pierced his armor and went through his leg. He let out a bellow of pain. Virei took advantage of the distraction and kicked the other man in the chest, denting his breastplate. Mirale's maul slammed into his helmet, and he keeled over. Sheathing his blade, Virei took the great sword away. "That was a hell of a fight," he said. Looking back, he saw Joe trotting out from the trees. "Didn't you have a mission with Bubs?" he called out.
Joe shrugged. "I was in Lirner and heard about this, so I came out here. I saw you two fighting him, so I decided to lend a hand." Virei nodded, accepting the explanation.

He rolled Chrono onto his back and looked at the amulet. The symbol was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. He grabbed it and tore it from the thong holding it around Chrono's neck. The pulsing grew faster, almost seeming frantic. The amulet broke in his hands. "That was barely enlightening." He stared at the pieces in his hand, mulling over what had happened, as Mirale and Joe removed the arrows from Chrono and cared for the wounds. Virei looked up. It was around noon, so the sun was at it's zenith. "Hey, Mirale, didn't the bartender say Chrono was headed toward the elves' village for something?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah, he did. And... Chrono was possessed... Uh-oh," the succubus said. Virei nodded; that was what he had thought. He picked up the other man, slinging him across his shoulders. (for reference, a fireman's carry)

"Come on, let's see what we can find out." The trio began walking, with Virei in the lead, carrying the massive fighter. They got close to the village not long before sunset. A pillar of smoke rose ahead of them. "Oh, crap," they chorused. Virei stopped. "If there's something malevolent in the village, I don't want him weighing me down. Let's tie him up beside the path." Joe pulled out some rope, and the archer and paladin worked together to tie Chrono's arms around a tree. At some point, he'd fallen asleep, and even their work didn't wake him. His loud snores were irritating, to say the least.

The three covered the short distance to the village, which was hidden by a screen of trees, quickly.

They stopped, shocked.
"Boop," said Virei.


Wow. I think this is my longest yet.

[Lady Moreta]

yea, I wanted something that wasn't invisible... but close
and I totally mistook that for white once in the past
why does that elicit an "oh dear"?

Because lemon chiffon is such a pretencious name for a colour. Can't we just call it lemon or lemon yellow and be done with it?


on a related note
gideon has a new snippet
forthcoming tomorrow

It's not tomorrow any more... where'd it go? Not that I've written anything in a while, though I did start something new earlier today.


I have a strong desire to flex my writing muscles on this. I even have a story writing itself in my head as I type. But I have class in the morning....

Feel free to flex any time you like, I enjoyed that :smallsmile: Heehee "dying hurts" :smallbiggrin:


The three covered the short distance to the village, which was hidden by a screen of trees, quickly.

They stopped, shocked.
"Boop," said Virei.

I liked all of this, until you got to the end, and then you ruined it. Building up tension is great, I did the clifhanger ending not too long ago myself... but 'boop'? it completely ruins the feel. You had a lovely serious snippet the entire way through, had it all built up for a nail-biting, 'oh dear what now?' ending and then... that pretty much killed it. I'm sorry, I don't want to sound harsh and I really enjoyed the story, but that ending just does not work.

[big teej]

class and work happened to that :smallfrown:

besides
tomorrow never gets here
it gets closer and closer and closer and then....
boom
its 24 hours away again, getting closer again :smallbiggrin:


seriously though, I'm gonna type up snippets as soon as I have free time

[Lord_Gareth]

Lord Gareth, Steel Song: First emotional response: awesome! One question not related to the writing: who were the PC's? I assume Francis and his group, but you leave just enough doubt for me to have to ask.

More concrete text stuff: I like the way you did the battle - I could see it in my mind, and that's what matters most for me. I like how the scribe is slowly clued in to the half-elf's strength. And I love the ending! I'd like to see more how the relationship between the two developed.

Criticism: none, really. Good snippet for our format.

Francis Quillen is the only PC present, played by myself; he told the party to move on while he confronted his Designated Foe.

[big teej]

this thread is not allowed to die!!!

it just has to make it to spring break!!!

then I will have A BUNCH of stuff!!

I promise!!!

[Lady Moreta]

I have three on the go right now...

We just underwent an office relocation - moving everyone on the ground floor up to join the guys on the second floor. It's been a bit of a logistical nightmare and I've barely had time to breathe let alone write. And then of course I did my usual "I have no inspiration for this, I know, I'll start something else!" :smallsigh:

One is meant to be quite short so hopefully I'll find time this afternoon to finish it.

[Lord_Gareth]

There is no Order without Punishment
The party bursts into the dining room of a half-ruined castle fortress, seeking the dragon they believe dwells within - a dragon that has been terrorizing the local towns and villages, as well as kidnapping any mortal it can lay its claws on. Instead, they see a feast laid out - not lavish, but expensive, with invisible servants continuing to straighten the table and pour wine. Sitting at the head of the table, dressed practically in leather breeches and a chain shirt, is their old foe, Kylira of Ash - a tiefling assassin that they have clashed with on several occasions. As they go to charge, she holds up a hand and speaks.

"Sheathe your weapons, travelers. I only want to have a polite conversation. Now, let us speak about Order."

She gestures to the seats, and the party's paladin goes to attack her anyway, upon which she politely says, unconcerned, "I am an unarmed woman sitting peaceably down to my meal. I am glad to see that you are honorable enough to strike me down."

The paladin hesitates, agonizes over the decision, and ultimately sits, seething at this use of his Code against him. Reluctantly, the other party members sit, knowing the paladin is now obligated to defend Kylira's hospitality. The mage checks the food for poison and finds none, and the party thus begins to eat reluctantly.

"Now," Kylira begins pleasantly, "would you all agree that there can be no Order without punishment? This is the most basic tenant of laws across the multiverse - there is a code, and to break this code invokes a punishment. Even your friend here," she says as she gestures to the Paladin, "understands the concept, for he is obligated to seek out and punish those who harm the innocent. Now, who do you think does this punishing. The forces of Celestia? Too dirty for them. They feel conflicted and wrong unless fighting the vilest of fiends and undead. Mechanus? No one trusts them. The term 'proportionate response' is not within their vocabulary. Baator? Ah, now there we run into something interesting."

Kylira pauses to sip her wine and take a few spoonfuls of soup before continuing.

"As you may well know, my lord Asmodeus was once an angel of Celestia - was, in fact, their greatest general. What you do now know is that he is still in their employ - that he, in fact, rules Hell by virtue of Celestian authority and, if need be, can maintain his throne by virtue of Celestian might. In the wars of Creation, when the forces of Celestia balked before the evils of the Abyss and could not fight, Asmodeus fought. When they let innocents suffer under the willing rulership of demons, Asmodeus overthrew them. He tread where even angels feared to go, and so they in turn grew to fear him. They told him that he was not one of them, and he replied that, as he had broken none of their laws, he could not be punished. The wisest of Celestia met, and here they had their greatest stroke of genius - exile the dissenter and his armies to a forward outpost where they could resist the Abyss directly, thus ridding themselves of the troublemaker and ensuring that the demons could be contained on two fronts. They presented this pact to Asmodeus, who accepted."

"If only he had known their treachery. They hurled him deep into Baator, where his fiery impact gouged out huge craters in the Pit, and laughed as they made him King of an empty Hell, with only his armies to attend upon him."

Kylira paused to let the group absorb her words while the party's priest, devoted to Boccob the Uncaring, muttered in a shuddering whisper that his magic detected no lies from her.

"And here is the part you should know - my Lord still chose to serve them, and he serves them still, because he is honorable and loyal, and knows his place. Whenever Celestia is faced with a problem it will not solve, it calls upon Asmodeus to sully his hands. Whenever Celestia faces a foe it cannot comprehend, my master comes forth as its sword and shield. They cower behind him and call themselves righteous, and he serves them without thought for reward, for he knows that the forces of Baator are the only beings courageous enough to do what must be done to preserve Creation in all of its glory and splendor. When angels stay their hands, weeping impotent tears, we step forward to end any threats to existence that we may find. Tell me, is this who you want to serve - cowards that hide behind veiled excuses and pretend that they have no responsibility? I think not. You have been courageous, and valorous, and you have displayed an admirable concern for the lives of the innocent. I tell you now that I am not your enemy. No, I have been helping you for some time - tarnishing myself so that you might enjoy the privilege of remaining pure. But now I have need of you, and so I ask this - what is that privilege really worth? People are suffering. You could help."

Kylira pulls from her pocket a small scroll and sets it on the table.

"This is a contract of service, passed down by one of my master's more trusted servants. I shall leave you to finish your meal now, but think about what I have said. If you sign the contract, you will be teleported to my side. If you do not, you are free to leave, though you should be made aware that the dragon you seek dwells in a cave eight miles north of here. Think on it awhile. I bid you farewell."

The party eats and drinks in uncomfortable silence, each pondering her word's and the cleric's assertation that she was telling the truth. Then, slowly, the paladin reaches for the scroll, and signs.

[Lady Moreta]

There is no Order without Punishment
The party bursts into the dining room of a half-ruined castle fortress, seeking the dragon they believe dwells within - a dragon that has been terrorizing the local towns and villages, as well as kidnapping any mortal it can lay its claws on. Instead, they see a feast laid out - not lavish, but expensive, with invisible servants continuing to straighten the table and pour wine. Sitting at the head of the table, dressed practically in leather breeches and a chain shirt, is their old foe, Kylira of Ash - a tiefling assassin that they have clashed with on several occasions. As they go to charge, she holds up a hand and speaks.

"Sheathe your weapons, travelers. I only want to have a polite conversation. Now, let us speak about Order."

She gestures to the seats, and the party's paladin goes to attack her anyway, upon which she politely says, unconcerned, "I am an unarmed woman sitting peaceably down to my meal. I am glad to see that you are honorable enough to strike me down."

The paladin hesitates, agonizes over the decision, and ultimately sits, seething at this use of his Code against him. Reluctantly, the other party members sit, knowing the paladin is now obligated to defend Kylira's hospitality. The mage checks the food for poison and finds none, and the party thus begins to eat reluctantly.

"Now," Kylira begins pleasantly, "would you all agree that there can be no Order without punishment? This is the most basic tenant of laws across the multiverse - there is a code, and to break this code invokes a punishment. Even your friend here," she says as she gestures to the Paladin, "understands the concept, for he is obligated to seek out and punish those who harm the innocent. Now, who do you think does this punishing. The forces of Celestia? Too dirty for them. They feel conflicted and wrong unless fighting the vilest of fiends and undead. Mechanus? No one trusts them. The term 'proportionate response' is not within their vocabulary. Baator? Ah, now there we run into something interesting."

Kylira pauses to sip her wine and take a few spoonfuls of soup before continuing.

"As you may well know, my lord Asmodeus was once an angel of Celestia - was, in fact, their greatest general. What you do now know is that he is still in their employ - that he, in fact, rules Hell by virtue of Celestian authority and, if need be, can maintain his throne by virtue of Celestian might. In the wars of Creation, when the forces of Celestia balked before the evils of the Abyss and could not fight, Asmodeus fought. When they let innocents suffer under the willing rulership of demons, Asmodeus overthrew them. He tread where even angels feared to go, and so they in turn grew to fear him. They told him that he was not one of them, and he replied that, as he had broken none of their laws, he could not be punished. The wisest of Celestia met, and here they had their greatest stroke of genius - exile the dissenter and his armies to a forward outpost where they could resist the Abyss directly, thus ridding themselves of the troublemaker and ensuring that the demons could be contained on two fronts. They presented this pact to Asmodeus, who accepted."

"If only he had known their treachery. They hurled him deep into Baator, where his fiery impact gouged out huge craters in the Pit, and laughed as they made him King of an empty Hell, with only his armies to attend upon him."

Kylira paused to let the group absorb her words while the party's priest, devoted to Boccob the Uncaring, muttered in a shuddering whisper that his magic detected no lies from her.

"And here is the part you should know - my Lord still chose to serve them, and he serves them still, because he is honorable and loyal, and knows his place. Whenever Celestia is faced with a problem it will not solve, it calls upon Asmodeus to sully his hands. Whenever Celestia faces a foe it cannot comprehend, my master comes forth as its sword and shield. They cower behind him and call themselves righteous, and he serves them without thought for reward, for he knows that the forces of Baator are the only beings courageous enough to do what must be done to preserve Creation in all of its glory and splendor. When angels stay their hands, weeping impotent tears, we step forward to end any threats to existence that we may find. Tell me, is this who you want to serve - cowards that hide behind veiled excuses and pretend that they have no responsibility? I think not. You have been courageous, and valorous, and you have displayed an admirable concern for the lives of the innocent. I tell you now that I am not your enemy. No, I have been helping you for some time - tarnishing myself so that you might enjoy the privilege of remaining pure. But now I have need of you, and so I ask this - what is that privilege really worth? People are suffering. You could help."

Kylira pulls from her pocket a small scroll and sets it on the table.

"This is a contract of service, passed down by one of my master's more trusted servants. I shall leave you to finish your meal now, but think about what I have said. If you sign the contract, you will be teleported to my side. If you do not, you are free to leave, though you should be made aware that the dragon you seek dwells in a cave eight miles north of here. Think on it awhile. I bid you farewell."

The party eats and drinks in uncomfortable silence, each pondering her word's and the cleric's assertation that she was telling the truth. Then, slowly, the paladin reaches for the scroll, and signs.

Oooh I like :smallbiggrin: I like a good 'turn your world upside down' type story, and you did this one really well. She was really convincing, I liked the way that they all listened and accepted that she was telling the truth. You made it obvious in just a few short sentences that they clearly understood the impact of her words - without the party even saying anything. Well done :smallsmile:

[Machuchang]

There is no Order without Punishment


Wow, this was really intense! The dialogue really blew me away, and the drama was practically palpable. This piece was really just amazing, and I'd love to find out what happens next. Especially to the paladin!


I've also got a couple snippets of my own, but I'm afraid that since I haven't written anything in about a month or so, I feel like I've gotten really rusty. My writing just isn't coming as easily to me, and it sort of feels a little clunky, so you have been forewarned. On the bright side, I'm not so busy anymore, so to try and get back into the swing of things, I'm going to be writing a whole lot of new snippets! As always, critiques are greatly appreciated.

Anyways, here's Varen again! This snippet comes about a week after The Soothsayer in the Stone, so waaaay earlier on in Varen's adventures. I'll get some more recent ones up soon, but for now, enjoy!


Prisoner
or They Really Should Start Teaching Infiltration In Paladin School

For three days, they tormented me. They beat me. They whipped me. They cut me. They burned me. They made me feel more pain than I thought was ever imaginable. And now, they finally started talking to me.

“You’s pretty foolhardy for a paladin!” my torturer, a small, thin man with a sparse beard and a giant rat’s skull for a helmet, cackled as he casually emptied a vial of acid onto my chest. I grit my teeth, and with all my willpower, I was barely able to contain the screams. “I thought you’s was supposed to have respect for life an’ all that,” He studied my face with his beady little eyes, trying to read my expressions, looking for any sign of pain, or fear. I did my best to ignore the searing pain, and tried to give him the coldest glare I could muster.

He didn‘t react.

“Though you’s seems to got none for your own,” he murmured, mainly to himself, with his thin, raspy voice. “Otherwise you’d just tell us what you‘s was doin‘ in the camp, anyways, so‘s we could get this whole thing over with,”

In a way, he was right. I had come all this way in search of Natalia, even going so far as to sneak into the Crownbreaker camp, which was certainly something no one afraid of death would even attempt. At least not lightly. But I had taken it upon myself to infiltrate the camp, risking not only my life, but my paladinhood, because a talking stone told me to. And as a result, I ended up tied naked to a table in a blood-covered tent high in the mountains in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to show for my efforts but scars.

And yet, at the very heart of things, my tormentor was wrong. I did value my life, and right now, I was scared out of my mind. Scared that I would die cold, and alone, wracked with excruciating pain. Scared that I would die, having accomplished nothing. Scared that I would die without ever seeing Natalia again.

But I valued her life even above my own, and for that, I did not regret the actions that brought me here in the slightest. Now, I was inside the camp, and I would be closer to finding her than I had ever been.

Just as soon as I escaped, that is.


When my torturer had finally gone, I got to work. I struggled against the ropes that had me tied down, as I had done every day every during my captivity. Fortunately for me, my captors never bothered to check them. Three days worth of wear had finally loosened the ropes enough for me to move. I wriggled my arms free, and with a lot of effort, I managed to break the rope that bound me. I rolled off the table and hit the ground, my legs weak from disuse. But I pushed myself off the ground, forcing my legs to support my wait. I was going to get away, and I was going to find Natalia.

Cautiously, I exited the tent, and was immediately met with a blast of snow, carried by the mountain’s cold wind. The wet frost mingled with the fresh wounds from my torture, and I was barely able to contain the urge to scream in pain. But there was no way I was going to give myself away. Not this soon. Instead, I stomped my bare feet into the snow, and steeled myself against the cold.

It was then that I heard the scream. A deep, bellowed wail, it erupted from a tent just a few away from my own. My heart sank. Someone there was being tortured as well, and even though I needed to find Natalia and get away from this hellish camp, there was no way that I was going to allow anyone to undergo what I had gone through.

And so, against my better judgment, I dashed to the tent, using the sound of the screams to hide the crunching of the snow as I ran.

I burst into the tent just in time to catch my same torturer laughing over the broken body of an orc, still tied to a table of his own. Rage boiled within me, and the next thing I knew, the torturer was on the ground, my knees against his chest, and my hands around his neck. He thrashed. He gurgled. He screamed in fear. And then he stopped. When I finally regained control of myself, I could only stare in shock and revulsion at what I had done.

“Thank you… friend…” A deep raspy voice broke my trance. I turned and, to my amazement, the orc was alive, but only just. His body was covered in sweat, grime, and blood, and he was so badly bruised that I couldn’t even tell what his original skin color was. To my horror, the ‘table’ that held him down was actually a rack, and his body had been twisted and broken in a horrific fashion.

“Hold on,” I found myself whispering as I hurriedly freed him from his bonds. “Hold on, you’re going to be alright,”

“You… should probably go,” he croaked. “The scream would have alerted someone… you don’t have a lot of time…”

“Maybe, but I’m not going to leave anyone behind to face what you just did,” I said as I helped him to his feet.

“You are a good man, and I see that I will not be able to discourage you,” the orc half-laughed, half-wheezed. “I am Bagran Bearfang. I have been here for weeks. I cannot thank you enough, mister…?”

“”Varen,” I said. “But don’t thank me now. We’re not safe just yet,” I slung his arm over my shoulders, and together, we hobbled out of the tent.

At first, it truly seemed as though fate was smiling upon us. We had managed to sneak away from the torture camps without so much as a hitch, and I was even able to find all of my gear, hidden away in a storage tent.

But of course, things couldn’t have gone that easily. When we were about halfway out of the camp, I heard the blare of horns, alarming the whole tribe of our escape. And soon, it seemed as though we managed to run into every single patrol group in the camp.

We escaped under a hail of arrow-fire. I’m still not sure how we even managed to get out alive, but somehow we made it far enough into the surrounding forest for the Crownbreakers to give up the chase.

I hid Bagran against a tree, and when I was sure we were safe, I started to head back.

“Wait!” Bagran yelped in shock. “You’re going back? Why?”

“My friend is still be back there!” I snapped at him despite myself. “She was captured by the Deathwind; I need to get her out of there as well!”

Bagran sat in silence, wearing a puzzled look on his face as he examined mine, as though trying to determine whether I was serious or not. Then he spoke.

“My friend,” Bagran said sadly. “The Deathwind leads the Fear Legion. This is the Pain Legion. You will not find your friend here,”

There were multiple legions of Crownbreakers? No wonder I had so much trouble tracking them down! They really could have been everywhere at once!

I felt hopeless, defeated. It seemed as though I would never be able to find Natalia.

“How do you know?” I asked, miserable. Even though I believed him, I just had to have proof. I couldn’t let my hopes be crushed just yet.

“I was once a Crownbreaker,” he said sadly. “I wanted to overthrow the Emperor, so that my people could return to life in the old ways, so that my people could once again become one with nature,” He coughed again. “But soon I realized that the Crownbreakers were not in the right. They were evil, and only lived to cause pain and misery. So I tried to leave once before, but they would not have that,” he coughed. To my alarm I realized that he was hacking up blood. “And there is nothing a Crownbreaker hates more than a traitor…”

“Hold on!” I shouted frantically.

“It is no use my friend,” Bagran smiled sadly. “My wounds are far too severe. Perhaps this is justice for my actions as a Crownbreaker,” Trying to hold back the tears, I watched the light fade from his eyes as his breathing stopped.

And so, cold, lost, and alone once again, I stumbled off into the wilderness.


And anyone remember Tavor? No? Well a lot of stuff has happened to him since last time!


Exodus
or Maybe You Should Have Invested In Some Ruby Slippers

“You don’t talk much, do you Tavor?” Nasser grinned at me from his perch atop the camel. Despite the beast’s great height and precarious load, the halfling had still managed to find a way to get on top of it. Even with the heat of the desert sun beating down on us in the middle of the day, he was still able to find the energy to climb and annoy me at the same time. And now, wedged between Rafiq’s bag and Quasim’s boxes, Nasser had decided that it would be great fun to torment me. “Why’s that, huh?”

I shrugged. He laughed and shook his head.

“C’mon, humor me a little, eh?” he said. “All I know about you is that Hajra yanked you out of Sayur when you got in a tussle with a gang or something like that. C’mon, we’re supposed to be buddies now right? Searchin’ for adventure and whatnot?”

I shrugged again. I really did not feel like talking to Nasser at this moment. He was always loud and obnoxious, and right now I just wanted to get moving. I had things to pack. Nasser pretended not to notice my lack of interest though, and continued to babble.

“Why don’t we play a game, eh? ‘I Spy With My Wee Eyes’? You know that game? …No? How about ‘I Never’? Oh wait, we gotta save the liquor for later… Oh! I know! ‘Twenty Questions’! You can go first!’

I tried my best to ignore him, but he kept going on and on and on. Fortunately, Quasim came to my rescue.

“Nasser! Get off! Now! I’ve got some very unstable reagents in there! Off!” Knowing better than to irritate the wizard further, Nasser climbed down from his perch, obviously put off.

“Alright, alright! Geez!” Nasser whined. “I’ll keep off your stupid stuff! Calm down!”

“Don’t you have things you should be doing?!” Quasim was merciless. “Hajra must have something for you to do, and I’m sure she would not appreciate you shirking your duties and distracting someone else from theirs!” Nasser opened his mouth in protest, but Quasim killed the objection before it could even form. “Get going!”

Sulking, Nasser trudged off through the sand towards the rest of the party. Quasim watched him go until he was out of earshot, then turned his attention to me.

“If that bothers you, you’re in for quite a long journey my friend,” Quasim smiled at me wryly. “Sometimes it’s best just to talk to him. He’ll lose interest quicker that way,”

“Thank you,” I said, without looking up. Quasim didn’t move. I continued to work, but Quasim just stood and watched me. Finally, he spoke again.

“Do you even want to be here?” he asked. “I mean, running around a desert searching for an ancient artifact must seem ridiculous to you. It certainly did for me, at first,” he chuckled half-heartedly. I kept working. “Look, you shouldn’t feel obligated to come just because Hajra got you out of a little bit trouble. I could talk to her if you’d like to leave-”

“No,” I interrupted him. “I will come with you,” Quasim looked perplexed.

“But… why?” he asked.

“Because finding this artifact is the only chance I have of making it home,”

[Lord_Gareth]

If I might ask, what makes it dramatic or intense? Writers do need to know what they do wrong, yes, but they also need to know what they've done right.

[big teej]

@ Lord Gareth

"wooooooooow......"

I loved it!

and as someone who typically plays knights I totally identified with the paladin.

I don't have time to read more tonight =( but tomorrow!

and over spring break I"m gonna try and type up a background over spring break for all my characters
which is like 20 now.

[Machuchang]

If I might ask, what makes it dramatic or intense? Writers do need to know what they do wrong, yes, but they also need to know what they've done right.

Of course! What I felt made it so intense was the how you had Kylira explain the history of Asmodeus. The way she flipped around the believed mythos of heaven and hell (or Celestia and Baator) in such a casual, conversational manner really struck me, and I loved how I could feel the party's unease through their actions and dialogue. At the same time, her behavior seemed just suspicious enough, as an established antagonist to the party and as an almost TOO knowledgeable source of information, that it seemed like her actions could really corrupt or mislead the party toward some devious end, which I found especially thrilling. And if she really was telling the truth, then the whole world of the story is met with a new, exciting dimension as it moves towards a more grey vs. grey morality, rather than the standard black vs. white one.

As for dramatic, I would attribute that to how you set up the scene, in part due to the inherent drama in the situation the characters were in, eating dinner with their nemesis. But you manipulated that feeling of drama masterfully, and you did a great job conveying the party's suspicions, and were able to create an atmosphere that was felt more than just read, which is nothing short of impressive. You did an amazing job!

[absolmorph]

I liked all of this, until you got to the end, and then you ruined it. Building up tension is great, I did the clifhanger ending not too long ago myself... but 'boop'? it completely ruins the feel. You had a lovely serious snippet the entire way through, had it all built up for a nail-biting, 'oh dear what now?' ending and then... that pretty much killed it. I'm sorry, I don't want to sound harsh and I really enjoyed the story, but that ending just does not work.
The actualexpletive I dropped was much, much fouler.
But I dislike censoring words, so I used the fill-in word from Erfworld. I meant to write the continuation of this, actually. I'll get to that tonight or tomorrow.

[Lady Moreta]

If I might ask, what makes it dramatic or intense? Writers do need to know what they do wrong, yes, but they also need to know what they've done right.

At work & busy (& pissed off but that's another story)

Off the top of my head though, I'd have to say it's the way that Kylira tells her story without any interruptions. We all play, we know that PCs like to be in charge and if there's any talking happening, it's gonna be them. The fact that what she had to say was so incredible, and yet true that they couldn't even find their voices made in incredibly powerful. Even more so because the only times they got any actions they were just short little paragraphs saying all they could do was verify the truth of what she was saying. Even when they got a chance to be seen and heard, they still couldn't find any words to refute her with. All they had was 'yes she's telling the truth'.

[Lord_Gareth]

At work & busy (& pissed off but that's another story)

Off the top of my head though, I'd have to say it's the way that Kylira tells her story without any interruptions. We all play, we know that PCs like to be in charge and if there's any talking happening, it's gonna be them. The fact that what she had to say was so incredible, and yet true that they couldn't even find their voices made in incredibly powerful. Even more so because the only times they got any actions they were just short little paragraphs saying all they could do was verify the truth of what she was saying. Even when they got a chance to be seen and heard, they still couldn't find any words to refute her with. All they had was 'yes she's telling the truth'.

Some of the OOC commentary was fairly impressive to hear myself, my favorite being, "Oh crap, if she's telling the truth, then the only reason that the bard's patron deity exists is because Asmodeus was nice enough to let him."

[Lady Moreta]

Prisoner
or They Really Should Start Teaching Infiltration In Paladin School

Haven't read the other one yet, just wanted to reply and tell you that you have earned my highest praise. You made me cry.

[big teej]

@machuchang

having now had the opportunity to read yours as well...


I like it.
bunches
^_^

reading stories about varen makes me think of that "nope. paladin" story.

which is always great

[Machuchang]

Haven't read the other one yet, just wanted to reply and tell you that you have earned my highest praise. You made me cry.

Wow... I guess I haven't lost my touch as much as I thought. I'm honored that you think so highly of my work!:smallbiggrin:

Just out of curiosity, which part provoked that reaction?


@machuchang

having now had the opportunity to read yours as well...


I like it.
bunches
^_^

reading stories about varen makes me think of that "nope. paladin" story.

which is always great

You're very kind, though I think that the "Nope. Paladin" guy is a lot more badass than Varen.:smallbiggrin:

[big teej]

You're very kind, though I think that the "Nope. Paladin" guy is a lot more badass than Varen.:smallbiggrin:

well....
I must offer a few points in rebuttal
1) varen goes through all this ON HIS OWN (with the exception of travels with nat)
2) the "nope" guy has a party with him.

but those are beside the point.

my point is that Varen evokes the same feel as that mentality.

and lets face it
EVERY knight, paladin, and LG paragon fighter should evoke that mentality and feeling.

I try with Gideon (the guy who lost his horse) but I feel he comes off to the party as "bull-headed" as opposed to "epically determined"

but oh well.
his time will come.

/ramble.

[Lady Moreta]

The actualexpletive I dropped was much, much fouler.
But I dislike censoring words, so I used the fill-in word from Erfworld. I meant to write the continuation of this, actually. I'll get to that tonight or tomorrow.

Ahh, I see. I think you'd have been better off going with either a real-world expletive that wouldn't have been censored (like hell or damn), using ***** in place of the word or at least using a made up word that sounded harsher and more like a swear word. Because the word you did use just didn't work.



reading stories about varen makes me think of that "nope. paladin" story.

which is always great

Me too! :smallbiggrin:


Wow... I guess I haven't lost my touch as much as I thought. I'm honored that you think so highly of my work!:smallbiggrin:

Just out of curiosity, which part provoked that reaction?

The ending... partly with the half-orc just quietly giving up and finally finding dignity in his own death. And partly Varen's reaction to finding out he'd been held by the Pain Legion not the Fear Legion - realising that he was so very very screwed...

And I finally read Exodus as well... I enjoyed it... it was a nice casual piece of writing, just a glimpse of daily life and then you get to the last sentence and realise it's far more important that you first realised. Very well done :smallsmile:

And all my snippets will have to wait I'm afraid... I started them all while at work and stupidly forgot to email them to myself so I could work on them at home. Whoops.

EDIT: I take it back... wrote another backstory for another pbp character :smallbiggrin:


Sarai Barden
or Yet Another Backstory
Sarai Barden
I still wonder how it came to this. How I got to the point of wandering through this gods-forsaken land. I have no idea where I’m going, no idea where I should be going. After what I’ve been through, I’m lucky I even remember who I am. But no, even now I can feel the weight of my family’s signet ring, hanging from the chain around my neck. Who am I? I am Sarai Barden, daughter of Daran and Adeline, youngest member of the most noble house of Barden. And this is my story.

It was the before-eve of my 17th birthday when my story began. Up until that point I had been just another spoiled member of the aristocracy. Close enough in age to my cousin Makram (the son of my Uncle, also Makram and the head of House Barden) for us to be playmates as children. Apart enough for him to feel only protective of me as we grew older. As was common for children of House Barden, our birthdays were the same day. This was the day before the beginning of Makram’s Initiation into Adulthood. This was a most secret and sacred rite – all children of the aristocracy went through this rite. It lasted a year, beginning on the eve of one’s 19th birthday and ending a year later, on the eve of their 20th year – the year one became an adult in the Kingdom of the Sword. The rite is secret because we are only instructed in what we must do as the rite begins. It is death to speak of it to one who has not yet gone through it.

I – well, I admit, I was being mildly disobedient when my father, uncle and cousin came to my chambers in our manor house at Gerhardhold. It was a well-kept secret among my family that I possess the long-lost secrets of magic. I am not very good and for the safety of the entire family I am not supposed to practice within the confines of the manor house. Still, I cannot control when the magics come to me and I wanted – no needed – to get this magic out of me while I had it in mind and heart. They came to me and shared with both Makram, my cousin and I the words that have changed my life and turned it upside down.

Rumours had been brought to the attention of our fathers – rumours of wars, of murders, of plots and intrigues – of those things that the noble houses most fear – of kidnappings and of revolution. My family is only distantly related to that of King Auld, but it is related. Were enough to die, I could conceivably be called upon to be queen. It was clear that my Uncle Makram and my father Daran took these warnings seriously, for their conversation was focused on how to get myself and my cousin out of Gerhardhold and where we could be sent, for our own safety. My cousin was most displeased, being about to embark upon his Initiation into Adulthood. I believe it was this that gave our fathers the idea that they eventually settled upon. While the rite is meant to take a child into adulthood and so encompasses the 19th year of life, it has been performed earlier in the case of rare children who have either matured early or have been required for some position that needed them to be counted an adult. It was Daran, my father, who first suggested that perhaps I should be considered for the rite early. I am mature for my age, I have often been told this. And, as my father pointed out, I have magic, which could be used as a reason for my early initiation. Uncle Makram was reluctant to admit the family secret before it could be of use to House Barden, but my father pointed out that if I was left behind and perished in whatever storm was coming, my gift would never be of use to House Barden. That convinced him. Preparations were made for my Initiation into Adulthood. Preparations made in haste and in secret. Or so we thought.

When my cousin and I stood upon the great dias the next day, on the eve of our 19th and 17th birthdays the uprising began. It started as a quiet rumble that hastened into a storm before anyone knew what was happening. All I remember from that mad time is the horrible sound of stones being rent asunder, my mother’s voice screaming and my cousin’s tight grip on my arm, dragging me behind him. We fled Gerhardhold to search for safety in the countryside. Makram cared for me, protecting me as best he could and in return I did my best to cook and clean for him and to use my magic for the benefit of us both. Alas that in the end, it was not enough.

My memory of that fateful night is still dim and hazy, though months have since passed. I suspect the safety we found was merely an illusion and that those who sought us had never in truth lost us. At night they came upon us, when we both slept. Makram awoke and sprang to his feet, his sword flying into his hand and he wielded it in a manner I had never seen from him before, who had always been an indifferent swordsman at best. He screamed at me to run, though fear had frozen me in place and I could not. I shall always regret that it was his hurt that spurred me to action. Had I but moved when he bade me, it is possible that Makram and I should still be together. One attacker broached his guard and smote him in the side. He staggered and fell to one knee and I screamed to see it. Great anger burned within me and I cast one of my precious spells at his attacker. The man’s attention then turned to me and in sheer haste I flung another spell. It flew over his head and landed among the others who sought to imprison us. Makram flung himself again at this foe, once more imploring me to save myself. He bade me on his authority as the heir to House Barden to flee and preserve my own life. I could not disobey. I fled.

I could hear the sounds of another behind me as I ran and I turned my head to see. I believe this is what saved me. Had I been watching my course I would have seen and avoided the hole into which I fell. I must have simply disappeared from view and my scream may have indeed sounded like the words of a spell. Instead, I struck my head upon the ground and was lost for a time to darkness and oblivion. When I finally returned to my senses, I was rescued from my prison by a kindly man who bore a hawk as friend and companion upon his shoulder. He said he could not assist me in my search for my cousin, but gave me such resources as he could spare and wished me good fortune upon my road. I think of him often and will much goodwill in my heart, for without him, his sharp-eyed hawk and his stout rope, I surely would have perished deep within the bowls of the earth.

I have wandered far and wide across the Kingdom of the Sword since that time. At times I search for Makram my cousin. At times I consider continuing on with the Initiation into Adulthood, though we were interrupted before our instruction could be completed and I know not what I am to do. At times I think of simply returning home to Gerhardhold, but I suspect that is an option that is no longer open to me. At times I am so seized by indecision that I am unable to take one step in any direction and I fear for myself. I am unused to such hardship. It was during one of those times that I came upon the group I now travel with. Caught in indecision and fear I was merely walking. Trudging along a dusty road with no purpose other than to continue placing one foot in front of the other. Sunk into the misery of my own thoughts I was not aware I had been travelling thus the entire day through. In exhaustion I slipped and fell and there was found and kind-hearted soul brought me back to myself and to health. In gratitude, and because I still have not faced and fought this dreadful apathy I travel with him, intending to aid him and his companions in whatever way I can.

Perhaps once their purpose has been accomplished I shall beg them to assist me in my search for Makram that we may once more be reunited. Beyond this I have no other purpose, only the knowledge that no matter what secrets are held within the Initiation to Adulthood, I shall have to come through it truly and faithfully if I am to survive in this world I find myself in.

[big teej]

-still needs to read the last snippet posted-


I have a snippet congealing in my mind, all thats waiting is for me to level the character up to 4


the backstory for the backup character of gideon

"at last back to war."

[Machuchang]

The ending... partly with the half-orc just quietly giving up and finally finding dignity in his own death. And partly Varen's reaction to finding out he'd been held by the Pain Legion not the Fear Legion - realising that he was so very very screwed...

And I finally read Exodus as well... I enjoyed it... it was a nice casual piece of writing, just a glimpse of daily life and then you get to the last sentence and realise it's far more important that you first realised. Very well done :smallsmile:

Ah, glad to know everything worked as I intended then.:smallbiggrin:



EDIT: I take it back... wrote another backstory for another pbp character :smallbiggrin:


Sarai Barden
or Yet Another Backstory


Man, this is incredible! I was nothing short of amazed by all of the world-building you were able to incorporate into this snippet, and I found Sarai to be an incredibly interesting character, with her noble background and how her magical powers were cultivated over her lifetime. I especially loved how much of a different voice she had from all your other characters. Her narration was a lot more formal, as opposed to the conversational tone many of your other characters had, and that really made Sarai feel like a character who had a noble upbringing. Just awesome!


well....
I must offer a few points in rebuttal
1) varen goes through all this ON HIS OWN (with the exception of travels with nat)
2) the "nope" guy has a party with him.

but those are beside the point.

my point is that Varen evokes the same feel as that mentality.

and lets face it
EVERY knight, paladin, and LG paragon fighter should evoke that mentality and feeling.

I try with Gideon (the guy who lost his horse) but I feel he comes off to the party as "bull-headed" as opposed to "epically determined"

but oh well.
his time will come.

While I wouldn't say that EVERY knight, paladin, or paragon fighter should evoke that mentality, those epically determined, selfless ones are certainly
my favorite LG archtype.:smallbiggrin: And honestly, I really did get that impression from Gideon, or at least the "epically- determined" part, and I'm sure that his time will come soon enough.:smallwink: So you better level him up soon, cuz I want to read his next snippet!


And speaking of new snippets, here's one about Abigail.



It Doesn't Matter Who Started It As Long As You're The One To Finish It

The jailbreak didn’t go all that well by jail-breaking standards, at least according to Cass, but I couldn’t see why. The watchmen were actually quite good-humored about the whole thing, and they even let us go, with only one condition! All we had to do was find out who stole the goods from the village, and we would be “absolved from all our crimes of previous conviction that were to have taken place in the village of Westthorp, up to, and including: assault, battery, trespassing, breaking and entering, interfering with watch affairs, interfering with traffic, causing a guard to fall under the influence of a compulsion spell, and conspiracy to partake in criminal behavior”. I wasn’t sure how serious any of that was, but it all sounded very important and scary, so I was glad I wouldn’t have to worry about getting in trouble for it later. After all, Gramma would get really mad at me if she learned that I got into trouble, and if I couldn’t be held accountable, I wouldn’t have to tell her, right? …Right!

So that was all well and good, but the search for the mystery thief wasn’t. We looked everywhere, and asked everyone, but all we were able to learn was that a lone gypsy caravan had passed through the town about a week previous, before it vanished into the forest.

So of the course, the obvious thing to do was to just go into the woods and look around! It was our only lead after all! But, unfortunately, no one really knew what to look for, and pretty soon after we started looking we got lost. I honestly couldn’t see the problem. I mean, I had never even seen this part of the forest before, and everything was just so wonderful and fascinating, like the pretty little flowers, and the tall, thick trees, and the babbling brook filled with fish! I loved being able to see and experience all of these amazing new things! But the rest of the party was less than enthusiastic… Especially Eviss.

“This is bloody ridiculous!” He was furious. “We’ve been wandering around on some wild goose chase for hours, and we have nothing to show for it! How could possibly get lost in a forest anyhow?! There was a bloody path!” Even for demon-possessed warlock, Eviss seemed to have a ridiculously short temper, and it seemed like it was only a matter of time of until he started making everything even more miserable for everybody else.

“We’re not lost,” Kurgan nonchalantly brushed off Eviss’ comments. “The town’s back thataways. We just don’t know where we are is all,”

“Oh, of course!” Eviss’ voice was dripping with so much sarcasm that I was surprised the ground beneath him wasn’t wet. “We’re not lost, we just don’t know where we are! BECAUSE THERE’S SUCH A BIG DAMN DIFFERENCE!” He started laughing maniacally. “Good gods and demons Kurgan! Sometimes I wonder if you’re incompetent, or just bloody stupid!”







“What did you call me…?” Kurgan’s growl would’ve put a wolf to shame. He stalked over to Eviss and loomed in over him, glaring him right in the eyes. Nothing good was going to happen from this. I really hoped that just this once, Eviss would stand down.

“You heard me,” Eviss sneered. My stomach twisted itself in a knot. Even though I didn’t like Eviss, I really didn’t want anyone to get hurt. After all, we were still a party. But Eviss didn’t seem to care about stuff like that. “Or is it just as hard for you to hear as it is for you to think?”

Kurgan was livid. I saw his eyes bulge, and his veins pop out and everything! He balled his hand into an enormous fist, and prepared to hit Eviss with all of his enraged strength. And worse, no one else seemed to be doing anything! Selhallen looked completely indifferent about the whole thing, and Cass actually looked amused! As Kurgan threw his arm back to strike Eviss, I screamed.

“KNOCK IT OFF YOU TWO!” the volume of my voice was a lot louder than I had intended it to be. In fact, I hadn’t even intended to yell at all. But Kurgan stopped his fist mid-movement and turned to me, as did everyone else. And now they were all looking at me…

“C-come on guys,” I was so nervous! I felt like I had done something wrong now too, and I really hoped that none of them would start yelling at me now too. “W-we’re a t-team, you know? We sh-shouldn’t be fighting…”

Kurgan stared at me incredulously.

“He started it!” he bellowed. “He called me stupid!”

“Yes, but if you were to hit him, you really would be just as stupid as he said you were!” The next thing I knew, I was lecturing him like Gramma lectured me! “It would be pretty stupid to hit someone you need to work with and then ruin all this for everyone, right?”

Kurgan glared at me, but then, to my surprise, he sighed and bowed his head.

“Yeah, I guess…”

“Good!” I felt so proud of myself! “Now apologize to Eviss,”

“Seriously?” Kurgan looked absolutely stupefied. I nodded. Kurgan sighed again and reluctantly turned back to Eviss, who was grinning evilly.

“…Sorry Eviss,” Kurgan grumbled. Eviss started laughing hysterically, but I wasn’t going to have that.

“Very good Kurgan,” I smiled as I turned to Eviss. “Now Eviss, apologize to Kurgan,”

Eviss doubled over in laughter.

“BWAHAH! Oh, no! I don’t think so!” He sneered. “No, I apologize for nothing! I meant everything I said!”

“Well then…” I had actually hoped he would say that! “That just proves that you were the stupid one then! Because you were the one who spent all of this time complaining without contributing anything at all! Maybe if you weren’t whining so much, you could’ve helped out and made sure that we wouldn’t have gotten lost! So it’s just as much your fault that we got lost as Kurgan’s!”

Eviss’ jaw dropped.

“That doesn’t make any sense!” he screamed, outraged. “You’re blaming me for doing nothing?! That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard! I wasn‘t involved at all, so I can’t be held accountable for anything!”

I got him!

“Can’t be held accountable for anything, huh?” I couldn’t contain my smile. “Then I guess that means you don’t have any right to complain either, since you weren‘t involved at all!”

Eviss’ pale white face suddenly grew a whole lot pinker. He gaped. He spluttered. He kept opening his mouth to shout something back at me, but he kept tripping over his words.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go look for those missing things so we can all get back to our lives!” I said as I turned and walked away. And as I walked, I heard the footsteps of my companions following me! I turned, and saw Kurgan, Selhallen, Cass, and even Eviss, marching along behind me!

I felt so important and mature! Of all the people to finally get this group together, I could barely believe that it was me! But at least we were all ready to get back on our grand adventure! And THAT I didn’t mind being held accountable for!

[Lady Moreta]

Man, this is incredible! I was nothing short of amazed by all of the world-building you were able to incorporate into this snippet, and I found Sarai to be an incredibly interesting character, with her noble background and how her magical powers were cultivated over her lifetime. I especially loved how much of a different voice she had from all your other characters. Her narration was a lot more formal, as opposed to the conversational tone many of your other characters had, and that really made Sarai feel like a character who had a noble upbringing. Just awesome!

Why thank you kind sir :smallsmile: I don't usually pay that much attention to the tone I write in, I just write and trust that the character's voice will come out as I go. Seems to work for me. I admit though, with Sarai I put a bit more effort into making sure she sounded like the noble's daughter she is. I figured for her, that is conversational speech. I rather suspect she's a little lonely.

The world-building is mostly courtesy of the DM - homebrew setting and he actually put up a decent amount of world info in the recruitment thread. I made up all the stuff about the initiation though...


“Oh, of course!” Eviss’ voice was dripping with so much sarcasm that I was surprised the ground beneath him wasn’t wet. “

Heehee, best line ever :smallbiggrin: loved it. I love Abigail, the girl has hidden depths! And way to go with channelling Gramma. Though, by the time she gets back home her grandma is going to kill her :smallbiggrin:

Very amusing, and heck, even I was surprised that she ended up being the one to tell everyone to put a sock in it and get on with it. Well done :smallbiggrin:

[big teej]

I have made a discovereeee.....

I need to type up snippets right on the heels of a session, that way it's all still in my head.

a snippet should be forthcoming within the hour (unless my battery dies while I'm typing)

it's another gideon snippet, 3-5 sessions after the last one.

also, another background story.
Loken's Origin: at last back to war.

-scurries off to type-


wait a second....
I'm way to big to scurry.

[Lady Moreta]

I have made a discovereeee.....

I need to type up snippets right on the heels of a session, that way it's all still in my head.

I need to do the same... only problem is that we travel to a friend's place about an hour away for our game and by the time we get home I'm far too tired to start writing...

*patiently awaits Gideon-story*

bull-headed or not, I like him :smallsmile:

[big teej]

:smallfrown:

due to real life events (and weather) and the fact that Gideon's next snippet is a biggun (covering the whole 4 hour session) it's not quite finished yet.

and may have to undergo editing before being posted.

in the interim, as penance, I give you Vaul Krieger's origin....

(as I'm mostly sure I didn't post that before)


Vaul Krieger’s Origin

“LANCERS READY!” The call rang across the field, in perfect time with the other 3,000 knights in the formation I clapped down my visor and responded “LANCE READY!” The sound was deafening. LANCERS! A pause. CHARGE! As one entity, 3,000 knights in armor spurred their horses into a gallop across the plains, lances lowering to face the barbarian horde. We were the tip of the spear, meant to shatter the numerical superiority of the opposing army. Those that followed us were meant to overrun and obliterate the shattered formations.

But that doesn’t matter. What matters is here. Now. 3,000 knights rushing across the plains. We close upon them, the horde rushes to us, eager to die. Impact, hundreds die in the time it takes my lance to snap, breaking off in the chest of a half-orc brute. I draw my battle axe, ready for the grim work ahead. But suddenly, looming out of the horde is a spear. Time slows down as I watch it approach. The spear grows larger in my vision, I see every last detail, from the notches in the blade its primitive wielder has allowed to accumulate, I know that I see my death approaching. In the eternity that follows, I commend my soul to my lord heironious. I raise my axe, determined to fell this creature along with me.

Crunch.

The spear lifts me off my horse, taking me in the gut, shoving aside my armor; I am lifted into the air before the spear breaks beneath my weight. …..
As I lay amongst the wreckage of the cavalry charge, I realize something…. Dying hurts…. A lot.
And then the pain fades, swallowed up by a blessed blackness.

I wake to paradise, the home of those who worship Heironious. Time is meaningless here, and I enjoy conversing with heroes of old who have fought and died valiantly before me. Here is one who died slaying a dragon, another allowing his allies to get away, leaving him to fend off a band of ogres. Truly this is glorious place, I am happy to spend eternity here.

Suddenly a figure approaches me. The figure tells me that my time in this place has come to an end…

I do not understand, what have I done to be cast out from paradise? How have I displeased my lord? The figure throws back its cowl and a woman of unspeakable beauty stands before me. “You belong to me now Vaul Krieger”

What?
Her words cause the utmost drowsiness to come over me, why do none of my new friends come to my aid, they are RIGHT HERE! Do they not see my plight?

I must…

Sleep…

I wake to what sounds like … chanting? I don’t know, I am very disoriented. Who am I? I have vague memories of a beautiful woman and a wonderful place. A wonderful, amazing place where I was happy. I hear laughter, tinged with mania and an undercurrent of fear. The voice says something, I’m not sure what, and my ears seem to be stopped up.

I raise myself from my…

Where am I?
Who am I?

I look around me. I see
Tombstones? A mausoleum? I look down at myself and where I am. I do not see me...

I see bones. And earth. And a broken wooden box.

“I am in a grave” I realize.

I shudder with disgust. Except that I don’t, all that happens is that the bones in my field of vision shudder and clack together.

Oh no.

I cast my thoughts upon my faith, begging for the guidance of heronious. I had just entered the priesthood before me.

Died?

I am dead?

I look at my hands, no longer sheathed in muscle and clothed in skin they are only bones.

That voice says something again. Sounded vaguely like “rise”. I stand up and look about me. On the ground a few feet away from me, I see a suit of armor, I recognize it as mine. I look to the origin of the voice and see a man with greasy straggly hair, dressed in dark robes and holding a silver object, I recognize it as a holy symbol to nerull.

The man speaks “yes, rise my creation, rise the first of my minions, the general of my invincible armies”

“You raised me from the dead?” I ask.

“Of course, I have brought back your soul from beyond the grave to serve me in this world”

I raise my hand in front of my face “it would seem that you didn’t bring all of me back” I state flatly
“Of course I didn’t, I merely bound your soul to your bones.”

Oh no.

“Who are you, and why have you done this thing?” I demand

“Oh no. You belong to me now, and you will do as I say!”

I think not.

I clamber from my grave – I’M SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD!- and rush the man, he proves no match for me and I sink my claws (for that is what my hands have become) into his chest and pull him open.

After I’ve managed to extricate my bones from his shattered remains, I contemplate my situation.

My head hurts.

I remember something, a woman a raven haired beauty telling me that I “belong” to her. Wee Jas? The Goddess of Death? What interest – WHAT CLAIM?! – has she over a knight of heironeous?!

Perhaps it was merely a dream, a fever vision brought on by being brought back by this incompetent fool.

Perhaps I do belong to her now… I no longer feel the presence of Valor within my soul.

I announce to the darkness “very well Lady, I will serve you with this life. No other god will have me now.”

I strap on my armor and take up my weapons, stalking for from the graveyard, seeking out where I may be of service.

Vaul Krieger stalks the land. I will not rest until I am destroyed.
Those who worship the darkness shall cower in fear at my name.

But first, I must find out where –and when- I have been buried.

Then,
The reaping may begin.

[Lord Raziere]

Healing Atop the towers.

So, I'm in a group, an elf rogue, we are attacking this camp of orcs, I and an NPC attack from the north while the other player- half-elf paladin- attack from the south.
In my attack I go up and stab an orc from behind with sneak attack but this attracts the attention of the other orcs and I have to run away cause there is like five of them and only one of me. So there I go running off like the cowardly rogue I am, with the NPC behind the orcs and not being helpful at all the entire time why?
because this NPC has he worst luck imaginable. our group dubbed "Miss No-Hit."
cause she liked attacked an orc a dozen times, missed every time and said orc didn't even notice she was THERE. Seriously throughout most of that battle, that NPC rogue didn't hit a thing.

So having no help my character run to the towers near the main gate of the camp, where orcs come down the tower and are joining the southern battle which is good news.
bad news: the north orcs chasing me caught up with me, and I start taking damage I flee into the tower and my HP is ZERO, the DM is kind and allows me to move cause the half-elf pally is busy right now.
So I start limping up the tower, cause I can't go back down causes there is a bunch of orcs standing at the base, waiting.
and when I get to the top of the tower? orc healing potions. that is right, orcs apparently keep their healing potions on top of towers, don't think about how this doesn't not make sense at all. I drink it and gain 2 hp but the orcs are still at the base so I can't go back down the usual way.
The solution? I JUMP out of the tower using my good jump and tumble checks and landed in a soft bush or something, landing with out any damage.
Whew!
Then , because I have only two hp, I decide to go up the second tower at the gate, get another healing potion to get my hp up to four, then just jump out of it AGAIN, just because its faster, and again I land with no damage.
From then on my character had a love for jumping.

