[Story Hour Sampler] Post Your Favorite Story Hour Installment

[Berandor]

My German Shackled City Story Hour

I'm the author of a German language Story Hour. I detail my group's exploits in the Shackled City Adventure Path, even though I have somewhat heavily customized the advnetures and Cauldron with my own metaplot.
The post below is our heroes' arrival in Cauldron, the second post in this fledgling tale. I think it successfully establishes the tone I want to keep during this Story Hour.
I promise regular, if somewhat shorter updates, narrative combat instead of round-by-round, frequent humour and of course drama, epic and tension. I also plan to include goodies like music selections, NPC conversions or food menues for the various locales. And finally, here are the link and the installment:

Cauldron

Die vier Nachkommen der Schätze Tethyrs zogen früh los, um ihr Ziel noch vor Anbruch der Dunkelheit zu erreichen. Zuerst unterhielten sie sich noch angeregt, doch schon bald bemächtigte sich ihnen eine große Anspannung, und sie schritten nur noch schweigend nebeneinander her. Für den späten Sommer war es schon recht kühl geworden, was in Tethyr jedoch nur bedeutete, dass man Rüstung tragen konnte, ohne einen Hitzschlag zu erleiden. Ein steter Nieselregen lag über dem Land, und schon bald war die Kleidung der vier außen vom Regen, und innen vom Schweiß durchnässt. Der dichte Dschungel, der den Glücklichen Affen umgab, wurde langsam dünner, während das Gebirge, das wochenlang als Wegweiser ihrer Route gedient hatte, endlich spürbar näher rückte. Gegen Mittag hatten Felsen die Bäume als häufigste Wegbegrenzung abgelöst, und am frühen Nachmittag rasteten die Gefährten am Fuße des erloschenen Vulkans.

"Da rauf?" fragte Anna und sprach damit aus, was alle dachten. Sie blickte die Flanke des Berges hinauf. Der breite Handelsweg, auf dem sie reisten, wand sich die steile Flanke hinauf wie eine betrunkene Schlange, bevor er kurz vor der Spitze nach Süden hin verschwand.

"Vom Warten wird er auch nicht flacher," sagte Dirim, und schulterte sein Gepäck. "Gehen wir."

Weitere Stunden später hatten die Vier endlich die Stelle erreicht, an der die Straße um den Berg lief, um dann stetig ansteigend auf das Südtor der Stadt Cauldron zuzulaufen. Die 'Heimatschleuse'.

Das Erste, was man von Cauldron sah, waren die großen schwarzen Mauern. Sie erhoben sich fünfzehn Schritt über den Kraterrand, schwarzes Malachit - Vulkangestein, dass jegliches Licht zu verschlucken schien. In dieser gewaltigen Mauer wirkte das große Tor wie ein Maul aus hellem Licht. Das Tor, so breit wie drei Karren und so hoch wie drei Mann, ließ sich im Boden versenken. Bevor Dirim aber die Handwerksarbeit gebührend bewundern konnte, rollte der Karren vor den Vieren wieder an und über die Schwelle zur Stadt, und die vier Wachen wandten sich ihnen zu.

Der Hauptmann trat zu ihnen hin, das flammende Auge der Stadt stolz auf Brust und Helm.

"Den übernehme ich", flüsterte Anna und zwinkerte Helion zu. Schaukelnd trat sie vor.

"Guten Abend, Wachtmeister."

"Guten Abend." Der Wachmann strich über sein mit Edelsteinen verziertes Armband und musterte die Vier, einschließlich Dirims Packpony.

"Abenteurer, wie? Für euch kostet die Passage fünf Silberklingen - oder einen König, wenn euch das lieber ist -, das Pony noch mal zwei Klingen. Außerdem", schnalzte er mit der Zunge, "habt ihr Magie dabei. Dafür müsst ihr Zoll bezahlen."

Anna atmete tief ein, und das ohnehin schon enge Mieder spannte sich noch ein wenig mehr. Sie sah dem Wachmann tief in die Augen.

"Hallo," sagte sie, "ich bin Anna. Und wie heißt du?"

"Ich... Essuth. Wieso?"

Anna zuckte mit den Schultern. "Du bist süß. Können wir uns nicht mal treffen?"

"Was? Äh, ich meine, natürlich." Ein zufriedenes Lächeln erschien auf seinen Lippen, während die anderen Wachen in seinem Rücken grinsten. "Wie wäre es morgen Abend, im Krummen Krug?"

"Ich werde da sein," versprach Anna. "Enttäusch mich nicht." Sie lächelte ihn an, er lächelte verzückt zurück. "Hast du nicht etwas von einem Zoll gesagt?"

"Hm? Ach ja. Wisst ihr was?", fragte er in verschwörerischem Ton. "Vergesst den Zoll dieses eine Mal. Aber lasst euch im Stadthaus eine Besitzrolle ausschreiben. Dann müsst ihr die magischen Gegenstände, die ihr nicht verkaufen wollt, nicht jedes Mal bezahlen."

"Danke, Essuth. Dann bis morgen."

"Bis morgen..."

"Männer", sagte Anna, als sie durch das Tor waren.

"Menschen", sagte Dirim.

"Wachen", sagte Helion.

Thargad sagte nichts.

Ein breiter Weg führte vom Südtor an den ersten Häusern der Stadt vorbei, hohen imposanten Bauten aus ebenfalls meist schwarzem Malachit oder Obsidian. Über die ganze Straße verteilt boten Händler ihre Waren an, allesamt aus kleinen Ständen oder Bauchläden. Besonders regen Zulauf hatte ein Mann mit frisch gebackenem Brot, während zum Ende der Straße hin eine Gnomin die Dienste ihrer Wäscherei anpries.

"Braucht ihr einen Führer?", erkundigte sich eine hohe Stimme, und selbst Dirim musste den Blick etwas senken, um den etwa achtjährigen Straßenjungen zu entdecken, der vor ihnen stand. "Für ein Donsar führe ich euch, wohin ihr wollt, und für ein Paxar bleibe ich sogar den ganzen Tag."

"Eine ganze Silbermünze?" fragte Anna, als Dirim an ihr vorbeitrat.

"Wie heißt du denn?"

"Pellir, Herr Zwerg." Dirim lachte.

"Hör zu, Pellir, ich mache dir ein Angebot." Pellir blickte Dirim gespannt an. Helion lächelte zufrieden. Es war doch immer gut, einen Zwerg dabei zu haben.

"Heute bringst du uns umsonst zu einem Wirtshaus, und morgen kommst du wieder. Dann kriegst du zwei Klingen von mir."

"Zwei?", fragten Helion und Pellir gleichzeitig. Dirim nickte.

"Zwei. Und jetzt bring uns zur Messingtrompete."

 

[Silver Moon]

From the western Story Hour "Revenge, Renewal and the Promise of a New Year" (which uses hybrid Boot Hill and D&D rules). It's really hard two pick a favorite chaper (I was torn between posting this one and Chapter Twenty-five "A Cure for Intoxication"). This chapter concluded our first game night of the campaign and several players were shocked when my wife's character became the first casualty. This chapter helped set the tone for the successful campaign that has followed.

In the first four chapters we met the characters as they arrived in Promise City, Arizona on January 1st, 1882. The elvan Indian named Nanuet has told his companions of his quest for vengeance against the soldier who murdered his family and they have agreed to assist him.


Chapter Five, “The Comstock House Ambush”, January 2nd , 1882, 7:30 A.M.

The group only has to walk one hundred feet down the street to reach their destination. The Comstock House is a twenty by twenty-five foot three-story brick building. From the street they are facing the front, which has a door and open window with calico curtains. Nanuet heads up to the window, and moves the curtain a few inches to peer inside. The ground floor consists of a dining room with a small kitchen in the side corner and a wooden staircase going up to the second floor. There is also a back door. There are four people in the room, a woman in the kitchen and three men seated at a table eating breakfast. He immediately recognizes one of these men as his nemesis Jim Johnson.

Nanuet heads back to the street and tells the others “It’s him” and then describes the building. “So what’s your plan?” O’Dell asks. Nanuet replies “I need to go confront him about what he has done.” O’Dell replies “Sounds dangerous. Why not find some high ground and pick him off with a rifle shot on his way to work?” Nanuet replies, “I will not shoot a man in the back.” O’Dell says “You don’t have to do the shooting, and we could make it a head shot.” Nanuet responds, “No, that would not be honorable.” O’Dell says “I don’t see the problem. You want him dead. He will be.” Nanuet replies, “No, he has to know why he is being punished.”

Storm says to Nanuet “This is wrong. You must move on with your life.” Nanuet tells her, “If the man known as Noah Walsh dies today then my past will be behind me and I will be free to live my life in a manner that you approve of.” Duncan mutters “You’re going to be pretty annoyed if he gets away then and is still around after midnight.”

Nanuet announces “I need to confront him.” Duncan says “An Indian charging into a boarding house and making accusations against a resident? That doesn’t sound like a very safe plan.” O’Dell says “I’ll go inside and call him out. Why don’t you women head around the building to keep him from escaping out the back.”

The centaur and three mounted ladies ride around back. The eastern side of the building shares a wall with Gilsons’s Bath House, which in the back extends fifteen feet further south than the boarding house. The back door to the Comstock House is in the corner beside that wall so that anyone exiting from it could only go south or west. Katherine and Al stay on horseback and position themselves on both sides of Storm fifteen feet south of the back door. Both take out their guns as Storm readies an arrow in her longbow.

Ruby decides to dismount and position herself alongside the building by the southwestern corner. That way she is still able to cover if they decide to run west. She keeps her derringer up the sleeve of her dress and her revolver in a dress pocket so as to appear unarmed and less of a threat.

Out in front, Duncan moves over to the northwestern corner of the building. His gun is at the ready on his belt, although he plans to primarily play healer rather than gunslinger. Chow positions himself near the front door in anticipation of using his martial arts moves to disarm Johnson. Nanuet stands in the street facing the door, drawing his bow and knocking an arrow.

O’Dell walks up to the door and enters the building. A woman is serving breakfast to a little man wearing eyeglasses seated along at small table. The three men that Nanuet saw are still eating at another table. O’Dell notes that each of them is wearing a sidearm. He walks up to the table, stands across from the man known as Noah Walsh, and says “Johnson!” Walsh’s body becomes visibly tense but he does not look up at O’Dell. One of his companions looks up and says, “Are you talking to us?”

O’Dell says, “Johnson. You’re wanted outside.” Walsh now looks up and says, “Name’s Walsh. Do I know you?” O’Dell replies “I know who you are. There’s a man out front who wants to have a word with you. Something about you killing his kinfolk. We’ll be outside waiting.” O’Dell heads back out the door. He goes and stands alongside Nanuet, ready to draw his gun when necessary. They continue to wait.

The four women continue to guard the back when the door opens up. A large man matching Nanuet’s description of Jim Johnson is the first one out the door followed by two other men. They are no more than five feet from the door when Al says “Stop where you are.” The men stop and look up towards the three women, the man on the right glances to his side towards Ruby and then back to the other three. Johnson then reaches for his gun.

Storm lets an arrow fly, striking Johnson in his copious chest. The arrow does not stop the giant of a man who raises up his pistol and fires a shot into Storm’s torso. Katherine and Al each fire their guns at Johnson, both missing. His two companions both draw their own guns. Ruby lets her derringer slide down into her hand as she raises her arm and fires. Her shot is perfect, striking the head of the man on Johnson’s right, who falls to the ground.

The sound of the four gunshots alerts those in front. Duncan was by the corner of the building so starts to run along the side wall towards the back. O’Dell vaults up onto his horse while Chow kicks in the front door, deciding that through the building is the quickest way to the back. Nanuet has the same thought and begins to run after Chow.

