Barsoom Tales I - COMPLETE

[Altin]

Awesome ... just awesome.

I believe I shall be swiping the pistols and steampunkesque feel for the next game I run ... they certainly add a certain something.

You know, along with the swashbuckling cards this will be the second thing I'm blatantly stealing from your games. I kindly ask you remember the whole 'imitation sincerest form of flattery' buisness and not sue my ass.

Yours,
Altin

 

[barsoomcore]

I kindly ask you remember the whole 'imitation sincerest form of flattery' buisness and not sue my ass.

I find it hilarious that people consider imitating me, since all I've ever done is imitate others. That's how it goes, I guess.

I have no interest in your ass. It's all yours, my friend.

 

[Warrior Poet]

Whoa, whoa, whoa ...

... page 2?

Not a moment too soon! Off to page 1 with this excellent story hour!

Warrior Poet

 

[barsoomcore]

Friendly Service

Atranztipac made short work of Boyce, kneecapping the handsome Gap rogue with a plank she'd pried up from the floorboards. As he cursed and collapsed into the chair, the obnoxious little girl caught sight of Michel, the young boy who lived in the West Dormitory. He'd just come in the front door of the cafe and turned in horror at the sudden shriek, only to find Atranztipac charging him, brandishing the plank over her head.

The boy, who was no bigger than the Yshakan girl, let out a bone-chilling scream and pelted for the counter, where Ilonka stood. She winced but stood firm as Atranztipac approached. Fortunately the little girl decided not to attack Ilonka, and the Pavairellean woman leaned against the counter in relief.

"Atranztipac, be nice."

"No."

"Atranztipac."

"No."

Boyce was clutching his knee and looking a thousand sorts of venom at the girl. Trazik and Karel were helpless with laughter on the couch. Vlad, behind the counter and angry with Ilonka to begin with, only scowled. Atranztipac raised the plank and prepared to charge.

Michel, against all expectation, rushed out from behind Ilonka's skirts and barrelled into the little girl and the children, shrieking furiously, rolled across the floor, locked in mortal combat. Grown-ups bustled in to break up the fight.

*****

"Arrafin? Arrafin?"

The hallway outside was blackness and the light from their torch did not reach all the way back to where Arrafin had been, sketching the bas-relief. Aubrey and Philip charged back down the hall, with Elena and Nevid right behind.

"I'm here."

Arrafin came into view as they neared the carvings, feeling about on the floor for the torch Philip had left behind.

"The torch went out. Sorry. Did you find anything?"

The others exchanged some looks. Aubrey spoke.

"Nothing really. But the passage continues on. Why don't we stick together for a while?"

Arrafin nodded, her wild curls shaking as she did so.

"Good idea."

The five headed deeper down the dark passageway, past the archway and into a room. A big room, from the sudden echoes they heard all around. The torch did not give off enough light to see the walls, but the floor before them was strangely textured. Philip crouched down and came up with a shard of pottery in his hand.

"Floor's covered in these. A potter's shop smashed to pieces."

"Well, given that Big, White and Hungry came through here, I'm not surprised the pottery's broken," said Aubrey, "But what was it all doing down here in the first place?"

Nobody had an answer and gingerly they made their way across the field of shattered fragments. Clay snapped and crunched under their feet, and the echoes ringing back from the unseen walls seemed sinister, fraught with hostile intent.

Nevid swore very quietly and knelt. The others stopped and saw him stand up with a knife in his hand.

Not just any knife. A very particular knife. A knife that each of them was familiar with. Or at least, a knife of such distinctive aspect that each of them recognized it right away.

Small, with a simple hilt and single crossguard. A straight blade with a triangular tip that would have been nearly a foot long, had it been straight. But instead, it curved back and forth along its entire length so that it total length was a little less than eight inches, looking for all the world as though someone had driven the point into something too hard to pierce, and rather than break the blade had accordion-ed itself into this shape. Only one group of people in all Barsoom used such weapons.

"The Blood Council."

Elena took a step back, eyeing Nevid with real fear. He noticed the sudden anxiousness in his friends and protested.

