Sniktch's Story Hour Prelude - From the Beginning (UPDATED 04/22)

[darkbard]

just wanted to add my praise for this storyhour and its companion piece (city of the spider queen). the writing is fantastic, the story and characters compelling and believable. one of the best things about the writing, in my opinion, is the way you describe combat and spell effects. out of curiosity, are your descriptions as vivid during gameplay, and do you have any special rules (beyond the core) adjudicating some of what's described (did the bear skeleton lose movement and attacks, for example)?

thanks again. i'm breathlessly awaiting the next update (now that i'm finally caught up).

 

[Sniktch]

BH: Sorry to leave you hanging. Had a rough weekend time-wise, never found a moment to sit down and write. I hope you're not disappointed with where the cliffhanger leads to (hopefully later today)

Darkbard: Wow, thanks for the compliment. All of you that have been reading and commenting are just swelling my head to immense proportions!

I try to keep my descriptions this vivid during gameplay and get people into the proper mood, but you'd have to ask my players about whether I'm successful or not. As for fights like the cave bear skeleton, I just adlib it. I try to make combat more than 'OK, you do 10 hp of dmg, next' although it is easy to fall into that rut, and when I describe something like that I generally make up the effects on the spot.

In the case of the bear I did reduce the movement but it was a smallish room and didn't effect the fight. I kept the same number of attacks since I figured the jagged shards of bone where the claw had been would still be an effective weapon. I never gave it a bite attack (this was before I'd ever seen a skeleton template and I was just using a huge skeleton - 2 claws) but described it that way for color, and until Quinn smashed the jaw a hit was just as likely to be a bite as a claw so the players would get the feel of fighting a big skeletal bear.

 

[Sniktch]

A difference of opinion

The tension stretched for long moments as everyone waited to see what horror Jack had unleashed. Finally, the dwarf snorted, “See? That’s what ya do with evil glowin rocks,” and stomped off. They searched the room but found little of value and no other exits, so they headed back into the hallway and continued to the next pair of doors.

Eldred examined the doors with his keen elven senses and declared them to be safe. They opened onto a great hall, once the dining area of Duernfast. Apparently a large battle had once been fought here, and many shards of bone and scattered skeletons lay intermingled with remnants of long tables and many chairs on the floor. Jack and Welby crossed the threshold first, to be greeted by a loud booming voice that resonated through the room:

“Even in death you are still bound to the will of Nast’yrrh!”

At the sound of the voice the various incomplete skeletons animated and began hopping, crawling, and dragging themselves across the floor toward the party. They saw hands scuttling through the debris like weird spiders, skulls that chattered their jaws as they rolled across the floor, and strange detached ribcages that clacked toward them like nightmarish centipedes.

Jack, Quinn, and Artimas pulled forth their holy symbols and called upon their faith in the face of these abominations. Waves of holy energy rolled out from the two dwarves, turning the undead they passed through to dust. Artimas’ prayers had an entirely different effect, however, and three of the scrambling hands and one of the skulls came to a halt and awaited their new master’s command.

The dwarves made short work of the mass of tiny skeletons, although they would be unable to influence the undead for the rest of the day. Artimas strolled over to the surviving pieces of the horde and the skeletal hands sprang onto his robes and disappeared beneath its folds. He scooped up the skull and regarded it thoughtfully as it continued to click its teeth together in his hand.

“Alas, poor Yorick, I knew him well…” he started, turning to face the others with a wide grin on his face. It died as he saw the looks of shock and concern directed toward him, and the terrible, terrible scowl Jack now wore.

“Necromancer!” Jack accused with a pointing finger. “Now I ken why yer always pokin yer nose where it don’t belong. Yer probly in league with them Trembers what we already kicked outta this place!”

“That’s ridiculous!” the mage replied. “For one thing, as I told you, I am primarily a scholar – when it comes to magic I am a mere dabbler. For another, where is the evil in this act? Was it I who animated these bones? No, I merely follow the teachings of Arawn and bring them under my control, to be used as tools and nothing more!”

“Bah! Ya defile the dead by continuin their unholy life!”

