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Session Stories - Moments in Roleplaying (updated 6/15/2023)
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<blockquote data-quote="Nthal" data-source="post: 9103693" data-attributes="member: 6971069"><p style="text-align: center">“A Moonlight Sonata” - 8/21/2023</p><p></p><p></p><p>The trio of hunters had set camp, deep in the forest many leagues from Oakhurst. It had been a good day, as the three found and shot a twelve-point hart, which was now dressed and hung to dry in the cold night air. Tomorrow, they would strap their prize to the lone mule they brought and start the journey home. The only worry left, was to keep their kill from anything interested in a free meal.</p><p></p><p>It was the deepest time of night, edging towards the dawn and Haak had awoken Berg for his turn to watch the fire. A watch was needed here deep in the forest mostly to keep bears away. But truth be told, there were other things in the night to worry about besides bears. Monsters it was said would creep down from the mountains, ready to slay any who crossed their path. The three hunters trusted their skills, but they were wary nonetheless. They did not wish to become the hunted this evening. And so, it was Berg’s turn to watch, defend their kill and keep all safe.</p><p></p><p>But recently, it was said there was something else stalking the forest. A nearby settlement they passed, warned them that someone or something was preying on game deep within the woods. Several had found remains of fowl; plucked and dressed so it wasn’t an animal. Circles of stone with cold fires could be found sometimes, but little else; no sign of clearing or bedding down for an evening, or anything else that would make a proper camp. None knew who this mysterious hunter was, or where they lurked. Usually when a wandering huntsman came here, they would invariably kill far more than a single person could use. Most of them, would trade meat or hide at the nearest settlement for supplies, for any hunter would need new spears or arrows or any number of other things.</p><p></p><p>Yet none came forward to trade or talk. Whoever it was did not deign to visit the small settlements or make their presence known. Lone hunters were seen as a danger in the wilds, as it was never clear why they were alone. Everyone had heard of a story or two of a trapper gone mad from loneliness or tragedy. But this new mystery all smelled of superstition and nonsense to Berg; tales to pass the time and explain old hunts long forgotten. Or someone was too deep in their cups, looking to tell the tale of a fevered dream in exchange for another drink.</p><p></p><p>The moon was full and was directly overhead, casting her light across the forest. The branches swayed in the light breeze, casting shadows across the forest’s floor. The sound of the leaves on the wind, contrasted to the sudden popping of wood in the fire, now settling into low embers. A peaceful night as could be hoped for. Berg smiled to himself and drank happily from his skin of mead he brought, privately celebrating the successful hunt. But as Berg sat there, he realized that there was another sound on the wind. Berg lifted his head and turned it round, until his ears picked up the sound of an instrument in the distance. It was the soft tones of strings being plucked slowly. Deep tones in a rhythm, followed by haunting ones higher and clearer in clarity.</p><p></p><p>Berg was not a man of the arts; he liked his drinking ballads to be sure. Occasionally a bard would ply their skills in a tavern, and while he enjoyed the tunes, it wasn’t something he sought out. But this song, was different. The rhythm was slow and somber, and it echoed throughout the night. And it was a song unlike one he had ever heard before, that pulled on the strings of his own heart.</p><p></p><p>Berg stood, and turned his head around, to get a bearing on the music. Quickly he determined it was coming from the direction of a nearby stream where they had dressed the hart earlier that day. He quickly grabbed his hunting spear from where he leaned it against a tree. Then in the moonlight he cautiously crept towards the haunting melody he heard.</p><p></p><p>Berg felt no reason to fear; the only feeling he had was curiosity on who would be playing music here in the depths of the woods. He moved slowly, as while the light of the moon was good tonight, he still did not wish to stumble in the thick bracken undergrowth. Moving forward, he could hear the trickle of the stream nearby, which would be found on the other side of a rampart of earth and sod. Berg could feel the breeze on his face and smell the scent of the running waters ahead upwind. As he rounded the earthen mound to approach the stream, the music grew clearer. The pacing of the tones matched with the burbling waters of the stream ahead in a natural pleasing harmony. Finally, Berg made his way around, and there he saw the quarry he sought. He froze, holding his breath as he saw…her.