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Sins of Our Fathers II - New Art Uploaded - 1/25
- Thread starter Destan
- Start date
Baron Opal
First Post
Well, that was fun...
Re-discovered the Story Hour last week, just finished reading this thread. Delightful, Destan. Things like this may one day inspire me to write and regale our fellow members with tales of Kericindal.
A marvelous read, and I look forward to seeing your work in print.
Baron Opal
PS: I first noticed this story hour nearly a year ago, but I didn't quite realize it until I noticed Part II. I'm one of those fickle lurkers who forgets story hours when postings are too far apart.
Re-discovered the Story Hour last week, just finished reading this thread. Delightful, Destan. Things like this may one day inspire me to write and regale our fellow members with tales of Kericindal.
A marvelous read, and I look forward to seeing your work in print.
Baron Opal
PS: I first noticed this story hour nearly a year ago, but I didn't quite realize it until I noticed Part II. I'm one of those fickle lurkers who forgets story hours when postings are too far apart.
Last edited:
Ramien Meltides
First Post
Destan,
Let me add my voice to the many others here to say how impressed I am by your writing skills and your story hour. I'm a rather discriminating reader (some call me PICKY), as your story hour makes only the second I have ever followed (after Piratecat's). I plan to be at GenCon and will definitely stop by your booth to pick up your product - congratulations on getting your work published, I think you definitely deserve the showcasing of your talent.
Keep up the great work and I look forward to meeting you!
Let me add my voice to the many others here to say how impressed I am by your writing skills and your story hour. I'm a rather discriminating reader (some call me PICKY), as your story hour makes only the second I have ever followed (after Piratecat's). I plan to be at GenCon and will definitely stop by your booth to pick up your product - congratulations on getting your work published, I think you definitely deserve the showcasing of your talent.
Keep up the great work and I look forward to meeting you!
WizarDru
Adventurer
Might I suggest a trifecta? Go read Sepulchrave's Story Hour, and then you'll have the current big three, in my mind.Ramien Meltides said:
You can go to the Compiled Tales of Wyre thread, if you're so inclined. You'll be quite a while before you reach the current chapters of the Mesalliance, part 2.
Lela
First Post
As long as we're doing something useful with bumping, let me add Old One's Fadded Glory to the list. Both are amazing and both are read by the great Destan (so this isn't entirely off topicWizarDru said:Might I suggest a trifecta? Go read Sepulchrave's Story Hour, and then you'll have the current big three, in my mind.
).
Destan
Citizen of Val Hor
I meant to give you cats a much longer update; it's been over a month since the last one (a new, unfortunate record). I've been busy finishing the Return of Ippizicus Child-Eater module, and have slackened on the responsibilities I owe the Brothers of Olgotha and their loyal readers.
If you're here, reading this, then it means you stuck with me through a desert bereft of updates. You have my apology, and my thanks.
If you're heading to GenCon, look me up at the Different Worlds booth. In the name of PR, I'll be in a large, dunking machine. You could hurl some giant d20's at me. It'll be fun for the whole gaming family.
---------------
Chapter V
Baden pivoted, keeping his axe low and at the ready, and sought to pierce the blizzard with his darkvision. Hoth was to his left, close, and Tamil to his right, further off. He felt the reassuring pressure of Pemm’s back against his own. But, beyond their small circle, the Weedsea remained hidden. Darkvision was useless in the blowing snow, and the lightning flashing overhead only changed Baden’s blindness from black to white.
Baden rested his free hand on Hoth’s arm and turned his head toward Tamil. Once the dwarf looked in his direction, Baden jerked his chin forward. The four Axemarch warriors moved ahead as one unit, knee-deep in snow, to a small hillock. Baden tripped, tried to catch himself, and failed.
Baden regained his feet, grumbling. “I should have been a smith.”
“Or a dancer.”
Baden hadn’t realized he had spoken aloud. He risked a wry glance toward Hoth –
- and saw them.
Baden suddenly recalled one of John’s stories about swimming in the Castamere Bay. Sharks, the Pellman had said, could appear seemingly from nothing, though the seas were clear as glass in all directions. It was much the same here. Three wolven had come upon them, silent, deadly.
And somewhere out there, still hidden, was that great horned bastard. Dammit.
Baden had no time to be graceful. He stepped toward the nearest wolf, crouching, and brought Borbidan’s axe upward in a cruel stroke. It was a horrid wound, a good wound. An icy mist billowed over Baden as the beast bit his arm, teeth puncturing the iron of his bracer. Baden wrenched his arm upward and found himself staring at a single, azure eye. A fine target. The dwarf thrust the end-spike of his axe into the orb.
