The Heroes of Icemist (SmallBeginnings 2)- Interlude update 2/21/2008!
Enk&D'Shai
First Post
Silent but deadly post
Well it’s that time of year again.
What time?
The State of the Story Hour Address time.
Oh that time of year. You know what? I did it last year so I think I’ll let you handle it this year.
You are so kind. This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that our numbers are down drastically this year would it?
No, I just don’t want to hog the limelight all the time. I mean I do get all the best lines in these little skits.
Whatever. Dear Readers,
For those of you that are left.
Ahem! Dear Readers, I know the last year was not what you expected with the long delays and we would like to apologize...
What are you doing?
The State of the …
No, no, no; you are doing it all wrong. Let me show you.
Dear Readers, Today I have the privilege of writing to you, the reader, about our great, in our minds, story hour. I would like to thank you for supporting us in our support of the writers strike. Without your help we would not have been able to last the year without writing and our brothers of the pen and ink would not have had the guts to follow suit with their own strike against the Hollywood suits.
What in Hades are you talking about?
Sshhhh.
Anyway it is your sacrifice that made last year the greatest year for our Story Hour and the support we give to the people who actually get paid to do this stuff. To commend you on this effort we offer a tax break to you on our story hour and want to allow you to reread the previous episodes without hidden costs.
Good grief. I’m just going to push the button and be glad you didn't blame it on 4E.
*****
INTERLUDE
The man in black squinted as he gazed into the quickly fading light of the setting sun, enjoying the gentle evening breeze that kissed his rather pronounced crow’s feet. Below, he could see several landmarks: a trio of gargoyle-visaged statues spat water into a fountain dominating one corner, a brass knight astride an equally brass destrier stood on another, and the forbidding gates of Tor’s jails sat fixed between them. He took in the scene, and then relaxed back into the long shadow of the rooftop chimney that currently hid him from the ever less busy city streets below.
Within a breath, a second much larger shadow joined him quietly behind the smokestack. “The lamplighters are finishing their rounds and the last of the merchants are disassembling their carts,” said the newcomer. “Are you certain we should do this?”
The man ignored the question and tugged at the red scarf around his neck, “Any word from the streets yet?”
“The Ionian’s friends are on the move, and seem to have avoided capture,” said the shadow.
“Huh. That’s more than a bit surprising. Usually the Wolves are more thorough than that.” The man shifted across the stone until he could see the chimney towering over the other side of the street. There he saw a figure mirroring his own, similar in size and build, wearing the same black garb, and crouching in lengthening shadow. “Banyan’s in place,” he said.
“Of that I am aware. He has been there for some time.” The newcomer chuckled, “You should be proud of the boy.”
“I’d be more proud if he settled down, started a family, and gave me some grandchildren. Leave this life to old lunatics like us.”
“He is your son, Blight Battledancer. What made you presume that he would not follow in your path?”
The two sat in silence as the sun slipped over the horizon. “It is not too late to call an end to this escapade,” said the giant to Blight’s side. “Let the guard and the Iron Wolves deal with this Guild business.”
“You already know we can’t,” said the man in black as the sky took on a rosy glow.
“If we cross this line our mutual understanding with the guard will not last the night,” said the larger of the two.
“We’ve crossed that line before.”
“Yes, but for better reasons than a few dead wizards.”
“Don’t you ever tire of arguing with me?”
“No,” said the shadowy giant, “Even lunatics need a hobby.” The two figures shared a quiet laugh as they scanned the streets below.
The laugh ended abruptly as Blight raised a hand and cursed, “Scion’s Breath! We have a problem. That hapless priest is headed straight for the jail’s gates.”
“That is a predicament,” said the shadowy giant. “Witnesses always complicate matters. Exactly how angry would the Old One be if our interloper was injured?”
“Very. He stated very specifically that the priest wasn’t to be harmed even if it meant aborting.” Blight leaned out of the shadows just enough to flash a sign to his son across the street. A moment later he saw its match, “But aborting is out of the question. The Mages Guild will not be kept waiting when it comes to revenge.”
“Change of plan?” said the giant.
“Yes,” said Blight with a frown, “change of plan. You’re going to have to get personal on this one. Banyan and I will cover you.”
Blight heard the giant crack his neck as the massive shadow shifted, “When?”
Blight craned his head over the side to see the priest of Zuras pacing in front of the now opening gates of the jail, his indistinct and angry bellow coming up from below. A single guardsman blocked the cleric’s way while a half dozen more marched up from below and onto the street. The last pair dragged a young, shackled, and olive skinned man between them by the chains they had fitted to both his and their limbs. “Looks like now. They’re moving him.” Blight lifted a bow from the rooftop as the last of the sun’s rays disappeared, leaving bright moonlight in its place.
The man fitted his red scarf over his face, leaving his eyes and forehead clear and nocked an arrow to his bowstring. “Remember, the priest must not be harmed. Move on my shot.”
He pulled the string back to his cheek, eyes focused on his manacled target and then the shadowed archer let his arrow fly.
END OF INTERLUDE
*****
Well it’s that time of year again.
