The One Sane Drow

[Asmodean_]

This is an ongoing story based on an ongoing campaign centered around a 3.5e campaign that took around three and a half minutes to go completely off the rails, subsequently built its own rails, and took another few minutes to jump off those, too.
Please PEACH Honestly!

Now on Wattpad!

Current progress: 2 of 4.5 sessions completed (5+6+2.5 pages).

Spoiler: I. The Iron Empire

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So I just surpassed the 50k character limit. Archive of this chapter can be found here.

Spoiler: II. No Witnesses

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Archived here

Spoiler: 12. Skrittek

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The border town was just as you'd expect from a border town - heavily militarized, full of inns and houses of (I believe they call them) employable affection; of course, the soldiers would be lonely, spending so long away from home... But this was irrelevant. What was relevant was the fact that it was now deep into the night, maybe ten or eleven hours past midday. We settled down in a suitably clean inn and promptly began the nightly trance.
Which was, rather predictably, interrupted halfway through. Reflexively, I pointed my hand crossbow at the door (the kobold contraption was huge and there was no way I'd have been able to get it on quickly enough), but the blood-curdling screams from the bottom floor told me the threat wasn't as immediate as the previous Wednesday's assassin.
After heaving on the gun and halberd pack, we raced downstairs, and oh look! It's those swords again. Neither of us were particularly surprised.
The one holding the swords was the paladin who'd confiscated the swords the previous evening, and was also quite clearly dead - or undead, as they were still walking around trying to find others to stick the swords into. A few quick blasts from the gun and a stab or two from the halberd on the one that got too close and they were quickly dispatched of.
"I think we'd better take these for safekeeping, just so this doesn't happen again," I announced, before quickly realising there was no one left alive to announce to. I handed the slightly more stained one to Amnestria, then turned back up to the stairs, returned to the room, and did my best to complete my trance.
The next morning, the constabulary had arrived and were waiting for us downstairs, apparently interested in the massacre of last night - and to be fair, who wouldn't be? I sat down on one of the few benches that had survived the night, and regarded the officers.
They were all dwarves, of course that was to be expected in Feuergard, all sporting the typical rough unkempt facial hair and well worn pickaxe strapped to their heavy plate armour that bore the dents of a thousand scuffles. The (presumably) head of the troupe looked us over, and grunted: "Well?"
I explained to him in no uncertain terms the events of the night, highlighting the fact that Amnestria and I were clearly the most qualified to handle the swords, mostly due to the fact that we'd had them for almost a week and were still undeniably alive. It didn't take much for the head to admit that if there were better candidates, he didn't know who they were.
"I guess you should probably keep them. O'course, we'd still like to keep an eye on you, so we'll be sending a guard with you to make sure you stay out of trouble."
Nobody moved. After an elongated awkward silence, one of the other dwarves pushed the brown-haired one forwards. "Go on, Tristan. You've always wanted to be an adventurer."
The one presumably named Tristan stepped forward and knocked a heavy gauntlet to his chestplate, and offered his hand to us. I shook it diplomatically, and introduced him to the group (as much as we were a group).
"I'm Vergil, the wolf is Squishy and the harebrained one over there," I said, jabbing a thumb at the elf, "is Amnestria."
She roused from her staring off into the distance near immediately. "Hey! Who're you calling... that?"
My point proved, I stood up to glance at the kitchen, which was deserted. "We're probably going to have to get breakfast. Looks like it's going to be a long day."
As the Full Feuergard Breakfast was being prepared (steak, bacon, eggs, toast and steak, with a topping of more steak), I unsheathed one of the swords and set it down on the table. "Don't get too close," I reminded nobody in particular, hoping this was already obvious. I gave my gloves a quick inspection to make sure they were free of any holes that might let in the magic imbued in the sword, which they were, then turned the sword over. The markings had faded over time, but there was still a triangle-shaped indentation barely visible on the worn leather hilt. I peered closely at it and tried to make out the lettering on the inside. There was clearly a decorated S of some sort as the primary part, which gave me a sense of deja vu. The waitress approached the table, and I sheathed the sword.
"Don't worry," she remarked, winking, "the rumours are only rumours. No rat-meat in here. Only prime-cut..." but I stopped listening because I'd finally remembered where I'd seen it before.
One of the numerous pointless classes I was honour-bound to take as a potential diplomat for Drohungard (very optimistic seeing as we were surpassed in power by 90% of the other houses) was on the recent history of Nezû, the land of the Nezume. There had been recent turmoil that had even managed to take the front page of the newspaper at one point (the Drohungard News Daily of course) involving a necromancer named Skrittek who had, rather egotistically, embossed every and any of his creations with his symbol - a triangle with extended edges with a large S and two rats on either side enclosed within it, which was of course the symbol that had been staring me in the face ever since I got the swords.
They weren't entirely adamantine shortswords, though, they also had a shard of crystal in them - the crystal was planned to wipe out the entirety of Swanleaf - it would be delivered at some point through the city gates, and then radiate necromantic power until everyone was dead - and then it would resurrect them as zombies who would obey Skrittek's orders. It took a powerful adventuring group to destroy the crystal. Except (of course) they didn't finish the job properly. The crystal was only divided into thirteen fragments, which were encased in magically treated adamantine, which were eventually reforged into swords. It seemed that the ten years since these events had been more than enough for the power of Skrittek's crystal fragments to start breaking through even the adamantine.
And somehow, we'd encountered five of them in the space of a week. And given the power of the crystal, another few weeks would make whatever place the remaining eight of them were uninhabitable. They had to be dealt with before the month was out, or countless innocents could find themselves dead, and getting the swords would become a lot harder.

