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.VI - The Succession of the Unknown King
Posted 23rd March 2009 at 02:51 AM by H.M.Gimlord
Updated 4th October 2009 at 02:01 PM by H.M.Gimlord
Updated 4th October 2009 at 02:01 PM by H.M.Gimlord
“Hankel” Bard’s voice was barely a ghost’s whisper over the sound of the rain.
“Papa.” Hankel held Bards head up so that their eyes met and pressed his forehead against his father’s forehead – an expression of respect and concern among dwarves.
“Hankel. You.. have.. always… been… my… prince. Bradon says… he… doesn’t believe… in dragons. I’m… afraid… that they are… all… too…” he coughed as blood issued from his mouth and nose, “real. My chest... You must… They… got my… chest….”
Hankel examined shurikens in Bard’s chest, each buried at least quarter-way into his flesh. Hankel moaned in despair, “Papa. There’s nothing I can do about that now.”
“No… You… don’t…”Bard simply had no more strength to continue. His eyes lost focus, and Hankel quickly realized that the Raven Queen had his soul now.
Hankel cried. He cried for the first time since he was a child. When his mother died, he made a point to shed no tears. He forced himself to be thankful for the time that was given to him to share with his mother. She being gone, there had always been Bard. He threw himself into his work, and the team of father and son soon became a team of peer artisans. Bard was the master of art, and Hankel was the master of strength. Together, they could do anything. Apart, they were incomplete. The rain pounded its mourning tears on the roof of their house as if even Nature knew that it had lost a great king.
Hankel’s anger burned toward Bradon. The betrayer. Bradon was a calm farm boy growing up. He was brash and arrogant, but Hankel never suspected that Bradon was capable of this. What had driven him to break into their house and cause such harm. They kept nothing of value in the house.
Hankel closed his father’s eyes and stomped over to Bradon’s lifeless body. “What were you after you mindless beast!” Hankel gave the body a shuddering kick. Over and over, he beat on the dead ribs until his foot hurt from the effort.
Hankel lifted the body, “Into the gutter with you, where you belong.” Hankel rose with Bradon’s body over his shoulder and turned toward the door when he heard the sound of something falling on the floor. He turned again and saw a small, blue, oblong gem the size of a door pivot lying on the floor. The gem pulsed with white-light as if it contained a frightening storm.
“Hello! What have we here?” Hankel put Bradon’s body down and examined the gem. “Is this what you were after?" Hankel reached down to pick it up, but before his skin touched the gem, blue fire leapt from the crystal's surface and burned into his calloused palms.
“Oooww!” Hankel stood up, rubbing his hands now throbbing as though they had been pinched under a cudgel in a bar-room fight. “I guess I’d better be more careful with you.” Hankel tore a patch from Bradon’s robe and wrapped the gem tightly. After placing it on the mantel, he returned to the work of ousting his gamey visitor.
“Papa.” Hankel held Bards head up so that their eyes met and pressed his forehead against his father’s forehead – an expression of respect and concern among dwarves.
“Hankel. You.. have.. always… been… my… prince. Bradon says… he… doesn’t believe… in dragons. I’m… afraid… that they are… all… too…” he coughed as blood issued from his mouth and nose, “real. My chest... You must… They… got my… chest….”
Hankel examined shurikens in Bard’s chest, each buried at least quarter-way into his flesh. Hankel moaned in despair, “Papa. There’s nothing I can do about that now.”
“No… You… don’t…”Bard simply had no more strength to continue. His eyes lost focus, and Hankel quickly realized that the Raven Queen had his soul now.
Hankel cried. He cried for the first time since he was a child. When his mother died, he made a point to shed no tears. He forced himself to be thankful for the time that was given to him to share with his mother. She being gone, there had always been Bard. He threw himself into his work, and the team of father and son soon became a team of peer artisans. Bard was the master of art, and Hankel was the master of strength. Together, they could do anything. Apart, they were incomplete. The rain pounded its mourning tears on the roof of their house as if even Nature knew that it had lost a great king.
Hankel’s anger burned toward Bradon. The betrayer. Bradon was a calm farm boy growing up. He was brash and arrogant, but Hankel never suspected that Bradon was capable of this. What had driven him to break into their house and cause such harm. They kept nothing of value in the house.
Hankel closed his father’s eyes and stomped over to Bradon’s lifeless body. “What were you after you mindless beast!” Hankel gave the body a shuddering kick. Over and over, he beat on the dead ribs until his foot hurt from the effort.
Hankel lifted the body, “Into the gutter with you, where you belong.” Hankel rose with Bradon’s body over his shoulder and turned toward the door when he heard the sound of something falling on the floor. He turned again and saw a small, blue, oblong gem the size of a door pivot lying on the floor. The gem pulsed with white-light as if it contained a frightening storm.
“Hello! What have we here?” Hankel put Bradon’s body down and examined the gem. “Is this what you were after?" Hankel reached down to pick it up, but before his skin touched the gem, blue fire leapt from the crystal's surface and burned into his calloused palms.
“Oooww!” Hankel stood up, rubbing his hands now throbbing as though they had been pinched under a cudgel in a bar-room fight. “I guess I’d better be more careful with you.” Hankel tore a patch from Bradon’s robe and wrapped the gem tightly. After placing it on the mantel, he returned to the work of ousting his gamey visitor.
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