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The Whiterock Castle Campaign- Nothing better than a good old sausage in you.
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<blockquote data-quote="Goonalan" data-source="post: 4142764" data-attributes="member: 16069"><p>Alas no, an explanation will follow at the end of the Lost Boys story, this bunch of miscreants are hard core players, via the magic of RPTools and Skype, I'm back in touch with some of my players of old, and every Sunday night (subject to the complexities of life) we spend four or more hours moving little tokens around the maps I've drawn- much fun is had by all. That's not to say they wont provide their own version of insanity.</p><p></p><p>The backstories continue...</p><p></p><p>Castle Whiterock- The Backstory.</p><p>Turn 3.</p><p></p><p>Gina’s story.</p><p></p><p>The seminary of Garl Glittergold, Little Fell Delvings, 102 Scarp Road, and dull, dull, dull.</p><p></p><p>Again.</p><p></p><p>“May Glittergold forgive me for what I am about to do.”</p><p></p><p>The young Gnome checks her bundle again, all that she owns- it doesn’t amount to much, still at least it’s not very heavy. She stuffs the bundle in her pack; it fits easily, hikes the straps up and secures her burden.</p><p></p><p>Looks around- one last time.</p><p></p><p>Cold, austere- not very cheery she thinks, she’ll be glad to escape this place, cold comforts, nothing to hold her here- except...</p><p></p><p>She quickly removes the pack, just as quickly removes the bundle from it and rips, almost, into it- fishes about furiously looking for… got it.</p><p></p><p>Her hands clasp the odd shaped stone, cold to the touch- it was her Uncle’s, he gave it to her, he said… no, not now, she must leave.</p><p></p><p>Less than a minute later and she’s almost out the place, nearly free, when…</p><p></p><p>“Gina?”</p><p></p><p>She turns.</p><p></p><p>Father Titanium “Hammer of the God’s” Boyle, a big Gnome, just over three feet tall, once, now stooped and bent- ancient.</p><p></p><p>“Gina?” The old Gnome barks again.</p><p>“I’m going.” Her voice sounds small, distant- detached, worst of all, uncertain.</p><p>“Gina.” Boyle’s voice is soothing, calm, and above all else certain.</p><p>“I have to… I can’t stay here, not one more day, and I can’t see him, never- I can’t, I just… can’t- I can’t go back. I have to find out.”</p><p></p><p>The ancient Gnome scuttles over to a pillar, to lean on, he’s out of breath by the time he gets there, he wheezes and gulps in air.</p><p></p><p>The silence thickens.</p><p></p><p>Gina doesn’t move.</p><p></p><p>“You sound like…” The ancient Gnome’s voice trails off; his eyes flash the missing words. </p><p>“I don’t care.” Gina’s certain of something at last.</p><p>“You do… Oh you do care, that’s the problem isn’t it?” Boyle grins; he has too few teeth to make a smile.</p><p></p><p>“Father, I have to go, I can’t stay here… this, I have to see if it’s true, what he says. I have to Father.”</p><p></p><p>Eventually the ancient Gnome nods.</p><p></p><p>Gina takes it as a signal, she moves away- slowly.</p><p></p><p>She doesn’t get far.</p><p></p><p>She turns.</p><p></p><p>Boyle is still stood there watching her leave.</p><p></p><p>“Tell him…” She starts and then discovers she has nowhere to go.</p><p>“I’ll tell him.” Boyle states, and nods again for good measure.</p><p></p><p>Father Titanium “Hammer of the God’s” Boyle looks down at his broken body, remembers- just for a second who he used to be, and straightens, it hurts- he settles back into his broken crouch.</p><p></p><p>He looks up.</p><p></p><p>Gina’s gone.</p><p></p><p>Two hours later the ancient Gnome stands before a mighty stone door, it has a small barred window, and a hatch- also made of stone. It’s a cell door, a very imposing cell door.</p><p></p><p>Boyle straightens again, tendons pop and bones creak, till his face is pressed close against the barred window, the ancient priest is clearly in excruciating pain- the effort, he catches his breath, gulps, and whispers.</p><p></p><p>“She’s gone.”</p><p></p><p>Boyle continues to strain, his face smudged against the bars, turns till his ear rubs hard against the cold metal- he waits for the reply.</p><p></p><p>“Gud-shhh.”</p><p></p><p>The word slithers out of who knows what, certainly not a mouth.</p><p></p><p>Father Boyle sinks back into his crouch, all his energy spent.</p><p></p><p>Above him a hand, of sorts, half-rubbery tentacle- complete with suckered cups, flops into the space between the bars, it cannot reach- no more than six inches above the ancient Gnome’s hairless head.</p><p></p><p>It squirms and coils, tries to stretch, to grasp… to crush the life out of the ancient Gnome, if it only it could reach.