Spoiler: 13. Troll Wrangling, Part III

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“Do you have any idea where any similar swords could be?” I implored the guards, hoping for some, any, lead on where I might find any of Skrittek's shortswords. They exchanged meaningful looks with each other, which I could only hope meant they were going to be cooperative with our requests. As it turned out, they were, and gave us the location of a cave about an hour and a half or so's hike into the foothills of the mountains west of town. Having filled up on the Full Feuergard, which I could definitely get used to having on a more regular basis, we set off on a small track that winded its way through the conifers with a distinctly present incline that left Tristan panting within an hour (what else could he expect with that heavy armour?).

We all made it to the cave unscathed, since the trail seemed to be deserted not just by travellers but also by any background wildlife. The cave itself was about a hundred feet long, and just over head height. On the ground were five platforms raised about half an inch or so along the ground, and on the walls were some suspicious arrow-slit-shaped slits which would presumably be activated by any pressure on the plates. I informed the rest of the group of this, and we carefully stepped over the plates and to the back end of the cave, where a door of some sort was embedded. There were some cracks and lines that indicated that it probably slid when activated by some mechanism. I examined these cracks, but couldn't find anything to trigger the opening of the door. I asked the elf to take a closer look at the door to see if she would have any better luck. After a few minutes elapsed, having searched every nook and cranny of the surface, she decided with almost absolute certainty that she had found a door. “Well, Vergil, there's a door there.”

I sighed internally, then externally. “Wherever would we be without you, Amnestria?”

“On the other side of the door, that's where,” quipped Tristan, the first words he'd actually said to us the whole day. Clearly he had wit when he chose to use it.

We spent a good half an hour trying to open the door by using the pressure plates – it quickly became obvious that the “arrow slits” were just bluffs and nothing more than indents in the rock. In the end, it was actually Tristan that came up with the idea of pressing all five of them at once. There were only three of us – four, if you counted Squishy – so he removed his helmet and shield and placed them on the last plate. The door rumbled aside, and we walked into the next cavern, apparently interrupting a group of half-fiends' game of poker. Past them, an alluring portal with some markings, one of which was that of Skrittek, engraved into the nearby walls.