[Machuchang]

Healing Atop the towers.


Really fun story!:smallbiggrin: It's amazing how well jumping out of buildings works sometimes, isn't it?



Vaul Krieger’s Origin


You've really outdone yourself on this one teej!

You conveyed an excellent sense of chaos and scope in the battle sequence in the beginning, and I just loved all of the images that scene conjured! The middle part, with his resurrection, was a little confusing to read, but it paralleled Krieger's reaction and it set a very strong mood for the rest of the passage, which I found very impressive.

As for Krieger, he's just incredible. I love his grim demeanor, and his new mission in life (or undeath as it is) definitely promises to be full of action, intrigue, and drama. But my favorite aspect of Krieger has to be his dry sense of humor. It just sneaks up on the reader and creates an excellent contrast to the dark tone of the story, but I never found it distracting in the slightest.

Fantastic work man. This is one of my favorites.


As for myself, I've been struggling. I have lots of ideas about what to write about, but none of my stories have been flowing. So instead, I started writing random facts about my characters that would be kind of pointless to put into real snippets. They sort of help to give me inspiration, and I figured you guys might be interested in seeing them, even though they aren't really stories.

Random Facts: Varen
Varen’s birthday is March 31st

At the end of his campaign, Varen was 22 years old

At the end of his campaign, Varen was a Paladin 6/Crusader 16/Warblade 2.

Varen’s Constitution score, minus magical enhancements, is a whopping 24

Varen was the only character I ever played who had two 18s rolled during stat generation

Varen does not worship any specific god or pantheon.

Varen can’t summon a warhorse and he can’t cast spells.

According to my DM, Varen has 371 scars. I don't what's more ridiculous, the sheer number of scars, or the fact that my DM kept track of them.

Varen is 5’ 8” (1.725 meters) and 135 lbs (61.23 kg). So he's fairly short and quite slender.

Varen was sent to live in the monastery when he was three years old

At the time of his creation, 'Varen' was just a made up name. Interestingly, ‘Varen’ just happens to also mean ‘gifts’ in Sanskrit, and 'Safe' in Slovene. They're not pronounced the same, though.

Varen's hair is quite long by male standards. He wears it in a ponytail so that it doesn't get in his face when he fights.



Random Facts: Natalia
Natalia’s birthday is December 21st

At the end of her campaign, Natalia was 23 years old

At the end of her campaign, Natalia was an Ex-Paladin 1/Fighter 2/Barbarian 1/Warblade 20

Natalia has had more alignment changes during her career than any other character I have played, with a total of 6. Started at LG. Became LN.
Became N. Became NE. Became N again. Finally became NG by the end of the campaign. To be fair, half of these changes occurred while she was still an NPC.

Natalia is left-handed

Natalia is 5’ 4” (1.624 meters) and weighs 117 lbs (53.07 kg)

Natalia’s favorite animal is the lion.


Random Facts: Abigail
Abigail’s birthday is April 17th

Abigail is currently 18.

Abigail’s Witch class is a homebrew class adapted from the DMG’s Witch variant Sorcerer.

Abigail has never actually met her parents. Or at least she doesn’t know them personally.

Abigail is 5’2” (1.575 meters) and 101 lbs (45.81 kg). She's tiny!

Abigail has brown hair and brown eyes

Abigail does not have a familiar.

Abigail's lucky number is 7

Abigail's middle name is Eleanor


Random Facts: Tavor
Tavor’s birthday is June 4th

Tavor is currently 32

Tavor is currently a Fighter 2/Swordsage 4

Tavor is bald

Tavor has his ears pierced

Tavor is 6’4” (1.93 meters) and 186 lbs (84.37 kg)

Tavor is ambidextrous, with dominancy varying depending on activity. For example, he writes right-dominant, but fights left-dominant.

If real world ethnicities were to be applied (at least in terms of appearance), Tavor would be Israeli.

Tavor is my only character with an intentionally meaningful name. Tavor means “misfortune, broken” in Hebrew. Foreshadowing perhaps...?

[Lady Moreta]

:smallfrown:

due to real life events (and weather) and the fact that Gideon's next snippet is a biggun (covering the whole 4 hour session) it's not quite finished yet.

and may have to undergo editing before being posted.

in the interim, as penance, I give you Vaul Krieger's origin....

(as I'm mostly sure I didn't post that before)

This is familiar - have you sent this to me before? I know I've read it, but it sounds a little different.

Either way, I loved it. You got the tone of his voice really well, I could just feel his horror when he realised what had happened and he just has this wonderful sense of implacable resolve. You can just tell that whoever did this to him is going to regret it. A lot.


*lots of jumping*

Heehee, that is a neat story :smallsmile:

Oooh and little tidbits :smallsmile: I approve of random pieces of information - and yeah, it's a little odd that your DM kept count of Varen's scars... and that's a very nice constitution, he's about as badass as O'Chul :smallbiggrin:

[Lord_Gareth]

Decision time: Do you want to read Innocence Lost, The Lady Valorous or The Host of a Thousand Princes?

[Lady Moreta]

Decision time: Do you want to read Innocence Lost, The Lady Valorous or The Host of a Thousand Princes?

All of them :smalltongue: but if I have to pick one, I pick The Host of a Thousand Princes

[Lord_Gareth]

All of them :smalltongue: but if I have to pick one, I pick The Host of a Thousand Princes

Any other votes?

[Lady Moreta]

Any other votes?

I could vote again? I have lots of votes right? :smallwink::smalltongue:

:smallsigh: I just counted all the snippets I currently have going - four... why can't I ever get anything finished? And we had an awesome session yesterday that just cries out to be written - two of us hit negatives, two of us were at the point of 'one more hit and I'm dead' and the npc paladin very nearly died save the 1 in 400 chance that ended up saving him (three attacks, three rolls - two natural ones!)

[big teej]

given the potential warhammer references.

I'm going to go with the thousand whatsit.



*teej has just awoken, this post may or may not be edited when he is actually awake.

[Lady Moreta]

Which snippet shall I finish first?

The one about Silver*
The other one about Silver
The one about Terryn, or,
The one about Lyra

???:smalleek:

*This one is further towards completion than any others at this moment and will probably be finished first regardless. What snippet shall I finish first next?

[Machuchang]

Decision time: Do you want to read Innocence Lost, The Lady Valorous or The Host of a Thousand Princes?


While all of them sound great, I'm a huge fan of anything having to do with lost innocence. So I'll put my vote down for that one.



Which snippet shall I finish first?

The one about Silver*
The other one about Silver
The one about Terryn, or,
The one about Lyra

???:smalleek:

*This one is further towards completion than any others at this moment and will probably be finished first regardless. What snippet shall I finish first next?

It's been a while since I've read anything about Lyra, and since she's one of my favorite characters to read about, I can't really turn a chance to see one of her snippets down. :smallbiggrin:

[Lady Moreta]

Well, I finished the first Silver one... but the playground was non-fuctional all weekend at home so I couldn't post it. And then my email system died and I could send it to myself to post from work. So I'm afraid it'll have to wait :smallfrown:

[big teej]

sooo.... I WAS going to write some over spring break....

but I was too busy doing no thinking at all :smallredface:

[Lord Raziere]

How I killed two party members by inventing the dirigible.

So I'm like playing Lelk, same character I posted about last time, and basically he is this prince person defending a town from this usurper guy and his army, all I got to prepare my defense with is a bunch of wizards, no warrior type people at all. Sicne I'm playing the prince I have to come up with the defenses- most of these were reasonable things like catapults and dropping rocks from the wall and digging ditches and putting sharpened pieces of wood in them.
But to my way of thinkig, it just wasn't enough so I'm like still thinking of ways to defend the town, while the others are like training the militia.
So suddenly I have this idea and ask:
Me: "Hey do we have any canvas?"
DM: "Yes we have some..."
"Cool can we make some....watchmacallit....trapeze....flying things..."
other Player: "Hang Glider?'
Me: "Yea a hang glider so that I can get on it and fly down to the enemy commander and attack him?"
Player 2: "No wait, how about making a dirigible from the canvas?"
me: "Yea dirigible! Lets make a dirigible so that we can bomb the enemy!"
DM: "roll for the wizards to accept the idea and a second role to build it."
Me, I roll and....two 20's
Now see my DM just decides to roll a d100 whenever he is not sure of the outcome and guess what. He rolled the d100 twice and....95 and 97.
My DM is facepalming my now and going "oh god."
The result was, was that wizards I commanded thought it was like the best idea ever then built a dirigible without any problems whatsoever, on a 1 in 4 million chance.
Then I proceeded to get in my party of course follows, we fly over the enemy camp and they are like "What is THAT!?" since they never saw a dirigible before and think its some kind of UFO.
Then of course I start bombing. Problem was that only two bombs were made, so I like threw out the two bombs then accidentally threw the third "Bomb"- the party's fighter, who took a lot of damage and died
Of course the dirigible bombing causes the enemy to attack the town immediately, I fly back to the town and command the people to defend, and on my roll I get another 20, thus perfectly defending the town.

But next session the party's wizard who had gone to the other side being a spy who had been absent the session I invented the dirigible, had been revealed to be have been killed in one of the bombs I dropped on the enemy camp because of a bad 1d100 roll. Thats how I killed two party members by inventing the dirigible, in a medieval town with a team of npc wizards.

[Lady Moreta]

*snip

That's... quite a story...

I have to ask though - How did you accidentally throw the fighter out of the dirigible? Did the player not protest at all or try to stop you?

[Lord_Gareth]

Looks like The Host of a Thousand Princes has won. Expect a visit from the Marshal of the Invisible soon

[big teej]

A Gideon snippet I promised.

and a Gideon snippet you shall have!

"to rescue a prince" (or "to scare a party member")


Gideon Snippet II

“Well…. This has been a busy day” I think to myself as my companions and I trudge away from the abandoned manor house.

We’d arrived at the city of Andor
We’d discovered that the dwarven population is in uproar over new policies initiated by the king. In fact, riots were still un-quelled upon our arrival.
The head treasurer, the prince, and his companion all went missing.
…
Guess who got to find them?

Well, thankfully, we did. An encounter that involved the slaying of some sort of semi-sentient goop, as well as several humans magically disguised as dwarves.

And the man in the mask.

The mere thought of that iron visage is enough to rouse my ire. I feel my face flush and unconsciously grip the haft of my axe tighter. He escaped me again. Marshaling my thoughts away from this, I look up and around us, wary of further attack.

There are those who would see our charges dead.

As I scan the area I do a double take. A few score yards ahead of us, at the edge of the swamp, are two huge…. Things.

They appear to be giant fat blue caterpillars. A rock sails past me and connects with the Half-Orc’s skull.

Giant fat blue /angry/ caterpillars.

I clap down my visor and prepare for battle.

My compatriots surge forth to do combat, much quicker than I –weighed down by my armor as I am-

Trig, the gnome Alchemist, lobs a flask filled with an orange substance at one of the slug/worms it shatters against its hide and begins to burn. It growls in pain but advances undeterred.

I’ll just have to fix that.

I step forward and raise my arms to the sky, altering my voice into one that echoes across battlefields, heard over the sound of metal crunching bone and metal sharpening metal. “Halt, and surrender yourselves! And ye shall not be harmed, surrender ye not, and you’re lives be forfeit! For I am Gideon! Knight of The Hammer!”

A rock clunks off my shield.

Well, so much for that.

I turn and level my axe towards the slug/worm on my right. I announce to my compatriots “this one is mine. Deal with the other one.”
I feel a rush of power so great it almost makes me giddy. This rush, while familiar, never grows old. It is the rush of energy I get for putting my reputation and honor on the line. This creature will fall by my hand.

As my compatriots scramble out of my way to deal with the 2nd slug/worm, the prince stops as he passes me “do you need help with this?” he asks.
‘Obviously too young to recognize a knight at work. This boy is in need of an education’

“I have the situation well in hand” I inform him as I advance upon the slug, who has equipped itself with a spear and a dagger.

I lose track of my companions, my world begins to shrink, and nothing exists except me, the slug/worm, and this fight. Time speeds up and at the same time becomes slower than molasses. I feel the strength flood my limbs at the thought of slaying this creature on my own. I thrill with the delight of battle!

I swing my axe at the slug, opening up a gash in its chest that oozes forth a green ichor. In response to my blow, the worm hammers away at my defenses with spear and dagger, eventually burying his spear in my side.

He’ll have to do better than that.

Back and forth the slug/worm and I trade blows, I open up another 3 cuts along its chest and body with my axe, he works his dagger through my armor, I can tell it’s a telling blow from the amount of blood leaking out of my armor, but that does not matter! I will see this thing dead!

When suddenly, hurtling into my world again, is Ugh, the Half-Orc barbarian our little band picked up in a village en route to andor. Ugh is foaming at the mouth and smites the worm with his Double bladed axe. Just as Ugh enters the fray, I see sikes the cleric wade in from the creature’s right, stabbing it in the side and slaying it.

Well….
That was anti-climatic.


The rest of our journey back to the city is rather uneventful, returning the prince and his compatriots without further ruckus.

To show his gratitude for returning the heir (mostly) unharmed (physically at least, his ego took a rather consistent beat down the whole trip back.) he has offered to pay for our lodgings in one of the finest inns in the city.

Having spent the day in matters of daring do, we retire to our rooms for the night.

The next morning however; we find two wonderful little gifts left for us by some unknown person. A severed head (fresh thankfully) and a note that was short and to the point.

LEAVE
NOW

Well I can’t stand for that now can I? Knowing the orchestrator’s of this conspiracy likely have magical eyes upon us. (I neglected to inquire about the Inn’s security measures, which I shall do post-haste) I grab a nearby quill and scribble on the note.

“What are you doing?” Trig asks me.

“Informing our enemies of my opinion of the matter, it seems polite to inform them of these things.” I reply

I set the quill to the paper and write an equally simple message for our unseen observers.


“Stuff it.”




on a completely unrelated note, I looked back over some other things I've done, and I've learned something...

"writing for myself is great, chronicling as a DM is not"

for example, everything I've posted so far (except for the death of Valek) has been me recording events as a player, and how my character interacts with them.
this here (spoilered below) is me tryin to do the same thing as a DM for the whole party.

and I think it's crap :smallbiggrin:
but I find the contrast intriguing... and I need to learn how to write this better.

so in the hope that I didn't post this back at the begining of the thread and forget about it, for contrast purposes, I give you "adventure 1, rescue the Unicorn"


Adventure one: rescue the Unicorn!

A friendly unicorn named Alabern lives in the woods surrounding the party’s town. With a touch of its horn, Alabern heals wounded people who come to it for help. Now a woodcutter has come to town with terrible news. a band of goblins have captured the unicorn and carried him off!
Several individuals from the village have volunteered for this task, their mission is clear. They must find these creatures and rescue Alabern!

The following people have volunteered for this task;

Constain

Bartholomew

Kaye

John

Leuesse`

Tarik

The party has worked its way through the woods until they come to a clearing next to a cliff face, there is a door set into the face of the cliff. Extending out over the door is a shoddily put together awning. Under the awning are 5 sleeping goblins, around a perimeter surrounding the sleeping goblins are 5 more goblins. Since no one would dare the haunted woods, or come against such numbers, they are at ease, dozing off, and not really paying attention. … unfortunately for them, our intrepid heros have come to destroy them.

Bartolomew notices that none of the goblin sentries have a line of sight on each other, and are spaced very far apart. He suggests that the party move to the extreme left edge of the perimieter and pick off the sentries one by one before taking on the main group.

The group moves into position to ambush the first sentry. Bartolomew strings an arrow across his long bow as Leuesse readies a stone in her sling. Bartolomew gives the command “fire” and looses his arrow as Leuesse hurls her stone at the goblin. Bartolomew’s arrow takes the goblin through the throat, felling it instantly, whilst Luesses projectile flies through the air formerly occupied by the goblin’s head.

Moving quickly and quietly, (and impatiently by tarik, who is eager to get to grips with the grobi) the party moves to the next sentry, who is again quickly dispatched by an arrow from Bartholomew, who gets his shot off before Leuesse can release her bullet. The party then moves to the 3rd sentry, Bartholomew racks up another kill, catching the unsuspecting goblin in the eye with an arrow, unfortunately, Leuesse’s sling snaps as she releases her stone, sending it careening off into the bush. The damage is irrepairable at the moment, but should be easily fixed back in town.

The party takes down the remaining two sentries in a similar fashion, at this point, Tarik’s axe is getting thisrty, and Tarik wishes to test its edge in the goblin’s flesh. The party advance to the edge of the clearing, still taking cover within the trees and undergrowth. Tarik, John, and Constain charge ahead of the group at the sleeping goblins, while Bartholomew looses an arrow into the sleeping group, Leuesse also advances, but far more slowly than the others, kaye also draws her longbow and takes aim, but doesn’t fire yet, taking care not to hit one of her fellows.

As Tarik, john and constain charge valiantly into battle, John is so focused on his foe and his impending doom that he fails to notice a stone sticking out of the ground… tripping on it and landing prone at his opponents feet! Constain reaches his chosen enemy and takes a mighty swing! Unfortunately, the goblin ducks under the blade and swipes at constain with it’s Morningstar. Tarik has much better luck, taking his enemy in the chest with his axe, taking him to the ground. 2 of the remaining goblins advance on tarik, their hatred of all stunties clear in their eyes. While the third one advances to brain John while he lies dazed upon the ground.

Seeing that this will be her only chance at a clear shot, kaye looses her arrow at the goblin advancing on John, missing, but delaying it slightly. Bartholomew sees that with all of his friends engaged in melee combat, he can’t risk firing any more arrows, he draws his shortsword and advances on the goblin preparing to brain John…

The goblin brings its Morningstar down in a lethal arc, but John manages to roll out of the way, taking only a glancing blow across the back. Constain and tarik continue to trade blows with their respective enemies, neither side able to gain an advantage and land a blow. Meanwhile, Leuesse, Kaye, and Bartholomew come to John’s aid; Kaye, distracting the goblin by attempting to stab it in the back, misses, the goblin’s return blow is a punishing strike across the chest, throwing Kaye to the ground and into oblivion. Filled with rage over her fallen comrade, Leuesse takes a wild swing at the goblin, but in her rage fails to connect. John, still dazed from his sudden meeting with the earth, also misses, however, their blows distract the goblin enough for Bartholomew to get in a killing blow, running the goblin through with his shortsword. As they go to Kaye’s aid Constain and Tarik finally manage to fell their opponents in a rapid exchange of blows.

The companions trickle both of Kaye’s health potion’s down her throat, helping her to regain consciousness, but still the worse for wear. Constain volunteers one of his potions to help get her back on her feet. The party searches the bodies and finds a combined total of 42 gold coins amongst the dead. “who have these creatures been raiding” the party wonders. The party turns to the door, now completely undefended, and advances.

Tarik and kaye/john both listen closely to the door and hear goblins talkin on the other side of the door, but are unable to deterimine how many there are. The dwarf prepares to kick down the door, while Bartholomew prepares to launch an arrow into the room after him. Tarik lifts his leg and kicks the door. The door shudders in its frame and makes a booming noise like unto a drum of doom, but is otherwise unharmed. Incensed, Tarik raises his foot again and kicks the door with all his might, throwing the door down onto the floor within the cave! Bartholomew looses his arrow into the confines of the room, striking down yet another goblin in the process. John dives into the room after the arrow and is struck down by blows from all sides of the door by the goblins lying in wait. He crumples to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. Tarik and Constain quickly enter the room to protect their fallen comrade, whilst Kaye, Luesse and Bartholomew look on from outside, knowing there isn’t enough room within the cave for them to aid their friends.

Having slain the goblins, and waking the unicorn (And reviving John with more health potions). The party finds another 10 gold on each goblin.

They enter the 2nd room which is empty (and dark) except for a treasure chest. Bartholomew offers to open the chest and pries it open releaseing a burst of magic! Bartholomew feels overcome with a desire to fall asleep, but shakes it off. Within the chest are several gold coins.





kinda surprised I haven't posted that already....

maybe I have :smallconfused:

[Lady Moreta]

Quick reply because I'm too tired to think straight...

Love Gideon. I love his sense of humour, wonderfully dry and snarky and droll all at the same time. You made me laugh :smallbiggrin: I had a couple of mild critisms mostly formatting, but I can't remember what they were so they clearly weren't that big a deal.

Your second one - read more like you were giving a 'here's what happened last session' overview than an actual story. Try writing it as a story, not a session catchup. Flesh out the characters more, try to get into their heads with what they're thinking, seeing etc... even if you have to guess (I realise it's harder to do as DM because they're not your characters). Pick one to focus on and sort of follow them around, as if you're looking over their shoulder. Because you're the DM here, you might find it easier to write from the goblins point of view - that way you don't have to worry about what the PCs are thinking.

edit: despite the fact that I turned on my laptop last night in order to post my latest snippet, I got distracted with other stuff and forgot all about it. Hopefully I'll remember it tonight. I'm rather proud of it :smalltongue:

EDIT:SNIPPET


Of Headaches and Friendship
She really is extraordinarily beautiful. Not the fantastic, foreign beauty of Nera, who is extraordinary in her strangeness. Hers is a more – cultured, more refined beauty.

I must be getting soft in my old age. Not that I’m really old – when members of your race regularly live to be 700 years, you measure time differently, maturity differently. They see me as ancient, but I am little more than a child. Still, there is something kind in his eyes.

I wonder what changed her mind about me? I wonder if she realises that she is so easy to read? It was clear to me at our first meeting she was uncomfortable around me. Initially I assumed it was my status as the leader of the Lightbringers – or perhaps my attitude. Later I realised she has a hatred, bordering on a fear, of men.

He admits it when he’s wrong. I’ll not absolve Rifus of all blame for taking pot shots in that cavern, but he freely admitted it was his note that got us into this situation. I can’t help but respect a person – even a man, who admits when they got it wrong.

She is our glue. She holds us together. Controlling Rifus. Supporting Tanc. Encouraging Nera. Welcoming Anselm. And me? To me she is grace itself.

He has – a certain refinement I haven’t found often. The court of Dandanagan had it, when I was there briefly. He reminds me – very slightly, of Davan. The young prince had a similar – nobility.

I value her loyalty. She does not trust easily, which makes her ease around us all the more incredible. I wonder if the others realise the gift she gives us every time she steps forward to defend us with her quick words and quicker wit.

He is – a defender. It’s a rare gift and even rarer to find one so willing to share it. I wonder he has stayed with us for so long – we have not treated him well. He is an honest soul amongst a group of rogues.

It bothers me how well she hides her feelings from the others if she doesn’t want them to see. Oh if Nera makes a joke, she’ll laugh. If Rifus needs reining in, she’ll snap. If Tanc offers advice, she’ll agree. And yet every morning she borrows Rifus’ rod and sometimes Tanc’s vest and collar as well. They don’t seem to notice that while the damage is being restored, she is slowly getting worse.

He genuinely cares. I think that’s what surprises me the most. Even towards Nera – who abuses him awfully at times, when she needs his assistance, he is all care and concern. And there is nothing false about it. Or him.

I am worried about her. Only the Lord of Light can hear me within the confines of my mind and I can be completely honest. She is getting worse. Her complexion has gone from pale to pallid in a shorter time than I would have thought possible. I have asked her how she is feeling and though she tells me that she feels fine once she has repaired the damage I can see she is lying. This wound is taking its toll on her. I fear that one day she will find the damage is too great or that she simply loses the strength to fight. I will bend all my efforts, all the grace accorded to me by my God, but I fear that it will not be enough. I am unsure how long she can continue on like this. I do not want to see her die, she has – become a friend.

He worries about me. I can see it in his eyes every morning – he watches me collect the rod and vest and collar from Rifus and Tanc, ready for when I need them. The others haven’t seen it – which sometimes surprises me. I know none of them are particularly perceptive, but still, we have been travelling together for much longer than he has been part of our group. He doesn’t say much, beyond the occasional question as to how I’m feeling. But I can see he’s worried. And to tell the truth, so am I. The immediate damage is repaired instantly by way of magic, but the lingering headaches and nausea are taking longer and longer to go away. Still, they need me – and – I don’t like my friends to worry. He is a friend.

I have been watching her most of the night – unable to sleep for thinking about her. So I watch as she moves away to wake Rifus for his turn at watch. I marvel that she is strong enough to continue to take turns with him to keep watch. She approaches the fire where the rest of us huddle against the cold. As she lowers herself to her bedroll I notice her pause and lay one hand against her forehead briefly. I can’t help myself - “Silver.”

At the sound of my name I am instantly alert. Rifus has come awake and is behind me, taking his turn on watch. Besides, it is not his voice. It is Lester’s voice. I should be more surprised than I am I think. I have been watching him most of the night so far, thinking about how – strange he is. Wondering how he can put up with us. Wondering how much he sees. In the dark I know he can barely see me, but I can see him well enough to know that he won’t accept my silence. “What is it Lester? You should be asleep.”

I didn’t mean to. Perhaps it was because I was extremely tired. I blurted out what I had been thinking. “You are unwell. I can see it.” She looked unhappy for a split second before her iron controls slammed back into place. Too late. I had already seen. “Why do you hide it from the others?” The answer to that question was more important than I knew.

I sighed. Bloody interfering paladin. I turned my face to stone as soon as he asked the question, but I knew he’d seen. He always saw. Of everyone I’d ever travelled with, I’d never met anyone who noticed as much about people as Lester did. Except perhaps Norrin, but he was a spy, so it was to be expected I suppose. I hadn’t expected that last question though, and I wasn’t quite sure how to answer it. “Because we have enough problems without worrying about my health.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. That was her reason? That wasn’t a good enough reason. “You don’t think your health is important?”

I glared at him. This wasn’t helping. I only wanted to rest while I had the time. Tomorrow wasn’t going to be a fun day and I was tired. “No Lester, that’s not what I mean,” I said not bothering to hide my exasperation. “But if we are going to stop the Eldenites from finding the staff of the Shadow King, then we cannot be weighed down by fears about my life.” I grimaced, I had never thought I would hear myself say what I was about to say. I rather liked my life. “This is more important than my life. I know all the stories Lester, I’m a bard. More importantly, I was alive during the last years of the Shadow King’s reign. I lived through the seven months of darkness after he was defeated. I know exactly what this world will receive if the College succeeds and if I have to give my life to prevent it then so be it.” I glared at him, daring him to mock me.

I had never heard such passion from her before. Her green eyes glowed and glared at me, as if she expected me to make fun of her. Such a thing had never crossed my mind. I could only wish more of my fellows displayed such passion as was contained in this small, fragile vessel. Still... “You should be more careful my lady. You are precious to us.”

I started and stared at him. What on earth had brought that on? I wasn’t even sure how to respond. I wasn’t used to being considered precious. Valuable yes, for my skills, my magic. Accepted, useful – all of those. But precious? It was foreign to me. And yet I liked it. “Rifus’ rod and Tanc’s items are doing their work well,” I told him, trying to make him feel better. I felt as if I owed it to him. “Each morning they heal the damage.”

“And each morning it takes you longer to recover from it,” I said bluntly. I would not let her think I hadn’t noticed. Every morning she looked worse and worse. Every day it took longer for the pain in her eyes to fade. “The headaches and nausea are increasing aren’t they?”

I was astonished. I am not going to deny it. This paladin, this man showed more compassion and more wisdom on a daily basis than I was used to seeing out of every man I’d ever known – for the course of their lives. Perhaps that was the problem with men. All their goodness had been concentrated into only one of them. I couldn’t argue with the knowing look he was giving me. “They are,” I acknowledged. I held up a hand to forestall the argument I saw on his lips. “Please Lester, let it go. If you wish to keep watch, I will not stop you. I promise – I will tell you if I feel the symptoms beginning to worsen. But – we simply cannot afford the time.”

I didn’t like it of course, but I couldn’t fault her logic. She was, as always, extremely persuasive. Finally I bowed my head to her. “Very well, my lady. If you will keep me informed as to how you are feeling, I will not alert the others.”

I frowned at him, that wasn’t what I’d said. His eyes were firm, steel, immovable. He knew exactly what he’d done and he wasn’t about to change. Very well. I could let him have that much. “As you wish my lord Lester. I will.” I couldn’t help but smile then, “Now go to sleep!”

I chuckled. She was impossible. Beautiful, courageous, intelligent – and impossible. I bowed to her again, from the waist this time, and laid myself back among my bedroll and blankets. I said nothing, but I heard her moving to her own bedroll, listened to her quiet sigh as she settled herself into them. Heard a quiet exhalation as she relaxed.

That man is impossible. Compassionate, dependable, strong – and impossible. I drew my most regal air about myself as I moved past him to my bedroll and nestled down into it. I couldn’t resist a swift glance at him and had to laugh at myself when I saw him, buried beneath blankets, eyes closed. I suppose old bones feel the cold more. I sighed softly as I tucked my pack under my head for a pillow. I had fooled him on one thing and one thing only. The headache never left me.

[Machuchang]

How I killed two party members by inventing the dirigible.


That's... that's insane. :smalleek: Hilarious, but insane.



"to rescue a prince" (or "to scare a party member")

Ah, I've been waiting for this one, and you definitely did not disappoint! Gideon is an amazing character, and I just can't get enough of his glory-seeking, and his flair for the dramatic. His sense of humor never ceases to amuse and amaze me either. I could really feel his disappointment when he had his kill stolen, and I had a huge grin when I read the ending. Excellent work man! :smallbiggrin:




Adventure one: rescue the Unicorn!

Now this one, unfortunately, I wasn't as crazy about. I liked the story, but it felt like there was a bit too much of the "he did this, she did that," sort of storytelling, which hampered the flow of the storytelling and made me feel more detached than engaged. I have to agree with Lady Moreta here. i.e. try writing from a third-person limited view focusing on one of the characters and their thoughts specifically. I would also suggest trying to turn a little bit more detail and description toward the background, items, and the characters' emotional reactions, as doing so would help to include the reader in all the action and drama and make the whole experience a lot more engrossing overall. Just don't go overboard with it. All in all, there's a lot of room for improvement, but it wasn't bad at all. Keep working at it, and you'll be just as good at third person as you are at first!



Of Headaches and Friendship

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! I love it! I thoroughly enjoyed the dichotomy of the switching points of view, as I felt that they added a lot of interest to the story. They really kept me on my toes while reading because of how different the two personalities of the characters' were, with Silver's more cynical personality contrasting perfectly with Lester's forthright tone and concern. I could really feel a sense of urgency in the story as well, and you did an excellent job of conveying Silver's worsening conditions to really drive that home. The interaction between Silver and Lester was just delightful and incredibly sweet. The way Silver slowly let her guard down over the course of their conversation was just perfect, and I loved how they finished their conversation. The two are a good match, methinks.:smallwink:

You really deserve to be proud of this snippet. I don't have enough nice things to say about it!


I wish I could say the same for myself though. I've been having a lot of trouble feeling good about my writing lately, and most everything I've been doing just hasn't been meeting my expectations. Maybe I'm just trying to force myself too much.

And that leads me to this snippet. Natalia has been ridiculously hard to write for lately, so I'm actually quite proud I was able to pull this one off. I don't feel that it's my best work, but I'm pretty sure it's a start to the end of my writer's block. At the very least, Natalia will get her time back in the spotlight again.


Fall

I wanted to die.

I really did. Every day, nothing awaited me but more pain and abuse at the hands of the Deathwind. At first, I wanted to kill him and escape, but the Fear Legion was well-organized and filled with dangerous soldiers, while I was a malnourished and mistreated prisoner. I could never escape, and now, it wasn’t even worth trying. My hope had died, and now all I wanted was to die with it. But even that was denied to me.

I had tried to escape not so long ago, only to be caught by the Deathwind and beaten bloody for my insolence. Since then, all I ever experienced was never ending assault and constant pain, while chained to a pole in the Deathwind’s tent like an animal. All that was left for me were the memories of the dead and a tiny amulet in the shape of an eight-pointed star.


Well, that, and the mystery of Nesra. That strange name that the Deathwind would mutter to himself whenever he saw me. There was just something about the way he said it that chilled me to my very bones. It was almost as if he was seeing something that wasn’t really there. But what did it mean? What was Nesra? Who was Nesra?

I guess it didn’t really matter anymore, did it? Those things weren’t enough to keep me going. They were all useless to me. Nothing mattered anymore but ending my suffering.

And that’s when I saw it. A long, slender knife, partially hidden by the clutter of the table where it laid, seemed to gleam right before my eyes. The Deathwind was gone… My chain was long enough… Could this have finally been my chance?

Nervously, I inched over to the blade and grabbed it. I felt the weight of the cold, hard steel in my hands as I pressed it against my chest. I felt tears begin to well in my eyes as I prepared to plunge the knife into my heart.

And then, out of nowhere, hideous, high-pitched laughter filled the room. The Hearteater had arrived, seemingly out of nowhere.

“What’s this Natalia? Trying to take your leave of us so soon? What a shame!” he cackled maniacally. “I even had a deal for you today!”

“What could you possibly want from me?” I asked hoarsely. This was the first time I had spoken in gods know when.

“It’s not just what I want from you, but what you want from me,” he chuckled evilly. “You want to be free, do you not?”

I could barely believe what he was offering. Was there actually a chance at freedom?

“What do you want from me?” I asked carefully. I had seen enough of the Hearteater to know that he was far from trustworthy. Cruel, manipulative, and far too clever for his own good, he was behind almost every atrocity that the Deathwind committed. And now he was offering me a chance to finally escape.

“Nothing much really. You see, I am but a simple medicine man. By tribal tradition, I can never become leader unless someone else nominates me. Now, also by tribal tradition, the only way one can become leader is to be nominated, or…” he giggled nastily. “To defeat the current leader in single combat. You see where I’m going? You-” he pointed at me. “You are a warrior, are you not? Trained by the Emperor’s finest?” he bent down next to me and began to whisper. “You see, I want you to challenge the Deathwind, and kill him. Then you can name me the chieftain, and I can set you free,” he sounded giddy with excitement.

He was insane. No doubt about it. Yet he had given me hope, and I was not going to relinquish it so quickly. But still. What he was asking was suicide. He had to have a plan.

“I’ve been defeated by the Deathwind once before. How can you possibly expect me to win, especially the way I am now?”

“Ah! You are a clever one, my dear. But I am cleverer!” he produced a small vial, filled to the brim with a dark, viscous, green liquid. “Just find some way to get this in him, and he will never be a threat to you again,” As I studied the poison, he unshackled me. “Don’t run now, or I’ll have you hunted down,” he hissed. “Now then, I must go. No telling when he’ll be back,” he turned to leave.

“Wait!” I shouted. He stopped suddenly, before he turned slowly back to me.

“What more do you want?!” the Hearteater growled. I felt the hair stand on the back of my neck at his sudden shift in mood. I was taken aback, and more scared than anything, but there was still something that I had to know.

“He had called me Nesra,” I said carefully, trying hard not to provoke him. “Who is that?”

The Hearteater froze. I could feel his gaze focused heavily upon me from underneath his mask, and just like the Deathwind, he seemed to be seeing something, or someone, that was not there. Then, the next thing I knew, he had doubled over in laughter, his manic shrieks once again filling the room.

“Oh this is too good!” the Hearteater said excitedly. “Nesra? That’s his dead wife! Ahaha! Oh! He thinks that you’re her? I knew you were the right choice!”

His shrill laughter still filled my ears even after he had walked away.

It was not soon after he had left when the Deathwind arroved. Covered almost entirely in blood and gore, he stalked over to his bed and collapsed into it. Soon, he was fast asleep, snoring loudly. I gazed upon his form in utter revulsion. The world would not be worse off without him. I would be saving lives by doing this. It would be worth it.


I smiled as I emptied the bottle into his throat.

[big teej]

hello my fellow snippitieers...

I'm afraid big teej is going dark for a while.
he has strep throat.
and is talking in the third person.
this can't be good.

[Lord Raziere]

That's... quite a story...

I have to ask though - How did you accidentally throw the fighter out of the dirigible? Did the player not protest at all or try to stop you?

Me: I throw the first bomb out of the dirigible!
*rolls something bad,doesn't do much damage*
Me: I throw second bomb out of the dirigible!
*rolls something better and deals more damage*
Me: I throw the third bomb out of the dirigible!
*rolls a 17.*
DM: yea umm....they only made two bombs....so you instead grab the fighter and throw him out because you weren't paying attention.
the player did protest and technically the fighter did survive....but just barely, so much so that the guy playing him decided to a roll a monk for the feather fall ability they get and basically stop playing the fighter. so technically I killed the fighter in that the player won't play him anymore

[Lady Moreta]

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! I love it!

That's a lot of yeses :smalleek::smallbiggrin: Thanks.


The two are a good match, methinks.:smallwink:

Nah... he's too old for her. Or she's too old for him... one or the other :smallconfused: He I believe is meant to be in his 50s so getting 'old' for a human. She is 123 (yes, she's 123, no I didn't just make it up, I rolled randomly for that thank you very much :smalltongue:), which is in her 20s - for an elf.

Peregrine made the same comment when he read it and while I realise it can be read that way, it isn't meant to be. It seems rare in this world but I firmly believe it is possible for a person to look at a member of the opposite sex and be able to see their beauty/attractiveness without it meaning anything even remotely romantic or erotic. I love my husband to death, but I'm quite capable of looking at another man and going 'wow he's cute'. I'm simply acknowledging that - yup, that dude's good looking.

With these two, I've always felt that Lester sort of looks on her like a daughter - albiet a daughter who's twice his age :smalltongue: He recognises that she's extremely attractive and because he's the only member of the party (apart from her) who has a sense motive worth a damn, I figure he's probably most likely to see through a lot of what she does to hide things from the others. That's what he's responding to. She is responding to a man who in one sense, is much older than her - he's a mature adult as humans measure time, and yet is over 50 years younger than her so obviously can't see things the same way. I don't think she sees him as any sort of father figure - more that she is so suspicious of men in general and their motives that she's constantly being surprised by him and his lack of motives (at least of the kind she's used to seeing). That's keeping her off-guard and making her more open to being honest with him.


You really deserve to be proud of this snippet. I don't have enough nice things to say about it!

Why thank you kind sir :smallsmile: I actually just re-wrote a paragraph just now. Peregrine pointed out that Silver would know more than just stories of the Shadow King, she was alive when he was still in power. He was overthrown when she was 9 years old, and she then lived through the 7 months of total darkness that followed.



And that leads me to this snippet. Natalia has been ridiculously hard to write for lately, so I'm actually quite proud I was able to pull this one off. I don't feel that it's my best work, but I'm pretty sure it's a start to the end of my writer's block. At the very least, Natalia will get her time back in the spotlight again.

I completely understand that feeling. Why do you think the Lyra snippet is taking so long to write? Okay, that's probably got something to do with the fact that part of the snippet is coming from the point of view of the paladin, and he's not my character so he's harder to write for, but yeah, I completely understand.

I agree with your assessment, I still enjoyed the story and I thought you captured Natalia's internal struggle well, but I don't think it's your best work. It reads a lot like my stories that I've written only becuase I'm forcing myself to get the words out becuase if I can just push through the block I'll be able to write again. Kinda what I'm doing with Lyra at the moment, stubborn pain-in-the-ass that she is.

Teej- hope you get better soon :smallsmile: I've been off sick all this week (so far) and it sucks. Also wanted to mention again how much I enjoyed Gideon - I love his dry sense of humour - even at himself. With the whole 'here's my kill here's my kill!' then his 'well that was anti-climatic' when the barbarian got in first. There was no outright anger, just a wonderful dry sense of humour. I love a character who can laugh at themself.

And the 'stuff it'? Loved it :smallbiggrin:

In other news: won't be any more Silver snippets for a while, she died last session :smallfrown: Still all's not lost, Peregrine decided that he'd rather bring her back than have me roll up a new character (he really wants to run the campaign with the same characters all the way through). So I'm going to (re)create Terryn for the world she was originally intended for as a temporary character until we find a way to raise Silver, since the backwater continent we're on doesn't really have much in the way of resurrection spells.

[big teej]

another session with Gideon this past week,

I'm going to try and write it today, but no promises.


THIS THREAD CANNOT DIE!

[Lady Moreta]

I'm so glad you posted :smallbiggrin: I still haven't finished the Lyra snippet I promised ages ago, but I haven't had anything else to write either, but I can't post because I'd be double-posting...

I have a couple of ideas for shorter ones I might write, but at the moment anyway, writing just takes such a long time... probably because I'm sick and tired...

[big teej]

RE: double posting

problem solved.


also,
stop being sick.
Teej's orders

also, the gideon snippet may be postponed until I have payed off my sleep debt

EDIT:
looking back on last session, I can't write a new snippet for gideon.... not for last session at least

why?
because I didn't do.... .ANYTHING
I rolled maybe 3 dice the whole session.... and spent 80% of said session sitting outside the tavern....

[Lady Moreta]

Well, it's not Lyra, but I wrote another snippet.

As I said earlier, Silver died a couple of sessions back and after much discussion with Peregrine, I decided to create Terryn for the game and setting she was originally intended for. So now I have two D&D characters named Terryn (though to avoid confusing myself I have spelled their surnames differently). She's only a filler character until we get enough moneys to pay for a rez for Silver, but that doesn't mean I can't write snippets! And here's the first one.


Cast of Characters
or That Pesky Paladin

Tanc. Human male. Moves fast and hits hard. Moves quieter than any man that size has the right to do.

Check. Damn he’s big. But check.

Nera. Catfolk female. Gorgeous in a furry sort of way. Spellcaster – spontaneous probably. Favours blasting spells, fireballs a speciality.

Check.

Rifus. Elf male. Mental stability debateable. Warlock – capable of hitting almost anything. Extremely hard to hit himself.

Wait. No elf. Okay…

Silver.

She’s the one I really want to see anyway.

Elf female. Talks fast. Not a bad fighter, so the stories go.

Oh… no Silver. Instead we get – oh. Oh dear. Oh that’s not good.

Lester. Human male. Paladin. Problem. Self-righteous, not a bad fighter, all about truth and justice. Knows who Skylare Fern is.

The question is – will he recognise her in me? Damn. I didn’t think he’d still be with them by this point. This could be a problem.

It serves me right for not checking and double checking. But all the stories I’d heard said, and loudly, that someone like Lester wouldn’t stick with a misfit group like this any longer than he had to. I can’t imagine why he’d still be with them.

And where are Rifus and Silver? And that dwarf the locals said they came into town with? I don’t know – but if I’m going to – do what I want to do, then I need to find Silver at least. She can vouch for me.

In the meantime, I’ll just have to be careful. Lord Lester isn’t an idiot and if he recognises in me the woman who once held him hostage, then I am royally screwed.

Wait. They’re leaving. Let’s hope they spilt up. No rest for the weary – or the wicked. Up you get girl, follow them and earn your pay.

[big teej]

a man sits in the corner of the tavern, keeping a watchful eye on the room. he is dressed in black leather armor. his body armour has no sleeves, around his left wrist are two thick metal bands. beside him is a massive double bladed axe.

so ye wish to ken how I came by this axe lad? you ask how I won these scars? let me tell you laddie, I have travelled the void, and stared into depths even mages fear to explore. I've lost more comrades than most people will come to trust. I will tell you how I came by my power, my past, and of events yet to come.



a snippet in the future...
"Reminisces of the Skulltaker"

[Lord_Gareth]

Note: this snippet takes place in White Wolf's stellar Changeling: the Lost.


The Host of a Thousand Princes
Or: Endgame

Witness the defenders of humanity, huddled around their garbage can fires and their steaming sewer vents, trembling in the cold and Winter wind. See them hide beneath cardboard boxes and exchange quiet words of reassurance to each other as Seattle drizzles its filth onto them.

It's been raining for twelve days.

Even the Blind are spooked; mortals stay indoors, closing their businesses and locking themselves into secure rooms with their families. Lightning hammers at the sky, booming its wrath down to the earth like the declarations of an angry god. Amongst the Lost, weapons are checked and re-checked, armor is polished and painted, and vehicles receive last-minute tune-ups. They number in the thousands, vagrants and corporate queens, warriors and liars, some muttering prayers to gods long dead, others communing deep with the Wyrd. Fear's children haunt the rank-and-file, giving an encouraging word here and a comforting hand there. Many cry; even more vomit from the stress. In the private corners, desperate lovers embrace each other one last time.

A quiet man with fleshless fingers and vines burrowing into his neck and arms whispers, "It's time." As if by unspoken signal, the Lost stand, offering parting goodbyes and sorting themselves into several groups with mad smiles and thousand-mile stares. Overhead, the one news chopper still flying reports on their activities. Millions around the world watch in utter confusion.

The clock strikes midnight on the thirteenth day of the storm.


Summer

Dawn rises over Seattle as the Iron Spear settles into their battle formations, each of Wrath's warriors aiming themselves at the park at Magnolia Crescent. Hundreds strong, they sit astride steeds made of witchcraft and motorcycles made from nothing more than toil and steel. The front ranks clutch at their weapons nervously. For some, this will be their first real battle, and they hold to improvised implements like they are holy relics. For most of the others, the fury they have nursed so long blazes brighter than any fear could possibly quench.

As the sun climbs high into the sky, a woman wearing a crown of lightning rides her steed in front of her assembled Court, waving a banner emblazoned with a simple black spear. Silence descends upon the ranks as she speaks in a clear shout that blazes with elemental fury, the rage of her words alighting the nearby buildings with Saint Elmo's Fire.

"We all knew this was coming!" she decrees. "We have trained for this day since Sam Noblood first hunted Summer with a spear of Autumn leaves and forced it to sue for peace! They think they have us cornered! They think this will be an easy conquest! I say no more! This is the day of reckoning! This is the battle of righteousness, when the Lost shall confront their masters and prove once and for all that above anything else, we are free! Some of you have whispered that this mission is suicide, and I say to you this - it is. But today, at the head of the charge, the Iron Spear dies on its feet and not its knees, as free men and women!"

A large portal opens in the park, without fanfare; several of the Court fail to notice it at first. Through it pours a great host waving banners and beating war-drums, its foot soldiers armed with blades of stained glass and of frozen light, holding balefire guns and wheeling cannons that fire grief and death. The generals of this host ride forth on steeds made from nightmares and shadows, each a unique horror unto itself - look there, and see the Lady of Keening Death. Look left, do you not see Crackjaw, the giant that ate the Grand Canyon from the earth? Is that not Mistress Malice in the shattered mirror, smiling her bloody smile? The army marches forth in its splendor and its wrath, the music it creates both discordant and harmonious, weaving a song of death and doom that echoes through the city.

There is a great roar as the knights of Summer start their engines all at once.

"This is the day of wrath! This is the day of ruin! Let no man falter on this charge! Let no blade show mercy in this fight! We are the Iron Spear, the first and last defenders of humanity, and today we stand unmasked and shining in our glory and our fury, ready to fight the battle that determines the fate of the world! SUMMER!"

The answering chorus of the courtiers booms out, "WRATH!" as they charge as one, lances lowered, automatic weapons spitting out streams of bullets as the great Host of a Thousand Princes charges forth to meet them. Sorceries cross the battle-lines, warping reality around them as Contracts struggle for dominance of the world.

The two armies meet with a mighty crash. Thunder booms, and the clocks strike once more.


Winter

The cross hairs settle on the face of a hobgoblin, a hideous thing that looks like a cross between a bear and a tree. Exhale. Squeeze the trigger. The iron-tipped round blows through its skull and buries itself in the Fairest thrall behind it, sending both sprawling to the ground.

Winter's children do not speak.

Dozens of efficient hands move their weapons in near-unison, supporting Summer's charge with careful, deliberate sniper fire. Winter's bullets find sorcerers, officers, and beast-masters, sending chaos into the enemy's seemingly-limitless ranks. A quiet girl with dark green eyes and stained glass hair reloads her weapon with chill efficiency and begins to take aim when she sees a signal from her spotter. As one, the Onyx Courtiers stand and move, staying low, to their next vantage point, reaching it just before their previous perch is ripped to shreds by Gentry sorcery.

The quiet girl settles in and takes aim once again. A manticore's head floats into her sights. Exhale. Squeeze the trigger.

"I hate you," the girl whispers fiercely as she takes aim once more.

No one else comments on the tears streaming from her eyes, or their own.

The next half (Spring and Autumn) will come...soon :p

[big teej]

I am intrigued...

[Lord_Gareth]

I am intrigued...

As warm and fuzzy as that makes me feel, might I possibly get more specific statements as to what was done right/wrong?

[big teej]

As warm and fuzzy as that makes me feel, might I possibly get more specific statements as to what was done right/wrong?

heh. :smalltongue:

well, short version of the long version (I'm ina bit of a time crunch)

a 'neutral' aspect was
I had almost no idea what was going on
war. I get it, beyond that....
not so much.

this intrigued me.

the descriptions and imagery? the speaches and stuff?

loved it!

[Lady Moreta]

Note: this snippet takes place in White Wolf's stellar Changeling: the Lost.


The Host of a Thousand Princes
Or: Endgame

Witness the defenders of humanity, huddled around their garbage can fires and their steaming sewer vents, trembling in the cold and Winter wind. See them hide beneath cardboard boxes and exchange quiet words of reassurance to each other as Seattle drizzles its filth onto them.

It's been raining for twelve days.

Even the Blind are spooked; mortals stay indoors, closing their businesses and locking themselves into secure rooms with their families. Lightning hammers at the sky, booming its wrath down to the earth like the declarations of an angry god. Amongst the Lost, weapons are checked and re-checked, armor is polished and painted, and vehicles receive last-minute tune-ups. They number in the thousands, vagrants and corporate queens, warriors and liars, some muttering prayers to gods long dead, others communing deep with the Wyrd. Fear's children haunt the rank-and-file, giving an encouraging word here and a comforting hand there. Many cry; even more vomit from the stress. In the private corners, desperate lovers embrace each other one last time.

A quiet man with fleshless fingers and vines burrowing into his neck and arms whispers, "It's time." As if by unspoken signal, the Lost stand, offering parting goodbyes and sorting themselves into several groups with mad smiles and thousand-mile stares. Overhead, the one news chopper still flying reports on their activities. Millions around the world watch in utter confusion.

The clock strikes midnight on the thirteenth day of the storm.


Summer

Dawn rises over Seattle as the Iron Spear settles into their battle formations, each of Wrath's warriors aiming themselves at the park at Magnolia Crescent. Hundreds strong, they sit astride steeds made of witchcraft and motorcycles made from nothing more than toil and steel. The front ranks clutch at their weapons nervously. For some, this will be their first real battle, and they hold to improvised implements like they are holy relics. For most of the others, the fury they have nursed so long blazes brighter than any fear could possibly quench.

As the sun climbs high into the sky, a woman wearing a crown of lightning rides her steed in front of her assembled Court, waving a banner emblazoned with a simple black spear. Silence descends upon the ranks as she speaks in a clear shout that blazes with elemental fury, the rage of her words alighting the nearby buildings with Saint Elmo's Fire.

"We all knew this was coming!" she decrees. "We have trained for this day since Sam Noblood first hunted Summer with a spear of Autumn leaves and forced it to sue for peace! They think they have us cornered! They think this will be an easy conquest! I say no more! This is the day of reckoning! This is the battle of righteousness, when the Lost shall confront their masters and prove once and for all that above anything else, we are free! Some of you have whispered that this mission is suicide, and I say to you this - it is. But today, at the head of the charge, the Iron Spear dies on its feet and not its knees, as free men and women!"

A large portal opens in the park, without fanfare; several of the Court fail to notice it at first. Through it pours a great host waving banners and beating war-drums, its foot soldiers armed with blades of stained glass and of frozen light, holding balefire guns and wheeling cannons that fire grief and death. The generals of this host ride forth on steeds made from nightmares and shadows, each a unique horror unto itself - look there, and see the Lady of Keening Death. Look left, do you not see Crackjaw, the giant that ate the Grand Canyon from the earth? Is that not Mistress Malice in the shattered mirror, smiling her bloody smile? The army marches forth in its splendor and its wrath, the music it creates both discordant and harmonious, weaving a song of death and doom that echoes through the city.

