Menu
News
All News
Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
Pathfinder
Starfinder
Warhammer
2d20 System
Year Zero Engine
Industry News
Reviews
Dragon Reflections
Columns
Weekly Digests
Weekly News Digest
Freebies, Sales & Bundles
RPG Print News
RPG Crowdfunding News
Game Content
ENterplanetary DimENsions
Mythological Figures
Opinion
Worlds of Design
Peregrine's Next
RPG Evolution
Other Columns
From the Freelancing Frontline
Monster ENcyclopedia
WotC/TSR Alumni Look Back
4 Hours w/RSD (Ryan Dancey)
The Road to 3E (Jonathan Tweet)
Greenwood's Realms (Ed Greenwood)
Drawmij's TSR (Jim Ward)
Community
Forums & Topics
Forum List
Latest Posts
Forum list
*Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
D&D Older Editions
*TTRPGs General
*Pathfinder & Starfinder
EN Publishing
*Geek Talk & Media
Search forums
Chat/Discord
Resources
Wiki
Pages
Latest activity
Media
New media
New comments
Search media
Downloads
Latest reviews
Search resources
EN Publishing
Store
EN5ider
Adventures in ZEITGEIST
Awfully Cheerful Engine
What's OLD is NEW
Judge Dredd & The Worlds Of 2000AD
War of the Burning Sky
Level Up: Advanced 5E
Events & Releases
Upcoming Events
Private Events
Featured Events
Socials!
Twitch
YouTube
Facebook (EN Publishing)
Facebook (EN World)
Twitter
Instagram
TikTok
Podcast
Features
Top 5 RPGs Compiled Charts 2004-Present
Adventure Game Industry Market Research Summary (RPGs) V1.0
Ryan Dancey: Acquiring TSR
Q&A With Gary Gygax
D&D Rules FAQs
TSR, WotC, & Paizo: A Comparative History
D&D Pronunciation Guide
Million Dollar TTRPG Kickstarters
Tabletop RPG Podcast Hall of Fame
Eric Noah's Unofficial D&D 3rd Edition News
D&D in the Mainstream
D&D & RPG History
About Morrus
Log in
Register
What's new
Search
Search
Search titles only
By:
Forums & Topics
Forum List
Latest Posts
Forum list
*Dungeons & Dragons
Level Up: Advanced 5th Edition
D&D Older Editions
*TTRPGs General
*Pathfinder & Starfinder
EN Publishing
*Geek Talk & Media
Search forums
Chat/Discord
Menu
Log in
Register
Install the app
Install
Community
Meta - Forums About Forums
Archive-threads
CERAMIC D.M. the final judgement is in!
JavaScript is disabled. For a better experience, please enable JavaScript in your browser before proceeding.
You are using an out of date browser. It may not display this or other websites correctly.
You should upgrade or use an
alternative browser
.
