The Misfits: Ashy's Story Hour! (updated 12/12/07)
Knightfall
World of Kulan DM
Interesting stuff, Ash. So far, I like what I've read. - KF72
Ashy
First Post
Session 5 (4-22-05) - Storm clouds burst, parts 9-10
The seven companions followed the battle-hardened brute towards Seafoam’s docks, wondering where Bacillus had decided to make his grand entrance. Without warning, the half-ogre stopped suddenly before the entrance of Arravis’ tower and jerked a thumb as thick as the pommel of Jekka’s sword, Sparkspitter, towards the door. Standing beside the door was an oily-looking human with pockmarked features, soot-colored hair and eyes and well-kept leather armor. Armed with twin long- and short-swords, as well as a strung bow propped at his side, he appeared hungry for a fight.
The half-ogre chuckled, a thick sound like a drowning man struggling for air. “Bosh ish waitin’ fer yash up dere.”
The Misfits exchanged glances of unbelief and their thoughts, propelled on mental winds by Huntress, flew between them like psionic wildfire.
Vaskesh: ‘Who doesss thisss fool think he isss…he cannot live here…this tower belongsss to Yilren now!’
Quela distributed the mental image of a nod to the group, but remained silent. Her mind was flooded with the painful thoughts of losing Master Arravis to the hag-infested disease, despite both her’s and Oricx’s best attempts to save him.
Oricx: ‘Vaskesh is correct. By law, this tower passed to the apprentice upon the death of the master.’
Jekka: ‘Meybe Yilren inside wit’ High-Guy’
Quela: ‘Jekka’s got a point – maybe Yilren has a new master?’
Karma: ‘And this is a good thing? I think not?’
Oricx: ‘The druid has a point, is this relationship something we should support, knowing what we do of Bacillus?’
Vaskesh: ‘What right does this Bacillusss have…taking over the magessss home?’
Dromar, swept up within the mental web of the Huntress, was unusually quiet, his red eyes staring up at the top of the Tower, his thin lips drawn tightly over his pointed teeth.
Ug, as usual, outside of Huntress’ mental connectivity, simply stood there looking up at the intent faces of his inactive compatriots. ’Me wonder why dem doos dat…’, Ug thought to himself, ’Dey just stand-stand-stand and not doos nufin.’. The horned goblin shrugged.
Jekka: ‘Enough talk, talk-talk-talk; Jekka go.’
The half-orc barbarian rubbed her short spiky hair in frustration and moved to open the door which led into the mage’s tower, but before she could do so the door was opened quickly from the other side. Standing within the darkened foyer beyond was a trim and pressed half-elf who regarded the companions with forlorn, jaded grey eyes. The impeccably-dressed half-elf had thinning salt and pepper hair and a pencil-thin moustache; while he was obviously advanced in years, he also seemed fit and healthy, like a man thirty years his junior.
“Greetings”, he spoke in a slow, drawn-out manner; his voice sounding like it had been withdrawn slowly, like thick syrup, from the trunk of a tree. “The High Inquisitor has been expecting you. Please walk this way. Your…pet -“, the half-elf looked down the ridge of his hawk-like nose at Ug, his left eyebrow cocked slightly, “- must remain out-of-doors. The High Inquisitor does not allow non-experimental or un-summoned beasts into his residence.” The house-butler’s words were measured and even, as if he had just this morning read over the policies and procedures manual and memorized the section on “Unauthorized Beasts”. He seemed, in a word, unflappable.
Ug’s heavy brow furrowed and Jekka began to growl through her clenched tusks, but the manservant had already turned and began ascending the stairs, as if he had absolutely no doubt that his words would be followed to the letter. Quela shrugged and Jekka snorted in return, with a nod of her head, silently instructing Ug to wait outside for a few moments. “Jekka be back”, she said thickly.
The horned goblin chuckled a bit, turned and trundled back out the way he’d come.
At that moment, far to the west, a trio of cloaked and hooded forms gathered silently in a darkened room of their own. This darkened room was far from Seafoam, in the bowels of the City of the One in the center of the Eternal Ocean, but the small port city was central in the minds of those therein. The forms moved towards a triangular table, centered in the small room, which was lit by a single, flickering candle. As it sat, the largest of the cloaked forms bobbed its hooded head; a wan voice issued forth, “Welc’m, bruthers.”
Instantly, the tallest of the cloaked forms lashed out at the speaker, striking him in the face with a gloved backhand. The blow was brutal and vicious, knocking the speaker to the floor and spattering chunky blood across his now revealed pale features. The speaker’s eyes, which protruded too far from his face, like an odd-looking fish, seemed to roll about in his head for a moment, finally coming to rest on his attacker. His mouth gaped open in complete shock, only solidifying the ichthious analogy.