There is a great roar as the knights of Summer start their engines all at once.

"This is the day of wrath! This is the day of ruin! Let no man falter on this charge! Let no blade show mercy in this fight! We are the Iron Spear, the first and last defenders of humanity, and today we stand unmasked and shining in our glory and our fury, ready to fight the battle that determines the fate of the world! SUMMER!"

The answering chorus of the courtiers booms out, "WRATH!" as they charge as one, lances lowered, automatic weapons spitting out streams of bullets as the great Host of a Thousand Princes charges forth to meet them. Sorceries cross the battle-lines, warping reality around them as Contracts struggle for dominance of the world.

The two armies meet with a mighty crash. Thunder booms, and the clocks strike once more.


Winter

The cross hairs settle on the face of a hobgoblin, a hideous thing that looks like a cross between a bear and a tree. Exhale. Squeeze the trigger. The iron-tipped round blows through its skull and buries itself in the Fairest thrall behind it, sending both sprawling to the ground.

Winter's children do not speak.

Dozens of efficient hands move their weapons in near-unison, supporting Summer's charge with careful, deliberate sniper fire. Winter's bullets find sorcerers, officers, and beast-masters, sending chaos into the enemy's seemingly-limitless ranks. A quiet girl with dark green eyes and stained glass hair reloads her weapon with chill efficiency and begins to take aim when she sees a signal from her spotter. As one, the Onyx Courtiers stand and move, staying low, to their next vantage point, reaching it just before their previous perch is ripped to shreds by Gentry sorcery.

The quiet girl settles in and takes aim once again. A manticore's head floats into her sights. Exhale. Squeeze the trigger.

"I hate you," the girl whispers fiercely as she takes aim once more.

No one else comments on the tears streaming from her eyes, or their own.

The next half (Spring and Autumn) will come...soon :p

All right punk, I'm reading I'm reading :smalltongue:

First impression: Wow.
Second impression: Wow.

This is very very good. I agree with Teej, first word that pops to mind (apart from 'wow') is intriguing. The neutral viewpoint works really well with the content, though I rather suspect that knowing the game system would make a huge difference in knowing what the heck is going on. I was a bit confused about who the two sides were and why they were fighting, but I figure that's just because I don't know the system. If I did, I think it would make a lot more sense. And in a way, it works not knowing. Your descriptions are evocative and reactive. I can see the type of lightening that acts as a hammer in the sky.

Probably my biggest point of confusion was when you switched to Winter and had them talking about hitting a hobgoblin. Earlier in the snippet I got the distinct impression that everyone involved in Summer was human.


Dawn rises over Seattle as the Iron Spear settles into their battle formations, each of Wrath's warriors aiming themselves at the park at Magnolia Crescent.

Language-wise, this sentence is probably the only thing I'd change. I have a pet peeve about sentences that have the same word in close proximity. I would change this to say "... at the park on Magnolia Crescent."

I have to say - no idea what's going on, but your skill at writing is such that I don't really care. As long as you keep writing :smallbiggrin:

[Lord_Gareth]

All right punk, I'm reading I'm reading :smalltongue:

First impression: Wow.
Second impression: Wow.

This is very very good. I agree with Teej, first word that pops to mind (apart from 'wow') is intriguing. The neutral viewpoint works really well with the content, though I rather suspect that knowing the game system would make a huge difference in knowing what the heck is going on. I was a bit confused about who the two sides were and why they were fighting, but I figure that's just because I don't know the system. If I did, I think it would make a lot more sense. And in a way, it works not knowing. Your descriptions are evocative and reactive. I can see the type of lightening that acts as a hammer in the sky.

Probably my biggest point of confusion was when you switched to Winter and had them talking about hitting a hobgoblin. Earlier in the snippet I got the distinct impression that everyone involved in Summer was human.

Tvtropes may aid in comprehension (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ptitlen4fcro73tb02).

Short version: the Host of a Thousand Princes is an army of the Gentry and their thralls, and is essentially the apocalypse in a can. The Lost, former humans enslaved by the Gentry (and escaped from them) are all that stand between the world and total subjugation by the Fairest of Lands.


Language-wise, this sentence is probably the only thing I'd change. I have a pet peeve about sentences that have the same word in close proximity. I would change this to say "... at the park on Magnolia Crescent."

Good point ^_^


I have to say - no idea what's going on, but your skill at writing is such that I don't really care. As long as you keep writing :smallbiggrin:

Yay! Any sections stand out as particularly good/evocative?

[big teej]

so....
this WAS going to be a post including the background of a pbp character Marc Thornbrood, a Lawful Incarnate.

and so I wrote it.

and I realized.....

I dont' write so well while I'm tired, so I have a great outline to work with.

something by the skulltaker might get written tomorrow in GPS however. :smallcool:

[Lady Moreta]

Tvtropes may aid in comprehension (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ptitlen4fcro73tb02).

No it won't, because TV Tropes will ruin your life :smalltongue:


Yay! Any sections stand out as particularly good/evocative?

The third paragraph (Even the Blind...) was the first one that really struck me - the descriptions of the weather were very good, almost Tolkien-esque. Reminds me of The Hobbit where he describes the stone giants being out in a thunderstorm and the sound of the rocks they were throwing at each other. Which I have always read as actually happening, but also a description of how bad the storm was.


so....
this WAS going to be a post including the background of a pbp character Marc Thornbrood, a Lawful Incarnate.

and so I wrote it.

and I realized.....

I dont' write so well while I'm tired, so I have a great outline to work with.

something by the skulltaker might get written tomorrow in GPS however. :smallcool:

I don't write well when I'm tired either... that's the main reason I haven't written anything lately.

I forgot to tell you I liked the short intro you posted the other day - it was a nice little teaser. And GPS? :smallconfused: You're going to write in a Global Positioning System?

[big teej]

I forgot to tell you I liked the short intro you posted the other day - it was a nice little teaser. And GPS? :smallconfused: You're going to write in a Global Positioning System?

thanks ^_^ I thought it would spark interest.

GPS - Global Perspectives in Scripture.

an oh-so-wonderful! required class 'offered' at wingate university.

I can barely understand my teacher, and the 'notes' we get in class are..... less than helpful. so I just read the textbook and fill out the study guides and I do okay.


for the record, I have to take this course every semester until my senior year.
go me!

-scurries off to write something-

the snippet is proceeding wonderfully, but I have to finish it later.

just how did Cog Skulltaker get his axe?



My Axe you say? Well, I suppose that is one of the earliest adventures I’m still able to recall. And it’s as good a place to start as any.

It was in another time…. Another place…. Probably another world, I lose track of where things are. When you travel like I do, you forget things.

Probably for the best anyhow.

My axe though…. The man chuckles.

I remember it was just after Talvar had died…
“I still don’t see why we didn’t bring his body back.” The witch hunter, my erstwhile “employer” grumbled while adjusting the buckles on his spiked gauntlet. “Because,” I replied, “he was a trusted comrade, even if he did die on the first go. And deserved to lay where he fell. Besides, we had no idea what other magic we could have set off if we’d tried to move him. Also, I’m bigger than you.” Standing at six foot six and weight almost 300 lbs. I greatly out massed the next largest man in the party, the witch-hunter. My other surviving companion was a sorcerer even dumber and more impulsive than the witch hunter. A tiny thing, barely the strength to carry all his gear.

I despise them both.

“I figure we can make it back to the city by tomorrow afternoon, I say we make camp here.” I say. The witch-hunter speaks up. “But if we can make it there so soon, why not just press on through the night?” The sorcerer chimes in, whining “yea. A nice warm bed and a wholesome wench to pass the cold hours.”

I despise them both.

“Because,” I say with exaggerated patience, as if explaining things to a child. “The city gates close at nightfall, and I’m not one for camping out under the eyes of the guards, liable to wake up naked if we wake up at all.”
They quickly acquiesce.

-Sigh- truly my people should have swept this land away eons ago, if all southlanders are as dumb as this. I am a Barbarian! Aye a truly phenomenal specimen of my people. But not so grand as to utterly outclass my fellows.

The next day, we continued on to the city. As we approached the city gates the guards began to look rather… panicked and some drew weapons.
“Ho there! what business have you in the city?”

Rather perplexed by their reaction, I respond “I would rest within the city, and conduct trade in your markets.”

The guards looked at each other doubtfully.
“Dressed as you are?” one asks “completely covered in gore?”

Oh. I look down at myself, my armor is indeed, soaked in blood, more than a few bits of dried blood cover my bare arms as well. I turn to my companions, the witch-hunter is similarly filthy and even the sorcerer has blood splattered to the sides of his face from when he stood to close to my work.

I turn back to the guards. “Ahhh, we are merely humble adventurers returning from an…. Adventure” I call to them.

Sudden understanding appears in their eyes, and the guards relax. “Enter then, oh bold adventurers” he says with only the slightest hint of sarcasm.

As we enter the city, I ask the guards “whereabouts in your fair city can I find a mage?” The man promptly gives me directions to (what had better be) the mages quarter. Most likely to get the stench of my companions and I away from his nose.

“I think the axe can wait at least until we’ve all bathed eh Cog?” The witch hunter asks me. “Yes, yes it can. “ I reply.

We had found an axe in the dungeon that the sorcerer had identified as magic, though he’d been unable to tell us anymore. Useless quill-pusher.

Having bathed and purchased a cleaner set of armor. We proceeded to the mage quarter.

Wasn’t that hard to find, all the bloody towers rising up everywhere.
Bloody quill-pushers. I think to myself with an exasperated sigh.

I walk up to the door of the nearest tower and knock. Perhaps more forcefully than is polite.
No response….
I knock again, definitely louder than is necessary this time.
No answer.

“Maybe he’s not home…” the sorcerer offers.

I glare at him and proceed to the next tower.
-thump thump thump-

A reedy voice answers me.
“Yes… what do you want?”

“We have a magical axe that we would like a mage to take a look at” I say through the door before my companions can stuff their feet in their mouths.

“Fine, fine, fine, come in.” I push open the door and immediately my hackles begin to rise at the ambient presence of magic.

A tiny man, even thinner and more sickly looking than the sorcerer stands before us, despite his obvious frailty he can’t be much older than me. “How can I help you?” he asks in a nasally voice.

“We have this magic axe we found, we want to know what it does.” I inform him.
“Ah yes, my master said this would be a suitable trial for my skills with enchantments, let me see the weapon.”

Ah, now we’re getting somewhere! I hand him the magic axe and watch him take it over to a nearby workbench. He sets the axe down and begins to chant while dusting it with a strange powder.

“The magic in this axe is leaking, but I can bind what is left of the weapon into a new axe.” He announces after a few moments chanting.

I stride forward, unlimbering my great axe and hand it to the mage.

I love that axe, family heirloom. Forged by my great grand-pappy, and carried by my forefathers into battle ever since,

The mage took my axe and laid it on top of the axe already on the bench; he began to chant faster, and slowly grew in volume, waving his arms about and throwing powder everywhere like a loony.

Bloody quill pushers…

As I watched, something horrid and fascinating happened right before my very eyes. My axe…. Sank, into the magical one, I saw the metal of the magic axe flow and bubble as it ran into a new shape…. The shape of MY AXE!

What has he done to it!?

The man stops chanting and I snatch my great-axe off the bench, examining it for damage.
“What did you do!? “ I howl at him.

“It was a rather simple procedure… the magic was leaking from its vessel, so I broke both it and the vessel into their component parts and grafted them into your axe. You’re axe will not make ‘echo blows’ whenever you land a hit on an enemy.”

Intriguing…
“Thank you wizard… you are a credit to your art.”

I turned to my companions with my axe held ready.

“Let’s go find something to kill…. soon”







EDIT:
hey guys, double feature, I just wrote this one for a play by post character... it was super rushed, so it's probably not up to par, feel free to critique so that I may tweak.

Marc's background - second draft

Dawn…
Time to rise.

I roll out of my bed and walk over to my mirror. I look at the image that greets me. A human, and yet so much more, I six and a half feet tall. My hair as black as the coals I use to heat my forge. My eyes as deep a blue as the sapphire gems that incrust the more…. Decorative pieces I create. From the backs of my legs and arms, and along my backbone grow rows of spines. They are a very deep navy blue and excessively sharp.

I think I’ll make a trip to the book store before I start on my work today, he told me he should have some new books in by now. I buckle on my breastplate and take up my mace and my pack. Might as well look professional I think to myself.

I left my house, also the place of my work, and proceeded across the city to Ned’s Books. A quaint little place, full of one of the greatest treasures known to the material plane.

Books, duh.

As I walk through the busy city streets, I contemplate the work I must get done today… I need to put the finishing touches on Lord Thornbrood’s birthday present, a great sword with numerous gems encrusted in the hilt and a few along the blade. And that peacock’s glorified sewing needle. Ugh.

Ah, here we are. Ned’s books.
I enter the store and begin poking around when I run into Ned. “Marc, nice seeing you again.” He greets me. “I believe I’ve found a tome that you’ll have quite a bit of interest in. It contains many archaic and innovative forging techniques. “

This intrigued me.

“May I see the book?” I asked.

“Of course, in fact, you can take it home with you for a few days and see if you can put any of it to use, if you want it, we can discuss price later. Here it is.”

From behind his desk he pulled out a large tome. It was incredibly old. It had a large emerald set into its center; it was clenched between the stylized jaws of a skull, with rubies set in its eye sockets. On the skulls forehead was engraved a symbol in mother of pearl. A hammer and anvil.

“Thanks Ned, I’ll take a look at this tonight.”

Carrying the book under my arm, I head back to my shop. Leafing through it on the way, I take a quick glance up to check my path. I take a left and proceed through the stylized archways that mark the entrances to each alley. Knowing that this alley is basically a straight shot back to my shop, I look back down to the book. Turning the page, these techniques are incredibly complex.

I stumble and look up as I catch my balance…..

Something is very, very wrong…. The city…. It stretches up into the sky…..

Where am I?

I look behind me.

The alley is gone….

“I have a feeling Lord Thornbrood’s birthday present is going to be a little late” I say to myself as I slip the book into my pack.

[Machuchang]

Cast of Characters
or That Pesky Paladin



Well, as much as it sucks having Silver dead, I'm really enjoying her replacement! This snippet was short and sweet, and incredibly enjoyable. I loved all the little details that Terryn used throughout it. She has a very distinctive voice that sort of reminds me of secret agents.:smallbiggrin: I'm looking forward to learning more about her, especially her relationship with Lester and Silver. I'm really curious to see how things go for Terryn from here. Fantastic work!




The Host of a Thousand Princes
Or: Endgame


Dude, you are such a master. I love how this story really just throws the reader right into the thick of things! The way you mention all the parts of the world, like the organizations and locations, without really going into detail about them creates a very nice sense of displacement and really captures the feel of a world that is right in the middle of some groundbreaking events. Though granted, it could get a little confusing at times.

In contrast, the physical details, such as the soldiers nervously clutching their weapons, were absolutely magnificent. They always felt really crisp and natural, and had a great flow that just made them a pleasure to read. My favorite though, had to be the description of the sniper girl. Something about the neutral way her appearance and emotions were described really hit home for me, and I felt like that was the most powerful scene in the snippet.

All in all, I felt the snippet was just incredible. Definitely one of my favorites. I'm really looking forward to reading Spring and Autumn!



just how did Cog Skulltaker get his axe?


This one is just too good! Cog Skulltaker is a great character, and he probably has the coolest name in this thread!:smallbiggrin: The Skulltaker has a very prominent and distinctive voice, which lends itself very well to the reminiscing style of the narrative and the way he constantly voices his opinions to the reader.

The snippet was incredibly entertaining, and I especially loved all the little details in his interactions with the other characters. My favorite part, though, had to be when he meets the guards while covered in blood. That part had me in hysterics! Awesome work!



Marc's background - second draft

This one was really interesting. I love how it starts off with a relatively mundane morning routine, and suddenly takes off into something much more at the end. That was very well executed and quite interesting! I also enjoyed how Marc loves books and has a casual relationship with the bookstore owner. Those details really seemed to mesh for me and made Marc seem a lot more realistic. So great job there!

However, the story did feel a little like it was rushed. Some of sentences, particularly this one in the beginning:

A human, and yet so much more, I six and a half feet tall.
were just awkward to read and pulled the reader out of the story. I would probably go over it real quick just to see if it could be streamlined a bit. I feel that that would really help turn this snippet from a good one into a great one!


Also, sorry for disappearing for so long! I had a lot going on with schoolwork, my math final, and visiting colleges, and my internet has been spotty at best as of late, so it's been difficult to keep up with the snippets.

On the bright side, inspiration has once again returned to me, and I've got a lot of great ideas for stories! The only problem is, I have so much inspiration, I've kind of been flitting back and forth between them and not really finishing anything...

Anyway, enough of my excuses! I actually have one snippet finished! One very short, kind of forced snippet, but it serves as a sort of starting point for this cascade of very important snippets, so it's kind of necessary.

This one's about Natalia.


Before the Battle

(or It's difficult to come up with a name for this one)

A chill went down my spine as I set foot on the drawbridge. It was still dark out, and the freezing fall winds were blowing more strongly than ever. Behind me, I heard the tramp of the Imperial soldiers as they took their formations. They were the Emperor’s finest. They were the bravest men in the country. And now, they were my army.

This was it.

The Crownbreaker tents seemed to cross the whole horizon. There had to be thousands of them. Maybe even more. And they were just a few mere miles away. The red glow of their campfires bled into the early morning clouds like some horrific gash in the sky.

Varen grasped my hand.

“Are you going to be alright?” I could feel the tension in his hand as he slid his fingers through mine. He was scared. Scared for me, that idiot. I would be fine! He should've known that I could take care of myself by now!

But still, it was sweet in a Varen sort of way, and I did want to comfort him. To let him know that everything would be alright in the end.

“Of course,” I gave him a little smile. “Why wouldn’t I be? There’s nothing to worry about. We’ll both be fine!” I tried to sound confident and reassuring, but my words felt more hollow than anything. Hell, I guess I was a little worried too. Still, he seemed to appreciate the sentiment.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!” I groaned in mock irritation. “Just watch out for yourself, you big dummy!” I laughed as I gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

Then the sky exploded.

From out of the Crownbreaker camps rose a giant column of flame, filling the air and landscape in blood red light. And out of that column came scores upon scores of dark, fiendish shapes. Their twisted bodies crowded the sky, and their unearthly shrieks filled the air.

“Are-Are those demons?!” Varen gasped in shock.

“Looks like it,” I muttered grimly, trying to keep my own emotions in check.

DAMN! This was bad! This was very bad!


Those were new!

So yeah. Also, here are some of the other ideas for snippets I have that I need to work on. If you have any preferences for what should come next, please let me know so I can better focus myself.:smallbiggrin:


-The Siege of Festungberg: Varen fights in a siege
-Two Too Tall: Varen meets some dwarves
-Eat Your Heart Out: Natalia vs. The Hearteater
-You're Awfully Small for a Sociopath: Abigail finds out who's been stealing all the goods from the town
-There Is No Legal Term To Properly Describe The Magnitude Of What You Have Done: Abigail keeps getting in trouble with the law (takes place WAY after the events I've covered)
-Legacy: Tavor meets the most important person in his life
-Tears in the Desert:Why Tavor wants to go home
-Caravan: Tavor meets the party
-Another Day, Another Felony: New character! Richard Sykes, steampunk pirate sniper with an unintentionally offensive Cockney/Stereotypical British/Aussie/Who Knows accent.



Okay, that's it. Sorry for the walls upon walls of text.

[big teej]

This one is just too good! Cog Skulltaker is a great character, and he probably has the coolest name in this thread!:smallbiggrin: The Skulltaker has a very prominent and distinctive voice, which lends itself very well to the reminiscing style of the narrative and the way he constantly voices his opinions to the reader.

The snippet was incredibly entertaining, and I especially loved all the little details in his interactions with the other characters. My favorite part, though, had to be when he meets the guards while covered in blood. That part had me in hysterics! Awesome work!



This one was really interesting. I love how it starts off with a relatively mundane morning routine, and suddenly takes off into something much more at the end. That was very well executed and quite interesting! I also enjoyed how Marc loves books and has a casual relationship with the bookstore owner. Those details really seemed to mesh for me and made Marc seem a lot more realistic. So great job there!

However, the story did feel a little like it was rushed. Some of sentences, particularly this one in the beginning:

were just awkward to read and pulled the reader out of the story. I would probably go over it real quick just to see if it could be streamlined a bit. I feel that that would really help turn this snippet from a good one into a great one!

.

didn't get a chance to read your snippets (I'm about to crash... I needz sleeps)

anyways. your comments about Cog are much appreciated, :smallbiggrin: -warm and fuzzy-

I was worried it was going to feel rushed. I found out everyone else in the pbp was waiting on my backrgound, so I churned it out in about 15-30 minutes. I'm happy it turned out as well as it did given how fast I wrote it.

however, that line you pointed out, the whole first paragraph, was a direct copy-paste from the 'uber rough draft' that I wrote..... the night before last, and was essentially a super rough outline,
eh, that's what I get....

there will probably be a second snippet for Marc coming up super-soon... after all, I forgot to shape his soulmelds in the last one.

[Lord_Gareth]

Dude, you are such a master. I love how this story really just throws the reader right into the thick of things! The way you mention all the parts of the world, like the organizations and locations, without really going into detail about them creates a very nice sense of displacement and really captures the feel of a world that is right in the middle of some groundbreaking events. Though granted, it could get a little confusing at times.

D'aaaw. If I do more Changeling snippets, I'll work world information into it.


In contrast, the physical details, such as the soldiers nervously clutching their weapons, were absolutely magnificent. They always felt really crisp and natural, and had a great flow that just made them a pleasure to read. My favorite though, had to be the description of the sniper girl. Something about the neutral way her appearance and emotions were described really hit home for me, and I felt like that was the most powerful scene in the snippet.

All in all, I felt the snippet was just incredible. Definitely one of my favorites. I'm really looking forward to reading Spring and Autumn!

I look forward to writing them :D And don't worry, I'm not done with Sarah yet.

[Lady Moreta]

Okay, my turn for rambling :smallsmile:


for the record, I have to take this course every semester until my senior year.
go me!

Awww, that sucks. It sounds fascinating. I did a similar paper at uni just for the fun of it, and I really enjoyed it. Though the lecturer really enjoyed the teaching of it, which made a huge difference.

anyway...


just how did Cog Skulltaker get his axe?

Eeeee, Planeswalking barbarian! I've been looking forward to this for ages! :smallbiggrin:

I really enjoyed it :smallsmile: I loved his "Also, I'm bigger than you" response to the witch-hunter - I loved how reasonable he was and that he had some really good reasons for leaving the body alone, and then it was all "besides I'm bigger'n you :smalltongue:"

Also the repetition of "I despise them both". It worked really well, an extremely simple statement, but the reptition gave it depth and feeling. What's Cog's int stat? Because he sounds a lot smarter than your average barbarian...


-Sigh- truly my people should have swept this land away eons ago, if all southlanders are as dumb as this. I am a Barbarian! Aye a truly phenomenal specimen of my people. But not so grand as to utterly outclass my fellows.

First piece of criticism... this isn't the best paragraph I'm afraid. Writing things like sighs can be tricky because there isn't really any sound that you can type out, like you can for something like a cry of pain or something ("ahhhhh" works well for instance). Sighs work best if you describe it as an action, like "I sighed, a massive exhalation of frustration - truly my people should have..." that's not the best example of my writing, but it gets the point across.

The blood and guts were a lovely touch - something that we don't often think about while playing the game - just how often do Adventurers bathe? Also Cog's response to the guards "We're uh- adventurers. We're back from an Adventure" loved Adventure with a capital :smallbiggrin: I don't know if it was intentional but it works as a wonderful little D&D in-joke. "Duh, we're adventurers, of course we're covered in crap, we've just come back from an adventure. It's what we do."

I also liked the way you described what happened to his axe and how the two melted together. It made a nice picture in my mind and looked rather - pretty actually. The only thing that seemed odd to me was that the wizard never asked for any sort of payment for his services. Maybe I'm just too used to playing the game where everyone expects payment, but it just seemed a little odd that he didn't even ask them to go around telling people of his prowess at least.

Also enjoyed Cog's "we need to kill something - soon" at the end. The man might be smart, but don't make the mistake of thinking he's not a barbarian :smallbiggrin:


Marc's background - second draft

I like this one. Second the book thing - it's these little touches that make characters more real.


I roll out of my bed and walk over to my mirror. I look at the image that greets me. A human, and yet so much more, I six and a half feet tall. My hair as black as the coals I use to heat my forge. My eyes as deep a blue as the sapphire gems that incrust the more…. Decorative pieces I create. From the backs of my legs and arms, and along my backbone grow rows of spines. They are a very deep navy blue and excessively sharp.

Yeah, the 'human...' sentence isn't the best, but I don't think it'd be hard to fix...

"A human and yet, so much more - at six and a half feet tall, my hair as black as the coals I use to heat my forge; my eyes as deep a blue..."

I love the way he's so unruffled - even when he suddenly realises he's not in Kansas any more - all he's saying is "oh well" and putting the book away, not stressed, not worried. And I like the depiction of how he ended up as an adventurer - not out for honour or glory, just after a good book :smallbiggrin:

Fix that first paragraph and you've got a winner.


Well, as much as it sucks having Silver dead, I'm really enjoying her replacement! This snippet was short and sweet, and incredibly enjoyable. I loved all the little details that Terryn used throughout it. She has a very distinctive voice that sort of reminds me of secret agents.:smallbiggrin: I'm looking forward to learning more about her, especially her relationship with Lester and Silver. I'm really curious to see how things go for Terryn from here. Fantastic work!

Thanks :smallsmile: Next session is Sunday and that may signal the end for Terryn - alas, she's fun to play. Peregrine said she'd only be around for as long as it takes us to get what we need to raise Silver, and that it would only be a couple of sessions - but it took us a while to get moving last session (mostly my fault) so it may end up being a tad longer. Which I hope.

I had originally intended that snippet to include Terryn leaving the bar and following them, but that would have necesitated a severe change in the narrative voice that I think would have lessened the impact of the first part, so I left it as is. I was going to go back and add a little extra bit to the end, that would have worked, but I can't remember what it was!



Before the Battle

(or It's difficult to come up with a name for this one)

I don't think this one is as forced as you think it is. I agree that it's not as smooth as your other work and that you've done ones that are better, but it doesn't come across as forced to me. Not as polished perhaps, but it still moves smoothly.

At a guess, I'd say you had trouble coming up with a good ending - because that's the part that sounds the most forced to me. The 'sky exploded' part was very good, I find that type of sudden change hard to write, because it's a very visual thing - the idea that people are just sitting chatting then something massive happens to shake things up, but you did it very well. I found everything from Varen's reaction til the end a bit forced though... perhaps because it seems out of character for Varen.

From the other snippets you've written about him, both from his PoV and Natalia's, he doesn't seem the type to be that shaken over the appearance of demons. You're a paladin - smite them and be done with it :smalltongue: Seriously though, he came across as sounding really quite shaken and freaked out, which just seems out of character for him. He's always come across as very solid and unflappable. I suppose that this could simply be the point where he flaps, but it still jars a bit. I keep thinking that something like "Are those demons?" Varen demanded flatly, would seem more in keeping with his character. At least, as I percieve it - and we all know I'm utterly in love with Varen anyway :smallwink:

A man who can face down a half-orange splatbook-monstrosity and still stand at the end of it should be tougher than that :smalltongue:


Tears in the Desert:Why Tavor wants to go home

I pick this one. I've been curious about the reasons behind this since you first introduced him.

And I have an idea bubbling around in my head for a new Terryn snippet. And I'm sorry Machuchang - I still haven't finished the Lyra one I promised you! She is being a real little witch and almost impossible to write at the moment. Not helped by the fact that I have a MASSIVE sleep debt right now... :smallfrown:

[big teej]

Okay, my turn for rambling :smallsmile:



Awww, that sucks. It sounds fascinating. I did a similar paper at uni just for the fun of it, and I really enjoyed it. Though the lecturer really enjoyed the teaching of it, which made a huge difference.

anyway...


well, so far I've taken it twice, first time around was workable, this time around is just......
bleh.
imagine a class suming up every social studies and ancient history class you've had since elementary school....




Eeeee, Planeswalking barbarian! I've been looking forward to this for ages! :smallbiggrin:

I live to please.



I really enjoyed it :smallsmile: I loved his "Also, I'm bigger than you" response to the witch-hunter - I loved how reasonable he was and that he had some really good reasons for leaving the body alone, and then it was all "besides I'm bigger'n you :smalltongue:"


fun fact: it was true in and out of character :smallcool:



Also the repetition of "I despise them both". It worked really well, an extremely simple statement, but the reptition gave it depth and feeling. What's Cog's int stat? Because he sounds a lot smarter than your average barbarian...


The Skulltaker's current stats are....
3rd level xx Barbarian (alignment ranges from CE to TN depending on campaign and party needs)
his stats are....
strength - 18
dexterity - 17
constitution - 17
intelligence - 15
wisdom - 12
charisma - 9
easily one of the best stat-blocks I've ever rolled, and the best I've ever been able to play with.

so he is indeed much smarter than the average barbarian.




First piece of criticism... this isn't the best paragraph I'm afraid. Writing things like sighs can be tricky because there isn't really any sound that you can type out, like you can for something like a cry of pain or something ("ahhhhh" works well for instance). Sighs work best if you describe it as an action, like "I sighed, a massive exhalation of frustration - truly my people should have..." that's not the best example of my writing, but it gets the point across.


yea, in hindsight, I don't know why I wrote "-sigh-" must have been too caught up in remembering...
yea, I'm gonna blame it on that.

I appreciate you pointing that out, I do need to fix that.



The blood and guts were a lovely touch - something that we don't often think about while playing the game - just how often do Adventurers bathe? Also Cog's response to the guards "We're uh- adventurers. We're back from an Adventure" loved Adventure with a capital :smallbiggrin: I don't know if it was intentional but it works as a wonderful little D&D in-joke. "Duh, we're adventurers, of course we're covered in crap, we've just come back from an adventure. It's what we do."


I remember this moment fondly, the DM caught us completely off guard when the ... guards. stopped us over that.
never had a DM account for that before.
it was great. :smallbiggrin:




I also liked the way you described what happened to his axe and how the two melted together. It made a nice picture in my mind and looked rather - pretty actually. The only thing that seemed odd to me was that the wizard never asked for any sort of payment for his services. Maybe I'm just too used to playing the game where everyone expects payment, but it just seemed a little odd that he didn't even ask them to go around telling people of his prowess at least.


aha, you've got me on that one.... I don't even remember what/if the mage had us pay him, and had completely forgotten about it... I probably should edit that so it doesn't jar to badly.



Also enjoyed Cog's "we need to kill something - soon" at the end. The man might be smart, but don't make the mistake of thinking he's not a barbarian :smallbiggrin:


another fun fact.
we were ambushed by -plot- assassins like 5 real life minutes after leaving the mage.
but yea, Cog's a barbarian to the core.





I like this one. Second the book thing - it's these little touches that make characters more real.



Yeah, the 'human...' sentence isn't the best, but I don't think it'd be hard to fix...

"A human and yet, so much more - at six and a half feet tall, my hair as black as the coals I use to heat my forge; my eyes as deep a blue..."


yea.... somebody else pointed that out too me(multiple somebodys now actually) and I'll be honest, it was a copy paste from a (very) rough draft I wrote at like 3 am.
didn't catch it.



I love the way he's so unruffled - even when he suddenly realises he's not in Kansas any more - all he's saying is "oh well" and putting the book away, not stressed, not worried. And I like the depiction of how he ended up as an adventurer - not out for honour or glory, just after a good book :smallbiggrin:

Fix that first paragraph and you've got a winner.

hm.... apparently I need to work on my tone.... I was hoping for more of a "what the heck....?" and/or slowly growing alarm feel...

case in point, here's a little blurb from his play by post.

-internal monlouge-
"...surely I must be dreaming... a two headed giant is serving me tea!.... and I asked it for more sugar!!! who are these people? why are they all so calm? good grief the city curls up into the SKY!
calm...
don't start rattling your spines.
calm.
just sit tight and wait it out.... learn more before you ask questions...
pray to the sweet lady that you're still asleep at home....
failing that...
maybe there's a good bookstore nearby.
...

these people are crazy!
no
books
think.
books.

why did this woman pick me?[/QUOTE]

but I digress.

thankyou for your criticisms and your praises... as soon as I get this paper done, I might write another snippet for marc about meldshaping.



so... I'm writing my paper... and listening to music...
and now I have another skulltaker snippet churning through my skull.
if you're curious, inspiration rose up from the sound of Cloven Hoof's "gates of gehenna"

so, coming soon*
"My first skull"

and

"preparing for battle, shaping my soulmelds"
*as soon as I have time to write.

[Lady Moreta]

imagine a class suming up every social studies and ancient history class you've had since elementary school....

... I gotta admit... that sounds like fun to me :smallredface:


*awesome stats*

Wow... that's - awesome :smallbiggrin:


I remember this moment fondly, the DM caught us completely off guard when the ... guards. stopped us over that.
never had a DM account for that before.
it was great. :smallbiggrin:

So the 'uh, we're adventurers. We're adventuring' was totally natural :smallbiggrin:


hm.... apparently I need to work on my tone.... I was hoping for more of a "what the heck....?" and/or slowly growing alarm feel...

Interesting, because it doesn't read that way. I went back and re-read just in case it was me, because let's face it, I'm struggling to stay awake right now. I would suggest bringing in some more of that internal monologue you posted. I realise that it's from a different time (from the sounds of it), but some of his 'just think about the books' I think would be easily transferrable.


so, coming soon*
"My first skull"

and

"preparing for battle, shaping my soulmelds"
*as soon as I have time to write.

Whooo! :smallbiggrin:

[big teej]

... I gotta admit... that sounds like fun to me :smallredface:

:

well, if it was presented in a new manner, or presented new material, I'd be all for it.
I'm a history guy...

but the class feels like it is quite literally a grade school class thrown into the college level, both in terms of depth and tone.

[Machuchang]

I don't think this one is as forced as you think it is. I agree that it's not as smooth as your other work and that you've done ones that are better, but it doesn't come across as forced to me. Not as polished perhaps, but it still moves smoothly.

At a guess, I'd say you had trouble coming up with a good ending - because that's the part that sounds the most forced to me. The 'sky exploded' part was very good, I find that type of sudden change hard to write, because it's a very visual thing - the idea that people are just sitting chatting then something massive happens to shake things up, but you did it very well.

Well, thank you.:smallsmile:

But you totally caught me. I had no idea how to convey the ending, since in-game the battle started as soon as the demons arrived. As for the 'sky exploded' part, I'm very glad you liked it, because I felt like I had a lot of trouble conveying it. I'm a very visual person, so whenever I write a highly visual scene, it never exactly matches what's in my head, so I always end up struggling to keep it vivid without falling into purple prose. It's really good to know that what I had there worked.



I found everything from Varen's reaction til the end a bit forced though... perhaps because it seems out of character for Varen.

From the other snippets you've written about him, both from his PoV and Natalia's, he doesn't seem the type to be that shaken over the appearance of demons. You're a paladin - smite them and be done with it :smalltongue: Seriously though, he came across as sounding really quite shaken and freaked out, which just seems out of character for him. He's always come across as very solid and unflappable. I suppose that this could simply be the point where he flaps, but it still jars a bit. I keep thinking that something like "Are those demons?" Varen demanded flatly, would seem more in keeping with his character. At least, as I percieve it - and we all know I'm utterly in love with Varen anyway :smallwink:

A man who can face down a half-orange splatbook-monstrosity and still stand at the end of it should be tougher than that :smalltongue:

Varen's reaction toward the demons, at least as I intended, wasn't really fear so much as astonishment. Out of all the times he had faced the Crownbreakers before, he had never seen them summon demons, and had never seen them in such large numbers. As for the 'nervousness' before, that was more directed toward Natalia's safety than any fear for himself, not that Natalia could tell. Still, I should have found some way to incorporate that into the story, or to at least insinuate it...

And to be fair, the dialogue was totally forced.:smallredface: This scene happened a long time ago, and I really struggled to remember what was said and what happened, and I guess I tried just a little too hard to reconstruct the scene exactly as it occurred, which definitely gave it a sort of forced feel. But lesson learned; I definitely won't do that next time.



I pick this one. I've been curious about the reasons behind this since you first introduced him.

Perfect! I had a feeling you would pick that one! Expect it soon.:smallbiggrin:



And I have an idea bubbling around in my head for a new Terryn snippet. And I'm sorry Machuchang - I still haven't finished the Lyra one I promised you! She is being a real little witch and almost impossible to write at the moment. Not helped by the fact that I have a MASSIVE sleep debt right now... :smallfrown:

No worries! I'm willing to wait as long as it takes.

[big teej]

at the risk of being off topic...

I'm glad the posting rate has picked back up here.

[Lady Moreta]

but the class feels like it is quite literally a grade school class thrown into the college level, both in terms of depth and tone.

Ahhh... yeah I can see how that would be annoying.


But you totally caught me. I had no idea how to convey the ending, since in-game the battle started as soon as the demons arrived. As for the 'sky exploded' part, I'm very glad you liked it, because I felt like I had a lot of trouble conveying it. I'm a very visual person, so whenever I write a highly visual scene, it never exactly matches what's in my head, so I always end up struggling to keep it vivid without falling into purple prose. It's really good to know that what I had there worked.

Really? Go me :smallbiggrin:

Honestly, as I was writing I was thinking "eh, you're probably wrong, that was probably the part he was happy with and you're barking up a gum tree". It's kinda nice to know my critiquing is getting better as well.

Battle-stuff - that's why I write such copious notes. It means that I can write out battle scenes and the lead up without too much hassle. I do however, tend to draw out the battles round by round (using little stick figures because I can't draw to save myself) to make it clearer. At higher levels at least, our battles tend to be fairly involved and it's tricky to keep everything clear without some sort of visual.


Varen's reaction toward the demons, at least as I intended, wasn't really fear so much as astonishment. Out of all the times he had faced the Crownbreakers before, he had never seen them summon demons, and had never seen them in such large numbers. As for the 'nervousness' before, that was more directed toward Natalia's safety than any fear for himself, not that Natalia could tell. Still, I should have found some way to incorporate that into the story, or to at least insinuate it...

Ahhh... I read it again and I could see what you meant about it being surprise. I'm not sure what it was - I think it was the combination of the stuttering 'are are' combined with the 'gasped' that struck me as more fearful than surprised. Maybe adding a simpled 'stunned' to the end of the sentence would make it clearer that he's not so much afraid as going 'what the hell?!'

And I think you're short-changing Natalia :smalltongue: She knows Varen, she loves him - and you're trying to tell me she couldn't tell (or at least guess) that he was being (over)protective? :smallconfused::smalltongue:

And I apologise if I offend you - in case you can't tell, I'm quite fond of these two :smallsmile:


This scene happened a long time ago, and I really struggled to remember what was said and what happened, and I guess I tried just a little to hard to reconstruct the scene exactly as it occurred, which definitely gave it a sort of forced feel. But lesson learned; I definitely won't do that next time.

Do what I do... don't bother trying :smalltongue: If I've got a scene that I can't remember exactly what was said or what happened - or if in game, we didn't do a lot of roleplaying and pretty much just jumped straight to the action, I don't try to remember what happened. I just make it up. I know the various characters well enough to have a feel for what they'd say and do, so I just make stuff up. :smallsmile:


Perfect! I had a feeling you would pick that one! Expect it soon.:smallbiggrin:

Sweeeeet...


at the risk of being off topic...

I'm glad the posting rate has picked back up here.

Me too :smallsmile: but it's not my fault! I'd post here every day if there was stuff to post about :smalltongue: ... okay so I've got writer's block at the moment, so it's at least partly my fault.

[absolmorph]

I come bearing snippet! And one that doesn't end mid-session this time!

Not the Holiest of Retribution
or I guess he's a Paladin of Pelor, sort of.
Virei looked up at the walls surrounding the town. Things have certainly changed since we last visited, he thought. Escorting the brewer had been a pleasant break from the escapades which he’d become accustomed to since the king had sent him with Mirale and Joe. Virei’s golden eyes swept across the area, checking for any last minute threats. His hair, pure white despite him being just shy of 30, ruffled in the light breeze. He scratched at the beard he’d grown to avoid recognition as an escaped “demon”.

A heavy cloak hung about him, hiding the white plates of his armor as he walked past the guards and into the town. The wine merchant paid them, giving them a few bottles of very pure alcohol as well as some decent wine. It was a Tuesday. After some discussion with Joe, they decided to stay until the service on Sunday, after which they’d make a hasty exit. The days passed quickly, spent researching runes and actually relaxing for once.

And then came Sunday morning. The bells rang, calling the town to the church for a service. Mirale had decided not to be a part of the plan, citing “heresy” and “foolishness”. Virei slung a very over-sized hammer under his gray cloak and belted his sword on his hip. Joe strapped on the device which powered his strange cannon and the two stuffed some oil-soaked rags into the necks of the bottles of alcohol, which were hung from their belts. Thus prepared, they left the inn they were staying at and walked to the church. Tilting his head for a moment, Joe discerned that Bishop Fals was in the midst of his sermon, making it a good moment for a surprise entrance. Virei readied the hammer and the two men burst through the doors.

“Bishop Fals! We have something we’d like to discuss with you!” Virei boomed, grinning slightly at the confusion of the gathered townsfolk.

“Well, I’m in the middle of a service, couldn’t thi-“ the bishop began to speak, and Virei cut him off. “Exactly! We want to make sure that this matter gets plenty of attention.” Virei hurled the hammer through the air and into the altar, smashing it into splinters. The townsfolk began to panic and rush out of the church. Joe and Virei mostly ignored them, wading through the panicking folk to the front of the church.

“What on Earth are you doing?” the bishop cried. Virei gave him a flat look. “Do you not remember us, bishop?” he asked rather politely. Fals shook his head, fear apparent on his face. Virei grabbed the front of his robe, lifted the bishop with one hand and pulled his face close and looked him in the eyes. “Perhaps you can remember more clearly now?” Virei’s voice, though polite in tone, was dripping with anger.

“Y-y-you! But… How?” the bishop began babbling as four guards, members of the Crimson Flame, arrived. They leveled their weapons at Virei, who tossed aside the bishop, and Joe. “Surrender peacefully or we’ll shoot!” one particularly brave one said. Virei chuckled and walked to the remains of the altar and retrieved his hammer, replacing it under his cloak. Four loud cracks rang out behind him, and a sharp pain struck his shoulder as a metal ball buried itself in his flesh. Joe lit one of the bottles and tossed it at the guards, somehow lighting all four on fire, along with some of the church.

With the guards thoroughly distracted by their inability to put themselves out, the two men tossed a couple more of their improvised ignition tools around the church, lighting a nice blaze. Virei picked up the quivering Fals and tromped outside, with Joe following close behind. As they left, the front of the church collapsed outward. Virei drew a knife and shoved it into a piece of burning wood.

“Now, Fals, I want you to remember this lesson very, very clearly. You have very little knowledge of the world. Teleportation is one of the most common uses of magic. People who aren’t demons use it very, very often. So, before you throw three forthcoming travelers in jail for being demons since they teleported, think of me.” Virei spoke quietly and slowly, making sure Fals could understand every word. He pulled the dagger, with its blade now a nice cheery red, from the wood.

Fals screams rang around the village.

As Virei and Joe walked away from Fals, who was now clutching his right eye socket and screaming in pain, Virei snorted. “What?” asked Joe. “I think Mirale is going to be mad. There was a carving of Sehanine in there.”
“Oops.”


Virei Goldeneyes is my character, a paladin of Pelor. Joe McBob is our ranger and the gadget guy. Mirale is the cleric.
And this is the most disturbing thing I've done as any character, and I'm kind of wondering if I need to double check how I'm role-playing Virei.

[Machuchang]

Not the Holiest of Retribution
or I guess he's a Paladin of Pelor, sort of.


Yikes! This one was dark! But I really enjoyed it. I loved the fight sequences, and the images they inspired really reminded of action movies, with the burning church collapsing and the throwing of weapons and people. It was just awesome! I'm really curious about what events actually led up to all of the drama and violence that occurred in this snippet too! What could possibly have been done to Virei that would turn him into a such a vengeful figure? I don't know, but I'd love to find out!

The snippet could get a little difficult to read at times though. I think it could really be improved by just clearing up the syntax a little, such as with this line:

They leveled their weapons at Virei, who tossed aside the bishop, and Joe.

Also when a new person speaks, start a new paragraph. That will really clear things up and make the story as a whole a lot easier to read.

Overall, I felt that you did a great job, and I'd love to read more!



The Skulltaker's current stats are....
3rd level xx Barbarian (alignment ranges from CE to TN depending on campaign and party needs)
his stats are....
strength - 18
dexterity - 17
constitution - 17
intelligence - 15
wisdom - 12
charisma - 9
easily one of the best stat-blocks I've ever rolled, and the best I've ever been able to play with.

so he is indeed much smarter than the average barbarian.

Dude! Nice stats! I can't blame you for wanting to keep playing him!



hm.... apparently I need to work on my tone.... I was hoping for more of a "what the heck....?" and/or slowly growing alarm feel...

case in point, here's a little blurb from his play by post.

-internal monlouge-


Haha! I love it! That's quite a trippy scenario there, and Marc's response to it all is just so very entertaining!:smallbiggrin:



so... I'm writing my paper... and listening to music...
and now I have another skulltaker snippet churning through my skull.
if you're curious, inspiration rose up from the sound of Cloven Hoof's "gates of gehenna"

so, coming soon*
"My first skull"

and

"preparing for battle, shaping my soulmelds"
*as soon as I have time to write.

Looking forward to them both! And thanks for introducing me to an awesome new band!



Ahhh... I read it again and I could see what you meant about it being surprise. I'm not sure what it was - I think it was the combination of the stuttering 'are are' combined with the 'gasped' that struck me as more fearful than surprised. Maybe adding a simpled 'stunned' to the end of the sentence would make it clearer that he's not so much afraid as going 'what the hell?!'

D'oh! That's perfect! Why didn't I think of that?



And I think you're short-changing Natalia :smalltongue: She knows Varen, she loves him - and you're trying to tell me she couldn't tell (or at least guess) that he was being (over)protective? :smallconfused::smalltongue:

And I apologise if I offend you - in case you can't tell, I'm quite fond of these two :smallsmile:

Yeah, I guess I am shortchanging her a bit, huh? When I have trouble writing (like in this one), I try to stick to some of the more prominent aspects of my characters. In Natalia's case, one of these traits is her difficulty with reading people. But you're totally right. She does love Varen, and has known him for most of her life, so being able to pick up on his actual feelings should have been second nature to her. I will definitely fix that.

I'm not offended it the slightest, and I apologize if I was coming off that way! In fact, I'm really thrilled that my work has made enough of an impression for you to notice when things don't seem quite right. I love seeing how you view my characters, and I really appreciate you telling me how I can make things better.:smallbiggrin:




Sweeeeet...

You don't say! This one, I actually feel really good about! It felt like it flowed really naturally when I wrote it, and I didn't struggle to come up with dialogue or descriptions. So yay!

But since this one needs a little bit of context, you get a bonus snippet too! Yay!


Legacy

I was more frightened than I had ever been in my life.

Adina clenched my hand like a vise, her screams ringing in my ears. Sweat covered her brow, and her once tanned skin had become pale. In between screams, she would gasp wretchedly for air, her bloodshot eyes fixated on me, an unspoken plea for help and comfort on her lips. But I didn’t know what I could do for her. I could only hold her hand in mine, and hope that she would be alright in the end.

Then suddenly, her screams intensified. Her nails dug into my flesh, and tears rolled down her face as she began to convulse. And then a new scream joined hers. She gasped, and then turned to me, a huge grin on her face.

“We did it,” she rasped.

Cheers filled the room. The midwife approached us, a small bundle in her hands.

“It’s a girl!” she said excitedly as she passed the bundle over to me.

My heart rose as I held my newborn daughter in my hands. She was so small, so delicate, so beautiful, and in her, I could feel the weight of the world. It was then that I knew my purpose. I had to care for her, to protect her, to give her the best life possible. And I knew then that I would do anything for her.

“She’s lovely!” Adina crooned hoarsely. “What should we name her?”

She was beautiful. She was wonderful. She was sublime. And she needed a name that would embody her perfection, her heritage. There was only one name that would fit.

“We will call her Alia*,”

* Means Noble, Sublime


Tears in the Desert

There was rain in the desert.

Falling like tears from the heavens, it came in loud crashes as it pounded against the roof and walls of my tiny little cell, striking a relentless tattoo that matched the rapid beat of my heart. It was so dark, so cold, and I was so alone. Thin rays of soft blue light fell from my small, barred window, providing just enough illumination for me to view to miserable, putrid confines of my surroundings. They were keeping me here until they were ready to kill me, and I couldn’t stand it.

They said I was a monster, a murderer. They spat in my face and beat me. They threw stones and screamed jeering, hateful words. They called for my death. And bound and gagged as I was when they dragged me through the streets, I could say nothing, do nothing, to plead my innocence.

Not that they would have listened. I was a noble no longer. Not a privileged member of the elite, nor a loving father and doting husband, but a gladiator, a slave once again. A slave who, in their eyes, had murdered a noble.

And not just any noble. My wife. Adina Al’Afir, the beloved daughter of the most powerful House in the city. They would have no sympathy for me.

I heard the creek of the door. The sound of footsteps echoed through the prison’s halls, building up a dreadful cadence as they marched in time to the pounding rain, getting closer, closer…

This was it. They were coming for me, and now, now I would meet my fate.


I’m so sorry Alia… It looks like daddy won’t be coming home…


“Get up Tavor!”

That voice… No… It couldn’t be…

“Farid?!” No! It couldn’t be! Not him!

But it was.

Standing before me was Farid Al’Afir. Adina’s twin. My brother-in-law.

He hated me.

“Why are you here Farid?” I did not want to deal with him. “Have you come to watch me die?”

“No,” Farid shook his head. Then, to my astonishment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring of keys.

“As much as I would love to see you hanged, you classless dog,” Farid glowered as he opened my cell. “It is not my call. The Houses have decided to lessen your punishment, and as the victim's closest relative, it is my job to tell you. Though gods know, the only way I can stand this is that I know you did not murder my sister!”

“I couldn’t have. I loved her-” I started to say, but he cut me off.

“No!” he snapped. “No! You never did! You used her! You seduced her, and tricked your way into our family! She was nothing more than a tool for your selfish advancement!”

“No-” I tried to interject, but he interrupted me once more.

“SHUT UP!” he screamed. “While I know that you did not kill her, you are still being held accountable for her death! Your punishment will only be exile, though gods know that is more than you deserve!”

“Exile?” my heart sank, but my blood boiled. “What about my daughter?! What about Alia?!”

“I will take care of her,” Farid growled. “As a daughter of House Al’Afir, she belongs to me now, rather than a classless dog like you!”

I wanted to hit him. To break him, to watch him bleed. I balled my hand into a fist, and I would have struck him then and there. But I couldn’t. A slave could not touch a noble. Not without punishment of death.

And he wasn’t worth my anger.

“Very well,” I took in a deep breath. “But you better take care of my daughter! Because one day, I will be back for her!”

“I would like to see you try,” Farid smirked.

And with that, I left. The freezing rain fell in fat droplets, soaking into my tattered clothes, running down my face like tears. Rage, fear, sorrow, relief, confusion, all clashed within me like blades in the arena.

I would leave, for now. But I would be back. I would find Adina’s murderer, I would take back my daughter, and I would make Farid regret ever crossing me!

[absolmorph]

Yikes! This one was dark! But I really enjoyed it. I loved the fight sequences, and the images they inspired really reminded of action movies, with the burning church collapsing and the throwing of weapons and people. It was just awesome! I'm really curious about what events actually led up to all of the drama and violence that occurred in this snippet too! What could possibly have been done to Virei that would turn him into a such a vengeful figure? I don't know, but I'd love to find out!

