This blog is a narrative outline (a literary embelishemnt if you will) of a campaign and setting that I created for 2E when I was in college. I adapted to 4E and am currently playing out with my son, who has followed in his father's love of the game.
II.V Cross References
Posted 22nd March 2009 at 12:54 AM by H.M.Gimlord
Updated 23rd March 2009 at 04:41 AM by H.M.Gimlord
Updated 23rd March 2009 at 04:41 AM by H.M.Gimlord
“Nyxie. You had better check on Hankel. He’s woken up again. I can hear him running around in the loft. Nyxie? Nyxie?” Bard awoke, eyes immediately adjusting to the lack of light. The rain was louder than usual and the house felt of damp, open air as if someone had left the door open. The sound that woke him, however, was not the rain. It was the sound of light footsteps and creaking wood. Bard looked across the loft at Hankel’s bed. In it, Hankel lay fast asleep.
Not bothering to dress, he hurried silently to the edge of the loft and peeked over. As his eyes cleared the rail where the loft dropped off into the main room of the house below, he spied a small figure moving about, carefully replacing floor planks by the fireplace. Next to him, on the floor, there was a small chest about the size of a well bucket. The little thief! How did he know that was there? The intruder was masked with a rag over his face and a bandana over his head. It was a halfling, but Bard couldn’t make out whether it was a man or a woman. The figure seemed not to notice Bard, but Bard could tell that things needed to change fast.
Quickly deciding that, man or woman, this creature was a thief, and the contents of that chest were too important to lose. Bard leapt from the loft. The thief, however, proved too quick. With surprising speed, the halfling dodged the attack, hoisted the chest, and made for the door.
Bard recovered from the fall and sent the fireplace poker sailing after the prowler. The broad side of the poker caught the halfling in the back and knocked him to the floor rolling out the open door and into the rain.
Bard pursued the halfling out the door, but didn’t get far. As soon as he cleared the door frame, three spinning blades buried themselves in his chest. The impact knocked him on his back. No halfling threw those blades. I’m a dead man! Bard struggled against pain and shock. He managed to slide his body to the middle of the main room.
A hooded, human figure towered in the open doorway. Bard scooted back into a dark corner by his fireplace, observing the shape as it entered the house. The blades burned Bard’s upper body, and every breath he took moved the serrated edges of a shuriken against his aorta with more pain than any normal man would be able to stand.
“You have something I want.” The figure hissed through the rain with a hoarse whisper, as he slowly strutted into the house. His boots shed puddles of cool rain on the floor that quickly soaked into the wooden planks, leaving a trail of damp stains as he slowly walked over to the reclining dwarf.
Kneeling down in front of Bard, so that he and the dwarf were eye to eye, he produced the prism from a thick leather pouch on his belt, letting it’s pulsating blue light fill the room and reveal his face.
“Bradon! Hruktgir’s Beard!” Bard’s jaw dropped; the pain seemed secondary to the shock of seeing Hankel’s childhood friend grown to become a thief, coupled with his possession of a blue-fire crystal. “Where in blazes did you get that!?” The taste of blood was in his open mouth. He sputtered. “You… you have no idea what… you’re holding.”
“Ah, but I know enough. I was hoping that I’d find more here.”
“I don’t… don’t know what … gave … you that idea, but you’d … be better to forget about it. And in… Kord’s name, hide … that thing!” Every movement, no matter how small, tore into Bard’s ribcage with searing pain. He could feel his consciousness slipping.
“Tell me where the others are.” Bradon doused the light of the blue crystal, putting it back in his pouch. He tried to sound more interested than impatient, but he was obviously racing against Bard’s fading vitality.
“They’re… not… here…. Don’t go… looking. It’ll… only lead… to… your death.” Bard was barely holding onto life, the pool of blood underneath him was now running along the grains of wood in the floor, around Bradon’s boots, and soaking in to mix with the man’s footprints.
“I suppose, I’ll just have to verify your claim and have a longer look around.” Bradon rose to stand, but he never made it fully to his feet. Hankel’s hammer caught Bradon in the chest halfway through the movement, and sent him flying across the room and into the wall.
“Murderer!” Hankel was enraged, and vengeance burned at the end of his hammer.
Bradon rose to his feet and reached under his coat.
Hankel, anticipating the next move, dove behind a chair as four spinning blades buried themselves in the wooden frame.
Bradon’s ribs ached, his chest heaving with effort, “You should have stayed in bed, Hankel.” Bradon cracked a grin, “Where are the jewels?”
“What are you babbling about Bradon?” Hankel vaulted over the chair, hammer at the ready. “There’s nothing here!” Hankel lunged at Bradon, who sidestepped the hammer, but too slowly. Hankel corrected mid charge and caught him by the ankle. Bradon fell on his side, his arm crumpling underneath his ribs, which gave way with a sickening crack. Hankle spun around and stepped carefully back until he was standing over Bradon. “I hate to disappoint you, but all we have of value is in the shop. There is no jewelry here or there.”