"No, no. I found this. Just now. I stepped on it. Look, it's all rusty."

The air grew decidedly less tense as the others came in for a closer look. Aubrey turned to Arrafin.

"What does the Blood Council have to do with this place? Any ideas?"

The Naridic woman shook her head.

"No, no idea. Well, the story is that Ky'in was destroyed by Suelekar Ben Azan and his friend, Farouk ibn Zaoud. Now Essermane Varag, whose tomb I think this is..."

She shuddered and looked up at the rough-hewn stone of the ceiling.

"...He was one of Ky'in's lieutenants. So if he was buried here, then..."

Her voice trailed off and her eyes lost their focus. The others frowned, waiting for her to continue. Philip shrugged.

"If he's buried here, well and good. Maybe he left some trinkets behind."

*****

Anxious faces awaited the old man's judgement. Chipucuaro stayed with his head bowed, smoke curling up around his white hair. Matzatlipoc's chubby face twisted in horror and he rose to his feet, stumbled back.

"No! This cannot be!"

Chipucuaro nodded.

"You know what we saw. There is hope."

"But..."

"No."

Chipucuaro spoke without room for debate. The rest of the elders understood what was meant. Their Oldest One would never leave this place. The chipactli would consume him. But some of the People might escape.

Chipucuaro could not get to his feet without help. His frail wife took one arm and his strong daughter the other and they raised him up. He gripped his weather-beaten staff and leaned heavily on it, looking back and forth around the circle of elders.

"The chipactli cannot be defeated. Many of us will not escape this place. But some will. New arrivals have come. They will lead us out. They must have our help or all will perish."

The elders looked between each other anxiously. The only new arrivals were the caravan guards, and they were not of the People. Surely they were not being asked to put their faith in Southerners?

"We must go with them. We cannot stay."

"But... must so many die?"

"Darkness comes."

*****

"Now that's a right big hole. I'd have to be pretty pissed off to make a hole that big."

Philip looked around at the rest of his companions, all of whom were staring at the great rent in the wall in varying degrees of shock. Chunks of stone lay strewn about the pottery shards, and it was obvious that some great force had caused the thick wall to simply explode outwards.

Elena nodded.

"It might help if you were thirty feet tall, I bet."

Aubrey chimed in.

"And had been imprisoned down here for a couple of thousand years."

As a group they picked their way through the splinters and the rubble and peered through the large gap in the wall.

"Somebody light another torch."

With a bit more illumination they could see that they were looking down into a great hall, one that stretched off into the darkness. The hall was home to rows of what looked like stone booths, flat-topped and seven or eight feet on a side. Two nearby had been broken open by falling rock. The place was utterly silent. Only their breathing could be heard.

Aubrey frowned.

"Where do you suppose they kept him?"

None of the booths were anywhere near big enough to contain the beast they had seen last night.

Elena nodded.

"And who do you suppose THEY are?"

Nevid shook.

"And do they have any more like him still down here?"

"Ooh, I never thought of that. I wonder what's in these things..?"

The entire group slid down the pile of rubble into the hall, following Arrafin as she stumbled up to one of the odd structures. Then rushing forward as she recoiled, pale and shaking.

"They're tombs..."

Inside they saw a stone bier, supporting most of the body of a young Kishak man. He seemed extraordinarily well-preserved for someone covered in the amount of dust he was covered in. Except for his head, which had been crushed by a massive fall of stone. Elena's eyes widened as she noticed a sudden movement. His finger. It was wiggling.

She pointed and the entire group stood perfectly still, mesmerised by that tiny motion. They all looked at each other, their eyes wide. Pressed together, moving as a unit, they backed away from the bier and its enclosing tomb and moved over to the next one, which had also been broken open by falling rock.

Inside this one lay an empty bier, without any body upon it. The heavy dust that lay on the stone outlined a body that had once lain there.

A small body. The size of a child. Bare footbprints led from bier to the door of the tomb.

 

[Talix]

Wow, talk about your creepy settings!