</p><p></p><p>Across on the other bank of the stream, on a bluff of earth strewn with moss covered rock, sat a woman in a beam of moonlight. Her bare hands plucked on the strings of a wooden harp of some kind, with each note pulling at his heart. The breeze ran through her long dark crimson hair, causing it to dance around the instrument, free and wild. In the moonlight, the colors were all muted, yet he was somehow certain that her clothes matched the colors of the forest around her. But the moonlight caused the chain armor she wore to glisten in the night. She continued to play the nameless sonata here in the wilds, with no audience but herself, seemingly unaware of the hunter’s intrusion on her private concert.</p><p></p><p>Berg was entranced by the image of this woman, playing her song here in the night when it finally ended. The woman seemed to smile and stood. Her build was lean, and she was taller than most women that he knew. But she moved with a fluid, unrushed grace that would have made the barmaids in Oakhurst green with envy. She stretched her hands high overhead and then slung the instrument across her back. Then, she reached towards a tree and grasped a length of wood that seemed to be silvery white in color. As she turned, Berg saw it was a bow, the color of bone in the bright moonlight, with trails of dark ribbons streaming from the ends. It seemed unlike many other bows that he had seen before, more like a tree branch that had been grown into the shape of a bow, and less a single shaft of wood carved into one.</p><p></p><p>As she grasped the bow, she suddenly whirled, and turned to face Berg. Her stance was now crouched and low, her bow in her left hand stretched ahead of her with the weapon turned parallel to the ground. Her right had already notched an arrow, one with a silvery broad head, that glittered in the moon light. One that was pointed straight at Berg. Berg blinked in surprise, unclear how he could have been spotted and was about to speak when he heard another sound.</p><p></p><p>A heavy sound of panting through open jaws, and then the dull growl of an angry beast. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the black shadowy form of a wolf, its eyes glowing green in the darkness. Thoughts raced through his head on how he did not notice its approach. He cursed himself for being bewitched by the music of the woman by the stream. He gripped his spear tightly and prepared himself to fight for his life.</p><p></p><p>Suddenly, there was a rush of air, and the woman appeared beside him in a shower of leaves. She had not run or jumped across the water; there was no time. She simply was there, her full mane of crimson hair flowing behind her. And as she appeared, she let fly an arrow that shimmered in the dim moonlight. It streaked and struck the wolf, clean in the throat, silencing its growl. The force of the shot knocked it down to the ground, and the corpse slid on the earth until it struck a nearby tree. Berg was about to turn, when the woman, whirled around and with a swift motion drew a sword with her right hand and held it at Berg’s throat.</p><p></p><p>Berg swallowed nervously, gasping for air at this sudden turn of events. He released his grip on the spear he carried and slowly raised his hands to the sky in surrender. He then looked at his captor in the eyes, and what he saw took his breath away.</p><p></p><p>Her face was elegant, with high cheekbones, a slim slightly upturned nose, and a narrow chin. Her lips were full and were curled into the faintest hint of a snarl. It was then he saw two features that made him question his vision. The first were the slender pointed ears from beneath the waves of hair, the ears of an elf. But if that was a surprise, the second was a shock, as she stared intently into Berg’s eyes. He could not believe it, but her own eyes were a solid uniform color of green, that shimmered in the moonlight. There was no pupil or white to see in them, as she stared into Berg’s own seeking some knowledge. Then as he watched her nose twitched. She leaned in close to his face, as if approaching for a kiss. Berg stood there nervously, as their lips almost touched, when he realized that she wasn’t trying to steal one. She was instead lightly taking in his scent, sniffing around his mouth and cheeks. After a moment she backed away slowly, and he heard her whisper a single word:</p><p></p><p>“<em>Metheglin!<a href="https://www.enworld.org/#_ftn1" target="_blank"><strong>[1]</strong></a>”</em></p><p></p><p>They stood there for a moment as the woman’s snarl turned into a slight grin. She withdrew the sword from his neck and returned it to a scabbard on her hip.