Eager to distance herself from the exemplary search of the door, she decided to be the face of the group and introduce us. "Hiya, I'm Amnie, that's Verg, and that's Tristan. Could we maybe take a possibly look at the thingy portal over behind you there?"

On the plus side, there's very little chance they understood it either. Instead, the one that seemed to be the impromptu leader of the pack stood up, laid down his cards and decided "Yeah you can go on through if you get us some lunch." It was quickly decided that this was fair enough and we left to get their food.

On the way, Amnestria had another of her trademark ideas. "Remember those times when we had to capture trolls?" I said nothing, as to not encourage her. "Well they kept growing back, so maybe if we get a troll for them, they get infinity foods and we can go through!"

"I was just going to see if they'd be happy with pizza but your idea is certainly... unique," I admitted, hoping that this idea truly was unique and there weren't any others torturing trolls to get a meal. Rather conveniently for her plan, it was only another couple minutes before the troll appeared out from behind some rocks. It was rather quickly dealt with and we began dragging it back to the cave. Every few seconds, Tristan would jab his sword into the brute to keep its regeneration powers in check. By the time we'd managed to return to the cave, it was already noon.

"Allright," I sighed, turning to Amnestria. "This was your Nevakin-damned idea, so you're going to explain to these Nevakin-damned half-fiends why we're bringing them a Nevakin-damned troll when we said we'd get lunch." So saying, I stepped on the final panel, and the door slid to the side, interrupting the game of poker once more.

The leader stood up and paced regally to the entrance, towering a good foot over us (and a good three feet over the dwarf). "So," he announced, his words echoing off the cave walls. "That's a nice troll," he admitted, before peering around us to make sure he'd taken in the whole scene. "But you said you'd bring lunch." The elf looked at the half-fiend, and then at the troll, and back to the half-fiend. The half-fiend looked at the elf, and then at the troll, and back to the elf. "You're not suggesting..." he cupped his hands over his mouth in disgust, eyes wide open. "That's horrible! We're not-- I mean... he's still alive!"

"Yeah, but he has the regenerationing thing, right? So that's lunch forever!"

His expression told it all, and as such I stepped back behind the relative safety of Squishy. A fight inevitably broke out, in which we found the dwarf inexplicably larger than usual (he later explained this was due to some psionic powers he'd conveniently forgotten to mention). We won, despite the cramped space meaning the hectic combat got in the way of any of my spellcasting, and I went to inspect the bodies for any loot. By the time I'd finished up with the corpses, Tristan had already left. I asked Amnestria where he'd gone, and she replied, "He went ahead to scout for danger."

"Ahead where?"

She then pointed to a circle inscribed with symbols (one of which was, of course, Skrittek's signature mark), before stepping into it and vanishing in a flash of viridian. I sighed, and followed her into the unknown.

Spoiler: 14. The Tesseract

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It was a cube, roughly twenty five feet by twenty five feet by twenty five feet, and that was really all that could be said about it. There were no decorations on the floor, walls or ceiling, bar some markings that we quickly determined were numbers next to each of the six tunnels that lay perpendicular to whichever face of the cube that particular one opened out to. The tunnels were slick and of indeterminate length, so instead of taking the plunge down towards whatever fate the tunnel would lead us to, we climbed up to one of the side tunnels and began walking. Amnestria and I had to stoop down in order to fit, so the dwarf led the way. We clambered out, after a few seconds, on the other side. And there was an angel.

“Mornin’ sir,” ventured Tristan in his ever present strong accent.

“I take it that, just like with all of the others, you're here in this place for the Sword?” he posited, looking each of us over methodically. I nodded. “Well I'm afraid that you'll have to turn back - I can't have it falling into the wrong hands.”