“Not so, Jack,” argued Artimas. “Their life is not continued; the spirits of these dead rest in Arawn’s realm at the bosoms of the Gods. Or do you honestly believe that the soul of this dead man is somehow tied to this stupid, chattering thing?” He held the skull in front of Jack’s face as he spoke.

“No!” he continued. “This warrior is departed. This skull is not animated through the binding of the man’s spirit, but by simple magic infusing the bone. As Arawn teaches us, it is a tool for the use of the living, nothing more. A tool is only evil if used for evil ends.”

The veins in Jack’s neck were beginning to bulge again. He took several steps in the direction of the mage but found his path blocked by the halfling.

The barbarian shook his head solemnly at the dwarf, “Nice man Welby friend. Like rat, too.”

The Crow stepped up and laid his hand on Welby’s shoulder. “And the friend of Welby is my friend, too, no matter how creepy they are,” he declared.

Jack turned to Quinn, but if he was expecting help in the argument he was sorely disappointed.

“While I believe the different viewpoints are fascinating, I hardly think this is the proper place or time for philosophical debate,” she stated. “Anything living within a mile of this chamber has now been alerted to our presence. Let us settle our differences when we get back to the Foaming Mug; we have other tasks to concentrate on now.”

Eldred nodded in agreement. “Jack, I, too, find the presence of undead to be anathema. They lie outside the boundaries of the natural order and so I will always strive to destroy them where I can. However, Artimas does present valid arguments concerning the nature of death and undeath, so for now I must side with Quinn. Let us continue this when we are removed from immediate danger.”

Frustrated, Stumpwater growled and headed for the only other exit to this room, a door that was bound to lead to the kitchen. Artimas ordered the skull to remain quiet and slipped it into a deep pocket in his robe before following.

 

[Dungannon]

All of you that have been reading and commenting are just swelling my head to immense proportions

It's true, I've seen it. His head is easily twice the size it was last month when he started this thing. If this continues, I don't know what might happen. Oh well, guess I'm just gonna have to stand by with an industrial strength needle at the ready to pop the swelling if it gets too bad.

 

[Sniktch]

The sad cook.

The door did indeed lead to the kitchen, a rectangular room about fifteen feet wide and thirty long. The far end of the chamber was dominated by a massive wood-burning stove; in between, the walls were covered with racks holding ancient pots, pans, knives, and other assorted cooking implements. A wooden door hung from a single hinge to their left, revealing an empty larder.

Welby sniffed in disappointment at the lack of food but moved into the room anyway, his curiosity getting the better of him. Grick and Jack moved in behind him, but the others remained in the dining hall to wait.

The halfling neared the stove and knelt to look inside. As he did so, whoosh! The flames sprang to life again. At the same time, the temperature in the room dipped drastically and the three adventurers breath began to mist as it escaped them. Welby felt the back of his neck creep and ducked when a large pot flew off the nearest rack directly at his head, narrowly missing him.

Jack cursed as a length of chain shot out from the wall and wrapped around his arms, immobilizing them against his sides. A stream of expletives followed as heavy pans began flying off the shelves and bouncing off his helmet, driving it down over his eyes and blinding him.

Grick started to go to the dwarf’s aid but was distracted by a meat cleaver that suddenly spun at him. He ducked out of the way at the last second, grabbing the cleaver from the air and hurling it into the larder. It bit deep into one of the old wooden shelves and vibrated as it tried to pull itself free.

Welby screamed in terror, the events taking place being too much for the superstitious halfling. He tried to run for the exit but slipped in a patch of thick reddish liquid that was bubbling up from a crack in the flagstones. The fluid, which bore a surprising resemblance to fresh blood, was seeping up in a square pattern around one of the floor tiles. He felt around the stone and found that his fingers could squeeze into the crack, so with a great heave he lifted the stone free, exposing a dark hollow space beneath.

Looking up, the halfling saw Grick dodging a pair of long skewers and Jack stumbling around, a large pot covering his head with a meat tenderizer hammering on it, a chain wrapped around his torso, and a serving fork imbedded in his left shoulder. A creaking sound came from behind him, and he whirled around just in time to see one of the racks pull free from the wall and crash down toward him. Welby shrieked again, jumped into the hole, and was plunged into blackness.