 

[barsoomcore]

Historical Landmarks

Ilonka gratefully accepted Vlad's offer of a seat on the couch. The shop had been packed since mid-morning, and even though everyone was quiet there seemed to be more work to do than she and Trazik could handle. Vlad and Karel pitched in, even on their day off, and now, in the early afternoon lull, they at last got a chance to relax.

Trazik carried a last tray of cups and plates back to the counter. The clinking of silverware provided ringing accents to the constant drumming of the rain.

"Won't it EVER stop raining!?"

Ilonka put her hands over her face, stretched out her legs and flopped backwards.

"Yeah, 'cause I could really get to like this place if it were a little sunnier."

She peered through her fingers at Trazik who was smirking at her as he set the tray down. He pretended surprise and shock when she stuck her tongue out at him.

Vlad stood at the door, looking outside.

"You know, I'm starting to think that it couldn't be much worse, trying to walk out of here. Get some waterskins, some biscuits, and just go."

He turned to face them all.

"We have to get out of here. We're all going to die if we stay."

*****

Little footprints ran back and forth in the dust. Big footprints obscured them from time to time. The group had advanced past the first rank of tombs and now looked up and down an aisle between two rows of the structures, with dark alleys running across to either side. There were footprints leading off into the distance in both directions.

"I don't see any of the big ones off to the right."

Aubrey peered into the darkness, holding a torch above him.

"Right it is, then."

Moving slowly and constantly turning in circles as they progressed, the group passed three or four tombs before discovering the chamber wall, running across their direction of travel. Again they looked right and left. To the right it appeared that they could see the back wall of the large chamber, but to the left Elena thought she saw an opening. They turned left.

Philip raised his torch and they all studied the sigil carved into the rough stone above the dark archway.

"What do you suppose that says? Arrafin?"

The Naridic girl bit her lip as she considered.

"Well, I don't recognize it, but I think it says something like, 'No scary little Kishak girls beyond this point.'"

When everyone turned to her in confusion, she pointed down at the floor. The footprints gathered up around the archway, but not one crossed through it. There were a few moments of worried silence.

"Fine."

Philip sighed and stepped through the archway. Everyone discovered they'd tensed themselves up and relaxed when nothing happened. In a rush, they all hurried to follow their burly companion.

Beyond, the air seemed different. Their footsteps no longer kicked up clouds of silent dust, and the oppression of the previous chambers evaporated. At first, they smiled at each other, a sense of escape lightening their stride as they made their way down the narrow hall.

With each step, however, a deep unease grew within them. Nevid studied the walls as they continued. The stonework here was smooth and precise, no marks to mar the surface or even indicate how this passage was made. The air grew cold.

At the front, Philip strained his eyes into the the ever-retreating darkness before him. Floor, walls, ceiling, featureless. At last he saw the walls on either side end, and stepped forward into a small chamber. The others crowded in behind him.

"Is that what I think it is?"

They all stared up at the hilt of the massive black sword leaning against the wall. The point of the sword rested on the floor of the room a foot or so from Philip's toe. The crossguard was at least a foot above his head. Possibly two.

"If you think it's bad trouble in every possible way, then yes."

*****

Boyce was used to the smell of oil and gunpowder. He and his lads, Michel and Nervaine, loaded their many, many guns and sharpened their many, many blades. They slid weapons into sheaths hidden all over their persons, tested positioning and balance, tightened straps and laced up armour plates under their clothes. They worked without words, reaching past each other to grab ramrods and flints, whetstones and rags.

They were supposed to be caravan guards.

Every so often one would cast an eye out the window, consider the rooftops and the driving rain.

Boyce's normally cheerful and friendly face was frozen in an intense frown as he adjusted the hang of a side sheath, testing its position with quick movements of his right hand. The knife was a curved, broad-bladed weapon, great for punching through armour or leaving behind in the back of a leg.

They were supposed to be caravan guards.

These men were not your typical Gap warriors, full of bravado and integrity and honour. They were experienced killers, uninterested in conventions of conduct or fair play. They were not preparing for battle. They were preparing for survival.

They were supposed to be caravan guards.

Boyce began swearing to himself, quietly and without emotion.

*****

The four Pavairelleans stood together at the door of their little shop.

