Against the Shadows VII - A Faded Glory Story Hour (Re-Updated - 5/17)
- Thread starter Old One
- Start date
.Darklone said:Rather opposite to what our heros in this SH do (stumble from small trouble into the next trouble on the way to the real big trouble) I will take vacation. Looong vacation
DL -
Big congrats! Enjoy your time off...you have definitely earned. BTW, what is your field of study?
~ OO
Son_of_Thunder said:
Son_of_Thunder,
Thanks so much for droppin' by and commenting...and thanks for taking the time to read all the way through! I know it is a bit of a chore these days, but I hope you found it worthwhile. I echo your sentiments on homebrews...I almost always find them more interesting than published settings.
To answer your question...in some ways, the captured kids (and subsequent death of many to Quintus's errant fireball), is really a Kobayashi Maru for the party. No good way out...major moral dilemma...etc. In the end, they may have thwarted the BBEGal's plot, but at what cost?
More remains to be played out on this...but wheels are turning within wheels due to the party's actions. Great powers are stirring...and their attentions may soon be focused on our little band of heroes.
Thanks again for reading!
~ OO
Thornir Alekeg
Albatross!
1324 posts later...
...I have finally made my way through this story hour.
Started it back before the new server, but waiting endlessly for a page full of bumping to load got to be too much for me. Now that the speedy server is running I had to get back to this and keep reading. Really glad I did. Great story, great characters. Just like after reading Piratecat's and Saigro's story hours, I am envious of yet another group. Someday I gotta find me one of them good Rat Bastard DMs for myself...or try and become one I suppose, but that would likely take more time and effort than I can spare.
I don't know how you do it. Between my two kids, work and a part-time Master's program I can barely find time to game at all, let alone prepare intricate plots in a dynamic world. My hat is off to you.
...I have finally made my way through this story hour.
Started it back before the new server, but waiting endlessly for a page full of bumping to load got to be too much for me. Now that the speedy server is running I had to get back to this and keep reading. Really glad I did. Great story, great characters. Just like after reading Piratecat's and Saigro's story hours, I am envious of yet another group. Someday I gotta find me one of them good Rat Bastard DMs for myself...or try and become one I suppose, but that would likely take more time and effort than I can spare.
I don't know how you do it. Between my two kids, work and a part-time Master's program I can barely find time to game at all, let alone prepare intricate plots in a dynamic world. My hat is off to you.
Thornir Alekeg said:
Thornir,
Many thanks! It has been a fun ride which, sadly, is on hiatus right now
! Life has grabbed be my my codpiece and is squeezing hard 
...2 jobs...2 kids...lots o' business travel...members of the group scattering to the four winds = bleah.
Fortunately, I am still way behind on the SH and at the rate I am going, we will probably have our old folks home gaming reunion by the time I am caught up
.Thanks for stopping in and thanks for the kinds words...glad you made it through the whole thing.
~ OO
Greetings Gang,
Figured it was about dang time for an update!
Enjoy...
So Many Choices…All of them Bad!
Darkness flickered before Sextus’s gaze. ‘How can darkness flicker?’ the bard thought absently as his mind and spirit wavered.
He felt the pull…a familiar pull…and felt, rather than saw, his feet alight on the Obsidian Path. He sighed an insubstantial sigh full of resignation. ‘Looks like another trip to Deathsgate.’
He was just getting used to the idea when something yanked against his spirit, hard. He thought he caught a glimpse of the Gray Lady as he hurtled backwards through ephemeral mists.
He was confused. He could “see” the green glow through his closed eyelids, but couldn’t force his broken body to respond. He bent his will towards his left eye. ‘Just…a…little…bit.’
The eyelid responded for half-a-grain, fluttering open and then slamming closed…the briefest moment of time, but it was enough.
Framed in the sickly green glow was the menacing form of the squat necromancer, face rigid in fervent exaltation. The bard could almost see his life force leeching up her arms. His mind raced, slowing that briefest of an instant to an eternal crawl. He noted, with morbid amusement, that not even the necromancer’s mother likely found her attractive.