</p><p></p><p>“You are fortunate <em>bhin<a href="https://www.enworld.org/#_ftn2" target="_blank"><strong>[2]</strong></a></em>,” she said. The tone of her voice was soft and feathery, and she spoke with a strong accent Berg was not familiar with. Yet despite the criticism the tone of her voice was not unkind. It was instead concerned, as an adult would be about a wayward child. “The <em>vil</em><a href="https://www.enworld.org/#_ftn3" target="_blank">[3]</a> was a skilled hunter, staying downwind of you.” Berg cursed at himself, now realizing how he was caught unawares by the wolf. “But you are safe. For now.”</p><p></p><p>She left his side and moved to the fallen form of the wolf. Frowning she pulled out the splintered shaft of her arrow from its lifeless body.</p><p></p><p>“Broken; I will need to make another at first light.” She said looking at the shaft and returning it to a quiver on her back.</p><p></p><p>"I...I…um…that is…I…” Berg stammered trying to find the words to the questions he had.</p><p></p><p>“You are fortunate this is not the realm of Faerie, or that <em>vil</em> would be licking the marrow from your bones<em>.”</em> She then looked at Berg questioningly as Berg stood there stammering. “Where do you come from<em>?”</em></p><p></p><p>“Ah…uh…oh…Oakhurst,” Berg finally spat out.</p><p></p><p>“Oakhurst,” she said slowly, sounding out the name of the town distinctly. “How far is this place and which way would I find it?”</p><p></p><p>“It…it…is…uh, two or three days to the…uh…south east.”</p><p></p><p>She stared at Berg a moment and nodded. “Do they have a place that serves <em>metheglin…</em>what you call mead there?”</p><p></p><p>“What…oh…yes! Yes of course at th—”</p><p></p><p>“—Good. It has been almost a year since I had tasted <em>metheglin</em> upon my lips. Perhaps it is time that I should pay this, Oakhurst, a visit.” She said, cutting him off before he could give a name to his favorite inn. “You should be more careful; a hunter should not be such easy prey.” She then looked at the dead wolf and nudged it with her slim, booted foot. “Take it. I have no need for its meat or skin,”</p><p></p><p>“I…um…sure. Th-th-thank…you,” Berg managed to say.</p><p></p><p>The woman nodded simply, and said a curious phrase, “Sweet Water and Light Laughter, <em>bhin.” </em>And she started to follow the stream to the south when Berg finally mustered enough sense for a question.</p><p></p><p>“Um…sorry…who are you?” he said taking two steps after her.</p><p></p><p>She turned and looked at him again with those solid orbs, stilling him from any pursuit. After a moment she said, “Someone seeking a story to take home.”</p><p></p><p>“Ah…yes…but do you have a name?”</p><p></p><p>“Of course, <em>bhin. </em>Kyra. Take better care of yourself,” the woman said, and she disappeared into the depths of the forest, leaving Berg to question what he had seen.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>The next morning, his friends awoke surprised at the sight of a wolf’s hide, freshly dressed. But they could not get much out of Berg that day on how he managed to kill the beast, with no sign of his spear having even been used. In fact, it was apparent his mind was elsewhere as they broke camp and started the trek back to Oakhurst. As they marched along the game paths, they noticed that Berg was playing with something in his hands. On a closer look it was a silvery broadleaf arrowhead of a design they did not recognize. But when they asked about it, the only thing that Berg would say was:</p><p></p><p>“You wouldn’t believe my story.”</p><p></p><p></p><p>[HR][/HR]</p><p><a href="https://www.enworld.org/#_ftnref1" target="_blank">[1]</a> A mead flavored with herbs, as opposed to <em>melomel</em> which is flavored with fruit.</p><p><a href="https://www.enworld.org/#_ftnref2" target="_blank">[2]</a> ‘Young human male’ – Slang: <a href="http://www.candlekeep.com/library/articles/diction_elf.htm" target="_blank">Elven Dictionary</a></p><p><a href="https://www.enworld.org/#_ftnref3" target="_blank">[3]</a> Wolf - <a href="http://www.candlekeep.com/library/articles/diction_elf.htm" target="_blank">Elven Dictionary</a></p><p></p><p><strong>Notes:</strong></p><p>In my collection, this was for a campaign that technically has not started yet, and I wrote it right before COVID altered our world. </p><p></p><p>The concept was based on actually an different character, her twin. The premise is that the two twins in the Feywild were bored and made a bet to go seperate ways on the prime material plane, and would compare to see who had the best adventures after a decade. That character (Kyri An'Lath) was a Herald of the Storm, Barbarian and I played her in a small two month campaign with "The Blade" as DM. But I found an opportunity to make her sister (Kyra An'Lath) as a Horizon Ranger, using the Theros setting as some of the basis (Nyxborn, worshiper of Nylea) but in a custom geography, and wrote this as an intro for the DM's world to get to know what I was going with for a character.