Reply to thread
Message
<blockquote data-quote="NoOneofConsequence" data-source="post: 613294" data-attributes="member: 5400"><p><strong>A life in jars</strong></p><p></p><p>“Jars? Pottery jars? Bloody pottery jars!? Is this your master plan, old fool?”</p><p></p><p>The pasha was clearly worn thin by the bitter siege, for his patience and insight were usually deeper. Alchemist Ibn Sagui cringed at his master’s shouting, frightened that, in his rage, Pasha Araoud would accidentally kick over some of the jars on the workshop floor. Such a event would be an unmitigated disaster and doubtless resolve the siege all too quickly. Quickly placing himself between the fort’s commander and the dozens of fired clay jars occupying every available space in the workshop.</p><p></p><p>“Allow me to explain, master,” he pleaded, bowing his head and making pulling motions near his forehead as if tugging a forelock, though his bald and turbaned head offered no such fashion. “The jars will make it possible for you and your guard to escape, I promise.”</p><p></p><p>“Speak quickly, alchemist. We have less than an hour until dawn,” Pasha Araoud scanned the sky through the workshop’s open doorway. Soon the deadline for the beast’s ultimatum would be upon them and he would have to surrender his people to the besieger’s ‘tender’ mercies.</p><p></p><p>“A creature born of alchemy, can die by alchemy. For as the Prophet teaches, <em>As a man lives, so shall he perish!</em>”</p><p></p><p>“I do not need a theology lesson, Ibn Sagui.”</p><p></p><p>“I know, master,” agrees Ibn Sagui, holding up his hand to beg his master’s forbearance. He dipped a long metal spoon into the cauldron simmering on the coals of the workshop’s smaller firepit. The spoon head emerged with a dollop of thick white liquid. The alchemist stepped outside his workshop door onto the rough, chalky stone of the fort’s inner yard. Pouring the liquid onto ground, he returned to the workshop firepit, taking up a burning coal. Already fairly certain of what he was about to witness, Araoud followed to witness the impromptu demonstration. He was nearly knocked from his feet however when Ibn Agui touched coal to unction, by an explosion entirely disproportionate to the amount of substance. As he retook his feet, Pasha Araoud looked in wonder through the workshop doorway at the now vast seeming collection of jars.</p><p></p><p>“How much…?” he asked, unable to complete the question.</p><p></p><p>“Enough that you and your men must be far away when it is lit.”</p><p></p><p>Nodding his understanding, Araoud said, “We will go now, while the shadows are still deep.”</p><p></p><p>----</p><p></p><p>At dawn the frontier fort’s only tower flew a red flag, the signal of complete surrender. The besieging warband let up a great cheer, and the sound drew the warband’s commander from his tent. Equal parts man and animal, the infamous Beast of Al Arouk had the body of slender youth, topped with the bearded head of a billy goat. The Beast’s band of blood thirsty followers had raided the border towns and trade routes for more than a year and now they were about to take their finest prize, Pasha Araoud, cousin to the Sultan himself. Naked to the waist, the Beast strode to the head of his army, watching with pleasure as the tattered red cloth flew from the tower. Seizing a spear, and with a braying shout, he ordered his men to follow him to take their latest possession. </p><p></p><p>At the head of his rag tag band of cut throats, the Beast strode towards the rough walls of heavy sandstone which had opposed him for nearly three weeks. Now he was heedless of the possibility of archers on the rampart. Victory was his and he strode forth to claim it.</p><p></p><p>Entering the tunnel beneath the walls his eyes scanned the murder holes for the barest of moments. A bold or desperate enemy might use this last chance to attempt an ambush. However, the Beast knew his enemies for cowards and, even if he were felled now, his men would rip the defenders to bits, so weak was the fort’s garrison. At the other end of the gate tunnel stood a single guard, and beyond, the drawbridge gate that had remained closed to him until today. As the Beast drew closer, with his best warriors striding to keep up with him, he saw that the waiting figure was not a guard, but a person of indistinguishable gender or identity, dressed in a simple flaxcloth shift and old leather sandals. With a voice that did nothing to reveal the figures gender or identity, the waiting servant said, “My master, Pasha Araoud bids you welcome, oh Beast of Al Arouk.”</p><p></p><p>Without breaking stride the Beast thrust his spear into the servant’s belly. As the figure crumpled at his feet the Beast spat on the body, some of the spittle tangling in the hair around his mouth and then dribbling into his beard. </p><p></p><p>“I’m your master, fool!” he said. Then turning to one of his men, he added, “If this one doesn’t die, bring it into the yard. When we’re done with Araoud, we’ll get some more entertainments with it!”