Story HourPost your ongoing tales from your campaigns, and read those from others for inspiration. Lots of other RPG boards post "Story Hours", but this is where it started!
Hehe... I was just thinking how funny it would be if I looked in on Dexter's old character sheet and was like, "Oh wow, I'm sorry, he was actually Lawful Evil at first, and he has a half-elf...!"
We don’t get to see them now, but rest assured that they’re involved.
Those orichalcum objects- the bowl. The knife. The candleholder. The bell. The book.
We’ll see them in the future, more than once; probably yet again.
For now, we need concern ourselves only with the golem. Within its crate, it lay as if in a deep sleep. Boxed up, hidden behind a wooden crate, the thing would stand almost seven feet if held erect; and clearly- terrifyingly, to the greedy merchant foolish enough to attempt its transport- it was articulated. You could (were you brave enough to touch it) move its arms and legs as if it were some clever toy made for a giant’s baby.
Its fierce ram head, its strongly muscled body- these served as warnings to any foolish enough to trifle with it. It seemed, somehow, to radiate menace
In the depths of night, as its fingers began to twitch, as the Orichalcum Devourer began to stir from its harmless sleep, it was a single impulse that drove it. Someone had used the bell, book and candle. Someone had made the sacrifice- a sacrifice we’ll get to see people make, in time; but not yet.
It caused this terrible thing to wake.
The wooden crate, nailed shut but iron nails as long as a troll’s finger, burst apart with only a moment’s work. The Orichalcum Devourer smashed its way free; and then it moved swiftly, never hesitating for even an instant. It climbed the stairs from the hold, ramming a fist through sailor standing above before he had a moment to act.
Then the Orichalcum Devourer moved to the forecastle and started slamming its terrible metal fists into it, smashing a hole in the wall almost instantly.
As sleepy sailors (and the passengers) woke, the Orichalcum Devourer smashed its feet through the deck, then smashed a hole in the ship’s hull from within the hold- below the waterline.
Ocean began to pour into the ship’s belly.
Screams as the Orichalcum seemed to move randomly, tearing walls to bits, allowing more and more of the sea outside to violate the ship; and soon it was listing badly.
Our heroes- can we call these guys that? Maybe not quite yet- Malford, Dex and Lochenvar convened on deck. Around them, all was chaos. The sky was black, pricked with the flames of the stars. There was no moon, but the sound of the sea was everywhere.
“We’re about to be shipwrecked, aren’t we?” Dexter groaned.
“Unless we can stop that thing,” Lochenvar grunted.
“We’re about to be shipwrecked,” Malford agreed.
The Orichalcum Devourer came up on deck.
“Crap,” said Malford.
There was a sudden jar of clashing colors as he let out a color spray, but neither it, nor Dexter’s psychic assault seemed to have any effect on the golem. Instead it rushed to the mainmast. In a moment it had grasped it in a terrible hug, and before the group’s terrified eyes it ripped the mast down. It fell into the deck with a thundering crash. Splinters of wood danced into the air.
Suddenly the ship gave a great shudder and an audible groan.
“Oh no!” cried Dexter.
Suddenly water was everywhere.
Next Time: What will happen to our heroes? (All right, we’ll start calling them that...)
Unfortunately for our heroes, there was nothing they could do but cling to the wreckage and hope that they ended up somewhere that there was land.
Lochenvar called out for his brother for about an hour, but there was no sign of him so he saved his breath after that. He did not weep; he seemed a stoic individual. The group was, however, joined by the halfling Stetson, seemingly a reasonably strong swimmer and lucky enough to have survived the confusion just before the sinking of the Flying Fish.
“I hope your brother made it,” Malford called to Lochenvar, but the man didn’t even acknowledge him.
They rode the currents for a time. We were close to Aerisa, Malford thought. The currents there tend to sweep much ashore. It is a hope...
When night fell our heroes felt a certain measure of fear. It was no more likely that a shark would attack them now than before, but somehow the ability to see what was out there was crucial to their bravery. Even Malford’s infravision was useless, with the oceans being warm enough to mask almost anything.
At least we won’t freeze, the gnome thought sardonically.
***
In the morning they washed ashore, exhausted. The four of them found a stream nearby, drank thirstily, then ate a few fruits from some nearby trees and collapsed into sleep.
It was late afternoon when they woke. A group of elves had quietly built a fire a hundred yards away; two of the elves were watching for the group to wake, and when they did at last the elves immediately offered them food, drink, new clothing, and other comforts.