</p><p></p><p>And I'm still waiting with the others to start the adventure, as we rework our post COVID schedules.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Nthal, post: 9103693, member: 6971069"] [CENTER]“A Moonlight Sonata” - 8/21/2023[/CENTER] The trio of hunters had set camp, deep in the forest many leagues from Oakhurst. It had been a good day, as the three found and shot a twelve-point hart, which was now dressed and hung to dry in the cold night air. Tomorrow, they would strap their prize to the lone mule they brought and start the journey home. The only worry left, was to keep their kill from anything interested in a free meal. It was the deepest time of night, edging towards the dawn and Haak had awoken Berg for his turn to watch the fire. A watch was needed here deep in the forest mostly to keep bears away. But truth be told, there were other things in the night to worry about besides bears. Monsters it was said would creep down from the mountains, ready to slay any who crossed their path. The three hunters trusted their skills, but they were wary nonetheless. They did not wish to become the hunted this evening. And so, it was Berg’s turn to watch, defend their kill and keep all safe. But recently, it was said there was something else stalking the forest. A nearby settlement they passed, warned them that someone or something was preying on game deep within the woods. Several had found remains of fowl; plucked and dressed so it wasn’t an animal. Circles of stone with cold fires could be found sometimes, but little else; no sign of clearing or bedding down for an evening, or anything else that would make a proper camp. None knew who this mysterious hunter was, or where they lurked. Usually when a wandering huntsman came here, they would invariably kill far more than a single person could use. Most of them, would trade meat or hide at the nearest settlement for supplies, for any hunter would need new spears or arrows or any number of other things. Yet none came forward to trade or talk. Whoever it was did not deign to visit the small settlements or make their presence known. Lone hunters were seen as a danger in the wilds, as it was never clear why they were alone. Everyone had heard of a story or two of a trapper gone mad from loneliness or tragedy. But this new mystery all smelled of superstition and nonsense to Berg; tales to pass the time and explain old hunts long forgotten. Or someone was too deep in their cups, looking to tell the tale of a fevered dream in exchange for another drink. The moon was full and was directly overhead, casting her light across the forest. The branches swayed in the light breeze, casting shadows across the forest’s floor. The sound of the leaves on the wind, contrasted to the sudden popping of wood in the fire, now settling into low embers. A peaceful night as could be hoped for. Berg smiled to himself and drank happily from his skin of mead he brought, privately celebrating the successful hunt. But as Berg sat there, he realized that there was another sound on the wind. Berg lifted his head and turned it round, until his ears picked up the sound of an instrument in the distance. It was the soft tones of strings being plucked slowly. Deep tones in a rhythm, followed by haunting ones higher and clearer in clarity. Berg was not a man of the arts; he liked his drinking ballads to be sure. Occasionally a bard would ply their skills in a tavern, and while he enjoyed the tunes, it wasn’t something he sought out. But this song, was different. The rhythm was slow and somber, and it echoed throughout the night. And it was a song unlike one he had ever heard before, that pulled on the strings of his own heart. Berg stood, and turned his head around, to get a bearing on the music. Quickly he determined it was coming from the direction of a nearby stream where they had dressed the hart earlier that day. He quickly grabbed his hunting spear from where he leaned it against a tree. Then in the moonlight he cautiously crept towards the haunting melody he heard. Berg felt no reason to fear; the only feeling he had was curiosity on who would be playing music here in the depths of the woods. He moved slowly, as while the light of the moon was good tonight, he still did not wish to stumble in the thick bracken undergrowth. Moving forward, he could hear the trickle of the stream nearby, which would be found on the other side of a rampart of earth and sod. Berg could