</p><p></p><p>It pleased the Beast to refer to a living mortal as an “it!” For as long as the Beast of Al Arouk could remember he had been referred to as an it by almost all men. He loved to return the favour. Striding along the short colonnade, past a single stand of olive trees, the Beast walked onto the marshalling yard of the frontier fort, expecting to see the Pasha and his few remaining guardsmen waiting to do homage. Instead the yard was empty. In fact, as he scanned the walls and doorways, he realised that he could see no one at all. </p><p></p><p>“Where are they all?” he asked no one in particular.</p><p></p><p>“Perhaps they are hiding,” offered one of his men with a shrug. The rest of the warband began to gather about the Beast, unsure of what to do next. This did not seem like the victory they had been expecting.</p><p></p><p>“WELL?!” screamed the Beast at the walls of the fort, as if the stone could give him an answer. “WHERE ARE THEY?!?”</p><p></p><p>His men shrunk back from him, familiar with his rages and fearful of impending violence. One noticed movement in the dark of one of the doorways, and with trembling hand, he pointed to his discovery. The Beast of Al Arouk pushed several of his men aside and strode with impending violence into the cool of the alchemist’s workshop. Many of the warband crowded into the small space, looking about for enemies. Some knocked over the clay jars, while others crowded around the firepit, curious as to what it was that the alchemist tended in his small iron pot.</p><p></p><p>“WHO ARE YOU?” screamed the Beast, all semblance of control lost now.</p><p></p><p>“I am Ibn Sagui,” replied the alchemist, calmly. “Alchemist to Pasha Araoud and the last mortal face you shall ever look upon.”</p><p></p><p>“What?” demanded the Beast, seizing Ibn Sagui by the collar and lifting him bodily from the ground. “You will die painfully…”</p><p></p><p>As he was lifted from the ground, Ibn Sagui let the iron poker with which he tended the fire fall hot end first into the nearest clay pot. Before the Beast of Al Arouk could finish his threat the liquid in the jar ignited, the force of its explosion setting off all of its fellows, the hundreds of clay jars. No one within the fort survived.</p><p></p><p>Both the alchemist Ibn Sagui and the Beast of Al Arouk perished as they had lived; the one serving his master, the other in a wild, all-consuming rage.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="NoOneofConsequence, post: 613294, member: 5400"] [b]A life in jars[/b] “Jars? Pottery jars? Bloody pottery jars!? Is this your master plan, old fool?” The pasha was clearly worn thin by the bitter siege, for his patience and insight were usually deeper. Alchemist Ibn Sagui cringed at his master’s shouting, frightened that, in his rage, Pasha Araoud would accidentally kick over some of the jars on the workshop floor. Such a event would be an unmitigated disaster and doubtless resolve the siege all too quickly. Quickly placing himself between the fort’s commander and the dozens of fired clay jars occupying every available space in the workshop. “Allow me to explain, master,” he pleaded, bowing his head and making pulling motions near his forehead as if tugging a forelock, though his bald and turbaned head offered no such fashion. “The jars will make it possible for you and your guard to escape, I promise.” “Speak quickly, alchemist. We have less than an hour until dawn,” Pasha Araoud scanned the sky through the workshop’s open doorway. Soon the deadline for the beast’s ultimatum would be upon them and he would have to surrender his people to the besieger’s ‘tender’ mercies. “A creature born of alchemy, can die by alchemy. For as the Prophet teaches, [i]As a man lives, so shall he perish![/i]” “I do not need a theology lesson, Ibn Sagui.” “I know, master,” agrees Ibn Sagui, holding up his hand to beg his master’s forbearance. He dipped a long metal spoon into the cauldron simmering on the coals of the workshop’s smaller firepit. The spoon head emerged with a dollop of thick white liquid. The alchemist stepped outside his workshop door onto the rough, chalky stone of the fort’s inner yard. Pouring the liquid onto ground, he returned to the workshop firepit, taking up a burning coal. Already fairly certain of what he was about to witness, Araoud followed to witness the impromptu demonstration. He was nearly knocked from his feet however when Ibn Agui touched coal to unction, by an explosion entirely disproportionate to the amount of substance. As he retook his feet, Pasha Araoud looked in wonder through the workshop doorway at the now vast seeming collection of jars. “How much…?” he asked, unable to complete the question. “Enough that you and your