Al fires off two more shots, both of them also missing their mark. Katherine’s next shot isn’t any better, but unlike Al she never claimed to be a gunslinger. Ruby puts her hand into her pocket, releasing the single-shot derringer and grabbing her revolver. Storm readies another arrow and Johnson fires at her again, this shot missing. His remaining companion takes a shot at Al and also misses.

Chow barrels through the building, ignoring the little man with glasses who is now hiding behind a table and the woman in the kitchen area holding up a cast-iron frying pan. Nanuet has reached the front door and charges inside, bow and arrow in hand. Duncan is almost to the back of the building and O’Dell kicks his horse into high gear to get around as fast as he can.

Ruby lifts up her arm to take another shot at Johnson. However, before she pulls the trigger her peripheral vision catches movement from the building as Chow dives out the window and tackles Johnson from behind. The burley man is actually able to stand back up again despite the half-orc on his back and Ruby takes the shot. Her aim is again perfect and he falls dead.

Meanwhile, Al takes two more shots, one being a non-lethal hit to the man’s side. Storm had been ready to fire her next arrow when Chow came onto the scene. So as not to risk hitting a companion she shifts targets to the remaining man. He in turn catches her movement and changes his own target from Al to her. Both fire, Storms arrow grazing the side of his face. His shot however is well aimed and a red circle appears on her forehead. The centaur’s body collapses onto the ground. Duncan charges out in her direction to see if anything can be done for her.

O’Dell finally arrives on the scene and begins to bring his horse to a stop. He sees only one standing enemy and lets off a shot at the very first opportunity. The poorly aimed shot only travels five feet, hitting Ruby’s horse in the head and killing it instantly. The horse falls to the right and directly on top of Duncan, possibly breaking his legs and knocking him unconscious.

Katherine appears to have gone into shock over the fact of Storm’s demise. Al feels no such remorse and takes another shot at the remaining opponent, again missing. Ruby takes a shot at the man, hitting him at the top of his right arm near the shoulder. Nanuet has reached the back doorway and lets fire his arrow, skewering the man through the heart. Chow had been moving to grab the man and catches his corpse. Ruby turns around and exclaims “My horse!” O’Dell has dismounted and rushes by her towards the enemies.

Nanuet exits the building and confirms for himself that Johnson is dead. He then looks up and notices Storm. The Indian’s face suddenly turns pale and his jaw drops. Chow stops O’Dell and gets him to assist in pulling Duncan out from beneath the horse. “He is still alive,” Chow states. O’Dell casually says “I hope nobody is hurt too bad, we’ve lost both healers.”

Nanuet goes up to Storm and cradles her head in his hands. “What should we do now?” Ruby asks. O’Dell says “The Marshall’s Office is only a block away. He’ll be here soon.” Katherine states “From what we’ve heard of this Marshall we’d be better off turning ourselves in to the Sheriff.” Al rides up to O’Dell and says “We should get the hell out of here. Climb on.” He hoists himself up behind her and calls over to Ruby “Sorry about the horse, you can have mine.” The horse with the two gunslingers then takes off and disappears into the hills south of town, leaving Chow, Katherine, Ruby and an anguished Nanuet behind with their dead and unconscious companions.


The story:
http://www.enworld.org/forums/showthread.php?t=99053

 

[el-remmen]

I've updated the list of excerpts in the first post, and look forward to reading still more samples. . .

 

[el-remmen]

No more samples?

Come on! I want more to read!

 

[Desdichado]

This is the third installment of my Story Hour, and the first part of the first "module" we played. In fact, it's good enough as the introduction of both the PCs themselves, and the feel of the setting. To date, I've got about 12-13 entries written up, with at least one more to type before we're caught up again. The game has taken a small break, but will start up again in December, with any luck.

This isn't actually my favorite installment, but I don't want to give that one away.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Module I, Part I: "Blasphemous Rumours"

The Blue Dart was an unfortunately named ship, but the Captain had taken her in with good graces, even making sure the bright blue paint that coated the hull was smooth and unblemished. And the little ship did dart, as it turns out -- she was a fast ship, although small. So the Captain had decided that his niche was in passage, not cargo. Airships were already few and expensive, so if one wanted to travel between the islands, booking passage on a freelance ship like his was the best way to go.

This particular voyage was not one of his better ones; the passenger hold had only three takers for a four day flight to Razina, one of the most important towns in the kingdom of Cassant, and one that was perched on the very edge of the Great Island, a continent sized chunk of rock that floats unmoving in the Day Realm. The Blue Dart was making good time, and if his navigation was accurate, the Captain believed he'd beat his schedule, arriving in just a few hours. He put the glass to his eye again, scanning the sky in front of him to see if there was any sign of his destination.

Clear, brilliant light bathed the entire world around him; far below was a puffy floor of clouds that stretched out as far as the eye could see -- which in this clear air was very far indeed -- in every direction. Above him, the brilliant yellowish white sun made him squint; although he saw the brightly striated orange and tan globe of Fallare suspended like a gigantic moon in the sky. Later today, it would obscure the sun, giving a relatively short nightfall; an event that only occurred once a week in Razina. A small chunk of rock; an island no more than a few miles across, rose off his port bow. Through the glass, he could see a bank of gray fog ahead, dank, forbidding and cold. He shivered a bit, but accepted that his destination most likely was lying just within that bank of fog.

He heard the ringing of the cook's bell; the passenger's meal was served. He stuffed the glass under his belt, and determined that as the Captain, he should share this final meal with them, and tell them the news that he expected to arrive before lunch. He clambered down the stairs into the passenger's hold. Three small cots were folded up and out of the way, and three sat at a table bolted to the floor, talking and eating a meal of salt pork sandwiches, liberally seasoned with lemon juice, and reasonably fresh water. The fare on ship wasn't great, but it was healthy enough. The Captain decided he would seek out a good hot meal as soon as he was berthed.

"Good morning, fellows!" he said as he sat next to them. They nodded and continued eating. The three passengers were nothing if not an unusual group, but they seemed to have hit it off fairly well during the course of their journey, and were now talking animatedly of seeking lodgings in the same inn, and even helping each other in their various goals in Razina.

"Good morning to you, Cap'n," said Tson, clapping him on the back. Tson was a hulk; one of the Bred folk. His ancestors had been selected for their strength, endurance, and ability to withstand harsh conditions. He was fairly large, as were most of his race, and the sharp definition of his enormous muscles was hidden by a fine layer of down-like fur. Tson was albino, however, and instead of the reddish brown that most of the hulks sported, his fur was a strange pale gray. The large fellow was normally taciturn, and the Captain had not expected him to give him the first friendly welcome. Rumor had it that he was an escaped, or perhaps freed, slave in some far-off place, where he fought as a gladiator. He rarely wore more than a ragged kilt around his waist, belted with a chain, and the Captain could believe that he was a former gladiator. His unclothed chest was criss-crossed with a fine network of scars, most of them old.

"Indeed, 'tis a fine morning! The view from the deck was spectacular," acknowledged Roshan Boh. Also one of the Bred folk, Boh was in many ways a complete opposite of Tson. He was quite garrulous, to the point of often not knowing when to shut up. The Captain was initially suspicious of having a gray on the ship, but Roshan was a friendly enough sort, and the Captain had come to like him over the course of the last few days. He was short, and quite gracile, with chalky, colorless skin, piercing blue eyes that darted about like a hyper-alert hawk as he spoke. His short hair was dark, and his body was wiry yet hard and supple. He did not speak of his background, and the Captain wondered what this one used to do, although he privately suspected he had been trained as a spy, assassin, or both at some point in his life. Regardless, his motives for traveling to Razina seemed to be his own.

The final traveler was also a quiet one for the most part, Konrad, the only Unbred human of the bunch. The Captain privately wished he could follow him around for a while to see how he reacted to life in the extremely large and populous city of Razina. Konrad clearly had not spent much time in high society; he was dressed in leathers, and had more hair on his head and face than any four other men the Captain had ever seen. When he did speak, as often as not he made some obscure reference to outdoor life, as if the others could possibly understand metaphors or sayings related to the mating habits of a wild thuin, or the truculence of a herd of inwns.

Still, for all their idiosyncrasies, they were a good lot, and the Captain had enjoyed giving them passage more than many he had booked over the years. He would almost be sad to reach his destination and drop them off in the urban wilds of Razina. "We're making better time than I expected," he said, which prompted an impromptu toast with their water cups. "This'll be our last meal on the Blue Dart, I'm afraid, so I thought I should spend a few minutes with..."

He stopped as Collins came barreling down the stair, his face flushed and nervous. "Cap'n!" he said. "Another ship, off the port bow and up 30 degrees. They're heading is straight for us."

The Captain stood, his face a bit nervous. "If you'll excuse me a moment, gentlemen..." then he walked upstairs. The three passengers watched him go, only Tson continuing to wolf down his food as fast as he could.

"That doesn't sound good," said Konrad sourly. "Suppose we should see what's up?"

Roshan waved aside the suggestion. "Surely the Captain and his crew are qualified to deal with these types of things more than we. There's no reason we should interrupt our last meal on the Dart is there?"

Tson grunted. "If it does mean trouble, we'll be glad we ate, anyway." Indeed, Tson had finished his food, and began rummaging through the hold looking for anything they could use as a weapon. He found a long chain, rusted and dirty, but made of heavy iron. "Here, Roshan, this little girl's sword looks like it might be your style." He handed the gray a slim blade, with bad balance and dotted with orange rust. Roshan smiled mirthlessly. Indeed, he did prefer the dancing rapier to the next shoddy blade Roshan found in a chest, a huge piece that Konrad looked pleased with.

"What's that for, chopping wood?" Roshan asked innocently. "Because I can't imagine that would do you any good in a fight."

"Wood or bones, what's the difference?" Konrad leered, but their banter was interrupted by a sudden lurch in the floor that sent them crashing. The heard a sickening splintering sound, and the Dart did not right herself.

Tson was the first to hop up, but all three quickly followed up the stairs. "Glad we found these; I could feel trouble coming..." the large man said. They burst out on the tilted deck to see that they had been nicely rammed and grappled by a larger ship. The Captain stood on the deck shouting orders to his small crew, who were valiantly trying to hold off a swarm of boarders. Collins was the first to go down, hit by a pirate swinging on a line, and pushed over the side. His screams took a long time to fade as he plunged into the void. Then Bradburn was shot in the face with an enormous blast from a pistol that another of the pirates wielded. The tide of invaders rushed their deck; at least six or seven.

Tson swung his chain in a wide arc, first causing the one with the pistol to duck, then catching his arm on the return stroke. The pistol fell from his arm to slide across the deck, and Tson yanked the man down, where he slid as well to land at Tson's feet. The hulk kicked him cruelly, a blow designed to break his neck. Then he waded into the melee, his chain sending the pirates flying. Roshan Boh also dived into combat with a grin on his face. The sword he had was not good, but he wielded it like a dervish. It danced through the pirates, leaving pierced lungs, slashed throats and severed hamstrings in its wake. Konrad, on the other hand, decided he needed to take the battle to the enemy, so he leapt into the air with one of the pirate's own grappling lines in his hand. He slipped attempting this bit of derring-do, though, and slammed into the side of their ship. Only through purest luck, he was able to grab the edge of their deck with his fingertips, where he held on for dear life, the echoes of Collins' screams as he disappeared into the void filling his ears.

Everyone paused for a moment as a strange, clunking noise came from the bowels of the Blue Dart, followed immediately by "Rat" Galloway, one of the nastier members of the crew. "The lift engines!" he shouted hysterically. "They're gonna blow!" For the less ship-savvy passengers, the meaning of this was not clear, but obviously it was not good news. Even the pirates who still stood blanched, turned and ran back to their own vessel. Tson and Roshan knew how to take a cue from them, and climbed along the great wooden ram to climb up on the deck of the pirate ship. The Captain and the Rat also pitched themselves over the railing just as the lift engines exploded with a thunderous blast. Everyone was thrown to the deck, even Konrad, who was lifted over the railing by the explosion, landed heavily on top of one of the pirates. Then the deck tilted sharply downward.