feel the breeze on his face and smell the scent of the running waters ahead upwind. As he rounded the earthen mound to approach the stream, the music grew clearer. The pacing of the tones matched with the burbling waters of the stream ahead in a natural pleasing harmony. Finally, Berg made his way around, and there he saw the quarry he sought. He froze, holding his breath as he saw…her. Across on the other bank of the stream, on a bluff of earth strewn with moss covered rock, sat a woman in a beam of moonlight. Her bare hands plucked on the strings of a wooden harp of some kind, with each note pulling at his heart. The breeze ran through her long dark crimson hair, causing it to dance around the instrument, free and wild. In the moonlight, the colors were all muted, yet he was somehow certain that her clothes matched the colors of the forest around her. But the moonlight caused the chain armor she wore to glisten in the night. She continued to play the nameless sonata here in the wilds, with no audience but herself, seemingly unaware of the hunter’s intrusion on her private concert. Berg was entranced by the image of this woman, playing her song here in the night when it finally ended. The woman seemed to smile and stood. Her build was lean, and she was taller than most women that he knew. But she moved with a fluid, unrushed grace that would have made the barmaids in Oakhurst green with envy. She stretched her hands high overhead and then slung the instrument across her back. Then, she reached towards a tree and grasped a length of wood that seemed to be silvery white in color. As she turned, Berg saw it was a bow, the color of bone in the bright moonlight, with trails of dark ribbons streaming from the ends. It seemed unlike many other bows that he had seen before, more like a tree branch that had been grown into the shape of a bow, and less a single shaft of wood carved into one. As she grasped the bow, she suddenly whirled, and turned to face Berg. Her stance was now crouched and low, her bow in her left hand stretched ahead of her with the weapon turned parallel to the ground. Her right had already notched an arrow, one with a silvery broad head, that glittered in the moon light. One that was pointed straight at Berg. Berg blinked in surprise, unclear how he could have been spotted and was about to speak when he heard another sound. A heavy sound of panting through open jaws, and then the dull growl of an angry beast. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the black shadowy form of a wolf, its eyes glowing green in the darkness. Thoughts raced through his head on how he did not notice its approach. He cursed himself for being bewitched by the music of the woman by the stream. He gripped his spear tightly and prepared himself to fight for his life. Suddenly, there was a rush of air, and the woman appeared beside him in a shower of leaves. She had not run or jumped across the water; there was no time. She simply was there, her full mane of crimson hair flowing behind her. And as she appeared, she let fly an arrow that shimmered in the dim moonlight. It streaked and struck the wolf, clean in the throat, silencing its growl. The force of the shot knocked it down to the ground, and the corpse slid on the earth until it struck a nearby tree. Berg was about to turn, when the woman, whirled around and with a swift motion drew a sword with her right hand and held it at Berg’s throat. Berg swallowed nervously, gasping for air at this sudden turn of events. He released his grip on the spear he carried and slowly raised his hands to the sky in surrender. He then looked at his captor in the eyes, and what he saw took his breath away. Her face was elegant, with high cheekbones, a slim slightly upturned nose, and a narrow chin. Her lips were full and were curled into the faintest hint of a snarl. It was then he saw two features that made him question his vision. The first were the slender pointed ears from beneath the waves of hair, the ears of an elf. But if that was a surprise, the second was a shock, as she stared intently into Berg’s eyes. He could not believe it, but her own eyes were a solid uniform color of green, that shimmered in the moonlight. There was no pupil or white to see in them, as she stared into Berg’s own seeking some knowledge. Then as he watched her nose twitched. She leaned in close to his face, as if approaching for a kiss. Berg stood there nervously, as their lips almost touched, when he realized that she wasn’t trying to steal one. She was instead lightly taking in his scent, sniffing around his mouth and cheeks. After a moment she backed away slowly, and he heard her whisper a single word: “[I]Metheglin![URL='https://www.enworld.org/#_ftn1'][B][1][/B][/URL]”[/I] They stood there for a moment as the