The wolven was heavy in death. One down. Baden twisted his forearm and let both bracer and beast fall onto the snow underfoot.
Now, you horned toad, where be you hidin’?
Hoth was engaged with another of the wolven, and Pemm and Tamil battled the third. Baden hesitated. Should he assist his companions, or remain facing the darkness where he had last seen the Dreth? Lightning flashed and gave him his answer; the horned leader of the hunt had shifted to Baden’s left. It held something slender in one hand – a rapier?
No – a wand. When lighting again flashed, it did not come from the heavens. A white splinter shot through the night and exploded against Baden’s hauberk. The dwarf went numb, his heart momentarily frozen from the shock. His chest and arms tingled, and his ears hummed.
Baden was unsure how many such attacks he could endure. He had issued only one command prior to the battle – to remain together. But he had always been better at issuing orders than following them. Baden took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and marched blindly into the tempest.
It was a sickeningly slow journey; the snow was deep and the blizzard stinging. Baden hoped the Dreth could not see any better than he could. The creature had used the wand immediately after lightning had lit the tableau, so perhaps such a hope was not in vain.
Lightning came.
Baden swore, startled. The Horned Hunter was next to him, close enough to cuddle. Baden fell more than dove to the ground as another bolt streaked from the wand, stinging the back of his neck in its passage. Baden reached into the darkness, felt a boot, and swung his axe. The swing was weak, one-handed, but it met resistance and went through it. Something hot and wet splattered onto Baden’s cheeks.
Baden swung again, fighting blind, and missed. He rolled to one knee, gained his feet. Come lightning, come.
A seeming eternity passed until, finally, lightning once more ripped across the vault.
“Tamil, behind you!”
Baden was running even as he shouted. The Dreth had somehow outflanked him in the darkness and was now next to Tamil. Baden saw the bodies of all three wolven in the snow during the brief illumination. But the wolven were not what worried him.
Scenes of horror came in intervals as lightning crackled sporadically overhead. Light – the Dreth and Tamil faced one another – darkness. Light – the Dreth held Tamil by the neck, arm outstretched, the dwarf’s feet kicking feebly above the snow – darkness. Light – the same scene, but no longer did Tamil kick – darkness.
“Hoth! Pemm! To Tamil!” Baden sprinted in the direction he had last seen his friend, falling, crawling, standing, running. “Save him!”
The blizzard lessened, if only momentarily, but the change allowed Baden’s darkvision to suddenly regain its effectiveness. There was Hoth, swinging his axe at the Horned Hunter like a man cutting wood. And there was Pemm, arms wrapped about Tamil’s waist as he desperately tried to pull him from the Dreth’s grip.
Baden and his rage arrived simultaneously. Borbidan’s axe bit once, twice, three times. The Horned Hunter stood, tall and still as an oak, its blood spurting like tree sap onto the snow. Yet – still – its bony fingers remained wrapped about Tamil’s neck.
Baden dropped his axe into the snow and leapt toward the Dreth. He wrapped one arm about the fiend’s neck, allowing the momentum of his jump and the weight of his body to pull the creature downward. They landed hard, sank beneath the pristine mantle, and impacted the frozen turf of the Weedsea. Baden rolled atop the creature’s chest, saw amber eyes, and dug both gauntleted thumbs into them. The Dreth writhed like a serpent, its shrieks carrying above the sounds of the blizzard.
***
“Baden. It is finished.”
Baden’s vision cleared as reality swam upward to meet him. He was lying atop a velvet, black cloak. Gone were the yellow eyes. And gone, too, was the Dreth. His thumbs were now pressed against the back of an empty, horned helm.
“Dead?”
“Mayhaps.” Hoth shrugged. He stood looking down onto Baden, grizzled face gone soft. “But we have other problems, friend.”
Tamil. Baden sat upright, wiped snow from his eyes, and swiveled his gaze. Tamil lay crumpled in the snow not far from him. Baden clawed his way across the tundra, creating a furrow in his wake. “Pemm, you ass! Heal him!”
“He is beyond my powers, nil-thain.” Pemm’s voice was pitched low.
Baden reached out, threw Tamil’s helm aside, and cradled the dwarf’s head in his lap. I lost your brother. I will not now lose you. “He lives.”
“Aye, he does.” Hoth knelt as the blizzard loosed it hold upon the land. He placed tender fingers against Tamil’s chin and turned the dwarf’s head to reveal ugly, swollen gashes. Pus, green and thick, oozed from the wounds.