“You were shipwrecked, yes?”
Dexter nodded, chewing hungrily on a fish on a stick that had been pulled from the fire for him.
“Well, you are on Aerisa. It is a small isle, and simple; we have little, but we need little. You will find life here to be easy and carefree, at least until the next ship arrives and you can find passage... wherever you’re going.”
“Um,” Dexter said around a mouthful of fish, “how often do ships lay in here?”
The elf shrugged eloquently. “Occasionally. Not regularly. Perhaps four times a year.”
I’m going to be stuck here for months, and I hate elves, Dexter groaned inwardly. Great. Stuck with a bunch of arrogant pointy-eared... He sighed. I guess I’ll have to make the most of it.
But as the group was escorted to an elven village, Dexter found himself mellowing towards these elves. The conceit of Forinthian elves that he’d met knew almost no bounds, but not so with these. Though Galadorian, they were neither proselytizing nor judgmental.
They were, in fact, downright pleasant.
Unable to hold his resentment of them, Dexter found his attitude shifting in subtle ways. Galiger surely would not have approved. Dex felt a momentary pang- they were friends, once- but pushed it roughly aside. Malford was still his friend- his best friend. He didn’t need Galiger anyway- he was a bad influence.
Dexter tries to recall the dream he had last night, but it’s so foggy- but he knows that this time wasn’t like the others. He did not dream of the Light last night. There were no glories of Heaven.
There was utter darkness, black and evil, shot through with spasms of chaos.
It was from Bleak. Hi, son, gotcher soul don’t you know.
Can you give me a (brief) refresher on Bleak and Galador (sp?)? How do they feel about elves?
I'm getting that Dexter if feeling guilty for liking the elves (as if it would offend Galador).
Hm, this is really two questions.
As to Galador and Bleak:
Galador is the center of a vast and powerful monotheistic religion that, at the time of this thread, dominates everywhere the pcs have ever been. He's the one who ignited the sun a million years ago (which orbits Forinthia, natch).
Bleak is the devil figure of the religion. At this point in the campaign, if you're not a Galadorian, the Galadorians consider you to be a Bleakist. There's an A or a B, but there's no such thing as C or None of the above. Think of this period of Galadorianism as being the worst cliches of an overbearingly controlling monotheistic society.
Forinthia is the center of Galador's religion. It's primarily human and dwarven in racial makeup (though there are numbers of others as well). The humans and dwarves (but especially the humans) have conquered a vast amount of surrounding territory (often the culture does the conquering, bringing capitalist systems to mercantile cultures and taking over with a combo of religious indoctrination, military efforts, and intermarriage over a generation or two).
Until they went to Aerisa, the pcs had seen elves on Forinthia, who were snooty Galadorians or sullen anti-Galadorians who kept it to themselves (in either case rubbing the pcs the wrong way), and on Gorel. The elves of Gorel are, of course, possessed of anywhere from genocidal hatred of outsiders to only a near-genocidal hatred of outsiders.
The elves of Aerisa were my attempt to show the players that not all elves in the world were a buncha snots. Keep in mind that this is still in the very early days of the campaign world- the above update takes place mostly in game 19. The world had only existed, in real time, for 2 months and 2 days! So there were a lot of things I was fleshing out as I went. (The campaign started with a rough map of Forinthia and a few notes when the players demanded I run a game a few weeks after my old campaign world was eaten by Tharizdun.)
For the record, at this point the pcs in this group are:
Dexter Nadly- human psionicist 4; align N. Malford the Magnificent- gnome thief/illusionist 5/4; align CN. Lochenvare- human fighter 1; align NE. Able Steel (see below)- I believe human; fighter 1; align N.
Keep in mind that this is 2e, so Malford is more like a 5th level pc than a 9th level pc.
Regardless...
Lochenvare grunted as he pushed through the foliage. The jungle was thick and humid, and he was sweating fairly profusely. The muscles on his back glistened as he hacked a bush savagely with the machete he had purchased from the elves earlier, and said bush got right out of their way.
Since they had time to kill, our heroes had searched out what sign of adventure they could. As it turned out, one of the few things Aerisa boasted was a host of old overgrown ruins. Though there were doubtless several areas of ruins at various levels of overgrowth, our heroes could only easily discern the location of one, so it was towards that one that our heroes headed.
They had also, in the elven villages, picked up another companion- Able Steel. Now, truth to tell, the memories are a lil rusty here, and Able only lasted two games, and I don’t have his old character sheet in my ‘body bag’ file. So I’m not sure- I might be makin’ this stuff up. If any of my old players recalls this- Able was one of the only Cydran pcs played by Bo- I’d love some input and correction of the record.