woman’s snarl turned into a slight grin. She withdrew the sword from his neck and returned it to a scabbard on her hip. “You are fortunate [I]bhin[URL='https://www.enworld.org/#_ftn2'][B][2][/B][/URL][/I],” she said. The tone of her voice was soft and feathery, and she spoke with a strong accent Berg was not familiar with. Yet despite the criticism the tone of her voice was not unkind. It was instead concerned, as an adult would be about a wayward child. “The [I]vil[/I][URL='https://www.enworld.org/#_ftn3'][3][/URL] was a skilled hunter, staying downwind of you.” Berg cursed at himself, now realizing how he was caught unawares by the wolf. “But you are safe. For now.” She left his side and moved to the fallen form of the wolf. Frowning she pulled out the splintered shaft of her arrow from its lifeless body. “Broken; I will need to make another at first light.” She said looking at the shaft and returning it to a quiver on her back. "I...I…um…that is…I…” Berg stammered trying to find the words to the questions he had. “You are fortunate this is not the realm of Faerie, or that [I]vil[/I] would be licking the marrow from your bones[I].”[/I] She then looked at Berg questioningly as Berg stood there stammering. “Where do you come from[I]?”[/I] “Ah…uh…oh…Oakhurst,” Berg finally spat out. “Oakhurst,” she said slowly, sounding out the name of the town distinctly. “How far is this place and which way would I find it?” “It…it…is…uh, two or three days to the…uh…south east.” She stared at Berg a moment and nodded. “Do they have a place that serves [I]metheglin…[/I]what you call mead there?” “What…oh…yes! Yes of course at th—” “—Good. It has been almost a year since I had tasted [I]metheglin[/I] upon my lips. Perhaps it is time that I should pay this, Oakhurst, a visit.” She said, cutting him off before he could give a name to his favorite inn. “You should be more careful; a hunter should not be such easy prey.” She then looked at the dead wolf and nudged it with her slim, booted foot. “Take it. I have no need for its meat or skin,” “I…um…sure. Th-th-thank…you,” Berg managed to say. The woman nodded simply, and said a curious phrase, “Sweet Water and Light Laughter, [I]bhin.” [/I]And she started to follow the stream to the south when Berg finally mustered enough sense for a question. “Um…sorry…who are you?” he said taking two steps after her. She turned and looked at him again with those solid orbs, stilling him from any pursuit. After a moment she said, “Someone seeking a story to take home.” “Ah…yes…but do you have a name?” “Of course, [I]bhin. [/I]Kyra. Take better care of yourself,” the woman said, and she disappeared into the depths of the forest, leaving Berg to question what he had seen. The next morning, his friends awoke surprised at the sight of a wolf’s hide, freshly dressed. But they could not get much out of Berg that day on how he managed to kill the beast, with no sign of his spear having even been used. In fact, it was apparent his mind was elsewhere as they broke camp and started the trek back to Oakhurst. As they marched along the game paths, they noticed that Berg was playing with something in his hands. On a closer look it was a silvery broadleaf arrowhead of a design they did not recognize. But when they asked about it, the only thing that Berg would say was: “You wouldn’t believe my story.” [HR][/HR] [URL='https://www.enworld.org/#_ftnref1'][1][/URL] A mead flavored with herbs, as opposed to [I]melomel[/I] which is flavored with fruit. [URL='https://www.enworld.org/#_ftnref2'][2][/URL] ‘Young human male’ – Slang: [URL='http://www.candlekeep.com/library/articles/diction_elf.htm']Elven Dictionary[/URL] [URL='https://www.enworld.org/#_ftnref3'][3][/URL] Wolf - [URL='http://www.candlekeep.com/library/articles/diction_elf.htm']Elven Dictionary[/URL] [B]Notes:[/B] In my collection, this was for a campaign that technically has not started yet, and I wrote it right before COVID altered our world. The concept was based on actually an different character, her twin. The premise is that the two twins in the Feywild were bored and made a bet to go seperate ways on the prime material plane, and would compare to see who had the best adventures after a decade. That character (Kyri An'Lath) was a Herald of the Storm, Barbarian and I played her in a small two month campaign with "The Blade" as DM. But I found an opportunity to make her sister (Kyra An'Lath) as a Horizon Ranger, using the Theros setting as some of the basis (Nyxborn, worshiper of Nylea) but in a custom geography, and wrote this as an intro for the DM's world to get to know what I was going with for a character. And I'm still waiting with the others to start the adventure, as we rework our post COVID schedules. [/QUOTE]
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