Fortunately, it clicked fairly quickly his scruple with us. “I can assure you,” I said, stepping forward, “despite my appearance, I am anything but evil.” Of course I failed to mention the opposite was true for Amnestria, but he hasn't asked about her. I extended my arm that we might shake on it. He looked at it, and his eyes glazed over, his features hardening into a previously unseen visage.

In a voice that wasn't quite his, he declared: “ANY HANDS ARE WRONG HANDS,” unsheathed his greatsword and swung it at me.

I leapt back just in time, avoiding the point of the enchanted blade by mere inches. The elf drew her bow, the dwarf his sword. I lowered the kobold contraption and fired a shot, which seemed to borrow from the power of the angel's greatsword as it passed through it, and hit him straight in the chest. He stumbled backwards, reeling, before composing himself and lifting the behemoth of a weapon for one last swing. I tried to dodge a second time but I misjudged the greatsword's trajectory and as it hit me, sliced through me, I heard her cries of terror, and felt the searing pain in my abdomen like a thousand bonfires and then

and then

And then that was it.

Spoiler: 14.5 An Audience With Nevakin

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And then I woke up, although given the circumstances that probably wasn't the best turn of phrase. I mean you're probably sitting at home thinking what? how'd you survive that? to which the answer is I didn't. I died in that cube. I got better, but I died in that cube. And the first thing I felt after hitting the floor from the angel's fateful, fatal strike was my bare feet on the comforting slick limestone of Drohungard. I looked around and saw a simple outfit of a plain shirt and trousers resting on a chair, which I hastily donned. There was one exit - a small passageway that glowed with an eerie blue glow. Seeing nothing else to do, I ventured through it and out to a second chamber. A small stream trickled through it, its supernatural viridian aura casting wild shadows on the walls. On the other side was a stalagmite that must have been centuries old, given its size, into which a throne had been intricately and painstakingly carved. On the throne sat a beautiful woman, alluringly curved and wearing the epitome of drow fashion. Her snow-white hair flowed like the Broadwater, myriads of rubies tinkling on each other, held captive by a thin thread of what looked to be spider's silk.
I turned around and briskly exited Her chamber. What? How? And more importantly, why? That's-- that's Nevakin-damned… well… Nevakin! Literally, actually-- Am I dead? I recalled the events of the past few minutes and decided yes, I probably was. What do i--
My train of thought was interrupted by a melodious voice from Her chamber. “I do hope you're not going to just sulk in that room for the rest of your life - such that it is.”
Gulping down my anxieties - you've got better things to do than be paralysed with indecision, dammit! - I returned to Nevakin's room.
“Um… my… humblest thanks… for your… gracious presence…” I began, forcing out the few syllables I could muster with my increasingly frantic breath. “If I… could inquire… as to… the… the reason… for this particular…”
“Oh, can it,” She sighed. “I've never been one for grovelling and diplomacy. Gives me heartburn. Spit it out - what is it?”
“I, um, well, why, but what--”
“You look parched. Do you want a drink?” She waved her hand and a drider attendant approached with two mugs of what looked to be coffee.
Well how much more ****ed could I get? I've already been killed and, knowing Amnestria, had my sorry corpse looted for every last copper piece. I guess we'll find out then. “Well,” I ventured, hoping my abject terror wouldn't show in my voice, “I would much rather prefer a nice, hot cup of… explanation.”
I waited for the lightning bolt of divine retribution but none came. Maybe because we were underground? Instead, Nevakin threw her head back and laughed heartily. “Oh it's been so long since anyone got the sass with me. I've got a question for you. Why do you think my people fight amongst themselves? Why do they hire assassins to end others’ lives?”
Well how much more ****ed could I get? “Because… the less other people there are the more favour's left for them, and the higher up the ladder of Houses they are the more favour they get. I never really saw the point of it all - all these extra favour points would ever do is make you a target.”
She smiled. “Exactly. You don't join these petty scuffles if you can help it. You don't fight for honour; you fight to stay alive. And from now, you will fight to bring the drow race back to our former glory!”
What?? “What??” I exclaimed, echoing my thoughts. “But… I'm a disgrace runaway secondboy of the fifty seventh out of sixty fourth House of Drohungard - in descending order - and you're the deity of all my kin including the other sixty three, and you give this behemoth of a task to me? Give it to someone in a higher House - the Mor’etts, the Pura’kas, hell, even the Ci’vaunas, anyone with even an iota of actual power with which to act on it!”
She sighed again. “I'd have hoped you would have figured this out by now. Probably just the shock. But you have common sense. The Mor’etts, the Pura'kas, and especially the Ci'vaunas, they're all absolutely insane - insane with a lust for power, insane with a lust for status, insane with a lust for - as you so elegantly put it - favour points - that I really couldn't give a drider's last leg about. No offence Sa’rana. (The drider that had come with the drinks curtsied and blushed slightly.) Out of all of them, all of my children, you are the one sane drow. You're the only one who could do this without throwing it all away just to advance from secondboy to firstboy or from fifty seventh to fifty sixth.”
“But… how?”
“You're a protagonist. You're part of a rag-tag bunch of adventurers. You're basically invincible.”
And with that, she waved a hand, and I was back in the cube, the elf standing over me, clutching my hand. “Please don't die,” I heard her whisper.
“Amnestria?” I whispered back, although I knew full well it was her - nobody else could ever possibly master the confusing scent of elderberry, cinnamon and pine.
“You're alive!” she exclaimed and wrapped me in her arms.
“I ship it,” smirked the angel in the corner.
I shot him a withering glare. “Please. She's a psychopath. I'm half convinced she's just hugging me to get at my wallet.” She stood up, rolled her eyes and threw it back to me. “Also, what was all that about? With the hacking and slashing and the killing me?”
“He was under a geas,” answered Tristan, picking up on the planar outsider's reluctance to say. “He was magically compelled to attack any evil that he found here, but he was also told that anyone after the swords must be evil.”
“Tristan told me about your quest and although I'd love to help, it's been however long a geas lasts since I last saw my family and I should probably go check up on them.” And with that he vanished in a puff of smoke.
“So now which tunnel?”