The slightly pudgy, homely face was framed by lank, greasy hair that a brush rarely conquered. The skin was badly pockmarked, like a dusty street at the beginning of a spring rain and her teeth where crooked. Her merciless gaze, hooded and dark, locked onto the bard’s barely open eye as she furrowed her brow to complete his destruction.
The last thing Sextus saw, in that eternal instant, was the ugly woman’s grin of triumph swerve into a slack-mouthed “O” of surprise and her eyes fly wide, dancing wildly in different directions.
His fading reality failed before he noted the grinning rictus of Garrick’s ravaged face appear over the necromancer’s left shoulder as he dug his bejeweled dagger deeper into her brainpan. The undead halfling gave the slender weapon a final twist and was rewarded with a satisfying snapping of cranial bones as the necromancer pitched forward over the prostrate bard, lifeless.
Air whistled through Garrick’s destroyed vocal cords as he sat and began to softly hum an old drinking tune from Nan’s Tavern. ‘Ah…unlife is good!’
If Rowan had been a sailor, he might have likened it to a “rogue tide” or sudden turn of wave and force so profound that it defied logic and common knowledge. As it was, he thanked the powers of Light, the Old Man and his companions as the undead tide broke against the dais one last time and retreated, leaving eddies and flotsam.
Cragen and Rosë hurled the undead captain back one last time and this time he kept going, fleeing into the darkness as if bereft of courage and direction. The remaining undead followed in broken retreat. The ranger’s cry of triumph died in his throat as his eyes fell upon the tangled forms of Sextus and the necromancer. He dashed to the young bard and dropped to his knees.
Tears welled in his eyes as he desperately sought signs of life. Sextus’s skin was pale and drawn, his face a mask of pain. Despair threatened to overwhelm him when he caught it…a feather soft, thready pulse.
“Cragen!”
The dwarf clapped a hand on Rosë’s massive shoulder.
“Ach…lad. Leave off the pursuit…we maybe runnin’ into an ambush an’ Rowan be hollerin’ fer us. Together we live, but divided…”
The grim-faced cleric let the obvious hang in the air and penetrate the Brigante’s battle-weary brain. The young barbarian reluctantly broke off his pursuit of the undead champion and returned with Cragen to the far side of the dais where the pair found Rowan feverishly working on Sextus.
“I think I have him stabilized,” Rowan said softly without looking up, “but he still looks terrible.”
Cragen knelt down beside the ranger and gently moved his hands aside. “Let me see what I can do, lad.”
Soft violet light warred briefly with the sickly green glow. Sextus drew a long, ragged breath, rolled to his side and vomited black bile all over Cragen’s boots. The dwarf looked up with a wry smile. “Methinks the lad will live.”
Rowan’s eyes swept the area, taking in the carnage, the companions’ sorry state, the silently grinning Garrick and their now-dead nemesis. He felt a rush of emotion and a tinge of…disappointment…as the battle-adrenaline faded. ‘Could it be this anticlimactic?’
He stirred from his momentary stupor. “We should get out of here…rest and refit…we have killed this one, but the tall one is still out there, with the undead captain and many un-fought enemies. Let’s search her for anything use…”
His instructions trailed off as he saw Rosë crouched above the necromancer’s corpse, a pair of knives flashing. The Brigante had refined the searching and ritualistic mutilation of enemy corpses to a sublime art form. As distasteful as Rowan found the practice, he couldn’t help but marvel at the hulking barbarian’s ruthless efficiency. No item of value or potential value escaped Rosë’s sharp eyes and sharper blades. As a morbid aside, anyone seeking to raise their foe best be a fine seamstress, since appendages – hands, feet and head – rapidly flew in various cardinal directions.
A grunt from Rosë indicated he was finished with his grisly search. Various shiny metallic objects glinted from the makeshift rucksack the barbarian had fashioned from their enemy’s own dark cloak.