The two ships were stuck together, and with the lift engines gone on the Dart, it was dead weight. The pirate ship angled sharply, as everybody and everything loose slid along the deck to smash into the front railing. Konrad pitched one of the pirates who had slid into him over the side. Then with a lurch, the ship righted and seemed to bounce for a moment. The ram had broken finally, and the Dart had fallen. The Captain sobbed slightly as he leaned over the rail, watching his fortune plummet down into the cloudbank, many hundreds of feet below them, to finally disappear for good.

The three passengers stood and shook their heads. There were only two pirates left; a dispirited and wounded group that offered no more fight. Roshan Boh took his crappy rapier and held it under the chin of one of the pirates. "Maybe you can tell me what the meaning of this is?" he said quietly, but very chillingly.

"Right," said Tson. "Konrad and I will just see if this barge has anything of value we can loot, eh?" The two larger men disappeared into the bowels of the pirate ship, while the Captain and the Rat went to inspect the ship they found themselves on. In just a moment, the Captain came running back upstairs, his face slightly green.

Roshan Boh turned from his uncommunicative prisoner to see what the problem was. "Well, now I know why they were so desperate to board us," the Captain said. "Their lift engine's going out. We'll be lucky if we can make it to land in this piece of junk." With that, the ship suddenly dropped ten feet before straining to catch itself.

 

[Graywolf-ELM]

Excerpt From - Orcs on the Rampage - Tales from the Broken Lands

This is my favorite update because players were able to submit their character's response to the Tribe leader, and I was able to integrate them into the Story Hour update.

This session is the culmination of a coming of age ceremony, where the young in the tribe are sent out to prove themselves. Upon returning, they must boast of their accomplishments and earn tribe names.

<<The link to this Story Hour is in my .Sig at the end>>

I hope you enjoy,
Graywolf

-----------------

Up ahead, Rhgl sees a human fall to the ground mid-stride, just outside the gates. “Maybe Rhgl was not the target? Hmm?” He slows a little after passing the body, to see if the Orcs stop there. Scrag, and shortly after him, Gorga and Tyco come to investigate the body. Rhgl comes skittering back. Hiding a look of relief he reports in “Great Gorga, no others escaped ahead of this one.”

“Be useful Rhgl. Strip this one of weapons, and tie him securely, we will take him back to the tribe. He is strong and will make a good slave.” All of the Orcs have seen the slaves back at the home tribe. None looked as hale or strong-willed as this one surely was.

“And save that Bow for me. I can use it best.” To the rest of the warband and newfound pariah, “gather up all the treasure, weapons, food. Anything of value to the tribe will be taken. More pinkskins will come soon, many more, and we must not be found.”

Short work is made of gathering nearly anything that is not securely fastened to a wall or door hinge. Almost every thing here has some value to the tribe. Gorga gives the order to move out, and after leaving the path into the open lands to the North, Drusilla and Gorga begin the work of covering tracks of the passing Orcs. It is slower going, but once the Broken Lands are reached the chances of pursuit drop to almost nothing. Travel is pushed through the first night, and into the next day. Rest is taken once, due to the injured Orcs, but the trip, back to tribal lands, is made in just over two days. During the trip home, Tyco warns Gorga of the unusual relationship between FillexHulkil and the three Orcs who follow him. “They listen too close, and guard him like a tribe chief.” Gorga keeps an eye on them when he is not busy at the enormous task of keeping everyone moving.

As the warband comes nearer to the heart of Vile Runes country, a patrol is seen. They salute the younglings, and head straight back to the home tribe at a run.

Gorga warns everyone “They will let the tribe know of our return. We return with victory and spoils, let us hope they are enough to discharge our trial.”

The gates are open as the warband returns. Women and young line the palisade and call to the returning younglings. “Did you bring weapons? Treasure?” Cheers and shouts are leveled at the returning Orcs.

Garnash One-Tusk sits on his outdoor seat of honor, with the Shaman, Hargul Wolf-Tongue standing nearby. The elders Caasz Iron-butt, Huzzk Elf-Ripper, and Raorr Scare-Belly are all present to help judge the worthiness of the returning younglings. The warband in charge of security directs the younglings and new pariah to place all treasure at the feet of the elders, and to step back near the fire pit. The tribe gathers round the pit and a low rumbling of Orc voices can be heard, discussing the value of the treasure and the likelihood that these ragtag Orcs would soon be Vile Runes.
Garnash speaks “You return knowing what will happen if you have not gained enough weapons and armor for the tribe.” Hargul jumps down from the platform and approaches the younglings. “They have returned with pariah for the tribe, and a prisoner for me.” He eyes Sharraxtharkul and the wandering Wicca, FillexHulkil with a measuring stare. “Grown in magic already Sharrax… you will do well to learn your place.”

Meanwhile the elders are going through the treasure in front of them. Grunts of satisfaction are made, and the elders turn and nod to Garnash. Huzzk offers ”It is as we expected, padded armor and skinny swords favored by the Darokin pinkskins.” Caasz announces, “Gold and goods make up for the shortfall. If any of these pariah prove themselves, the tribe grows more.” It is obvious to everyone that the pariah will not be included in this ceremony.

Garnash speaks again “You younglings have proven yourselves to the tribe, tell us of your battles and you will be given fitting names in the tribe.” Hargul begins to dance around and pray to Wogan to see the truth of the new tribe members’ words.

Gorga steps forward and begins,

“Oh Great Garnash and honored tribesmen, this is my tale and that of my warband.

I lead our band through the lands, finding food, water and shelter. We found good strong trees and with the great skill of Rhgl were able to fashion weapons with which to slay our enemies.

We soon found the pinkskins' lands and dispatched many of them easily with both stealth and strength. We took their leader hostage and made their only brave warrior cower in fear. We allowed the village to stand so that we could plunder them again in the future.

Then, I lead the mighty band through the border lands where we scouted the pinkskin's fortification. We ambushed one of their patrols and slew them easily with use of our weapons and some magic from Sharraxtharkul.

Then we proceeded to attack their fortification. We used the spiritual leader as a hostage and demanded them to allow us entry. Although they hesitated, eventually they forsaked the leader to protect their lives. A mistake, for we left none alive. His usefulness at an end, I ended the leader's life myself.

The great Ierkh leveled the door to the fortification and allowed us entry. We slaughtered all the pinkskins weakening their outpost. We then captured their leader, freed the other orcs and plundered the fortification for the glory of the tribe. We brought back the leader of the fortification for you to do as you see fit.“

Gorga grabs him by the arm, and pushes him forward, and continues with his speech.

”All of the band acted bravely and brought honor to the tribe.“ He points to the piles of treasure and goods at the feet of the elders. “We returned with these spoils to enrich the tribe. I, Gorga, hope my actions and those of my band please you, Great Garnash.”

A grin splits Garnash One-tusk’s face. Hargul continues to dance around and suddenly rushes up to Gorga looking into his eyes and announces. “I name you ‘Gorga Manhunter’, you honor the tribe.” With that he spins back around and continues dancing and praying as only an Orcish Shaman can do, Gri-Gri flailing, and Wolf skin flapping as he goes.

One of the elders directs a nearby guard to take the human prisoner to Hargul’s hut for questioning later.

Garnash continues, “Gorga, as our Shaman says, you honor the tribe.” Pointing at Drusilla Garnash commands, “You darkskin, tell us of your battles.”

Drusilla steps forth and speaks. “Great Garnash, I have traveled with these Orcs, hunted food for them, and killed with them. Humans fell at my hands, and I yearned to kill more. I used my skills, learned while hunting in the lands of our tribe, to disguise our trail, and keep the humans from following us back here.” Somehow the Dark Elf managed to keep a level of refinement, even after living with Orcs since her childhood.

Garnash nods to her, and Hargul dances up to look in Drusilla’s eyes. “You do honor to the tribe, your name is now, 'Drusilla Wolf-kin'.” He abruptly turns away to return to his dancing and prayers again.

Garnash points to Scrag. “You there, what did you contribute?”

Scrag ambles forward and begins what he thinks are his exploits. “Scrag looking forward to maiming of unworthy creatures, leaping up from the dead and being the bane of all bent twig with string wielding creatures. Mostly, Scrag thirsts put down all who cowardly refuse to bring their challenge axe to axe and instead fling treachery from a distance.”

Garnash looks on in astonishment at the Barbarian, and looks to Gorga, who explains. “Scrag fought bravely and fell to many arrows. He was healed by the Wicca FillexHulkil and has hatred for archers now.” Garnash nods, and Hargul comes dancing up again to look in Scrag’s eyes, not seeing much more than his reflection he announces. “You do honor to your tribe, and you did service for your warband, your name is 'Scrag Limp-stick'.” A roar goes up from the relatively quiet surrounding tribe, and laughter is heard at this name.

Garnash silences them with a quick wave of his arm. “Enough... Limp-stick is one of us now. He can earn a new name in future battles.” Hargul returns to his dancing and praying, while Garnash calls upon Ierkh, “Ogre, come forth and give us your words of battle.”

Ierkh tells his “Tail.”

”O Garnush won tux: warband leave home to siek pinkskin viillig az ewe no. We are finding little hut, two pinkskins making strange noises insiid. Little goblin doesn't let Ierkh crash door, insted climes wall and opens from inside quietlee. We smash pinkskins while they sleep, it is most satisfying crunching noyz when Ierkh hit with his gud rok. Shardaxbartool tells Iirkh to eat little red fruits from plants outsiid, but Iirkh eat bit of pinkskin insted. Pinkskin tastee.

We then attack pinkskin town, kill more miserable pinkskins as they sleep. But little orx and puni goblinz make too much noise, Ierkh has to chays pinkskin servints to gathering place where filthy pinkskin starts hitting big mettal can to waik warriors. Ierkh crush one under his great foot, pull off otherz hed with his mighty fist. Iirkh like to kill pinkskins. Iirkh glad to kill pinkskins for glory of traib.

Filthy pinkskin shaman comes out of hut, tries to talk to warband like they are pinkskins. Little Gorga gets shaman to surrender, Ierkh makes sure tiny pinkskin no he will face quik deth if not listen. We get villig to set down weponz, they are so afraid of Ierkh. Shaman leads us to little pinkskin fort. Little Sharxmexbarkul thros magic into pinkskin patrol, tangles up orcs and Ierkh with filthy pinkskinz inside thorneevines, but we crush their hedz with mighty rock swings and stikpokes. We takes their spears and Gorga planz attack on fort.

Mighty Ierkh leaps over little gate, tramples pinkskinz and makes mash of their braenz. Little pinkskin warband leeder tries to exkape, but great Iirkh breaks his flying stik with Rok. Sharnextarmool has no magiks to stop little pinkskin, other little shaman -- Felnixbignose -- makes it sleep insted. We take all wepuns and relees ork priziners from pinkskin cage. Ierkh strong, carry many trophies for band, for little orcs and puny goblinz can't carry prizes on their backs.

Ierkh proud to swing Rok for honor of Vile Runes!” Cheers go up at this Ogrish mangling of what happened. Nearly out of breath, Ierkh smiles at the response and hefts his rock for all to see, stained dark from all the recent blood.

Hargul dances near and looks up at the huge Half-Ogre. “You honor your tribe. You are now known as 'Ierkh Stone-Fist'.” More cheers from the tribe, and Gorga pats Ierkh on the arm. “Good show Ierkh.” Ierkh is beaming at all the praise.

Garnash calls for quiet again, and points to Sharraxtharkul. “You Goblin... What did you do?” Hargul dances around Ierkh for a second longer and casts his eyes towards Sharraxtharkul.