The snippet could get a little difficult to read at times though. I think it could really be improved by just clearing up the syntax a little, such as with this line:


Also when a new person speaks, start a new paragraph. That will really clear things up and make the story as a whole a lot easier to read.

Overall, I felt that you did a great job, and I'd love to read more!
Well, Virei was an odd duck among paladins from the start, since he was part of a corollary to real-world black ops squads, and was attached to the party by his king.
They were teleported into a town on a cut-off continent, and Fals had them thrown in jail (after a short adventure) because he believed they were demons. Because they teleported. A few in-game weeks later, 3 levels higher and with better gear, the party returned to the town (disguised in various ways) and I decided to get some pay back.
Next up on my to-do list is to write about a battle which we participated in and accidentally freeing a god while taking on the campaign BBEG's Dragon.
And there's also giving Virei a back story, I really should do that.
Thanks for the critique!

EDIT: Very much enjoyed the snippets in your post!

[Machuchang]

Well, Virei was an odd duck among paladins from the start, since he was part of a corollary to real-world black ops squads, and was attached to the party by his king.
They were teleported into a town on a cut-off continent, and Fals had them thrown in jail (after a short adventure) because he believed they were demons. Because they teleported. A few in-game weeks later, 3 levels higher and with better gear, the party returned to the town (disguised in various ways) and I decided to get some pay back.
Next up on my to-do list is to write about a battle which we participated in and accidentally freeing a god while taking on the campaign BBEG's Dragon.
And there's also giving Virei a back story, I really should do that.
Thanks for the critique!

Awesomeness... overload...

All of that really sounds amazing! I'm now even more excited to see what your next snippets will bring, and I was already pretty excited in the first place!



EDIT: Very much enjoyed the snippets in your post!

Why thank you!:smallredface: I'm very glad to know you liked them! Hopefully you'll like this next one as well.



This one is once again about Natalia. She's been pretty vocal lately, and since this one builds off of that Before the Battle set-up, I figured I might as well keep the ball rolling. That, and I have been deliberately trying to avoid writing fight scenes for the longest time, and that's no good. After all, how can I get any better without practice, right?


Eat Your Heart Out

(or VENGEANCE!!!)

“HEARTEATER!”

A loud crack filled the air as my fist connected with his face, splintering shards of bone from his mask and forcing him backwards. Even with the battle raging around me, my friends and enemies locked in a mortal struggle, and with my own life at risk, I could only focus on the foe in front of me.

And I would kill him here!


But he rolled with my blow, managing to retain his balance, and threw up his hands, crackling with magical energy, as he prepared to unleash his powers. But there was no way I was going to let that happen. Just as the first syllables of the spell left his lips, I slammed my blade into his unprotected side. He fell to his knees with a hideous shriek of pain, only to be cut short as my armored foot met his throat, knocking him onto his back.

Without wasting any time, I pinned him down, my foot on his chest, my sword positioned for the coup de grace. I could feel the years of pain, frustration, fear, and rage bubbling up from within me, ready to erupt in a gruesome, finishing blow!

But as I gazed down at my vanquished foe, I could tell that something was very, very wrong.

There was nothing but fear in his eyes. No sense of defiance, no rage, no hatred. Only pure terror resided behind the Hearteater’s cruel, grinning mask.

I felt sick. As much as I wanted to, I could not bring myself to kill my foe, broken and defenseless as he was. I had him, but I just didn’t have the guts to finish him off for good. Gods damn it all! I had been spending too much time around Varen!

“P-please Natalia…” the Hearteater choked pitifully. “D-don’t kill me…”

“Surrender first, you sick bastard! Then maybe I’ll think about!” I don’t know who disgusted me more: the Hearteater, or myself.

“I surrender! I surrender!” the Hearteater sobbed wretchedly. I felt about ready to throw up.

Slowly, I shifted my weight off of his body.

And that’s when I caught the glint in his eyes.

“JUUUUUUST KIDDING!” he screamed gleefully as he twisted out from under me, pushing me to ground.

As I struggled to regain my footing, he brought his hand up, and fired a dark bolt into my eyes.

My vision began to blur and darken as fell to the ground, and before I knew it, everything had gone black.

But I wasn’t about to let the Hearteater get the best of me this time. Even if I couldn’t see, I could still hear. I could still feel. I could still sense him. The sound of his footsteps in the grass, the way the wind broke around his body, the sound of his heavy, wounded breathing.

He was coming closer.


Closer…


Closer…



I could feel his feet through the ground, and the tensing of his body as he prepared to strike.


I had one chance.


“GOODBYE NATALIA!!” he shrieked with sadistic glee as he struck, his hand moving at an incredible speed.

But I was faster. Somehow, I managed to catch him by the wrist, stopping his blow as I pulled him down. Right onto the edge of my sword.

I felt his hot blood splash onto me, and I heard his last, futile gasps. I threw him off of me, and crawled back to my feet.

When my sight finally returned, the Hearteater had long since been dead, his throat slit by my blade. As I saw him, I couldn’t help but laugh out of exhilaration and relief. That, and the situation was funny in of itself, in its own little way. After all, if he had never blinded me during our last fight, then this battle may have had a much different outcome. I was positively giddy.

“No rules against that!” I laughed. “Keep your demons company in hell, you bastard!”

And then his body started to convulse, twisting and stretching with a horrific ripping sound. Soon, all that was left of the Hearteater had transformed into something tall, gaunt, and grey. Tentatively, I removed his mask, only to be met by the cold, dead gaze of the bulbous white eyes on his otherwise featureless face.

But that wasn’t the strangest thing. Upon his chest, was a small amulet, just like the one that my father used to speak with me while I was the Deathwind.

Could it be?

I took the amulet and held it my face. Sure enough, I soon felt the familiar buzzing sensation in my hand as the amulet made contact with its twin.

And then, I saw his face.

My father. But was it really?

“What is- NATALIA?!” he sounded frantic. “What is going on?! What have you done?!”



“What do you mean, Father? Isn’t this what you wanted? Everything is going according to plan,”

[big teej]

I find myself having some spare time between now and when my session starts...

so I bring you "soulmelding" another snippet for Marc.



I am an incarnate; I commune with the souls of those who come before me, borrowing on their power and expertise.

But who must I borrow from today?

I hear the rush of feathers over fast moving air, the snap of leather pinions propelling creatures through the blue.
Flight.
I draw on the souls of those who lived with the freedom of a bird, the ability to flit and dive and escape into the sky.
I shape their power into a pair of sandals; binding the power into my body… the sandals merge into me, turning my legs the blue of a clear sky, from my knees down to my toes.

Who else?
There are those who believe it is better to be lucky than good, a great many of these individuals were both.
I rely on my own skill, but I will gladly share in their luck.
I draw on this good fortune to craft myself a set of dice. The dice represent luck, and I will turn this luck to my own ends.

War…
War is eternal; it will always be a part of normal life. Some cultures, such as my own, venerate war and its makers.
It is only fitting that I borrow from these exemplars of my race’s art.
I borrow on past warriors instinct and prowess, I will react quicker to threats and my blows will land harder.
I shape their power into a pair of blue bracers that settle over my forearms, though my spines still protrude from them.

There are those who value defense over offense
A solid fortress and suit of armor rather than a potent offense and weapon.
From them I draw fortitude, and the ability to ignore telling blows.
I shape this resolve into pauldrons that rest over my shoulders.

What is left?
A weapon, a weapon that is useful against most opponents. A good weapon must not only be destructive, but terrifying.
Acid.
I call upon the spirits of dragons, black as night, and the coppery taste of blood. I shape their power into a torc around my neck. A bitter taste fills my mouth, I feel the urge to spit, but I know now that my saliva is as potent an acid as any alchemist’s work.

I am now ready to face the day.
I am the Law.



I like marc, he provides this overwhelming desire to say
"today seems like a good day to use excessive force.
hell, every day is a good day to use excessive force!"

and yell things like
"I AM THE LAW!!!" -smashes opponent with mace.

[Machuchang]

I find myself having some spare time between now and when my session starts...

so I bring you "soulmelding" another snippet for Marc.



http://thediscipleproject.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/judgedredd_i-am-the-law.jpg

But in all seriousness, this was incredibly well done! I honestly had no idea how you were going to write a story about shaping soulmelds, and honestly, I was a little unsure if it would work. Fortunately, you proved me wrong! WAY wrong. I loved it! I love Marc's seriousness, how you captured the inspiration he feels and his train of though, and I really, really love how you described everything here! The snippet had a great flow to it, and also gave some great insights into Marc's character. This has got to be one of my favorite snippets you've written, and I love all your snippets to begin with! Just fantastic!

[Lady Moreta]

I come bearing snippet! And one that doesn't end mid-session this time!

Not the Holiest of Retribution
or I guess he's a Paladin of Pelor, sort of.

I like the leadup to this one... I like the way you just casually drop in how Virei grew a beard so he wouldn't look so much like an escaped demon, but don't really go into any further detail. I really enjoy the snippets that treat the reader as though they've just picked up a familiar book that contains the full story and have just started reading a favourite part. Or that makes the reader feel like they're really there - after all, Virei knows what's going on, why should he have all this exposition. I like the way you provide your exposition by moving the story and the characters forwards, instead of pausing while you explain everything to the reader.

I gotta admit though, I wasn't as big a fan once the action started and I'm not entirely sure why. May I suggest you reread it and see if anything jumps out at you. I think it was that you had this beautiful setup, really well written, easy to read, the reader wasn't sure what was happening, but was confident that all would be explained - then we get to the explanation (ie: the 'fight' in the church) and - it doesn't really explain anything. It was hard to follow what was going on and harder to figure out why it was happening. Your set up was so good I think I subconsciously expected more of an explanation than was forthcoming.


As Virei and Joe walked away from Fals, who was now clutching his right eye socket and screaming in pain, Virei snorted. “What?” asked Joe. “I think Mirale is going to be mad. There was a carving of Sehanine in there.”
“Oops.”

Also, here it's not clear who is speaking when... like Machuchang said, a new speaker gets a new line/paragraph break.


And this is the most disturbing thing I've done as any character, and I'm kind of wondering if I need to double check how I'm role-playing Virei.

I'll admit, the first thing I thought of when I realised Virei put the guy's eye out was "didn't your DM make you fall for that? Or at least get in lots of trouble?" :smalleek:


D'oh! That's perfect! Why didn't I think of that?

I really wanna come up with a smartass response to this, but I just can't think of one... *insert smartass comment here*


I'm not offended it the slightest, and I apologize if I was coming off that way! In fact, I'm really thrilled that my work has made enough of an impression for you to notice when things don't seem quite right. I love seeing how you view my characters, and I really appreciate you telling me how I can make things better.:smallbiggrin:

You didn't at all... I was just aware that I was getting a little (over)enthusiastic and didn't want you to feel like I was stepping on your toes. They're your characters and your snippets after all. And I had a hell of a week last week and wasn't sure how I'd be coming across in writing.



Tears in the Desert

Wow... this one just about made me cry. And I think has the best opening sentence ever. Just the simple statement that it's raining in the desert brings up all sorts of images of an empty area, full of sand but devoid of people and other life, with rain just sheeting down, totally grey. And the more esoteric imagery of change, something unusual about to happen...

About the only critisim I have is that you missed a word here or there.


They were keeping me here until they were ready to kill me, and I couldn’t stand it.


They spat in my face and beat me.

Easy mistakes to make and don't really affect the reading... I don't know that I would have even mentioned it, except that you don't usually make mistakes like that :smallsmile:

Actually... I thought of a critisism - I'm not convinced about Farid's reasoning for letting Tavor go - exile or not. Was he told to let Tavor go or was it something he came up with on his own? His level of hatred tells me that he'd be quite happy to see Tavor die for a crime he didn't commit, regardless of whether Farid knows he couldn't have done it. Which makes me think that someone else must have told Farid to let Tavor go - but there's no mention or indication of that being the case, and in fact it reads much the opposite. So there you go, reasons and justifications could use some work - or at least a bit more explanation, if there's more there than you told us.


This one is once again about Natalia. She's been pretty vocal lately, and since this one builds off of that Before the Battle set-up, I figured I might as well keep the ball rolling. That, and I have been deliberately trying to avoid writing fight scenes for the longest time, and that's no good. After all, how can I get any better without practice, right?

Dunno why you're shy about writing fight scenes, nothing wrong with this one :smallbiggrin: I love a girl in full plate :smallbiggrin::smalltongue:

Would just like to mention... at this point:

“P-please Natalia…” the Hearteater choked pitifully. “D-don’t kill me…”

I went "the Hearteater is her father"

At this point:

“JUUUUUUST KIDDING!” he screamed gleefully as he twisted out from under me, pushing me to ground.

I went "I knew it. Idiot girl"

At this point:

But that wasn’t the strangest thing. Upon his chest, was a small amulet, just like the one that my father used to speak with me while I was the Deathwind.

Could it be?

I went "I knew it!"

And at this point:

My father. But was it really?

“What is- NATALIA?!” he sounded frantic. “What is going on?! What have you done?!”

“What do you mean, Father? Isn’t this what you wanted? Everything is going according to plan,”

I went "Huh?"

Well done :smallbiggrin:


I find myself having some spare time between now and when my session starts...

so I bring you "soulmelding" another snippet for Marc.



I am an incarnate; I commune with the souls of those who come before me, borrowing on their power and expertise.

But who must I borrow from today?

I hear the rush of feathers over fast moving air, the snap of leather pinions propelling creatures through the blue.
Flight.
I draw on the souls of those who lived with the freedom of a bird, the ability to flit and dive and escape into the sky.
I shape their power into a pair of sandals; binding the power into my body… the sandals merge into me, turning my legs the blue of a clear sky, from my knees down to my toes.

Who else?
There are those who believe it is better to be lucky than good, a great many of these individuals were both.
I rely on my own skill, but I will gladly share in their luck.
I draw on this good fortune to craft myself a set of dice. The dice represent luck, and I will turn this luck to my own ends.

War…
War is eternal; it will always be a part of normal life. Some cultures, such as my own, venerate war and its makers.
It is only fitting that I borrow from these exemplars of my race’s art.
I borrow on past warriors instinct and prowess, I will react quicker to threats and my blows will land harder.
I shape their power into a pair of blue bracers that settle over my forearms, though my spines still protrude from them.

There are those who value defense over offense
A solid fortress and suit of armor rather than a potent offense and weapon.
From them I draw fortitude, and the ability to ignore telling blows.
I shape this resolve into pauldrons that rest over my shoulders.

What is left?
A weapon, a weapon that is useful against most opponents. A good weapon must not only be destructive, but terrifying.
Acid.
I call upon the spirits of dragons, black as night, and the coppery taste of blood. I shape their power into a torc around my neck. A bitter taste fills my mouth, I feel the urge to spit, but I know now that my saliva is as potent an acid as any alchemist’s work.

I am now ready to face the day.
I am the Law.



I like marc, he provides this overwhelming desire to say
"today seems like a good day to use excessive force.
hell, every day is a good day to use excessive force!"

and yell things like
"I AM THE LAW!!!" -smashes opponent with mace.

I like this... I don't know anything about the incarnate class (which I assume is what he is) or soulmelding, but you know what - with this snippet, I don't need to. My first thought was something similar to a binder, which it does seem to be... but you explain it beautifully. I love Marc's calm, measured tone, he could be selecting clothes! I love the way he considers his options, he thinks carefully about what he needs and provides for himself exactly.

This is not a man I want to cross - and you conveyed that impression with a beautiful, poetic piece of writing.

Only thing I would say is work on your paragraphs - not a huge issue (and certainly not enough to detract from this marvel) but it would help readability. Consider my adjustments...


What is left?

A weapon, a weapon that is useful against most opponents. A good weapon must not only be destructive, but terrifying.

Acid.

I call upon the spirits of dragons, black as night, and the coppery taste of blood. I shape their power into a torc around my neck. A bitter taste fills my mouth, I feel the urge to spit, but I know now that my saliva is as potent an acid as any alchemist’s work.

And now I must sit here for another 10mins while the database backup is in progress til I can hit post...

I'm really regretting not being able to write at the moment. You guys are just putting out such fantastic work and every time I go to write something I just sit there staring at the computer/notebook. I'm jealous... :smallfrown:

[absolmorph]

I like the leadup to this one... I like the way you just casually drop in how Virei grew a beard so he wouldn't look so much like an escaped demon, but don't really go into any further detail. I really enjoy the snippets that treat the reader as though they've just picked up a familiar book that contains the full story and have just started reading a favourite part. Or that makes the reader feel like they're really there - after all, Virei knows what's going on, why should he have all this exposition. I like the way you provide your exposition by moving the story and the characters forwards, instead of pausing while you explain everything to the reader.

I gotta admit though, I wasn't as big a fan once the action started and I'm not entirely sure why. May I suggest you reread it and see if anything jumps out at you. I think it was that you had this beautiful setup, really well written, easy to read, the reader wasn't sure what was happening, but was confident that all would be explained - then we get to the explanation (ie: the 'fight' in the church) and - it doesn't really explain anything. It was hard to follow what was going on and harder to figure out why it was happening. Your set up was so good I think I subconsciously expected more of an explanation than was forthcoming.



Also, here it's not clear who is speaking when... like Machuchang said, a new speaker gets a new line/paragraph break.



I'll admit, the first thing I thought of when I realised Virei put the guy's eye out was "didn't your DM make you fall for that? Or at least get in lots of trouble?" :smalleek:
I'm not the best writer, and action scenes don't come up much, so I need to put a lot of work into improving them. Plus, the enemies were barely paid heed during the game, and the fight (such as it was) was rather... awkward.

And, on the last point: paladins in 4e don't fall, and there's not much he can do to my character without it being illogical within the game world; Virei is already a wanted criminal (as explained in my response to Machuchang) in that kingdom, and the ranger alone took out one of their most well-known and skilled soldiers with vegetables (and a steak). And if I write about that fight, it's going to be very, very hard to be serious.

[big teej]

next snippets are likely going to be postponed for a few days, I've got a huge paper/presentation to finish today, and I've gotta take my wonderful girlfriend out to dinner tomorrow for her birthday...

also, exams are looming, and I fear my teachers are going to dump a buncha stuff on me.

and then I have to help my parents move...
and find a new job....

heh, on the other hand, I imagine my breaks from these activities will produce plenty of things.

I worry about the summer though, as I'll mostly be DMing at that point. maybe I'll write from NPC perspectives...

[Machuchang]

next snippets are likely going to be postponed for a few days, I've got a huge paper/presentation to finish today, and I've gotta take my wonderful girlfriend out to dinner tomorrow for her birthday...

also, exams are looming, and I fear my teachers are going to dump a buncha stuff on me.

and then I have to help my parents move...
and find a new job....

heh, on the other hand, I imagine my breaks from these activities will produce plenty of things.

I worry about the summer though, as I'll mostly be DMing at that point. maybe I'll write from NPC perspectives...

Yikes! Well, I hope that everything goes well for you, especially with your girlfriend.:smallbiggrin::smallwink::smalltongue:

As for summer, well, I'm sure you can cross that bridge when you come to it. Not that you'll need to. NPC snippets rock!



I really wanna come up with a smartass response to this, but I just can't think of one... *insert smartass comment here*

*Insert self-deprecating comment here referencing said smartass response*



You didn't at all... I was just aware that I was getting a little (over)enthusiastic and didn't want you to feel like I was stepping on your toes. They're your characters and your snippets after all. And I had a hell of a week last week and wasn't sure how I'd be coming across in writing.

Sorry to hear that things didn't go so great for you last week.:smallfrown: But don't worry, I didn't feel like you were stepping on my toes or anything like that at all. I could easily understand all the points you were making, and while I didn't agree with all of them, I still saw your input as great advice that I will keep in mind for later snippets. But don't think for a second that you were pushing me towards any sort of choices that I didn't want to make. I could never see you doing anything like that anyway.:smallbiggrin:



Wow... this one just about made me cry. And I think has the best opening sentence ever. Just the simple statement that it's raining in the desert brings up all sorts of images of an empty area, full of sand but devoid of people and other life, with rain just sheeting down, totally grey. And the more esoteric imagery of change, something unusual about to happen...

I'm incredibly pleased that I was able to provoke such powerful responses from you! Thank you!



Actually... I thought of a critisism - I'm not convinced about Farid's reasoning for letting Tavor go - exile or not. Was he told to let Tavor go or was it something he came up with on his own? His level of hatred tells me that he'd be quite happy to see Tavor die for a crime he didn't commit, regardless of whether Farid knows he couldn't have done it. Which makes me think that someone else must have told Farid to let Tavor go - but there's no mention or indication of that being the case, and in fact it reads much the opposite. So there you go, reasons and justifications could use some work - or at least a bit more explanation, if there's more there than you told us.

Yeah, this could use a lot more explanation. I'll try and make things a little clearer, but I really don't know how much I can add to this story without breaking flow or letting slip spoilers.

At the very least, another snippet revealing more about Tavor's past and motivations will be up soon, and it should help to explain this one a lot better.



Dunno why you're shy about writing fight scenes, nothing wrong with this one :smallbiggrin: I love a girl in full plate :smallbiggrin::smalltongue:

Well thank you! I really needed that.:smallbiggrin:



Would just like to mention... at this point:
I went "the Hearteater is her father"

At this point:
I went "I knew it. Idiot girl"

At this point:
I went "I knew it!"

And at this point:
I went "Huh?"

Well done :smallbiggrin:

Yes! Point-for-point, I got every response I was hoping for! I feel so proud.:smallbiggrin:



I'm really regretting not being able to write at the moment. You guys are just putting out such fantastic work and every time I go to write something I just sit there staring at the computer/notebook. I'm jealous... :smallfrown:

Aww... Well, I'm sure inspiration will find you eventually. Or you can try to find it.:smallwink:

When I'm in a bit of a writer's block, I read a lot. I'll pick up a book I really like and just skim through it, until something pops out at me. I also do the same thing here, and dig through the snippet archives just so I can be blown away by the things I've done, or more often, by the things other people have written. Plus, this has the added benefit of helping me see what things just didn't work, and how I could improve my writing as a whole. Often, just fixing up my old snippets really helps get me back in the writing mindset. And if that doesn't work, I draw comics, watch t.v., play an instrument, or just do something else, Sometimes, all you can do is wait for it to pass.

Anyway, sorry for rambling. I just figured that I'd put that out there in case there was a helpful little tidbit hidden away in there.

[big teej]

did anyone ever volunteer to organize this thread?

[Lady Moreta]

did anyone ever volunteer to organize this thread?

If you mean 'create a library for the first post' then yes, I did - and I do still intend to do it. I had just gotten caught up with everyone's snippets (taking advantage of one of the lulls in writing) when people started posting again and then it all went out the window :smallfrown: Plus I'm struggling to get anything done at the moment. It is still something I intend to do... hmmm... I should grab the document and email it to myself, it's something I could easily do at work when I have no real work to do.

I'd love to say that I'll do it over easter, but I'll be at the Australasia meetup the entire time and I wouldn't want to commit to something I doubt very much I'd be able to do.

I will do it though, give me a couple of weeks to get over myself?

[big teej]

If you mean 'create a library for the first post' then yes, I did - and I do still intend to do it. I had just gotten caught up with everyone's snippets (taking advantage of one of the lulls in writing) when people started posting again and then it all went out the window :smallfrown: Plus I'm struggling to get anything done at the moment. It is still something I intend to do... hmmm... I should grab the document and email it to myself, it's something I could easily do at work when I have no real work to do.

I'd love to say that I'll do it over easter, but I'll be at the Australasia meetup the entire time and I wouldn't want to commit to something I doubt very much I'd be able to do.

I will do it though, give me a couple of weeks to get over myself?

the reason I asked about it is with the end of the semester rolling around, I was considering trying to organize it together. (because once it's done, it's simply a matter of staying on top of new posts, a simple copy paste over)

[Lady Moreta]

I'm not the best writer, and action scenes don't come up much, so I need to put a lot of work into improving them. Plus, the enemies were barely paid heed during the game, and the fight (such as it was) was rather... awkward.

Makes sense, it's hard to write anything if what happened in game is awkward.


And, on the last point: paladins in 4e don't fall, and there's not much he can do to my character without it being illogical within the game world

Ahh, silly me for assuming it was 3.5 :smallsmile:


I could easily understand all the points you were making, and while I didn't agree with all of them, I still saw your input as great advice that I will keep in mind for later snippets.

Really? I'm curious now... what didn't you agree with?


Yes! Point-for-point, I got every response I was hoping for! I feel so proud.:smallbiggrin:

You're welcome :smallbiggrin:


When I'm in a bit of a writer's block, I read a lot. I'll pick up a book I really like and just skim through it, until something pops out at me. I also do the same thing here, and dig through the snippet archives just so I can be blown away by the things I've done, or more often, by the things other people have written.

If I started reading, I'd end up just reading :smalltongue: I like books... I do sometimes read over old snippets as well, but I usually end up just reading and not inspiring.

What I really need to do is start reading over my game notes, that'd get me going.


the reason I asked about it is with the end of the semester rolling around, I was considering trying to organize it together. (because once it's done, it's simply a matter of staying on top of new posts, a simple copy paste over)

Ahhh... well, from memory I was about halfway through, possibly a little more. I'm thinking of getting Peregrine to email it to me (since he's at home with nothing to do). I'm running out of things to do at work, so having something to keep me occupied would be good :smallsmile:

[big teej]

-way to high pitched squeal for a man my size-

so...
I bought the psionics handbook off one of my players tonight.

Teej has a New Toy.

this means I've got a character concept rumbling about the confines of my mind just waiting to be unleashed.

which means!!!!!

there is a new snippet in the works in my mind....

also, yes I do get way to excited over new source books.

doubt I'll have quite so vehement a reaction when I pick up unearthed aracana.... that's just rules variants :smalltongue:

[Lady Moreta]

Wow... your new toy is way cooler than mine.

Mine is a new handsfree headset attached to my phone at work. Pretty nifty (when it works) but still not as cool as a new D&D book :smalltongue:

On a brighter note, Peregrine emailed me the document I started the catalouge in. Now I just have to go through and figure out where I was up to!

edit: so I got the document and started up again - I got heaps done yesterday at work... go back to start up again today and realise - I forgot to save it out of the temp drive where downloads go and I've lost the damn file with all the updates. I have downloaded it again, but now I have to start again :smallmad::smallfrown::smallfurious:

[Lord_Gareth]

You'll need to wait on the rest of the Host. On the other hand, you guys can look forward to new characters, including my new Warblade, Kyllan, and a Changeling, Colors.

[Lady Moreta]

Wow. I got the library up to date... turns out having nothing to do at work can be a good thing after all :smalltongue:

Writing short blurbs is the next step. If anyone feels like writings blurbs for their own stories (or anyone elses for that matter) go nuts!

[big teej]

Wow. I got the library up to date... turns out having nothing to do at work can be a good thing after all :smalltongue:

Writing short blurbs is the next step. If anyone feels like writings blurbs for their own stories (or anyone elses for that matter) go nuts!

example?


I may get some writing done today, no promises, but I do have several character concepts rolling around my head that may need spitting out.

I also have a parody running around my head.....
a snippet for a soulborn.
it'd take place in a setting similar to OOTS, where the people are aware of the game mechanics.

...
I actually now can't get an image out of my head...

you know the soulborn in magic of incarnum, the rather angry looking fellow that is the artwork for the "mauling guantlets"
I envision him just being absolutely plastered and crying his eyes out.

don't know why.
maybe cause I just crawled out of bed.
oh well.

[Lady Moreta]

example?

Of what? :smallconfused: a blurb? I dunno, I haven't written any yet :smallredface:

My plan is to make them pretty plain and boring, just a couple of sentences that accurately describe the snippets. Something to make it plain which snippet is which to make them easier to track down.


you know the soulborn in magic of incarnum, the rather angry looking fellow that is the artwork for the "mauling guantlets"
I envision him just being absolutely plastered and crying his eyes out.

I don't know... but the mental image is still amusing :smallsmile:

[big teej]

Of what? :smallconfused: a blurb? I dunno, I haven't written any yet :smallredface:

My plan is to make them pretty plain and boring, just a couple of sentences that accurately describe the snippets. Something to make it plain which snippet is which to make them easier to track down.



I don't know... but the mental image is still amusing :smallsmile:

this angry looking chap here.
http://www.wizards.com/dnd/images/moi_gallery/91035.jpg

[Lady Moreta]

Wizards is blocked at work :smallfrown:

I'll have to check it - some other time...

[Lord_Gareth]

Monster
Or: We All Become the Thing We Hate
Boots pounding against the cobbles. Idiots ran into the old part of the city. This is my turf, my freaking turf, I've got them now. Hand draws my weapon, arm registers the weight. Light. Airy. Perfect.

A tall woman made all of stained glass dashes through the cobbled streets of old Philadelphia, long leather coat flapping behind her, combat boots pounding against the pavement - a war-drum beat to her hunt. Though it is a cool Autumn night, waves of heat crash from her flesh into the air around her, surrounding her with a haze of steam.

There is a stained glass sword in her left hand, and it hums with anticipation.

Left. Right. Left again. Slippery little punks, these. We warned them, told 'em to back off. Gods but I haven't done...that...in, what, a week now? Sword's getting thirsty. Shh, don't worry Agony, I'll get you something to drink. Wait. That alley is blind. I have them - ha!

She turns down an alleyway. She's beautiful, fit and athletic like a huntress, but her smile is malicious. Cowering at the end of the alleyway is a beautiful woman, a water nymph dressed like a Gothic street queen. The air around the nymph is full of laughter and the scent of Spring roses blooming, but her quaking terror betrays itself as she pulls a tiny knife. The stained glass woman laughs.

"Colors," the Gothic woman pleads, tears at the corners of her eyes, "Colors, don't do this, you don't want to do this. I'm from the Brotherhood, just like you, I swore the Oath, Colors please..."

Begging. I hate it when they beg. Maybe I should - no. She's angered Summer. Remember the fury. Grab hold of the wrath, Colors. You can do it. She stole from us.

"I'll swear any oath you want, I'll return the Horn, I'll throw myself at your feet in public, just please let me live! Please Colors! This isn't you! This isn't the woman who came out of the Thorns!"

Red haze parting. I could take her Oath, she wouldn't dare break an Oath on her own true name. No. Summer. I am Summer. I am wrath! I am fury!

"Ho la, OOOOOOOHDIIIIIN!" The cry pierces the air, rips from the stained glass woman's mouth as she rushes the Goth woman with her sword held low. Colors' face is contorted with fury, her eyes blind with hatred. Her victim goes to block low. The sword comes in high.

It only takes one blow.


* * *

Stained glass fists pound against the brick wall of the alleyway, cracking but not shattering. Crying out in pain, Colors slumps against the wall, her weapon cast aside near the corpse of her victim.

"Gods forgive me," she whispers harshly through the tears. "I'm so sorry. Gods I'm so sorry."

Colors puts her face in her damaged hands and cries as the blood dries into her clothes.

[big teej]

mm.....

good news, new characters to write for.


bad news....

not till after exams methinks.

so mayhap two weeks unless I find time and am just hammered in the head by insipiration aye?


new characters to write for.... (or just characters who haven't been written for.)
Azar – a character created in such a manner that I did not voluntarily choose ANYTHING (except gender). (he’s not finished yet, so I can’t write for him)

Bjorni Fellblow – a Boar Totem barbarian

Blake Hunts-With-Bears – a Ranger that I got to play…… once?

Bragi – A dwarf fighter who really needs a last name…. I’ll probably get to that later today.

Colm – a human barbarian

Elim – a Rogue/Fighter that I’m still not sure what I want to do with.

Erberk – Cleric of Kord

Guhingir – a Goliath Barbarian

Gol – another Dwarf fighter who needs a last name, still thinking of ways to really separate him from Bragi. Perhaps I’ll make them related.

Gwilym – a…nother, Dwarf Fighter, this time with Racial Sub levels to make him more dwarfy.

Heinrich Van Swartchz - a Lawful Evil knight.

Hlaine – a rogue who isn’t quite finished due to a lack of sources to fill out the concept, will likely become a scout as soon as I get that book.

Isador – Psychic Warrior

Kavakai – Goliath totemist

Loken – human monk (yes, yes, I know)

Mattias – Human Paladin

Maximillian Thanos – Human Necromancer – currently awaiting a complete rebuild as the homebrew class I was using was changed.

Mcolik – a human Knight, I’m waiting for inspiration to strike me on what makes him unique.

Mikol – as soon as I get my hands on the book with the ‘scout’ class, I’m out to make The Perfect Scout

Obi – a Halfling rogue, I don’t know if he’ll ever get played =P I’’m bad at small characters…

Raoul – a Human Psion, savant. I’ve got a few things rattling around my head for him.

Raskiel – a human rogue – going to be a swashbuckler type character.

Siegefried – a human cleric of sigmar

Shamus keysmelter – a dwarf wizard, plan on making him a craftsman

Soric – a human sorcerer, boom….

Teej – a self insert fighter I played a long time ago.

Tel Slightfoot – a tiny little human rogue. “the best thief ever”

Thad – a rilkan rogue TWF with light maces: perform (percussion)

An un named goliath raised by loxos

Torg Gorgemorsel – an Ogre Cleric of the Great Maw

Valek is back on his feet, and could use his own story.

Nih Doomtracker – 4th level ranger, playing up the bane and avenger aspects

Wallace – a giant of a man knight. Uses a harpoon for ranged combat

William – a judo monk that I got to play… once…

Jasal the many – an azurin totemist




SO......
any requests?

EDIT:
nothing?
nothing at all?

WHO DO I WRITE ABOUT!?!?!?!

[Lady Moreta]

*is overwhelmed by the sheer number of characters*

Teej - you have too many options!

I say William the judo monk, since you want a decision :smallsmile:

Haven't read your story yet Gareth - will do so when I'm not falling down exhausted.

[big teej]

*is overwhelmed by the sheer number of characters*

Teej - you have too many options!

I say William the judo monk, since you want a decision :smallsmile:

Haven't read your story yet Gareth - will do so when I'm not falling down exhausted.

what do you mean I have too many?

you can never have too many back-up characters....

having enough campaigns to play in on the other hand..... :smalltongue:


very well, William it is.

[Lord Raziere]

*is overwhelmed by the sheer number of characters*

Teej - you have too many options!



too many options?

I've got just as much, if not more.

[big teej]

too many options?

I've got just as much, if not more.

for the record,
those are just ones I haven't written for yet.

and are complete enough that I could start.

I've got a few score more ideas floating about my mind waiting for exams to pass.


/one upsmanship.


:smalltongue:

seriously though.
that means you shouldn't go very long without a snippet of some sort! start writing!!!
:smallbiggrin:

[Lord_Gareth]

Hey now, I'd write more if I had spare time. I mean, don't you think I want to regale you folks with Bad Ideas (With Great Results), the story of how burning down a building around oneself sometimes pays off?

[big teej]

Hey now, I'd write more if I had spare time. I mean, don't you think I want to regale you folks with Bad Ideas (With Great Results), the story of how burning down a building around oneself sometimes pays off?

I know the feeling.

wait...
a DM let you burn something down and it turn out well?

NO TEASERS!!!
I can't say that, I do it all the time.


:smalltongue:

I'm ready for exam week to get here so I can start writing again.

[Lady Moreta]

Monster
Or: We All Become the Thing We Hate
Boots pounding against the cobbles. Idiots ran into the old part of the city. This is my turf, my freaking turf, I've got them now. Hand draws my weapon, arm registers the weight. Light. Airy. Perfect.

A tall woman made all of stained glass dashes through the cobbled streets of old Philadelphia, long leather coat flapping behind her, combat boots pounding against the pavement - a war-drum beat to her hunt. Though it is a cool Autumn night, waves of heat crash from her flesh into the air around her, surrounding her with a haze of steam.

There is a stained glass sword in her left hand, and it hums with anticipation.

Left. Right. Left again. Slippery little punks, these. We warned them, told 'em to back off. Gods but I haven't done...that...in, what, a week now? Sword's getting thirsty. Shh, don't worry Agony, I'll get you something to drink. Wait. That alley is blind. I have them - ha!

She turns down an alleyway. She's beautiful, fit and athletic like a huntress, but her smile is malicious. Cowering at the end of the alleyway is a beautiful woman, a water nymph dressed like a Gothic street queen. The air around the nymph is full of laughter and the scent of Spring roses blooming, but her quaking terror betrays itself as she pulls a tiny knife. The stained glass woman laughs.

"Colors," the Gothic woman pleads, tears at the corners of her eyes, "Colors, don't do this, you don't want to do this. I'm from the Brotherhood, just like you, I swore the Oath, Colors please..."

Begging. I hate it when they beg. Maybe I should - no. She's angered Summer. Remember the fury. Grab hold of the wrath, Colors. You can do it. She stole from us.

"I'll swear any oath you want, I'll return the Horn, I'll throw myself at your feet in public, just please let me live! Please Colors! This isn't you! This isn't the woman who came out of the Thorns!"

Red haze parting. I could take her Oath, she wouldn't dare break an Oath on her own true name. No. Summer. I am Summer. I am wrath! I am fury!

"Ho la, OOOOOOOHDIIIIIN!" The cry pierces the air, rips from the stained glass woman's mouth as she rushes the Goth woman with her sword held low. Colors' face is contorted with fury, her eyes blind with hatred. Her victim goes to block low. The sword comes in high.

It only takes one blow.


* * *

Stained glass fists pound against the brick wall of the alleyway, cracking but not shattering. Crying out in pain, Colors slumps against the wall, her weapon cast aside near the corpse of her victim.

"Gods forgive me," she whispers harshly through the tears. "I'm so sorry. Gods I'm so sorry."

Colors puts her face in her damaged hands and cries as the blood dries into her clothes.

I can't decide if I like this one or not... don't get me wrong, the writing is at your usual level of excellence - I just - well, I don't get it. And the not getting it doesn't work as well as the other snippet with the armies. Not really understanding what was happening with two armies clashing works, because it's a big canvas, everything is moving and confused, it's understandable that a third person, watching from on high wouldn't necessarily understand or be able to figure out what was going on. This snippet is much more intimate - there are only two people and we are very close behind Colors' shoulder, watching her every move - even hearing her thoughts. To me, that says the storyline should be clearer.

I'm a little confused as to who or what Summer is. At first it sounds like Summer is a person or thing to whom Colors reports - but then she starts referring to herself as Summer. Moreta is confused.

The only other thing that seemed a bit 'off' to me was the idea of a woman made of stained glass wearing a leather coat. This is entirely likely just due to the mental image I get when thinking of a stained glass woman - not really 3D, but in fact, like a window, thin like glass and not really capable of wearing any sort of coat. It just struck me as a little incongruous that she'd be wearing a leather coat, when she's made of stained glass, and clearly her sword is also made of stained glass. That is of course, entirely based on my own reading and it may not be what you actually intended.

Also not helped by the fact that I'm not sure exactly what's going on - I think if I understood the world you're in better, I wouldn't be so confused.

Right now I have to go fix a template for my other forum...

[big teej]

Awright! listen up yooz whatsitz!

Mai name's Krunch! and you humies bedder start gimmin me sum rezpeckt or illave ta gi ya thumpin!

I'm da biggest, baddest ork dere is! e'en my name is for thumpin! Krunch is da sound der bones make wen I mash em togather.

so youze bes do wat I say.



on an unrelated note, I have an idea for a character.
Krunch, the Orc


EDIT:
-teej is writing-

[Lady Moreta]

EDIT:
-teej is writing-

Moreta is amused :smallamused:

And eagerly awaiting the arrival of Krunch :smallbiggrin:

[big teej]

Moreta is amused :smallamused:

And eagerly awaiting the arrival of Krunch :smallbiggrin:

happy to keep you amused.

first things first,
the Judo Monk snippet is on indefinite hold, it's been over a year since the 1 single session I got to play him, and the details will simply not come to mind.

second, Krunch is going to be SOOOOO much fun to write for (probably less so to read, but hey, what can you do?)

in the meantime.
I bring you a story of goliaths.
Guhingir's tale


It happened while I was out hunting.

I was hunting stag in the mountain crags along with Vaunea and Aukan. We had tracked a herd to a valley and were preparing to ambush one when they came.

Violators, greenskins, desecrators, swinekin… Orcs.

They swept through the valley, driving the deer away. We were but three, as might as we are, we stood no chance against such numbers, and their group momentum would surely overtake us if we fled before them. We climbed, up into the trees, and watched them pass beneath us.

They were heading towards the village
No. no no no no no no no.

We chased them, but they outpaced us, caught up in their feral lust of wanton destruction. We barely managed to keep pace, the dust kicked up by their passage taunting us at the edge of the horizon, mocking us from each ridgeline as we followed them.

They reached our home an entire hour before us.
A quarter of that is all it took.

We came upon our home camp. It had been obliterated. Dead goliath’s lay everywhere, hacked and torn apart. Our dawncaller lay rent asunder atop our altar-block.

Vaunea began to weep, Aukan went to comfort her. I searched the bodies of the slain, hoping to find some survivor amongst the tattered frames.

I found only 1…
An Orc.

Our folk had made a good account of themselves, from my swift count it seemed that for every goliath that fell here today, they dragged down 3 of their murderer’s with them.

The orc was missing his leg at the knee. I questioned him thoroughly, pulling on the exposed bone on his leg whenever he refused to answer me.

This was desecration, they must be destroyed. The tribe of Orc’s called themselves the mountain crackers.

I left that orc to die, and returned to my fellows. They both appeared numb and in shock.

Aukan, prepare a tablet for any other tribes who come here. Let them know that we pursue, and will not return until every orc from this tribe of desecrator’s is slain.

Aukan objected, “Guhingir, there is no way the three of us can accomplish this task.” Vaunea was apart from us, staring off into the sunset, remained quiet. “we have no choice” I replied. “this act cannot go unpunished. We three must avenge our blood.”
Vaunea spoke, her voice quavering like an icicle about to fall from the roof of a cave at the end of winter. “they have to die, even if it means our deaths.” The woman was not a warrior at heart, at least not yet, she would have to learn to be stone hearted. “you can track them can’t you Aukan? You’re the best in the tribe after all.” She continued.

Aukan shifted uneasily on his feet. “I believe I can do it. We can even catch them eventually, they can’t keep that pace forever.”

“so we are agreed.” I said, taking up my hammer, which I had lain aside for the conversation. “Lead on Aukan”

And so Aukan began to track our quarry across the mountains, the trail was painfully obvious at first, the earth having been trampled beneath their feet. We eventually grew close enough to shadow them, to gauge their strength and their numbers.

They were many, and we were few.
So we watched, and we waited.
“aulak thala kaua gamala” - hunt the herd one animal at a time.

As night fell, they set up patrols, no more than 10 to 15 orcs each.
“Wheat before the reaper”, as I’d heard people of the lowlands say.
“a tiring stag before a goliath” we would say in the mountains.

We crept closer, our massive forms hidden within the shadows of our home. We waited until a patrol wandered in our direction, and we struck.

I stood from my concealment, and hurled my Harpoon at an orc. I had acquired the weapon during trade with some lowlanders; one man in particular smelled strongly of salt and told me the harpoon was used for hunting on a great expanse of water, called an “ocean”. He told me it was much bigger than any mountain lake. I had found the trader’s stories fascinating, but I prized the harpoon for its ability to bring down prey and allow me restrict their movements.

My harpoon caved in the Orc’s chest, pinning him to a tree. The remaining orcs milled about in confusion and panic at the sudden, violent death of a fellow, Vaunea began to rain arrows as long as an Orc’s forearm into the crowd, whilst Aukan and I waded in with our great hammers. We slew the orcs in seconds.

We faded back into the brush to wait for another band of orcs to come our way….

We harried the horde for some time in this manner, taking 10 to 15 orcs a night. Unfortunately, the orcs left the mountains, and travelled down onto the flatter lands. We could not help but give chase.

Many moons have passed since then. Both Aukan and Vaunea have long since fallen in battle with the orcs. I am the sole survivor of our tribe.

I will not rest until each of those orcs is dead.

I am Guhingir, Goliath, called “barbarian” by those who call these flat expanses home. I call myself “Avenger”.
My weapon’s and my very soul call out for the destruction of the swinekin.






enjoy

I'm off to keep writing, it's exam week. so I have alot of excess free time.

I hope you all enjoy the fruits of this.

also..... do you think I should just keep editing this post? or just go ahead and double/triple/whatever post? since apparently this thread has died down a bit, and I have much writing left to do.

[Lady Moreta]

That's very good. More details when I'm not in the middle of a bunch of other things.

And don't worry about double posting. I check this thread multiple times a day, I'll just post in between you :smalltongue::smallsmile:

[big teej]

I suppose it would help if I had a clue how to insert this bohemoth socially crippled monstrosity into a party before writing for him....

cause all I can come up with is dialouge... no story really. :smallannoyed:

oh well, I'll just write something else in the meantime

[Pisha]

Monster
Or: We All Become the Thing We Hate
Boots pounding against the cobbles. Idiots ran into the old part of the city. This is my turf, my freaking turf, I've got them now. Hand draws my weapon, arm registers the weight. Light. Airy. Perfect.

A tall woman made all of stained glass dashes through the cobbled streets of old Philadelphia, long leather coat flapping behind her, combat boots pounding against the pavement - a war-drum beat to her hunt. Though it is a cool Autumn night, waves of heat crash from her flesh into the air around her, surrounding her with a haze of steam.

There is a stained glass sword in her left hand, and it hums with anticipation.

Left. Right. Left again. Slippery little punks, these. We warned them, told 'em to back off. Gods but I haven't done...that...in, what, a week now? Sword's getting thirsty. Shh, don't worry Agony, I'll get you something to drink. Wait. That alley is blind. I have them - ha!

She turns down an alleyway. She's beautiful, fit and athletic like a huntress, but her smile is malicious. Cowering at the end of the alleyway is a beautiful woman, a water nymph dressed like a Gothic street queen. The air around the nymph is full of laughter and the scent of Spring roses blooming, but her quaking terror betrays itself as she pulls a tiny knife. The stained glass woman laughs.

"Colors," the Gothic woman pleads, tears at the corners of her eyes, "Colors, don't do this, you don't want to do this. I'm from the Brotherhood, just like you, I swore the Oath, Colors please..."

Begging. I hate it when they beg. Maybe I should - no. She's angered Summer. Remember the fury. Grab hold of the wrath, Colors. You can do it. She stole from us.

"I'll swear any oath you want, I'll return the Horn, I'll throw myself at your feet in public, just please let me live! Please Colors! This isn't you! This isn't the woman who came out of the Thorns!"

Red haze parting. I could take her Oath, she wouldn't dare break an Oath on her own true name. No. Summer. I am Summer. I am wrath! I am fury!

"Ho la, OOOOOOOHDIIIIIN!" The cry pierces the air, rips from the stained glass woman's mouth as she rushes the Goth woman with her sword held low. Colors' face is contorted with fury, her eyes blind with hatred. Her victim goes to block low. The sword comes in high.

It only takes one blow.


* * *

Stained glass fists pound against the brick wall of the alleyway, cracking but not shattering. Crying out in pain, Colors slumps against the wall, her weapon cast aside near the corpse of her victim.

"Gods forgive me," she whispers harshly through the tears. "I'm so sorry. Gods I'm so sorry."

Colors puts her face in her damaged hands and cries as the blood dries into her clothes.

Oh goodness, I love this. Please, more Changeling fic!

I haven't posted anything here in forever and a day, but this scene cried out to be snippet-ed.


Dala brushed pale hair back from the sleeping child’s face, her touch light as a whisper. She’s so little, she thought, for the hundredth time. We shouldn’t have brought her.

Which was nonsense. Truth be told, Dala wasn’t sure they could have left her behind if they’d tried. The girl was a prodigy; barely seven years old, and more raw magical power than most wizards achieved with a lifetime of study. The Builder had needed her help to complete the spell that got them to the floating city in the first place – and if she were being honest with herself, Dala knew they’d needed the child’s support in the fights they’d been in since then, too. We’d have been slaughtered today, if not for her.

Dala had a pragmatic approach to magic. Her god, Olidammara, had gifted her with a few small tricks as a reward for devotion, but she knew nothing of how they worked. How any of it worked. If a spell existed and someone in her party could cast it, she could find a use for it – but she never pretended to understand it. So when the Builder had arisen, glowing blue, after falling in battle – when he stared at them with empty, uncomprehending eyes – when he attacked, his magic knocking them aside as easily as a child might toss a doll – she’d been helpless. All she could do was fight, for all the good her sword had been against the power that had lanced through her, breaking her apart.

She watched her father kill her mother, then helped her mother kill her father.

The next part was a blur. She’d been there, she knew – four of her had been there, and she hadn’t been sure which one was really her. All she knew was that she was dead, the Builder had killed her, and yet she was still there, still fighting, and they had to kill the Builder before he killed them all. She remembered Celia’s voice, high and terrified, screaming commands to them while she worked some desperate ritual with the – thing – the stone, the jewel, whatever it was, that the Builder had entrusted to her. She weakened him, Dala remembered, enough for the rest of them to put an end to the fight. Then when it was over… then, she’d been dead for real…

Not permanently, of course. Of course not. Hieza’s grasp of his own god’s magics was too strong for that. When you traveled with the little gnome, death was never final. A burden, maybe. An inconvenience. Never an end. And is it better or worse, that Celia seems to be grasping that fact? My gods, if that isn’t a terrible lesson to teach a child. “Other people have to worry about death, sweetie, but not us. We’re too special.” Dala shook her head in disgust, brushing another stray hair from the girl’s face.

She wasn’t theirs, not really. Her actual family was dead – dead, and most likely past any possibility of resurrection, judging from the soul-devouring monstrosities they’d found roaming the deserted town. One more charge to lay at the feet of the Emperor, whose experiments had thinned the fabric between realities and let who-knows-what leak through. Celia had been the only survivor. They’d kept her, at the time, because there really wasn’t anything else to do with her – and because, with the Emperor’s armies marching north, their stronghold was possibly the safest place for her. By the time they might have found a better home for her, she’d already adopted the Builder as her magical mentor – and Dala as her surrogate mother.

It was all still fun, when we left home the last time. Still just a grand adventure. It wasn’t real yet. If I’d known we would be taking her into something like this, I’d have left her with Mordecai and the rest of the thieves’ guild, and taken our chances without her.

When Hieza brought her back, Dala had seen Celia bending over the Builder’s body. doing something. As far as Dala knew, resurrecting the dead was a secret known only to clerics – and a select few clerics at that – but the girl was obviously doing something. Whatever it was, it worked – Builder, too, slept only a few feet away, regaining his strength for the fight to come.

Dala had talked with her, after. Talked with her, and held her, and didn’t let herself cry. Didn’t comment, either, on the markings on the girl’s face – black lines, like veins, or some sort of obscure writing. They were fading… but they’d been there. She didn’t know enough about magic to know what caused them, or even if they were a cause for concern. Maybe they were normal, with powerful enough spells. She didn’t know. They worried her… but not as much as the marks she couldn’t see. What did it do to a child, she wondered, to constantly see her”family” cut down in front of her? To choose to help kill a man she loved and trusted? For that matter, what did it do to her when she shot fire from her hands, roasting minions alive in their armor? Celia was strong, yes, and Celia was brave and Celia was clever… but Celia was seven. What right did they have, to make her grow up so fast?

And how many children lost their childhoods under the Emperor’s immortal reign? How many were crushed or drowned or burned alive when the planes crashed together? How many were put to the sword, as the Emperor’s armies swept across the north? How many were lost to wander the wilderness and die of exposure when the Cataclysm swallowed whole towns? And before them – how many saw their parents, their brothers and sisters, taken by the Emperor’s men? How many died by inches, growing up, their whole lives ground away from them bit by bit, until they grew into the obedient men and women the Empire wanted them to be?

What is one little girl’s innocence worth, weighed against the chance of stopping him for good?

What is my soul worth?