Unspoken agreement passed between the upright companions and Cragen hefted the still-limp form of Sextus over his shoulder without strain. “Lead on, Rowan.”
Awareness returned to Sextus as he bumped along, his cheek bouncing unceremoniously off Cragen’s rump. Memories flooded back as pain flared. Gratitude at being alive gave way to deep despair at their failure to win through to the children. An ephemeral presence wafted by his bruised face and a soft voice whispered into his clubbed ear on the breath of an unnatural breeze.
“Well done, young Sextus. My thanks for your assistance! A year and a day, Master Scipio, a year and a day. Say hello to Quintus.”
He strained to twist around against Cragen’s iron grip, searching the hellish green glow, his mind screaming.
‘Abigail! Damn you…why do you taunt us? Give us back the children!’
The breeze touched him again, more forcefully this time, as if tinged with anger.
“You live because of my one-time love for your brother…do not mistake my lack of action for mercy. Depart or die!”
The mental strain was too much for the over-taxed bard and he lapsed again into unconsciousness…a nameless, but no longer faceless, fear gnawing at his psyche.
To Be Continued…
Next: Session 27 (Part One) – The Green, Green Fog of Home
~ OO
Figured it was about dang time for an update
!Enjoy...
So Many Choices…All of them Bad!
Darkness flickered before Sextus’s gaze. ‘How can darkness flicker?’ the bard thought absently as his mind and spirit wavered.
He felt the pull…a familiar pull…and felt, rather than saw, his feet alight on the Obsidian Path. He sighed an insubstantial sigh full of resignation. ‘Looks like another trip to Deathsgate.’
He was just getting used to the idea when something yanked against his spirit, hard. He thought he caught a glimpse of the Gray Lady as he hurtled backwards through ephemeral mists.
He was confused. He could “see” the green glow through his closed eyelids, but couldn’t force his broken body to respond. He bent his will towards his left eye. ‘Just…a…little…bit.’
The eyelid responded for half-a-grain, fluttering open and then slamming closed…the briefest moment of time, but it was enough.
Framed in the sickly green glow was the menacing form of the squat necromancer, face rigid in fervent exaltation. The bard could almost see his life force leeching up her arms. His mind raced, slowing that briefest of an instant to an eternal crawl. He noted, with morbid amusement, that not even the necromancer’s mother likely found her attractive.
The slightly pudgy, homely face was framed by lank, greasy hair that a brush rarely conquered. The skin was badly pockmarked, like a dusty street at the beginning of a spring rain and her teeth where crooked. Her merciless gaze, hooded and dark, locked onto the bard’s barely open eye as she furrowed her brow to complete his destruction.
The last thing Sextus saw, in that eternal instant, was the ugly woman’s grin of triumph swerve into a slack-mouthed “O” of surprise and her eyes fly wide, dancing wildly in different directions.
His fading reality failed before he noted the grinning rictus of Garrick’s ravaged face appear over the necromancer’s left shoulder as he dug his bejeweled dagger deeper into her brainpan. The undead halfling gave the slender weapon a final twist and was rewarded with a satisfying snapping of cranial bones as the necromancer pitched forward over the prostrate bard, lifeless.
Air whistled through Garrick’s destroyed vocal cords as he sat and began to softly hum an old drinking tune from Nan’s Tavern. ‘Ah…unlife is good!’
If Rowan had been a sailor, he might have likened it to a “rogue tide” or sudden turn of wave and force so profound that it defied logic and common knowledge. As it was, he thanked the powers of Light, the Old Man and his companions as the undead tide broke against the dais one last time and retreated, leaving eddies and flotsam.
Cragen and Rosë hurled the undead captain back one last time and this time he kept going, fleeing into the darkness as if bereft of courage and direction. The remaining undead followed in broken retreat. The ranger’s cry of triumph died in his throat as his eyes fell upon the tangled forms of Sextus and the necromancer. He dashed to the young bard and dropped to his knees.