Sharraxtharkul steps forward, with his wolf companion at his side. “Oh Great Garnash One-Tusk, I have traveled far with these Orcs, and used magic to aid them. I made the plants come alive to trap Darokin pink skins for an easy kill, and to heal Ierkh when he would have fallen in battle. I humbly submit my magic to the tribe and this warband.”

All take notice of the powerful totem of the Wolf that Sharraxtharkul has at his side. Their God Wogan was known as the first and best rider of wolves, when the horde was searching for a home. This new spark of power could mean a shift in the tribe if Sharraxtharkul continues to gain in his abilities.

Regardless of his feelings, Hargul dances up and looks into the eyes of a possible future rival for power in the tribe. With an evil grin, Hargul begins “You have brought honor to your tribe, I name you 'Tangle-foot'!” A shock rushes through the tribe at this insulting Halfling-style name. Hargul dances happily away to continue his prayers, knowing he will hear about this from Garnash later. But tradition is tradition, and none will gainsay the shaman’s naming.

Still slightly shocked, Garnash points to Rhgl “Goblin, the other one. Tell us what you did.”

Rhgl moves quietly forward and puffs himself up with a big breath.

”Our Great Lord Garnash One-Tusk, this is my humble tale of a party of great warriors sent to invade the pinkskins.

After we leaving the safe-safeness of our home, we, the small band of young and eager warriors headed to the most dangerous borders. Gorga and Drusilla are able to gather what good we needed, while little ol' Rhgl was tasked with fashioning the first weapons that we are to use, simple spears.

Finally we made our way, after a few days journey, to the edge of the pinkskin village. A small hut made of wood and clay stood before us. Poor, little ol' Rhgl sneak-sneak over to the hut. Peering inside the hole, I see our first pinkskin. Sneak-sneak back to the rest of the young warband, I tell them what is inside. Gorga, being the smarted of the group, agrees we should kill what is inside.

Poor ol' Rhgl sneak-sneak back to the hut, and up up and inside the opening I did enter. Making my way to the door, I opens it for the band. Inside Ierkh lifts his massive rock, and BOOM! Off comes the head of the pinkskin. Off comes the head of the second one.

Soon after we make our way to the village. We see a hut, with walls around. Gorga thinks this place has something we want. Gorga is wise. Up up over the wall, Little Rhgl goes. I open the gate and lets us all in. Gorga, wise, heads around to the front, I go the other way. We make sure no pinkskins are around.

Gorga spots a pinkskin, and with his weapon in hand, he cuts off the head of the pinkskin. The head rolls-rolls to my feat, and stares blankly up at me. Inside we sneak-sneak. Entering the sleeping chamber, we see more of these ugly pinkskins. Ierkh easy mashes head of one of the pinkskins. I not see what kill the other, but it's head came off as well. Who would have known pinkskins die-die so easy...?”

Garnash waves his hands in the air, “Enough, we will be here all night.”
Hargul dances forward to look at Rhgl. “You honor your tribe Goblin. Your name is now 'Rhgl Story-teller'.” He then dances off, with both Goblins staring death at his back, to finish the prayer. As he finishes, Garnash One-tusk stands to address the tribe.

“Vile Runes!! I give you our newest members. They will make up a new warband to join the others. The Eagles. Gorga Manhunter has proven himself to be the most fit and will lead this warband.”

The tribe begins cheering again, and fall silent with a wave of Garnash’s hand.

“Tonight we celebrate our growing tribe, we will grow and take over the lands around us, the Ogre lands to the West, The Fat Lips and Kobold lands to the East, and Human lands to the South. The Vile Runes will be known and feared throughout the Broken Lands.”

After the cheering and yelling die down, Garnash finishes. “You will be given all the benefits of tribe members from this night forth, see Gynk Lip-biter on the new day, for your first assignment. You may keep the weapons you have used for your own as your share. Let the feasting begin!!!”

Hargul Wolf-Tongue points at the fire pit and begins chanting and waving his Gri-Gri. A fire roars into being and the celebration begins.

Next Up: A visit to the Wayrest Trading Post

 

[ledded]

We were like gods once...

Here's a post from my story hour. It's a strange mix of World War II and supers, and the main characters in this post have just gotten dropped into Arnhem and are essentially testing out their 'powers' for the first real time as they approach the central part of the city where their mission lies.

There were other posts I liked better, but because of the slightly psychotic way that I break up the story line, they would not have made enough sense in a small sample.

Link to the whole Story Hour is in my sig below.

We were like gods once

...

John halted, quietly going to one knee and raising a hand, open palmed, then curled into a fist.

Moose and Hank stopped and also went to a knee, Moose slowly scanning the surrounding area for Germans with his BAR. Another BAR was strapped to his back as well as loose bandoliers of grenades, ammo, several satchel charges and magnetic mines. Hank marveled at the ease at which Moose carried this load, but hell, he was over six-and-a-half feet and thick as a tree, he ought to be able to carry a few things.

They had been walking for close to a couple hours, stopping and starting, Smitty ghosting out in front of them and occasionally appearing out of nowhere to signal them forward. For the last thirty minutes they had been inside the city, but moving slowly so as to not attract a sniper’s attention or step into an ambush.

So far they had avoided contact with anyone hostile, though they did come across a couple groups of Dutch civilians heading out of town who warned them that the British were taking quite a beating up near the bridge. The bridge they should be getting pretty close to by now. They had heard distant sounds of tank or artillery fire, and occasionally a little bit of small arms fire, earlier in their walk. Well, Smitty said he could hear a good bit of small arms fire as they got close to the city; his senses were unnaturally acute, and Smitty didn’t say a whole lot but when he did you had a tendency to believe him, come hell or high water. So if he said there were British .303’s, PIATs, Brens, Stens, German MP40’s, Kar98’s, or MG42’s firing in the distance, as far as the boys were concerned it was a friggin’ fact.

Smitty silently moved back to John while Moose and Hank moved up when he motioned to them from the hidden lee of a ruined building. Hank had the map out and was looking for landmarks that matched the detail of the city map Smythe gave them with the bookstore on it; his finger was on one building and he was staring directly at a tall stone tower, possibly a clock tower of some kind, ahead and to their right about two blocks. Quite a few buildings had been torn up during the fight or before; there had been some shelling of some kind recently.

“Well thar, dingdangit it looks jes like we done found us a dang ol’ landmark thar boys”, Hank whispered, apparently proud, or surprised, that he’d been able to lead them this far by his map skills alone. “What say we dingdang spread out a mite and use that thar danged ol’ tower as a point to turn up thataways toward that thar bridge?”

Smitty, lighting a smoke, was the first to reply.

“Sounds good. We’ll just do this like we planned. I’ll go a little bit ahead and get up in that tower, see what I can and signal back to you. Be careful, boys, I could’ve sworn I heard tank treads on that bridge a few minutes ago and they were German by the sound of ‘em”.

No one questioned him; actually Moose took that as a cue to hand out a few satchel charges and magnetic mines to the others. Moose casually put one in Hank’s hand like a loaf of bread, who promptly overbalanced at the unexpected weight; the mine clanged on the ground at Hank’s feet with him holding it. He grabbed it with his other hand and hefted it back up a bit shakily. Hank smiled sheepishly at the other’s startled faces and looked around for a moment before whispering, “Heh. Sorry ‘bout that. Damn, Moose, warn a dingdang feller ‘fore you start huckin’ 20 pound mines at ‘im.”

Smitty waited until Hank settled himself and then continued.

“Look, I betting the Brit’s have either withdrawn or fallen; I haven’t heard a British weapon fired in a while, which means the Krauts are probably heading down that very street soon to mop up. We need to get into position fast, but let’s be as quiet as we can. We’ll try to spread out around that tower; Moose, you’re gonna pick a covering position on the left where you can see the street, right? Hank, you take the right side and be ready to hit any armor on the flanks. John, back ‘em up and have yourself ready to move in quick to that shop if we can spot it from the tower. Sound like a plan, fellas?”

“Yeah dere, Smitty, I got ya covered, eh”, replied Moose.

“Yup. Got it”, John answered.

Hank looked up from where he was fiddling with the mine he dropped and dented, the other three looking expectantly at him.

“Um… yeah. Dingdang got it thar, partner… ‘cept all that last part, ‘bout dingdang coverin’ and movin’ and sech…”, Hank said.

Moose snorted; John shook his head and let out a sigh. Smitty just stared at Hank like Hank had suddenly grown a horn out of the middle of his forehead. Smitty’s look said he wasn’t all that alarmed about it, however wouldn’t mind pulling it off for him.

And re-attaching it.

Somewhere else.

Somewhere… uncomfortable.

Smitty could say a lot with just a look.

He took a deep breath and started, “Hank, what I…”

“Aw hell Smitty, dingdang I’s just messin’ with ya”, Hank shot back at him, grinning, as he slapped Smitty’s leg with the back of his hand. He arranged his gear and got ready to go.

John nodded at Smitty, his eyes crystal blue like a wolf’s. “Good hunting” he breathed at Smitty, and Moose couldn’t help repressing a slight shudder at the predator rasp in his voice. John smiled at them, a smile more feral than friendly, and loped off towards his position.

Smitty clapped Moose on the shoulder, grinning, and headed out like a rapid ghost, a mere shadow of color on the grey city landscape as he moved silently and swiftly towards the tower.

Hank took off in a crouching quick-walk towards where Smitty had directed him. “Meet ya up thar Bullwinkle”.

Moose just shook his head and moved off at the double towards a good covering position at the end of the street. Heck, those boys are looking forward to this. To gettin’ at the Krauts. Bunch o’ nuts, he thought as he moved his hulking frame into position.

Moose could hear the growling of distant engines as he started to peek out around a building corner next to the tower. He saw a darker shadow move in front of a third storey window of the tower that was most likely Smitty, and thought he might have seen shadows moving in the half-ruined buildings on the other side of the street. Moose caught sight of John, who motioned to him with a closed fist, made a sign for “tank” and counted “three” on his fingers. He then made the sign for infantry and motioned as if to say “a whole friggin sh*tload”. Time to get to work, Moose thought, and ran around the corner sliding behind a low wall, facing down the street towards the Arnhem bridge several blocks away.

As soon as he registered the fact that there was a Tiger and two Panzer tanks moving slowly down the street in single file several blocks away, infantry walking the sidewalks beside them, Moose was flinching away from hot-stinging lead and bits of rock as the MG42 he missed opened up on his position from across the street and a half-block away. Moose took a few quick, deep breaths, blowing them out forcefully, then gritted his teeth and rose up from behind the waist-high wall, opening up a long stuttering stream of suppression fire from his BAR. Nazis caught out in the open scattered as several of their number fell under the withering sleet of .30-06.

Their plan had been simple; Smitty would take a position in the highest building nearest the main street leading to the bridge. Moose would get into position at the end of the street, providing cover and drawing fire from the unfriendlies so Hank and John could move up the street towards the bridge, and the book store that was only a couple blocks from it. He also was going to draw out fire from any Krauts squirreled away in the buildings across the street so Smitty could pick a few choice targets. Hank and John would move up the right side, hopefully out of sight, and only engage if Smitty or Moose needed a hand.

As Smitty settled into position at the top of the tower he recalled a saying once about the best laid plans of mice and men.

…

He could see that Moose was going to be in trouble and quick. There were 3 tanks rolling down the street with at least 20 infantry providing them a screen. The opposite side of the street from Smitty, on Moose’s left, had Nazi’s crawling all over it, and several had set up nice ambush positions. On his right side, near where John and Hank were supposed to be, was a halftrack moving slowly down the alleyways, several Krauts running a scouting screen for it. I bet it’s one of those flamethrower Hanomags, thought Smitty. That’d be just our luck. They were late, and Jerry had prepared them a little surprise.

No matter, thought Smitty, we’ll manage. First things first.