</p><p></p><p>“She’s gone to Whiterock.” Boyle mumbles and scuttles away, eager to escape.</p><p></p><p>The half-hand, half-tentacle stiffens.</p><p></p><p>Slowly retracts, back up to the bars, where it curls and grips, just for a second, forlorn, and then flops back into the lightless chamber beyond.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Goonalan, post: 4142764, member: 16069"] Alas no, an explanation will follow at the end of the Lost Boys story, this bunch of miscreants are hard core players, via the magic of RPTools and Skype, I'm back in touch with some of my players of old, and every Sunday night (subject to the complexities of life) we spend four or more hours moving little tokens around the maps I've drawn- much fun is had by all. That's not to say they wont provide their own version of insanity. The backstories continue... Castle Whiterock- The Backstory. Turn 3. Gina’s story. The seminary of Garl Glittergold, Little Fell Delvings, 102 Scarp Road, and dull, dull, dull. Again. “May Glittergold forgive me for what I am about to do.” The young Gnome checks her bundle again, all that she owns- it doesn’t amount to much, still at least it’s not very heavy. She stuffs the bundle in her pack; it fits easily, hikes the straps up and secures her burden. Looks around- one last time. Cold, austere- not very cheery she thinks, she’ll be glad to escape this place, cold comforts, nothing to hold her here- except... She quickly removes the pack, just as quickly removes the bundle from it and rips, almost, into it- fishes about furiously looking for… got it. Her hands clasp the odd shaped stone, cold to the touch- it was her Uncle’s, he gave it to her, he said… no, not now, she must leave. Less than a minute later and she’s almost out the place, nearly free, when… “Gina?” She turns. Father Titanium “Hammer of the God’s” Boyle, a big Gnome, just over three feet tall, once, now stooped and bent- ancient. “Gina?” The old Gnome barks again. “I’m going.” Her voice sounds small, distant- detached, worst of all, uncertain. “Gina.” Boyle’s voice is soothing, calm, and above all else certain. “I have to… I can’t stay here, not one more day, and I can’t see him, never- I can’t, I just… can’t- I can’t go back. I have to find out.” The ancient Gnome scuttles over to a pillar, to lean on, he’s out of breath by the time he gets there, he wheezes and gulps in air. The silence thickens. Gina doesn’t move. “You sound like…” The ancient Gnome’s voice trails off; his eyes flash the missing words. “I don’t care.” Gina’s certain of something at last. “You do… Oh you do care, that’s the problem isn’t it?” Boyle grins; he has too few teeth to make a smile. “Father, I have to go, I can’t stay here… this, I have to see if it’s true, what he says. I have to Father.” Eventually the ancient Gnome nods. Gina takes it as a signal, she moves away- slowly. She doesn’t get far. She turns. Boyle is still stood there watching her leave. “Tell him…” She starts and then discovers she has nowhere to go. “I’ll tell him.” Boyle states, and nods again for good measure. Father Titanium “Hammer of the God’s” Boyle looks down at his broken body, remembers- just for a second who he used to be, and straightens, it hurts- he settles back into his broken crouch. He looks up. Gina’s gone. Two hours later the ancient Gnome stands before a mighty stone door, it has a small barred window, and a hatch- also made of stone. It’s a cell door, a very imposing cell door. Boyle straightens again, tendons pop and bones creak, till his face is pressed close against the barred window, the ancient priest is clearly in excruciating pain- the effort, he catches his breath, gulps, and whispers. “She’s gone.” Boyle continues to strain, his face smudged against the bars, turns till his ear rubs hard against the cold metal- he waits for the reply. “Gud-shhh.” The word slithers out of who knows what, certainly not a mouth. Father Boyle sinks back into his crouch, all his energy spent. Above him a hand, of sorts, half-rubbery tentacle- complete with suckered cups, flops into the space between the bars, it cannot reach- no more than six inches above the ancient Gnome’s hairless head. It squirms and coils, tries to stretch, to grasp… to crush the life out of the ancient Gnome, if it only it could reach. “She’s gone to Whiterock.” Boyle mumbles and scuttles away, eager to escape. The half-hand, half-tentacle stiffens. Slowly retracts, back up to the bars, where it curls and grips, just for a second, forlorn, and then flops back into the lightless chamber beyond. [/QUOTE]
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