Spoiler: 15.5 Ten Years

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We picked another tunnel at random and started walking. Soon enough, we found the exit and were greeted by a scene that sent Tristan into a righteous rage - before either of the rest of us had a chance to see what was going on. A short moment later we realised we had happened across a human sacrifice in the making. On the altar lay an otherwise nondescript elf girl that looked paler than was strictly healthy, verging on ghostly - that's what ten years in a cube will do to your complexion - and the fresh corpse of some manner of cultist with what I could only assume to be rank ribbons of red and gold sewn into his red gown, which was reddening further.
“Try not to get any of that blood on the altar - you never know what might set it off,” I warned, snapping Tristan out of his stupor. He dragged the body off the table and onto the floor, or at least, what passed as a floor to the corpse. The entire setup was acting as if the true floor was one of what we thought were walls and we'd just forgotten we were facing the wrong way. I picked up a pebble from nearby, and threw it against the wall. It bounced, and came to rest back on the floor. A pebble from one of the walls, however, would return to the same wall, instead of the floor as would be expected. Amnestria, however, was more concerned with the elf girl on the table. She was clearly some degree of dead, apparently from multiple stab wounds, which seemed strange since according to the dwarf the sacrifice had been stopped before a single knife blow had been delivered. It hit me - this whole location had been created to house one of Skrittek’s shortswords, by, presumably, the wizard of the adventuring group that ended his reign. This was ten years ago. The chambers, as in all other good-aligned wizardry strongholds holding the latest artefact of the week, were designed to make sure there only ones to claim the prize were the pure of heart. This was one of the tests - would you save the girl at the risk of your own life? Clearly one of the previous entrants had failed - more than one, going by the frankly macerated torso and dried blood everywhere. The wizard had just never reset the test.
The girl had been dead - through no fault of our own, thank Nevakin - for a decade. Amnestria searched the cultist for loot, Tristan said a few words of remembrance, and I put the dagger in my bag - if this was a test, this was the key. Not willing to spend any more time in this macabre room than was strictly necessary, I motioned to the rest that we should continue. Despite the tragedy, this had been a good room. We'd passed whatever test there was to be passed, and at no harm to ourselves. We were making progress, and if my theory about this place was right, there were only five more chambers to go.