men must be far away when it is lit.” Nodding his understanding, Araoud said, “We will go now, while the shadows are still deep.” ---- At dawn the frontier fort’s only tower flew a red flag, the signal of complete surrender. The besieging warband let up a great cheer, and the sound drew the warband’s commander from his tent. Equal parts man and animal, the infamous Beast of Al Arouk had the body of slender youth, topped with the bearded head of a billy goat. The Beast’s band of blood thirsty followers had raided the border towns and trade routes for more than a year and now they were about to take their finest prize, Pasha Araoud, cousin to the Sultan himself. Naked to the waist, the Beast strode to the head of his army, watching with pleasure as the tattered red cloth flew from the tower. Seizing a spear, and with a braying shout, he ordered his men to follow him to take their latest possession. At the head of his rag tag band of cut throats, the Beast strode towards the rough walls of heavy sandstone which had opposed him for nearly three weeks. Now he was heedless of the possibility of archers on the rampart. Victory was his and he strode forth to claim it. Entering the tunnel beneath the walls his eyes scanned the murder holes for the barest of moments. A bold or desperate enemy might use this last chance to attempt an ambush. However, the Beast knew his enemies for cowards and, even if he were felled now, his men would rip the defenders to bits, so weak was the fort’s garrison. At the other end of the gate tunnel stood a single guard, and beyond, the drawbridge gate that had remained closed to him until today. As the Beast drew closer, with his best warriors striding to keep up with him, he saw that the waiting figure was not a guard, but a person of indistinguishable gender or identity, dressed in a simple flaxcloth shift and old leather sandals. With a voice that did nothing to reveal the figures gender or identity, the waiting servant said, “My master, Pasha Araoud bids you welcome, oh Beast of Al Arouk.” Without breaking stride the Beast thrust his spear into the servant’s belly. As the figure crumpled at his feet the Beast spat on the body, some of the spittle tangling in the hair around his mouth and then dribbling into his beard. “I’m your master, fool!” he said. Then turning to one of his men, he added, “If this one doesn’t die, bring it into the yard. When we’re done with Araoud, we’ll get some more entertainments with it!” It pleased the Beast to refer to a living mortal as an “it!” For as long as the Beast of Al Arouk could remember he had been referred to as an it by almost all men. He loved to return the favour. Striding along the short colonnade, past a single stand of olive trees, the Beast walked onto the marshalling yard of the frontier fort, expecting to see the Pasha and his few remaining guardsmen waiting to do homage. Instead the yard was empty. In fact, as he scanned the walls and doorways, he realised that he could see no one at all. “Where are they all?” he asked no one in particular. “Perhaps they are hiding,” offered one of his men with a shrug. The rest of the warband began to gather about the Beast, unsure of what to do next. This did not seem like the victory they had been expecting. “WELL?!” screamed the Beast at the walls of the fort, as if the stone could give him an answer. “WHERE ARE THEY?!?” His men shrunk back from him, familiar with his rages and fearful of impending violence. One noticed movement in the dark of one of the doorways, and with trembling hand, he pointed to his discovery. The Beast of Al Arouk pushed several of his men aside and strode with impending violence into the cool of the alchemist’s workshop. Many of the warband crowded into the small space, looking about for enemies. Some knocked over the clay jars, while others crowded around the firepit, curious as to what it was that the alchemist tended in his small iron pot. “WHO ARE YOU?” screamed the Beast, all semblance of control lost now. “I am Ibn Sagui,” replied the alchemist, calmly. “Alchemist to Pasha Araoud and the last mortal face you shall ever look upon.” “What?” demanded the Beast, seizing Ibn Sagui by the collar and lifting him bodily from the ground. “You will die painfully…” As he was lifted from the ground, Ibn Sagui let the iron poker with which he tended the fire fall hot end first into the nearest clay pot. Before the Beast of Al Arouk could finish his threat the liquid in the jar ignited, the force of its explosion setting off all of its fellows, the hundreds of clay jars. No one within the fort survived. Both the alchemist Ibn Sagui and the Beast of Al Arouk perished as they had lived; the one serving his master, the other in a wild, all-consuming rage. [/QUOTE]
Insert quotes…
Verification
Post reply
Community
Meta - Forums About Forums
Archive-threads
CERAMIC D.M. the final judgement is in!
Top