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
Playing the Game
Story Hour
Sins of Our Fathers - 2/10 - Final Update
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="Destan" data-source="post: 911218" data-attributes="member: 12157"><p><strong>The Agreement</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>John kicked a plush pillow toward the tent’s opening as Baden ducked under the flap. “Doubtless your ass is a bit sore.” John smiled, "From being on horseback too long, of course.” The dwarf wordlessly took his seat, his face a pool of shadow made darker from the brazier’s feeble embers.</p><p> </p><p>John sighed. <em>By lute and lyre, how have I ended up with such sour company?</em> The Pellman glanced about the room. A dwarf encased head-to-toe in dreadfully unfashionable mail, Baden creaked like a brothel bed every time he so much as stroked the butter from his beard.</p><p></p><p>A half-troll – ugly even by <em>their</em> standards – wrapped by the red cords of that insufferable, suffering god Ilmater. The great brute wheezed like a dying carp, and his snoring was enough to wake the Dead Gods.</p><p></p><p>In the corner of the hide tent was Kellus Varn, a Rhelmsman from Tarn Cal. He claimed to be a former Priest of Helm, yet made no attempt to hide his atheism. <em>Remind me not to ask him for healing</em>, John thought wryly. And Kellus' armor was even more archaic, if such was possible, than the moody dwarf’s.</p><p> </p><p>John eyed the black-cloaked warrior opposite him. At least Raylin mac Larren knew how to laugh at a joke, even if he couldn’t tell one to save his horse. The clansman sat next to the group’s ‘token’ elf, as John liked to call Amelyssan. The elf was from Grun Min, an island that sat arrogantly off the coast of Valusia in the cloud-swept Conomora Channel. Judging from the elf’s pompous veneer and lilting accent, he shared the haughtiness of his homeland. </p><p></p><p><em>We’re a walking band of stereotypes</em>, John thought, <em>and none of them good.</em></p><p></p><p>Aramin stoked the brazier coals with a sooty, ironshod staff. The tent’s illumination increased, but only momentarily. Soon thereafter dancing shadows reclaimed the faces of those assembled. Outside the wind whispered mournfully, save when it increased in intensity. Then John could hear it whistling through the bones of that great, dead serpent outside. <em>Now there's a poorly played tune.</em> The Pellman sighed wistfully.</p><p></p><p>Aramin eyed them each in turn, sharing John’s look for but a moment. Then he spoke. “I thank you for attending me this evening. I thank you for making the journey from Ciddry to here – the roads are unkind this time of year. I know you have come thus far because of my coins, and I know you will go no farther unless I promise more of the same.”</p><p></p><p>The man spoke matter-of-factly, his accent odd and guttural to John’s ears. Aramin casually gestured toward his waiting boy, a youth with a somber face and deplorably large ears. The boy walked forward carrying a chest nearly larger than he was. John sat straighter on his pillow.</p><p></p><p>Aramin pointed to an empty patch of dirt near the brazier and the boy set the chest down. The ancient Rornman produced a key in the shape of lizard’s tail and unlocked the clasp. He pushed the lid back. </p><p></p><p>John whistled long and low. “Well I, for one, am listening.”</p><p></p><p>Aramin smiled humorlessly at the bard then turned to his companions. “Six hundred crowns. Valudian mint. Pressed ten years past, before the White Empire began clipping her coins.”</p><p></p><p>John was uncertain some of his companions could do simple math, so he did it for them. “One hundred crowns each, lads. A princely sum, indeed.”</p><p></p><p>Raylin mac Larren tore his gaze from the chest. “A man don’t offer to pay that much, Rornman, unless his job be a hard one. You mean for us to do some wet work, eh?”</p><p></p><p>Aramin appeared puzzled. “Wet work? If you mean that bloodshed may be involved, then – yes – I mean for you all to do some wet work.”</p><p></p><p>“Who?” Amelyssan’s eyes glowed golden in the firelight. “Or what?”</p><p></p><p>Aramin withdrew his palsied hand, allowing the gold to remain visible. “I am uncertain. There is an item I would have. It is now held by others.”</p><p></p><p>Baden’s armor creaked as he drew the axe from his belt and set it on the floor next to his pillow. John recognized the dwarven custom of baring steel during important discussions - it simply meant that no half-truths would be tolerated. From a people that regularly greeted one another with the words, "<em>Shen tu Fundin!</em> Speak or be cloven!" John supposed it should be expected. </p><p></p><p>Baden spoke softly, “Tell us the whole of it, Rornman. We are not in the mood for more riddles.”