“Never speak that ignorant appellation to me outside the Temple, you spineless buffoon”, "Striker" hissed, its voice showing far less emotion than one would have expected. "Fish-Eyes", who still seemed to be gasping for air, nodded – a tiny, ineffectual gesture and slowly began pulling his bulk up from the floor. As he did, the smallest of the robed forms, which had been as still as a statue up to this moment, raised a robed arm, out of which snaked a long, slimy tentacle. The tentacle shone even in the pallid light of the lone candle, iridescent colors flowing and swimming along its black surface. The fell appendage slithered through the air, across the room, and gently wiped the blood from Fish-Eye’s face, cleaning it completely. It then returned whence it came, with unnatural swiftness, sounds of satisfied slurping issued forth from its owner’s darkened cowl.
Striker sat down as if the events which had just occurred were nothing out of the ordinary and began speaking. “What news from the West?”
The tentacled abomination moved closer to the table, which was nearly taller than it was, but did not sit. Rather, "Abomination" cocked its cowl slightly to one side and instantaneously a feral sounding chuckle bubbled up from Striker and Fish-Eye put a chubby, webbed hand to his pale-lipped mouth, as if in shock.
“Perfect. It sounds as if plans are progressing along quite nicely…” Striker replied. Fish-Eye started to open his mouth, as if to say something, but a quick jerk of Striker’s hood immediately silenced him. Striker’s hood then moved back to Abomination, “Anything else to report?” Abomination shook its hood, indicating the negative. A smaller tentacle slipped out of the cowl and pointed towards Fish-Eyes.
“Yes, yes, yes…” Striker sighed, his hood once again looking again towards Fish-Eyes, “So what news from the Temple?”
“Th’ templ’ is rife wit’ rumors and whisperin’…’ey were foolish enough ta brin’ da dem’n wit’ dem, if ya kin believe it!” Fish-Eyes slurred, this thick lips flopping around the words like dying carp on a dock. “Many nows ‘ear an’ see da’ church’s weak underbelly fer themselfs. Should’na be’a hard task’ta gain symfathy an’ aid fer tha’ war.” The pale man grinned, revealing a double row of shark’s teeth set behind his blubbery lips. The word 'war' seemed to slip easily from his mouth, as if it were a cherished favorite, spoken often.
Striker nodded, he seemed pleased with himself and with this news; he drew intricate, invisible symbols on the smooth table with his gloved fingers as if lost in thought. “Excellent. Now, we have only to wait – the little present for our friends to the East has been sent and should be unwrapping itself soon. We shall have to keep a close eye on them…”
Nefarious chuckles were heard and voices were lowered into conspiratorial whispers as another of Abomination’s tentacles lashed out and snuffed out the candle, plunging the room into abject darkness. It mattered little, for the room’s inhabitants seemed to far prefer the gloom to the light…
The seven companions followed the battle-hardened brute towards Seafoam’s docks, wondering where Bacillus had decided to make his grand entrance. Without warning, the half-ogre stopped suddenly before the entrance of Arravis’ tower and jerked a thumb as thick as the pommel of Jekka’s sword, Sparkspitter, towards the door. Standing beside the door was an oily-looking human with pockmarked features, soot-colored hair and eyes and well-kept leather armor. Armed with twin long- and short-swords, as well as a strung bow propped at his side, he appeared hungry for a fight.
The half-ogre chuckled, a thick sound like a drowning man struggling for air. “Bosh ish waitin’ fer yash up dere.”
The Misfits exchanged glances of unbelief and their thoughts, propelled on mental winds by Huntress, flew between them like psionic wildfire.
Vaskesh: ‘Who doesss thisss fool think he isss…he cannot live here…this tower belongsss to Yilren now!’
Quela distributed the mental image of a nod to the group, but remained silent. Her mind was flooded with the painful thoughts of losing Master Arravis to the hag-infested disease, despite both her’s and Oricx’s best attempts to save him.
Oricx: ‘Vaskesh is correct. By law, this tower passed to the apprentice upon the death of the master.’
Jekka: ‘Meybe Yilren inside wit’ High-Guy’
Quela: ‘Jekka’s got a point – maybe Yilren has a new master?’
Karma: ‘And this is a good thing? I think not?’
Oricx: ‘The druid has a point, is this relationship something we should support, knowing what we do of Bacillus?’
Vaskesh: ‘What right does this Bacillusss have…taking over the magessss home?’
Dromar, swept up within the mental web of the Huntress, was unusually quiet, his red eyes staring up at the top of the Tower, his thin lips drawn tightly over his pointed teeth.
Ug, as usual, outside of Huntress’ mental connectivity, simply stood there looking up at the intent faces of his inactive compatriots. ’Me wonder why dem doos dat…’, Ug thought to himself, ’Dey just stand-stand-stand and not doos nufin.’. The horned goblin shrugged.
Jekka: ‘Enough talk, talk-talk-talk; Jekka go.’
The half-orc barbarian rubbed her short spiky hair in frustration and moved to open the door which led into the mage’s tower, but before she could do so the door was opened quickly from the other side. Standing within the darkened foyer beyond was a trim and pressed half-elf who regarded the companions with forlorn, jaded grey eyes. The impeccably-dressed half-elf had thinning salt and pepper hair and a pencil-thin moustache; while he was obviously advanced in years, he also seemed fit and healthy, like a man thirty years his junior.