He landed on something hard and jagged that cut into his skin and he panicked for a moment, flailing blindly at the darkness. Finally he recovered his wits long enough to retrieve a torch from his pack and ignite it with his flint and steel. The flickering light revealed a small round area at the bottom of a five-foot drop. He had landed upon the yellowed skeleton of a dwarf and it had cut into his exposed flesh in several places. Before the dwarf a padlocked iron strongbox was set into a small niche in the wall.

Welby pulled a shard of ribcage from his elbow and retrieved the chest. Unfortunately, he was not skilled with locks nor had he room to swing his axe currently, so he stuffed it into his pack instead. He started to scramble up the side of the shaft but stopped, gazing back at the sad remains of the dwarf. Suddenly he had an epiphany.

He dropped back to kneel beside the skeleton and took one of its bony hands in his own. “Welby know. Welby take,” he said, lifting the body from the ground. As he raised it over his head and toward the kitchen images flashed rapidly before his eyes, and Welby loosed a ragged cry as the vision took him.

*****

He was alone in the kitchen when the invaders struck. They moved through the fortress with amazing celerity, and soon he could hear sounds of battle coming from the dining area. He had never been a warrior, always preferring the company of his stove and spices, and all of his wars had been waged with grease and oil.

He moved over to his strongbox and packed his most loved possessions away, then lowered it and himself into his secret hiding area and sealed it from within. Around and above him the din of battle continued for what could have been hours or days; he had no way to keep track of the time in this hole. He never slept, held awake in paralyzed fear by the bestial roars and agonized screams echoing around him.

Finally the noises abated. The minutes began to stretch and yet no sound reached his ears except for the sighing whistle of his own breath. He reached up and tried to push the stone out of the way but it didn’t budge. Worried now, he braced himself and applied all of his strength to the task. Nothing happened, no matter how he strained.

Panicked now he called “Hello?” with increasing urgency, until his throat was raw and his voice a ragged whisper. He clawed at the stone with his fingers until gleaming bits of ivory poked through the bloodied stumps. His knife was in the locked box but he did not have the key with him; he searched himself several times before remembering that he’d left it in the kitchen. Then his finger bones ground away against the unyielding stone and he had nothing left to do.

Maimed, hungry, and alone, he lay down on the hard floor and waited for death to take him. Eventually it did, but that had not brought him rest.

*****

Grick was having serious problems. He had managed to snatch the long skewers from the air and now used them to desperately parry the attacks of a half dozen kitchen knives and other implements. Seeing that Jack was in even worse trouble, he flung the skewers back at the swarm of flying silverware and tumbled over to the dwarf. Grick grasped the chain that bound the warrior with both hands and flexed his trunk-like arms, snapping the links and freeing him.

A skewer entered his side then, but Grick ignored the shooting pains radiating from the wound and hurled Jack towards the doorway. The dwarf crashed into the archway and bounced off, but Quinn was standing ready and pulled him out of the kitchen. The monk started to follow but halted when he heard Welby’s third cry. The halfling had shouted earlier when he’d slipped in the reddish fluid oozing from the floor, then again just before the rack came crashing down and he was forced to jump into the hole he’d uncovered. Now Grick recalled his fallen companion when the third yell welled up from the opening.

The half-orc altered his course suddenly and rolled to the pantry, ripping the hanging door from its remaining hinge and bracing himself behind it. A number of blows impacted upon the wood a moment later, and he grunted with satisfaction as he beheld a number of glittering knife points sticking through the wood.

He flung the door away and bounded toward the fallen shelves but then just as suddenly as it had begun the activity in the room ceased, the various implements still floating through the air falling with a terrific clatter. His companion climbed up from the hole looking pale and ashen and presented him with the skeleton of a dwarf.

“Cookie ‘lone. Cookie ‘fraid. Take Cookie home,” he proclaimed with wide and haunted eyes.

As Grick took the pitiful burden Welby ran to the stove and looked beneath it. After a moment he nodded and withdrew a key.

