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The Chronicle of Burne, and Some Others of Lesser Importance *Updated May 17th, 2009*
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<blockquote data-quote="Rolzup" data-source="post: 2823000" data-attributes="member: 10105"><p><strong>In Which the Polyneechians Gaze Into the Fire, and the Fire Gazes Back</strong></p><p></p><p>By the time we had reached St. Tarte’s, I had managed to create a formula that would restore Rackhir’s lost vigor. It required the use of the Rast’s circulatory fluids (I hesitate to call the stuff "blood"), and various drugs from Mallus’ personal supply. The resulting brew, a sort of ultracoffee, restored him to full strength as soon as he drained it.</p><p></p><p>I believe that it was nearly a week before he was able to properly sleep again, but that was a small price to pay.</p><p></p><p>The Wretched Excess sailed well to the East of the island, hoping to stay out of sight. And my men and I -- including both Mallus and, against my better judgement, Delphine -- used a ship's launch to approach the island under cover of darkness.</p><p></p><p>A long, surprisingly phallic, dock jutted out from the Southern end of the island, just beneath the hilltop fort. We managed to navigate under the docks and disembark without being seen. That, alas, did not last long.</p><p></p><p>As we moved stealthy up along the length of the dock, Kenji noticed a group of Ping descending along the winding path that led down from the fortress.</p><p></p><p>One might have observed, along the course of my narrative, that both Rackhir and Kenji have unusually keen vision. This is a result, I believe, of the barbarous Ajikhani writing, which is both needlessly small and irritatingly complex. Obviously, being forced to read such scrawlings has a way of sharpening the vision, much like lifting heavy weights develops strength in the muscles of the arms.</p><p></p><p>Besides, I generally have my mind occupied by higher matters. Formulae, and calculations, and suchlike.</p><p></p><p>FIRE, ACTUALLY. HE DREAMS OF IT, TOO.</p><p></p><p>Thus it was that Kenji, again, noticed the people hiding in one of the moored boats, about to be discovered by the Ping. We had to act, before we lost a valuable source of intelligence.</p><p></p><p>It was the madman who first engaged the enemy, leaping into battle. Much to Kenji's dismay, I might add -- his barbaric combat technique allows him to deliver a devastating strike, but not when the enemy is prepared for such a maneuver. The madman's action had clearly robbed him of the element of surprise.</p><p></p><p>And when the madman fled, spears protruding from his flesh, Kenji found himself in an unenviable position indeed. Fortunately, I, having allowed the raiders to pass by my place of concealment, then struck from behind in a classic pincer maneuver.</p><p></p><p>The engine sang out a song of death....</p><p></p><p>OH, HELL, THAT'S A LINE FROM ONE OF HIS POEMS.</p><p></p><p>...and the enemy fell, like...like things falling. Burning, screaming things.</p><p></p><p>AND SO'S THAT. VERBATIM.</p><p></p><p>Kenji did his part, I suppose. And the madman must have clubbed one or two of them down. But it was I, using an Inerring Forceful Projectile, who took down the last of the foe, before he could flee and alert his comrades.</p><p></p><p>Rackhir had vanished by this point, off on some errand or another. He tends to do this sort of thing, for some reason.</p><p></p><p>ANY EXCUSE TO ESCAPE THE SOUND OF BURNE'S VOICE IS A GOOD ONE.</p><p></p><p>The madman used his arts to heal himself, while Kenji and I spoke to the woman and her companion. As I had suspected, she was a nun: a servant of Saint Tarte. They told us of how the Ping had struck without warning, overwhelming the island's few defenses, and had imprisoned most of the inhabitants. The most important prisoners, including both the Sister Inferior and the Mother Superior, were being held in the dungeons of the fortress.</p><p></p><p>The nun, it seemed, had been attempting to engage in congress with a handy sailor, thereby ritualistically renewing her magical potency. Religious magic is, as I have previously noted, hopelessly inefficient.</p><p></p><p>Once again, fate smiled upon us. It transpired that there was a secret entrance to these dungeons, hidden in the rocks beneath these very docks.</p><p></p><p>Hah! A rhyme! Mark that passage, Abraxis! I shall add it to my epic poem this very evening.</p><p></p><p>PLEASE KILL ME.