Tears welled in his eyes as he desperately sought signs of life. Sextus’s skin was pale and drawn, his face a mask of pain. Despair threatened to overwhelm him when he caught it…a feather soft, thready pulse.
“Cragen!”
The dwarf clapped a hand on Rosë’s massive shoulder.
“Ach…lad. Leave off the pursuit…we maybe runnin’ into an ambush an’ Rowan be hollerin’ fer us. Together we live, but divided…”
The grim-faced cleric let the obvious hang in the air and penetrate the Brigante’s battle-weary brain. The young barbarian reluctantly broke off his pursuit of the undead champion and returned with Cragen to the far side of the dais where the pair found Rowan feverishly working on Sextus.
“I think I have him stabilized,” Rowan said softly without looking up, “but he still looks terrible.”
Cragen knelt down beside the ranger and gently moved his hands aside. “Let me see what I can do, lad.”
Soft violet light warred briefly with the sickly green glow. Sextus drew a long, ragged breath, rolled to his side and vomited black bile all over Cragen’s boots. The dwarf looked up with a wry smile. “Methinks the lad will live.”
Rowan’s eyes swept the area, taking in the carnage, the companions’ sorry state, the silently grinning Garrick and their now-dead nemesis. He felt a rush of emotion and a tinge of…disappointment…as the battle-adrenaline faded. ‘Could it be this anticlimactic?’
He stirred from his momentary stupor. “We should get out of here…rest and refit…we have killed this one, but the tall one is still out there, with the undead captain and many un-fought enemies. Let’s search her for anything use…”
His instructions trailed off as he saw Rosë crouched above the necromancer’s corpse, a pair of knives flashing. The Brigante had refined the searching and ritualistic mutilation of enemy corpses to a sublime art form. As distasteful as Rowan found the practice, he couldn’t help but marvel at the hulking barbarian’s ruthless efficiency. No item of value or potential value escaped Rosë’s sharp eyes and sharper blades. As a morbid aside, anyone seeking to raise their foe best be a fine seamstress, since appendages – hands, feet and head – rapidly flew in various cardinal directions.
A grunt from Rosë indicated he was finished with his grisly search. Various shiny metallic objects glinted from the makeshift rucksack the barbarian had fashioned from their enemy’s own dark cloak.
Unspoken agreement passed between the upright companions and Cragen hefted the still-limp form of Sextus over his shoulder without strain. “Lead on, Rowan.”
Awareness returned to Sextus as he bumped along, his cheek bouncing unceremoniously off Cragen’s rump. Memories flooded back as pain flared. Gratitude at being alive gave way to deep despair at their failure to win through to the children. An ephemeral presence wafted by his bruised face and a soft voice whispered into his clubbed ear on the breath of an unnatural breeze.
“Well done, young Sextus. My thanks for your assistance! A year and a day, Master Scipio, a year and a day. Say hello to Quintus.”
He strained to twist around against Cragen’s iron grip, searching the hellish green glow, his mind screaming.
‘Abigail! Damn you…why do you taunt us? Give us back the children!’
The breeze touched him again, more forcefully this time, as if tinged with anger.
“You live because of my one-time love for your brother…do not mistake my lack of action for mercy. Depart or die!”
The mental strain was too much for the over-taxed bard and he lapsed again into unconsciousness…a nameless, but no longer faceless, fear gnawing at his psyche.
To Be Continued…
Next: Session 27 (Part One) – The Green, Green Fog of Home
~ OO
Last edited:
Ruined
Explorer
Hey Old One. Can't comment on your latest post as I haven't read it. But wanted to let you know that I'm finally going through all of the old Faded Glory stories and reading them. It was cool talking to you at the last NC Game Day, so I figured hey, why not read his SH? Good stuff so far. =)
Lela
First Post
They're close though. Closer than they were. There's one less Necromancer--no small thing, that--and a ton less undead. They've really softened up the bad guys and manage to recover their own full strength each time.
Quick question, I seem to have forgotten what happened to Quintus. Reminders?
Quick question, I seem to have forgotten what happened to Quintus. Reminders?
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