They decided to head back up to their camp. They were tired and hungry after their day’s explorations, and Stumpwater refused to go onward until the ringing in his ears ceased. On their way to the surface Welby insisted they revisit the crypts, where he took the skeleton from Grick again and laid it amongst a pile of other dwarven remains.

The halfling seemed pleased. “Now Cookie have friends,” he muttered, then rubbed his tiny hands together and turned to follow his companions.

 

[Capellan]

Re: the Dwarven Cook / Poltergeist.

One word says it all:

*YOINK*

 

[Broccli_Head]

That's why I like Welby!

 

[Lazybones]

Very cool scene. The characters are really starting to come into their own (it's interesting to shift back and forth between this and your CotSQ story, and see them as they are later). Looking forward to more updates.

 

[Sniktch]

Intermission: Hanging at camp

Eldred could not stand the confines of the cavern any longer. He could handle it for short stretches, but he had no reason to remain underground when they weren’t actively exploring. He excused himself from the company of his new acquaintances and headed for the exit as soon as the lift stopped. He found Filthy Ike sitting in the supply room whittling a block of wood with a small knife to pass the time. The half-orc looked up and nodded as the elf approached.

“Good hunting today?” rasped Ike’s gravelly voice.

Eldred was not in the mood for small talk and had but one thing on his mind. “Where is Blackfoot?” he demanded.

“Ah, him. Couldn’t keep him penned in here. He caught a whiff of rabbit or something and took off hours ago. I reckoned he could look out for himself and let him go.”

Eldred was walking away before the rogue finished speaking. He ran out of the cave to find the large black wolf waiting for him, sunning itself on a broad, flat rock with its tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth.

“Blackfoot!” he cried, running over and throwing his arms around the great, shaggy beast and burying his face in the sun-warmed fur.

The wolf responded in kind, knocking the elf to the ground and pouncing on top of him, licking at his face and arms. They rolled around for several minutes before the elf finally disentangled himself and sat up, scratching behind the wolf’s ears.

“Yeah, I guess you missed me too. C’mon, we’ve got some time before I need to rejoin the others.” Together, the elf and wolf sprinted off, racing through the trees on the fresh spring day.

*****

The Crow tagged along when Welby went on his next rat hunt, irritating the halfling to no end. It was not that he minded the half-elf’s company, but he was trying to practice the stealth techniques Ike had been teaching him and the clumsy fighter just got in the way.

“Sssshhhh!” he hissed furiously. “You scare off dinner!”

“I’m sorry, Welby, I really don’t mean to make so much noise. It’s just that… well, I’ve been trying to think a lot lately, trying to remember something, anything that happened before you found me in that field.”

The barbarian tried to tune out his companion, listening closely for any sounds that would lead him to his next meal.

“This has been a heap of fun, and I love all you guys,” Royston prattled on, “but I just get the feeling that there’s something really important I should be taking care of, and I don’t know what it is! Do you understand?”

The halfling grunted, intent upon a rustling noise emanating from a pile of refuse at the end of the hallway. Suddenly he sprang forward, grasping a foot-long crypt rat by its long tail and dashing its brains out on the floor before it could react. He turned and offered the rodent to his friend, who paled and shook his head emphatically. Shrugging, Welby bit a chunk of flesh from his kill and started to chew, occasionally pausing to pull a bothersome patch of fur from his mouth.

The Crow tried to ignore the smacking sounds and continued speaking. “I feel like somehow I’m letting a lot of people down. I somehow know that I have this enormous responsibility I should be focused on, but nothing makes sense anymore! It’s like I was born in a snowy field with the body of an adult and fully clothed two months ago, as far as I’m concerned. What do you think?”

“Dunno, Crow. That rough,” Welby stopped to consider his friend’s predicament. It occurred to him that perhaps his new friend might have some answers; after all, he was a wizard. Maybe he could just magic the half-elf’s memories back. “Talk to Arty, maybe he help.”

The Crow nodded and fell silent as the halfling ran off in pursuit of another tasty morsel that skittered past them. Maybe he was correct; despite the recent revelation of Artimas’ necromantic activities he had grown to trust and value the wizard’s wisdom and keen wit. He decided to broach the subject the next time the opportunity presented itself, then trotted off after his friend.