Dala stroked Celia’s hair again, and wanted to weep.

[Marillion]

Not much action in this one: In fact, it's mostly exposition for the second part. But I like it.


A Death in the Family
Or, How a Castillian Man Says Thank You, Part 1
My uncle Jose sat next to me in the pews, dark hair falling across his face rogueishly as he watched the service in quiet amusement. He knew that it was mockery for him to be in Theus' church, and he delighted in it. There was a glint in his eyes that could almost be mistaken for a dancing flame...Did the candles burn a little brighter? No, it was only my imagination. Heretic or not, sorcerer or no, my uncle was not a fool. He would not dare use his power here. He whispered to me "Rafael, do you actually believe this crap? I expected better from my nephew." I set my jaw and continued to ignore him. My sword was strong, but my faith stronger still. He would not get a reaction from me.

On my other side sat Josephina, my...sister..., wearing her finest red dress and a flower in her hair, Dmitri beyond her. He towered over everyone else, and he was causing quite a stir. Though he was nothing but friendly and polite, most people here had never seen a Ussuran, and those who had had never seen one quite so large, nor one whose eyes were quite so green. The brightly-colored beads in his hair shook slightly as he whispered to Josephina, whose eyes were rolled in annoyance. From what I could hear, he was translating the Mass from the traditional Numan to our native Castillian, "To better her understanding of the Vaticine faith." Or perhaps, just to be an ass. It was amazing how often those two motives intersected with him. I did not speak Numan, but I knew the Mass by heart and dutifully followed along, using this time to reflect on the past month.

It had been an eventful one.

Then, Josephina was nothing more than my ward. Someone had set fire to an inn we were staying at. Dmitri and I were woken by the would-be assassins, but by the time we dealt with them and got everyone else out to safety, we realised that Josephina was not with us. Dmitri had to use all of his freakish strength to keep me from running in after her. Though at the time I hated him for it, he was right; No one could have survived that inferno.

So imagine my surprise when Josephina came walking out the front door, appearing to be wreathed in flame but completely unharmed. I've always believed that Theus protects us and provides miracles when all seems lost, and for a time I could believe that was what had happened. But I could not ignore the voice in the back of my mind, whispering of the sorcery that Legion had once cursed Castille with. El Fuego Adentro...The Fire Within. And so, I arranged for us to return to Castille, to speak with her father. It was high time for this anyway, and surely he could set our minds at ease.
Sadly, the illness that had confined him to his bed upon our departure had claimed him in the intervening months, Theus rest his soul, and his only brother Jose had returned from...wherever it was he'd been to run the estate. We found him at the dinner table seated with the Montaigne Marquis whose amorous advances had made it necessary for us to flee in the first place, sharing a glass of wine.

What followed was perhaps the most awkward dinner ever eaten...

--------------------

"Josephina! My beautiful little flower! I am delighted that you could join us!" Marquis Francois des Gaulles stood up and bowed deeply, the locks of his powdered wig nearly brushing the floor. He was a tall 35 year old man wearing white shoulder-length gloves and a fashionable yet subdued suit, every garment exceedingly well-made. He straightened up, then pulled out a chair for her next to him. "Please! Sit down and eat with your husband!"

Pointedly ignoring the Montaigne man, Josephina addressed her uncle in cool tones. "Uncle, why is this man here? Why was I not told of my father's dea..." Horrible realization crossed her face. "Husband?"

The darker, shorter man seated at the head of the table shot des Gaulles a dirty look, then slowly stood himself. His slowness was not born of sloth, nor of age; rather, he had the look of a predator about him, as of a cat stretching after it has awoke. "Josephina, darling, is this how you greet your family? Please, sit down and all shall be explained in good time. You as well, Rafael. There is much to discuss."

Dmitri politely raised one finger. "Erm, I hate to impose, but it has been a long journey. May I...?"

Jose waved a hand dismissively. "Of course, of course! There is always room at the table for friends of family, especially one who has saved her life."

The large Ussuran clapped his hands, making everyone flinch a little from the resounding noise. "Fantastic." He sat down in the seat that the bewildered des Gaulles had pulled out for the lady and began to eat.

Heh. Clever man, Dmitri. Should this dinner go sour, he was in the right spot to keep the Marquis from grabbing Josephina. Or perhaps he's just hungry and lazy; it's hard to tell with him sometimes.

I stood by the seat directly across from Dmitri; Josephina suspiciously sat next to me. Once the lady was seated, the standing men sat themselves down once more, myself included. I looked at my plate; it was full of ...Montaigne food. I wrinkled my nose at the snails and frog legs, contenting myself with a sip of Castillian wine. Josephina did not touch anything. "There, Uncle. I have sat. Now explain. Why did you not tell me of my father? Why is this man here? Why did he say husband?"

"Lovely to see you as well, child. My brother died two months ago; I wanted to tell you, but your bodyguards took such great pains to hide you that it was impossible to give you a message. It is for the best, I suppose: I didn't want him to have to be the one to tell you. Josephina...The man who raised you, he is not your father." Jose breathed in deeply, then leaned across the table and locked eyes with Josephina.

"I am."

Josephina's face drained, and she began to breathe in short, shallow pants. "No...No! You lie!"

"My daughter, I wish I did. Your mother did not love my brother, not at first. Arranged as her marriage was, she had little choice in the matter. She played the part of dutiful loving wife by day...But when Carlotta would cry in the night, alone where she thought none but the river could hear her, I was there to comfort her. I did not mean to betray my brother..." Jose turned his head, swallowing hard. "...But your mother was...bewitching. Beautiful, charming, and oh so vulnerable, I could not help but..." He trailed off, dark eyes staring at...no, past Josephina, perhaps reliving that night. "You have all of her beauty, Josephina. We hid our love for a while, but we were found out. All my life, I haven't seen a fury so great as the one Antonio bore in his heart that day. He challenged me to a duel to the death, and though I knew he was a master swordsman, I thought myself his better. Perhaps, another day, I would have been. But that day, he was possessed by Legion, a raging animal who overwhelmed me with strength born of madness. At his mercy, I prepared for death...but it never came. Poised to deliver the death strike, Antonio broke down. Suddenly, all the fury left him, and he collapsed, sobbing. He could not kill his baby brother, no matter what I had done, but neither could he live with me in his life. And so, I was banished. I went to Montaigne, and I found myself in the court of Monsieur des Gaulles here. The rest, as they say, is history."

A single tear ran down Josephina's pale cheek. "You...you have betrayed us? My own unc...Mi padre? A traitor for Montaigne? This is how a Castillian man says thank you?"

Jose slammed a fist onto the table. "A traitor!? No, it was Antony who betrayed ME! He disgraced me, EXILED me from my home, mi amor! I could not have my love, so I will have his land. And all it took was your hand in marriage." At this, the Marquis smiled. "Yes, you and des Gaulles were married the very week your father died."

"What!? I never consented to marriage with this frog!" Francois tilted his head at Josephina, almost as though his feelings were hurt.

"Perhaps not, my daughter. But someone who looks very much like you did. Someone who used your name to sign the certificate. Someone who vowed to honor and obey this frog, in front of Theus and everybody!" Francois whipped his head around to look at Jose, disbelief on his face.

I slapped my hands down on the table, pushing my chair out and drawing my sword. "Enough! You are nothing but a pretender, Jose, a charlatan and a fool! No one gave you authority over Josephina's life, OR her land, and I demand that you dissolve this marriage and go back to hiding in Montaigne, where you belong!"

For a full minute, there was a silence, interrupted only by Dmitri asking a servant for seconds. Then the Marquis stood, sneering at me. "And who are you, to make such demands?"

"I am Valiente Rafael Luis Zepata de Castille. I am a swordsman, and I am a matador. I have stood against a rampaging beast stronger than any man, and I have slain him when no one could tame him. I am sure that I can kill a frog such as yourself, AND your dog!"

Jose called out "That is not your name."

I blinked in confusion. "What? Don't be silly, of course it-"

"Your name is Valiente Rafael Luis de Torres del Castille. Now sit down; I've had enough family violence for a lifetime."

Stunned, I sheathed my sword and sat down. "You mean...?"

"Yes. Carlotta was with child when Antonio found us. He assumed, incorrectly, that our affair was a recent development, that the child in her belly was mine and not his. And though he could not bear to raise another man's son, nor could he abandon his nephew. And so, you were raised among the servants children: One more brat running around would make no difference, but you would be well looked after. He was not at all surprised when you showed talent with our family's sword, but he took it as proof that you were my child. If he'd been wiser, he'd have looked for a different...talent that marked a child as mine." He grinned, dark eyes suddenly dancing like flames. It was then that I knew. "Such is life, I'm afraid. You are his son, and rightful heir to this estate...But who will ever believe you?"

Still standing, the Marquis suddenly clasped his hands. "Such a tense atmosphere! I have something that ought to cheer everybody up. Servants, bring the surprise!" Two nervous-looking boys flinched at his voice, then scurried past the double-doors into the kitchen.

Within a minute, they were wheeling a cart out. I gasped, then rubbed my eyes. The sheer audacity! "Is that..."

"Yes! It's our wedding cake! Lovely, isn't it? I saved the first cut for you, ma petite." Josephina stood, then walked over to the cake, entranced by the extravagant baked good. "It is tradition, is it not?" Francois picked up a cake knife, then held it out to Josephina, handle first. She looked from him, to the knife, to the cake, and back to the knife, incredulity painting her face. She laid her hands on the handle of the knife...

And shoved it into the Marquis' belly.

Pandemonium broke out, and everyone who wore a weapon was wielding a weapon and shouting, while the servant boys screamed and ran to fetch the Montaigne garrison. I was about to leap for Jose, when des Gaulles called out "Quiet, quiet, mes amis! It is nothing. It is only a love bite. My wife is very eager!" He pulled out the knife, and typical Montaigne inanity aside, I could see he was right; the wound wasn't deep, and it wasn't anywhere vital, though he was bleeding. "Laramie, be a dear and go intercept the boys, will you? No need to rouse my soldiers." A shaking servant boy nodded, and ran off. "Yes, a love bite only. Nonetheless, I think I shall retire for the night. Sleep well, my dove." Placing a laced glove over the wound, he limped out of the room, presumably to see the field surgeon.

Jose sheathed his sword. "Yes, sleep well, all of you. We must attend church in the morning. You'll find your quarters exactly where you left them." Then, cloak billowing behind him, he left the room.

Josephina was trembling, on the verge of tears. My weapon put away, I reached out to touch her shoulder, to offer some form of comfort. She broke, falling into my arms and weeping openly. For the first time, I embraced my sister.

"You gonna eat that?" Josephina and I both turned to look at Dmitri, who was gazing longingly at the cake. In unison we rolled our eyes and sighed in disgust, then left the room for him to do as he pleased.

---------------------------------------------

Mass came to an end, and everyone began to file out of the pews, exchanging pleasantries and shaking hands. More than a few of the young women were glad to see me again, and I spoke with them shortly, deflecting their attentions. I caught the eye of fair Diego, my old rival, from across the building; he tipped his hat in my general direction, then switched his focus to the flirtations of a girl who not minutes ago had been fawning on me. Dmitri and Josephina came to me, asked if I was ready to go. I demurred, told them I had someone else to catch up with, told them I'd meet them at the estate. They left with Jose.

I found my way to the confession box.

"Theus bless you, my child." An old, familiar voice, warm and kind. A voice that could calm any storm, that stood against Legion. A voice who would surely know what to do.

"And you, Father."

"What sins do you need to confess?"

I breathed in deeply, steeling myself for this.

"I fear for the safety of my soul."

"Why is this?"

"I believe that my bloodline may contain sorcery."

[big teej]

got another one finished.

this one is a Rilkan Duskblade

and in case you're wondering, it's pronounced "ba-roy"


Pain….

World. Encompassing. Pain. It defined existence.
Pain and dryness, I could not breathe for how dry my throat was.
I raise myself and lights explode behind my eyes, it feels as if the kings of hell themselves grip my tender skull in their not-so-tender fists.

I definitely drank too much last night…

Retching my excess out of a conveniently placed window, I turn away from the window and gaze at the female form sprawled on the bed. The woman, Elizabeth, was thankfully just as pretty now as what I remember taking to bed with me last night. She was a little thinner than I normally like, but her luxurious copper colored hair more than made up for it. She’d been swept up in the excitement of some of my (only slightly exaggerated I promise) stories about my latest adventures and tales of daring do.

Alas, like many before her, I’ll likely not get to share a bed with her again. My feet were already beginning that all too familiar tingle that told me it was time to move on again. I can’t stand being in one place for too long, it’d kill me. Mostly because of boredom… the people who mean to either kill me or drag me off in chains probably would too now that I think about it.

Still, tis a shame, we had a wonderful night… from what I remember of it. Alas, it’s time for me to move on. I gather my things from where they were strewn about the room, sword, leathers, backpack, most of my clothes…

Crap.
Oh well, I suppose she can keep the hat… wherever it is. I’m sure I can find another one that is suitably dashing on the way out of town.

I slip into my leathers and buckle my scabbard across my back and head down stairs. “One of these days I’ve gotta find a woman who’ll travel” I think to myself when I hear something from the common room that fills me with dread and turns my blood to ice.

A gravelly voice which I’d recognize anywhere.
“Barkeep! we understand you have a certain rake within your tavern… where is he?”

Natoii. A human warrior with a mean streak at least as large as my (utterly deserved) ego. His family took it real sore awful when his sister entertained me for a few nights.

It would seem that the conversation has moved to the point of “I need to get out of here… now.”

I hear the barkeep telling Natoii where I am. Well, knowing Natoii how I do, and knowing Elizabeth how I do, I can trust him to do no more than question her as to where I’m going… so if I can just sneak..

-Creeeeeeek-
A creaky step, would you look at that.

Wait.
Uh oh.
Natoii’s head whips around at the sound and our eyes lock. BAROI!!! He yells drawing a club from his belt.

Well that settles it. I dive down the stairs and roll to my feet in front of Natoii, letting my enchanted leathers absorb a blow from his club as I speak a word of power and gesture at him. A great ball of light explodes in front of his face (ow. My eyes!)

While he’s blinded, I race out into the street. And off I go onto the next town.

…

As soon as I get past Natoii’s goons.

There are 3 of them waiting for me outside. A large half-orc, a skarn dressed in heavier armor than natoii, and an older human dressed in robes. All of which I recognize, I dealt with them before. Thankfully, they weren’t expecting me to dive out of the tavern, so none of them are ready for me.

I draw my sword and swing at the old man in robes while I throw another ball of light into the half orc’s eyes. The old man falls to the ground bleeding profusely from his chest while the orc covers his eyes and howls in pain.

They’ll be fine, heck I’ve carved that orc up 3 different times now. The Skarn puffs out his spines and takes a step forward swinging a heavy mace at me. I duck out of the way and murmur an enchantment which will magically guide my next swing to the target.

Closing with the skarn, I slam my arm into his wrist, stopping the blow while I bring my blade around and under his armor, slicing through the joint and emerging from his back.

As I retrieve my sword from him the half-orc has recovered enough to take a swing at me with a massive axe. He cuts me across the chest and blood begins to soak into my leathers.

I believe it’s time to make my escape. Murmuring the words of another spell, a cloud of mist springs up from the ground, allowing me to evade the orc.

I make a run for it.

I run to the end of the street and turn, about to break away from those goons, when a tendril of pain wraps around my arm and yanks me off my feet.

I look at my arm and see that it is wrapped in coils of fire; I follow the flaming rope to its source and see a stocky man dressed in red leathers. A Crimson Scourge.

This is going to be interesting…






EDIT:
not to muscle in on Varen... but I've a paladin I need to write for.
Mattias, Paladin of Kord.

following Mattias...
Raoul and Isador, my resident Psykers*
Leander, a samurai
Bill, the Were-Bison
and Krunch, all of which will be in progress once I've hammered a few more things out...


*teej uses this term as a blanket for anything with abilities of the mind, and is not restricted to warhammer, dnd, x-men, or anything else with heavy use of psychic abilities

2nd EDIT:
nothing's flowing.... so I guess more writing will have to wait...:smallfrown:

[Lady Moreta]

Okay, first off - I have read the other snippets and I loved all of them. I will comment on them as well, but not right now because I need to be able to think first :smalltongue:

On the other hand, I did write a snippet about Lyra (not the one I was intending, but oh well) :smallsmile:

Not sure what to call this, but we'll go with...


ALONE

I am alone. They’ve decided to see how well I can take the silence I suppose. They’ll see.

Alton was the first one to leave me. He just stopped coming to the inn – none of his group came any more. I had my ribbon all ready to play our game, it was the time they were due. And – no one came. No Alton. No one. And no one could explain why. Mama suggested later that they had found another trade route, but that was a lie. One of the other members of Alton’s group came in three days later, covered in blood. Mama tried to make me go upstairs, but I slipped out of her grip and stayed where I was. I can still remember his words, they had been ambushed, they were all dead, all of them – even Alton. Then the halfling caught sight of me and my ribbon. He limped over to me and loomed as best he could. It was all my fault, he said. Alton had stopped to buy a new ribbon for the barmaid’s daughter. He sneered at me. Alton had left me and it was all my fault.

I am alone. Not a word all morning, no food either. I am hungry.

Mama left me next. It was all my fault. I wasn’t careful enough and Tanner got nervous. I suppose that was understandable. Mama almost killed him. But he went to the Barkeep and the Barkeep went to the temple and the temple took Mama away from me. I wasn’t there. Mama had told me to go out and play with the other children. I shouldn’t have gone. Mama needed me with her. She struggled with the curse for years and years. I knew all the warning signs and all the ways to snap her out of it. But I wasn’t there because Mama sent me away. I wonder if she knew. The temple wouldn’t let me in to see her. They said it was too dangerous. I ignored their rules and went in anyway. This was my Mama, she couldn’t hurt me. But she said I could hurt her. She insisted that I would get caught and that they would do things to me. I ignored her as well. I wouldn’t leave my Mama alone like I was alone. Only then, she left me anyway. Her body was there, but her mind had left me all alone. She didn’t recognise me any more. I wonder if she knew.

I am alone. The day is getting late. They aren’t coming. I have been alone all day. It is so quiet.

Garret. I killed him, as surely as if my hand held the sword that pierced him. He had tried to save me, that was all he ever wanted to do. He tried to protect me like I tried to protect my Mama. But we cannot be protected, cannot be saved from the curse. All that we do is destroy and ruin. Oh, we do not cause physical damage, I have never burnt a building or caused its stones to be pulled down. But I have destroyed minds. I had destroyed Garret’s mind long before his body followed it. Otherwise he would have left long ago, to protect himself as so many others have done. Garret was an optimist, he thought I could be cured. I don’t know who was more foolish, him for believing it was true, or me for hoping it was. If I close my eyes, I can see Tredan’s sword slide smoothly through his chest. I should be grateful it was so easy I suppose. I can see the surprise on Garret’s face, neither of us had realised the paladin was so close. It was my fault. If I had not stayed, if I had run when he told me to he would not have stayed himself. He would have run. He would have survived. I would not have killed him – no matter that I did not intend it. He would not have left me alone.

I am alone. It is full night now. The ropes that bind my hands behind me have ceased to chafe. Or I have ceased to feel it. I can no longer feel my feet or legs up to my knees. The ropes that bind my ankles and keep me from moving from this spot are doing their job well. They have not come all day. Why should I care? Why should it make my heart ache that my tormentors have left me alone for an entire day? I should rejoice in their absence. My soul should not cry out for their presence. They bring nothing but pain to me. They force the curse from me, call out to it and try to exorcise it from my body. They bring only the wrongness so familiar to me. So familiar it is – comforting. I am alone. They have not come. And it hurts.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two figures shrouded in dark cloaks watched through the barred window set into the door. They silently observed the tears that slid down the face of the young woman in her cell. They listened to her sobs with quiet satisfaction. Perhaps tomorrow she would be willing to cooperate with them. All in all, today had been a good day. A productive day. As one, they turned to leave her alone.

[Lord Raziere]

The Tale of the Twice-Fought Hydra
(or Of Slow Paladins and Civilized Barbarians)

another Lelk story of mine, it actually happened in game, over the course of three sessions.

Ok, so my party, (Lelk (me), Al the paladin, and the monk) had gone out to fight a Hydra. problem was, once we got to the Hydra wefought it for a while and it wasn't dropping, it was stronger than we thought and we got out of there before the Hydra could kill any of us.

So we went to this barbarian village to get help to kill the hydra. the paladin arrived there first on his mount, he sort of ran over what he called a "pimp barbarian" said barbarian had a leopard skin hat and cape so...whatever...
the pimp barbarian sorta got mad and Al had to run to the local paladin fortress which had been stationed there to watch the barbarians for some reason to get away from the angry imp barbarian,and the paladins basically told him he was being a bad paladin and such.

Lelk and the monk arrived next of course. Lelk sort of failed on some roll, and gone into a tavern and started drinking and soon started singing on stage, (he had a picked up a tendency to sing over the course of his adventures)
and basically became an instant celebrity through my own warped luck. the monk meanwhile fruitlessly tried rallying the populace of the barbarian town to kill the hydra.

next sessions, I go find the barbarian leaders place, but his door guard person stands in the way and prevents Lelk from getting in, the monk goes in instead, tells him about the hydra, the leader guys kicks the monk out and then forms a committee on killing the hydra- like I said, oddly civilized barbarians.

So seeing as how Lelks attempt at getting to the barbarian didn't really work and he didn't know the monk did stuff, I decided that since the barbarians didn't really like the paladins stationed at the fortress, and Lelk didn't know where the fortress was and since the barbarians did know but hated the paladins, I decided that Lelk would go "hey, I hate paladins! who here also hates paladins?" and so I succeeded in like gaining people to help me tell me where the paladin fortress was, I just, succeeded too well and formed this anti-paladin barbarian mob....who just began to tour me around
meanwhile the monk did.....I dunno I forgot what exactly, the important thing is, that when the tour was over and the anti-paladin barbarians had shown me where the fortress was then decided to go home, cause they weren't stupid and try and assault that place, so I just slinked off from the group, met up with the monk then gone to the fortress, paid a copper to get in.

So then I decide that the best way Lelk gets to be known as good and such is by singing songs and so he starts singing a song called "Oh My Paladin Buddy" basically an upbeat song about awesome paladins are, dedicated to his good friend Al the paladin. the paladins of course like it, so now Lelk is a musical celebrity to both the barbarians and the paladins.
During the paladins dinnertime, I tell the paladins that they should help us go kill this hydra we found (Al couldn't because they thought he was a bad paladin and such) and so the next day we go to slay the Hydra with a bunch of paladins.

Problem: these paladins are slow. Seriously, first they take all morning to get ready, my DM described the paladins as one of those large families taking a vacation and generally being disorganized and taking their sweet time, they go along the roads, through the barbarian town (I evaded being discovered by the barbarians there) and we gone down the roads to the monastery where we set out from in the first place to kill said Hydra, then they spent two days there giving the monks a lot of tribute cause the paladins receive tribute and yadda yadda yadda, meanwhile cooking nice foods with lots of spices that the monk generally don't eat cause they are ascetic monks and such, but they soon finally get going towards the hydra.

problem: in the woods we run into the barbarian horde the barbarian hydra committee had sent out and while they were faster, the barbarians were stupid and got lost in the woods. So now, we were surrounded by two factions armed to the teeth...with me right there, who had kinda manipulated them both...

now in the final session, a new player had arrived int he group playing and elf ranger, the Dm said that the elf ranger had led the barbarians through the woods cause she didn't like stupid barbarians being in the woods.
I then tried singing a song about killing the hydra, it fails, the monk spots the ranger tries to get a better look at her but it also fails and basically the monk and ranger just interact with each other while important was happening.

and, while all this was going on, Al while in the middle of the paladins for some reason decided to weave a basket of flowers, three rolls, he rolls all of them well,finding the best wood, the best flowers, crafting it very well....and declares it that he is going to give it to....the hydra. that we are trying to slay.
I have no idea what was going through his mind.

Meanwhile, negotiations wasn't going well, if I didn't unite the barbarians and the paladins we wouldn't have enough manpower so I decided to sing "Oh My Paladin Buddy" on an absurd gambit.
To a bunch of barbarians.
That hate paladins.
armed barbarians
The DM rolled a d100 and I got an 86. turns out they all liked the song :smallconfused: weird.
A few more turns pass before I decided to try and speak a speech to unite the two factions to team up and work together.
I rolled and got a 20.
Instant unity, they put aside their differences to fight the hydra, my poor DM hung his head at my absurd luck.

meanwhile on the way to the hydra, Al ran ahead, put his flower basket in front of the hydra and ran away, the Hydra just looked at it, completely confused. (still have no idea what was going through Al's head). then the barbarian-paladin horde descended upon the hydra and killed it, I just stood admiring that my plan had worked, then the barbarians went back into the woods to get lost, again, and the paladins and us went back to the monastery.

[Lady Moreta]

*snip*

wow... :smalleek: your dice seem to love you. You do seem to get some awfully lucky rolls sometimes.

That was very funny, I can just imagine your DM face-palming over that last one - with the barbarians deciding a song about how much you like paladins being just awesome. :smallbiggrin:

[Lord Raziere]

wow... :smalleek: your dice seem to love you. You do seem to get some awfully lucky rolls sometimes.

That was very funny, I can just imagine your DM face-palming over that last one - with the barbarians deciding a song about how much you like paladins being just awesome. :smallbiggrin:

I don't know why man, luck warps itself around me. its freaky, every where I go it just happens every now and then. and that is outside games involving dice.

[big teej]

Credit to Blitzkrieg's song "devils spawn" to breaking my writer's block.

I bring you a snippet of mattias, paladin of kord.

enjoy.

“It’s not yours to take, for I am in your way.”





Few receive the call to the life of a paladin.

Even fewer answer that call.


When I received it, and how I have followed it are tales for another time. Now I must tell you of my fight against the spawn of hell itself.

It was three winters ago….

I had stopped in a nameless backwater of a village, I had been a paladin for less than 6 months, and I was still unsure of what my God wanted of me.

I found a village in chaos.

Men and women ran about the town in a blind panic, carrying what meager belongings or children they had with them. I saw one, an ancient priest exhorting them to remain faithful. I strode toward him, holding the reins of my pack horse. The people, in their panic, broke around me like water around rocks.

“Priest! Explain this turmoil!” I declared as I closed with him. He whipped his head around, a fiery look in his eyes.
“Identify yourself stranger! These are dark times, and I would know ye before I answered you”

I parted my over cloak, revealing my intricately engraved and etched armor. Covered in scriptures and holy symbols sacred to The Deity of Strength and raised my voice. “I am Mattias, Paladin of Kord, and I intend to aid your village in its plight if it is within my power to do so!”

The priest saw the zealous fire burning in my eyes and nodded.
“And so our prayers have been answered. Paladin, a daemon comes to destroy this village. The strength of my youth is spent, and I cannot stand against it. It has sworn to break open every child in its village and offer its heart as a sacrifice to its lord while their mothers watch. “

My blood began to burn with hate for this foul creature.
“I will destroy this creature. When does it come?”

“IT COMES NOW FLESH. YOU MAY CALL ME PHANATOS, AND YOU WILL SCREAM MY NAME WHEN I RIP OUT YOUR HEART”

I turned to face the end of the village as the voice thundered through my head. The townsfolk went hysterics and the Priest muttered an oath one would be more accustomed to hearing from one who sells themselves.

A blasphemy stood at the edge of the village, its skin was white, not the white of purity, this was a white that reeked of corruption and damnation. From its head grew two horns, one black, one red. Its eyes were the color of blood, and its teeth were like needles made of emeralds. It’s body was thin, smaller of frame than I. but possessed of an obvious might. Ectoplasm radiated from it in sickly loops and waves. The being radiated power and evil.

I was not impressed.

I removed my cloak, allowing it to fall to the dirt, and strode to my pack horse. Kord may call his priests to use a mace, I feel called to a larger weapon.

I reached into my saddle bags and pulled forth my great sword. It was a gift from the clerics who trained me when I answered the call. Its 5 foot long blade was etched with scriptures of Kord, it was my most prized possession after my faith.

I leveled it at the blasphemy and spoke. “I am Mattias, chosen of Kord, I will banish you back to the pits from whence e ye came. “

The blasphemy began to float off the ground.

“These people are not yours to take!”

“FOR THIS INSOLENCE, I WILL TEAR YOUR SOUL APART!”

The blasphemy hurtled towards me through the air. Many men in such a position would have either cowered in fear, or attempted to brace against charge.

I ran straight at it.

We collided with the wet impact of flesh on metal and that of an iron works collapsing. I was thrown from my feet, hurtling several yards before crashing to the ground. I pushed myself up to my hands and knees.

My armor is on fire.

I grabbed my sword and used it to push myself back to my feet and scanned for the daemon. He was walking towards me, a massive gash across its chest oozing forth a substance that looked like a tide of sapphires. It did not appear overly troubled by the wound.

YOU CANNOT HOPE TO STAND AGASINT ME. Spoke the blasphemy

“You are right, I can not hope” I replied.

The blasphemy stopped, obviously surprised by my response.

“You cannot hope for what you know for certain” I informed him, I watched rage take over the being before me. I lashed out with my great sword, carving a great rent in its chest, digging deeper within its body.

The blasphemy took a staggered back a step. And laughed.

I WILL SAVOR THE TASTE OF YOUR SCREAMS, YOU HAVE HARMED ME. FOR THIS YOU WILL KNOW ULTIMATE SUFFERING.

It reached out for me, grasping my sword as I swung it through a defensive arc. I watched its flesh smolder and crack in contact with the holy blade. I watched it raise its fist and bring it crashing into my weapon, snapping it halfway through the blade. It then touched my chest, and my world exploded in pain.

And then it went dark.

I awoke. And the pain returned. I looked down at my body a massive splinter was sticking through my thigh, blood rushing from around it. There was a massive rent in my breastplate.

I still gripped the broken remains of my sword in my hand. I looked up, tearing my gaze away from my broken body.

The daemon had thrown me through a tavern.

I reached up and grabbed the shattered edge of the bar and pulled myself to my feet. Blood ran through the joints and rents in my armor.

The daemon was walking towards me.

I will die soon.

But not before this creature… this… fiend… this…

This.


Blasphemy.

My blood began to burn; I saw it running down the blade of my broken sword. I raised my arm, and strode towards the blasphemy; everything seemed to have slowed to a crawl. I reached out with my broken blade, so slowly… and the fiends arm fell from its body. Shock filling those blood filled orbs. Time suddenly sped back up as I gave voice to a battle-prayer to kord.


“I AM CHOSEN OF KORD! HIS STRENGTH FILLS MY BODY AND HIS HAND GUIDES MY BLADE! IN HIS SERVICE I CANNOT FAIL AND I WILL NOT FALTER. IN THE NAME OF THE LORD OF STRENGTH I SMITE THE DAEMON AND BANISH THEE BACK TO THE HELL FROM WHENCE YOU CRAWLED!!”

I plunged the broken remains of my weapon through the blasphemy’s chest and ripped it out of its rib cage, leaving a massive L shaped hole in its chest. A torrent of sapphires poured from its body as it fell to its knees. My sword lashed out again and its head separated from its shoulders. The body fell over and collapsed in a mound of sapphires.

Grunting in pain, I reached down and grasped its head in my gauntleted hand and strode towards the center of the town, blood marking my steps.

The townsfolk were huddled at the far end of town. I stopped once I could make out individual faces. And raised my arm – so heavy! – and shouted to the assembled peoples.

“FEAR THIS, NO MORE!”

And I cast the head to the ground where it shattered like glass before dissolving into a poisonous looking smoke.

Then, I fell forward, and knew nothing….

[Machuchang]

Pure Awesomeness

Whoa!

I do believe that Varen has been eclipsed a thousandfold in terms of badassery! THIS is the stuff that paladins do!

Really, really awesome work here Teej. I love it. You were really able to capture a strong atmosphere in this snippet, and I was really sucked into the story. Your descriptions were very well done, I felt I could see every little detail with perfect clarity, which is no mean feat, especially considering how they never felt jilted or difficult to understand.

My only complaint, and it's a little one, would be the typos. Around the middle of the snippet, a few of them started to show up, such as:

The townsfolk went hysterics

and those disrupted the flow a little bit, but that's it.

Overall, an excellent piece. I thoroughly enjoyed it!



Guhingir's tale





Baroi's Story

The opening lines of this are nothing short of magical.:smallbiggrin: I really love how well they illustrate Baroi's very distinctive personality. All of his little asides to the reader had me in hysterics, and in this one in particular, I really felt like I was being told a story in addition to seeing things from a character's point of view. The descriptions, particularly of the battle scene, were very well done, and the whole story had a great flow in general. Loved it!


The Tale of the Twice-Fought Hydra
(or Of Slow Paladins and Civilized Barbarians)


Your rolls are absolutely incredible, and your group sounds hilarious. I really love how you manipulated the situation, turning the barbarians and paladins against one another, and then somehow managed to get the two groups back together, through the use of song. That's nothing short of awesome right there.




A Death in the Family
Or, How a Castillian Man Says Thank You, Part 1


You, my friend, are nothing short of an absolutely amazing writer.

Your style has a very natural, unforced feel to it, and the way you can set a scene is just fantastic. Your descriptions are always nicely balanced, creating a strong picture but never going overboard, and I felt like I could get a very strong sense of each character from the way you portrayed them, particularly Valiente. Though I have to say, the Marquis was a delightfully unlikeable character. The story itself was perfectly executed, with a perfect blend of drama, action, and comedy. I was really blown away by this one.



I have to agree with you. It would have been a real shame if this scene never got snippeted.:smallbiggrin:

This was an incredibly powerful piece. You captured your character's sense of empathy and sorrow perfectly, which, while amazing on its own, struck me as especially so considering how the majority of this snippet was in the first person. I also loved the way you provided the horrifying background information in a such a simple, yet emotional manner, which really let my imagination go to work and helped to cement the tone of the story. Your writing itself had a perfect flow, and nothing ever felt awkward or unwieldy. This was just amazing. I love it!




ALONE


Wow...

While anything you would've written would have been worth the wait, this was super-duper-extra worth the wait.

I mean, wow...

This was just incredible. Your writing had an amazingly powerful feel, and you masterfully created an incredibly intense atmosphere. That, and all the little bits of backstory really drove home how screwed up a life Lyra has had and how much her curse has affected her.

I could really feel everything she was feeling, all of her guilt, her fear, despair, all of it. This whole piece really, really resonated with me. I mean, I'm on the verge of crying over here. Well done. Very well done.


Poor Lyra...

[big teej]

ya know, between rereading Fell Cargo for the umpteenth time, and rewatching "muppet treasure island" for the umpteenth time.


I need to roll a boucaneer...

-scurries off to find Song and Silence-

I need to track down the dread pirate


but why do any of you care?

simple
this means Teej gets to try his hand at writing for a pirate!

...

Arr

[Werekat]

*looks at all the stuff she's missed* Wow, that's a lot of text. I, uh, I don't really know how I'm going to catch up with the reviewing. I'm going to try. though, at least the nearest ones.

Alone: No nitpicks, great job, Moreta! Poor Lyra, though. What point of her story is this set at? What happens next?

Baroi: Wow, Big Teej, you've improved since I've last read your stories! I do have a couple of nitpicks, though, the gust of which can be summarized as "if you're writing from first person, try to catch the character's tone." Because a guy that looks at someone he just slept with and sees "a female form" instead of a pretty girl is just creepy. Or was that the intended effect?

A Death in the Family: Marillion, enjoyable as usual! One of the things I like about 7th Sea is that you can play family revelations and have it all be a part of the setting. And I really enjoy reading about this kind of thing. Though now I want to see how a male character would react to an arranged marriage.

I loved the bit about Montaigne food. Snails and frog legs makes it sound like they're all disgusting sorcerers! :-P

And I liked the "your name is" bit. I'm a sucker for names signifying bloodlines.

Monster: well done! In contrast to Moreta, I found the imagery quite understandable, even though I haven't played the Lost. Am I correct in understanding that Summer is Colors' court, and, in a way, her own essence now?

As for my own stuff - I did do some recording of things in our D&D campaign, and a bit of stuff for Morgana. I'll try to post it in bits,

First up is the D&D stuff - because our current DM and the player of our paladin asked me to. Kudos, Fearan. ;-)


Reincarnation
or
Paranoid adventurers and hurt feelings

Soon my companions' excited clatter quiets down, as all retreat to their own packs and getting ready for the long day ahead of us. A very, very long way awaits us. Cypher, who no longer needs to gather his things, curls up in the corner with his sword in his paws, and covers himself with new wings. I watch him out of the corner of my eye. O Boccob, what a beautiful creature he has become! The blue dragon, Riantasala, was awesomely menacing and beautiful, in a way, but Cypher - even if he is a very young dragon, whose scales have but begun to shimmer silver... I find myself remembering why I'd bothered to study the arts of transmutation at all, back before I was aware of their true usefulness, I still harbor a dream to rise into the sky on silver wings...

But the little dragon does not look too happy. No suprise there. My companions' reaction to the paladin-bard awakening in his new form was to conceal surprise with joking. I have nothing against the human sense of humor, really, but it can be harsh sometimes. Especially when the jokers forget - or do not know - that the return of the soul to the body is a painful and difficult ordeal.

I've already packed my backpack. Might as well deal with this now.

"Cypher?" I speak in Draconic. Luckily, we're the only two in our group who know the language.

The little dragon raises his head. "Yes?"

"Forgive." Oh, the tongue of the dragons... Even a simple request for pardon sounds like an order! "I believe that was unpleasant."

Cypher shoots me a look of surprise.

"It's all right." He nods. "But I am surprised that it is you who have come to apologize."

I glance at the neighboring rooms, where my companions currently are.

"You shouldn't be." I reply. "I just don't think our companions would have found such joking unpleasant, really. Their humor is always like that, and they would not have minded being targeted by it. I would have."

I hadn't dared come close even when we had been resurrecting Katarina, despite the fact that it was a safe place and a joyful time, and her own temple, and all that. Such moments were too intensely personal. But here we had been forced to stay close, for fear of the dangers of the abandoned city, where you never know when an enemy might find you. So we stood in a semicircle, and waited for danger, and to awaken under our cold glares must have been... How did Cypher say? "Am in al-Zaraq or in the caliph's zoo?" I had nothing to reply to that. I still don't.

But his strange ressurection turned out to be true, and our suspicions out of place. I'll not gather enough courage to explain them to Cypher. It must be too unpleasant when you and your god are suspected of something far from probable for your alignment.

While I ponder that, Cypher says, "But you displayed far less unhealthy curiosity than the others."

"I had no need to." I smirk. "They did my work for me... Anyway, I'm sorry."

The dragon nods, and curls up again, muttering something under his breath. He's forgotten how well elves can hear, apparently.

"They might have known about this virtue called compassion."

A chill runs down my spine. The last thing we need here is a quarrel. It's unlikely, but... I'd never have dared to descened into a cursed city without loyal friends at my back. A quarrel would kill all of us.

No. Never. I won't let it.


And second out of a series of four...


Of warfare among humans and elves
or
A small in-game exercise in world building


It had been a long day, and now, as the captured mage and her associate rest in prison, guarded by zombies - er, good warriors that arise to defend at the sign of need, I mean - and as their spellbooks rest in my backpack, the first trophies of their kind, I need to prepare spells. The problem is - I can't really think about magic right now. Something else is eating up my mind.

I've nearly pinpointed what the problem is. That... Attitude. It's doesn't fit well into my head. Utterly human: no elf - except, possibly, the greys - would ever be quite this cold. But I can't shake the feeling that I am misunderstanding something. The two people with such an attitude whom I know well are also the two kindest people I know.

It boggles the mind.

Fai gives a quiet snort as he turns in his sleep. Ever since our two companions were swept away by the magic of their royal blood and the need of their country - incidentally, leaving us in need of a cleric and a rogue, and no less than in the middle of an underground cursed city! - we've had a different watch order. Fai takes first watch, I take second, and Cypher takes third.

It is too dark to see, but I know the paladin-turned-dragon now reclines near the exit window, staring intently at outside world. A regal creature, no less, even though barely more than a wyrmling. His features are not fully formed yet, and yet he is absolutely breathtaking. An elfling's wish come true. One of the few things that I've always wanted to do was to take the form of a silver dragon some day. If only for a short while, to rest on the wind, to walk on the clouds!..

I do not envy him and his transformation, however. The ways of the good gods are only somewhat less harsh than those of the evil gods, though he would not agree. He would probably try to explain, though. My other companions would not understand. Katarina lives like she does because of her own inner nature: she was born a chosen of the Sun, and she is his child in spirit and deed. She is the Sun's ray, she can be no other. For Cypher, as far as I am aware of, it was a choice to dedicate himself to the dragon god, despite of his heritage - a choice that took quite a bit of soul-searching and probably doubt. So he is better equipped to explain how cold...

The coldness grips my heart with a sudden and razor-sharp clearness. I hear my own voice before I can stop it, a harsh whisper: "Gods, I hate you all who think with honor instead of common sense... You make me feel as helpless as an elfling."

"Why?" Cypher whispers. His draconic voice carries, though, and my hearing is keen. So is his. We shall not wake Fai.

"There is no persuading you." There is a bitterness in my mouth.

"Well, common sense is good." The dragon says with a laugh. "But I'm trying to be a hero. not a commoner, if you know what I mean."

"There are so many things wrong with that argument, you know?" I say as dryly as I can. Being a hero is exactly the problem. Those who try always end up with so many utterly unheroic consequences.

"Sure." He replies mildly.

Hm. Say what you mean outright, elf, or be silent? Is that what you mean?

Might as well, since I brought the topic up.

"I guess the one thing I've never been able to understand is how it is possible to put the fates of those you fight higher than the fates of those you fight alongside with. It is how it sometimes looks from the outside, and yet I... I can't say it's exactly true, something stops me. I really do not understand. Could you explain?"

"Do you really need saving?"

I hold the quick "no" that rather betrays the truth of the matter: that all adventurers need saving, and often. Where would I have been without Katarina's shield, Fai's blasts, Jelita's bow, Cypher's sword? Where would they have been without my magic and expertise?

Not on this plane, certainly.

But it is not about us.

"I'm talking about the general tendency. It is somewhat of a given for me that it is a priority to save the lives of those who are on your side as opposed to your enemies. One must watch over one's own first."

"Is that about the general tendency, as well?" He sounds a bit worried now.

"Naturally." The fit of emotion has passed, luckily, and I can speak calmly and truthfully. "I can't get it through my head that human honor has you all put your enemies first."

"It is more important for me to preserve those innocent lives that I am defending." Cypher says. "Human honor does not put one's enemies first. It might sound like a paradox, but it's really care for your own and yourself."

I nod, and the coldness in my chest looses its hold somewhat.

"I did have the feeling that I'm approaching this somehow wrongly. Would you care to explain?"

He is silent for a time, conceiving an answer. I wait, hoping to quench the sickening, poisonous feeling in my soul,

"Well, look here. Imagine... Orcs." Why does it always have to be orcs in these conversations, I wonder? "The gruffest, most primitive warriors you can find." О Lord of Knowledge, for a former bard he is certainly clueless about orcs. At least about their epic tales of bravery and so on. Absolute nonsense, but they explain a lot about the orcs. "Imagine they go into your forest and get shot down from behind a tree. What do the rest of them think? 'Dey wer anfair cawards! Elvs ar pansees! We c'n teik 'em!'" The parody of the orcish accent is amusing, though. "And they gather a warband again, and they go attack again. And again take a few of your people with them as they die. And what happens when those same orcs meet a bunch of men on the open battlefield? They get beat up fair and square, and their reaction is predictable. They respect our strength, and are far less eager to mount an attack again. It's ten years of peace at least, until a new generation breeds."

Now, where do I start taking this mess apart?

"Actually, that's not the way they react to our traps. All they know is that if they enter this forest - they die. It breeds simple fear. We need nothing more, really."

"That's a human reaction." He points out. "What would an orc do?"

"Even the most barbaric creatures know fear." I can't help but smile here. Yes indeed. Even the most savage brute wavers before certain doom, and the fear is that much greater when you do not know which direction doom lies.

"Re-eally." The dragon drawls sceptically. "Then why are you under constant attack?"

"You must have misunderstood me when we spoke earlier. We are under 'constant' attack only by our own standards. Like you, we get waves of orcs after a new generation grows up."

"You might have given them a demonstrative thrashing once and for all."

I shrug. "We probably could have, but genocide isn't really to our liking." When is Cypher going to understand: elves do not fight to defeat? That you *can't* fight to defeat when there are ten of them and only one of you?

"And just imagine an encounter between... Hmmm... The drow and the paladins? When the drow understand just how limited the paladins were in their options and that they *still* won? They'll just think, 'Hey, there's a lot of *other* places you can get slaves!'"

I've not heard much of the drow. A mere legend to my generation. But if the old stories are at all true, I don't know what chance would a paladin stand. Drow do not fight fairly, not any more than we do. And I've heard they routinely use a lot of nasty things we cannot use aboveground for fear of spoiling our own habitat.

"No, I can't imagine that." I reply. "And, anyway, your calculations require one tiny condition..."

"Agreed." He nods. "The victory of love and light for our part. But that's a necessary condition for all calculations of the aftermath, isn't it?"

"True, but that's the crux of it. You seem to think might will always be on your side. Enough might to win with a handicap."

"All of our battle plans take that into account... Wait! Elf, I've got it! I know the difference between us!"

He sounds so excited, and... Truthful. Even before he says whatever it is he got, I feel like he is right. But I try to remain unmoved. "Hmm?"

"Every adult elf is a combatant, right?"

"Well, yes. Moreover, even those in their fifties will fight when necessary. Nine or ten year olds, by your reckoning."

"That's it." Cypher says. "There are no professional warriors, no separate caste where these concepts could have originated. Naturally, an armed people has neither time nor use for 'warrior's honor.'"

That's... Almost plausible.

"Sounds good." I say skeptically. "But why didn't the entire people become a 'warrior's caste' of a sort?"

But we are, I understand suddenly. I remember how my father's decision - to never let me learn weaponry beyond the simple knife, which any forest-dweller learns anyhow - had backfired when I'd gone to live in Sirfain, where even the other mage's apprentices knew the rapier and bow. I'm passable at weapons now, but never quite caught up with them, and I will never forget their looks when I learned with children fifty years my juniors.

"Because a people has much more to do than war. Our warriors spend their whole lives fighting or preparing for war. You can't afford that. Your warriors, not counting the forest guards, blade dancers and such, are the artist, the builder, the musician who picks up a bow because it is war and necessary. The warrior of a human race is just that - a warrior."

"I did say 'of a sort'..." I grumble softly. "But I understand. We do not learn all of war. We learn that of war which will help non-professionals survive in certain conditions."

"Exactly." He says smugly. Still, he has reason to be: that was an admirable insight.

We fall silent for a time, and then, after an idle exchange about garrisons and human warriors, I hear him slip off into sleep.

[lord pringle]

Will be writing some more Tanner Wolf stuff for english class so expect more soon.

[Machuchang]

WEREKAT!!! I missed you! It's good to see you back!:smallbiggrin:

Sorry for the really late response on my part though...




Reincarnation
or
Paranoid adventurers and hurt feelings

I love it! You really captured the feelings of distrust and perceived-offense between the characters very well, especially considering how this information comes secondhand from the speaker, which would usually deaden the impact. Instead, all of the bad feelings felt very prominent, and helped to create a very intense atmosphere. Incredibly well done!




Of warfare among humans and elves
or
A small in-game exercise in world building



This is great! I really love how the narrator's personality shines through in this one, especially in her dry, sort of cynical remarks. I especially loved how it shined through in the philosophical debate about battle with Cypher, and I really enjoyed how her logical viewpoints clashed with Cypher's idealistic ones. Plus, big points for justifying that elvish weapon proficiency thing. It really adds a lot of flavor to the world the characters are in. I really love the recurring references to Boccob and the narrator's dream of becoming a silver dragon as well. Those helped to create a nice consistency between the two stories, and I felt that they helped strengthen the voice of the narrating character. Excellent work as always, and I'm really looking forward to the next parts of this story!


I've finally got a snippet too! I figured I'd try my hand at writing in third person again, since I haven't really done that since I started writing snippets. Hopefully, that still holds up alright. This story is told mainly from my friend's character's viewpoint, about my character, Hero.


Moving On

(or Holding Out For A Hero)
The mountains laid deep within the grip of winter, their peaks buried beneath the thick mantle of freshly fallen snow. Everything was still, except for the lone, dark form of a traveler as he made his way up the side of the mountain. Everything was silent, except for his ragged, labored breathing and the crunching of his boots as they sank into the snow.

The journey had not been kind on Azring the dwarf. His dark eyes had sunken, his limbs ached, and his lustrous black beard had paled and frayed. The peaks of mountains were no place for a dwarf, he thought to himself. He was a creature of the underground, a digger, a miner. His was a race of warriors, not of bloody hikers! Azring spat in frustration and watched in disgust as his saliva froze solid before it hit the ground. He could have been back home in Akral by now, knocking back a pint with his brothers, rather than freezing his ass off in the mountains, lost in the middle of nowhere, searching for someone who may not have even been there. But no. He would not fail in his Duty, no matter how cold or tired or hungry he was. He was chosen by Moradin, and the Chosen did not falter. Especially not when the world was in danger. And so, shivering, he clutched his thin black cloak closer to his body as he trudged along.

Fortunately, it was not long before Azring found what he was looking for, even though he couldn’t see it. A cave. A tiny little hollow, barely twenty feet across, hidden just around the corner. He could feel its presence in his bones, just as clearly as he could see the snow and the stone around him. Yes! Yes, this was the place! He would be there. He had to be. This was it! Azring grinned with satisfaction as his stonecunning led him to the opening of the cave.

And there he was. The man Azring came to find. Sitting crouched over a small fire, his back to the mouth of the cave, was a slight young man. A thick shock of bright red hair covered his head, and his striking green eyes seemed to shine in the light of the fire. But by far, the young man’s most striking feature was his skin. Pale and milky-white, but blemished by the presence of numerous port-wine stains that stained his body with sickly red streaks and blotches. Azring smiled when he saw him.

“There ye are Hero! Ah’ve ben lookin’ all over for ye!” Azring chuckled as he spoke, trying to hide the feelings of nervous anticipation he felt swimming within his gut. It had been three years since he had last seen Hero, and these were certainly not the circumstances he would have chosen for a reunion.

“Hello Azring,” Hero did not turn. His voice was a dead monotone, all but devoid of emotion. Azring sighed in dejection. It looked like his friend hadn’t changed much since the last time they spoke.

“Hero, come on lad. Et’s time ta leave,” Azring said tentatively. “The Dark One’s armies are gettin’ stronger by the day. The world needs us now. Come on Hero, et’s time ta live up ta yer namesake,”

Hero stood suddenly and turned on Azring, his face wracked with rage.

“DON’T YOU EVER SAY THAT!” Hero screamed, his voice echoing through the tiny cave. “DON’T YOU EVER SAY THAT AZRING! I AM NOT A HERO!”

“Ye are,” Azring said sternly. He was determined to remain unphased by his friend’s behavior. He was not going to allow things to end like last time. “Et’s in yer name,”

“Damn you Azring, I am not!” Hero growled. “I’m not strong, or smart, handsome, or brave! I was just named by a crazy old farmer with stupid dreams for my future! You know just as well as I do that I just got swept up in all of this by chance!”

“The gods’d say otherwise,” Azring said. “Ye know ye were chosen,”

“DAMN THE GODS!” Hero screamed. “They have no power! Or if they do, then they don’t care enough about us to use it!”

“That’s not true Hero,”

“IT IS TRUE, YOU STUPID OLD DWARF!” Hero’s tone became hysterical. “IF THEY EVEN GAVE TWO CRAPS ABOUT US, NISSA WOULD STILL BE ALIVE RIGHT NOW!” Tears began to roll down Hero’s face.