Smitty brought up his scoped Springfield 1903 and immediately sighted in on an MG42 nest that was ripping lead at Moose while a couple half-squads moved quickly towards his position. A Kubelwagon with an MG34 mounted on it zoomed down the alleyway towards the street.

Smitty brought the MG42, tripod mounted with at least a three man fire team, into his scope. They had set up on the second floor of a bombed out building, and he could see movement between the shattered brick and masonry. He let out his held breath and fired, noting the spray of blood out of the gunner’s helmet as he toppled sideways and the firing stopped. Smitty heard Moose’s BAR firing, and immediately swung that way. There were four Germans moving double-time down an alley to Moose’s left, probably just out of his sight meaning to catch him on his flank.

Smitty sighted up the rearmost and fired so as not to alert his forward companions as they ran in a straight line. The man crumpled to the ground when Smitty shot him in the throat, and his companions kept moving. Then the next one’s head jerked backwards, his helmet clanging as it flew off of his head. A little high, thought Smitty as he sighted up the third German and fired. The soldier had stopped and turned when he heard the helmet, and was just looking towards the tower coiled to spring towards cover with a “where the hell did that come from?” look on his face when Smitty shot him through his gaping mouth, open to shout a warning. The leading German dove for cover through a shattered doorway before Smitty could draw a bead on him. Smitty heard more machinegun fire, and swung his Springfield back towards the action after yelling a quick warning to Moose. He hated giving away his position, but he’d hate it more if that yellow-bellied Nazi got the drop on Moose.

The loader from the MG42 nest he had fired at before had taken over and was firing. Smitty could see he was crouching more and had pulled the gun back from the exposed edge a little, and at least one more German was trying to spot where Smitty’s fire was coming from. Like that’s gonna do you any good. Man, I hate machine guns. Jeez, you’d think these b*stards could take a hint.

…

Hank moved as quiet as he could across the alley between the tower and the next building, what looked like an old church of some kind. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the relative silence was broken by the staccato ripping of a German machine gun, followed by a barrage of small arms fire. He saw John at the other end of the alley signaling back towards the end of the street, (aw crap, dingdang ol’ tanks again, Hank thought) and then as he turned to rejoin Hank a second machine gun starting raining death on him from another building.

Hank took off running behind the church and stopped. He peeked through the broken windows, and could see a tank rolling by on the street on the other side. “Dingdang that feller’s gonna give ‘em sum trouble fer sure Itellyouwhat”, he said to himself, and began to concentrate.

Metal debris in the surrounding area began sliding and flying towards Hank, and as it began to revolve around him in a rough sphere of swirling debris Hank took the two magnetic mines that Moose had given him, one in each hand, and added them to the mix. He looked towards the roof of the church, and exerting his control over the magnetic energy in the surrounding area, raised his arms out by his sides, leapt upwards with a low hum, and rose steadily off the ground.

…

John wasn’t that used to running with the ground-pounders, but he was faster than anyone he had ever met now, and could move pretty quiet also. Leaving Hank at the back of the alley, he had skulked up towards the mouth, noticed the tanks and the infantry, and signaled Moose so he wouldn’t get caught with his pants down.

No sooner than he had signaled Moose and turned, the ripping sound of a second MG42 came to him and bullets whizzed and spanged under his feet and on the wall of the alley’s mouth. Chips of stonework sprayed painfully against his skin as he bolted for better cover.

He was smart enough to realize that the MG42 had good field of fire down the alley. He juked left out of the next volley of lead’s path as it tore into the paving stones and jumped through the broken front window of a church that made up the other side of the alley from Smitty’s tower.

John was just about to breathe a sigh of relief as he landed, cat-like, on the other side of the window when he realized he just landed behind someone wearing a grey uniform whose back was to him. A Wermacht grey uniform, with a black death’s-head patch on it.

Immediately John lashed out with both hands, wrapping his arms around the soldier’s neck and calling forth the aura of killing cold almost as a reflex. The Nazi threw his head back as if to scream, but frost was forming on his tongue and teeth as John crushed his windpipe like a cardboard tube.

The soldier’s companion yelled and lowered his MP40, firing a burst at John. John quickly flung the body of the first soldier at him, bullets thudding into the half-frozen corpse, following it with blinding speed. The Nazi barely had time to swing the butt of his submachinegun at John ineffectively before the pale-eyed man was on him, grabbing both sides of his head with hands cold like death and eyes as merciful as a glacier wall. John moved the power of his killing frost differently, concentrating it, and the German’s eyes flew wide in shock, feeling his strength drain from him as his internal organs began to freeze from the inside out.

John let the body slide from his fingers and took a deep breath. Glancing out of the broken window he could see Germans firing down the street, moving, and a Panzer rumbling by right in front of him. Just as was he was reaching for a grenade or anything to use on it, he heard, more acutely felt a strange vibration, looking up to see Hank floating over the shelled-ruined roof with a spinning globe of protective metal around him and two magnetic mines orbiting his waist in the sphere of metal.

He smiled, understanding what Hank was up to, and unslung his Garand. Taking aim, he quickly began shooting the infantry to scatter them away from the clanking monstrosity in front of him as they looked up at Hank.

John just barely noticed the Hanomag pulling up on the opposite side of the church, leaving him with a Panzer on one side and a halftrack on the other. He took a quick second to peer at it through the windows of the church, wondering what was that nozzle where the machine gun was usually mounted? And why was it… burning?

“Oh damn, that can’t be good”, thought John.

…

As Hank floated past the apex of the Church’s destroyed roof, he gestured at the lead Panzer with both arms, teeth gritted in effort, squeezing his hands into clenched fists and slowly pulling them apart.

The tank responded, shaking and shuddering violently while making strange CRREEAAUUNKK noises of protesting metal. Several sections of armor crinkled and warped free from their bolts, the protective shurtzen on the left side sprang off entirely, and a hatch twisted loose from its hinges as the engine went dead. Confused exclamations in German rose muffled from the interior. Several Germans on the ground looked around in confusion, and one pointed up at Hank, incredulous eyes goggling wide and screaming in German. Hank just smiled at them and yelled down “Hey, how ya’ll doin’?”, waving amiably as he saw John shoot several of them dead while they stared at him like hics at their first country fair.

Then he watched as the Tiger coming from behind the Panzer finished leveling its main gun straight down the street, and with a deafening PHOOM!, fired. Straight down at Moose’s position.

Hank didn’t dare spare a glance to see the results; he set his mouth in a grim line and dove down towards the ground in between the tanks.

…

Meanwhile, Moose had been firing relentlessly at the horde of Nazis now popping up in windows all over the left side of the street and the ones accompanying the tanks. He’d dropped several, saw Smitty pop a few more, but they were still laying heavy down fire on him.

A couple Nazi’s sprang out close to him, charging and firing wildly with their MP40’s. The small caliber submachinegun rounds slammed all around Moose, a stream of them walking up his left side as he grunted in pain.

The Nazi’s looked at him, confused, as they saw their rounds pillow into Moose’s leg and ribcage, his skin and muscle rippling like a small stone dropped into a pond before the skin sprang back, unharmed, and the bullets fell plinking to the ground next to him.

They had only a second to contemplate this phenomena before Moose deftly turned his BAR towards them, muttering “Dammit *that* sting’s a bit, eh?”, and shot them both dead with a burst of high-caliber fire.

Moose was having a little trouble catching his breath; he had been moving very quickly, firing-reloading-firing, ducking in-and-out of cover, and several rounds from the Germans had hit their mark. While they didn’t punch big holes in him like intended, they still hurt. He thought one might have even cracked a rib, but it wasn’t enough to slow him down. Nope; as they used to say in football, he was just hitting his stride now.

The MG42 and some of the rifle fire that had been plaguing him had dropped off, thanks Smitty Moose thought, though a Kubelwagon with an MG34 mounted on it just careened around an alley and began rushing at him, machinegun spraying wildly and hitting the building behind him.

Moose was just taking aim at the Kubelwagon when he heard Smitty’s voice yell out, “Moose! Left!”

Without thinking, Moose snapped out his left hand and glanced quickly. The sweater-necks back in England had given him a little going away present before he left: A large metal contraption, an oversized brass knuckle-looking thing made of some dull whitish metal. They said it would keep him from hurting his hand if he had to hit something harder than he was.

He thought it a bit silly-looking but breathed silent thanks now; Smitty’s warning was for a lone German soldier that had flanked him. The Nazi had a panzerfaust not 30 feet away, and was just depressing the trigger as Moose spotted the Kraut, rocket screaming away from him in a cloud of smoke and flame right at Moose’s chest.

As Moose’s left hand snapped out, he felt a jarring impact to his knuckles. He had swatted the rocket out of the air to explode behind him, showering him with rocks and debris. That brass knuckle has just saved him a world of hurt. The Kubelwagon fired another burst at him, one round glancing off of his leg as the MG34 jammed with a ker-chank.

This was getting just a bit too intense for Moose. Time to even up the odds a little.

“Oh, so ya wanna play *rough* now, eh?” growled Moose, rapidly losing his patience with the Nazis. He flexed his mighty shoulders and heaved against his own form, mentally pushing against the boundaries of his own flesh, feeling the power within him light his skin on prickling fire as he felt it flood his body and expand outwards in a violent surge.

The Nazi who fired the Panzerfaust fell back on his rump in surprise, scrabbling for his rifle, muttering “Gott in Himmel… Gott in Himmel…”

The large American he was sure he had just killed had just exploded outwards in a ripple of skin and flesh and now stood before him holding a paving stone ripped from the sidewalk that was the size of a medium table-top.

He was now over *nine* feet tall.

And five feet wide.

And very, very angry.

The German scrambled, hands shaking, for his rifle, and had just flipped the safety off of it when he looked up to see the paving stone heading straight for his head and chest. He then saw nothing but a flash of light, then darkness.

Moose turned, dusting his hands, satisfied that he had taken care of *that* Nazi. He heard the three Germans in the stopped Kubelwagon, grinding its gears in front of him, screaming at each other in their panic to clear the jammed MG34. He tore a large chunk off the wall in front of him off with two massive hands. At least now he saw why those brass knuckles were so big and his uniform was special made and hung like a potato sack on him, why the Materials scientist had warned him not to tighten his bandoliers any tighter than this mark as it all stretched tightly across his much-larger body. He raised the huge chunk of stone over his head and turned towards the Kubelwagon, grinning.

The grin slid off of his face as he heard the whirring of a tank’s turrent suddenly stop.

He saw the Tiger down the street, big gun aimed right at him.

Moose flinched, snapping the chunk of wall down in front of him reflexively.

“Oh shi..”

PHOOM!

There was a tremendous impact and explosion, the Nazis in the Kubelwagon ducking for cover as bits of rock and steel rained everywhere. The form of the immense American streaked backwards from the impact to CRASH into the building facing fifteen feet behind him, which promptly fell in a shower of bricks leaving a large gaping hole.

They all cheered and looked for a new target as they turned away from the smoking crater where Moose had just been standing, one smoking and torn jump-boot the only testament that he had ever been there.

...

 

[Angcuru]

Well, it's hard to pick a favorite installment from my Story Hour, seeing as how I wrote every single word of it (mostly), and each post has its own feel to it, but I like the pacing of this one. Basically it's based on the Baldur's Gate CRPG storyline with a lot of stuff shifted around, changed, and a WHOLE lotta stuff added. Link to the whole thing is in my sig if you want to read the whole story thus far.

**************

Angcuru could not help but sigh with comfort as he lay abed. Soft feather down pillows, a firm but comfortable mattress, and lots of fluffy quilts were a much welcome change from cold earth. It had been a long time since any of them had enjoyed such luxuries. Luckily, Jaheira had been able to contact the local sect of harpers and tapped into their funds. For such a secretive organization, they sure had money to spare.

So great was his comfort that he did could not perceive Imoen creeping into his room with a pillow of her own, raised high to strike.