Baden did not need to ask, but he did anyway. “Poison?”
“Poison – the like of which I’ve never seen.” Hoth stood and surveyed the darkness. “The blizzard lessens. We dare not tarry.”
Baden was quiet. Falling snow, light and dancing, gathered upon his shoulders.
“Baden,” Pemm began in the voice of a priest, “I have tried. Truly, I have. Tamil is beyond Moradin’s aid-”
“I will not leave him.” Baden’s voice was flat, cold as the weather. “Go, if you must.”
But neither Hoth nor Pemm did go. The three dwarves huddled over the body of their fallen comrade, even as the storm increased in intensity once more. After a time, Hoth threw his cloak over Tamil’s body. The Ironfist Captain took a seat next to Baden. “You will wait with him, and so we shall wait with you. But,” Hoth raised a finger, voice soft, “in the end, we must leave him.”
“He yet fights.” Baden looked at Hoth through eyesight grown blurry from tears. “Tamil has always been a fighter. In the mines, against the cave troll, he fought. And he fights now.”
The storm would soon be too much for words. Winds raged and raced across the Weedsea, blowing walls of snow that threatened to entomb the dwarves. Baden tore his gaze from Tamil’s pale face. He looked to Hoth. “Make for the ruined tower – the one we saw earlier. The ponies…the ponies we will find in the morning, dead or no.”
Hoth nodded, paused for a moment, then stood. “We will start a fire. I’d rather die to Dreth or wolven than the cold. When…when you are ready, make toward our flame.”
***
Baden stepped through the archway at the base of the old Epalan tower. He knelt, placed Tamil’s body onto the ground. He felt Pemm’s eyes upon him. “He lives, and I would not have him die alone, out there, in the cold.”
Pemm moved aside so Baden could position Tamil nearest the flames. “Hoth is above, on the parapets, though I know not why – nothing can be seen in this blizzard.”
“He will freeze.” Baden exchanged Hoth’s cloak for his own, gently tucking the material around Tamil’s inert form. Baden strode deeper into the ruins, staring upward. Much of the tower’s interior had collapsed, but a few floor planks yet remained. “Come down, Captain of Ironfist. You have not your cloak.”
Baden waited while the dwarf descended. Hoth stopped before him, shivering from the cold, though he made no mention of it. His face was pale, and ice had formed upon his beard. Baden held out the cloak, saying nothing, but Hoth did not immediately take it. The Ironfist dwarf stared at it as if it were a snake. He looked up, found Baden’s eyes.
The two shared a long look only dwarven warriors could, and a great many things passed unspoken between them.
Finally, Hoth nodded. He took the furred cloak, wrapped it about his shoulders. “It…it will be hard, with the ground frozen, but we can dig a hole in the morn-”
“Tamil yet lives.”
Hoth’s head snapped up. Frozen fingers began to undo the cloak. “Then Tamil should-”
“No, keep it. I gave him mine. And there…there is a fire, regardless. Come,” Baden laid a hand on Hoth’s icy arm, “let us hold our vigil there, by the flames, and think of Moradin and his forges.”
And so they did.
If you're here, reading this, then it means you stuck with me through a desert bereft of updates. You have my apology, and my thanks.
If you're heading to GenCon, look me up at the Different Worlds booth. In the name of PR, I'll be in a large, dunking machine. You could hurl some giant d20's at me. It'll be fun for the whole gaming family.
---------------
Chapter V
Baden pivoted, keeping his axe low and at the ready, and sought to pierce the blizzard with his darkvision. Hoth was to his left, close, and Tamil to his right, further off. He felt the reassuring pressure of Pemm’s back against his own. But, beyond their small circle, the Weedsea remained hidden. Darkvision was useless in the blowing snow, and the lightning flashing overhead only changed Baden’s blindness from black to white.
Baden rested his free hand on Hoth’s arm and turned his head toward Tamil. Once the dwarf looked in his direction, Baden jerked his chin forward. The four Axemarch warriors moved ahead as one unit, knee-deep in snow, to a small hillock. Baden tripped, tried to catch himself, and failed.
Baden regained his feet, grumbling. “I should have been a smith.”
“Or a dancer.”
Baden hadn’t realized he had spoken aloud. He risked a wry glance toward Hoth –
- and saw them.