16. The Pretender
There was a throne in the next room, ornately carved with symbols that we couldn't decipher. The armrests had unnervingly realistic skulls perched on the ends, and the back extended up much farther than was strictly necessary, to the point of almost covering the tunnel in the wall it was set against. Several jewels were embedded in the throne’s crown, but it looked like it would be hard to prise them out if we didn't have the correct tools - and we didn't. And even if we did, getting to the jewels would be hard because there was a necromancer in the throne, preparing to cast a spell.
(Should I have mentioned him first? Yes I know but-- oh just shut up, Kevin)
“My name is Hakana,” he announced, “and I am the lord of this place. You will bow in deference or be executed.”
“Uh, yeah, but Verg said someone else made this place,” Amnestria said (hasn't she learned to keep her mouth shut?), “so you're, like, definitely not that and I'm not kneeling because the floor’s dirty.”
Hakana's eyes narrowed. “Such impudence! And from such a slip of an elf girl, too! I'll teach you to talk like that to your betters!” So saying, he cast a spell of burning hands at us and in response we quickly moved into attack formation, which generally involved Tristan turning himself big and attempting to hit the enemy with an oversized sword, Squishy trying to bite anything that moved, Amnestria hanging back and firing arrows at whatever was closest to her, and healing anyone that looked like needing healing, and myself getting as far away from any pointy death as realistically possible and firing at the biggest threat with the kobold contraption. This happened to work pretty well, and within a minute or so the target was dispatched.
“Skrittek will have your bones for flour and your blood for wine!” the necromancer yelled, near-unconscious on the “floor”.
I walked up to him and slapped him. “Bone meal in the flour makes the bread incredibly unpalatable and gives it a disgusting consistency and unless you're a vampire, drinking blood leaves a horrible metallic aftertaste that lingers for days. I should think that even if Skrittek were to capture us he wouldn't be as foolish as to do what you suggest. For shame.” With the monologue over, I unsheathed my dagger and ended it.
I turned around and noted the others looking quizzically at me. “We have a lot of weird rituals in Drohungard.”
The necromancer had on him a staff of well-worn willow, which was carved with generally intricate designs, as staffs often are. None of them looked to be anything other than the ordinary wooden flames and vines. The elf snatched up the staff and set about trying to figure out what it did, which generally involved her pointing it at the nearest target. Sure enough, an orange ray shot out from the staff and the throne suffered damage and caught on fire.
“Well,” I concluded, snatching the staff back from Amnestria lest she do anything more scatterbrained than that, “the good citizens of Feuergard will no longer have to face the tyranny of the throne any longer.” In agreement, the back of the throne gave a resounding creak and detached itself from the rest of the structure, hitting the floor with a satisfying but ultimately useless thud. “They can sleep safe in their beds tonight now they no longer live under the shadow of this inanimate chair.”
She scowled. “I was only testing it,” came her reply. “How else were we going to find out what it did?”
I snatched the staff back, rotated it slightly and showed her the label - Scorching Ray (Snubgroveller’s Superb Staffs inc.) “By reading the label?” I ventured, before smacking her upside the head. “You said you were smart, maybe show it for once.”
Fittingly, she didn't, and tried to storm out of the room, before remembering that wasn't exactly possible given our current location. After a while, she calmed down and we moved on to the next chamber. There was a glowing sphere of… something hovering in the air. We tensed, ready for combat, but the sphere didn't seem to be doing anything. Amnestria, as if to underline my last statement, tried putting her hand in and got an electric shock for her trouble.
“We'll come back to this one later,” I decided. Maybe it was a test of greed? Curiosity? They say it killed the cat. This was all starting to go way over my head.
To shake the feeling off and hopefully get some answers as to what was even going on now - I'd tried to take things in my stride but given the day's events it was really more of a façade - I suggested we move on to the next chamber. Amnestria shot a scornful look at the sphere that had so wronged her, looking as if she would declare some sort of vendetta against it there and then, but followed nonetheless.
The next chamber had a small-ish well - it looked like it had been taken straight out of a small village somewhere. I came closer and managed to make out a faint inscription that said "Eisenhafen", which made little sense seeing that a) Eisenhafen was a large town that would have moved past village wells in terms of water sources, and b) it was on the banks of the Broadwater, which was a river, which meant there was a supply of more water than anyone could need and all fresh from the mountains to the west. I beckoned Amnestria over to show her, but her response staggered me.
"Eisenhafen? That says Swanleaf."