What time?
The State of the Story Hour Address time.
Oh that time of year. You know what? I did it last year so I think I’ll let you handle it this year.
You are so kind. This wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that our numbers are down drastically this year would it?
No, I just don’t want to hog the limelight all the time. I mean I do get all the best lines in these little skits.
Whatever. Dear Readers,
For those of you that are left.
Ahem! Dear Readers, I know the last year was not what you expected with the long delays and we would like to apologize...
What are you doing?
The State of the …
No, no, no; you are doing it all wrong. Let me show you.
Dear Readers, Today I have the privilege of writing to you, the reader, about our great, in our minds, story hour. I would like to thank you for supporting us in our support of the writers strike. Without your help we would not have been able to last the year without writing and our brothers of the pen and ink would not have had the guts to follow suit with their own strike against the Hollywood suits.
What in Hades are you talking about?
Sshhhh.
Anyway it is your sacrifice that made last year the greatest year for our Story Hour and the support we give to the people who actually get paid to do this stuff. To commend you on this effort we offer a tax break to you on our story hour and want to allow you to reread the previous episodes without hidden costs.
Good grief. I’m just going to push the button and be glad you didn't blame it on 4E.
*****
INTERLUDE
The man in black squinted as he gazed into the quickly fading light of the setting sun, enjoying the gentle evening breeze that kissed his rather pronounced crow’s feet. Below, he could see several landmarks: a trio of gargoyle-visaged statues spat water into a fountain dominating one corner, a brass knight astride an equally brass destrier stood on another, and the forbidding gates of Tor’s jails sat fixed between them. He took in the scene, and then relaxed back into the long shadow of the rooftop chimney that currently hid him from the ever less busy city streets below.
Within a breath, a second much larger shadow joined him quietly behind the smokestack. “The lamplighters are finishing their rounds and the last of the merchants are disassembling their carts,” said the newcomer. “Are you certain we should do this?”
The man ignored the question and tugged at the red scarf around his neck, “Any word from the streets yet?”
“The Ionian’s friends are on the move, and seem to have avoided capture,” said the shadow.
“Huh. That’s more than a bit surprising. Usually the Wolves are more thorough than that.” The man shifted across the stone until he could see the chimney towering over the other side of the street. There he saw a figure mirroring his own, similar in size and build, wearing the same black garb, and crouching in lengthening shadow. “Banyan’s in place,” he said.
“Of that I am aware. He has been there for some time.” The newcomer chuckled, “You should be proud of the boy.”
“I’d be more proud if he settled down, started a family, and gave me some grandchildren. Leave this life to old lunatics like us.”
“He is your son, Blight Battledancer. What made you presume that he would not follow in your path?”
The two sat in silence as the sun slipped over the horizon. “It is not too late to call an end to this escapade,” said the giant to Blight’s side. “Let the guard and the Iron Wolves deal with this Guild business.”
“You already know we can’t,” said the man in black as the sky took on a rosy glow.
“If we cross this line our mutual understanding with the guard will not last the night,” said the larger of the two.
“We’ve crossed that line before.”
“Yes, but for better reasons than a few dead wizards.”
“Don’t you ever tire of arguing with me?”
“No,” said the shadowy giant, “Even lunatics need a hobby.” The two figures shared a quiet laugh as they scanned the streets below.
The laugh ended abruptly as Blight raised a hand and cursed, “Scion’s Breath! We have a problem. That hapless priest is headed straight for the jail’s gates.”
“That is a predicament,” said the shadowy giant. “Witnesses always complicate matters. Exactly how angry would the Old One be if our interloper was injured?”
“Very. He stated very specifically that the priest wasn’t to be harmed even if it meant aborting.” Blight leaned out of the shadows just enough to flash a sign to his son across the street. A moment later he saw its match, “But aborting is out of the question. The Mages Guild will not be kept waiting when it comes to revenge.”
“Change of plan?” said the giant.
“Yes,” said Blight with a frown, “change of plan. You’re going to have to get personal on this one. Banyan and I will cover you.”
Blight heard the giant crack his neck as the massive shadow shifted, “When?”
Blight craned his head over the side to see the priest of Zuras pacing in front of the now opening gates of the jail, his indistinct and angry bellow coming up from below. A single guardsman blocked the cleric’s way while a half dozen more marched up from below and onto the street. The last pair dragged a young, shackled, and olive skinned man between them by the chains they had fitted to both his and their limbs. “Looks like now. They’re moving him.” Blight lifted a bow from the rooftop as the last of the sun’s rays disappeared, leaving bright moonlight in its place.
The man fitted his red scarf over his face, leaving his eyes and forehead clear and nocked an arrow to his bowstring. “Remember, the priest must not be harmed. Move on my shot.”
He pulled the string back to his cheek, eyes focused on his manacled target and then the shadowed archer let his arrow fly.
END OF INTERLUDE
*****
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Many thanks, Dungannon. I just finished RA and am up-to-date on KoTS. Very impressed.
Speaking of great SH's, where the heck are you guys???
