Against the Shadows VII - A Faded Glory Story Hour (Re-Updated - 5/17)
- Thread starter Old One
- Start date
!
!Just a quick reminder of the hints posted oh-so-long-ago.
You're now beginning to see some of them come to pass.
1. The color green is both bad and good, and there's no place like home.
2. Never rush off to Oar when what you seek is right in your own back yard, unless someone who can't speak might have something to say about it.
3. If you plan to pay for services in alcohol make sure the hireling works for ale.
4. Back in the beginning Rowan decided that he could really benefit from having a source for featherfall.
5. Jumping out of a 20' high tree while sober can draw stares. Fortunately it doesn't produce a second scar on one's forehead.
6. There's nothing like having a church official chronicle your party's adventures. Maybe we can retire from the publishing royalties.
7. By the hair of his chinny chin chin.
8. Great Tomes Of Evil Wisdom And Prophecy should include pocket calendars.
9. Easy come easy go, but carry the blood thirsty, greedy bastard with you.
10. They call him "Kicking Stone".
11. Taverns in small frontier towns are not open 24/7.
12. There's treasure there ... somewhere ... so I've been told ... when do we leave?
13. Rowan owes Rose 1,000 dinaari. For this he might have to give up his first born ... heck with his history the child will probably have been sired by Rose anyway!
14. Hungry Kobolds "those Emorian horses taste great, but an hour later you're hungry again."
15. A son looks up to his father for a change.
16. "Someone's been making bacon in this camp and it wasn't Quintus and Drusilla!" - quoth the bard.
17. If Quintus knew how easy it could be to remove Braithwaite from the picture ...
18. A bird in the hand ...
19. Wake them up? Ok, I'll kiss her, but one of you gets to kiss him.
20. Two weeks, two seasons, give or take a bad omen.
Remind yourselves to come back to this once in a while to see what this all meant.
You're now beginning to see some of them come to pass.
1. The color green is both bad and good, and there's no place like home.
2. Never rush off to Oar when what you seek is right in your own back yard, unless someone who can't speak might have something to say about it.
3. If you plan to pay for services in alcohol make sure the hireling works for ale.
4. Back in the beginning Rowan decided that he could really benefit from having a source for featherfall.
5. Jumping out of a 20' high tree while sober can draw stares. Fortunately it doesn't produce a second scar on one's forehead.
6. There's nothing like having a church official chronicle your party's adventures. Maybe we can retire from the publishing royalties.
7. By the hair of his chinny chin chin.
8. Great Tomes Of Evil Wisdom And Prophecy should include pocket calendars.
9. Easy come easy go, but carry the blood thirsty, greedy bastard with you.
10. They call him "Kicking Stone".
11. Taverns in small frontier towns are not open 24/7.
12. There's treasure there ... somewhere ... so I've been told ... when do we leave?
13. Rowan owes Rose 1,000 dinaari. For this he might have to give up his first born ... heck with his history the child will probably have been sired by Rose anyway!
14. Hungry Kobolds "those Emorian horses taste great, but an hour later you're hungry again."
15. A son looks up to his father for a change.
16. "Someone's been making bacon in this camp and it wasn't Quintus and Drusilla!" - quoth the bard.
17. If Quintus knew how easy it could be to remove Braithwaite from the picture ...
18. A bird in the hand ...
19. Wake them up? Ok, I'll kiss her, but one of you gets to kiss him.
20. Two weeks, two seasons, give or take a bad omen.
Remind yourselves to come back to this once in a while to see what this all meant.
Session 27 (Part Five)
Rude Awakenings
Crickets.
Their soft song rose and fell among the rustling leaves of swaying branches. Sextus tried to shake the cobwebs from his aching head, but the soft loam that cushioned his body. Thrice he attempted to sit up and thrice the comfort of the moss-cushioned earth thwarted his efforts. His fourth attempt was successful, although he swayed dangerously and almost toppled over from a rush of vertigo.
A gossamer wisp of emerald mist disappeared into the ground as Sextus blinked rapidly, trying – unsuccessfully – to focus. He forced his disoriented and jumbled thoughts into his favorite marching tune, calming his mind and enabling rational thought. He glanced around the small glade he was sitting in, taking in the sights and sounds.
A vague sense of familiarity tugged at him, but signs of destruction overwhelmed the feeling. Uprooted trees, fallen branches and denuded bushes were mixed everywhere in a crazy tangle. A large stone graced the center of the clearing, a faint wisp of smoke rising from the center amidst so kind of green coating.
Curiosity tugged at the bard. He stood slowly and picked his way over to the rock, stepping over the prostrate forms of his companions without really seeing them. The coating on the rock proved to be the remains of a huge candle, swirled emerald wax shot through with melted gold filigree.
The younger Scipio didn’t need the spell to tell him the taper was magical, but he cast it anyway. The top of the rock flared with a reflection of power so enormous it actually knocked the bard down. He rolled to his knees and continued to focus on the emanation. The reading was incredible…far beyond anything he had ever experienced…far beyond anything he had ever heard of…save for the stories of mighty magic from the Shadow Wars.
He felt, rather than saw, the others stirring around him, while maintaining his concentration.
“What in Moradin’s name is that?”
Sextus didn’t answer the dwarf’s query, but remained motionless in rapt attention.
Rowan looked around, quickly cataloging their surroundings and unconsciously comparing them to the dozens of camps he had scouted and established during their journeys. He noted rocks, trees, scrub brush and birds.
Birds?
They hadn’t seen any birds in a month…not since before they emerged from the ruins of Bremerton to begin their ill-fated trek to the shattered city of Lords. A flitting thrust and gnarled oak riveted his attention and he gasped, clutching his temples.
“No,” he breathed softly, “it isn’t possible.”