</p><p></p><p>For once John was in agreement with the dour dwarf, if not in the relatively melodramatic manner he presented his desire. The bard leaned forward and pulled a single crown from the chest. He stared at the face of the Popa Popalis, one of the leaders of Valudia, then flipped the coin into the air and studied the reverse. “1355 DR. Over ten years old.”</p><p></p><p>Aramin’s eyes flashed. “I do not lie, Pellman.”</p><p></p><p><em>No, you don't,</em> agreed John silently. <em>Not about the coins, at any rate.</em></p><p></p><p>The Rornman waited for John to return the crown to the chest before continuing. “Do all of you know your history?" Aramin paused theatrically, a look of disdain crossing his features. "I thought as much.</p><p></p><p>“Early in this Age, perhaps one hundred years after Demos had fallen to the Apians, a demon made himself known in the hills south of Tarn Cal.” John saw Kellus’ eyes narrow at the mention of his homeland. “The demon’s name was Ippizicus. Called Child-Eater. He demanded tribute from the worthies of Tarn Cal. Until they paid him in full, he vowed to wreak havoc among the patrols and caravans traveling the Kingsway south of the Prince’s Tower.”</p><p></p><p>Kellus’ voice was soft. “A tribute, indeed. He demanded children. One per tenday.”</p><p></p><p>Aramin nodded. “And the Rhelmsmen, much to their eternal shame, paid it. Six months and near twenty children later, they were still paying it. Ippizicus, for the most part, held to his bargain. He turned his savagery against the nearby dwarves of the Balantir Cor, and the few tribes of gammedrel elves still nestled in the foothills during those days. It wasn’t Rhelmsmen being slain, so the leaders of Tarn Cal turned a jaundiced eye to his reavings.</p><p></p><p>“But fate intervened. For the children of Tarn Cal were chosen by lots, and the second son of Margate, Bishop of Gond, was designated as the next sacrifice. Margate was large, a former blacksmith of no small reknown, and he was not one to let his son become a demon’s feast…though it might be noted he never once raised his voice earlier, when it was other women’s children being sent to Ippizicus’ hill.”</p><p></p><p>Kellus frowned. John could see that the Rhelmsman knew the tale - and did not like hearing it. Aramin paid none of them any mind. “Margate swaddled himself in the armor of his god, took up his maul, and struck off southward for the hills. He found Ippizicus and defeated him.”</p><p></p><p>“Your story-telling skills are lacking,” John observed. “You give no recounting of the battle?”</p><p></p><p>“I'll leave the tale-telling and story-weaving to those more inclined to such pursuits.” Aramin and John shared a silent look. “As I said, the demon was defeated - but not slain. Margate knew his priestly teachings – a demon could only be truly slain on his home plane, ‘lest his true name be known. Margate did not know Ippizicus’ true name-"</p><p></p><p>"More's the pity," murmured John.</p><p></p><p>Aramin ignored his interruption. “So the Gondian Bishop imprisoned the creature in a staff made for such a purpose. So that the demon would not escape, and so that men would remember their shame, he sundered the staff into three parts. The first was taken to the city of Rhelm, the second to be held in the Gondian Temple in Tarn Cal, and the third sent to the White City of Val Hor itself.”</p><p></p><p>Amelyssan steepled delicate fingers in front of his face. “It appears, to me, that you do not seek the return of one item, but of three.” The elf had a way of pausing during his speech that annoyed John and his musician's ear.</p><p></p><p>Aramin nodded. “True. The gold, however, but pays for the first. Should you return that piece to me, we can further discuss matters.”</p><p></p><p>“Then, I ask again – who?” Amelyssan fixed his amber eyes on the Rornman. “Who has the piece, of the staff, you now seek?”</p><p></p><p>“A band of humanoids. I know not how they came upon it. All learned men know the staff’s pieces went missing many hundreds of years ago as memory faded and their importance – and their lessons - were forgotten. Doubtless they have traveled the entire isle in the interim – from one unknowing hand to another.”</p><p></p><p>Raylin mac Larren rubbed his hands together. “I have hunted and killed many rûcken upon these very plains. This is no large task. Tell us where they are, or where they have been, and it shall be done.”</p><p></p><p>“Only a day’s ride from here, of course. Else why bring you to the bones of the Doom Lizard?”</p><p></p><p>“Why indeed?” John asked. But his fears were suppressed by the nearness of gold.</p><p></p><p>Aramin looked about the fire. “I ask you, each of you – will you do this thing?”