Azring sighed. He knew this was coming. Not that the reminder of it hurt any less. Nissa was a good lass, for an elf anyway. Corellon’s blessing was strong in her, and she was the bravest, sweetest lass he had ever known. He and Addin used to joke that Nissa was the glue that held their little group together. It was amazing how right they were in hindsight, really. And she and Hero had been close. Really close.

“Hero, Ah know et hurts,” Azring rested his hand on his taller friend’s side. “But ye know as well as Ah do that there are jus’ some things tha gods cannae control. Like tha actions o’ other gods, such as tha Dark One,”

“They let her die, Azring,” Hero wept bitterly. “They let him rape her and steal her soul! And they didn‘t do a thing to help her, to save her! Not a damn thing!"

Azring had enough. Drawing himself up to his full height, he grabbed his friend by the front and forcefully dragged him down to eye level.

“Gods damn et, Hero!” Azring growled. “They tried to warn us, in case ye dinnae remember! They told us ‘e was more powerful ‘n we could possibly imagine! But we ‘ad a chance ta kill tha bastard then an’ there so we took et! HELL, ET WAS NISSA’S BLOODY IDEA, REMEMBER?” Azring bellowed, and fixed Hero with a piercing glare. The two stood in silence, staring one another in the eyes. “She was a casualty, but we need to move on now,” Azring said tensely as he released Hero. “Ah’ve tried ta be patient with ye, but Ah’m bloody well fed up! Tha whole bloody world needs our help now, an' if ye ever really cared for Nissa, ye’ll honor her memory and help finish what she started! Ye can either come with me, or stay here and sulk! Ah dinnae care anymore!”

With that, Azring turned and began to walk away, stalking out of the cave and into the snow without looking back. Hero watched him go until he was almost out of his sight. Then, wiping his tears from his face, he followed.

[big teej]

I was reading Tome and Blood last night, as I'm finally getting around to playing a d4 caster.

I read the Blood Magus prestiege class.


I can now happily say I've got another source of inspiration. :smallbiggrin:

[Lady Moreta]

I bring you a story of goliaths.
Guhingir's tale


It happened while I was out hunting.

I was hunting stag in the mountain crags along with Vaunea and Aukan. We had tracked a herd to a valley and were preparing to ambush one when they came.

Violators, greenskins, desecrators, swinekin… Orcs.

They swept through the valley, driving the deer away. We were but three, as might as we are, we stood no chance against such numbers, and their group momentum would surely overtake us if we fled before them. We climbed, up into the trees, and watched them pass beneath us.

They were heading towards the village
No. no no no no no no no.

We chased them, but they outpaced us, caught up in their feral lust of wanton destruction. We barely managed to keep pace, the dust kicked up by their passage taunting us at the edge of the horizon, mocking us from each ridgeline as we followed them.

They reached our home an entire hour before us.
A quarter of that is all it took.

We came upon our home camp. It had been obliterated. Dead goliath’s lay everywhere, hacked and torn apart. Our dawncaller lay rent asunder atop our altar-block.

Vaunea began to weep, Aukan went to comfort her. I searched the bodies of the slain, hoping to find some survivor amongst the tattered frames.

I found only 1…
An Orc.

Our folk had made a good account of themselves, from my swift count it seemed that for every goliath that fell here today, they dragged down 3 of their murderer’s with them.

The orc was missing his leg at the knee. I questioned him thoroughly, pulling on the exposed bone on his leg whenever he refused to answer me.

This was desecration, they must be destroyed. The tribe of Orc’s called themselves the mountain crackers.

I left that orc to die, and returned to my fellows. They both appeared numb and in shock.

Aukan, prepare a tablet for any other tribes who come here. Let them know that we pursue, and will not return until every orc from this tribe of desecrator’s is slain.

Aukan objected, “Guhingir, there is no way the three of us can accomplish this task.” Vaunea was apart from us, staring off into the sunset, remained quiet. “we have no choice” I replied. “this act cannot go unpunished. We three must avenge our blood.”
Vaunea spoke, her voice quavering like an icicle about to fall from the roof of a cave at the end of winter. “they have to die, even if it means our deaths.” The woman was not a warrior at heart, at least not yet, she would have to learn to be stone hearted. “you can track them can’t you Aukan? You’re the best in the tribe after all.” She continued.

Aukan shifted uneasily on his feet. “I believe I can do it. We can even catch them eventually, they can’t keep that pace forever.”

“so we are agreed.” I said, taking up my hammer, which I had lain aside for the conversation. “Lead on Aukan”

And so Aukan began to track our quarry across the mountains, the trail was painfully obvious at first, the earth having been trampled beneath their feet. We eventually grew close enough to shadow them, to gauge their strength and their numbers.

They were many, and we were few.
So we watched, and we waited.
“aulak thala kaua gamala” - hunt the herd one animal at a time.

As night fell, they set up patrols, no more than 10 to 15 orcs each.
“Wheat before the reaper”, as I’d heard people of the lowlands say.
“a tiring stag before a goliath” we would say in the mountains.

We crept closer, our massive forms hidden within the shadows of our home. We waited until a patrol wandered in our direction, and we struck.

I stood from my concealment, and hurled my Harpoon at an orc. I had acquired the weapon during trade with some lowlanders; one man in particular smelled strongly of salt and told me the harpoon was used for hunting on a great expanse of water, called an “ocean”. He told me it was much bigger than any mountain lake. I had found the trader’s stories fascinating, but I prized the harpoon for its ability to bring down prey and allow me restrict their movements.

My harpoon caved in the Orc’s chest, pinning him to a tree. The remaining orcs milled about in confusion and panic at the sudden, violent death of a fellow, Vaunea began to rain arrows as long as an Orc’s forearm into the crowd, whilst Aukan and I waded in with our great hammers. We slew the orcs in seconds.

We faded back into the brush to wait for another band of orcs to come our way….

We harried the horde for some time in this manner, taking 10 to 15 orcs a night. Unfortunately, the orcs left the mountains, and travelled down onto the flatter lands. We could not help but give chase.

Many moons have passed since then. Both Aukan and Vaunea have long since fallen in battle with the orcs. I am the sole survivor of our tribe.

I will not rest until each of those orcs is dead.

I am Guhingir, Goliath, called “barbarian” by those who call these flat expanses home. I call myself “Avenger”.
My weapon’s and my very soul call out for the destruction of the swinekin.

I like this one. I think you captured the feel of the character, his personality, his feelings and emotions really really well. I could really feel his pain when he realised he was too late, and there seemed to be a sort of regret in his tone when he mentioned that the other two were dead.

Two things I would fix:
1. The first time your character speaks, you forgot the speech marks. Not a huge error, but it makes it a little tricky to realise he's speaking. I had to read it twice before I suddenly realised that he was actually talking.
2. Write numbers in full. Don't just type '3' or '1', type 'three' and 'one'. The rules of English state that for any number ten and below you write out in full, anything from 11 up gets to be written in numerals. The only exception to this (in a story at least) would be if you were depicting some sort of accounts book, or perhaps describing something the character was looking at. If he's looking at a number scrawled on a page or something. Numbers that are part of the text as yours were need to be in full.

There were a few grammar issues as well, but nothing that really impacted the story or made it hard to read so they're not really worth mentioning.


I haven't posted anything here in forever and a day, but this scene cried out to be snippet-ed.

You're right. It did. I love Dala's wondering back and forth about whether or not they've done the right thing in bringing Celia and her final acceptance that they didn't have any other choice. I'm fascinated that this Builder turned against them yet Celia still brought him back. I'm sensing another story there that I really want to know! I liked Dala's pragmatic approach to magic as well, it's those little side-thoughts that really make these snippets interesting. I don't know of anyone who is so focused that they think of one thing and one thing only and never get sidetracked. But all Dala's side tracks were perfectly natural and made her seem incredibly real.


Not much action in this one: In fact, it's mostly exposition for the second part. But I like it.

It is. And it works. I love Rafael's horrified realisation of who he really is. I love his and Josephina's reactions to all these revelations. They're horrified, but still bound by the niceties of society and it just reads wonderfully. You do a wonderful job of portraying them, with nice comic interlude with Dimitri :smallbiggrin:


got another one finished.

this one is a Rilkan Duskblade

I don't know why, but I seem to be fixating on the fact that he's lost his hat. I find it incredibly funny for some reason. All this crap going on around him and he's worried about his hat. Reminds me of Indiana Jones :smallbiggrin:


“It’s not yours to take, for I am in your way.”

Wow. He's badass all right. I love the title, it really sets up the scene that follows. I usually can't stand writing in full caps, but it worked for the demon-dude, it gave an extra depth of feeling to his voice. I could just hear it in my head, so well done with that :smallsmile:


This was just incredible. Your writing had an amazingly powerful feel, and you masterfully created an incredibly intense atmosphere. That, and all the little bits of backstory really drove home how screwed up a life Lyra has had and how much her curse has affected her.

I could really feel everything she was feeling, all of her guilt, her fear, despair, all of it. This whole piece really, really resonated with me. I mean, I'm on the verge of crying over here. Well done. Very well done.

Poor Lyra...

I really shouldn't be feeling as smug about this as I do... but I kinda can't help it. That was exactly the feel I was going for. If it makes you feel better, I was almost crying when I wrote it.


Alone: No nitpicks, great job, Moreta! Poor Lyra, though. What point of her story is this set at? What happens next?

This was set some time after the snippet in which Garret dies (can't remember the name of that one). And as for what happens next? I don't know!

If I may ask though - both you and Machuchang - what was it about the writing that worked so well? I rarely sit down deliberately intending to get a certain feel out of a story because it never works. This is the first time I've deliberately gone for a feel and actually achieved it. I need to know what I did right!


First up is the D&D stuff - because our current DM and the player of our paladin asked me to. Kudos, Fearan. ;-)

Hey! It's the elf wizard lady-man... I'm not sure you ever confirmed whether they were a male or female in the end... I've missed this character (whose name I am afraid, I have forgotten). I wonder though - were you tired at all when you were writing these? I ask because your English doesn't seem up to it's usual fine standard. I mean, you write just as well as, if not better than me, and English is my first language. I just wondered - there was something about the flow that didn't quite work for me. Maybe it was just because I hadn't read this character for a while, maybe it's because I was tired when I first read it myself.

I liked them though. I like the slight envy that this guy gets to be a silver dragon and the wonder in the narrative. :smallsmile:

[Werekat]

First, the general stuff: Jailin is male. All of the great age of 119 (basically 19 going on 20 human time). I guess it might be hard to tell from first person, considering the fact that elves, as I write them, have more acute senses than the average human, and thus pay a lot more attention to things like color, texture, quality of material, as well as to gestures and touch as a way to transmit information. Think not nearly entirely visually-based, as with humans, but an even three-way split between visual, audial, and kinesthetic. Which creates an attention to detail that should be seen as feminine without additional information - which I really have no idea how to give, so if anyone has suggestions, I'm open.

Gods and dragons: Huh, I was wondering whether I was getting too repetitive with those two details. Glad to see that actually strengthened the feel of unity across pieces, as I aimed it to.

Machuchang: Thanks! My favorite part of working on worldbuilding is taking details that were thrown in for random flavor, and then building up a culture around them. It helps that I'm a cultural studies major.

Now, as for Moving On: I have to say I can't really get a feel for what Hero's been living in. He's been in that cave for three years, presumably brooding over the death of a friend. Here's the catch: I can't get the character his brooding takes. Is he still shocked to the point of not taking care of himself, does the cave have the bare minimum for survival? Has he just decided to live a life away from all that reminds him of Nissa, and has made his life more or less comfortable? Has he been actually wandering, and is this place only a temporary shelter?

What also makes me wonder is what god chose Hero, and what is the nature of their relationship, now and previously. What does he know about the gods? Can they only act through their clerics and chosen, or can they actually *do* what Hero wanted them to do - only they didn't? The fact that this is unclear - only slightly implied by Azring that they'd come across a full-blown manifestation while having only partial powers (and I'm not at all sure I got that correctly) - makes it more difficult to understand Hero's reaction. Does he know in his soul that there was really nothing to be done?

To summarize, I'd like a little more background to make the piece more meaningful, to contrast Hero's character. What you've got there is basic, pure emotion, and you do that well - a man who's wanted for three years to scream out his rage and sorrow at someone for whom Nissa is not just some casualty, but a friend, so that they'd understand - but without context it doesn't shine as much as it could.

Lady Moreta: *laughs* That's what working without peer review does to you. *nods* I know there's a sort of awkward effect in these pieces. I'm just not really sure where it came from and what to do with it. I think I've slipped a lot into the "tell-don't-show" mistake, which is easy to do in first person. If there are any particular places that look wrong, could you please tell me?

As for Lyra: The repetition works well. I mean how she remembers from the oldest to the most recent incident. It's done in a good rhythm that works: the interludes in italic help establish that. The fact that the last interlude is longer helps in the dynamic, as well - it leaves the reader with Lyra's expectation that because of her curse she *will* be rescued tortured, and it's going to go *horribly* wrong she's finally going to be punished for her sins and be freed of them.

There's the good part, I think, actually. You speak of her tormentors with the same language as someone awaiting a rescue would speak of his or her friends who have not come yet. Where are they? Why aren't they coming? When will they relieve me? It creates a kind of "1984" effect, very creepy and appropriate. And when you realize she's actually waiting for her *captors* it becomes really crushing.

And, of course, the fact that she's actually being watched all this time - which means, since her captors are happy, that she was desperate enough that they could notice it. This creates an additional level of indirect depiction, at least for me: not just tears, but the kind of tears that you know the person shedding them is going to break down soon.

I think that's the crux of what worked - hope it helps!

As for my own stuff: the other two parts of the tale!


Human Oaths and Dragons
or
Psychoanalysis for the Draconic Soul

It is my second watch. We switched around a bit tonight: Fai was tired, he slept first. So as I make myself comfortable by the window, Cypher gets ready to go to sleep. He curls up a pace away from me, and covers his head with his wings.

That's... Unusual. Usually he stretches out. Head on paws. I've had ample time to watch my companions, I know how they sleep.

I watch him out of the corner of my eye for a few more minutes. His breathing does not get quieter and deeper - it goes from short and rapid to calm, and then back to rapid again.

Should I?.. We're really not that close.

The silver dragon shivers, as if cold. That's... Disturbing.

"Are you thinking over our hopeless tactical situation or are you just sad?" I say as nonchalantly as I can. "Or do I just not get something about dragons?" That's always a distinct possibility, too.

Cypher pokes his head out from under his wing. Only his snout and an eye shows.

"Just thinking." He mutters quietly. "About my transformation."

I nod. "A lot to think about."

We fall silent again. I try not to pry. Though I do wonder... Of so many things. Of why the spell did not go as planned. Of what Bahamut had in store for the young paladin. But all of that is between him and his god. Too personal.

"I just don't understand." He says quietly and suddenly. "What it was all for. Why me, after all. What does he want from me?"

That's... Peculiar. I thought a being of pure law and good would be more straightforward. "He did not tell you directly?"

"No." A quiet whisper.

"Do you have any idea why?"

"Two versions." The dragon lifts a claw, speaking slowly, as if in fear. "Either it's some kind of draconic game. And I mustn't know. Or... Else..." His voice is shaking as he finally exhales, "I'm unworthy."

"You?! Unworthy?" This coming from the man who'd given his life to save me once, when he barely knew me, and did not waver! From the man who put himself into danger over his word on a regular basis! If Bahamut considers *him* unworthy... No. Hardly possible. "What could you possibly have done to be unworthy of such a simple?.."

"I. Don't. Know." The dragon closes his eyes limply.

This coming from the boy who hadn't known fear since he took up the sword of a paladin. And who now has to deal with knowing fear and uncertainty again.

What the hells do I say to him?

"Maybe you should give your god a little more credit." The words
somehow start flowing on their own. "Those reasons are both rather harsh for a being of law and good."

"I don't see any alternatives."

"You're how old? By dragon standards?"

"Very young." He sighs.

"That's quite possibly it, then." I say reassuringly. "They may just
want you to have a good... Childhood, for what it's worth."

The dragon raises his head hopefully. "As in 'go on, grow up, and we'll call you when we need you?'"

"Yes, exactly like that. Your god is supposed to be merciful and understanding, is he not?"

"Merciful - yes." Cypher nods. "Understanding... He is far too high above us mere mortals, I think."

"Gods are supposed to be all-knowing within their portfolio." I note. "And you were part of Bahamut's portfolio long before you became a dragon, were you not?"

"Yes, but... He's so high up, and I'm just a wyrmling. What could he possibly care for a single wyrmling in a huge world?" Cypher curls up again, only paws showing. The despair is palpable, and I catch myself on wanting to move closer, to take those paws into my hands, to hold him for support. But I stay myself. What would be wholly appropriate among elves might not spread to dragons so easily.

I'm so glad the Indifferent One leaves no questions about what catches his interest and what does not. What do gods care about mere mortals, indeed... Should I tell him of my own experience?

No. One does not tell a silver dragon of how one wanted to kill an innocent for the sake of one's own safety.

"I wish Katarina was here." I say simply. "She'd be able to explain. She knows."

The dragon snorts a little jet of frost. "Right. And she doesn't doubt herself, either, does she?"

A-and good job, Jailin. You didn't notice *that* one before, did you? So that's why our two pious warriors had kept their distance. How do I explain?.. Damn it to the Grey Wastes, I'm not a cleric!

"She... Understand, Cypher. She isn't just a follower of Pelor. She is his beloved daughter." That sounds so honey-sweet, my teeth are hurting as I say it. But with Katarina it is all true. "She wasn't making a decision to follow his ideals - she was born like that, and so he chose her when she was old enough to take care of herself. She is a ray of the sun. She acts like that because of who she is, not because she decided to be that way..." Somehow by the look of him I don't think I'm making any sense. So I finish lamely: "But she's still human, and she still doubts herself."

"She did not doubt herself much when she chose to save Fai over those whom she promised her protection." The dragon says grimly.

"You just have no idea." I remember that sleepless night well. I'd never seen Katarina quite so forlorn. She - and we with her - had promised to check out a possible danger to the village. But then Fai had been kidnapped, and she was faced with either breaking her promise or saving a friend from certain death. She decided to go after Fai, risking the lives of the villagers. Luckily for us, we killed two birds with one stone. Yet it was the closest our party had ever come to a split, Cypher wanting to keep his promise to the villagers, and Jelita...

"Maybe." The dragon acquiesces. "But what I don't understand is Jelita. Why would she leave her sister to go with me?"

"Really?" I make no effort to hide my amusement. "I'd say *her* motivation is clear as an ice crystal."

To my surprise, the dragon ducks his head in what could only be embarrassment.

"If that's really true," he says, "that is, of course, nice, bu-ut..."

"That, too." I laugh. "But, really, that's not the main reason as I see it." The dragon fires me a curious look, and I continue. "She is younger than you are, Cypher, even if you have seen the same number of summers. She is yet like a child, who sees only the curiosity and wonder of travel. And when choosing between two tasks - one which is full of excitement, mystery, and where you can come back to be cheered by the townsfolk, and one where you have to go find some guy you don't really even know, you have no idea where to look, and it promises to be long and tedious, and above all boring... I'd say the choice is fairly obvious!"

My chuckle freezes in my throat, as suddenly all I can see are the dragon's molten gold eyes, staring through me. His claws clench, and he emits a low growl.

"Are you all right?" I ask carefully.

"You hold up too good a mirror, mage." He spits out dejectedly. "It's just that... Take all that which you just said about Jelita. Apply to me. I want the glory. The good story. The grateful looks. I'm... I'm the same as she is."

You think you just want the outer wrappings? I can't help but smile. Truly, one's own soul is often darker and more mysterious than another's.

"Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?" I ask as cheerfully as I can.

Cypher looks disgusted. "How can *that* be a good thing?" He hisses.

"You can actually enjoy what you're doing, despite all the danger. There's nothing wrong with that. There's nothing wrong with liking being thanked. With enjoying being good. It's not the entirety of your motivation, is it? Don't tell me you went with us just because we'd come back and be thanked for it. That wouldn't be true, would it? You'd have gone with us even if they hadn't known."

"True." He admits. "But I was exactly like her, once. I was that kid
who wanted to save the village and be cheered on by the grateful villagers. I..."

"You've obviously grown since then."

"Right." He snorts skeptically and curls up again.

"Anyway, you were quite careful about it."

"Not careful enough, apparently." He grumbles.

"What do you mean?" I really do not understand.

"I should have just quietly gone my way," He sighs. "Without declaring it. I shouldn't have pushed you along my own path."

"Don't be ridiculous." I laugh quietly. "First of all, remember that you did not. Our paths just happened to coincide."

"True, but... What I did was blackmail anyway."

I briefly go over the scene in memory. All he did was say that he was going to save the villagers regardless of us, and that he bids us farewell in our journey.

"That? That was being honest. You have full right to be what you are, do you not? And let the rest choose their own ways. Even if we go our separate ways as a result, you have full right to say goodbye, Cypher."

"To say goodbye..." The dragon murmurs sleepily and shifts his pose, suddenly much more relaxed.

"Yes, to say goodbye." I barely stop myself from running a hand reassuringly along the ridges of his spine. Careful with any physiology you do not know well, mage! "And let them go their way while you go yours. We are all adults here..."

A quiet snore rises from the dragon's nostrils. He is finally asleep.

I smile and turn my attention to the window.

And the last part of the series, which I think is the best written (yay, third person, and yay, Cypher who was a former bard and is easier to write!) Heed my warning, though: it's long.



Hypocrisy
or
D&D has no wound penalties - that's no reason not to roleplay them, is it?

"I'll tend to our prize before those mechanical beasts catch up, and play lookout while I'm at it." Fai says. "Cypher, you take care of Jailin. And I'll be going somewhere where there's more light and space."

With that, he exits, magical sack in hand.

"I'll be fine." The elf growls after him through clenched teeth, spreading his bedroll on the "ground" of the rope trick. He flinches every time his burned hands touch cloth, his movements falter, but still Jailin tries to be as meticulous as ever - if only as a means to keeping conscious. The mage does not bother lighting a lamp. It's bad enough feeling the wounds. He doesn't want to see them, too.

Cypher, of course, needs no lamp.

"Fine or not, but you look like hell." The dragon observes, coming closer on silent paws. "You've got that amulet, though. Why haven't you healed up a bit?"

The mage stops moving. Then Jailin very deliberately looks towards dragon, hand clutching at something hidden under his coat, and says in a very calm voice, "Because I will die the moment I remove the little trinket around my neck now."

The dragon's heart skips a beat. "Why didn't you say something? Give me the healing amulet!"

A small golden cornucopia appears on the wizard's outstretched palm.

"Here. And I was quiet because we were flying too quickly. If we'd lost the amulet, trying to heal me on the run, we'd have had too difficult of a time looking for it. We couldn't afford that, it's our only means of reliable healing now."

"Just sit down." Cypher says grimly, as he dons the amulet.

Jailin sits, closes his eyes, and waits for the dragon to activate the cornucopia. The mage tries to keep silent, but a small hiss escapes him as his wounds begin to close.

And they do not close fully. Not even close; Cypher fails to see much of a difference. Even as the worst charred patches fall away, replaced with new skin, most of the burns remain red and deep, and seep with ichor.

But the elf exhales carefully, and touches his hands together, running attentive fingers along wounds. "Better. Much better. Thank you." And forces a small smile. "Now I will even be conscious if I lose the amulet. I won't be much help, though."

"Rest will make you better." Cypher nods at the bedroll. "Lay down. Just don't wrap yourself up."

"You take me for a complete fool?" The elf smirks, peeling outermost layers of burnt clothing off. "There is a lot of excess heat to lose. And I'll be sitting, thank you very much, otherwise I'll leave too much skin on my bedding."

"I'll help you with losing heat. And treat you once it's gone." The dragon's tone allows no protest. "Lean against me. I am cool enough."

"It will not hurt you?" The elf asks.

"No." Cypher has no idea, really, but the last thing he wants is to breed doubt.

Jailin nods, and rests his wounded back and hands across the dragon's hide. And so they sit, leaning against each other, in the dark of the pocket dimension. The mage is too hot to Cypher's touch, but he bears the discomfort easily. *After all,* the dragon thinks to himself, *if you couldn't prevent a friend from being hurt, you might as well help him heal.*

The thoughts ring uncomfortably, reminding him of what he had lost. Among the things Bahamut had released him from was the power to heal. You could not re-think oaths while still having them, he had said. Human oaths and dragons do not mesh well, he had said. You will have to start over: such is the price for your new rebirth, he had said.

It was all so reasonable.

But right now a wounded friend was trying not to cry out from pain each time he moved, and Cypher could do nothing.

"Forgive me for being so crass." The elf mutters suddenly. "I was afraid, and not thinking clearly. One flying anti-magic zone in this madhouse
of a city - nothing we can rule out, really - and I would have been dead."

"No offense taken." The dragon says, shivering uncomfortably.

A pause falls. And then Cypher knows what he wants more than
anything in the world.

"Rest, elf." The dragon whispers happily. "Very, very soon, I will no longer be helpless when friends are hurt. I don't want to see you like this ever again."

But the mage inhales sharply, as if someone jabbed him under the ribs. "That is wrong." He says suddenly. "That is just so very wrong."

"That's the only *right* way possible." Cypher says kindly, basking in the calmness that has descended upon him. The dragon can't help but smile now.

"No." The elf curls into a ball, burying his face in his hands, and whispers. "No, no, no, no, no."

"Shh." The dragon says, not understanding what just happened, but huddling closer for comfort. "It's all right."

"No. No, it is not." The mage chokes. The dragon listens, hardly believing his ears. The elf was always calm, maybe a bit irritable, but this was something new entirely. "You cannot live your life like that. Not like that. You cannot... Keep living just for the sake of others, you cannot keep doing what they want."

*What?* Cypher thinks in confusion. *Where'd *that* come from?* And just when he finally understood that it really was not the glory and all that he wanted, but simply for his friends and family to never know pain and fear. Just when he finally remembered what his oaths were for.

"Listen to me, my friend Jailin." He says, gently putting a clawed paw on shaking shoulder. "Didn't you hear what I said? *I* don't want to be helpless. *I* don't want to see you hurt."

"That cannot be your true motivation." The elf says flatly.

"Why not?"

"We are far too different, you and I." The mage's voice is heavy and desperate. "You cannot possibly be wanting to help me because we are akin in spirit; we are not. Thus, your desire to aid me stems from you feeling bound to serve. And that..." He trails off helplessly.

*What a mess,* Cypher thinks to himself.

"Why do you think that I can't be wanting to help you?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not... How do you say it... A good man. Not by any of your standards. I'm not one. I'll never be one. When I'm in my right mind, I don't *want* to be one. I'm not going to dedicate my life to going around saving people just because. How can you possibly *want* to help someone that doesn't even try to change to your ideals?"

"Simple." He replies. "Picking and choosing those who to save - unless they do evil themselves - is the shortest path to becoming evil. And you don't do evil."

"That's not true."

"Fine," He admits. "I have not seen you do evil."

"I..." The mage falls silent for a moment, then tries again, "I've..." And finally, succeeds. "I'm... More than capable of killing an innocent for the sake of my own safety. Cypher, do not mistake me for a good man, I..."

Cypher hears that which remained unsaid, that which he himself had cried out yesterday. "I am not worthy." And knows that, just as yesterday no amount of direct convincing would change what he thought of himself, no words would convince the mage.

"I do not care for what you were or might have been." The dragon says firmly. "What you are now is what matters."

"I have not changed, I will not change. I do not want to change. I just
do not want you to think wrongly of me. I am who I am, Cypher."

"That's fine with me."

"That's impossible."

"No, really." The dragon says quietly, and carefully tries to turn the elf towards him. But Jailin does not budge. "It's all right."

"How can it be all right, if..."

"If?"

"It is not fair." The elf says suddenly. "I have no choice. No choice but to risk myself when you do. Because you would like to take the needless risk. The risk that is fair, but makes us so much more likely to fail entirely. The world is hard enough to live in as it is! Why do you not take the easier path? There is no dishonor in that!"

"To you, possibly not." Cypher answers curtly. "Now, let me treat you."

"But..."

"Sh." And suddenly Cypher holds the shuddering mage's shoulders with human hands. "Let me look at your burns, Jailin. Please."

"I'm moving." The elf replies after a grunt of pain. "I think a few are stuck to each other. Stupid of me to press them together."

"I'll take care of that in a moment."

For the longest time they are silent, interrupted only by muffled curse words from the elf. The former bard recognizes no less than five languages. He works, silently thanking Bahamut that he did not take away his skills in regular healing.

"Unfffffair." The elf hisses as Cypher ministers to his stomach. He tries to speak on, but the words visibly catch in his throat.

"I am sorry you got hurt." Get some more water and a fresh bandage.

"Hurt... Matterssss.. Damn! Not." The elf stays the healer's pain-bringing hand momentarily, to speak. "It couldn't be helped this time around. I w-wish we would just use the chance to not get hurt."

Wash the wound. Don't defend yourself. Bind the wound. "I am sorry."

The elf cracks a smile. "Your enemies must hate you, Cypher. You are impossible to get to."

That was not true. Jailin's words stung. Especially coming from one who had not too long ago encouraged Cypher to go his own way.

Cypher keeps his silence until he is done, and Jailin follows suit. Then the dragon reverts to his own form and says, "Keep near. I need an eye on you."

"Very well, I shall. Thank you." And the elf carefully lowers himself onto the cloak.

"Welcome." the dragon replies calmly.

Time passes so slowly in the dark. The elf does not move, and Cypher thinks him asleep, when he suddenly stirs and whispers.

"Cypher?"

"Yes?"

"I was wrong. About taking needless risks. I am sorry."

The dragon is quiet for a moment. He had been thinking about hypocrisy this whole time. And about how it really was easier to just be silent than to face accusations of selfishness.

"When did you understand?" He finally asks.

"A moment ago. Forgive me. You have full right to take any risk you want. I have full right to refuse to come with you. But I have no right to tell you that you are somehow responsible for me taking your path or going my own way. Was it not I, who said but a few nights back that we are all of age here? I still stand by that, and I am sorry for having forgotten it in a moment of weakness. I now know *why* you were so afraid of accusations of blackmail."

Cypher gives a soft sigh.

"You are forgiven." He says quietly.

"Thank you." The elf raises his face, and turns to the dragon, looking pained. His eyes are still closed, but they appear to be dry.

*I'll never understand elves,* Cypher thinks to himself. "Are you well?"

"Yes." A barely audible sigh.

"You don't look well."

The elf waves a hand dismissingly. "Just very... What do you call it... Embarrassed. This has given me a lot to think about."

"Then think. Or better yet, sleep."

"I think I'll put off repeating this conversation for a bit more, if you don't mind." The elf says wryly, finally opening his eyes into a squint. "I'd like to at least end it on a positive note, so I have something to look forward to while I review it."

The dragon smiles as the weight on his chest grows lighter. "Your call, then. What do you want to talk about?"

"Some time ago you said that paladinhood doesn't give you immunity from yourself. From your own fears. So what are you afraid of?"

"...Very positive."

"It will be, I think." A mischievous smile plays across Jailin's lips. "But if it is too personal..."

"No, it's all right." Cypher replies. "I'm afraid... You know, it's quite banal. Of being afraid. Of not doing the right thing."

The elf's smile widens into a full grin. "And here you said this was not positive."

"Just how is it?.."

"You jumped in to save me before thinking. More than once." Jailin replies simply. "You do this sort of thing on instinct now. You won't have time to make the appropriate mistake, believe me."

"What do you mean?"

Surprise flashes across the elf's face. "Simple." He answers. "As soon as you know what is right, you do it. The difficult part is figuring out precisely what *is* right. But you're pretty good at that, I think. You can certainly fail. Anyone can. But it's not too probable, as long as you choose your battles wisely."

"I go where I am needed." The dragon grumbles.

"And you are needed in many places. I trust you will choose the one where you can do most good. You are certainly smart enough for it."

"Well, thank you." Cypher answers crossly. "But I also trust this is a positive enough note."

"Indeed. And I am growing rather cold." The elf smiles up at the dragon. "Thank you, Cypher, and a good night."

"Sleep well, wizard. We'll need your magic in the morning."

"Certainly, if I can make the gestures." The elf jokes humorlessly, as he carefully wraps himself tighter in his cloak. Cypher silently helps the wizard tuck in, and watches him drift off into his trance. And knows that, come daybreak, no one Cypher holds dear will have to suffer again while he lives.

[Lord_Gareth]

Aye Werekat, Summer is Colors' Court - at least, during that little flashback it was. Any comments on my earlier piece, Endgame (Or: the Host of a Thousand Princes)?

[big teej]

My family is in the middle of packing up the house to move, so I haven't been able to write as much as I've wanted.

I did however manage to finish two characters today, a devoted defender and a...... uh oh, my girlfirend is staring at me like i'm in trouble.....and now she's reading this
OW
she just hit me....

she's threatening to hurt me unless I say she's amazing and wonderful and awesome.

help help I"m being repressed
come see the violence inherent in the system!

ahem. anyways, a devoted defender and a gladiator

so as soon as we're finished moving (some time in the next few days) I'll pick up writing more often again.

and I'll go and really critique all the awesome stuff I've been reading and not commenting on.

I mean honestly,

the stuff y'all've been putting out puts my stuff to shame.

especially given since all of you are writing from actual sessions. I'm relegated to character backgrounds and intros until further notice.

ick...

anyways. carry on oh fellow snippeteers

yes, she really is making me post that. :smalltongue:

[Lord_Gareth]

The Host of a Thousand Princes
Part Two


Spring

Natasha Romanov's smile is winsome; the little Darkling girl speaks softly and reasonably, with a certain amount of cheer to her voice that is wholly inappropriate for the situation at hand.

"General Northman," she is saying pleasantly to the military officer she and her fellow Spring Courtiers are 'entertaining' against his will, "If I might direct your attention to the television, you may decide to listen to us. We'll only take a few moments of your time."

To human eyes, Natasha is a small, slight girl with idealized proportions, a miniature nymph, and her red contact lenses and fingernails only serve to give her a sort of infernal allure that draws men and women alike to her in equal measure. General Northman is just past middle-aged and, frankly, getting quite irate both about the six elegantly-dressed people in his office (holding swords, of all things!) and the loss of his hair piece, which had been sliced off the top of his head to prove a point about the efficiency of archaic weaponry when he'd expressed certain doubts by drawing his sidearm.

Natasha languidly presses the power button on the remote. The television turns on to a local news channel that General Northman has never even so much as heard of; his brief confusion is met only by laughter from his captors. From their vantage in the news chopper, the reporter attempts - and fails - to comment on the carnage below him. To mortal eyes, a rag-tag army of surprisingly well-equipped vagrants is doing battle with animals and humans that continue to pour out of some manner of rift in the Magnolia Crescent park in an endless tide. The carnage is shockingly unedited on the video feed, and blood slicks the grass and plants, flowing in rivulets to the gutters and the sewers.

"What is this?" General Northman demands to know, a note of horror creeping into his voice.

"There's a certain price for that knowledge, General," Natasha explains gently, walking closer to him. Her scent wafts into his nostrils, full of Springtime flowers and the promise of heat and passion. Fantasies creep unbidden into his mind, and hastily, the General banishes the thoughts. Natasha laughs lightly, a low, dark sound, and smiles with a certain grim satisfaction.

"Understand that if I explain these things to you, it's the end of the line for me and mine. Our whole world changes today, one way or the other. So if I tell you, you need to promise me troops. Everyone on this base loaded up into tanks, personnel carriers, the works, and marched to that battle to help my friends."

The General thinks for a few moments, staring at the television, and Natasha adds softly, "Your daughter lives near Magnolia Crescent, doesn't she? I don't think she left her apartment today, General."

General Northman finally nods his head and speaks the words, "I promise. All the reinforcements I can muster in an hour."

The six Spring courtiers have a hushed conversation, until finally Natasha breaks off, still smiling, "You have a deal, General. Full disclosure in exchange for reinforcements, and Death take the traitor."

There is a surge of energy that ripples from the Darkling girl into the General, and his eyes burn briefly before he sees the whole world in an entirely new light. Natasha's skin turns ash gray and her smile gains dancing shadows that laugh and jeer at him, and the other five captors go from simply being large into monstrous Ogres, all dripping tusks and walls of muscle. Natasha seizes him under the chin and, with strength impossible for her tiny size, forces him to look at the television once more, where he sees the armies of the Lost confronting the Host of a Thousand Princes.

"What am I looking at?" he finally breathes out, terrified, confused, and exhilarated.

"Armageddon."


Winter

Exhale. Squeeze the trigger.

The field is so full of targets now that it's beginning to grow difficult to pick out which ones are of value. The quiet girl with the stained glass hair keeps up a withering rate of fire, manipulating her bolt-action rifle with understated grace and elegance. Exhale. Squeeze the trigger. A gigantic man-shark goes down in a spray of blood and crushes a gang of goblins to death beneath his bulk; their screams echo through the din of the battle. Exhale. Squeeze the trigger. A beast-master dies horribly; his man-hounds, freed from their tethers made from lies and cat's breath, leap upon their former fellows and gleefully tear them limb from limb.

"We must retreat," someone is saying. The girl with the stained glass hair pretends not to hear him. Exhale. Squeeze the trigger. The self-styled Flawless King of Flawless Diamonds takes an iron-tipped round to the chest and explodes onto a thousand times a thousand perfect, fist-sized gemstones.

The retreat order is repeated. Squeeze the trigger. A mechanical elephant begins leaking oil all over the enemy ranks, setting a blaze that spews black smoke into the sky like hellfire. Her fellow Winter courtiers pick up and leave, finding a new vantage point, and the stained glass girl keeps firing, tears streaming from her eyes, her lips a silent litany of hate for the monsters that took everything from her.

She never hears the goblin miners that sneak up on her position.

Exhale. Swing the pickaxe.


Autumn

Her Magnificence Seraphina Lumiere, Queen of Autumn in Seattle, Chief Sorceress of the Stacked Deck Freehold, Duchess of Down Street, Lady-Protector of the Thorns, stands in the center of a circle of Ashen Courtiers, hundreds strong. Because this was her idea, she has the right to speak, though other monarchs of Fall watch her closely from the ranks of the circle. In the distance, they could hear the battle raging on. Many of them itched to join it.

"What we do here tonight can never be undone! Tonight, we throw all the locks! We open all doors! Tonight, we realize our birthright here, on the soil that first nourished us in our mortal shells. Our Keepers have come in Their glory and Their fury to extinguish the Lost from Earth, but we are ready. We were waiting for them, were we not, O Children of Fear?"

There is an exultant cheer from the circle; Her Magnificence spreads angelic wings wide, and they drip blood from a dozen human sacrifices, each of them innocents of virtue fair. She scoops one clawed hand into a vessel full of blood and hurls it into a crescent arc on first her left side, then her right.

"Hear me Autumn, Season of Sorcery, holder of mysteries! I am one of Your chosen monarchs, and I come to tell you that the Lost are finally calling in the debt you have owed us since the days of Clay Ariel. One wish, one dream, turned into reality!"

There is a hush in the circle; frost forms on all the plants, and a great upwelling of spiders dashes towards the Ashen courtiers, symbols of Autumn's presence. The circle begins to chant, a dark-sounding thing in an ancient tongue dragged forth from the Fairest of Lands.

"Autumn, season of ashen leaves and first frost, of the harvest and of raw, bloody fear, this is our demand - grant us the sorceries needed to destroy the Host of a Thousand Princes and drive them back to the Fairest of Lands!"

My price, O Your Magnificence, Queen of Angels?

Autumn's voice is like all of your worst nightmares speaking in eerie concert, focusing their baleful attention on you all at once in a perfect storm of raw, soul-shredding fear. Her Magnificence takes a step back from it, her voice wavering, but she steels herself, praying silently in her mind to gods she no longer really believes in.

"W-w-we offer th-the m-m-Mask, my Lord," she says humbly, kneeling before the seething mass of spiders in supplication.

Interesting. Acceptable. It is done.

The clocks strike as the Court of Fear screams in unimaginable pain.

Part three....soon.

[Lady Moreta]

I am far too tired to make any sense right now, but first impressions:

Gareth: that was creepy as hell, well done.

Teej: I like your girlfriend :smallbiggrin:

[Lord_Gareth]

I'll review yours when it isn't 3:30 AM, Moreta. For now, g'night!

[Lady Moreta]

I'll review yours when it isn't 3:30 AM, Moreta. For now, g'night!

Hah... look at that. You're exactly 12 hours behind me.

Sorry... that was totally unrelated, I just had to mention it.

On topic, I started writing backstory for another character today. I have got to stay out of the recruitment forums :smallsigh:

[big teej]

Teej: I like your girlfriend :smallbiggrin:

I'll be sure to pass that along :smallbiggrin:

I'm rather fond of her myself.

EDIT: officially going dark until after the move now.

[Lady Moreta]

I'm sure we'll still be here when you get back :smallsmile:

Werekat, I think I might have figured out what seems off with your writing lately... there's something about the word flow that just isn't right. I think you've picked words that are almost correct, or perhaps technically correct, but where another would improve the flow and readability more. I'll have to go through it again (when I'm actually awake) to really tell. But I will!

I did like the last two you posted though :smallsmile:

Oh! I almost forgot... I wrote up some backstory for another potential character today...


Leith
or I am never getting on another ship ever again
This is not going well. Leith thought as she clung to the ships rigging and attempted to stay out of the way of the sailors frantically trying to keep the ship afloat. Followed closely by This is really not going well and I wish I’d taken the long route and walked. Leith clung to the bow strung across her back as the ship lurched again and she was drenched in salt water as the ocean attempted to drown the vessel. She wished there was some was some way she could maintain hold of both her father’s bow and the quiver of arrows at her waist, but she needed one hand to keep hold of the ship and – while an archer was next-to-useless without arrows, her father would be devastated if she lost his precious bow. It was the first bow he’d gone adventuring with and once he had outgrown it, he had kept it in the hopes that one day a child of his might take it up again. And her she was, having taken up her father’s bow she was now desperately trying not to bring up her lunch.

And I was so proud of myself for not being seasick, she thought idly, ducking down to press herself against the wooden hull, hoping for some meagre protection. A deckhand screamed at her but the wind stole his words and the spray of rain and sea water mixed obscured her vision. She realised he must have been saying “look out!” when he hammered into her, sending them both flying across the deck and slamming into the railing hard. Leith gasped as the breath was forced from her body, both by the ship beneath her and the weight of the sailor atop her.

Water rushed in at them, sweeping across like a desperately hungry beast, devouring all in its path. Struggling to get her breath back, only a small part of Leith’s mind realised that the water was coming from a different direction. It wasn’t until someone else screamed and a piece of wood slammed into her forehead, bringing bright blood to mix with the water streaming down her face that she realised what had happened. And that the sailor was now yelling into her face.

“The mast is gone! The ship is doomed!” His breath smelled of salt-pork, that horrendous meat that was the staple of a diet at sea. Ship! Sinking! Leith’s mind screamed at her as finally her reactions caught up to the rest of her. She struggled up to her knees and opened her mouth to respond, only to fall back as a wave of water slammed them both into each other and the ship. This time to the accompaniment of cracking and breaking timbers. Oh dear…

The sailor had risen to his knees and was slamming one foot into the deck, right where the cracks had appeared.

“What are you doing?!” Leith screamed at him, finally finding her voice. He glanced up at her then turned his eyes upwards, towards the looming hull, then resumed his stamping without a word. Leith paled. She could see now, what the sailor must have seen all along. The mast was gone. The ship was heeled over onto its side – starboard or port Leith couldn’t remember which was which. Instead of sky above them, or sails, she saw only the other side of the ship. And it was getting closer. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, only to start gagging again as a mixture of sea, rain and blood poured in. The sailor was in her face.

“Close your mouth if you don’t want to drown!” He roared. “Take this!” And he thrust into her hands a piece of decking, ripped from the crippled ship.

“What about you?” Leith babbled, taking the decking on instinct.

“It won’t take both of us!” He yelled back, straining to be heard above the crashing of the waves and the breaking of the ship. “I’ll find another. GO!” and with that, he shoved Leith into the raging sea. She closed her mouth just in time and squeezed her eyes shut for good measure as the ocean swallowed her whole.

Too terrified to open her eyes, Leith kicked hard, in the direction she desperately hoped was up. The rain hammering on her face told her she’d reached the surface and she opened her eyes, raising one hand to wipe water from her face so she could see.

“Hell!” Instantly she dropped her hand back to the plank, clinging like a vine to a tree, praying she wouldn’t lose this fragile raft. The motion of the waves left her dizzy and it was only in the back of her mind she realised the ship was no longer visible. Whether it had sunk or was just hidden by the curtain of still-falling rain she didn’t know. But she thought of the sailor and how by his quick actions he had undoubtedly saved her life. She offered a quick – and silent – prayer to Ehlonna that he would survive.

“No!” The cry was ripped from her throat as she felt the bow slip sideways off her shoulder. Desperately, this was the one thing she could not lose, Leith let go with one hand and grabbed at the bow. Her aim was sure and she hastily looped the bowstring over her neck, swinging the weapon so it hung between her and her fragile life raft.

There was nothing left to do now but wait. Wait for the storm to abate and see if she was still alive at the end of it. She tried closing her eyes but that just made her feel sick. Despite her best efforts to keep her mouth shut, seawater continued to flood her and make her gag. She was so busy concentrating on that that she almost didn’t notice the change in the sound of the water. It was still crashing, but the tone had changed. Raised in a landlocked village, it took Leith a while to realise it was the sound of water slamming and crashing into rocks. Little heading the danger of being dashed against them, she strained her legs and kicked towards the slight hint of safety.

The sight of a small sandy beach offered more in the way of hope and Leith somehow angled herself towards it, washing up finally on a gravelly beach. Not willing to trust her legs, Leith crawled forwards and finally collapsed on the wet sand, lying awkwardly on top of both her bow and the plank that had saved her life.

“Next time father,” she paused to cough up water, “someone else can take the priest back to the mainland.”

[darkpuppy]

Whuff... back after a long hiatus (GF was ill, things got hectic, etc), but back now, and looking forward to reading... what, 8 pages now of wonderful snippets? and writing a few more of my own. Anyways, good to see the thread's still alive, it's a good one!

EDIT: Aaaand my long overdue Fading Suns vignette... keep in mind, this entire vignette is about a single roll... one that almost derailed the plot, until the GM was nice enough to give us another lead...


A Strong Arm and Sharp Eye
(Is Not Always Enough)

The Agora of Shaprut assaults the senses of all who do not live there, a wild commingling of sweat, spice, cries, laughter, conversation, sweet flowering plants from other worlds, and the rushing, to and fro, of servant, merchant, priest and noble alike in a grand and chaotic dance. It showed, felt Sir Miguel Don Esteban De Sutek, both the glory of the Pancreator in the wide variety of people and beings, and the sin that causes the Fading Suns, all in one square mile.

Here, a Shantor, horselike, but sentient, arguing tonelessly with a Charioteer Guild pilot over the price of a better voicebox, there, the nimble hands of a child pickpocket, and the cry of distress and rage as a Decados noble was stripped of his purse. The last made him smile, for, even with his vows to Emperor Alexius to uphold the vows of a Questing Knight, he felt no favour toward the members of the decadent and godless Mantis House. But he was here on business, and so could not tarry here as long as he wished. The Emperor Protects, he briefly mused, And I am but a finger of his hand.

Making his way through the crowd, he kept one hand upon his pistol, another upon his belt pouch, and, after a small eternity, he turned left, into a small alleyway. The dust and grime were thick here, and boxes, containers, and the occasional smashed urn littered the way. The sun did not reach here, and Sir Miguel took a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow before continuing.

There had been rumours of illicit slave trading on Shaprut, and he was most eager to deal justice to those who robbed freedom from others, but first, he was to meet with...

He halted. A pattern of rags, at first indistinguishable from the muck in the shade, had resolved itself, and the dark scarlet stain was unmistakable. The pile was, for the moment, still moving, and still, for the moment, his only source of information.

Kneeling in the dust and dirt, Sir Miguel cradled the young woman. She was known to him. Not dear, but known. Seriah Al-Malik. Soon, she was to be no more, but he took in her face as she breathed shortly and painfully. She had been beautiful, but her face was now scarred, as if her assailant had taken offense at her beauty, and, without her synthflesh mask, she looked doubly incongruous in the robes of an old beggar that she favoured when walking anonymously. She was a spy, but not for much longer. Her brown eyes, still crinkled with laughter lines, were becoming glazed.

“Seriah Al-Malik, you have something to tell me? Who must I find to avenge you?”

She pulled herself closer to him, and, with her last strength, whispered into his ear, and then fell heavily back into his arms. He laid her gently on the floor, spoke Final Rites, as a dutiful son of the Orthodoxy, and then swore, heartily. Reaching for his communicator, he muttered to himself in frustration. He had his information, but lacked the means to understand it...

...Her final words had been in The Graceful Tongue, and, being a warrior, not a poet, he had never understood the metaphor and allegory that would help him.

Much happier with this one, though, set in the new World of Darkness...


Opposite

I watch you as you leave the nightclub. God above, you're more beautiful than ever. You've been looking pale this past few days, and, while I understand, my heart aches at seeing you like this. In a way, I'm directly facing you. That hurts, too, because I'm a poetic soul, and the situation just reflects what we've both become.

You haven't aged a day. I feel envious. I certainly did, with the war. Life becomes all the more precious, love, the more you see it wasted around you, for nothing more than dreams of money. I have all the money I need after my discharge, have had for years, even if every picture of the queen is soaked in blood in my mind. Still.

I'm listening to Flogging Molly as you talk to some dried up old stick in edwardian clothing. He's a freak, but it's Saturday morning, oh-dark-God-alone-knows, and nobody notices one more oddball around this club. The music's talking about the history of our shared isle in terms that would have made them dead, this time even ten years ago. But it makes me laugh. After all, I do always find myself in the same old mess, and I certainly drink enough to make me sleep. But that's all by the by, love.

I tense my finger, watch you for a few moments more, and then leave, quickly. Staying would be awkward, and I know you wouldn't want that...


*-*-*

The black market trader had looked really scared when I'd asked him for 7.62 Dragonsbreath. They're really rare, expensive as all hell, but he knew not to f*** with me. He'd seen me during the Troubles, he'd heard of me from his army mates, and we both knew he'd get what I needed, or he'd be havin' Guinness with the angels. Those blokes from the church must have known this too, known a lot more than I did, when they offered me the job. I'd seen even more working for them than I had during the war, but here... I felt better. I was doing good, this time, God's work.

Even as your head turned into red mist, flaring in a fireworks display that would have made you squeal with joy when you were younger, I felt the love for you. It had never gone, not when you vanished, not when the men from the church told me where you were, and how you were. And I never talked to you, because old instincts die hard. I couldn't believe it, when I saw what you did with the poor lads you took home, when I realised that you'd not aged a day, and I'd become a tired, bitter old man. I'll never forget, like some of my brothers never forgot, and the people they hurt never forgot. But it was nothing personal, and I'll raise a glass to you, my long departed... sister. And your wake'll be a fine thing, even if it's the second time around...

I don't think I'll explain that one too much unless I'm asked to. But I will say it represents a situation I've yet to see in a game I've played in, and now know how I'd go about it, in this case. If you listen to the track the unnamed character's listening to (I might name him, make more stories about him), you'll understand what he's talking about, and see another layer to the story. The song is Drunken Lullabies. :smallbiggrin:

EDIT 2: Ooooh, other nWoD snippets? Laaaaavleee! xP

EDIT 3: Lord Gareth, even though I hate, hatehatehate, apocalyptic WoD games, be they old or new WoD, I love the first snippet! Haven't read the next (if it's been written) 'cos I have to do stuff, but wow... the emotion is just right, the feel of madness and beauty and horror and... just wow. I especially loved Winter. Perfect!

EDIT 4: Bleedin' Nora, I come back after a break, and I'm on a roll! Another one with my previously unnamed character, now known as Finlay Houlihan (or Finn, for short)...


