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
The
VOIDRUNNER'S CODEX
is coming! Explore new worlds, fight oppressive empires, fend off fearsome aliens, and wield deadly psionics with this comprehensive boxed set expansion for 5E and A5E!
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
Citadel of the Iron Crown
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="Dlsharrock" data-source="post: 4306446" data-attributes="member: 55833"><p><span style="font-size: 12px">Part 1 - Burglars In Brethilost</span></p><p></p><p>The thrush espies the world from afar and above, an expanse of woodland from horizon to horizon, a sea of swaying green, though in this dusk the colour is more of muddy hues and a deep darkness there dwells in the heart of the trees. The bird glides 'neath emerging stars, then drops on a falling thermal, a breeze ruffling his wings and tail feathers. He banks aside and down like a dart toward islands of stone rising from the swell of trees; mountains, and they rise up to meet him amid the green. On their shoulders a tributary stream, a waterfall and tranquil pool where oft before the thrush has bathed and sung.</p><p></p><p>He drops unseen and alights on the branch of a tree just short of the rushing falls, where he surveys now the realm of Men. A camp hidden within the mountains, a place of sturdy wooden huts and canvas tents. The buildings stand on platforms raised against the steepness, while all about stand stumps of trees and debris. The tents are upon the banks of the river, and from them come palls of smoke and the smell of cooking food. Groups of Men gather hereabouts, surrounding pots and spits, or speaking softly in the shadows, the glowing embers of their pipes and bonfires casting light across their beards and whiskers.</p><p></p><p>At the heart of the camp is a round hut made of stone with a thatched roof and a skewed chimney. A light flickers in one window and from within comes the sound of voices. The thrush watches as five shapes, dark and fell, creep across the camp then sneak one by one through an open window at the rear of the building.</p><p></p><p>Three figures presently start walking towards the front of that selfsame hut, gravel softly crunching underfoot.</p><p></p><p>"Elf has been at it again," loudly grouses the foremost, a Dwarf surrounded by the clink of tools, the smell of singed leather. "Says Urander never should have cut that patch by the great oak! Says she has to - reconsider - the yards we were going to add to Matto's skidtrail!" Somehow though he's grining, the shocking blue of his eyes shining with reflected firelight. </p><p></p><p>The big yellow dog just trots besides them, much more interrested in looking around and about than in anything her two companions are doing.</p><p></p><p>"Bah! Pay her no heed" states the Dwarf's exact opposite, a tall, wide-shouldered man who looks more hewn from rock than grown of flesh and blood, "if it were up to the elf maiden, we'd have no trees to cut and no food on our plates, I know berries and nuts just ain't appetizing when you could have a nice cut of venison." He licks his lips imagining a haunch of venison over an open flame. He reaches down and scratches the dog behind the ears as they walk.</p><p></p><p>"Pay her no heed? She's confounded king's messenger, Ulfang." The foredwarf suddenly chuckles, a teasing sound in the gathering gloom, "And She of flowers is deadly hard to ignore, my friend. As you'd know if ever you'd actually tried."</p><p></p><p>The tall man named Ulfang chuckles as well, his naivity in the camp affairs is sometimes painfully obvious.</p><p></p><p>"Aye, that's probably right. I just never get involved with all that diplomacy talk, it's much better just worrying about keeping all the boys fed. Hells, you eat enough for three men Baran." Ulfang says with a wink, tossing a light jab his friends way. As they walk, the Rhovanian thinks how things have improved lately as a result of his friendship with the dwarf. He's not sure why Baran took it upon himself to help pull Ulfang back from the brink, but whatever the reason, he's thankful, even if he doesn't say so aloud.</p><p></p><p>"<em>Somebody's</em> got to work in this camp," grumbles the Dwarf in reply. He distractedly pats the hard roundness of his stomach : he *is* getting bigger, despite all the smithing, the constant camp repairs, the untangling of human mistakes and short-cut taking. Seems even his mind, his speech is getting more human than ever he'd have imagined... Hum.</p><p></p><p>The pair have arrived at the sturdy hut awarded to the camp foredwarf. "The Wainriders," he says, their thoughts rolling down similar ruts as his hand falls on the handle to his front door, "how are their wagons built?" It's a blow and he knows it, daily struck; but skin doesn't harden under caress. The dwarf holds open the door, watching the Ul boy take it in.