Anyway, if memory serves (hah!), Able Steel was a human warrior the group picked up, who, like them, had been shipwrecked and survived only through the clever vagaries of fate and that self-same current that had swept Dexter, Malford, Lochenvare and Setson ashore. Now, as they were all adventurers, they were waiting for the next ship out- so it seemed logical that they should all check out the ruins together.
The ruins, when the party finally arrived at them, were surrounded by a crumbling wall on a little more than half of their perimeter. Elsewhere, the stones of the wall had tumbled or been removed past the point of their serving as an effective barrier. Within the wall there were a number of smaller buildings and a pair of larger ones; and as our heroes examined the interior, they were attacked by a pair of huge hungry lizards as long as Lochenvare was tall. But the lizards could not stand before the furious power of our heroes, especially now that they contained a pair of fighters; and in a few short moments, the lizards lay dismembered or disemboweled on the flagstones of the ruins’ courtyard.
Searching out the ruins- with Malford watching for traps, and Dexter feeling a growing presentiment of danger- the party found a secret panel concealing a small vault. As Malford opened it, however, a terrible thing appeared without warning in a sudden burst of black radiance!
It was humanoid, with two legs, but it looked supple, like a snake; and where a man would have arms it had snakes. Four long whipping snakes, fangs dripping caustic venom, struck out at our heroes! In an instant it had bitten Lochenvare and he dropped, spasming and frothing at the mouth, unable to move.
Worst of all was the thing’s head. It wore Dexter’s visage like a mask.
“I come for you, Son of the Light,” the snake-demon hissed. “In the name of BLEAK!! He will have you!!”
Dexter swung his new staff, catching the thing in the head. He shouted in anger as he did so, and both Able and Malford pressed in. They battled fiercely against the thing for a few moments, and then Dex laid it low.
He was shaking.
He leaned his staff against the wall and pressed his head against the crumbling surface as well. The cool stone contrasted bitterly with the burning heat of the scars on his forehead.
“Lochenvare’s alive,” Malford announced. “He’s just paralyzed...” He glanced at Dexter’s face and shut up.
***
The secret vault held a gold box that contained a ring and a bag of 66 red coins. The bag of coins and the ring were both magical.
They diced, and Lochenvare took the ring. The coins went to Dexter.
They immediately laid their curse upon him, though it was not to be recognized for quite some time.
***
When the ship arrived, they were overjoyed. When it left, they were on board. Already Dexter had tried to weasel out of paying for his food.
I kinda like the dicing method. That's kinda fun. And if my players didn't already have a tendency to claim anything that had any kind of aura before the others even knew it existed, I'd go for it myself!
Wow first of all I have to say that this is a blast fromt he past...reading this is kinda like reliving 10 years ago.
I will help out and try to remember what happened as you go along.
Some small ammendments:
When we went back to question the widow of Dinagar, Morden Kein let it slip that we (me) had pilfered dinagars diarys against the widows wishes. The widow called her guards. I think Malfords first move was to throw a dagger at Morden Kein cussing her out for being so stupid. It missed her thudding into the wall near her head. Guards rushed in, Malford cast a sleep spell that dropped the widow, a guard maybe, and Morden Kein (who failed her 90% elf resistance to sleep/charm, which I remember at the time suprised me greatly) In a tooth and nail fight to get out alive Malford cast a burning hands on the guards and set the curtains on fire. After besting the remaining guard Malford scrambled out of the burning building leaving behind the magically sleeping occupants to meet their fiery fate...So I guess he murdered them, but he didnt slit their throats..hehe
Also on the Parrot Isles, The sentinal guarding the magic coconut tree was tough and had a bunch of ward spells on him. While Dextor was distracting the guard. Malford shot the coconut out of the tree and had Polly his parrot familiar snatch it. (What is the air speed velocity of a parrot carrying a coconut?)
In retrospect reading these posts I have to agree with Jeff that alot of the best characters died premature...omg Craig's poor gnomes!! But it was a high fatality world no clerical necromancy available, down right vicious critical hits (As you readers have only got a taste of yet...chuckle) ,and just some plain ol sheer stupidity. All caused many a good man to go down before his prime. Just thinking about poor Vido makes me giggle "Why couldn't the spider have bit me in the arm, instead of the torso, cause then at least I could have maybe choped my arm off to stop the poison."
