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Story Hour
Sniktch's Story Hour Prelude - From the Beginning (UPDATED 04/22)
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<blockquote data-quote="Sniktch" data-source="post: 415445" data-attributes="member: 7704"><p><strong>Prelude</strong></p><p></p><p>The man awoke to blinding whiteness. In a panic he looked around himself, but he was aware only of whiteness and pain. Someone’s hand grabbed him, shaking. Dimly he heard a voice. “Hey, you not dead. Dead if sleep now. Get up, I help you.” Gradually the world became a little more focused. He saw a fierce little man standing over him; a wild looking, child sized man dressed in furs, with feathers in his hair. “Come on, get up now.” The hands again, pulling at him.</p><p></p><p>He groaned and sat up, shaking his head to clear it. It only made the throbbing worse. The little man kept tugging at him, urging him to stand. He scanned the area - he had been laying in a snowy plain, the stark white of the snow stained now with blood. Dark shapes lay unmoving all around him, men, and horses, and some sort of monster, a horrible twisted parody of men with upturned noses, greenish tinged skin, and protruding tusks.</p><p></p><p>“What happened?” he asked the scowling figure urging him to hurry. He honestly couldn’t remember. Trying to dig deeper and further back, he found he honestly couldn’t remember anything at all!</p><p></p><p>“Orcs. Kill all men and horses. All but you. You lucky.” The small person paused a moment, then continued, “Welby,” and tentatively extended his hand.</p><p></p><p>The man accepted the hand and shook, then allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. His head swam and he staggered, but Welby caught him and supported his weight. The halfling, for the man seemed to think that Welby must be a halfling, although he wasn’t sure exactly what a halfling was, began leading him away from the battle site. </p><p></p><p>“We must leave. More orcs near,” the halfling explained.</p><p></p><p>“Thank you, Welby, I think you’ve saved me. I’m not sure at the moment. I seem to have forgotten quite a lot, frankly, including who I am.” As they walked, he searched his pockets, his belt. He wore a rapier, a nice weapon but without any sort of stamp or symbol, and a shirt of chain links. He had a pouch with a few mixed coins in it. He wore a quiver half full of crossbow bolts, so he must have been carrying a crossbow, and he could remember what that was and how to use it. Finally, in his left boot he found a dagger. It had a silver edged blade and the hilt was designed to resemble a crow, painted with loving attention to detail and with two obsidian chips for the bird’s eyes.</p><p></p><p>He was jolted by a brief vision; a small snatch of memory that teased him but revealed nothing. He remembered buying this dagger, having it commissioned. The smith was a master at his craft and the best smith in Royston. That was it! He had come here from Royston! He had come here from Royston and for some reason he couldn’t go back.</p><p></p><p>It was not much but it would have to do for now. He continued to let Welby lead him, wincing at each step. To take his mind off of the ache his body felt he tried to start a conversation with the halfling. “Well, my friend Welby, I still do not know my name, but you must have something to call me by if we are to travel together. Perhaps my memories and abilities will appear again in time, perhaps not. For now, however, I will choose a name. You can call me the Royston Crow.”</p><p></p><p>Welby shook his head. “Talk too much. Save breath. We have long walk.”</p><p></p><p>Probably very good advice, the man thought to himself. He put all his concentration into placing one foot in front of the other, and the strange pair disappeared into the snow.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Sniktch, post: 415445, member: 7704"] [b]Prelude[/b] The man awoke to blinding whiteness. In a panic he looked around himself, but he was aware only of whiteness and pain. Someone’s hand grabbed him, shaking. Dimly he heard a voice. “Hey, you not dead. Dead if sleep now. Get up, I help you.” Gradually the world became a little more focused. He saw a fierce little man standing over him; a wild looking, child sized man dressed in furs, with feathers in his hair. “Come on, get up now.” The hands again, pulling at him. He groaned and sat up, shaking his head to clear it. It only made the throbbing worse. The little man kept tugging at him, urging him to stand. He scanned the area - he had been laying in a snowy plain, the stark white of the snow stained now with blood. Dark shapes lay unmoving all around him, men, and horses, and some sort of monster, a horrible twisted parody of men with upturned noses, greenish tinged skin, and protruding tusks. “What happened?” he asked the scowling figure urging him to hurry. He honestly couldn’t remember. Trying to dig deeper and further back, he found he honestly couldn’t remember anything at all! “Orcs. Kill all men and horses. All but you. You lucky.” The small person paused a moment, then continued, “Welby,” and tentatively extended his hand. The man accepted the hand and shook, then allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. His head swam and he staggered, but Welby caught him and supported his weight. The halfling, for the man seemed to think that Welby must be a halfling, although he wasn’t sure exactly what a halfling was, began leading him away from the battle site. “We must leave. More orcs near,” the halfling explained. “Thank you, Welby, I think you’ve saved me. I’m not sure at the moment. I seem to have forgotten quite a lot, frankly, including who I am.” As they walked, he searched his pockets, his belt. He wore a rapier, a nice weapon but without any sort of stamp or symbol, and a shirt of chain links. He had a pouch with a few mixed coins in it. He wore a quiver half full of crossbow bolts, so he must have been carrying a crossbow, and he could remember what that was and how to use it. Finally, in his left boot he found a dagger. It had a silver edged blade and the hilt was designed to resemble a crow, painted with loving attention to detail and with two obsidian chips for the bird’s eyes. He was jolted by a brief vision; a small snatch of memory that teased him but revealed nothing. He remembered buying this dagger, having it commissioned. The smith was a master at his craft and the best smith in Royston. That was it! He had come here from Royston! He had come here from Royston and for some reason he couldn’t go back. It was not much but it would have to do for now. He continued to let Welby lead him, wincing at each step. To take his mind off of the ache his body felt he tried to start a conversation with the halfling. “Well, my friend Welby, I still do not know my name, but you must have something to call me by if we are to travel together. Perhaps my memories and abilities will appear again in time, perhaps not. For now, however, I will choose a name. You can call me the Royston Crow.” Welby shook his head. “Talk too much. Save breath. We have long walk.” Probably very good advice, the man thought to himself. He put all his concentration into placing one foot in front of the other, and the strange pair disappeared into the snow. [/QUOTE]
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Sniktch's Story Hour Prelude - From the Beginning (UPDATED 04/22)
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