Bradon lifted his head to look Hankel in the eye, “You’re… papa’s been… holding out… on you.” That was all he had strength left to say. His head lolled back, and death was all that was left.
Hankel ran over to his father’s side, but it was too late. Nothing was left, but to weep.
Not bothering to dress, he hurried silently to the edge of the loft and peeked over. As his eyes cleared the rail where the loft dropped off into the main room of the house below, he spied a small figure moving about, carefully replacing floor planks by the fireplace. Next to him, on the floor, there was a small chest about the size of a well bucket. The little thief! How did he know that was there? The intruder was masked with a rag over his face and a bandana over his head. It was a halfling, but Bard couldn’t make out whether it was a man or a woman. The figure seemed not to notice Bard, but Bard could tell that things needed to change fast.
Quickly deciding that, man or woman, this creature was a thief, and the contents of that chest were too important to lose. Bard leapt from the loft. The thief, however, proved too quick. With surprising speed, the halfling dodged the attack, hoisted the chest, and made for the door.
Bard recovered from the fall and sent the fireplace poker sailing after the prowler. The broad side of the poker caught the halfling in the back and knocked him to the floor rolling out the open door and into the rain.
Bard pursued the halfling out the door, but didn’t get far. As soon as he cleared the door frame, three spinning blades buried themselves in his chest. The impact knocked him on his back. No halfling threw those blades. I’m a dead man! Bard struggled against pain and shock. He managed to slide his body to the middle of the main room.
A hooded, human figure towered in the open doorway. Bard scooted back into a dark corner by his fireplace, observing the shape as it entered the house. The blades burned Bard’s upper body, and every breath he took moved the serrated edges of a shuriken against his aorta with more pain than any normal man would be able to stand.
“You have something I want.” The figure hissed through the rain with a hoarse whisper, as he slowly strutted into the house. His boots shed puddles of cool rain on the floor that quickly soaked into the wooden planks, leaving a trail of damp stains as he slowly walked over to the reclining dwarf.
Kneeling down in front of Bard, so that he and the dwarf were eye to eye, he produced the prism from a thick leather pouch on his belt, letting it’s pulsating blue light fill the room and reveal his face.
“Bradon! Hruktgir’s Beard!” Bard’s jaw dropped; the pain seemed secondary to the shock of seeing Hankel’s childhood friend grown to become a thief, coupled with his possession of a blue-fire crystal. “Where in blazes did you get that!?” The taste of blood was in his open mouth. He sputtered. “You… you have no idea what… you’re holding.”
“Ah, but I know enough. I was hoping that I’d find more here.”
“I don’t… don’t know what … gave … you that idea, but you’d … be better to forget about it. And in… Kord’s name, hide … that thing!” Every movement, no matter how small, tore into Bard’s ribcage with searing pain. He could feel his consciousness slipping.
“Tell me where the others are.” Bradon doused the light of the blue crystal, putting it back in his pouch. He tried to sound more interested than impatient, but he was obviously racing against Bard’s fading vitality.
“They’re… not… here…. Don’t go… looking. It’ll… only lead… to… your death.” Bard was barely holding onto life, the pool of blood underneath him was now running along the grains of wood in the floor, around Bradon’s boots, and soaking in to mix with the man’s footprints.
“I suppose, I’ll just have to verify your claim and have a longer look around.” Bradon rose to stand, but he never made it fully to his feet. Hankel’s hammer caught Bradon in the chest halfway through the movement, and sent him flying across the room and into the wall.
“Murderer!” Hankel was enraged, and vengeance burned at the end of his hammer.
Bradon rose to his feet and reached under his coat.
Hankel, anticipating the next move, dove behind a chair as four spinning blades buried themselves in the wooden frame.
Bradon’s ribs ached, his chest heaving with effort, “You should have stayed in bed, Hankel.” Bradon cracked a grin, “Where are the jewels?”
“What are you babbling about Bradon?” Hankel vaulted over the chair, hammer at the ready. “There’s nothing here!” Hankel lunged at Bradon, who sidestepped the hammer, but too slowly. Hankel corrected mid charge and caught him by the ankle. Bradon fell on his side, his arm crumpling underneath his ribs, which gave way with a sickening crack. Hankle spun around and stepped carefully back until he was standing over Bradon. “I hate to disappoint you, but all we have of value is in the shop. There is no jewelry here or there.”
Bradon lifted his head to look Hankel in the eye, “You’re… papa’s been… holding out… on you.” That was all he had strength left to say. His head lolled back, and death was all that was left.
Hankel ran over to his father’s side, but it was too late. Nothing was left, but to weep.
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