Baden suddenly recalled one of John’s stories about swimming in the Castamere Bay. Sharks, the Pellman had said, could appear seemingly from nothing, though the seas were clear as glass in all directions. It was much the same here. Three wolven had come upon them, silent, deadly.
And somewhere out there, still hidden, was that great horned bastard. Dammit.
Baden had no time to be graceful. He stepped toward the nearest wolf, crouching, and brought Borbidan’s axe upward in a cruel stroke. It was a horrid wound, a good wound. An icy mist billowed over Baden as the beast bit his arm, teeth puncturing the iron of his bracer. Baden wrenched his arm upward and found himself staring at a single, azure eye. A fine target. The dwarf thrust the end-spike of his axe into the orb.
The wolven was heavy in death. One down. Baden twisted his forearm and let both bracer and beast fall onto the snow underfoot.
Now, you horned toad, where be you hidin’?
Hoth was engaged with another of the wolven, and Pemm and Tamil battled the third. Baden hesitated. Should he assist his companions, or remain facing the darkness where he had last seen the Dreth? Lightning flashed and gave him his answer; the horned leader of the hunt had shifted to Baden’s left. It held something slender in one hand – a rapier?
No – a wand. When lighting again flashed, it did not come from the heavens. A white splinter shot through the night and exploded against Baden’s hauberk. The dwarf went numb, his heart momentarily frozen from the shock. His chest and arms tingled, and his ears hummed.
Baden was unsure how many such attacks he could endure. He had issued only one command prior to the battle – to remain together. But he had always been better at issuing orders than following them. Baden took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and marched blindly into the tempest.
It was a sickeningly slow journey; the snow was deep and the blizzard stinging. Baden hoped the Dreth could not see any better than he could. The creature had used the wand immediately after lightning had lit the tableau, so perhaps such a hope was not in vain.
Lightning came.
Baden swore, startled. The Horned Hunter was next to him, close enough to cuddle. Baden fell more than dove to the ground as another bolt streaked from the wand, stinging the back of his neck in its passage. Baden reached into the darkness, felt a boot, and swung his axe. The swing was weak, one-handed, but it met resistance and went through it. Something hot and wet splattered onto Baden’s cheeks.
Baden swung again, fighting blind, and missed. He rolled to one knee, gained his feet. Come lightning, come.
A seeming eternity passed until, finally, lightning once more ripped across the vault.
“Tamil, behind you!”
Baden was running even as he shouted. The Dreth had somehow outflanked him in the darkness and was now next to Tamil. Baden saw the bodies of all three wolven in the snow during the brief illumination. But the wolven were not what worried him.
Scenes of horror came in intervals as lightning crackled sporadically overhead. Light – the Dreth and Tamil faced one another – darkness. Light – the Dreth held Tamil by the neck, arm outstretched, the dwarf’s feet kicking feebly above the snow – darkness. Light – the same scene, but no longer did Tamil kick – darkness.
“Hoth! Pemm! To Tamil!” Baden sprinted in the direction he had last seen his friend, falling, crawling, standing, running. “Save him!”
The blizzard lessened, if only momentarily, but the change allowed Baden’s darkvision to suddenly regain its effectiveness. There was Hoth, swinging his axe at the Horned Hunter like a man cutting wood. And there was Pemm, arms wrapped about Tamil’s waist as he desperately tried to pull him from the Dreth’s grip.
Baden and his rage arrived simultaneously. Borbidan’s axe bit once, twice, three times. The Horned Hunter stood, tall and still as an oak, its blood spurting like tree sap onto the snow. Yet – still – its bony fingers remained wrapped about Tamil’s neck.
Baden dropped his axe into the snow and leapt toward the Dreth. He wrapped one arm about the fiend’s neck, allowing the momentum of his jump and the weight of his body to pull the creature downward. They landed hard, sank beneath the pristine mantle, and impacted the frozen turf of the Weedsea. Baden rolled atop the creature’s chest, saw amber eyes, and dug both gauntleted thumbs into them. The Dreth writhed like a serpent, its shrieks carrying above the sounds of the blizzard.
***
“Baden. It is finished.”
Baden’s vision cleared as reality swam upward to meet him. He was lying atop a velvet, black cloak. Gone were the yellow eyes. And gone, too, was the Dreth. His thumbs were now pressed against the back of an empty, horned helm.
“Dead?”
“Mayhaps.” Hoth shrugged. He stood looking down onto Baden, grizzled face gone soft. “But we have other problems, friend.”
Tamil. Baden sat upright, wiped snow from his eyes, and swiveled his gaze. Tamil lay crumpled in the snow not far from him. Baden clawed his way across the tundra, creating a furrow in his wake. “Pemm, you ass! Heal him!”