*WHUMPH* The pillow impacted Angcuru’s face, and feathers went flying all over the room. He leapt out of the bed and landed on the floor in a tumble of quilts, feathers covering him from head to toe. He spat several out of his mouth, coughing and choking.

*HAAACK COUGH COUGH COUGH* “IMOEN! *cough* what the *cough* HELL did you do that for?!”

Imoen shook with laughter as she leaned against the doorjamb. “Oh, that was great! You should have seen the look on your face! *ahem* Anyway, it’s almost noon, and you’re the only one still in bed.”

“And you woke me because . . . ?” Angcuru disentangled himself from the bedding and began to clothe himself. New clothes too, Jaheira sure had some generous allies.

“A representative from the local harper group is here to see you, says he needs to talk to you.”

“Damn it. I told Jaheira not to tell them I was with her. Well, they do have spies all over the whole length of the Sword Coast. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Hurry up before they stop serving breakfast. If there’s anything left in the larders, that is. I know Minsc is a big guy, but DAMN can he eat. He even insisted that they bring out some cabbage for Boo. Anyway, make with the hurrying.” Imoen darted out of the room.

Angcuru stumbled out of bed. It never failed. Any time he found a bit of comfort, it was snatched right away from him. He removed the last of the feathers from his hair and headed for the common room. Minsc had a whole table to himself, with empty bowls and platters taking up what room wasn’t covered by a huge rack of lamb he was currently devouring.

The room was almost full of people chatting and eating, mostly merchants and other folk in the commerce business. Imoen was standing at the bar sipping on a glass of mulled wine chatting with the bartender. Jaheira and a well groomed dwarf in very fine clothing were sitting in a secluded corner speaking in secretive tones. They appeared to be busy, so he sat down at Minsc’s table, cleared away a small area for himself, and motioned for the servant girl.

The girl is very pretty, half-elf, by the look of her, and being the only table waiter, she was dashing about taking orders for everyone present. “Hi, how was your rest? That’s nice. We’re still serving breakfast, but you can order whatever you want. What’ll you have? Don’t worry about paying; Mr. Fancy Pants dwarf over there is picking up the tab.” She didn’t even wait for him to reply to her first inquiry, and now stood there vibrating with impatience.

“Ham and cheese omelet, lots of pepper. A side each of crispy bacon and sweet sausage, the sausage blackened. An apple, glass of chilled milk, and a mug of hot mulled cider.”

She wrote furiously on a small pad of parchment, and the moment he stopped speaking she dashed off, dodging between tables and stepping over the morning drunks.

Angcuru sat back and waited for her to return with his order, and observed Minsc devouring an entire rack of lamb on his own. “Are you sure you’ve got enough food there, Minsc?”

Minsc wiped the grease off of his mouth with the table cloth. “Minsc is not sure. He is quite hungry, and is not satisfied yet. Boo is the same.”

“And where is Boo?”

“Minsc does not know.”

Angcuru reached for a seemingly untouched biscuit, and was about to bit into it when it squeaked. “GAAAAHH!” The biscuit hit the table, crumbled a little, and four furry legs broke through the crust. A small nose then poked through the side, and the biscuit proceeded to crawl towards the gravy by Minsc’s lamb. Angcuru suddenly felt a lot less hungry. He saw Jaheira motioning him over to her table, which was decidedly less cluttered with bones and dishes than where he sat now.

Angcuru sat down with Jaheira and the well-dressed dwarf, noticing that the dwarf had bright eyes and a very curly mustache which extended almost to his shoulders. “Ah, you must be Angcuru. Pleased to meet you, I’m Councilman Kinomer.”

“Kinomer is an odd name for a dwarf, in my experience.”

“Yes, I suppose so, but then again my family has always been rather odd, culturally speaking. We prefer to live in lavish luxury instead of in a filthy mine, and Athkatla has suited us very well through the years. But that’s not the core matter of this discussion, now is it?”

Angcuru’s food arrived at table, and the half-elf servant girl was gone almost as suddenly as she appeared. “The service here is quite good, I must say.” He began to eat. “As is the food.”

“Isn’t it though? I thought you might like it. The Mithrest Inn has been in my family for quite some time now. When my agents identified Jaheira at the site of the disaster in the Promenade, we wasted no time in finding accommodations. Now, I need to discuss some things with you, concerning recent events. This will take some time, so please continue eating while I speak.”

Angcuru found the eggs and sausage cooked just the way he liked them, good and burnt. Most people disdained burnt food, but he found that if they were overdone just a tad, more flavor came through. He nodded to Kinomer and continued to eat.

“Good. Of course you know that a demented and extremely powerful mage has recently been captured by the Cowled Wizards.”

“I wouldn’t say he was captured.” Jaheira said. “More like he let them take him in.”

“Oh? That’s quite odd. Irvencoia would know just as anyone else at his level would that Spellhold is not the type of place one goes willingly. Hmm. That does complicate the matter somewhat. Eligre! A pint of the house’s top ale over here, quick like!” The servant girl nodded as she scrambled by, laden with a tray of cider.

“Ecstasy?” Angcuru inquired. “That’s an unusual name. No one would name their child in that manner, why does she go by that?”

“Stop by after hours and you’ll find out, handsome.” Eligre chirped with a wink as she passed their table again.

Kinomer chuckled. “Oh, you’re in for it now, Angcuru.”

“How do you mean?”

“Once Eligre sets her eyes on someone she’s attracted to, she doesn’t let up. Ever.”

“You mean . . . ?”

“You won’t be lonely tonight, if she has anything to do with it.”

Angcuru swallowed hard, mumbled incoherently under his breath, and returned to his breakfast.

“Well, back to the matter at hand.” Kinomer accepted his ale from Eligre, took a healthy swig, and slammed the tankard onto the table. “The Council of Six, which more or less runs this city, has an understanding with the Cowled Wizards. We don’t levy taxes on their organization and gave them a small island a ways off the coast to set up their operations, and they police the use of magic in our city. They arrest anyone who uses excessive magic, hold them at their base of operations, and at the end of each month send us a list of the offenders. Those who were wrongfully imprisoned are released as are those whose offense was minor. The rest are kept at Spellhold, for whatever the Cowled Wizards see fit.

“However, the situation with Irvencoia isn’t something they were prepared for. He is far more powerful than anyone they have dealt with before. They have wards against powerful magic they can erect they may reduce the threat he poses, though such things take a good deal of time to prepare. We on the Council of Six are concerned with the possibility that Irvencoia may overpower them and take control of the facility, turning it to his purposes.

“The problem we have is that we don’t possess a full idea of what Irvencoia is capable of. He was first brought to our attention by Elminster, who in his infinitely meddlesome nature had been scrying all around Faerun for anyone who might be in a position to jeopardize his near monopoly on extremely advanced magic. He found that this Irvencoia character has apparently appeared from out of nowhere, with a capability seemingly on par with his own. This of course was very startling, and with no clear idea of his real power, we could only observe.

“For some time we had been monitoring his activities, until we lost track of him several months ago. Considering that he had a full laboratory, prison cells, a staff of constructs and dark dwarves, and most likely a great deal more than this, beneath the very heart of our city, is very disturbing. ”

“So where do I come in?” Angcuru asked.

Kinomer sipped at his ale and twirled his mustache. “We need to know about Irvencoia’s intentions. He has taken a great interest in you, obviously because of your lineage, but for what purpose we have no idea. In the event that he . . . neutralizes the Cowled Wizards, he will very likely come after you.”

“What do you expect me to do, then? Wait around and see what happens?”

“Precisely.”

“Come again?”

“We need to keep track of Irvencoia, to make sure that we know what to expect of him.”

“So you want me to be your insurance policy.”

“For lack of a better explanation, yes.”

“And why should I place myself in danger just for the peace of mind of a bunch of over-privileged fops such as you?”

Kinomer frowned. “Because you will be well compensated for your trouble. Our organization is offering you and each of your companions fifty gold pieces a fortnight just to stay within Amn. Plus you may stay at my Inn at no cost. It is quite a generous offer, as I see it, since you are more or less a hero to our nation.”

Angcuru stared at his food, which now tasted less of good cooking and more of extortion. He pushed it away. “Then you can forget about it.” He stood up and began to walk towards the door.

Jaheira’s hand grasped his wrist firmly. “You would reject such a generous offer? After our ordeal below, such an opportunity to rest should be welcome.”

“Then why are you not in mourning for your ‘beloved’ husband?” Angcuru’s words turned Jaheira ashen-faced. He removed her hand from his wrist and faced Kinomer. “Ever since my lineage was revealed I have known naught but malice, whether by word, coin, or steel. I would have been willing to help you, had it been for the greater good, but you have slain that possibility as surely as with an axe. You will receive no aid from me.”

Angcuru was halfway to the door, when Kinomer called to him. “That’s too bad, then. I wonder how the common folk will react when they learn that their hero is murder incarnate?” Kinomer sat calmly at table, now puffing on a clay pipe.

Angcuru’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the table. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“You will stay within our borders, as a corpse if need be.” Kinomer tapped a pouch of coins he had placed in front of Angcuru. “I suggest you accept my offer.”

Angcuru’s glare at Kinomer would have curdled fresh cream. He snatched the pouch and stalked out of the Inn, slamming the door behind him. He was sick and tired of being manipulated by those who valued their cause above all others. It was always the so-called ‘noble’ people who did this, never the common folk, who were blessed in their ignorance.

To blow off some steam and clear his mind he walked through Waukeen’s Promenade, the prime center of commerce in the city of coin. Vendors of weaponry, silk, exotic creatures, jewelry, every conceivable commodity were present. Angcuru realized that not having finished his breakfast, he was still hungry. He bought a fresh loaf of bread and snacked as he walked. Hero indeed, nobody gave him a second glance. Not surprising, though. It was not as though anyone had a clue as to what he looked like.

The screaming started when he passed by a large circus tent.

 

[Jodo Kast]

First Sight

This is a clip from the First Sight thread penned by Lamprolign and me. The story is set in Chicago. Several of our heroes are tracking a mysterious menace who has killed several of their number and recently threatened another. Our cast (for this installment): Gabe, intrepid crime scene investigator who recently became aware of startling psychic/mystic abilities; Mary, teenage witch who finds herself in the predicament of being stuck as a disembodied spririt inside Gabe's head, but still able to exercise her sorcerous powers through him; Poe, vampire as lethal as she is lovely; Piotr, Russian hitman (who just happens to be a werewolf). Mind you, this installment was imagined, written and posted well before the Underworld movie hit the scene. Please drop in on our humble little story hour and let us know what you think.

018

Do you care what the line is,
Do you care if you won't,
Lesson one is let's stop waiting for the sunlight
It's not crazy to bow down in the full moon, in the full moon

Do you care what the riot is,
Do you care if its falsefied,
Lesson one is let's stop waiting for the sunlight
It's not crazy to bow down in the full moon, in the full moon

Hey, hey I'm dead on arrival,
Hey, hey I'm distant
Crawling right back, yes, I'm crawling right back

- Urge Overkill, Honesty Files

"Where are you going?"

"Hunting."


****

"More coffee sir?" The waitress waved a half-full carafe towards the man's cup.

"No thank you," the man responded with an accent that she thought was Slavic.

She considered asking him where he was from. She had just started a Russian language class at university and was curious. The man turned and looked at her for a brief moment before staring back out onto the street. His gaze chilled her to the core. She turned and walked quickly away.

Piotr glanced at the young woman as she disappeared into the cafe's kitchen. Her revulsion amused him. He looked at the clock that hung above the counter of the small cafe. Midnight. He began to wonder if Asher was going to leave the building this night. No matter. We can finish our business indoors....

****

The northeast wind bit through Gabe's coat, causing him the shiver violently. "Where the hell are we going?"

"Asher said he needed to work. He'll be in his office. We're going there to watch and wait. He'll be our bait."