</p><p></p><p>Ulfang's eyes glaze over at mention of the Wainriders, but he quickly blinks the reaction away. For a moment he seems angry, but then the stern set of his mouth softens into a wry smile. "Maybe we should sample some of that fabled dwarven ale I'm sure you got hiding around here Baran and I'll tell you all about it." He enters the hut, knowing that the dwarf is as likely to give him alcohol as Ulfang is to discuss the construction of the Wainriders wagons.</p><p></p><p>That squeezes some wry amusement from his companion : still... tender, it seems. Well, "The Nogrod of old, now they say <em>their</em> char-"</p><p></p><p>Suddenly there comes a crash and the sound of cursing voices from a room at the rear of the hut. "-riots." Surprise bliefly flickers across the Dwarf's features... and then he's charging his own door. Seconds later a heavily callused hand sends the planned boards banging against the outer wall. "What is going on in here!" he roars, feet planted.</p><p></p><p>It's not any of the loggers he knows though. No indeed : Ulfang and Baran are just in time to see five short figures - each wearing loose black robes to knee length tied at the waist, possibly with black belts, or maybe rope (either way hidden under folds of fabric) and cowls to cover their heads, black tights on skinny legs and black curly toed boots on their feet - scrambling through the back window. Caught unawares and unnarmed, Ulfang races across the room in an effort to snatch the trailing leg of the last burglar. Belly the dog barges past and races behind : now *this* is exciting! Only Baran remains planted in place, teeth clenched, sharp blue eyes wide and drinking, madly engraving the deep runes of dwarven memory.</p><p></p><p>Ulfang's hands fall on empty air and the intruders escape into the dusk. But not lightly does their pursuer take this defeat, and in a flash Ulfang decides to give chase, knowing that dark figures creeping in the night cannot mean any good. He leaps through the window and continues to chase the men as they make for the fringe of the woods. Baran watches, as if in a daze, then his eyes alight on something on the wall and his breath catches, a new flame kindles in his eyes. He follows Ulfang, yelling as he goes "THIEF, THIEF, THIEF!" </p><p></p><p>The thieves are running right and therefore so is Baran, ripping off his tool-ladden apron as he goes. One thing <em>was</em> missing you see, one thing out of place in the entire hut. The parchment of his fathers, a meagre heirloom brought forth from the halls of Moria, torn from its place upon the wall. One half still remains, hanging defiled from the uppermost wooden roller, attached well enough to the stone to resist the clumsy grasp of a burglar. The other half is gone.</p><p></p><p>Outside, a cry goes up and several workers at the camp are alerted to the five black clad figures dashing toward the fringe of trees.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Dlsharrock, post: 4306446, member: 55833"] [SIZE=3]Part 1 - Burglars In Brethilost[/SIZE] The thrush espies the world from afar and above, an expanse of woodland from horizon to horizon, a sea of swaying green, though in this dusk the colour is more of muddy hues and a deep darkness there dwells in the heart of the trees. The bird glides 'neath emerging stars, then drops on a falling thermal, a breeze ruffling his wings and tail feathers. He banks aside and down like a dart toward islands of stone rising from the swell of trees; mountains, and they rise up to meet him amid the green. On their shoulders a tributary stream, a waterfall and tranquil pool where oft before the thrush has bathed and sung. He drops unseen and alights on the branch of a tree just short of the rushing falls, where he surveys now the realm of Men. A camp hidden within the mountains, a place of sturdy wooden huts and canvas tents. The buildings stand on platforms raised against the steepness, while all about stand stumps of trees and debris. The tents are upon the banks of the river, and from them come palls of smoke and the smell of cooking food. Groups of Men gather hereabouts, surrounding pots and spits, or speaking softly in the shadows, the glowing embers of their pipes and bonfires casting light across their beards and whiskers. At the heart of the camp is a round hut made of stone with a thatched roof and a skewed chimney. A light flickers in one window and from within comes the sound of voices. The thrush watches as five shapes, dark and fell, creep across the camp then sneak one by one through an open window at the rear of the building. Three figures presently start walking towards the front of that selfsame hut, gravel softly crunching underfoot. "Elf has been at it again," loudly grouses the foremost, a Dwarf surrounded by the clink of tools, the smell of singed leather. "Says Urander never should have cut that patch by the great oak! Says she has to - reconsider - the yards we were going to add to Matto's skidtrail!" Somehow though he's grining, the shocking blue of his eyes shining with reflected firelight. The big yellow dog just trots besides them, much more interrested in looking around and about