*****

It is time, thought the necromancer, all of the signs are perfect. Rising, he excused himself from the others’ presence and headed back to the lift. If he stayed he would only be embroiled in a long-winded religious debate he could not hope to win in the present company, and he had more important things to take care of.

The lift jerked to a stop on the bottom floor and he headed to the room with the secret door. He paused by the circle in the floor and poured a cup of water into it, then waited patiently for the door mechanism to activate and open the way to the depths of Duernfast. Next, he propped the door open with several heavy stones and began his preparations.

First he placed two small braziers on either side of the doorway and placed small blocks of incense in each. With a cantrip he ignited them, and the thick, perfumed smoke wafted from the braziers and sank down the steps. Next, he withdrew a pouch of powdered chalk and sprinkled it in a circle on the floor, taking a seated position in the center. He fell into a trance then, his lips murmuring arcane syllables as his mind reached outward.

Far below something heard his mental call and took flight. The furry black form winged its way through caverns unseen by man or dwarf for millennia and made its way gradually toward the surface. Soon it detected a sickly sweet smell and knew that it was close to its goal. It followed the cloying scent through a wide crack in the earth and then up a steep flight of stairs and reached its destination.

Artimas’ eyes flew open as the new presence entered the chamber. He held his arm out and the creature landed on the offered perch. I am here, master, he heard it speak inside his mind.

“Good, Nibbler, good,” he replied, stroking the small bat. “I have a feeling we have much work before us.”

*****

Back at camp, Grick consumed his meal silently while he listened to the dwarves argue.

“I don’ like it, and I don’ understand why you’d take his side o’er mine,” Jack grumbled as he tapped a fresh cask of ale.

“Can’t you see that I’m not taking sides?” Quinn responded. “I am not pleased with Artimas’ unsavory habits, either, but he has not shown himself to be our enemy. What he has proven thus far is that he is a valuable and loyal ally, and so I think we should be more tolerant of our differences until he shows us a reason not to be.”

“I’m no’ sure I c’n take it. Some o’ his actions fly in the face o’ everythin I believe in. Someday he’s gonna push me too far an’ I’m gonna wring his scrawny neck. What do we need him for, anyways?”

“Jack, I’m sorry to have to say this, but with the passing of Eli Artimas is the only one with any understanding of the arcane arts. I’m afraid that is something we’ll have need of very badly in the days to come.”

Jack's expression grew pained at the mention of his fallen friend. He started to reply heatedly, “Bah. The day I need a wizard’s help – “

Quinn cut him off. “Listen, we are together for a reason. Remember the dreams I told you of? Everything has a purpose, and yes, I’m afraid Artimas is included in that statement. Now you have to try to control your temper; how are we going to survive if we constantly fight amongst ourselves?”

She rose and walked over, laying a hand on the angry dwarf’s shoulder. “Trust me, Jack, I am on your side. Rest assured that if anything serious ever happens I will support you fully. But there is no good reason for this constant bickering, and I will not aid you to win petty disagreements with our fellow travelers.”

Jack sighed. “I s’pose yer right, Quinn,” he said. “I’ll do me best to control meself better next time.”

They fell silent and went to grab bowls of the thick stew Quinn had prepared earlier, only to find that the monk had finished off the last helping while they talked. Grick smiled weakly and mumbled, “Sorry,” then ran quickly from the room to escape retribution. The dwarves watched the retreating half-orc with outraged expressions until they caught a glimpse of one another, then sat down and laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks.

*****

That night Welby unlocked the iron box from the kitchen with the key he'd recovered. Inside were the most treasured possessions of the long dead dwarven cook: a chef's knife that had been lovingly crafted from mithril and had a handle decorated with carvings of a great dwarven feast, a small rack filled with bottles of rare and exotic herbs and spices, and an aging yellow tome titled "Secrets of the Dwarven Chefs."

Welby transferred all the items from the box to his backpack, crying silently with the thought that the fallen dwarf had given his life trying to protect them.

(EDIT: Argh! I forgot all about this last scene when I posted earlier. Sorry for the oversight.)

 

[Krellic]

Good characters, good roleplaying, good story....