Nobody wanted to speak so Ilonka did.

"Speaker said if anybody left they'd be killed."

Vlad shrugged.

"Speaker said if anybody talked they'd be killed and we all talked last night, didn't we?"

Trazik sighed, tried to grin.

"I can't imagine things getting any worse. We're all going to die up here, we know that."

The rain came down in staggering volume. Ilonka turned away and headed back to the counter.

"We'll need food. Heat or fire or something. Carry some coals in a pot, maybe?"

She began rooting around in the cupboards. After a moment the three young men came back and started helping. She gave them a look.

"Should we plan for four only? Or more?"

They all thought of the five strangers who'd left that morning to investigate the mines. Who had not yet returned.

Trazik pursed his lips and stared down at the floor.

"Maybe five."

He shrugged as the others grinned.

"She's a very nice girl."

*****

Opposite the massive sword the wall opened into a sheet of total darkness. At first Aubrey had thought it another archway, but as he approached it he realised the blackness filling it was far more complete than what they had encountered so far. He reached out towards it, but before his finger got halfway there, his hand snapped back against his chest as thought he'd touched something hot.

"Hey. Anyone know what this is?"

Even as he spoke, Aubrey felt a sudden panic erupt within him. He couldn't help taking a step back as the dark opening suddenly seemed hostile, malevolent. The others joined him. In silence they considered the strange phenomenon.

"It's sure dark. Anyone want to try stepping through?"

No volunteers came forward at Elena's question. Nevid nodded.

"This is where they put that guy."

"Huh?"

"That guy, Esserwhatever, Arrafin was talking about. That they put down here."

Arrafin's huge eyes got even huger.

"Essermane Varag?"

Elena shook her head.

"You know, I've never heard of this guy before, but that name is just bad. Bad news. I don't like him."

Aubrey shrugged.

"You don't even know him."

"Well, yeah, that's kind of my point. I don't want to know him."

When Arrafin spoke, it was not with her usual gusto. Her voice was hushed and reverent.

"The days of great King Suelekar Azan,
All filled with honey, ripe with richest fruit,
Brought down by terrors now unknown to man,
Which all his glories would with hate uproot,
And crush beneath the dreaded Varag's boot,
For Essermane, First Raven of Tizim,
Came then to our fair land to persecute
Us; those who died escaped a fate more grim;
For only death could end submission to his whim."

She stood silently for a few seconds, then smiled gamely up at the others.

"That's why I came here. It's called The Third Raven, it's an old poem, well, about two hundred years back. It's about Gedak Gan's attack on Al-Tizim. Gedak Gan's the Third Raven, Tathak Tan is the Second Raven, and Essermane Varag is called the First. But nobody really knows who Essermane Varag was. All we know is that he must have predated the Kishak Empire, so the idea is that he's Calegrian. Which makes him a lieutenant or a general or something of Ky'in.

"I found some clues in manuscripts at the University that led me to believe he was killed in a battle up here in the mountains and buried here. I think the town of Chimney takes its name from the fortress that stood here once. Somebody buried him here."

She turned sober eyes to the sheet of blackness.

"And stuck him behind that thing."

*****

The People gathered in the little square that their shacks encircled. Chipucuaro raised his hands.

"Quitzlicoatl has spoken. She has shown us our future."

He dropped his hands and scowled.

"Death. Death for us if we stay. Death for us if we leave."

Children frowned, looked up at their parents in confusion. The People stood. The colours of their beaded tunics bled together in the murk, robbed of their proud brilliance. Dark eyes and straight black hair on all sides, solemn and patient. Chipucuaro sighed.

"We leave. The Southerners will lead you out of this place. Not all will die. We must gather Dark Water and preserve it for the trip. Not all will die. The Queen of Serpents has shown me."

Tears burst from him, lost in the downpour, but triggering sobs from all of the People surrounding him. Together, they grieved for what they knew was coming.

*****

"Maybe this book explains things."

Nevid had stepped away from the dark panel and found an alcove with not only the book he'd mentioned, but also a plain oaken staff topped with three red feathers. He examined the staff while the others crowded around the book. Arrafin was pushed to the front and studied the faded glyphs on the page.