</p><p></p><p>The women hid themselves upon our launch, as we descended below the docks. The entrance was easily found, and after using Burne's Luminescent Aura upon a crossbow bolt, we had enough light to see by. And so we sallied forth, into the very heart of the enemy stronghold....</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Rolzup, post: 2823000, member: 10105"] [b]In Which the Polyneechians Gaze Into the Fire, and the Fire Gazes Back[/b] By the time we had reached St. Tarte’s, I had managed to create a formula that would restore Rackhir’s lost vigor. It required the use of the Rast’s circulatory fluids (I hesitate to call the stuff "blood"), and various drugs from Mallus’ personal supply. The resulting brew, a sort of ultracoffee, restored him to full strength as soon as he drained it. I believe that it was nearly a week before he was able to properly sleep again, but that was a small price to pay. The Wretched Excess sailed well to the East of the island, hoping to stay out of sight. And my men and I -- including both Mallus and, against my better judgement, Delphine -- used a ship's launch to approach the island under cover of darkness. A long, surprisingly phallic, dock jutted out from the Southern end of the island, just beneath the hilltop fort. We managed to navigate under the docks and disembark without being seen. That, alas, did not last long. As we moved stealthy up along the length of the dock, Kenji noticed a group of Ping descending along the winding path that led down from the fortress. One might have observed, along the course of my narrative, that both Rackhir and Kenji have unusually keen vision. This is a result, I believe, of the barbarous Ajikhani writing, which is both needlessly small and irritatingly complex. Obviously, being forced to read such scrawlings has a way of sharpening the vision, much like lifting heavy weights develops strength in the muscles of the arms. Besides, I generally have my mind occupied by higher matters. Formulae, and calculations, and suchlike. FIRE, ACTUALLY. HE DREAMS OF IT, TOO. Thus it was that Kenji, again, noticed the people hiding in one of the moored boats, about to be discovered by the Ping. We had to act, before we lost a valuable source of intelligence. It was the madman who first engaged the enemy, leaping into battle. Much to Kenji's dismay, I might add -- his barbaric combat technique allows him to deliver a devastating strike, but not when the enemy is prepared for such a maneuver. The madman's action had clearly robbed him of the element of surprise. And when the madman fled, spears protruding from his flesh, Kenji found himself in an unenviable position indeed. Fortunately, I, having allowed the raiders to pass by my place of concealment, then struck from behind in a classic pincer maneuver. The engine sang out a song of death.... OH, HELL, THAT'S A LINE FROM ONE OF HIS POEMS. ...and the enemy fell, like...like things falling. Burning, screaming things. AND SO'S THAT. VERBATIM. Kenji did his part, I suppose. And the madman must have clubbed one or two of them down. But it was I, using an Inerring Forceful Projectile, who took down the last of the foe, before he could flee and alert his comrades. Rackhir had vanished by this point, off on some errand or another. He tends to do this sort of thing, for some reason. ANY EXCUSE TO ESCAPE THE SOUND OF BURNE'S VOICE IS A GOOD ONE. The madman used his arts to heal himself, while Kenji and I spoke to the woman and her companion. As I had suspected, she was a nun: a servant of Saint Tarte. They told us of how the Ping had struck without warning, overwhelming the island's few defenses, and had imprisoned most of the inhabitants. The most important prisoners, including both the Sister Inferior and the Mother Superior, were being held in the dungeons of the fortress. The nun, it seemed, had been attempting to engage in congress with a handy sailor, thereby ritualistically renewing her magical potency. Religious magic is, as I have previously noted, hopelessly inefficient. Once again, fate smiled upon us. It transpired that there was a secret entrance to these dungeons, hidden in the rocks beneath these very docks. Hah! A rhyme! Mark that passage, Abraxis! I shall add it to my epic poem this very evening. PLEASE KILL ME. The women hid themselves upon our launch, as we descended below the docks. The entrance was easily found, and after using Burne's Luminescent Aura upon a crossbow bolt, we had enough light to see by. And so we sallied forth, into the very heart of the enemy stronghold.... [/QUOTE]
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