One thing that I think you have touched apon but should elaborate was that Dextor had a 6 charisma. In the begining he was a oily, pockmarked, overweight teenager. He had major major self-esteem issues. He hated himself, he hated his family, he hated his powers that made him different from everyone else, and most of all he hated the fact they he had a destiny that he could not control. Oh and my personal fav...HE HAD A BIG X'd OUT B BRANDED ON HIS FORHEAD, that he would try to cover up with bandanas and such. Dextor was Malford's salvation from the dark to the light, and what was originally pity was replaced with admiration.
I love what you have done so far keep it up, and I will try to chime in from time to time.
Back on Forinthia, Dexter, Malford Able and Lochenvare made friends with a fellow calling himself Ed. He was another gifted fighter, so our heroes were glad to have him in their group. The party then consisted of~
Malford the Magnificent (CN thief/illusionist 5/4)
Dexter Nadly (N psionicist 4)
Lochenvare (NE fighter 1)
Able Steel (N fighter 1)
Oedipus “Ed” Tyrannosaurus Rex (CN fighter 1)
While on Forinthia, our heroes visited both Port Lofrax and Frodrand. Malford and Dexter had friends in both places; in Port Lofrax, he spent an evening with his confessor, Sheila. She was so beautiful- even though she would never be his, her beauty alone soothed many of Dexter’s savage moral pains.
In Frodrand they visited Valkor, the water-wizard who had hired them to investigate the Coral Caves. They had a pleasant evening sipping liquor with him, with Malford now more of a peer to the other mage.
Then, on the road back to Port Lofrax, where they were to meet Captain Drake to discuss the possibility of further adventures together, they were ambushed by a bounty hunter.
Despite Dexter’s capture and release by the Inquisition, there was still a considerable price on Malford’s head. When the attack came- a flurry of daggers from behind a screen of rocks- and two of the party’s three fighters went down with a series of spasms, our heroes were forced to respond with an all-out charge.
The bounty hunter was slim and quick, springing away from the group’s weapons with remarkable dexterity, then throwing another envenomed dagger. This one caught Dexter in the shoulder, but he tore it free before the paralyzing poison took effect.
Then Lochenvare charged forward, there was a sick wet crunching sound, and the bounty hunter dropped, headless, to the ground.
“There ya go,” Lochenvare grunted.
The others were paralyzed but not dead. In a few hours they were as good as new- barring the wounds they bore- and they moved on, hoping their last adversary didn’t have any friends. He had, however, worn magic leather armor; and though it was too big for Malford to wear, the group could take it and sell it...
From Forinthia our heroes set sail, after persuading Captain Drake, for the Isle of Gloom, a small misty isle that had supposedly migrated outward from the Isles of Mist. “It’s a dangerous place,” Drake warned; “There’s no telling what will be there... only that it won’t likely be friendly.”
The journey was interrupted one morning when the lookout spotted something odd. Drake himself ascended to the crow’s nest to look and returned to the deck frowning. “There’s an island there that isn’t on my charts,” he grunted, and stomped in to pour over his maps. “Must be a new one!” he exclaimed.
Indeed, it was a new isle, risen from the depths through the magical devices of a powerful storm giant mage named Mabrack.
Mabrack, if perhaps not exactly warm to his visitors, was not precisely cool to them either, and after Malford brought up the fact that he, too, was a wizard, and that regardless of their respective sizes, the spell formulae they had were worth discussing and, perhaps, a little trading back and forth.
They stayed only long enough for the spell trading to occur; Mabrack did not especially desire their presence, and as he seemed to be fairly well in charge of the isle there didn’t look to be profit to be had by mucking about with it. (Clearly, our heroes weren’t about to try to fight the giant!)
So the ship sailed further on, to the Isle of Gloom. A small skiff took the party to shore, and our heroes disembarked and set up a camp at the head of the beach.
That night they were attacked by a half-dozen sahuagin.
The devil men of the deep were deadly foes, emerging from the waves and the dark night without warning. They struck down the two crewmen with the party before our heroes were able to drive them off, slaying four of the six of the sahuagin.
Cursing their ill luck (already), the party moved their camp a little ways away from the beach, up into a hilly area overgrown with tall grasses. In the morning, they set out to explore a little, and they met a native human named Ingen Jager.* Jager was a simple-looking fellow, with a large straw hat and simple robes.
“What are you doing here?” Lochenvare asked.
“I seek solitude and a place for meditation,” Jager responded. “There are few distractions here.”
Malford piped up. “What about all the monsters there are legends about?”