Good Craic

I'm down at Siobhan's bar, a fine old place with good craic, when I see the lass. She's a pretty one, for sure, but she's not waiting for anyone, and she's not getting into the spirit of things. Forgive me for sayin', but I can't help but take that personal. So, in the spirit of our fine isle's hospitality, I set my Guinness down next to her at her table.

She must be havin' a hard time, she doesn't even look up. Now I'm up close, it's not so much that she's pretty, but that she looks wild. Her eyes... God above, her eyes look just like mine. And that's not right in a fair world. But it's not a fair world, is it? It's a right s***hole. But I cough, just to let her know I would appreciate helpin' her out of her mood.

When she looks up, I feel like a rabbit caught by my grandpa, just staring, like. Not many people do that, after what I've seen, but she had it. “Death surrounds you.” No gab, no flirting or moaning, just that. Somehow, I chuckle. Hard when it's clear she doesn't want the company, but I'm stubborn. To make it worse, she's a Cork girl, and, judging by the looks of my fellow drunks, they've only just realised.

“Aye, lass, and I'd not be surprised at that, considering!” She just nods, as if she knows my life already. “You look like someone with a few skins under yer coat as well, lass... care to make your no doubt overdue confession?” Now it's her turn to chuckle. Not much, barely a snort, but it warmed my heart, so it did! I would no doubt have gotten a bit further on, had Sean not decided to cause trouble.

The sound of his fists hittin' the table as he leant on it were like guncracks, and his voice was no less harsh as he asked “Ye're from t'other side, aren't ye?” My mind was going through all sorts of ungodly words, not to be spoken in polite company, and I was seriously considerin' a quiet final confession, when, without warning, she pins his right hand to the table with the biggest pigsticker y'ever saw, real primitive and nasty lookin'. Now Sean may be a bully, but he sqeualed like a babe.

I don't rightly remember much after that, but I do feel, and will feel for a while... well, until my arm heals up, anyway, that it was another night of good craic, right there. I do remember after, though, because we're both panting, and laughing, and Siobhan's laughing, too, 'cos she's used to this sorta thing, and everyone else in the place is lyin' about groaning. The Cork lass turns to me, and she says “You fight well... want a drink?”

Well, God help me for a sinner, but a pint of our fair land's produce is never turned down, much less a glass of the good stuff, and so we had a good chat. Turns out her name was Kathleen, which was fitting, because I'm a Finn, and we resolved to meet again. She was... well, not worried, but concerned that might not be right, but I assured her that none of the fellers would cause trouble, especially since they'd die of embarassment if their wives found out.

And that would have been that, except for the giant spider which chose that moment to burst through the door. Well, Siobhan wasn't used to that, but I was, and it seemed so was she. We both just sighed, and went to our bloody business. Took a long time, and we were exhausted, but we still said we'd meet again, trouble and all. It was funny, because she called me a “Wolf-blood”, whatever on God's green Earth that is – a compliment, no doubt – and... Father, please don't judge on this....

...But I'd swear, for half that fight, she had claws.

He's a mortal with the wolf-blood merit, and he works for one of the Hunter organisations, although he only knows his local vicar gives him strange jobs every now and again. For reference, he's 56.

[big teej]

well, we've moved.

and we're (mostly) settled.

as an update
I taught my girlfriend how to play warhammer 40k last night

we split my ~1000 point space marine army in half and fought it out across my kitchen table.
(this is using 3rd edition rules, call me a fossil I dare you :smallwink: )

my forces
1 Force Commander
4 terminators - 1 with a power sword
4 scout marines - 2 sniper rifles, 2 shotguns
5 assault marines - 1 with a plasma pistol
1 dreadnought - assault cannon and heavy flamer

her forces
1 emperor's champion
4 terminators - 1 with heavy flamer
'command squad' - apothecary, techmarine, veteran sarge, standard bearer
5 space marines
1 dreadnought - multi-melta and storm bolter


she stomped on me....
in her first game!

I WAS STILL TELLING HER WHAT HER TO HIT WAS!!!

:smalleek:

AND NOW SHE WANTS TO LEAVE THE MARINES BEHIND AND PLAY ORKZ!!!

-sob sob sob sob-

my girlfriend rocks :smallamused:




PS: I'm not quite settled in enough to pick up writing again yet... but soon.

[darkpuppy]

Well, on the bright side, teej, at least she's not going for 'Nids or Guard, considering her natural talents! :smallbiggrin:

Still, good to hear the move's going okay, and good to hear you're doing alright!

[big teej]

Well, on the bright side, teej, at least she's not going for 'Nids or Guard, considering her natural talents! :smallbiggrin:

Still, good to hear the move's going okay, and good to hear you're doing alright!

I could handle her becoming a guard player, as that still falls within the realm of His Divine Light.

but Orkz?

filthy xenos!

-shudders-

:smallwink:



*Baroi: Wow, Big Teej, you've improved since I've last read your stories! I do have a couple of nitpicks, though, the gust of which can be summarized as "if you're writing from first person, try to catch the character's tone." Because a guy that looks at someone he just slept with and sees "a female form" instead of a pretty girl is just creepy. Or was that the intended effect?


that would actually be a combination of me writing while tired, and writing from a perspective very alien to my own (that being a worldview where casual sex is acceptable.)

Baroi is a lech, a gentlemanly one, but a lech and a rake nonetheless

if the tone sounds a bit off, it's because I pride myself on being as far from those qualities as I can get.

alas, if it came off creepy as opposed to "easy come easy go" I shall endeavor to fix it.


and now....

for the teasing

-ahem-

*announcer voice*

coming soon, from the crazed mind of big teej....

Reminisces of The Skulltaker
- Prizing of a Skull
- The Fight in the Mountians
- Trophy Rings


"So the story of my axe has not satiated ye?
very well then, I have many more tales to tell. what'll it be? the Prizing of my first skull? my fight with two elves in the mountians? or would you care to know how I won these?" the man taps on the metal bands around his arm, causing them to ring in a manner disconcertingly reminiscient of a master's sword drawn from its scabbard


Reflections During Time Spent Outside a Tavern on Romance, Loyalty, The Code, and Royalty by Gideon, Knight of the Old Code

as I wait for my companions outside the Boar's Head Tavern, I cannot help but contemplate the things that have lead me here, and what may the future hold? doubt creeps into my mind...
have I held true to The Code? there are few of us left.... I must not falter.

Boenald the Dread Pirate
"how I won my ship"

"oh aye lass, pull up a stool and pour me another cup of jarez, I'll tell ye the story of how I won my ship, a grand tale so tell! I won it off of an ol dog of war, both by strentgh of arms, and strengh of cards!

Conrad
The final test of a duskblade

in order to truley carry the title of DuskBlade, I must satisfy my master... there are three challenges I must complete in my final test
I must show strengh of mine arms against magic
I must show the depth of my knowledge against might
I must prove that I wield both equally.


Isador
my mind is as strong as my arm

the fools think they can hold me here? armed and dangerous they call me, "a threat to myself and the world around me"
they refuse to believe I have control.

I take stock of myself and my surroundings.
Armed? maybe
Dangerous?
definitely.
I feel my mind broil with power as I contemplate my escape.


LB-426
I sleep yet, awaiting to take to the field of battle again.

a man stands at the head of a shining legion, a force that could conquer nations. but this is an army made to defend, to hold until reinforcements can be brought to bear.
the man speaks.
"Warforged Legionaires! the Orc menace approaches this pass, if the break through here, the lands of man, elf, and dwarf will be o'erwhelmed. it is YOUR duty to stop them. Retreat is not an option, you will fight and you will hold this pass until reinforcements arrive!"

amidst the legion, in a thought process almost identical to the numbers around him, Land Battle unit four hundred and twenty six recieves, contemplates, evaluates, and internalizes the orders he has been given.
OPERATION THRESH-HOLD
MISSION PARAMETERS: NO RETREAT, ELIMINATE TARGETS WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE.
MISSION...
ACCEPTED


Leander
- I wander yet, searching for a new home.

My Lord is dead, I am Ronin, a lordless Samurai. his dying wish was for me to serve another.

but who would take one as disgraced as I?
in the meantime, I will fulfill my lord's other wish. to fight evil and see it driven from this world...

Lochlan
oh how I HATE public appearences

My name is Lochlan, and I am the Devoted Defender of her Most Royal Highness Brat...
I am charged with her personal bodily safety, and the protection of her virtue.
what I did to anger the King so I have no idea...
why does this woman insist on going to the commons?
why do I put up with her?
oh
that's right
I love her....

Opariel
- death of a way of life, a path anew

I was lucky I guess...
I fell in the first moments of the devestation, I wasn't forced to watch the atrocities they inflicted upon my people.

my tribe has been utterly wiped out. I am all that's left. My familly, my friends, my children.... my woman.

all have been taken from me...
I have become like a ghost.... a vengeful apparition that will stalk them unto the ends of existence.

I will destroy them...

Raoul
- the secrets of the mind.

the monks came for me today.... the crisis in the city has come to a head.... the penultimate sanction has been approved.
psykers shall be let loose in the city.

we will scour the population for the source of this unrest. the head of those who would dare foment unrest in my beloved home.

I will break open their minds and burn out their bodies....




well, that's it for my teaser's... I should be able start writing them tomorrow.

[darkpuppy]

Wow, Teej, that's a lotta stuff! And don't worry, you'll no doubt be favoured by the God Emperor of Mankind soon enough... man, if it weren't for EMA, I'd start writing some more Finlay Houlihan stuff, or maybe even something based on X-COM... xP... But still, expect more stuff from me between the EMA due date (26th) and the end of the month!

[big teej]

Wow, Teej, that's a lotta stuff! And don't worry, you'll no doubt be favoured by the God Emperor of Mankind soon enough... man, if it weren't for EMA, I'd start writing some more Finlay Houlihan stuff, or maybe even something based on X-COM... xP... But still, expect more stuff from me between the EMA due date (26th) and the end of the month!

we can only serve to the best of our abilities, as long as we are aware that only in death does duty end.
and the emperor protects

speaking of...

if I get a warhammer group together, I'll defintily start posting up stories detailing those as well.

heh, when this thread hits that max page limit, we may want to name the second one "gaming snippets"

... EMA? :smallconfused:

unrelated note...
I found a manual for X-COM interceptor the other day, the game is some box somewhere... but I never installed it.

is it any good? what's the premise?

[darkpuppy]

EMA = End Marked Assessment... basically, my "exam" for this course/module is to write another essay by the deadline. I love Eng. Lang/Lit!

As to naming it gaming snippets... definitely. We've got WoD, 7th Sea, DnD, Star Wars... Ahh, it be grand! And lots of good characters out there too!

And finally... Interceptor... Interceptor was, for many X-COM fans, the beginning of the end for the series. It was a 3d space-shooter, ala Wing Commander, with minor elements of base building, etc, and, even by the standards of the day, it was considered dire. Ship variety, enemy variety... Interceptor knew not these things. And many fans consider it outside of canon.

EDIT: As to the premise - It's a while after the first X-COM game, and X-COM has gone intergalactic in its search for Elerium-115, that odd element that gives so much, yet can't be made artificially. But the remnants of the Martian Alliance, the "Ethereal Empire", are once again looking to destroy earth with some superweapon/strength of numbers. It's up to YOU to save... yada yada Zzzzzzzz...

[big teej]

As to naming it gaming snippets... definitely. We've got WoD, 7th Sea, DnD, Star Wars Savage Worlds, Dark Heresy, ... Ahh, it be grand! And lots of good characters out there too!


fixed that for you. :smallbiggrin:

EDIT:

-ahem- :smallredface:

uhm....
so, apparently :smallredface:I suffered a bout of temperary insanity while creating Conrad....

a 4th level duskblade can cast in medium armor
I gave him "great armour" from Oriental Adventures... probably planning on making it out of mithral so I can still cast in it.

a 4th level character cannot afford heavy armor made of mithral.

so while I rethink the character and what level he needs to start as, his snippet is on indefinite hold....

that said. I'm working on everything I posted a teaser for, hopefully that's the only one that will be postponed...

EDIT:EDIT:

so apparently my work starts to degrade when I churn through several backgrounds in a row....

to make up for the fact it's going to take longer than I thought, here's one.

The Extermination of the Draken Tribe rough draft


The Extermination of the Draken tribe.

It was my boy’s third summer. His sister’s 8th. And my 12th with their mother. I remember it well, it was the year of the claw, and I was gathering a party together to stalk the mammoth out on the steppes.

I was taking count of who I had yet to find, Sven, Ulli, Brognan and a few others. When the horns sounded, following the horns, a voice rang out “the Boars approach! Seeking Trade and Succor!”

Odd, I remember thinking, the Trade season is essentially over, and we and the Boars have very little we need from each other, the mammoth and bison are plentiful, so we rarely quarrel over resources, and by the same token, there is little amongst our possessions that cannot be found in the other.

The Boars were allowed entrance through the palisade, and the majority of my kinsmen came into the center of the village to greet the Boars.

Odd.

Where are their wagons? Their meat-stock and trade goods? One of the most popular trade items between our tribes is that of our brewed alcohol, both recopies are well kept secrets and we enjoy trading our distinct liquors back and forth.

The village chief, a distant cousin on my mother’s side, approaches the leader of the Boars.
“Greetings brothers of the Boar! What brings you to our home so late in the season?”

Their leader, a massive brute with a golden medallion worked with a boar design, his cloak was held in place by two boar tusks. He wore a massive sword on his back.

“We have come for your lives” the man announces, and plunges a dagger made from a Boar’s fang into the Chieftain’s neck.

Pandemonium breaks out as my kinsmen and I react to this treachery. I pick up my massive axe and wade into the fray; I cut two down before the chieftain turns to me and opens my chest and my face to the sky with his sword.

I collapse to the ground and I know no more…

Pain is good.
Pain means life.

Pain….

Is painful.

I fear to move, I worry that my skull will hinge open like a plunder-chest. My ribs may spill out my entrails unto the dirt.

I fear to touch my wounds, what I may find terrifies me…

But what terrifies me more is the idea that I may lay here for eternity. Broken and spent upon the ground… is this what it is to be dead? To be bound to one’s own rotting carcass until the vagaries of existence see fit to extinguish me?

I can feel the dirt rubbing against my back.

Pain means life…

I pull my right arm off the ground and feel my face. A massive cut still oozes blood over my face. Though it seems that my skull is intact; I move my hand lower, feeling the great gash across my chest. It seems to have scabbed over; I feel nothing but dried and clotted blood underneath my fingers.

I open my eyes. One of refuses to budge, have they taken my eye from me? I explore my face with my fingers and discover that blood has pooled in the socket, gumming it shut. I will let it dry further before I worry about it.

I pull my body into a sitting position and grunt with pain as the scab across my chest cracks and begin to ooze weakly. I look down at myself. My chest and leggings are awash with blood, I am filthy.

I smell smoke. I gaze around me and feel my heart drop out of my chest. My village has been obliterated. The huts have all burned to the ground and bodies lay everywhere, rotting. How long have I slept? I stumble to my feet like a corpse pulling itself from an early grave. I stumble around the shattered remains of my village searching for my family. I find my boy, his chest broken open by some massive blade. I find my daughter; her body has been crushed by a Boar’s Great mace. Their favored weapon.

I find my wife, my beloved Sun-el. She is mostly untouched; she was taken through the stomach by a spear.

My life has been obliterated by the treachery of the Boar Clan.

I feel an emptiness spread from my heart. Heart? HA! I have no heart now! It has been torn from my chest and crushed before my very eyes. Ash, emptiness, an insatiable void now resides in my chest. Vengeance writhes about it like a clutch of vipers. The emptiness is solid, a knot within my chest that weighs more than the world.

I do something I have not done for 20 years. I weep. I weep for my kin, my lover, and my tribe’s spirit as a whole.

Tears stream down my face.
The tears from my left eye cut a path through the grit and grime that covers my face until they drip to the ground.
The tears from my right eye are stained with the blood that fills the socket. They form a single bright red line down my face until they fall and stain the earth red.

My tribe has been obliterated, and yet I remain. I will hunt down the Boars and visit such destruction upon them that daemon’s shall weep for the manner of their passing. I take up my axe and feel the spirits of my ancestors flow through me and my weapon, charging me with a lust for vengeance that can only be slaked by the lifeblood of the Treacherous Boar Clan. The spirits change my countenance, I feel them tattoo symbols of vengeance around the gash in my chest, I feel war paint applied to my face. The dead shamans of my tribe ensorcelle my weapon and guide my purpose.

My Hunt begins.
Now.

I set off to where I know the Boar village lays; they have not migrated since my great grandfather’s time.

The journey takes me three days, though I barely even feel them, I arrive at the village as fresh as if I’d slept all winter.

The village is empty…

As if all the people had simply been spirited away.

It is of no matter.
I fill find them.
And then blood will flow.





EDIT:EDIT:EDIT:
I might turn Vaul Krieger into a character for a full length novel...

[lerg2]

Wow. These are just.... amazing. I've got a couple from my character in an Ebberon setting, what I'm hoping to do in these stories is show you who he is now, what he was then, and what happened to change him. I'll be writing mostly past-tense for this guy, it enhances dramatic effect. He started as a ranger who swore a blood oath to avenge someone, I can't tell you who yet though. He took levels in Rogue and Assassin, followed by Ninja levels. The next one will probably be tomorrow, because the group is meeting tonight and I need to know what the setting is. But I hope to have it up tomorrow night under the name Necessary losses[or, the dream again]

[big teej]

what's this here? another snippet for Cog!


A Story From the Skulltaker
“The Fight in the Mountains”

I had left that imbecile witch hunter and his cronies behind. I didn’t need them, and I had grown tired of their company. Even if I’d had a choice in the matter, I would have left them behind, probably in several bloody pieces.

But I’m getting ahead of myself aren’t I?

I have yet to decide if it is a blessing or a curse, but I seem to wake up in different realities every so often. More often than not this switch heralds a new bout of bloodshed and violence in my life, which is always welcome, as such… I look upon these transferences with mixed feelings at best.

I’ve been in this world for about 3 months as far as I can tell, the longest I’ve spent in any one place in quite some time. I’d even made something close to a friend, well, more of a comrade in arms rather than a friend. Tarik, a dwarf who was pretty good in a fight, last I saw him; he travelled with a few other adventurers on various heroic actions.

Well, to make a long story shorter, and bring myself to the point. I’d grown tired of sitting around the tavern drinking the goats water the called ale there and had set off for the mountains, which I’d been told, are full of Orcs.

Or as I like to call them, “warm ups”

So I had travelled to the mountains and much to my chagrin, found that there were orcs, lots of them… in fact, the orcs were lead by a young dragon.

As much as I hate to admit it, I wasn’t exactly prepared to tackle a dragon on my own (though I’m sure wrestling it would have been some fun.) So I retired from the mountains, sulking over the fact I’d only found one Orc worth prizing a skull from.

Which brings me to the focus of my tale, my little fight in the mountains.

I was nearing the exit of the pass when an arrow arced down from the sky and planted itself 2 strides in front of me.

I do not appreciate being greeted by arrows….

A figure strides up the road towards me, an elf from the looks of it.

I hate elves….

“Ho there traveler! What business have you in these mountains?” The Elf calls out.

“I go where I damn well please, Elf, by what right do you question me?” I reply.

The elf seems rather off put by my reaction, arrogant knife-ear.

“The mountains abut our forest, and we have interest in the goings on here.”

Knife ears having interest in the mountains? Fat chance.

“Look here, Elf, my business is my own, but if it’ll set your mind at ease, I was here hunting orcs.” I raise the Prized Skull from the orc.

It’s a disgusting thing admittedly, much in need of cleansing. The orc’s skull is covered in rotting flesh, one of its eyes is hanging from it, and its tongue lolls out of its mouth. Cut into its forehead is the Mark of Khorne, my God.

The Elf visibly pales at the sight of it.

“Oh come now.” I say jovially “sure it still needs a little cleaning, but it’ll make a fine trophy once I’ve burned everything else off.”

“That mark” the Elf says shakily.

“Oh this here? What of it?” I ask in a jocular tone, I feel a grin creeping across my face.

“That is the mark of the blood god” he stammers.
As if I don’t know that.

“Is it now? What of it Elf?”
The elf’s fear is palatable, this is great.

“I… uh… I... UZIEL!!! KHORNATE CULTIST!”

Now that’s a bit harsh, cultist has very strong implications about one’s intelligence.

Having alerted his bow-toting comrade, the Knife ear draws his sword and springs at me.

Oh goodie, fisticuffs.

I feel a maniac grin split my face as I close the distance with the elf. He raises his sword, bringing it down in a glittering arc to split my skull. I leap forward and grab his sword arm, stopping his blow in its tracks; I ball my other hand into a fist and bring it crashing into his face. I feel more than hear the crunch of bone and blood spurts from the elf’s nose all over my fist.

The elf crashes to the ground in a heap, stunned by the blow. “not even worth my time” I think to myself, I’m willing to go on my way at this point, he certainly isn’t worth my time, and I’d rather not smirch my axe with his blood.

An arrow soars out of the bushes a little ways up a nearby hill and buries itself in the meat of my chest.
It hurts. A lot.

Funny thing about pain, it doesn’t slow my people down, it just makes us angry. Very angry in fact. I myself have ripped smaller creatures bodily in half whilst in a fit of rage. I feel this killing fury building within me as my head whips around to the source of the arrow. I reach over my shoulder and pull my axe off of my back. The elf on the ground is picking himself up off the ground I look at him and spit at him in contempt. “I was content to pass here in peace, a rarity for my kind I assure you, but now I’ll have one of your skulls if either of ye be worth the fight!” The elf lunges at me yelling “in the name of correllon, I will slay thee fiend.” I easily sidestep his blow and lash out with my axe. “Better men than you have tried.” I snarl
“Better men aye monster! But I’m an Elf” the elf declares taking another swing at me. Which I block with the haft of my axe.

“Men are better than elves knife ear, and here’s a tip, try less melodrama” I state calmly while bringing my axe around in a brutal arc that ends in the elf’s chest. My blow takes him to the ground, my axe catching on the remains of his shattered ribs. The elf has a panicked look in his eyes; no doubt his world has shrunk to include only the feeling of my great axe buried within his chest. That and my hands dipping into his lifeblood which is gushing forth into a red lake around his body. I take the blood on my fingers and ink Khorne’s Mark onto each side of both blades on my axe; the blood smokes and congeals on the blade, blackening quickly.

Another arrow whistles through the air and catches me in the side. I grunt in pain and turn towards the bushes. I can see the archer now; he has a grim look on his face. I level my axe in his direction and yell at him.

“Do you think you can do better?” And rush up the hill. As I climb the hill another arrow flies towards me, I feel it hit me, but I feel no pain. Time seems to slow down and speed up at the same time; I’m 20 strides away as another arrow flies down the hill, this one skidding off of my shoulder.

15 strides away.
I bellow a wordless battle-cry at the elf, feeling rage course through my veins, turning my muscles into iron bands ready to crush this puny elf. I see him drop his bow to the ground

10 strides away.
I push myself even faster, closing the distance as I raise my axe to bring it through his fragile body.
The elf draws a longsword and sets himself.

5 strides away.
I leap forward bringing my axe down on the elf, but he dives out of the way and sends a returning blow into my back. I can feel blood running down my back as I turn to face the elf.

“My name is Cog, known as The Skulltaker flesh, what is yours?”
“My name is Uziel, Cur. And I will send you to hell.”

Laughing, I rush the elf again, meaning to barge him down the mountainside. He deftly checks my headlong rush with a swipe of his longsword. I stop short of the blow and swing my axe at him. He ducks it and attempts to step into my guard. I take a step back and bring my axe in close to my body, blocking with the haft of my Axe as if it were a quarterstaff. The elf rains blows down upon me, left, right, top, left, top, right, down, left. THRUST! I push his sword away from me and spin inside HIS guard and hammer the pommel of my axe into his gut, he doubles over as the air rushes out of him and I reach forward and push him off the ledge we are standing on.

The elf tumbles down the hill and bounces twice in a very satisfying manner.

The elf lays stunned at the base of the hill for only a moment before springing to his feet.

“You’ll find me harder to kill than that pup.” He yells up to me.

“Good!” I call back. “I was worried this was going to be a complete waste of my time.”

I begin to walk down the hill, axe resting on my shoulder.

“There’s something I want you to know Uziel.” I tell him. “If you keep doing this well I’ll be taking your sword as well as your skull.”

He draws himself up into a fighting stance and replies in a grim voice. “I’d take that as a compliment if I didn’t plan on killing you.”

Without ceremony, he lunges at me, hoping to stab me before I reach level ground. I bring my axe around in a great arc knocking his sword out of the way. I step forward and aim a horrid swing at his head, which he barely bats aside. The force of my blow knocks him off balance and I press him harder, raining blows just as quickly on him as he did on me. I settle into a comfortable rhythm, my axe swishing through the air back and forth, seeking his fragile body. I slowly weave a net of steel around him, leaving him nowhere to escape. He attempts to break the deadlock repeatedly, scything in with his sword whenever he thinks he can break my rhythm.

Unfortunately for him, the sensuous women of the pleasure god are far more adept at this than he, and I have bested them in combat as well. Also unfortunate, this costs him his hand. He lashes out with his sword, aiming for my face. I raise my axe up in both hands, leaving his sword pointed up towards the sky; I follow the motion of my arms with the head of my axe. His fore arm and hand, still clutching his sword, fall to the ground in a welter of blood as he staggers back, screaming in pain.

He utters a curse in elven. At least, I assume he’s cursing, not speaking a word of that soft language. He collapses to his knees, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

I stand before him holding my axe. “Uziel, know that you’re name shall live forever, you have proved yourself worthy, and I shall carry your name and your sword into battle and legend for the rest of my days.” I tell him.

He looks up at me with fear in his eyes and shakes his head. He stammers “no” pleading for his life.

My axe flickers out and his body falls over into the dirt, a lake of blood oozing forth from the severed stump of his neck.

I pick up his skull and whisper his name to myself so that I will remember it. I pry his sword, a work of the elven art surely, out of the broken thing that was his arm and walk over to his corpse, I lay the head of my axe in the blood, coating both sides of its wickedly sharp head.

I raise his sword and his head to the sky and shout out for my deity; for I know he can hear me, regardless of where I walk.

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!

My ritual complete, I sheath his sword at my waist and replace my sword on my back. And I hang uziel’s skull on the same chain that holds the orc.

My wounds ache. I will likely rest before I finish my trek out of the mountains….






in hindsight I completely forgot to write in his magic.... oh well, the story flows just fine without it.

[lerg2]

We didn't get as far as I might've hoped tonight last night, but I'm still going to try and type it up. I'll have to improv a little, and I need to wait so I can get names, but it'll be up today/tomorrow.

[Lord_Gareth]

Lady Moreta - Leith: Honestly? I didn't like it much. It's not up to your usual standard; the description seems forced and is hard for me to envision clearly in my mind, and a lot of your sentence transitions could be smoother - the whole thing, in fact, has a tendency to chop awkwardly where it could flow. I've got difficulty connecting to Leith as a result, and the lack of context on her history or why she's adventuring (or even why she's on the boat in the first place, which doesn't clearly appear until the end) only serves to distance her from the reader further.

Now critique the Host of a Thousand Princes (Part II) or face my eternal wrath >.>

[darkpuppy]

Okay, bit of a mega-post here, let's see...

Big Teej

While I can see what you were aiming for with the latest snippet, there are quite a few places where the rhythm feels wrong. Rhythm, when writing such a dynamic scene, is very important. For example:

"Without ceremony, he lunges at me, hoping to stab me before I reach level ground."

reading that aloud (best way to find the rhythm, I find), I found that, among a few other examples, didn't flow so well... to illustrate.

"Without Ceremony (brief pause) he lunges at me (brief pause) hoping to stab me before I reach level ground."

Now, let's try this:

"He lunges (darts, perhaps?) at me before I reach level ground, hoping to stab me before I find my footing."

Okay, that wasn't quite what I originally thought would work (I'd just shuffled a few words around originally), but... the rhythm does seem to work better. Also, there are some word choices you might want to look at (maniac== manic)... but I still got the gist of it (intelligent khornate beserker in an epic duel)... still, keep 'em coming, we all have our off days!

Lord Gareth

You make the changeling apocalypse sound plausible, and I can't find any technical faults with the writing. This, in and of itself, makes the Host of a Thousand Princes (Part II) good. Only criticism? wasn't sure how Spring was being... well, Spring-like, beyond the challenging bit of desire making (god, that sounded awkward!). Autumn, was, however, spot on... deal-makers and fear workers, to the very end!

Also, welcome to lerg2, looking forward to seeing your snippets!

Aaand finally, because I hate just posting critique...


Lamb of God
A World of Darkness Vignette
Father Michael kneels, praying to the God he no longer believes in, and wondering: When, Lord, did I fall from Grace so badly? His sins are unnumbered now, mostly murder and deceit, but the hate and disgust that has formed in his heart proves too much for even a man of the cloth, God's most favoured. He mouths the words of his faith, his tongue leaden and his heart heavy, as he thinks of the latest of his sins.

Holy Father, if you have any kindness in you at all, save old Finlay, he inwardly cries, and Damn me, Lord, for having led him, once more, to the path of temptation. Let him hear me no more, even if monsters walk your Earth, tools of the Evil One.

But, as always, there is no answer. Father Michael knows, has known for years, that God has turned his back from the fair isle he calls home. Even were it not for the bombings, the fear, and the hate that culled the young in their prime, and led man to kill man, claiming that they acted in His name, the filthy liars, he would believe so.

Monstrous creatures, obviously of the Devil, walked the earth. How else, then, could Father Michael explain that painful night, the night he lost his dear wife to something bestial, something with fangs and claws that, even today, shone red with blood in his mind?

Since then, he had seen more... oh, so much more. Men who claimed God's grace, yet acted as if they were the Light themselves. Vampires, eaters of the dead... even a marionette that cut the hearts from men, thinking it would help her become one of God's best loved...

No, thought Father Michael, as he finished his prayer, No, poor Finlay is as lost as I.

He sighed heavily, and prepared to open the church, even as his mind ran through its well-treaded grooves. After all, I, the shepherd, have led my lambs astray. And I shall continue to do so. Not in your name, Father, for I am lost to you. No, all in the name of hate. Hate for that which offends you. I damn myself, and others, so that still more can be saved.

The thought didn't comfort him as much as it used to.

[Lady Moreta]

Lady Moreta - Leith: Honestly? I didn't like it much. It's not up to your usual standard; the description seems forced and is hard for me to envision clearly in my mind, and a lot of your sentence transitions could be smoother - the whole thing, in fact, has a tendency to chop awkwardly where it could flow. I've got difficulty connecting to Leith as a result, and the lack of context on her history or why she's adventuring (or even why she's on the boat in the first place, which doesn't clearly appear until the end) only serves to distance her from the reader further.

Which bits didn't flow? I'm curious... and I suppose I'm not that surprised either... I had fun writing it, but I was at work at the time and my writing was very stop-start. I kept stopping in the middle of sentences, which is never a good thing.


Now critique the Host of a Thousand Princes (Part II) or face my eternal wrath >.>

I thought I had... :smallconfused:

You go critque the Lyra snippet on the previous page and I will :smalltongue:

[Lord_Gareth]

A single sentence is not a critique, Internet Wife >.>

In-depth critique of Lyra snippet shall come either later tonight or else tomorrow.

[Lady Moreta]

A single sentence is not a critique, Internet Wife >.>

In-depth critique of Lyra snippet shall come either later tonight or else tomorrow.

Is that all I did? Whoops...

Let me go fix that... er, later... (what? I'm at work!)

[Lord_Gareth]

Glory
Or: Epic Endgames are Epic
It shouldn't have been possible, the way he moved.

Excuse me, where are my manners? As much as I'd dearly love to prattle on about how imposing and incomprehensible my name is supposed to be, greater devils get that privilege; an imp such as myself must make do with a lesser name, such as 'Brintari', which is, incidentally, the name you may choose to know me by. I was on special assignment into one of the upper layers of the Abyss - a suicide mission, really, with the purpose of gathering information from the Eighty-Third layer - when I noticed a massive portal opened to one of the planets on the Prime Material Plane. I, of course, went to investigate immediately and found an army of the Tanar'ri pushing each other towards the portal, blood flying everywhere in their eagerness to leave their home plane.

Ah, demons. Their stupidity makes me feel warm inside.

Which brings me to what I was talking about initially, for a group of six mortals stood just on the other side of the portal and were, astoundingly, holding the line against the demonic hordes. One of them, a sorcerer or arcanist or whatever mortals call them, chanted and unleashed a wave of crashing thunder that deafened the Tanar'ri ranks, driving them back from the sheer sonic force of it, and their priest invoked the name of some wretched god of light and turned the front ranks of the demons into ash. They barely even got time to scream.

"We cannot hold!" one of them shouted, even as she blasted a storm of fragmenting arrows into her enemies. "We need reinforcements!"

"That'd be a great plan if someone hadn't used his last scroll to get us here!" another one shouted, a half-elven boy wearing dozens upon dozens of daggers in place of armor. He and a tall woman holding a claymore stood in front of the group, ready and wary, and a collective groan went up directed at the magician.

The priest was about to say something when the boy - or was he a man? There's so much difficulty telling, with half breeds - dove into the portal, bringing his blades up in an impossibly fast scything motion that cut down a pair of demons at the waist.

"Francis!" the woman with the claymore shouted desperately - sweet grief! - as she started forward, but the half-elf waved a hand at her impatiently and shouted back, "Get reinforcements! I'll hold 'em here!"

"Gods damn it Francis, you aren't invincible like you think you are!" she protested, tears in her eyes, but the sorcerer grabbed her shoulder and gave her an intense look. As one, the group turned and ran, dashing away as fast as their feet could carry them. I stayed to watch the death of the boy.

Except...except there's no way he should have moved that fast.

In the brief time I'd looked away, he'd hacked down eight more demons, slicing through beings that must have been a century or more older than him at the youngest like they were feathers. He moved like a hurricane, like a god, a phantom of flickering steel and that white, white smile, always slashing and dancing away before the first flecks of blood could mar his clothes. Demons would lunge for the doorway only to find him before them, twin blades ripping into arteries and severing limbs with the neat, surgical efficiency of a butcher, and all the while he laughed merrily, like it was a game.

The seconds dragged on into minutes. The minutes turned into half an hour. I lost count of the number of corpses he piled before that gate, but he was slowing down, and reinforcements were coming to the aid of the Abyss.

A demonic sorceress, a succubus of some power, flew in and opened up not with words, but with a black ray of death that the half-elf deflected with his blades. He replied by hurling a pair of longswords at her, the blades lengthening from their dagger-sheaths as he threw them, which sliced her wings off and sent her plummeting to the earth. Her counter-attack was a wave of fire that scorched her assailant, making Francis scream in agony.

"There is no victory for you here, mortal!" the sorceress screamed triumphantly as he picked himself up. The rest of the fiends edged away from him, for as he stood a radiance began to emanate from his flesh, waves of glory crashing from his form to blast them back.

"If there can be no victory," he whispered, clutching a dozen bleeding wounds, "then I will fight forever!"

There was an explosion of light, and I blacked out.


* * *

I came to some hours later, and standing before me was a goddess; tall and red-haired, fair of face and holding a glaive in her hand. She wore no armor, instead clothed in only a tabard that shifted symbols so rapidly that I could not keep track of it. I hit my knees and trembled, begging for my life.

"Brintari," she said softly, and I looked up in terror, "be not afraid. I send you with a message that your master should find pleasing. Tell him that my name is Trivalla, and that his actions have helped me come to be. Tell him that I am the goddess of courage and glory, and that I do not forget my debts. But tell him this as well: my champion has cast his lot with the Planes Above, and while he lives, so too must I. Abide in patine, Brintari. Your day will come, when you may know the glory and terror of those below you."

She turned and looked with a smile at the half-elf, fast asleep on a pile of demonic corpses high enough to build a mountain.

"I would be very grateful if you could return Francis to his lover," she asked of me, and I nodded quietly. I barely even noticed when she vanished, and went to do as she asked.

Master would be pleased indeed.

[Lady Moreta]

I think I'm gonna do this in chunks... at least until I catch up...

Machuchang
Moving On: I enjoyed this one. I liked the idea of it being so cold that saliva freezes as it hits the ground. Coming from a cold country I can appreciate that sort of temperature, but even so, it gives a neat idea of just how cold it is to someone from a place that’s not so cold.

I love the idea of a man called Hero. And even though his character is a little clichéd, the idea of the reluctant hero and all. The simply fact of his name gives it a neat little twist.

Lord Gareth (is this enough of a review for you ‘net husband? :smalltongue:) The Host of A Thousand Princes – Part 2: I thought ‘creepy as hell’ was a perfectly good response :smalltongue: especially since it was creepy as hell. I like the way you describe General Northman, the bit where we find out he’s lost his hair piece etc… it’s only one sentence but you pack so much information into it that we really get a feel for this guy. Sure he’s getting on and is probably a little overweight by now, but he’s still a soldier (despite being vain enough to use a hair piece). He went for his gun, he’s getting annoyed rather than expressing outright fear. It makes me respect this guy, I feel a bit of sympathy for him. In fact, he’s just about the perfect foil for the other characters, because he’s so human. He’s horrified at the footage, human (or is that male?) enough to be entertaining less-than-appropriate thoughts about Natasha and loves his daughter. All that just makes the others, especially Natasha, just that more horrific. I like that Natasha talks in italics… it gives, to me at least, a sense that her voice is different. Coupled with the comparison between her and poor Northman it really emphasises the fact that this girl is not human.

The winter section? I like the way that you’ve divided up the action with ‘exhale’ and ‘squeeze the trigger’. It gives it a feel for how quickly things are moving and yet how much is happening in a short space of time. I am also wondering what happened to Colors (that is Colors right?) to upset her so much.

The autumn bit is the part that really creeped me out. Her Magnificence is quite the impressive figure, what with the blood of virgins and all that. She is a decidedly creepy and unnerving figure on her own and then you come up with this other voice that freaks her out? Gah…

Darkpuppy
A Strong Arm and Sharp Eye[:/b] I enjoyed this one. I liked the description of the Agora, I got a real feel for the smells and sights and sounds. I’m also quite impressed at how much you got out of a single roll :smallsmile: - but I have to ask… what was the roll that got botched?

[b]Opposite: this one confused me a bit… it wasn’t very clear what was going on. In the first section, I get the feeling the girl should have been able to see the man watching her, but nothing happens. In the second part, I’m even more confused… is she dead now? What happened between the first and second parts? Obviously some time has gone, but there’s no indication of time flowing and moving, so it seems reads like it was immediately after. Your writing/sentence structures etc are perfectly fine, nothing wrong with them, but the story is lacking in clarity I think. And I know you were aiming for that, but I think you could have made things like the passage of time clearer without giving anything more away.

Good Craic Oooh, this one! I liked this one. No matter what else is going on, it reads like a good, old fashioned rousing bar fight. No complications, no nonsense, just a good old punch-up. The characterisation really makes this story. He’s just some old dude in a pub, enjoying himself, butting in on the new girl, making sure she has fun – and then they put the smack-down on everyone else. Loved it :smallbiggrin:

[lerg2]

Sorry, we didn't meet again so I need to wait until next week. I'll be back then!

[darkpuppy]

Darkpuppy
A Strong Arm and Sharp Eye[:/b] I enjoyed this one. I liked the description of the Agora, I got a real feel for the smells and sights and sounds. I’m also quite impressed at how much you got out of a single roll :smallsmile: - but I have to ask… what was the roll that got botched?

Ahhhh... the single roll that got botched? right at the end, he tries to make a roll on his... lemme see, it was one of the mental attributes and poetry, to understand the Ven Twa (Hidden Tongue, a metaphorical language used by House Al-Malik).


[b]Opposite: this one confused me a bit… it wasn’t very clear what was going on. In the first section, I get the feeling the girl should have been able to see the man watching her, but nothing happens. In the second part, I’m even more confused… is she dead now? What happened between the first and second parts? Obviously some time has gone, but there’s no indication of time flowing and moving, so it seems reads like it was immediately after. Your writing/sentence structures etc are perfectly fine, nothing wrong with them, but the story is lacking in clarity I think. And I know you were aiming for that, but I think you could have made things like the passage of time clearer without giving anything more away.

Aye, was, as you noticed, aiming for a bit of obfuscation, but the hints are there, even if they're a bit obscure. Dragonsbreath is, basically, incendiary rounds, 7.62mm is rifle ammo (specifically, sniper rifle), and it is mentioned (or should have been) that Finlay was a sniper. His sort-of-late-sister can't see him because he's a rooftop and a half away, looking through a scope.

What I was aiming for there was a more experimental piece, where the viewpoint (Finlay) is first concentrating almost completely on laying his sister to rest, and then justifying it in his own mind. So yes, the time scale is fairly ambiguous, and I apologise for that. Other Finlay Houlihan stories shall be, as you've noticed, a bit more straightforward.


Good CraicNo matter what else is going on, it reads like a good, old fashioned rousing bar fight. No complications, no nonsense, just a good old punch-up. The characterisation really makes this story. He’s just some old dude in a pub, enjoying himself, butting in on the new girl, making sure she has fun – and then they put the smack-down on everyone else. Loved it :smallbiggrin:

*chuckles* yeah, I enjoyed writing that one, showing, as it were, good irish hospitality. I was actually terrified I'd gotten my north and south ireland mixed up, but thankfully, my irish friends assured me I'd gotten the split right. There might be more of Kathy within the Finlay Houlihan shorts, I haven't decided yet... after all, it'd be very awkward, what with him working for the Hunters, and her being a Forsaken... :smalltongue:

I would comment on the pieces that have been put up since I last wrote, but, unfortunately, my computer's borked (writing from the library), so it'll have to wait till I get back! Promising some more Finlay, and a little Eberron fiction, both after a) my 'puter's returned, and b) assignment is handed in!

[big teej]

-shoves thread backinto the spot light-

so.... I've learned my lesson about promising things in advance.... I'll stop doing that :smalltongue:

I need to start writing again....

and so do the rest of you.

[Lady Moreta]

I'd say I'm trying... but I'm really not :smallredface: My muse seems to have abandonded me :smallfrown:

[big teej]

I'd say I'm trying... but I'm really not :smallredface: My muse seems to have abandonded me :smallfrown:

same here, I blame job-hunting and otehr things sapping my creativity.

[Lord_Gareth]

Glory
Or: Epic Endgames are Epic
It shouldn't have been possible, the way he moved.

Excuse me, where are my manners? As much as I'd dearly love to prattle on about how imposing and incomprehensible my name is supposed to be, greater devils get that privilege; an imp such as myself must make do with a lesser name, such as 'Brintari', which is, incidentally, the name you may choose to know me by. I was on special assignment into one of the upper layers of the Abyss - a suicide mission, really, with the purpose of gathering information from the Eighty-Third layer - when I noticed a massive portal opened to one of the planets on the Prime Material Plane. I, of course, went to investigate immediately and found an army of the Tanar'ri pushing each other towards the portal, blood flying everywhere in their eagerness to leave their home plane.

Ah, demons. Their stupidity makes me feel warm inside.

Which brings me to what I was talking about initially, for a group of six mortals stood just on the other side of the portal and were, astoundingly, holding the line against the demonic hordes. One of them, a sorcerer or arcanist or whatever mortals call them, chanted and unleashed a wave of crashing thunder that deafened the Tanar'ri ranks, driving them back from the sheer sonic force of it, and their priest invoked the name of some wretched god of light and turned the front ranks of the demons into ash. They barely even got time to scream.

"We cannot hold!" one of them shouted, even as she blasted a storm of fragmenting arrows into her enemies. "We need reinforcements!"

"That'd be a great plan if someone hadn't used his last scroll to get us here!" another one shouted, a half-elven boy wearing dozens upon dozens of daggers in place of armor. He and a tall woman holding a claymore stood in front of the group, ready and wary, and a collective groan went up directed at the magician.

The priest was about to say something when the boy - or was he a man? There's so much difficulty telling, with half breeds - dove into the portal, bringing his blades up in an impossibly fast scything motion that cut down a pair of demons at the waist.

"Francis!" the woman with the claymore shouted desperately - sweet grief! - as she started forward, but the half-elf waved a hand at her impatiently and shouted back, "Get reinforcements! I'll hold 'em here!"

"Gods damn it Francis, you aren't invincible like you think you are!" she protested, tears in her eyes, but the sorcerer grabbed her shoulder and gave her an intense look. As one, the group turned and ran, dashing away as fast as their feet could carry them. I stayed to watch the death of the boy.

Except...except there's no way he should have moved that fast.

In the brief time I'd looked away, he'd hacked down eight more demons, slicing through beings that must have been a century or more older than him at the youngest like they were feathers. He moved like a hurricane, like a god, a phantom of flickering steel and that white, white smile, always slashing and dancing away before the first flecks of blood could mar his clothes. Demons would lunge for the doorway only to find him before them, twin blades ripping into arteries and severing limbs with the neat, surgical efficiency of a butcher, and all the while he laughed merrily, like it was a game.

The seconds dragged on into minutes. The minutes turned into half an hour. I lost count of the number of corpses he piled before that gate, but he was slowing down, and reinforcements were coming to the aid of the Abyss.

A demonic sorceress, a succubus of some power, flew in and opened up not with words, but with a black ray of death that the half-elf deflected with his blades. He replied by hurling a pair of longswords at her, the blades lengthening from their dagger-sheaths as he threw them, which sliced her wings off and sent her plummeting to the earth. Her counter-attack was a wave of fire that scorched her assailant, making Francis scream in agony.

"There is no victory for you here, mortal!" the sorceress screamed triumphantly as he picked himself up. The rest of the fiends edged away from him, for as he stood a radiance began to emanate from his flesh, waves of glory crashing from his form to blast them back.

"If there can be no victory," he whispered, clutching a dozen bleeding wounds, "then I will fight forever!"

There was an explosion of light, and I blacked out.


* * *

I came to some hours later, and standing before me was a goddess; tall and red-haired, fair of face and holding a glaive in her hand. She wore no armor, instead clothed in only a tabard that shifted symbols so rapidly that I could not keep track of it. I hit my knees and trembled, begging for my life.

"Brintari," she said softly, and I looked up in terror, "be not afraid. I send you with a message that your master should find pleasing. Tell him that my name is Trivalla, and that his actions have helped me come to be. Tell him that I am the goddess of courage and glory, and that I do not forget my debts. But tell him this as well: my champion has cast his lot with the Planes Above, and while he lives, so too must I. Abide in patine, Brintari. Your day will come, when you may know the glory and terror of those below you."

She turned and looked with a smile at the half-elf, fast asleep on a pile of demonic corpses high enough to build a mountain.

"I would be very grateful if you could return Francis to his lover," she asked of me, and I nodded quietly. I barely even noticed when she vanished, and went to do as she asked.

Master would be pleased indeed.

Hey Teej, I was writing :p

[big teej]

I know, and you produce great things.


but
1) I worry when I don't get a notification that one of my favorite threads has had a new reply for a week or so
2) I have no sense of time, this effects item 1
3) more people should be writing
4) like me :smallredface:

[Lord_Gareth]

Well hey, I'd appreciate a review or something :p

WRITING CHALLENGE: Create a snippet from the PoV of a steampunk elf (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=202472).

[Lady Moreta]

Well hey, I'd appreciate a review or something :p

WRITING CHALLENGE: Create a snippet from the PoV of a steampunk elf (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=202472).

Hey. You still owe me a review of that Lyra snippet. Punk. :smalltongue:

[Lord_Gareth]

Hey. You still owe me a review of that Lyra snippet. Punk. :smalltongue:

LIES!

...Okay I'll do it sometime soon T_T

[Lord Raziere]

ooooh Steampunk elf? hm.

The Smell of Smoke
As always, the smell of smoke awoke me.
I got up, and stretched. There came a metallic barking, it was a little mechanical dog, something I repaired like a couple years back. I think it was some mass-produced little pet for people of some city before it got destroyed. I named him Sprocket, and he was little more than a robotic puppy.

Me own name's Kyranka. I'm just a normal elf girl trying to survive. I wear leather clothing made from the hides of Dryglocs- some mutated thing, I think it evolved from some ancient thing an elder once told me about, think it was called a wolf- cut into a practical long-sleeved patchwork outfit that covered my entire body. I've added various metal parts and pieces onto the outfit, so that it was like a junky jewelry suit of rusted iron, copper, steel and various other metals. This clothing is called a Hakra which is Elvish for "It'll do." Elves learned to sleep in their Hakra for it was the clothes on your back, meaning it was all you had.

I have messy hair, I'm unsure of the color, cause soot and mud and grime all muddled and murky-fied it into some unidentifiable brown. My skin is similarly covered with soot, so to me I've always been soot-skinned and brown haired. I look into some leftover piece of reflective metal and see the one thing that stands out about me: my bright green eyes. where I come from everyone with green eyes is called Greeneyes, cause it said in legend, back when the that mystical all-powerful force called "Nature" existed, everything was green, some crazy elven hobos even proclaim that the Greeneyes are blessed by Natures Ghost to someday "resurrect" or "rebirth" Nature. But no one believes them. Do you? The world is all tan, rusty orange, red and brown and grey now.....I don't think the Green is coming back.

I pick up my shot gun and my Partsintools Bag. When I came of age, I received my Partsintools Bag to honor me becoming grown up at the age of fifteen. I'm nineteen now and it had never failed, and neither has my shotgun.
I then walk on over to this crude pipe with a nozzle, I put this old frying pan under it and with some effort, turn the nozzle- the rusted thing probably hasn't been turned for years. Out poured some oil into the frying pan, which Sprocket wandered over to, opened his mouth, extending a pipe out from his mouth he sucked up all the oil in the frying pan.

I looked at the oil gauge on Sprocket's side, the arrow pointed to "F" meaning it was full. Sprocket was fed for the day.
"C'mon Sprocket. Lets go find something for me to eat."
Sprocket in response let out out a happy bark of a grinding gear.

I wander through the wasteland of metal scraps and sand that was my home.
My shot gun is held ready. I had signaled long ago for Sprocket to be quiet. I was in hunting mode now.
It is difficult, hunting in the wastes. Only predators exist here. I was just one with superior firepower. I am also camouflaged, but so is everything else. Everything is dirty and muddled here.
It was a few hours before I found something. The sun was starting to rise higher into the sky, and I am getting really hungry for some breakfast.
I spotted a Zykero. Its this... thing. Its like a big cat, except with a scorpion tail and tongue. And bright purple fur. I aim my shotgun- BLAM!!
It immediately sprinted away, darn it. I HATE it when I miss! Now I have to follow it and waste more ammo!
I started to walk to follow the Zykero when I suddenly smelled something out of place.

The Smell of Smoke.

Then I hear a rumbling, I wheeled around, my shot gun ready. Sprocket had started his metallic barking again, and was barking furiously at a particular pile of junk.
The suddenly a smoke elemental burst out of the scraps, its odor of pure smoke dominating the senses.
Me and Sprocket being to run away as it pursued us.
My shot gun is a good weapon, but I have limited ammo which I need for hunting- I can't get out alive of being attacked by a smoke elemental only to starve. I needed to find something else among the scraps to destroy it with.
"Sprocket!"
I yelled
"Go that way!"
If the smoke elemental gone for Sprocket then he would be a good distraction until I could come up with something, if the smoke elemental went for me, then at least Sprocket would be safe.

The elemental went for Sprocket, running in the other direction. I had only a few minutes, Sprocket couldn't out run the smoke elemental forever. Come on there has to something here that I could, something that could work! I search frantically, desperately trying to find anything that would work.
Then I spotted it: It was some kind of cannon on top of another pile of melted scraps and other junk. I run forward and started climbing, little bits and pieces of nails, wires, gears and shards of plating scattered underneath my feet and I feel old oil, grease and lubricant under my fingers as I climbed the random assortment of trash.