The ranger took a fold of skin from his scarred arm firmly between his thumb and forefinger and twisted. Hard. He winced at the pain, but was convinced of his wakefulness, if not his sanity.
Cragen cried out and stumbled backwards before tripping over a fallen tree limb and crashing heavily to the ground. A stream of dwarvish expletives chased each other from the dwarf’s mouth. He had invoked a detection orison from Moradin and the resulting surge from the rock physically knocked him back. Rosë bent to help the blustering cleric to his feet.
The dwarf noted the hair on the Brigante’s arm was standing on end.
Sextus finished his scan and slumped to one knee, beads of sweat on his forehead. He rounded on his companions in wonder.
“Never have I seen anything of the like…it must be something out of legend.”
Cragen nodded in agreement and started to speak, but Rowan interrupted him.
“Don’t you recognize where we are?”
The others looked at him curiously and shook their heads, although the ranger noted a spark of recognition flare in Rosë’s eye.
“This is the glade we camped in on the eve of the great storm…prior to our return to Glynden…on the way home from Oar. I remember that oak tree and listen…do you hear that? Birds and crickets…how long has it been since we have heard wildlife?”
Sextus looked at him in mute disbelief for a long moment and then his eyes flew wide as he noted something behind the ranger. Rowan had to leap aside to avoid being run down by the charging bard.
The younger Scipio dropped to his knees and reached over a large, toppled maple for something on the other side.
“Brother!”
Rowan pinched himself again, but the vision didn’t waver. There, just beyond the tree trunk, lay the prone bodies of Quintus and Drusilla.
Rowan, Cragen and Rosë exchanged looks of amazement and Sextus’s soft weeping rose above the cricket’s song.
To Be Continued…
Next: Session 27 (Part Six) - Far More Questions than Answers
~ OO
Rude Awakenings
Crickets.
Their soft song rose and fell among the rustling leaves of swaying branches. Sextus tried to shake the cobwebs from his aching head, but the soft loam that cushioned his body. Thrice he attempted to sit up and thrice the comfort of the moss-cushioned earth thwarted his efforts. His fourth attempt was successful, although he swayed dangerously and almost toppled over from a rush of vertigo.
A gossamer wisp of emerald mist disappeared into the ground as Sextus blinked rapidly, trying – unsuccessfully – to focus. He forced his disoriented and jumbled thoughts into his favorite marching tune, calming his mind and enabling rational thought. He glanced around the small glade he was sitting in, taking in the sights and sounds.
A vague sense of familiarity tugged at him, but signs of destruction overwhelmed the feeling. Uprooted trees, fallen branches and denuded bushes were mixed everywhere in a crazy tangle. A large stone graced the center of the clearing, a faint wisp of smoke rising from the center amidst so kind of green coating.
Curiosity tugged at the bard. He stood slowly and picked his way over to the rock, stepping over the prostrate forms of his companions without really seeing them. The coating on the rock proved to be the remains of a huge candle, swirled emerald wax shot through with melted gold filigree.
The younger Scipio didn’t need the spell to tell him the taper was magical, but he cast it anyway. The top of the rock flared with a reflection of power so enormous it actually knocked the bard down. He rolled to his knees and continued to focus on the emanation. The reading was incredible…far beyond anything he had ever experienced…far beyond anything he had ever heard of…save for the stories of mighty magic from the Shadow Wars.
He felt, rather than saw, the others stirring around him, while maintaining his concentration.
“What in Moradin’s name is that?”
Sextus didn’t answer the dwarf’s query, but remained motionless in rapt attention.
Rowan looked around, quickly cataloging their surroundings and unconsciously comparing them to the dozens of camps he had scouted and established during their journeys. He noted rocks, trees, scrub brush and birds.
Birds?
They hadn’t seen any birds in a month…not since before they emerged from the ruins of Bremerton to begin their ill-fated trek to the shattered city of Lords. A flitting thrust and gnarled oak riveted his attention and he gasped, clutching his temples.
“No,” he breathed softly, “it isn’t possible.”
The ranger took a fold of skin from his scarred arm firmly between his thumb and forefinger and twisted. Hard. He winced at the pain, but was convinced of his wakefulness, if not his sanity.
Cragen cried out and stumbled backwards before tripping over a fallen tree limb and crashing heavily to the ground. A stream of dwarvish expletives chased each other from the dwarf’s mouth. He had invoked a detection orison from Moradin and the resulting surge from the rock physically knocked him back. Rosë bent to help the blustering cleric to his feet.
The dwarf noted the hair on the Brigante’s arm was standing on end.
Sextus finished his scan and slumped to one knee, beads of sweat on his forehead. He rounded on his companions in wonder.
“Never have I seen anything of the like…it must be something out of legend.”
Cragen nodded in agreement and started to speak, but Rowan interrupted him.
“Don’t you recognize where we are?”
The others looked at him curiously and shook their heads, although the ranger noted a spark of recognition flare in Rosë’s eye.
“This is the glade we camped in on the eve of the great storm…prior to our return to Glynden…on the way home from Oar. I remember that oak tree and listen…do you hear that? Birds and crickets…how long has it been since we have heard wildlife?”
Sextus looked at him in mute disbelief for a long moment and then his eyes flew wide as he noted something behind the ranger. Rowan had to leap aside to avoid being run down by the charging bard.
The younger Scipio dropped to his knees and reached over a large, toppled maple for something on the other side.
“Brother!”
Rowan pinched himself again, but the vision didn’t waver. There, just beyond the tree trunk, lay the prone bodies of Quintus and Drusilla.
Rowan, Cragen and Rosë exchanged looks of amazement and Sextus’s soft weeping rose above the cricket’s song.
To Be Continued…
Next: Session 27 (Part Six) - Far More Questions than Answers
~ OO
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