“Greetings”, he spoke in a slow, drawn-out manner; his voice sounding like it had been withdrawn slowly, like thick syrup, from the trunk of a tree. “The High Inquisitor has been expecting you. Please walk this way. Your…pet -“, the half-elf looked down the ridge of his hawk-like nose at Ug, his left eyebrow cocked slightly, “- must remain out-of-doors. The High Inquisitor does not allow non-experimental or un-summoned beasts into his residence.” The house-butler’s words were measured and even, as if he had just this morning read over the policies and procedures manual and memorized the section on “Unauthorized Beasts”. He seemed, in a word, unflappable.
Ug’s heavy brow furrowed and Jekka began to growl through her clenched tusks, but the manservant had already turned and began ascending the stairs, as if he had absolutely no doubt that his words would be followed to the letter. Quela shrugged and Jekka snorted in return, with a nod of her head, silently instructing Ug to wait outside for a few moments. “Jekka be back”, she said thickly.
The horned goblin chuckled a bit, turned and trundled back out the way he’d come.
At that moment, far to the west, a trio of cloaked and hooded forms gathered silently in a darkened room of their own. This darkened room was far from Seafoam, in the bowels of the City of the One in the center of the Eternal Ocean, but the small port city was central in the minds of those therein. The forms moved towards a triangular table, centered in the small room, which was lit by a single, flickering candle. As it sat, the largest of the cloaked forms bobbed its hooded head; a wan voice issued forth, “Welc’m, bruthers.”
Instantly, the tallest of the cloaked forms lashed out at the speaker, striking him in the face with a gloved backhand. The blow was brutal and vicious, knocking the speaker to the floor and spattering chunky blood across his now revealed pale features. The speaker’s eyes, which protruded too far from his face, like an odd-looking fish, seemed to roll about in his head for a moment, finally coming to rest on his attacker. His mouth gaped open in complete shock, only solidifying the ichthious analogy.
“Never speak that ignorant appellation to me outside the Temple, you spineless buffoon”, "Striker" hissed, its voice showing far less emotion than one would have expected. "Fish-Eyes", who still seemed to be gasping for air, nodded – a tiny, ineffectual gesture and slowly began pulling his bulk up from the floor. As he did, the smallest of the robed forms, which had been as still as a statue up to this moment, raised a robed arm, out of which snaked a long, slimy tentacle. The tentacle shone even in the pallid light of the lone candle, iridescent colors flowing and swimming along its black surface. The fell appendage slithered through the air, across the room, and gently wiped the blood from Fish-Eye’s face, cleaning it completely. It then returned whence it came, with unnatural swiftness, sounds of satisfied slurping issued forth from its owner’s darkened cowl.
Striker sat down as if the events which had just occurred were nothing out of the ordinary and began speaking. “What news from the West?”
The tentacled abomination moved closer to the table, which was nearly taller than it was, but did not sit. Rather, "Abomination" cocked its cowl slightly to one side and instantaneously a feral sounding chuckle bubbled up from Striker and Fish-Eye put a chubby, webbed hand to his pale-lipped mouth, as if in shock.
“Perfect. It sounds as if plans are progressing along quite nicely…” Striker replied. Fish-Eye started to open his mouth, as if to say something, but a quick jerk of Striker’s hood immediately silenced him. Striker’s hood then moved back to Abomination, “Anything else to report?” Abomination shook its hood, indicating the negative. A smaller tentacle slipped out of the cowl and pointed towards Fish-Eyes.
“Yes, yes, yes…” Striker sighed, his hood once again looking again towards Fish-Eyes, “So what news from the Temple?”
“Th’ templ’ is rife wit’ rumors and whisperin’…’ey were foolish enough ta brin’ da dem’n wit’ dem, if ya kin believe it!” Fish-Eyes slurred, this thick lips flopping around the words like dying carp on a dock. “Many nows ‘ear an’ see da’ church’s weak underbelly fer themselfs. Should’na be’a hard task’ta gain symfathy an’ aid fer tha’ war.” The pale man grinned, revealing a double row of shark’s teeth set behind his blubbery lips. The word 'war' seemed to slip easily from his mouth, as if it were a cherished favorite, spoken often.
Striker nodded, he seemed pleased with himself and with this news; he drew intricate, invisible symbols on the smooth table with his gloved fingers as if lost in thought. “Excellent. Now, we have only to wait – the little present for our friends to the East has been sent and should be unwrapping itself soon. We shall have to keep a close eye on them…”
Nefarious chuckles were heard and voices were lowered into conspiratorial whispers as another of Abomination’s tentacles lashed out and snuffed out the candle, plunging the room into abject darkness. It mattered little, for the room’s inhabitants seemed to far prefer the gloom to the light…
Last edited:
Ashrum the Black
Explorer
Interesting forshadowing there Ashy. I Hope there's some more updates soon. I can't wait for the PC's to meet the Inquisitor and to get their reactions to him.
-Ahsrum
-Ahsrum
Ashrum the Black
Explorer
Hey Ashy! Where's that promised update? 
-Ashrum
-Ashrum
Spider_Jerusalem
Explorer
Seconded! I really like this setting... keep it going buddy. Write more write more!
Spider J
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