"I don't suppose this guy knows that he's bait?"

"He made it clear last night that he didn't want our help," Poe said with an edge in her voice. "I'm out to stop this freak before he goes after somebody else from the Haven. We're not here to protect Asher."

"Poe," Mary protested, "he's still a person. We can't just let him die."

"He should have thought of that before he turned his back on us," Poe shot back. "His loss will be well worth it if it allows us to stop the beast."

"Why am I following a psycho?" Gabe's mumble was heard only by Mary, who remained uncharacteristically silent.

****

Piotr sighed. Too many people, he thought as he walked past the building's rear entrance. Trucks were already there, lining up in preparation to deliver the morning edition. He turned the corner out of the alley, heading back toward the cafe. A blast of cold wind greeted him, cold that would have sent most hurrying indoors. Piotr raised his face to the wind and embraced the chill despite his relatively sparse attire consisting of a gray turtleneck and faded jeans. A dark blue toboggan pulled over his brow covered his head. He weaved his way quickly between the numerous pedestrians crowding the sidewalks. Perhaps you will live yet another night, comrade.

The wind shifted direction as it eddied around the buildings. Piotr stopped. A familiar scent triggered a short burst of adrenaline. Have you come out to play little girl? Piotr scanned the faces surrounding him to no avail. A twist of wind carried the scent to him. With the wind swirling there was no way he could discern where she might be. He didn't believe it was a coincidence that the vampire was in his hunting ground again. She would have to be dealt with before Piotr could continue the hunt. A thin smile creased his face at the thought.

****
Poe stood quietly in the shadows of a darkened doorway. The werewolf paused ten yards from her. He slowly looked around, turning a full circle, and then he moved on. As he moved past, she slipped out into the flow of people behind him. She could hear her pulse beating in her head, feel the strength coursing through her. Her recent feeding had replenished her beyond the cost of regeneration. Poe grinned wickedly. The werewolf had toyed with her. He would pay dearly.

Gabe followed a few paces behind the vampire. He wondered again why he had tagged along. He supposed that part of it was professional interest. A crime had been committed, and even though this was not exactly conventional investigation, the bad guy needed to be stopped. Maybe part of it was something Mary had said. They're your people too. He wasn't quite ready to admit that to himself, but it lurked in his subconscious.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Mary said quietly.

"Me too," Gabe whispered.

****

Piotr continued to walk. He passed the cafe where he was seated earlier, and then turned down a narrow alley that led off of Adams into shadows. Follow, little girl.

****

Poe watched the man in the gray sweater pass into the shadows of an alley. She slipped silently into the dark lane. A stygian mist gathered around her, swirling up from the ground, until she disappeared. The black mist spread from the dark recesses of doorways and from under overhangs. Tendrils filled the alley, blocking the light from the thoroughfare behind her. She smiled, pleased by the darkness.

The slightest scraping sound gave scant warning as several hundred pounds of fur and claw rushed toward her. She sidestepped, testing his ability to see in her shadow mist. He changed direction immediately, bearing down on her. Leaping to the side, she barely evaded the swipe of razor talons. Damn! How can he see me?!

Poe rolled to her feet. She spotted her quarry skidding around for another charge, fully transformed, a mass of bristly fur, sharp teeth and claws. In a single leap she closed the distance between them. Her booted foot landed squarely on the monster's eye with a wet crunching sound and the spatter of blood. He snarled in rage, swiping sideways with his tooth filled maw. Poe bounded away, landing on a second floor fire escape platform.

The beast angled its head toward her. One eye was bloody but the other transfixed her with a baleful yellow stare. It leapt, easily clearing the distance to the platform. Poe sprang away at the last instant, sailing across the alley to find a tenuous perch on a third floor windowsill. No sooner had the beast's feet made contact then it jumped again. Poe somersaulted into midair, arcing gracefully to the pavement below. The creature crashed through the window and inside the building.

****

Gabe stood on the sidewalk where the alley disappeared behind an inky veil of unnatural darkness. Sounds of a struggle pierced the black veil, followed by the crystalline refrain of breaking glass.

"We have to go in there," Mary said. "Poe could be hurt."

"If we go in there, I could be hurt. Poe's a big girl, she can take care of herself," Gabe responded. Several minutes passed and the darkness in the alley dissipated. He saw no sign of Poe or the beast.

"."

Gabe cautiously walked down the alley. About fifty paces brought him to a spatter of blood on the pavement. I wonder whose.... There were gouges in the pavement where the creature's claws dug in as it leapt. A shard of broken glass caught his attention. He looked up and saw the shattered window.

"!"

Gabe stared at the window three stories overhead, and then looked around at street level. There was a steel door opening into the building a few yards away. He knew before he tried that the door would be locked.

"Fosgail an dràstar," Mary spoke.

Gabe heard his voice speaking in time with hers. The door crumpled inward, ripping from its frame and crashing against the wall of what looked like a hallway.

"Oops."

"Nice Mary," Gabe said. "Why don't we get some trumpets and firecrackers to announce ourselves while you're at it. You could ask before you hijack my vocal cords, you know." He stepped through the door.

****

Piotr's right eye was useless. He could feel the blood trickling down his cheek, taste it in the corner of his mouth. Moving swiftly, he crossed the long narrow room. By the light of computer monitors he could make out a door at the far end. The corners of his mouth turned up in a horrific parody of a smile. The tight quarters here would work to his advantage. He slipped through the door into the corridor beyond.

****

Glass crunched under her feet as Poe stepped from the windowsill. Scattered spots of blood led away from the window into a long narrow room lined by desks. Poe stood for a moment listening. Silence. She moved across the room toward the only door. The blood trail continued down the corridor beyond. A multitude of doors opened on either side of the hallway, black openings through which her quarry might be waiting.

****

He heard the faint scuff of a booted foot. He became still, his breathing a barely audible whisper. The central heating carried the smell of fresh earth to his nostrils. She was near. The muscles in his legs tensed, readying to spring. His ears strained to hear her approach.

****

Poe stopped. Did she hear something? Every nerve was strung snare-tight. Then she heard the soft sound of exhalation. She whirled and saw the beast hurtling toward her. There was no room to dodge in the close confines of the corridor. It slammed into her with bone crushing force. She was pinned between the beast and the wall. One arm under the creature's snout barely kept the jagged teeth from her face. Blood seeped through her coat where talons had raked her shoulders. She brought her knee up hard into the creature's rib cage. Bones gave way beneath the blow and Poe heaved the beast back. She felt the walls pressing in. She couldn't maneuver in such tight quarters.

It charged again. At the last moment Poe dropped to the floor with her legs pulled tightly to her chest. As the creature pressed its attack, she uncoiled explosively, planting both feet in the creature's chest. Up and over it went, carried by its own momentum. Its back tore through the drop ceiling. Pieces of plaster tile and steel frame rained from above. The beast's trajectory carried it through a steel door into a stair well.

Before the rain of ceiling had stopped it scrabbled to its feet again. Poe considered her options quickly. She had to get out of this building. It would only be a matter of time before the werewolf's greater weight and weaponry won the battle in the enclosed space of the hallway.

It leapt. Poe could not evade this time. They rolled down the hallway, Poe trying desperately to keep the toothy muzzle away from her throat and face. She was unable to land any blows of her own. The talons ripped long gashes on her shoulders. Its hind feet lacerated her legs. The gray carpeting of the hallway floor turned dark with Poe's blood.

****

Gabe had just entered the stairwell when he heard the door above him explode open from a great impact. He looked up to see a light rain of white dust float down from the third floor landing.

"!"

Gabe ran up the stairs, wondering exactly what good he was going to do when he got there. He skidded through the ruined third floor door into a hallway. There was Poe, pinned under the beast and from the looks of things not doing too well.

"POE!"

It seemed to Gabe as if Mary's voice had split his skull in two. He felt an incredible surge of emotion coarse through him as Mary's thoughts spilled into his consciousness. Gabe's arm raised before him, his fingers and hand held flat, pointing toward the creature.

"Balaas aingeal!" their voices intoned together.

Red light swirled around his hand and then surged forward to strike the beast in the shoulder. It howled in pain. The air reeked of burnt hair and flesh. It turned a baleful eye in their direction. Gabe's other hand swung around as if throwing.

"Ròiseal viitahea"

A compression wave, outlined in pale blue light, streaked outward from the arc of Gabe's arm. It tore down both sides of the hallway, shattering drywall and steel frame. It struck the still smoldering beast, sending it flying to the opposite end of the hallway with a sickening crunch of breaking bones and tearing flesh. Gabe brought his hand in front of his face and gawked at it as if it were some alien thing suddenly grafted to his body.

The beast rose from the floor, staggered two steps, and then disappeared through the far door. Poe climbed to her feet, dripping blood but still moving.

"Don't let it get away!"

Gabe sprinted after the werewolf, Poe a step behind. They burst through the far door. A trail of blood drops made it a simple task to follow the creature. It led to another stairwell. The trail went up. Gabe thought they must be at the fifth floor when the trail exited the stairwell. The door deposited them on the top floor of an adjoining parking building. Gabe skidded to a halt. An image flashed across his mind of the creature flying through the air. He turned in time to see the beast leaping from a dark corner where the parking building connected with the building they had just exited. Its jaw clamped down hard on Gabe's left arm as he failed to dodge the attack. Gabe felt a great pressure and was sure he heard bones splintering. Then he was slung from side to side as the beast began to rip him apart. Suddenly it released him.

Gabe saw Poe on the creature's back. With both arms locked around its neck she clamped its windpipe shut. It thrashed wildly for a moment then jumped straight up, flipping over onto its back and pinning Poe between itself and the concrete floor. Her breath was taken away as the impact forced all the air from her lungs. Her grip loosened enough for the beast to roll away. Poe sprang to her feet, landing in a crouch, ready for another attack.

Gabe lay still on the concrete. He was still conscious but he couldn't move. His left arm was a shattered ruin from the elbow down. He could see bits of broken bone protruding from several places. Blood pulsed out. Gabe's battered brain registered that an artery must be cut. He had to stop the bleeding.

"Voraes ni tuagh banigh."

"Gabe," Mary's voice seemed muted, as if she were speaking through a wall. "Gabe, you have to stay with me here."

"Voraes ni tuagh banigh."

Gabe felt a tingling in his arm, and a small measure of strength returned to him. He looked at the shattered arm. Blood continued to ooze out of the many lacerations, but it no longer surged. He looked over to see Poe and the werewolf warily circling. Each looked for a weakness in the other's defenses. Gabe could not stand. He crawled back toward the wall and propped himself up against it.

Poe kept her eyes locked on the creature's left eye. The right eye was swollen shut in an angry red mass that was still dripping blood. As they circled, Poe gradually closed the distance between them. She dropped straight down, catching her weight on her hands, swinging both legs around. The kick caught the creature on the end of its snout. A tooth flew out and skidded across the concrete.

The werewolf lunged, its jaw snapping shut inches from Poe's face. She fell back on her shoulders, pulled her legs to her and kicked out. This time the blow landed solidly in the creature's throat. It made a gasping rasp and backed away. Poe was up in a heartbeat, catching the beast just below the ear with a roundhouse kick. It faltered for a moment and then lunged, seizing Poe's leg in a crushing bite. It thrashed Poe from side to side, slamming her into the concrete.

Gabe saw the vampire fall with the creature latched onto her leg. He raised his right arm, fingers outstretched.

"Caer’aroon naes naeor," Gabe said in time with Mary.

Bolts of blue light shot from Gabe's hand, striking the creature in the ribcage. Howling, it released the vampire. It turned to face Gabe. Poe rolled away and regained her footing. Her leg was broken. She nearly fell when she tried to put weight on it. Poe balanced on the good leg and looked around. The edge of the deck was only a few yards behind her. If she could only get the beast near enough.…

Gabe's arm hung limp at his side. He'd lost a lot of blood before Mary slowed the bleeding ... too much blood.