than in anything her two companions are doing. "Bah! Pay her no heed" states the Dwarf's exact opposite, a tall, wide-shouldered man who looks more hewn from rock than grown of flesh and blood, "if it were up to the elf maiden, we'd have no trees to cut and no food on our plates, I know berries and nuts just ain't appetizing when you could have a nice cut of venison." He licks his lips imagining a haunch of venison over an open flame. He reaches down and scratches the dog behind the ears as they walk. "Pay her no heed? She's confounded king's messenger, Ulfang." The foredwarf suddenly chuckles, a teasing sound in the gathering gloom, "And She of flowers is deadly hard to ignore, my friend. As you'd know if ever you'd actually tried." The tall man named Ulfang chuckles as well, his naivity in the camp affairs is sometimes painfully obvious. "Aye, that's probably right. I just never get involved with all that diplomacy talk, it's much better just worrying about keeping all the boys fed. Hells, you eat enough for three men Baran." Ulfang says with a wink, tossing a light jab his friends way. As they walk, the Rhovanian thinks how things have improved lately as a result of his friendship with the dwarf. He's not sure why Baran took it upon himself to help pull Ulfang back from the brink, but whatever the reason, he's thankful, even if he doesn't say so aloud. "[I]Somebody's[/I] got to work in this camp," grumbles the Dwarf in reply. He distractedly pats the hard roundness of his stomach : he *is* getting bigger, despite all the smithing, the constant camp repairs, the untangling of human mistakes and short-cut taking. Seems even his mind, his speech is getting more human than ever he'd have imagined... Hum. The pair have arrived at the sturdy hut awarded to the camp foredwarf. "The Wainriders," he says, their thoughts rolling down similar ruts as his hand falls on the handle to his front door, "how are their wagons built?" It's a blow and he knows it, daily struck; but skin doesn't harden under caress. The dwarf holds open the door, watching the Ul boy take it in. Ulfang's eyes glaze over at mention of the Wainriders, but he quickly blinks the reaction away. For a moment he seems angry, but then the stern set of his mouth softens into a wry smile. "Maybe we should sample some of that fabled dwarven ale I'm sure you got hiding around here Baran and I'll tell you all about it." He enters the hut, knowing that the dwarf is as likely to give him alcohol as Ulfang is to discuss the construction of the Wainriders wagons. That squeezes some wry amusement from his companion : still... tender, it seems. Well, "The Nogrod of old, now they say [I]their[/I] char-" Suddenly there comes a crash and the sound of cursing voices from a room at the rear of the hut. "-riots." Surprise bliefly flickers across the Dwarf's features... and then he's charging his own door. Seconds later a heavily callused hand sends the planned boards banging against the outer wall. "What is going on in here!" he roars, feet planted. It's not any of the loggers he knows though. No indeed : Ulfang and Baran are just in time to see five short figures - each wearing loose black robes to knee length tied at the waist, possibly with black belts, or maybe rope (either way hidden under folds of fabric) and cowls to cover their heads, black tights on skinny legs and black curly toed boots on their feet - scrambling through the back window. Caught unawares and unnarmed, Ulfang races across the room in an effort to snatch the trailing leg of the last burglar. Belly the dog barges past and races behind : now *this* is exciting! Only Baran remains planted in place, teeth clenched, sharp blue eyes wide and drinking, madly engraving the deep runes of dwarven memory. Ulfang's hands fall on empty air and the intruders escape into the dusk. But not lightly does their pursuer take this defeat, and in a flash Ulfang decides to give chase, knowing that dark figures creeping in the night cannot mean any good. He leaps through the window and continues to chase the men as they make for the fringe of the woods. Baran watches, as if in a daze, then his eyes alight on something on the wall and his breath catches, a new flame kindles in his eyes. He follows Ulfang, yelling as he goes "THIEF, THIEF, THIEF!" The thieves are running right and therefore so is Baran, ripping off his tool-ladden apron as he goes. One thing [I]was[/I] missing you see, one thing out of place in the entire hut. The parchment of his fathers, a meagre heirloom brought forth from the halls of Moria, torn from its place upon the wall. One half still remains, hanging defiled from the uppermost wooden roller, attached well enough to the stone to resist the clumsy grasp of a burglar. The other half is gone. Outside, a cry goes up and several workers at the camp are alerted to the five black clad figures dashing toward the fringe of trees. [/QUOTE]
Insert quotes…
Verification
Post reply
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
Citadel of the Iron Crown
Top