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.VII - The Price Of Knowledge
Posted 23rd March 2009 at 04:54 AM by H.M.Gimlord
Updated 4th October 2009 at 02:00 PM by H.M.Gimlord
Updated 4th October 2009 at 02:00 PM by H.M.Gimlord
The door to Bard’s house finally closed, and Smoc crawled from his grimy hiding place under the foundation, behind the stoop. With a careful glance, he hoisted his prize over his shoulder and ran to the back of the house. The box, was small, about a forearm’s length long and half as deep and tall. It was more of a strongbox than a chest, and as Smoc hefted it, he lost all hope of gold or jewelry.
At the back of the house, a sooty Lars Hallmaster was scampering down the exterior wall of the Bard’s chimney. When he lighted on the ground Smoc glared up at him with eyes that drilled into Lars’ skull.
“Bradon’s dead! And thanks for nothing, boy!” Smoc sneered through the pounding rain, “We sure could have used your help!”
The two began their careful walk back to the bank of the Ulmar. Lars was becoming annoyed at Smoc who, though only four years his senior, was in the habit of calling him ‘Boy.’ “What do you mean? I think my exit route was actually the best, considering you were knocked headlong into the road. Thanks to your diversion, neither one of them noticed me.”
“Oh, so that’s how it is eh? Smoc and Bradon draw the blades, and Lars escapes undetected.”
“You’re forgetting. The chimney was you’re idea.” Lars reminded.
“And a good one too. Dwarves make unbeatable locks for their own houses, but they also like large fireplaces with wide flues.” Smoc tapped his temple as if to emphasize the importance of his intelligence.
They reached the grate that barred the mouth of the Ulmar, and Smoc set to picking lock on the metal door.
Lars laughed, “You forgot to mention that dwarves sometimes keep their fires going through the night. You have the rain to thank that you only landed on smoldering coals instead of a roaring fire.” Lars kicked Smoc lightly in the rear end to indicate the patch of singed cloth on the seat of his pants. “I suppose Dwarven locks are easier to break from the inside.”
“Much!” Smoc grumbled, as he turned an annoyed look at Lars. “Now let’s see if this chest is worth the price we paid for it. Funny. For a minute you’d think we didn’t steal it.” The door silently rotated open, and Smoc ran it home behind them, refastening the lock. “This thing’s too light for money, boy. I’m not too hopeful. Trust me. I’m not going back there. There’s nothing else in that house to get.”
“Oh yes there is.” Lars gasped slamming the thumb-side of his fist into his forehead, “Bradon had the crystal. It’s back in the old dwarf’s house.”
At the back of the house, a sooty Lars Hallmaster was scampering down the exterior wall of the Bard’s chimney. When he lighted on the ground Smoc glared up at him with eyes that drilled into Lars’ skull.
“Bradon’s dead! And thanks for nothing, boy!” Smoc sneered through the pounding rain, “We sure could have used your help!”
The two began their careful walk back to the bank of the Ulmar. Lars was becoming annoyed at Smoc who, though only four years his senior, was in the habit of calling him ‘Boy.’ “What do you mean? I think my exit route was actually the best, considering you were knocked headlong into the road. Thanks to your diversion, neither one of them noticed me.”
“Oh, so that’s how it is eh? Smoc and Bradon draw the blades, and Lars escapes undetected.”
“You’re forgetting. The chimney was you’re idea.” Lars reminded.
“And a good one too. Dwarves make unbeatable locks for their own houses, but they also like large fireplaces with wide flues.” Smoc tapped his temple as if to emphasize the importance of his intelligence.
They reached the grate that barred the mouth of the Ulmar, and Smoc set to picking lock on the metal door.
Lars laughed, “You forgot to mention that dwarves sometimes keep their fires going through the night. You have the rain to thank that you only landed on smoldering coals instead of a roaring fire.” Lars kicked Smoc lightly in the rear end to indicate the patch of singed cloth on the seat of his pants. “I suppose Dwarven locks are easier to break from the inside.”
“Much!” Smoc grumbled, as he turned an annoyed look at Lars. “Now let’s see if this chest is worth the price we paid for it. Funny. For a minute you’d think we didn’t steal it.” The door silently rotated open, and Smoc ran it home behind them, refastening the lock. “This thing’s too light for money, boy. I’m not too hopeful. Trust me. I’m not going back there. There’s nothing else in that house to get.”
“Oh yes there is.” Lars gasped slamming the thumb-side of his fist into his forehead, “Bradon had the crystal. It’s back in the old dwarf’s house.”
Total Comments 0
Comments
Total Trackbacks 0
And yet another word from our sponsors