“Those are the few distractions,” Ingen admitted. “In fact, my meditations have been sorely tried lately by the trumpet beasts.”
“The what?”
Propitiously, just at that moment, a distant sound came to our heroes- very loud, but distant enough to be only distracting. It resembled the sound a broad-chested, very loud person with absolutely no skill might make using a trumpet.
“Those,” said Ingen Jager. A look of annoyance briefly crossed his mien.
“Well,” suggested the ever-amicable Malford, “perhaps we could help you with your problem, and in return you could show us around the isle. We’re adventurers; we’re looking for monsters to slay and loot to take!”
“Perhaps you’d care to join us?” offered Dexter.
Jager shrugged. “For the moment; at least long enough to slay the trumpet beasts. But I am an ascetic, you understand; I have no desire for fame or money.”
“Great!” Ed exclaimed.** “More for us!”
***
The trumpet beasts turned out to be horse-sized beasts with powerful claws and a protruding nasal horn that flared open to remarkable extremes. The party engaged three of them, and found them to be tough opponents. They had savage claws and a deadly bite; but in the end our heroes prevailed, as they usually but not always have. The trumpet beasts lain low, Jager sighed happily and immediately offered to escort the group to a lair he knew about.
”There are trogs there,” he told them. “Perhaps worse, leading them. This is not a kind island.”
Naturally, the party agreed, and headed immediately towards the lair. Just inside was a minotaur skeleton, which they defeated (mostly through Dexter’s staff of combat). Then, as they made their way inward, wave after wave of stench hit them- a smell like rotten fish mixed with vomit.
Trog-stink, thought Lochenvare. He flexed his knuckles around his sword as they moved in, and soon an avalanche of troglodytes poured in at the group!
Gasping for breath in the foulness, our heroes cut them down in moments. Jager proved a capable combatant with his bare hands and feet. They searched the stinking corpses and found a few coins. Then they continued along, blundering into a troll.
The battle that ensued wasn’t pretty; not at all. Lochenvare dealt a few terrible blows to the troll, so it ripped his right foot off. As he fell, Able Steel and Ed rushed in, flanking the monster and hacking savagely at it. Malford hit it with an arrow of acid, and as it fell he finished it off with a burning hands.
The troll wore a crystal pendant, so at least there was some loot.
As they returned to the surface, Ingen Jager said, “You know, maybe I will join you after all. That was fun.”
*A guest player’s pc. He was one of the old-time players from my game back in the day, you know, starting with 1e before Unearthed Arcana and ending in the early 2e days. He was only around for a couple of games. There are lots of those...
**I just realized that there’s also an Ed in my halfling story hour. Remember, this one is Oedipus. Maybe I should just call him Oed or something to avoid confusion... but he went by “Ed,” so I try to honor it... hm.
“This time there will be no escape,” Elcruche told Rajah cruelly. He flipped his long mane of golden hair back over his impeccable uniform. “If we have to, we’ll cripple you. Don’t make it come to that.”
How could he, a man raised by tigers, be important enough for all this? The question filled Rajah with dread. His entire world would soon be spinning out of control. The answers were not far ahead.
And Elcruche- did he know why he pursued his prey? Rajah wasn’t sure, and Elcruche wasn’t telling. His crew was very professional- very dangerous.
There would be no escape here.
A week into their journey Rajah was up on deck when suddenly the sky flashed from clear to overcast. It was not as if clouds had suddenly rolled in, but rather as if they were suddenly somewhere else, as indeed they were. Elcruche had piloted them through a seagate.
Another few weeks, during which Rajah was well-treated but always watched and given no chance to flee the ship, and he was shackled in orichalcum bonds and thereafter kept below decks. Two days later he felt the ship pull into a port. Elcruche and his men hooded Rajah and took him off-ship in the dead of night, quickly escorting him to a gaol.
There Rajah was left isolated in a cell for a time. The bars were orichalcum; he quickly found that he could not dimension door beyond them, so he sat to await his fate.
Where am I? he wondered tiredly.
At the end of the hallway, a door opened up. A figure walked through, shutting it quietly behind him, then approached the cell Rajah was within.
The man was dark-skinned, with thin white hair tied back in a pony tail. He wore some sort of military uniform- medal after medal hung from his breast. He held a finger to his lips, urging Rajah to remain silent. And he held a ring of keys.
“Please ask no questions yet, my lord,” the man whispered as he began inserting the keys into the lock on Rajah’s cell one by one, searching for the correct one. “There is no time. I am General Rygarh, and I’m here to rescue you.” A key clicked, turning the lock over, and the cell door swung wide.