I finally got up, but I still needed to fix the thing, hopefully a quick job. I opened the panel and looked at the wiring and such- if I do a quick repair and fix up, it might be able to work. Once.
No time to worry. Just hope that it works and fix it as best you can.
I pull out my tools, rewiring this and that, replacing this with this part, and just generally working as fast as I could. My bond with the metal guided me towards its completion, it kept saying
"Go! Keep going! You'll do it! activate me in a fury! Unleash it!"
finally I closed the panel and called to Sprocket, then hovered my hand over the firing trigger and my eye in the aiming scope.Sure enough Sprocket came running in, barking while the Smoke Elemental pursued him closely behind.
I took a deep breath for a moment then adjusted the cannon as I could before I could take a shot. One shot, One chance. Win or fail, Live or die.

Then the Smoke Elemental came into sight.
I took aim and pulled the trigger.
Out roared a big flash of lightning, streaking across the air like a blade stabbing through fire. It burned the world it went through, passing right above Sprocket and hitting the smoke elemental directly, the electricity filled up the smoke, an inhuman shriek bursting from the elemental while it seemed to turn into some twisted living storm cloud with electrical veins.
Then as soon as it began, the smoke elemental dissipated, leaving the new, unfamiliar smell.
I shouldered my shot gun and petted a barking Sprocket.
I didn't know what the smell was, but it smelt good, better than smoke.
I could wake up to it.

[Lord_Gareth]

Raziere. Seriously. Break up your paragraphs. Your wall of text posts are painful on the eyes, my friend. Painful on the eyes.

That being said, here's my steampunk elf one (warning: contains heavy elements of homebrewed setting):


Soot & Smoke
Or: A Night in the Life
Midnight and the smell of ashes. My time of the day, here - with the moon rising high over the smoke and soot, the sounds of the city muted down to the bare bones of back-alley violence and the low, husky calls of the street ladies and men, the clicks and clacks of the last few honest folks rushing home to their families and loved ones to get away from the nightly drama play.

Kralis at night. Beautiful.

I pick myself up from my rooftop cot - it's too barking hot to be inside tonight - and stretch, taking in another deep breath of the thick city air and smiling. I tousle my hair to shake loose the big bugs and rub in some flea powder (the stuff stings like you wouldn't barking believe) and dig through my rucksack before finally shrugging and pulling out my slops, a set of leathers with a long, armored coat over the top. A steel-lined broad hat and a triple-barreled shotgun complete my evening ensemble, the weapon concealed beneath the coat.

Down below, I can hear Ma and Da screaming at each other again. I roll my eyes and leap off of the roof, hands reaching for a pipe that juts from a nearby building. I grab hold of the greasy metal and, in seconds, I'm on the cobblestones, down with the ashes and muck. I smile to myself and start walking, happy to just pound the pavement for awhile and leave them behind.

I consider stopping to play with a couple of halfling gentlemen of my acquaintance, but tonight doesn't seem the night - way too damned hot, for one - so I end up at Ryk's, a bar near the corner of Down and Up. Ryk's a half-orc, an old soldier that retired with a pension that makes my head spin just thinking about it, and he serves good swill for dirt cheap. I'm greeted by a chorus of "Hi Kylla!" or "Evenin' babes!" as I push open the front door, and that only makes me smile wider. The room's a bit smoky from the cheap candles Ryk uses (what, you think the beer pays for itself?) but I take a seat at the bar anyway. Ryk gives me a scarred grin and pours me a pint straight off, and I slap down a pair of steel nobles for the privilege before taking a nice, long draw.

"Busy night, love?" I ask teasingly. The half-orc's older than I am, and I'm almost pushing a century.

"You know it babes. That festival - whaddya call it, the Moonrise Summit or some crap? - is makin' everyone edgy just like it does every year, and edgy people like good booze."

"Preach it," I mutter as I take another pull from the mug. "Ma and Da are at it again. She caught him this time, over at the Silk Ribbon with Aeysha. You'd think, given the whole history of catching each other in halfling brothels, they'd both jus' shut up about it, but no. Every damn week, another barking argument. I was half-tempted to mention that if we were going to fight about village horse-carts, I'd taken a ride on that particular one."

The dwarf sitting next to me spits out the ale in his mouth and gives me an incredulous look, which I return with a wicked grin, Free City of Kralis, baby. 'Do as Thou Wilt' is the only law."

Ryk laughs - he doesn't approve, but he can appreciate a good joke - when some greasy little girl runs up to me panting. At first I'm about to get irritated - she's an elf, like me, and can't be more than, what forty? - when she sets down a little card on the table in front of me with a rising moon crossed by rifles on it. I roll my eyes, "Since when did Garyn start hiring children?"

She swallows nervously and looks around the bar, but I give her a hard look and she stammers out, "Th-the beggar king wants to see you!"

I raise an eyebrow and shrug, standing up and finishing my booze off, "Hey Ryk, I'll probably be back. Might have to hit my plates, though, so keep something open for me, wouldja?"

The half-orc nods, and I gesture for the little girl to lead on.


* * *

Garyn - he only calls himself 'The Beggar King' if you're in trouble with him - holds court in the sewers just underneath Crook-Tooth Alley, and it stinks down in ways you don't want me describing. He sits on a throne made of scraps, four centuries worth of elven wisdom and cunning with all the kindness of a hungry wolf-like. He isn't smiling when I walk in, which is never a good sign. He might like us to call him 'Father' but he's got about as much loyalty to us as we do to him - that is, none at all unless out pockets and stomachs remain full.

"We've got a problem, Kylla, he says by way of greeting. "You've been holding out on me."

I let my hand rest near the bottom of my coat, my little finger hooking around the small leather release for my shotgun. "I've got no idea what you're talkin' about," I say evenly. I'm lying - I have been holding back on my tithes and protection fees, trying to buy up some medicine before the next plague comes through the slums over the winter. They always come through over the winter, and about six years back we lost my younger brother to one. I've got no interest in following him to a shallow grave.

"You'd be a better liar if I hadn't been asking around with your friends and clients, Kylla. Really, you gotta learn more discretion if you're going to sneak around behind my back. You know how much I just love people that hold out on me."

I swear quietly, under my breath, "Look, I can pay it all back if you can give me a moon or two to scrounge it together, some folks owe me -"

He cuts his hand across his face to get me to shut up, which I do immediately, "I'm not interested in your excuses, Kylla. This is the third time. I'm sorry, but you're done."

I tug my loop and swing my shotgun out of the coat and into my hands, whipping it upwards as fast as I can. My finger squeezes the trigger and the shot blasts away a wooden support that I quietly weakened the last time Garyn had me paint the place. As I turn to run, a huge chunk of the ceiling comes loose and blocks the tunnel behind me. He'll be trapped in there for days.

Assuming he gets out at all, anyway.


* * *

"Busy night, babes?"

"Nothing too major, Ryk. Say, you know if anyone's hiring a repair rat?"

"Y'know, I might have a friend or two."

[Lord Raziere]

broke it up a little, that better?

[Lord_Gareth]

Much easier on the eyes, though you've got some awkward wordings and capitalization issues. Honestly, the action seems pretty okay (the awkward wording makes it chop a bit), but you spend a lot of time emphasizing the idea that Nature is coming back...which they don't really care about. Or know about, really. Modern elves grew up like they are, and so did their parents, and grandparents, and their great-grandparents before them. Their bond with the city, with steel and grease and flame, is inbound now, as much a part of them as breathing. My snippet didn't get a lot into the steel bond, but the city bond is there for those that look.

Any thoughts on Soot & Smoke, Raziere?

[Werekat]

I seem to have gotten into the habit of Megaposts. Please bear with me.

Lord Gareth, Endgame, parts 1 and 2: Gah, did I get stuck on reviewing that one. For some reason, I just couldn't get it on the first several readings. And then, after I let it sit for a couple of weeks, I re-read it... And it fell into place. Damn, that was good.

I like Summer's characteristic straightforwardness. I like how Spring marches into a mundane's head and opens his brain with a cheerful smile. I like how Winter finds with dispassionate ruthlessness - until something breaks in their minds and they start going on until they just die.

Autumn is harder to understand. And probably could have been creepier, for they are the children of Fear. What is the Mask?

Anyhow, waiting for part three eagerly!

I *will* take you up on the steampunk elf challenge in a couple days' time! Though that's probably going to be more Navy Seal elf... It's a longstanding fantasy of mine that has yet to take form. I'll review yours and Lord Raziere's story ASAP after this post, though.

Lady Moreta, Leith: I kinda have to agree with Lord Gareth here. The style is good, as usual, but the composition stumbles. Your piece is long, but doesn't tell us anything about Leith except that she holds her fathers bow very dear, and the tasks he gives her, as well. Very Lawful, she seems. But not much else. I'd like to see her character more established.

On an off-topic: I, too, would like to hear a more expanded opinion on the Jailin stories, if you're up for it.

Darkpuppy, A Strong Arm and a Sharp Eye: wonderful! I enjoy it when stories suddenly go off elsewhere because of chance. It seems so very human, and it always gets my interest up. I loved how it was all stoic and then very ironic. It makes the world believable.

Opposite and Good Craic: Finlay is good. I like especially how you play to the name and the mythology around it. You could get the correlation even from the first piece, and after the second one, well, the Irish fangirl in me squealed a bit. I hope you expand more on that!

I did have a bit of a hard time reading due to the slang. But that's my problem in this case, not yours. What's a pigsticker? A kind of knife?

And you kind of lost me at first on who actually fought when the brawl began. I had to re-read it to make sure.

Big Teej, The fight in the mountains: same general criticism as before. Modern expressions used in each piece make every piece harder to read. Your style here is inconsistent. I can't get a feel for the character. Is he intelligent or stupid? Is he playing or is it serious? How the heck does he know the word "melodrama"? These little things make or break the story.

The Extermination of the Draken Tribe is better. Far better. The man is simple, not stupid. He can cry when it's appropriate. Even though you use uncharacteristic words again - "migration" comes to mind - it seems more appropriate, because you can believe the character from a tribe with a history of movement would actually have such a word.

"Pain is painful" is always redundant, though. Your piece is no exception.

Nonetheless, "open my face to the sky" is a very good turn of phrase.

Darkpuppy again, Lamb of God: He is a Lasombra, isn't he? Or at least a candidate for being Embraced by one? :) I like Father Michael. Morgana, however, would tell him that the sin of pride comes before all of those others he's committed and is their cause. She knows, she's been there.

He's still a priest because he can influence people better? He seems to believe in God at least in part yet. Just desperate enough to do God's work.

Anyway, the story flows fine. I can't really find anything to nitpick here.

And my own, because, like Darkpuppy, I hate just posting critique, though I really should do it more often.

This is an excerpt from a large work of mine, which is unfortunately in Russian and is hardly snippetable, because I'm trying to make a complex storyline. It is the story of Roderick (Morgana's sire) and Lindbergh (a Tremere), and their rivalry over the course of 500 years. But there's a few bits that might stand on their own, and I may be translating them from time to time. This is a piece that focuses on my only favorite character groups to play that hasn't been on this thread yet - the Tremere. Warning: fanon present - our city usually plays the Presidium all on a second-step bond to the Clan, and the Rodolpho on the third.

For those who don't know what the Tremere are - they're mages that turned themselves into vampires through an experiment on immortality gone freakishly wrong. Like most mages everywhere, the initial group was too damn proud to admit it. And so the younger initiates usually thought vampiric magic was the best thing since the invention of fire, and only those who were mages in their human life (and the Tremere Embraced their share of those, including Lindbergh) knew that it was scraps from the table. This is a story of how another Tremere comes to realize this truth.

If any of you have access to Dvorak's Humoresque, I wrote this piece to it. I can't find my favorite version, but any one with violin and piano more-or-less does the trick. Of those available on Youtube - Josef Suk's.


Black Foam
or
Horribly angsty 600-year-old vampire, Hermetism, and a need to resist "I-told-you-so".

The Tremere Conclave was familiar and festive. Nights of freedom, won from the world itself. Foualliet, in his usual nonchalant manner, with all interested parties present, made his usual offer for Lindbergh to join House Presidium and gain the corresponding Blood Bond. Lindbergh gave his usual nonchalant refusal, then excused himself, and left the general post-council party. Freedom indeed - if bound by our own rules. Four young magi - among them two familiar faces, Anselm and Johannes - walked past the older magus, and the signs of respect they gave him reminded him of why he'd wished to have no company. Our own freedom.

Lindbergh turned into one of the less lighted corridors, where the merriment would not reach. Tonight he would use his freedom not to celebrate another two years of unlife, and not to meet with the few friends that he'd only got the chance to see at the all-Clan gathering. He would stay in silence, in meditation. He would not have come to the Conclave at all had there not been reports to give. It angered immensely those who wished him dead for their games: the fact that his name appeared, year after year, century after century, in the roster of those who would speak before the Clan. It used to make the magus happy. No longer. Now he was made happy only by peace, even though he would not have thought of it that way. The times when he could wish for peace had long passed.

He did not wish for it, then. And mayhap for this lack of desire, when he heard a hoarse voice come beyond a half-opened door, calling his name, he did not dare to simply walk past, pretending to not have heard.

Even such a simple breach of the rules was not easy for him any longer.

Lindbergh stopped and flung the door open. The man who slumped on the floor in a far corner would have curled into a ball - even the dim light of magical lamps hurt his eyes - but had no strength to.

"L-l-lindberrr... Ai.. Hel..."

A glass bottle lay broken on the floor next to him, and the sour smell of some unknown concoction filled the air.

Lindbergh looked around carefully and, noticing no danger, approached.

"Ethan. What happened?"

"N-n-n-nit..noth.. Well. Willl... Passss. Its-self. S-stay."

The magus lowered himself onto the floor by the alchemist, and Ethan fell heavily into his hands, back first, and stared into the ceiling with unseeing eyes. The alchemist's pupils were red and dilated, and his fangs had lengthened, as if from hunger. The reaction seemed natural to Lindbergh. If the concoction was poison of any kind, the vampiric body would spend blood to try and heal. So the magus held the alchemist firmly with one hand, both supporting and preventing a sudden attack in case the alchemist's Beast gained control, and picked up the shards of the glass with his free hand. It used to hold blood, of course. But what did the blood itself hold?

"Ethan? Anrie Ethan? What did you drink?"

Silence. Lindbergh then risked to give a wayward glance to the memories that should have remained, and strongly at that, on the broken glass.

The images were strong indeed.

...The ice of two dead hands on the yet-intact bottle. One in burns that would not heal without special aid even through blood. Another clad in a white silken glove with gold needlework - the official guise of House Rodolpho, the Diviners' House.

"Master Ethan." Really? Rodolpho himself? The velvet voice that spoke as if into a void even when it gave a name could belong to the first and last House Head only. "Are you truly certain that you want this insight? Our methods take a toll on the psyche."

"I am an alchemist, dear colleague, and all of the results of my Magisterium I test upon myself!" Anrie's voice - changed? Dried out, desperate? A mere few.. No, a few dozens years ago it was so different. Or was it not? "I think your potion could not make a thing worse. And may the immortal, eternally rising from the ashes phoenix be my witness, I have paid more than enough for it!"

And then Ethan's hope and despair mixed with Rodolpho's distant regret, and the diviner relinquished the bottle...

Anrie moaned and started shaking, and the magus was forced to return his mind to Vienna, to the Conclave, to one of its buildings with so many Tremere and so many decisions to make, to one room where a very old acquaintance was losing what remained of his senses.

"Anrie, can you hear me?" Lindbergh spoke, knowing that it was now important to just speak, to be guiding light and Ariadna's thread, to help his colleague pass out of the murky waters of vision. "Anrie Ethan, colleague, magus, alchemist of House Aurum..."

At the last, the alchemist arched his back and cried out, but soon fell limp again. Tears of blood flew in rivulets from his open eyes.

"Ethan!" Lindbergh raised his voice a half-tone. "Alchemist of House and Clan Tremere! What do you.."

"To the Devil! To God! To the Devil and all Angels!" Suddenly cried Ethan, and twisted to grope at Lindbergh's shoulders. Unseeing pupils rolled back and forth uncontrollably: the potion was working. "May the Devil take all alchemy! What am I.. What could I? What we are? I.. What are we!

"Anrie, what do you see?"

"SEE!" Always naturally high, now the alchemist's voice rose to a screech. "Lindbergh! You knew it at the very beginning, when we were young? Why did you not tell me then? Why did you not convince me? Why did you lie, you had known then, you had known!"

"Shh. Quiet," Lindbergh knew that if he wished to retain a hold on the alchemist, he would not be able to reach the spell component that would prevent Frenzy. But this was unlike the threshold of Frenzy. The alchemist's despair was so human that even the Beast seemed to hide from these feelings. "What had I known?"

Anrie bawled. This was the first time Lindbergh had seen such behavior in a Kindred over six hundred years old. "Th-that all I am doing... Is useless, senseless, false and untrue! How, how could I have been so blind? How could you, having perfectly good sight, not enlighten me? Why?"

"Why I did not tell you that all you do is senseless?"

"Yes!"

"But I do not know," Lindbergh said softly. "I do not know what you do, I have never taken much interest in alchemy..."

"Lies! It is what makes us ourselves, what we are? Yet what ARE we, Lindbergh! This you had known!"

"We?"

Anrie raised his head and let go of the magus, then slumped against the wall, and closed his eyes. The flow of tears ended as suddenly as it had begun, and the magus soon began speaking much more evenly.

"One can make gold of lead. That is true, yes?"

"And if not gold, then silver." Lindbergh smiled. "Your ritual saved my chantry, remember? The werewolves..."

"That is nothing." Anrie cut the magus off. "But gold can be made from lead, do you understand? A human can be made the perfect human being. And a vampire... Could be made into some other, better, higher creature. Is that so?"

"Anrie, I am not an alchemist."

"It is not so. Not so." Anrie's voice fell to a whisper. "Understand, Lindbergh... I wished to see our place in the Magisterium. I had done everything, gone through all the internal preparations - years of work - and I looked, and took this thrice, septem-cursed elixir from Rodolpho, and I saw... We... Lindbergh, the magisterium of gold has a place where it is very important to watch the black foam as strictly as possible."

"Black foam?"

"That is dirt. All of the dirt that ails the sick metal... It needs to be removed, always removed, for otherwise there will be no magisterium. Lindbergh?"

"Yes?"

"We are that foam."

The alchemist fell silent, having choked on his words, and raised his hands to his throat, as if wishing to either strangle himself or to push the unruly words out. Lindbergh carefully took his hands and lowered them, and they fell, strength lost.

"Tell me what foam means."

"We... Lindbergh, we are not even the material. We are the waste, something that needs to be removed from someone else's Great Work. We are a phase without which there will be no Philosopher's Stone, bu we... We will not see it, not ever. There will be a transmutation in the history of the world, should the Great Alchemist desire it. But not for us. We will be carefully removed with a wooden spoon and thrown away, useless, unnecessary, dirty. Having become vampires, we are now less than nothing. Why, why did we do it? Who visited this fate upon us? It is unfair, unjust? Why us?"

Lindbergh was silent. Words were less than nothing, as well. Ethan, too, kept his silence. Only after minutes had passed, he said bitterly, "I shall never see my dream."

"Who knows." Lindbergh replied evenly.

"I will never become..."

"Who knows."

"I... Lindbergh, you, you had known from the very beginning." Anrie opened his eyes, and now they held consciousness, and not the gush of a vision. "I now understand all that you have said about the magic of human mages, of the magic of the Tremere. This came together into one puzzle, a single trap. Why did you not refuse to participate in this blasphemy?"

"Back then?"

"W-well... Yes, back then?"

"I wanted revenge. I failed at exacting it."

"That's how it is, then... You wanted to kill us?"

"Not you all personally. With the notable exception of Louis."

"But so this filth would not exist?"

"Yes."

"And?"

Lindbergh was silent. And then he replied, "I know not, Ethan. Even now, I do not know. Something is happening, as you have said. A Magisterium. I want to see it, even if this is the price. It has already been exacted from me regardless."

"And even though you are mere useless filth yourself?"

The former mage shrugged. "Let it be so, then. I wish to burn in a great pyre."

Anrie shook his head sadly. "And I do not wish that. I wish to live, and for it to be life. And I do not know how I shall live on."

"Forgive me, Anrie. I cannot help you."

"I understand." The alchemist nodded sharply and got up, holding to the wall. "I know enough to understand that no one can help anyone in this. You have done enough for me. I an in your debt."

"No. I have repaid you the debt of my first nights." Lindbergh, too, got up. "Where are you staying for the day?"

"I will make it there on my own, Lindbergh, but thank you."

"Very well."

And the alchemist staggered out of the room. Yet he did not turn, and did not call for aid.

Lindbergh then collected the broken glass and went to his own resting place. Sunrise was approaching and his heart was heavy.

[darkpuppy]

Hrm, well, let's see... got one now, shall do a couple tomorrow after I record my Let's Play footage for this half of the week (Two sets of LEGO Batman, heh). Anyways, the first is taking up Lord Gareth's writing challenge, so, for your enjoyment:


The Finest Automata
Michael Harlane breathed deep of the smoggy green air of London, and smiled. It had been a profitable night, all told, and his wallet would stay well-filled for another day or two. Say what you like about London, he thought, but some jobs are just too good to pass up here.

And then he fell down, smashing his nose into the cobbles… blearily, he came to, and attempted to gauge his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the heavy weight on his back, which appeared to belong to, of all things, a brass automaton, shaped like a tiger. The next item, a silvery laugh, led him to the third…

…A young lady, crouching on one of the nearby smoke stacks. Looking down at him, and chuckling.

“Pleased to meet you, sir!” her voice, like her laugh, seemed to flow like quicksilver. “I dare say, you’re in a fair pickle!”

Mr. Harlane simply growled, and attempted to push himself up… eight sharp spikes of pain dissuaded him, and the lady continued.

“Before we talk business, let me introduce myself. Ariel Cogsmith, one of the finest creators of Babbage Automata in Her Majesty’s land… or rather, I would be if it weren’t for a certain accident of birth-“

It clicked, and Michael grunted derisively. “You’re a bloody pointear, aren’t you?”

Ariel laughed, but without humour now, almost reflective. “Aye, that I am, sir. A trickster, a Fair One, servant of both Queen Mab and Her Majesty’s Regulars, since society does not allow me to purvey my wares . And you, sir, are the Parkside Strangler.”

“I have no idea what you’re-“

“Oh, come now, sir, I did mention I am a purveyor of fine Babbage Automata, so let me spell this out for you. Three weeks ago, I was retained by one Inspector Michel (Ring a bell?), and, let me tell you, sir, you gave me a merry chase… but my clockwork tiger here, her scent receptors and processors are the finest calculating engines this side of China, and she led me to your domicile. From there, a little friend of mine,” at this, she gestured to the silver crow on her arm “Kept an eye on your movements, recording a killing on its kinematograph. Of course, the police don’t count those as evidence yet, but they did search your house, and-“

Before she could continue, Haldane cried out in rage, and pulled a pistol from his coat. The last things he heard were a brief “tink” and a grainy recording of a tiger’s growl. The last thing he felt was pain.

Ariel sighed. “And I hadn’t even gotten to the part where I mentioned he was worth more alive. Humans,” she tutted “No sense of drama.”

EDIT: And Werekat, were the Lasombra in the nWoD, Father Michael would definitely be a candidate. At the moment, though, he's Finlay Houlihan's "Handler" for Malleus Maleficorum (Sheesh, what an idiot I feel like, what else would they call it?), the christian extremist Hunter organisation.

As to Finlay, thankin' ye kindly, to be sure! The slang can be a bit of a trouble, but yeah, a pigsticker is basically the sort of knife you'd use to cut pig's throats, so it's big, and mean (In crunch terms, Kat stabbed Sean's hand with a Klaive... OUCH!). As to who was fighting? Pretty much Fin and Kat versus everyone else. Poor Finlay, there's another place he won't be able to drink for "sympathising with the enemy"... I'm working on more Finlay Houlihan stuff, I promise!

EDIT 2: Right, critique...

Going backwards for a few stories:-

Werekat - Subtle... verrrry, subtle. Perhaps a wee bit too subtle, but I think the educated souls here will get it. But very, very Tremere. Bravo!

Lords Gareth and Raziere - To be honest, an elf in a steampunk setting could still be nature bound (and thus disliking the soot and smoke, forced by circumstance and shrinking territory, et al), but Lord Gareth is correct that the rhythm seems... off, somehow. Can't really see where, but it does seem off. Also, para breaks are, as noted, Lord Raziere, essential. But you'll get the hang of it! Lord Gareth, interesting as always, although if it weren't for the challenge, I wouldn't precisely know your character was an elf.

EDIT 3: Can't sleep just yet, so here's some Finlay for you. Yes, Dublin is a busy place, WoD wise, and, to clarify, the gentleman he met was a Geist (humans given a "second life" by an archetypal Ghost, in exchange for being living Anchors (Geist - The Sin Eaters)


Judgement
A Finlay Houlihan Vignette
If there’s one night of the year I hate, Father, it’s All Hallow’s Eve. The rest of the world can pretend, but we Irish know damn well it’s the time when the Devil’s at his busiest, and this year, Father, was no exception.

Yes, Father, to be honest, I am a little irritable at the moment. You’ll understand, I’m sure, when you realise what happened to me, happened in my own damned home!

I was just sitting around, watching the pools (Yes, Father, I know gambling is sinful, but a man can dream of raising his station in life, can’t he?), when everything goes a bit dark. I’d thought, at first, that those fools at the electric company had cocked it all up again, but I look up, and the lightbulb’s there, shining away, but not getting very far, if you understand me.
Ah, you know the way of the Godless well, Father, for I did indeed spot the feller as I looked down again. Bold as brass, crouching on my windowsill! Well, yes, Father, it was a bit of trouble, because there I was, not a thing to hand, and he obviously didn’t mean well.

“Are you afraid, Finlay Houlihan? Do you not see that, as you judge others, so I’ll judge you?”… Brrr, just remembering gives me the shivers, Father, and it’s not easy to put frights on me, as you know!

What’d he look like? Well, that’s the oddness of it all, Father. He wasn’t more than 20, and dressed like your average member of the hoodied hordes, and yet… he felt like he was old, y’know?

No, no, no, Father, I woulda spotted one of those a ways away, he was… well, I don’t understand it myself, Father, he was alive, and human, but something about him felt dead, even though I checked his pulse before… Ahhh, but I get ahead of meself.

Well, I was going to point out that, if he knew me so damn well, he would know nothing of the Devil would scare me, but he was already pulling a weapon (Beretta, Father, don’t know where the lad got it!), so, rather naturally, I got behind me chair right quick! Ahhh, I’ll miss that chair!

Yes, Father, a whole clip, unloaded into my old leather seat, it’s a terrible shame, to be sure, but it would be a terrible shame if I were to stop breathing, too! Oh, don’t pull that face, I was fine! Anyway, the lad thankfully didn’t have a backup plan, so I leapt up, pulled him in, and, as God’s my witness, gave him a pummelling he wouldn’t forget…

…Yes, that’s right, Father, if he were still here. Thing is, I’m not entirely sure he isn’t.

I’m getting to that, Father! Doesn’t the Lord counsel patience in his spare time, eh?

Anyway, yes, Father, I checked his pulse, and, sure as sure, he had a pulse. Not for long, but still. And I took the body to the old mine. But, here’s the funny part, Father. This morning, I got a letter. No stamp, no address, just “To Finlay”. Here.

Aye, that’s what it says, for sure. “You’re guilty, and we shall meet again. – The Hanging Judge.”

Now what sorta name is that, Father? And, forgive me for asking, but what in God’s name have I gotten myself into now?

[Werekat]

Darkpuppy: Gah, nWoD. I'd forgotten. I haven't played it yet: I enjoy the old setting a bit too much to.

Do they cut the throats of pigs where you live? 'Cause that's a lot of blood wasted that usually goes into sausages, and that's a pig that thrashes and can seriously hurt the throat-cutter. They usually use a stiletto-type thing where I live, and rupture the heart in one strike. Failing that, a gun.

A little critique for your newest piece: unless Finlay has some weird power, a chair is not going to save him at that distance. Believe me. I do some shooting, and even a rubber-bullet traumatic gun goes through centimeters of wood at that distance. A regular lead bullet makes a nice hole in the chair and the guy behind it as well.

Besides that point, I like the whole "who judges the self-appointed judges" thing. Once again, I'd love to get Morgana into that whole story of yours. An ovate-turned-Kiasyd is something that would work well, I gather, if they could keep from killing each other.

For the automata: nice! A bit more faery than elven, but can't say that stopped me from enjoying it.

For my own piece: Subtle? Not precisely what I'd choose to call the piece. Why subtle? Because of all the mythological and alchemical references? And what can you say about the characters, if anything?

And have you anything to say for the Jailin and Cypher stories?

Lord Gareth: Oooh. I now read the setting. I like it. A lot. I'd like to read more on it, and maybe to play it. And I liked the discussion on nature and how elves might relate to it in steampunk, so I wrote this little piece. I took the liberty of making some assumptions for Dreavarrian clerics and druids. If you have anything official written on them, I'd enjoy reading it!

Critique for your own piece: yeah, the familial relations between your elf's parents are kind of weird, if you ask me. They seem more human than anything. Take away the ages, and you get a human rogue. What makes her and her family an elf? I'd like to see the "connection to the city" angle emphasized. Then again, that's not the rogue's strong point, probably.

My own piece for your challenge:


Nature versus nurture,
or
Hey, this is a Victorian view too. I simply stole and adapted it.

So, young apprentice, you think you are ready to know my secret? How we live in a large house and not the gutter? The reason we have wine on these tables and not cheap beer? The reason we wear clothes of clean linen and silk, even though our work is no cleaner than the work of our kith and kin?

Mayhap you are.

By the way, I told you to take that leather off. At least where it touches bare skin. Put a layer or two underneath. I don't care if it was a gift from your dear ol' ma. It heats instantly: today we go to the large foundries, you will be burned at the furnaces, and healing salves are not easy to come by. Once you do, I'll let you in on a dirty little secret.

There we are. Now listen well.

Nature is better than tech.

An unpopular view to hold in our society. In a world where nature had failed us. In a world where metal and smog won out, and the dwarves had defeated us, if not in battle, by building their mountain dungeons up into the air, where our forests once had been, long ago.

I? I live long, young one, but not so long as to remember. Mine is only a little past a gross, and all of this happened millenia ago. And I have come to my views not through tradition - how I used to disdain it! how I still care not for those books which lament the days of old! - but through experimentation and tinkering.

I am not an inventor for nothing, you know. I have spent years upon years studying the ways of metal and oil. I make a better living than most of our people, for I service those who had been crippled in ways we do not yet understand, and they can walk, run, use the fork and knife, and enjoy the other fine things in life.

But my earliest inventions were horrible. Worse than horrible; useless. And it is only when I took the time to study our own selves, our living bodies, that I understood that fundamental truth I told you earlier.

Nature is better.

And the second dirty little secret - it is still here. The cities are a jungle. The mess we make is no more than other creatures make. Come, I will show you something I procured from the black market.

See this? It is what is called a termite nest. A living one, no less, from lands far away. Long ago, I'd paid much of the money I had been saving up for wholly other purposes for it. I never once regretted it, for it has taught me much.

See those little insects, crawling in and out? Does this not remind you of something?

We are no better than flies, truly.

When we grew too many, nature has deemed fit to place us together, into cities. To change us. That itself is the hallmark of the living world: adaptation.

The only weakness of nature is that it takes time to adapt. But adapt it always does. Look at us: so many died, yet so many live, and we have bonded with the new forms that nature has taken. The city itself is a living being made of living beings. That is how we know it so well.

So what does this have to do with prosthetics, you must wonder? For those whom the servants of the gods simply cannot heal, for the strange injuries that people of all races sometimes present?

What is an elf but a machine that repairs itself? We are each a bustling city of creatures, all servicing our mind, all defending our body from illness. So complex a city that our own compound seems like a child's toy houses and carriages. I have been studying the materials of our bodies and their mechanics: how the blood and bile flows and how waste is taken out. It is a machine as much as any forge-creature. It is just that most do not understand this simple, dirty fact. My aprons are stained with oil; doctors' are stained with blood, and there is no real difference.

No, you do not have little tinkerer-elves inside you, not literally. Have you been paying attention at all? The span of the mind of youths boggles me, and you are better than most our kin, too...

I have been watching, apprentice, for all my life I have been watching. It has made me the best, the one to whom all of the rich come when in trouble. It will make me - and you, if you have the wisdom to finish your training! - even better yet. Once I finish my study of the elven body, I will set myself to studying the city. It will not only make my prosthetics better - when I have learned, I will make the city itself better, more comfortable, cleaner and perfect.

Did you know that I have already been able to spin silk better than the silkworm itself?

We will all wear clean linen and silks before my day is out.

Lord Raziere: Your work made me like it besides the mistakes, which is a feat. You do great work in the details. The Partsintools bag is a nice touch, as are the "It'll do" clothes.

I don't have a problem with someone "missing" nature - you always get the mainstream and the reaction, it's a classic part of culture.

What I didn't like is the fact that she thought to look for a weapon out of logic, not out of intuition. In combat, order of the day is survive first, think about scrounging something else later. Seriously, if she'd felt there was a weapon through her connection, it would have been loads more believable.

I like the way she uses her connection to fix the cannon, though. And I love elves in camouflage. I even drew a picture of one once, and that should tell you just how hard I find it to get out of my head.

As for problems in the text - I think your problems come mostly from the wording. It's clumsy in places, and there are little typos and mistakes that make it difficult to concentrate. No apostrophe in "because" when shortened to "'cause", an "a" where a "the" would be appropriate, a "had" where a "has" should be, "being" instead of "begin". That sort of thing. The worst are the mistakes that can be fixed two ways and you have to stop, separate yourself from the story, and think what the author must have meant. This interrupts the flow. A lot. Be more attentive, and you should be fine.

And I translated another snippet for Lindbergh. Hopefully, it's also very Tremere.



Bull-baiting
or
No, the Tremere don't train all their apprentices this way. The Chantry just hates this one in particular. He isn't being too smart, either.

"Come here."

To Lindbergh it seemed as if his voice rang with power. Yet red-haired Louis merely smiled and said, "Go drown in the Seine, you simpleminded dupe."

"Come here."

"Or better yet, in a dump well."

"Come here."

Louis gave a moment's thought. "I shall ask the Prince Beatrice the very best dumping wells for you. I heard they had sent you to clean them while you were hers? I was so glad that I could send you there!"

...

And Lindbergh came to, held up in the air at a hand's length from the chantry's First Apprentice. Louis smiled charmingly, releasing him, and the former mage crashed to the floor. He did not want to come to: even though the Beast had been silenced by magic, the stone cell and two vampires in it did not become any more pleasant.

"You are trying my patience." Ethan sighed from somewhere behind. "We're going to run out of nails soon enough."

"True enough." Louis added. "The whole chantry has been enchanting these damn nails so someone could learn at least the basics of Dominate. How.."

Lindbergh raised his head and gave such a glare that Ethan exclaimed, "Hey, careful! Let me get another nail first!"

"Got it?" Asked Louis in a few seconds' time. "Then let us continue. The whole chantry toils at these thrice-damned nails so that the someone sitting like a stupid oaf on the floor right now could learn the beginnings of Dominate without breaking our furniture. Hey, apprentice of the second circle? What's the problem? I thought you had studied mental magic in life?"

"First apprentice..." Lindbergh finally found the strength to speak. "The Prince and her dumpwells have wanted to see you. You should..."

"Silence!"

The mental command was, as always, deafening. The voice went through his mind like lightning, discharging all words from his mind. Even when Lindbergh had sparred with the experienced mages of his former House, House Tytalus, he had never felt anything like this. Of course, the famous masters of the Sphere of Mind rarely used a cudgel when they could use the tiny hammer of a skilled silversmith. But as the former mage already understood, thaumaturges had nothing but cudgels remaining to them.

And that cudgel kept slipping his hands.

"Apprentice of the Second Circle, you are indeed a cretin." Louis crossed his hands in amusement. "How could you not understand such elementary things as the fact that insulting higher-ups is not advisable?"

"Listen, Louie." Ethan spoke suddenly. "Maybe we could just forbid him insults?"

"And not get the educational effect?" Louis seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice and swayed from heel to toe, trembling with expectation. "Besides, I am made so happy by the simple fact that this fool will be doing soon the dirtiest work reserved for servants! You have no idea how happy, Ethan..."

For this evening alone, Lindbergh had indeed earned a month of the simplest and most unpleasant punishments. Louis would have earned no less, however - for in theory, the Tremere Oath demanded respect of all magi to all other magi, even with the caveat that the younger magi would recieve "the respect they earn." But Louis had crossed even the line that applied equally to novice and regent alike multiple times during the evening. De Lion had made it known that should Lindbergh remember to call to the Oath for justice, justice he would have, and both magi would be punished equally for their deeds. Yet the former mage would not invoke the Oath.

And the First Apprentice knew this.

"And we should think of something for now. For the educational effect. While we wait for your nail to wear off." Louis gave a thoughtful sniff, then clapped his hands at the approach of an idea. "Ah! I think we should find out what of your mortal life so inhibits you in learning! So tell us of how you learned... What was it? Ars Mentis?"

Lindbergh was quickly silenced by a command, for he had instead begun listing the unsavory roots of Louis' genealogical tree.

"Tell us in all detail how you studied mind magic!"

But Lindbergh had already bought time and braced himself for this kind of Domination. The former mage had always had great memory.

"At the beginning, my mentor, who had always worn a black suit of the best and thinnest wool-cloth of England, dyed with a black dye of the finest hues, the secret of which is kept - or so they think - locked within one Florentine family..."

"Enough!" Louis interrupted him. Strangely enough, the First Apprentice did not seem angry, even though he had just fallen into a child's mistake by Lindbergh's reckoning. "Good trick. Tell us of the training procedures alone."

Lindbergh shook his head. The command had missed its mark. "This is difficult to put into words. Especially the first bits of training. I cannot."

"You must have had some exercises. Those same commands which
you cannot seem to master, despite them being the simplest of all actions."

"That is not so."

"What is not so, dupe?" Barked Louis. "You had no exercises?"

"Of course we had them." It was Lindbergh who was laughing now, explaining the obvious. "But for your information, First Apprentice, a command is an elementary act, meaning simple, meaning indivisible, only for those who cannot do anything more subtle. As the old adage goes, brawn instead of brain."

He seemed to get to Louis, but the shadow of doubt passed momentarily.

"But he who has no power could not give a command." Guessed Louis correctly. "So that was the problem. You've never had such power in your hands before. But that is fine. Even the weakest runt will bite when kicked."

"Yet I had already had power over that which you have difficulty with still." Lindbergh responded calmly.

"Over what?"

Lindbergh looked the First Apprentice in the eye, and smiled mercilessly.

"It was easy for me to breed simple panic." The First Apprentice listened attentively, having not recognized their first meeting, Lindbergh's capture at the price of three dead vampires. So the former mage continued: "Alone. And you needed six on the street for tha..."

Louis roared! The Beast overtook his mind, and Lindbergh would have been crippled, if not killed outright, if not for the always-calm alchemist.

"Begone!"

The First Apprentice sagged to the floor, his Beast as sealed as Lindbergh's own.

Ethan groaned and rubbed his left hand, pierced by yet another nail, then spread both hands, showing off the wounds. "Knowing you two, I shall need not be righteous to earn money begging by the Notre Dame cathedral, showing off stigmata." The alchemist said wearily. "Having your aid, I shall soon feed the entire Chantry with bought blood. Let us get to work, colleagues, the night is not getting any younger."

"To wor-rk, yes." Said Louis angrily, getting up from the floor. "Come on, apprentice of the second circle. Do it right at least once, dimwit, and we shall leave this place."

"Don't you worry about me." The perspective of cleaning the ritual room of blood while hungry no longer seemed so bad to Lindbergh as it did minutes ago. "Better yet... Come here."

[Werekat]

Darkpuppy: Gah, nWoD. I'd forgotten. I haven't played it yet: I enjoy the old setting a bit too much to.

Do they cut the throats of pigs where you live? 'Cause that's a lot of blood wasted that usually goes into sausages, and that's a pig that thrashes and can seriously hurt the throat-cutter. They usually use a stiletto-type thing where I live, and rupture the heart in one strike. Failing that, a gun.

A little critique for your newest piece: unless Finlay has some weird power, a chair is not going to save him at that distance. Believe me. I do some shooting, and even a rubber-bullet traumatic gun goes through centimeters of wood at that distance. A regular lead bullet makes a nice hole in the chair and the guy behind it as well.

Besides that point, I like the whole "who judges the self-appointed judges" thing. Once again, I'd love to get Morgana into that whole story of yours. An ovate-turned-Kiasyd is something that would work well, I gather, if they could keep from killing each other.

For the automata: nice! A bit more faery than elven, but can't say that stopped me from enjoying it.

For my own piece: Subtle? Not precisely what I'd choose to call the piece. Why subtle? Because of all the mythological and alchemical references? And what can you say about the characters, if anything?

And have you anything to say for the Jailin and Cypher stories?

Lord Gareth: Oooh. I now read the setting. I like it. A lot. I'd like to read more on it, and maybe to play it. And I liked the discussion on nature and how elves might relate to it in steampunk, so I wrote this little piece. I took the liberty of making some assumptions for Dreavarrian clerics and druids. If you have anything official written on them, I'd enjoy reading it!

Critique for your own piece: yeah, the familial relations between your elf's parents are kind of weird, if you ask me. They seem more human than anything. Take away the ages, and you get a human rogue. What makes her and her family an elf? I'd like to see the "connection to the city" angle emphasized. Then again, that's not the rogue's strong point, probably.

My own piece for your challenge:


Nature versus nurture,
or
Hey, this is a Victorian view too. I simply stole and adapted it.

So, young apprentice, you think you are ready to know my secret? How we live in a large house and not the gutter? The reason we have wine on these tables and not cheap beer? The reason we wear clothes of clean linen and silk, even though our work is no cleaner than the work of our kith and kin?

Mayhap you are.

By the way, I told you to take that leather off. At least where it touches bare skin. Put a layer or two underneath. I don't care if it was a gift from your dear ol' ma. It heats instantly: today we go to the large foundries, you will be burned at the furnaces, and healing salves are not easy to come by. Once you do, I'll let you in on a dirty little secret.

There we are. Now listen well.

Nature is better than tech.

An unpopular view to hold in our society. In a world where nature had failed us. In a world where metal and smog won out, and the dwarves had defeated us, if not in battle, by building their mountain dungeons up into the air, where our forests once had been, long ago.

I? I live long, young one, but not so long as to remember. Mine is only a little past a gross, and all of this happened millenia ago. And I have come to my views not through tradition - how I used to disdain it! how I still care not for those books which lament the days of old! - but through experimentation and tinkering.

I am not an inventor for nothing, you know. I have spent years upon years studying the ways of metal and oil. I make a better living than most of our people, for I service those who had been crippled in ways we do not yet understand, and they can walk, run, use the fork and knife, and enjoy the other fine things in life.

But my earliest inventions were horrible. Worse than horrible; useless. And it is only when I took the time to study our own selves, our living bodies, that I understood that fundamental truth I told you earlier.

Nature is better.

And the second dirty little secret - it is still here. The cities are a jungle. The mess we make is no more than other creatures make. Come, I will show you something I procured from the black market.

See this? It is what is called a termite nest. A living one, no less, from lands far away. Long ago, I'd paid much of the money I had been saving up for wholly other purposes for it. I never once regretted it, for it has taught me much.

See those little insects, crawling in and out? Does this not remind you of something?

We are no better than flies, truly.

When we grew too many, nature has deemed fit to place us together, into cities. To change us. That itself is the hallmark of the living world: adaptation.

The only weakness of nature is that it takes time to adapt. But adapt it always does. Look at us: so many died, yet so many live, and we have bonded with the new forms that nature has taken. The city itself is a living being made of living beings. That is how we know it so well.

So what does this have to do with prosthetics, you must wonder? For those whom the servants of the gods simply cannot heal, for the strange injuries that people of all races sometimes present?

What is an elf but a machine that repairs itself? We are each a bustling city of creatures, all servicing our mind, all defending our body from illness. So complex a city that our own compound seems like a child's toy houses and carriages. I have been studying the materials of our bodies and their mechanics: how the blood and bile flows and how waste is taken out. It is a machine as much as any forge-creature. It is just that most do not understand this simple, dirty fact. My aprons are stained with oil; doctors' are stained with blood, and there is no real difference.

No, you do not have little tinkerer-elves inside you, not literally. Have you been paying attention at all? The span of the mind of youths boggles me, and you are better than most our kin, too...

I have been watching, apprentice, for all my life I have been watching. It has made me the best, the one to whom all of the rich come when in trouble. It will make me - and you, if you have the wisdom to finish your training! - even better yet. Once I finish my study of the elven body, I will set myself to studying the city. It will not only make my prosthetics better - when I have learned, I will make the city itself better, more comfortable, cleaner and perfect.

Did you know that I have already been able to spin silk better than the silkworm itself?

We will all wear clean linen and silks before my day is out.

Lord Raziere: Your work made me like it besides the mistakes, which is a feat. You do great work in the details. The Partsintools bag is a nice touch, as are the "It'll do" clothes.

I don't have a problem with someone "missing" nature - you always get the mainstream and the reaction, it's a classic part of culture.

What I didn't like is the fact that she thought to look for a weapon out of logic, not out of intuition. In combat, order of the day is survive first, think about scrounging something else later. Seriously, if she'd felt there was a weapon through her connection, it would have been loads more believable.

I like the way she uses her connection to fix the cannon, though. And I love elves in camouflage. I even drew a picture of one once, and that should tell you just how hard I find it to get out of my head.

As for problems in the text - I think your problems come mostly from the wording. It's clumsy in places, and there are little typos and mistakes that make it difficult to concentrate. No apostrophe in "because" when shortened to "'cause", an "a" where a "the" would be appropriate, a "had" where a "has" should be, "being" instead of "begin". That sort of thing. The worst are the mistakes that can be fixed two ways and you have to stop, separate yourself from the story, and think what the author must have meant. This interrupts the flow. A lot. Be more attentive, and you should be fine.

And I translated another snippet for Lindbergh. Hopefully, it's also very Tremere.



Bull-baiting
or
No, the Tremere don't train all their apprentices this way. The Chantry just hates this one in particular. He isn't being too smart, either.

"Come here."

To Lindbergh it seemed as if his voice rang with power. Yet red-haired Louis merely smiled and said, "Go drown in the Seine, you simpleminded dupe."

"Come here."

"Or better yet, in a dump well."

"Come here."

Louis gave a moment's thought. "I shall ask the Prince Beatrice the very best dumping wells for you. I heard they had sent you to clean them while you were hers? I was so glad that I could send you there!"

...

And Lindbergh came to, held up in the air at a hand's length from the chantry's First Apprentice. Louis smiled charmingly, releasing him, and the former mage crashed to the floor. He did not want to come to: even though the Beast had been silenced by magic, the stone cell and two vampires in it did not become any more pleasant.

"You are trying my patience." Ethan sighed from somewhere behind. "We're going to run out of nails soon enough."

"True enough." Louis added. "The whole chantry has been enchanting these damn nails so someone could learn at least the basics of Dominate. How.."

Lindbergh raised his head and gave such a glare that Ethan exclaimed, "Hey, careful! Let me get another nail first!"

"Got it?" Asked Louis in a few seconds' time. "Then let us continue. The whole chantry toils at these thrice-damned nails so that the someone sitting like a stupid oaf on the floor right now could learn the beginnings of Dominate without breaking our furniture. Hey, apprentice of the second circle? What's the problem? I thought you had studied mental magic in life?"

"First apprentice..." Lindbergh finally found the strength to speak. "The Prince and her dumpwells have wanted to see you. You should..."

"Silence!"

The mental command was, as always, deafening. The voice went through his mind like lightning, discharging all words from his mind. Even when Lindbergh had sparred with the experienced mages of his former House, House Tytalus, he had never felt anything like this. Of course, the famous masters of the Sphere of Mind rarely used a cudgel when they could use the tiny hammer of a skilled silversmith. But as the former mage already understood, thaumaturges had nothing but cudgels remaining to them.

And that cudgel kept slipping his hands.

"Apprentice of the Second Circle, you are indeed a cretin." Louis crossed his hands in amusement. "How could you not understand such elementary things as the fact that insulting higher-ups is not advisable?"

"Listen, Louie." Ethan spoke suddenly. "Maybe we could just forbid him insults?"

"And not get the educational effect?" Louis seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice and swayed from heel to toe, trembling with expectation. "Besides, I am made so happy by the simple fact that this fool will be doing soon the dirtiest work reserved for servants! You have no idea how happy, Ethan..."

For this evening alone, Lindbergh had indeed earned a month of the simplest and most unpleasant punishments. Louis would have earned no less, however - for in theory, the Tremere Oath demanded respect of all magi to all other magi, even with the caveat that the younger magi would recieve "the respect they earn." But Louis had crossed even the line that applied equally to novice and regent alike multiple times during the evening. De Lyon had made it known that should Lindbergh remember to call to the Oath for justice, justice he would have, and both magi would be punished equally for their deeds. Yet the former mage would not invoke the Oath.

And the First Apprentice knew this.

"And we should think of something for now. For the educational effect. While we wait for your nail to wear off." Louis gave a thoughtful sniff, then clapped his hands at the approach of an idea. "Ah! I think we should find out what of your mortal life so inhibits you in learning! So tell us of how you learned... What was it? Ars Mentis?"

Lindbergh was quickly silenced by a command, for he had instead begun listing the unsavory roots of Louis' genealogical tree.

"Tell us in all detail how you studied mind magic!"

But Lindbergh had already bought time and braced himself for this kind of Domination. The former mage had always had great memory.

"At the beginning, my mentor, who had always worn a black suit of the best and thinnest wool-cloth of England, dyed with a black dye of the finest hues, the secret of which is kept - or so they think - locked within one Florentine family..."

"Enough!" Louis interrupted him. Strangely enough, the First Apprentice did not seem angry, even though he had just fallen into a child's mistake by Lindbergh's reckoning. "Good trick. Tell us of the training procedures alone."

Lindbergh shook his head. The command had missed its mark. "This is difficult to put into words. Especially the first bits of training. I cannot."

"You must have had some exercises. Those same commands which
you cannot seem to master, despite them being the simplest of all actions."

"That is not so."

"What is not so, dupe?" Barked Louis. "You had no exercises?"

"Of course we had them." It was Lindbergh who was laughing now, explaining the obvious. "But for your information, First Apprentice, a command is an elementary act, meaning simple, meaning indivisible, only for those who cannot do anything more subtle. As the old adage goes, brawn instead of brain."

He seemed to get to Louis, but the shadow of doubt passed momentarily.

"But he who has no power could not give a command." Guessed Louis correctly. "So that was the problem. You've never had such power in your hands before. But that is fine. Even the weakest runt will bite when kicked."

"Yet I had already had power over that which you have difficulty with still." Lindbergh responded calmly.

"Over what?"

Lindbergh looked the First Apprentice in the eye, and smiled mercilessly.

"It was easy for me to breed simple panic." The First Apprentice listened attentively, having not recognized their first meeting, Lindbergh's capture at the price of three dead vampires. So the former mage continued: "Alone. And you needed six on the street for tha..."

Louis roared! The Beast overtook his mind, and Lindbergh would have been crippled, if not killed outright, if not for the always-calm alchemist.

"Begone!"

The First Apprentice sagged to the floor, his Beast as sealed as Lindbergh's own.

Ethan groaned and rubbed his left hand, pierced by yet another nail, then spread both hands, showing off the wounds. "Knowing you two, I shall need not be righteous to earn money begging by the Notre Dame cathedral, showing off stigmata." The alchemist said wearily. "Having your aid, I shall soon feed the entire Chantry with bought blood. Let us get to work, colleagues, the night is not getting any younger."

"To wor-rk, yes." Said Louis angrily, getting up from the floor. "Come on, apprentice of the second circle. Do it right at least once, dimwit, and we shall leave this place."

"Don't you worry about me." The perspective of cleaning the ritual room of blood while hungry no longer seemed so bad to Lindbergh as it did minutes ago. "Better yet... Come here."