“He is beyond my powers, nil-thain.” Pemm’s voice was pitched low.
Baden reached out, threw Tamil’s helm aside, and cradled the dwarf’s head in his lap. I lost your brother. I will not now lose you. “He lives.”
“Aye, he does.” Hoth knelt as the blizzard loosed it hold upon the land. He placed tender fingers against Tamil’s chin and turned the dwarf’s head to reveal ugly, swollen gashes. Pus, green and thick, oozed from the wounds.
Baden did not need to ask, but he did anyway. “Poison?”
“Poison – the like of which I’ve never seen.” Hoth stood and surveyed the darkness. “The blizzard lessens. We dare not tarry.”
Baden was quiet. Falling snow, light and dancing, gathered upon his shoulders.
“Baden,” Pemm began in the voice of a priest, “I have tried. Truly, I have. Tamil is beyond Moradin’s aid-”
“I will not leave him.” Baden’s voice was flat, cold as the weather. “Go, if you must.”
But neither Hoth nor Pemm did go. The three dwarves huddled over the body of their fallen comrade, even as the storm increased in intensity once more. After a time, Hoth threw his cloak over Tamil’s body. The Ironfist Captain took a seat next to Baden. “You will wait with him, and so we shall wait with you. But,” Hoth raised a finger, voice soft, “in the end, we must leave him.”
“He yet fights.” Baden looked at Hoth through eyesight grown blurry from tears. “Tamil has always been a fighter. In the mines, against the cave troll, he fought. And he fights now.”
The storm would soon be too much for words. Winds raged and raced across the Weedsea, blowing walls of snow that threatened to entomb the dwarves. Baden tore his gaze from Tamil’s pale face. He looked to Hoth. “Make for the ruined tower – the one we saw earlier. The ponies…the ponies we will find in the morning, dead or no.”
Hoth nodded, paused for a moment, then stood. “We will start a fire. I’d rather die to Dreth or wolven than the cold. When…when you are ready, make toward our flame.”
***
Baden stepped through the archway at the base of the old Epalan tower. He knelt, placed Tamil’s body onto the ground. He felt Pemm’s eyes upon him. “He lives, and I would not have him die alone, out there, in the cold.”
Pemm moved aside so Baden could position Tamil nearest the flames. “Hoth is above, on the parapets, though I know not why – nothing can be seen in this blizzard.”
“He will freeze.” Baden exchanged Hoth’s cloak for his own, gently tucking the material around Tamil’s inert form. Baden strode deeper into the ruins, staring upward. Much of the tower’s interior had collapsed, but a few floor planks yet remained. “Come down, Captain of Ironfist. You have not your cloak.”
Baden waited while the dwarf descended. Hoth stopped before him, shivering from the cold, though he made no mention of it. His face was pale, and ice had formed upon his beard. Baden held out the cloak, saying nothing, but Hoth did not immediately take it. The Ironfist dwarf stared at it as if it were a snake. He looked up, found Baden’s eyes.
The two shared a long look only dwarven warriors could, and a great many things passed unspoken between them.
Finally, Hoth nodded. He took the furred cloak, wrapped it about his shoulders. “It…it will be hard, with the ground frozen, but we can dig a hole in the morn-”
“Tamil yet lives.”
Hoth’s head snapped up. Frozen fingers began to undo the cloak. “Then Tamil should-”
“No, keep it. I gave him mine. And there…there is a fire, regardless. Come,” Baden laid a hand on Hoth’s icy arm, “let us hold our vigil there, by the flames, and think of Moradin and his forges.”
And so they did.
Last edited:
Look_a_Unicorn
First Post
I would bide for years awaiting the next update, they never fail to astound.
Maladrac said:Yeah, but his player is such a weenie.
The artist formerly known as;
John of Pell
Hmm, some people play themselves only a bit more...heroic. Others go the complete opposite. A few do well with playing all sorts of different types.
Either way, I have to agree, Baden does indeed rock. I have to ask though, in terms of gaming, how did that combat actually go? As a story it is great, but knowing this was played by PCs makes me wonder about some stuff. What level was baden at this point? Why, assuming "normal" grappling rules, would he drop his ax to do such crappy fighting. In the real world, a little double eye gouge is nice, but Dnd doesn't really afford such interesting mechanics. Unless you really really spice it up with some flavor text.
Looking forward to more updates, the campaign book, and the adventure module
Tellerve
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