[Jormengand]

This is an ongoing story based on an ongoing campaign centered around a 3.5e campaign that took around three and a half minutes to go completely off the rails.

Point of contention: Dunkelheim is the drow surface city, for trade and such. Your character, being minor nobility, probably wouldn't be from Dunkelheim itself.

You can use bold or italics with BBcode, so I suggest before they had even thought of being a threat or before they had even thought of being a threat ([B]before they had even thought of being a threat[/B] or [I]before they had even thought of being a threat[/I]).

Also, use the return key more, man.

[Asmodean_]

Point of contention: Dunkelheim is the drow surface city, for trade and such. Your character, being minor nobility, probably wouldn't be from Dunkelheim itself.

Ah.

Crap.

Well what's the underground one called? I'm not binning all that description.

You can use bold or italics with BBcode, so I suggest before they had even thought of being a threat or before they had even thought of being a threat ([B]before they had even thought of being a threat[/B] or [I]before they had even thought of being a threat[/I]).

I thought I'd already BBC'd all the asterisks. I'll fix that.

Also, use the return key more, man.

When I get to the dialogue, I'll get to the enters.

[Jormengand]

Ah.

Crap.

Well what's the underground one called? I'm not binning all that description.

Uhm, let's call it Drohungard. Seems an appropriate name.

[Kantaki]

Nice, a drow that leaves an criticizes drow society because he is smart not because he inexplicable was born with a uncorruptable good alignment.
No, I don't like Drizzt, why do ask?

Uhm, let's call it Drohungard. Seems an appropriate name.

Great name. I like it. Very meaningful.Insert „germans are evil” joke there.

[Jormengand]

Great name. I like it. Very meaningful.Insert „germans are evil” joke there.

All the places save one are just random mishmashes of English and/or German words.

[Asmodean_]

Nice, a drow that leaves an criticizes drow society because he is smart not because he inexplicable was born with a uncorruptable good alignment.
No, I don't like Drizzt, why do ask?

Openly attacking drow society. Minus eighty intangible favour points for you.

UPDATE: 2: The King's Guards now available - see first post.

[Jormengand]

Nezumi. N-E-Z-U-M-I. Nezumi.

[Amnestria]

Nezumi. N-E-Z-U-M-I. Nezumi.

I was saying that to him as he showed me the first chapter IRL. You know what he said?
It was "F**k it".

[Amnestria]

Also, stay tuned for my point of view on the story.

[Lethologica]

Is this a feedback space?

[Kantaki]

Openly attacking drow society. Minus eighty intangible favour points for you.

If I were a drow I might care. Or not.

The story is great so far. Very funny.

[Asmodean_]

I was saying that to him as he showed me the first chapter IRL. You know what he said?
It was "F**k it".

The next part of the conversation was "I'll do it later. Kindle doesn't have a find and replace function."

Also now I know what PEACH means, it's that.