“Come,” General Rygarh murmured. “I will take you to a safe place, with friends.”
Rajah had little choice, so he followed Rygarh to the door he had entered through. Quietly, the general cracked open the door and then slipped out, motioning for Rajah to follow. He did, and found another man, with a long black moustache and a shaved head, waiting for them.
The man fell to one knee and bowed. “My lord,” he choked out softly.
”There is no time, Unso,” Rygarh reprimanded him in a low voice. “We must away.”
Unso rose, nodding, and shuffled a card out of a deck. “Grab hold of my hand,” he muttered, holding it out to Rajah; he did as he was bid. Rygarh put a hand on Unso’s shoulder. The card Unso was holding was starting to shimmer and dance with an iridescent rainbow of color- the picture on the face of the card, a small cottage before a stand of trees, seemed to gather depth-
“Step forward,” Unso instructed, and all three did so; and then suddenly they were there, before the cottage.
“Quickly, within,” Rygarh urged, and Rajah obeyed.
***
Dorhaus was a large continent to the west of Forinthia. Geographically, it is split down its north-south axis by the Bendrock Mountains, a long and strong chain of mountains that has long served as a political divider as well. The southern parts of Dorhaus were mostly split between two great nations- the Kingdom of Thule, on the western side, and Imperial Wotan to the east. The two nations were old adversaries; though currently at peace, it couldn’t last forever.
The Emperor of Wotan was Tovan IV. He had inherited from his older brother, whom it was whispered he had murdered. Indeed, the last empress and all other potential dangers to Tovan’s claim to the throne had also been murdered.
“The last empress had to die because she had just borne the Emperor a son,” General Rygarh told Rajah. “Tovan knew that if her child were to live, his throne could never be safe. So he had some of his most trusted agents sabotage and sink the ship she was sailing on, near Gorel.”
He paused. Took a deep breath.
“We have reason to believe that you are the rightful Emperor of Wotan.”
Next Time: Well, what the heck does Rajah do now? What does Rygarh want of him? And what are those cool cards Unso has??
I'm really liking this split storyline. So were you and your players playing all these encounters? Was what happened to Rajah roelplayed or is it just you fleshing out what ahppened to him, after the fact.
Cheers!
KF72
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...so were you and your players playing all these encounters? Was what happened to Rajah roelplayed or is it just you fleshing out what ahppened to him, after the fact.
Yeah, we played it out. It was a bit of a surprise for Jeff (Rajah's player), but there were a few clues dropped in advance (not enough to tell the whole tale, of course, but things like it being the Wotan Intelligence Service after him, etc.)
Everything from his given name- of course it wasn’t Rajah- to all about Unso’s cards, called trumps. From stories of his Uncle Tovan, Emperor Tovan IV of Wotan, called Kinslayer by his enemies, to stories of the ancient rivalry between Imperial Wotan and the Kingdom of Thule to the west, across the Bendrock Mountains.
“That is why,” General Rygarh told him, “you must go there. You will be safe... with friends. Friends who are enemies of the Emperor.”
“And you?”
“I must stay here as long as I can. The Emperor is already suspicious of me; I must remain here to allay suspicion as long as is possible, and to slow pursuit as much as I can.”
Rajah saw instantly that this would mean the general’s demise. “Rygarh...” he began, but the general shook his head.
“What must be, must be,” he said firmly.
***
Rajah was assigned a quartet of bodyguards, including the halfling thief Werilith, a half-elven woman named Shendros who was skilled with both sword and spell, and two human men, Daniel and Proctor. Daniel was a fighter; Proctor, who stayed always by Rajah’s side, an abjurer.
“Here,” Unso said the morning that the group was to depart. “You must travel in stealth, move quietly and quickly. If you become separated, these may assist you.” The old man handed Rajah a packet of elegantly-painted cards. “These are trumps that I have painted for you.”
Rajah fanned the deck. Himself, his four bodyguards, Unso and Rygarh...
“You see, my lord?” Rygarh quirked a smile. “All is not lost. I may escape our enemies.”
Rajah glanced for the first time at the small box on Rygarh’s belt- the perfect size for a deck of cards.
“Good journey!” cried Rygarh. “Let nothing interfere with your destiny!”
Rajah nodded and his little group set forth.
Next Time: Who knows which thread I’ll pick up? They all twine back together soon as they become entangled in Farenth’s game. Perhaps we ought to look in on him...?
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