</p><p></p><p>John watched the dwarf nod, once, curtly. The half-troll groaned his agreement even as Amelyssan and Kellus muttered their own assent. <em>Well, then,</em> thought John, <em>we may be an odd bunch, but it seems we like gold as much as the next fool.</em></p><p></p><p>The Pellman pantomined a drumroll on his knee. He flashed even, white teeth at the old Rornman. “It appears you have purchased our services, Master Aramin.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Destan, post: 911218, member: 12157"] [b]The Agreement[/b] John kicked a plush pillow toward the tent’s opening as Baden ducked under the flap. “Doubtless your ass is a bit sore.” John smiled, "From being on horseback too long, of course.” The dwarf wordlessly took his seat, his face a pool of shadow made darker from the brazier’s feeble embers. John sighed. [i]By lute and lyre, how have I ended up with such sour company?[/i] The Pellman glanced about the room. A dwarf encased head-to-toe in dreadfully unfashionable mail, Baden creaked like a brothel bed every time he so much as stroked the butter from his beard. A half-troll – ugly even by [i]their[/i] standards – wrapped by the red cords of that insufferable, suffering god Ilmater. The great brute wheezed like a dying carp, and his snoring was enough to wake the Dead Gods. In the corner of the hide tent was Kellus Varn, a Rhelmsman from Tarn Cal. He claimed to be a former Priest of Helm, yet made no attempt to hide his atheism. [i]Remind me not to ask him for healing[/i], John thought wryly. And Kellus' armor was even more archaic, if such was possible, than the moody dwarf’s. John eyed the black-cloaked warrior opposite him. At least Raylin mac Larren knew how to laugh at a joke, even if he couldn’t tell one to save his horse. The clansman sat next to the group’s ‘token’ elf, as John liked to call Amelyssan. The elf was from Grun Min, an island that sat arrogantly off the coast of Valusia in the cloud-swept Conomora Channel. Judging from the elf’s pompous veneer and lilting accent, he shared the haughtiness of his homeland. [i]We’re a walking band of stereotypes[/i], John thought, [i]and none of them good.[/i] Aramin stoked the brazier coals with a sooty, ironshod staff. The tent’s illumination increased, but only momentarily. Soon thereafter dancing shadows reclaimed the faces of those assembled. Outside the wind whispered mournfully, save when it increased in intensity. Then John could hear it whistling through the bones of that great, dead serpent outside. [i]Now there's a poorly played tune.[/i] The Pellman sighed wistfully. Aramin eyed them each in turn, sharing John’s look for but a moment. Then he spoke. “I thank you for attending me this evening. I thank you for making the journey from Ciddry to here – the roads are unkind this time of year. I know you have come thus far because of my coins, and I know you will go no farther unless I promise more of the same.” The man spoke matter-of-factly, his accent odd and guttural to John’s ears. Aramin casually gestured toward his waiting boy, a youth with a somber face and deplorably large ears. The boy walked forward carrying a chest nearly larger than he was. John sat straighter on his pillow. Aramin pointed to an empty patch of dirt near the brazier and the boy set the chest down. The ancient Rornman produced a key in the shape of lizard’s tail and unlocked the clasp. He pushed the lid back. John whistled long and low. “Well I, for one, am listening.” Aramin smiled humorlessly at the bard then turned to his companions. “Six hundred crowns. Valudian mint. Pressed ten years past, before the White Empire began clipping her coins.” John was uncertain some of his companions could do simple math, so he did it for them. “One hundred crowns each, lads. A princely sum, indeed.” Raylin mac Larren tore his gaze from the chest. “A man don’t offer to pay that much, Rornman, unless his job be a hard one. You mean for us to do some wet work, eh?” Aramin appeared puzzled. “Wet work? If you mean that bloodshed may be involved, then – yes – I mean for you all to do some wet work.” “Who?” Amelyssan’s eyes glowed golden in the firelight. “Or what?” Aramin withdrew his palsied hand, allowing the gold to remain visible. “I am uncertain. There is an item I would have. It is now held by others.” Baden’s armor creaked as he drew the axe from his belt and set it on the floor next to his pillow. John recognized the dwarven custom of baring steel during important discussions - it simply meant that no half-truths would be tolerated. From a people that regularly greeted one another with the words, "[i]Shen tu Fundin![/i] Speak or be cloven!" John supposed it should be expected. Baden spoke softly, “Tell us the whole of it, Rornman. We are not in the mood for more riddles.” For once John was in agreement with the dour dwarf, if not in the relatively melodramatic manner he presented his desire. The bard leaned forward and pulled a single crown from the chest. He stared at the face of the Popa Popalis, one of the leaders of Valudia, then flipped the coin into the air and studied the reverse. “1355 DR. Over ten years old.” Aramin’s eyes flashed. “I do not lie, Pellman.” [i]No, you don't,[/i] agreed John silently. [i]Not about the coins, at any rate.