The beast watched Gabe's head loll to the side. This one was no longer a threat. He turned back to face the vampire in time to receive a vicious kick to the head. Bright lights exploded in its vision. It turned, snapped blindly and felt fabric tear through its teeth. It saw the vampire standing just a short distance away. She seemed to be favoring one leg. A final attack should finish her. He leapt toward the vampire clawed forelimbs fully outstretched. He would tear her apart. More swiftly than his eye could follow she feinted to the left. Where his target had stood now he saw only open space and lights far below.

Poe crawled back to the edge and peered over. Bakayaro, she thought. She could just make out a crushed form on the sidewalk far below. Good riddance. Poe looked at Gabe's unconscious form. Maybe he wasn't such a loser after all...

****

Gabe opened his eyes. He saw a varnished tongue and groove pattern above. That's not my ceiling. Sunlight was flooding the room through windows that were out of his line of sight. He heard a sound to his side.

"Well, I see that you are finally awake Gabriel." The Sister's voice floated from across the room.

"How...?"

"...did you get here?" the Sister finished for him. "Poe carried you."

Gabe's eyes widened and he felt his neck for wounds with his right hand. At the same time he realized his arm was bound in an elaborate splint.

"I think Poe might be offended by your reaction," the Sister chuckled softly. "As amusing as it was."

"How is Poe?"

"She's fine, Mary," the Sister answered. "She is much more durable than our unfortunate public servant here."

"Thanks," Gabe said. "What happened to the hairy-scary?"

The Sister allowed the spinning wheel to coast to a stop. She looked out the window before answering. "He disappeared. No body was found."

"Lovely," Gabe replied, "meaning he could be and probably is still out there."

"Yes," the Sister continued looking out the window. "He must be severely injured though. I don't believe we will see him for some time. The most troubling aspect of these events is why. Until we know that it will be very difficult to guard against." The Sister paused and looked back at Gabe. "I fear there is something more at work here than the werewolf, I just don't know what or who...yet."


© Austin Hale

First Sight: A d20 Modern Story Hour

 

[Enk&D'Shai]

Small Beginnings

Well, I guess we should get with the program and throw our hat in the ring too.

Good idea. But you better let me throw mine instead.

What?

Your hat. It would be better if you left it on.

What in the nine hells are you talking about?

Just trust me.

Oh no. I haven't trusted you since that time in...

Do you really want people to see your bald spot?

I do not have a bald spot.

Sure you will... I mean do.

Good grief! I fall for the Nair-in-the-shampoo-bottle trick one time...

Now don't go pulling your hair out over it.

I hate you.

I'll just push the button.

Yeah. You do that.

****

What follows if an full post excerpt from Small Beginnings, a mid length and complete story hour. It is reproduced in its entirety, including the sometimes entertaining introduction that the SH later become known for.

****


Hi all!

My cohort in crime, Dshai527, suggested that we make a concerted effort to start posting more often (two times a week if possible) until we catch up, so here we are with another update.

Once again, it comes with a switch of point of view, this time through the eyes of your favorite sorceress. Hopefully these frequent switches are giving you a taste of what's underneath the exteriors of these characters!

Well, I'd better get to posting before D'shai (who's standing over my shoulder this very second) decides to make me put in another one of those...

Dang it, he already came up with one.

OK - "tip of the day"

Beavers don't live in pajamas. Unless invited.

Don't ask me - I have no idea where he comes up with these things.

Enjoy!

*****

Aurora’s thin brow furrowed in concentration as she finished her quick incantation and pointed at the last rat visible on the stairs. She felt the surge of magical energies swell in her fingertips and lash out, taking the form of a single purple dragon’s maw, just as she envisioned it. The eldritch missile streaked unerringly toward her target, and burst into its side: with a squeal, the huge rodent fell heavily to the iron lattice floor. Exhausted from the channeling of multiple spells, yet at the same time tingling with lingering pleasure, Aurora let her arms fall heavily to her sides, while she peered over the edge to her companions on the stairs.

“My thanks, Aurora. I do believe that is the last of them.” Ashrem’s silky tenor carried up from below, confirming what the young sorceress had already surmised. “And I have good news. Brother Theo is moving down there, and the rats that fell with him are not.”

On hearing that Theo was still alive, Aurora let out a long, relieved sigh. She looked over at Pack, standing close by, and saw that the halfling could barely contain his joy at the news – the red haired spellcaster imagined he might burst at any moment – and she could see him visibly fight the urge to run right down the rickety staircase.

Ander called out from the stairs, “As long as you take it slow, you should be able to get down without a problem.” As if to dispute the exotic woodsman’s statement, the iron railings creaked in reply, but Aurora saw that Pack was already on his way to the first landing. With a shrug, she followed him down the switchback.

With Ashrem in the lead, the four made their way down the stairwell. Aurora stretched her limbs as she walked after her companions. It had been quite some time since she had worked this hard. This was definitely more exciting than life in the city, studying books and dusting shelves in the library. The young sorceress paused to examine the carcass of one of the bloated rats as she came down to the third landing. A wicked grin was locked on the dead rodent’s jaw, while pus oozed from the burn mark that her missile had left. Aurora felt her stomach tightening at the sight and tried not to retch as she hastily continued down the stairs.

A flurry of wings descended on the railing next to the fleeing sorceress as she hurried from the grisly scene. The sight of Athena, her trusted companion, calmed the maiden’s nerves and she stopped to ruffle the owl’s head feathers. Her hand stopped short as Athena sent her a grim message. Mistress Sunrise, the bloated food is hunting the old wise one.

Aurora gripped the rail and leaned over to view the area where she suspected the cleric might be. At first glance the concerned mage saw no sign of the priest through the mists. Then a lone figure rounded the base of the plateau at a full run, a pack of rabid rodents on his heels. Panic gripped the young sorceress as she watched the old warrior turn to face his attackers. She shrieked a warning. “Ander! Ashrem! Theo’s in trouble! He needs help, now!”

Without hesitation, both warriors rushed to aid their companion. Aurora gasped as the pair leapt over the railing of the fourth landing and fell the twenty feet toward the ground. Ander hit the ground softly with wisps of smoke billowing out from under his boots that the sorceress automatically recognized as a magical effect. The shadowy feloine amazed the naïve maiden by gracefully landing on his feet and then tucking into a perfect roll that left him standing with his short blade drawn and ready. Then the two rushed off toward the hard pressed cleric.

The young mage turned her attention back to Theo, who had managed to out maneuver the rats following him. He had turned to face them in a narrow part of the gap between the plateau and the ravine wall, and this had stopped them from surrounding him completely, but he still looked overmatched. Rats snapped and bit at his legs and torso, while he sought to fend off their teeth with quick movements of his shield. Even as far away as she was, Aurora could tell he was tiring quickly.

Suddenly, Ander was there, rushing up behind and then leaping over the cleric just as the old campaigner stepped back. The handsome woodsman rooted himself in Theo’s place and his quarterstaff became a blur as he fended off attack after attack. While Ander covered the retreat, Ashrem pulled Theo away from the fight and back to relative safety. Aurora could barely hear the old priest’s booming voice warning the young warriors that these were no ordinary rats.

A tendril of mist passed between Aurora and her companions, obscuring her view of the fight below. Quickly – a bit too quickly, as the staircase rocked with her motions – she climbed down another flight of steps and onto the next platform of the switchback. Her view now unobstructed, she saw the skirmish take a turn for the worse.
Ander still stood his ground, but the rats had managed to surround him even in the tight confines of the gap. They clung to vines and rocks in the walls near the ranger, and nipped and clawed at his shoulders, while one large rat in front of him, standing atop the brown furred carcass of another rodent, kept him busy with a flurry of bites at his midsection. From her vantage point, Aurora saw that Ander had a large bite on his shoulder, and it seemed to pain him as he fought.

Behind the exotic young man, Aurora saw Ashrem fending off any attempts by the rats to completely surround the woodsman, but he was not quite close enough to his targets to cause any harm. The rodents seemed quite content to gnaw on the human in front of them, rather than the dangerous looking feloine behind their easy meal. From the fray, the mage heard Ander cry out in pain, as one of the rats on his flank sank teeth into flesh.

Then the music began. Pack’s high voice washed over Aurora as the bard began to sing. His clear, bell-like pitch tolled out the words to a song the sorceress had heard only one time before, during the raid by the kobolds; but where Theo’s voice had carried over that battlefield like a cry to the gods for help, the halfling’s version of Trennor’s Triumph rang out with something much more. It carried hope.

Aurora found herself singing along in a low soft voice, and the priest also joined in, thundering out as if the words alone would defeat the enemy. Ander began swinging his quarterstaff almost rhythmically, cracking home one blow and then another at the rat on his left, and Ashrem finally managed to bring his sword down on that same rat, toppling it lifeless from its perch.

The red haired sorceress maneuvered herself into a more advantageous position as she nervously gripped the wand Lizon had given her and brought it to bear. With a word in Dragon’s Tongue she activated the wand, and two snapping dragons flew from its tip and sped toward the rat on Ander’s right as it climbed higher in the vine lattice. With a squeal it fell limp, its hide smoking as it hung caught in the vines.

Theo had not been idle, and he now stood tall, seemingly cured of his wounds. As Aurora watched with wide eyes, he held his shield out in front of him and stopped singing long enough to shout out to Zuras. Even in the sun, the flash from his shield nearly blinded her as a thin stroke of lightning arced out and caught another of the rats, causing it to screech in pain. Immediately after, she heard a thump and saw it fall to the ground. Glancing back down at Pack, who stood on a landing lower than the sorceress, she saw that he was recovering from a sling throw.

The remaining two rats then broke and ran, but fell in their tracks from a combination of another pair of dragon’s head missiles, a bullet from Pack’s sling and another arc of lightning from Brother Theo.

Aurora made her way down to the ground more slowly as she saw Ashrem move cautiously forward around the plateau, beyond her view. He seemed to be sniffing, and his large, cat-like ears swiveled in response to what the sorceress assumed were various sounds. Pack had ended his song, and the companions looked at one another with tense smiles on their faces. When Ashrem returned, the companions all glanced over at him.

“I do not sense any more. I believe that we have dealt with the last of them,” he stated. Aurora heard Pack breathe a sigh of what she thought might be relief, and she immediately joined the halfling in a broad faced grin.

“Then we made it!” the bard shouted, almost child-like. “We made it! Did you see how far we came down?” He pointed up at the top of the plateau. Aurora followed his finger up, and could barely make out Athena circling the grassy top through the mists.

Ander’s smooth baritone broke into the conversation. “I think the real question is ‘where are we now’, and I for one would like to find out,” he stated nonchalantly, as if he had not just been in a battle for his life. Brother Theo stood close by the woodsman, and was busily wrapping his more serious bite marks. Aurora could tell by the older man’s face that young man’s condition was probably worse than the ranger was willing to admit. “What’s up ahead, Ashrem,” he directed at the rag wrapped once-beggar.

“Around this bend, there is a vine covered courtyard, and a door set in a fortified stone wall. No sign of anything alive.”

“Then we need to check it out.” The rugged woodsman looked at Aurora with deep set eyes as he stretched his legs and set off towards the bend. He held her gaze for a moment: “Coming?” Then he was out of sight.

Aurora followed closely after, falling into line behind Ashrem. She spied Ander already well into the courtyard, picking his way through the vines that covered the ground up to the knee. The ranger made a beeline straight for a door set in the wall.

“Looks like this is the place,” the young man called out, stopping to turn around and look at back at the trio. “Don’t worry about the vines. It’s all solid flagstones underneath. No problem at all.” Then he turned around and took a careful step toward to the door.

With a surprised shout, Ander disappeared beneath the vines.

*****

Next Time!

“Pitfalls,” or “Good Thing I’m Not Afraid of the Dark”