��

[Asmodean_]

It's technically still the Easter period!

Here's Part 3: Northbound*.
Please PEACH!

Also @Amnestria if you could do what you were going to do regarding this soon-ish please thank you.

*yes i like trains why do you ask

[Jormengand]

You forgot how to spell Stahltor, didn't you?

EDIT: Also, your Aussie heritage is showing. "Quick, let's think of a common plant! Oh, I know, eucalyptus!"

[Asmodean_]

You forgot how to spell Stahltor, didn't you?

"That Stallter place or summat" was deliberately misspelled. Note the quotation marks.

EDIT: Also, your Aussie heritage is showing. "Quick, let's think of a common plant! Oh, I know, eucalyptus!"

Fine then the wand is now removed from a golden wattle instead. Happy?

[Asmodean_]

New section! 4: Stahltor

This concludes the first session (of three so far).

I know, I know. I'll try to write quicker, but my typewriter broke, and that was what I was using after my kindle broke.

Why does everything I own break so easily?

[Amnestria]

Don't worry, I'm still doing my end of the story...
Although I will wait until it is all compiled, or at least most of it, before I post any of it.
This is mainly because I am still not sure how I am going to open it. I am not sure about my backstory - I mean, I have one, but I don't know whether it is the one I'm sticking to.
Oh, and I am currently slightly obsessed with a particular book (the Name of the Wind) so that is delaying me significantly.
One hopes that I will at least be able to catch up with the weekly D&D sessions, although at my current pace it is unlikely. Saying that though, I am just about to sit down and write for some amount of hours. (max; 3, min; 1, on a computer, so maybe around 7200 words (going at 40 words a minute, giving me time for thinking))

[Artemis97]

This is very entertaining. I can't wait to see more.

[Asmodean_]

Well it's only been three weeks. Here's part 5 for you all!

[Asmodean_]

When I say "Early May", I mean Early May.
5th is early, right?

Anyway, we're on to the second session now, as the heroes protagonists move into Grumfell, the land of goblins.

[Amnestria]

I've got my version of the first half-chapter up at 'As of Yet Unnamed'.
I suppose this will be a 'taster', if you will, for what is to come.

[Asmodean_]

Part 7 is up, Vergil's convenient amnesia a result of "dammit I can't remember combat rounds that happened months ago".

[Asmodean_]

Boom. Part 8's up.
And for those counting, this one contains an entire kiloword!

[Jormengand]

Boom. Part 8's up.
And for those counting, this one contains an entire kiloword!

Huh. My word count makes it 995.

That's 29 words short of a kiloword.

[Asmodean_]

*kibiword is 1024 words, kiloword is 1000

Also, the title counts. So does the title number

[Asmodean_]

Part 9's up!

In which Amnestria goes about changing her alignment.

(Seriously Amnestria why did you do all that)

[Asmodean_]

Here's part 10, courtesy of late-night splurge-writing. Only one more part to go before we hit the third session (which, content-wise, is much shorter).

Also, if anyone other than the people who I actually play this with could respond with feedback that would be nice, just so I know people are actually reading this and it's not a complete train wreck.

And additionally also, I just broke the 50k character limit for posts! I've had to archive (temporarily) the first session's antics here. Purely temporarily, until I can find somewhere else to put it.

[GreyStormcrow]

Here's part 10, courtesy of late-night splurge-writing. Only one more part to go before we hit the third session (which, content-wise, is much shorter).

Also, if anyone other than the people who I actually play this with could respond with feedback that would be nice, just so I know people are actually reading this and it's not a complete train wreck.

And additionally also, I just broke the 50k character limit for posts! I've had to archive (temporarily) the first session's antics here. Purely temporarily, until I can find somewhere else to put it.

Well, this is kind of a trainwreck - or at least the story of one. It's also hilarious.
Kudos.

[Jormengand]

Your inability to spell either Groomfell or Feuergard is hilarious, but do go on.