[/i] The Rornman waited for John to return the crown to the chest before continuing. “Do all of you know your history?" Aramin paused theatrically, a look of disdain crossing his features. "I thought as much. “Early in this Age, perhaps one hundred years after Demos had fallen to the Apians, a demon made himself known in the hills south of Tarn Cal.” John saw Kellus’ eyes narrow at the mention of his homeland. “The demon’s name was Ippizicus. Called Child-Eater. He demanded tribute from the worthies of Tarn Cal. Until they paid him in full, he vowed to wreak havoc among the patrols and caravans traveling the Kingsway south of the Prince’s Tower.” Kellus’ voice was soft. “A tribute, indeed. He demanded children. One per tenday.” Aramin nodded. “And the Rhelmsmen, much to their eternal shame, paid it. Six months and near twenty children later, they were still paying it. Ippizicus, for the most part, held to his bargain. He turned his savagery against the nearby dwarves of the Balantir Cor, and the few tribes of gammedrel elves still nestled in the foothills during those days. It wasn’t Rhelmsmen being slain, so the leaders of Tarn Cal turned a jaundiced eye to his reavings. “But fate intervened. For the children of Tarn Cal were chosen by lots, and the second son of Margate, Bishop of Gond, was designated as the next sacrifice. Margate was large, a former blacksmith of no small reknown, and he was not one to let his son become a demon’s feast…though it might be noted he never once raised his voice earlier, when it was other women’s children being sent to Ippizicus’ hill.” Kellus frowned. John could see that the Rhelmsman knew the tale - and did not like hearing it. Aramin paid none of them any mind. “Margate swaddled himself in the armor of his god, took up his maul, and struck off southward for the hills. He found Ippizicus and defeated him.” “Your story-telling skills are lacking,” John observed. “You give no recounting of the battle?” “I'll leave the tale-telling and story-weaving to those more inclined to such pursuits.” Aramin and John shared a silent look. “As I said, the demon was defeated - but not slain. Margate knew his priestly teachings – a demon could only be truly slain on his home plane, ‘lest his true name be known. Margate did not know Ippizicus’ true name-" "More's the pity," murmured John. Aramin ignored his interruption. “So the Gondian Bishop imprisoned the creature in a staff made for such a purpose. So that the demon would not escape, and so that men would remember their shame, he sundered the staff into three parts. The first was taken to the city of Rhelm, the second to be held in the Gondian Temple in Tarn Cal, and the third sent to the White City of Val Hor itself.” Amelyssan steepled delicate fingers in front of his face. “It appears, to me, that you do not seek the return of one item, but of three.” The elf had a way of pausing during his speech that annoyed John and his musician's ear. Aramin nodded. “True. The gold, however, but pays for the first. Should you return that piece to me, we can further discuss matters.” “Then, I ask again – who?” Amelyssan fixed his amber eyes on the Rornman. “Who has the piece, of the staff, you now seek?” “A band of humanoids. I know not how they came upon it. All learned men know the staff’s pieces went missing many hundreds of years ago as memory faded and their importance – and their lessons - were forgotten. Doubtless they have traveled the entire isle in the interim – from one unknowing hand to another.” Raylin mac Larren rubbed his hands together. “I have hunted and killed many rûcken upon these very plains. This is no large task. Tell us where they are, or where they have been, and it shall be done.” “Only a day’s ride from here, of course. Else why bring you to the bones of the Doom Lizard?” “Why indeed?” John asked. But his fears were suppressed by the nearness of gold. Aramin looked about the fire. “I ask you, each of you – will you do this thing?” John watched the dwarf nod, once, curtly. The half-troll groaned his agreement even as Amelyssan and Kellus muttered their own assent. [i]Well, then,[/i] thought John, [i]we may be an odd bunch, but it seems we like gold as much as the next fool.[/i] The Pellman pantomined a drumroll on his knee. He flashed even, white teeth at the old Rornman. “It appears you have purchased our services, Master Aramin.” [/QUOTE]
Insert quotes…
Verification
Post reply
Community
Playing the Game
Story Hour
Sins of Our Fathers - 2/10 - Final Update
Top