The book was not so much a book as a block of stone carved to look like a book. Even as she began reading, it occured to Arrafin that this meant the Calegrians had modern bookbinding technology, which was pretty interesting.

"It's Calegrian. I've studying this quite a bit now."

The others waited quietly while Arrafin read to herself. That got dull very quickly and Elena, Philip and Aubrey wandered back to the black sheet. Philip held his torch close to it.

"It seems to ripple. See that?"

He reached out and, steeling himself, touched the surface.

Arrafin shrieked as Philip flew back across the room with a tremendous bang, smoke trailing from his hand. Everyone yelled and rushed over to him, except for Nevid, who went up to the panel himself.

"What the-- Are you okay?"

Elena and Aubrey helped a dazed Philip to his feet. He saw Nevid reaching out and cried out.

"What are you --!?"

Another bang, another shriek, and Nevid lay at Philip's feet. Aubrey chuckled once he saw the young Saijadani was okay.

Arrafin's voice put an end to laughter. She stared at the blackness with growing horror.

"Essermane Varag IS behind that. He was sealed in there. Forever. By the Queen of Serpents. I think Ky'in herself made this place, just to hold him."

 

[LostSoul]

Cool...

 

[Mr Fidgit]

great story so far barsoomcore!

so when do we get another update? nudge-nudge

 

[barsoomcore]

Quaint Customs

"What's going on? Are they holding a parade?"

Ilonka stared, puzzled, out the doorway at the Yshakans struggling along the muddy street in front of the coffee shop. It looked like nearly the whole... tribe, or nation, or gang or whatever they called themselves. They appeared very exotic to the Pavairellean woman, with their beads and straw ponchos and strange headresses. Even with the rain plastering their outfits into submission, she found them regal and fascinating.

No smiles. Grim faces of determination plodded past, intent on making their way out of town and up towards the mine.

Karel, usually the one with the sarcastic remark, watched in silence.

"They know something. Maybe there's something they can do."

"Yeah, or maybe they're working with that Mara and they're going up to kill those del Maraviez yahoos."

Vlad, of course, always found a way to make any bad situation seem worse.

*****

"This can't get any worse, can it?"

Nobody answered Aubrey, so he shrugged and kept hauling himself up the sloping shaft. Water had soaked their rope while they'd explored the tomb or vault or whatever it was and the hemp was slimy under his fingers. The climbing was still easy, however, and as he walked up towards the pinhole of light above he felt the others pulling themselves up behind him.

Nevid shook as he put one hand in front of the other, stepping carefully with his feet as he followed Aubrey. The shock of that black wall's power, the way it had seared his nerves without seeming to harm him at all -- Nevid was deeply disturbed. He stared at the rope, half-expecting it to transform into something terrible beneath his hands. Everything around seemed malevolent suddenly, dangerous and slippery.

Elena scowled. Her steady tread up the sloping floor of the mineshaft went on automatically while she tried to understand the situation they seemed to be trapped in. Ancient history and forgotten languages didn't mean much to her, but there was no mistaking the seriousness of their plight. That big white thing could turn them all into paste without much effort, and whatever was going on with the Kishak girl was not something Elena wanted any part of. She shuddered, thinking of the old man's suicide. Terrible images on all sides.

Arrafin made a pretense of pulling herself up along the rope, but before long she couldn't reach up anymore and just slumped in her harness, watching Elena's back above her. Her quick mind raced, trying to encompass the implications of what she'd discovered. Essermane Varag, real and buried right here. Inscriptions claiming to be in the very hand of Ky'in herself. She thought of her father, how thrilled he'd be. She smiled to herself, imagining the conversation she'd have, explaining this whole adventure and how she'd found the carvings and the inscriptions and everything. She itched to return home and with new strength set about pulling herself upwards.

Philip kept looking into the darkness behind him. He turned around to face front, watch Arrafin's skinny frame bob along behind Elena, but the image of the terrible white monster crawling silently out from below kept springing to mind and he'd have to spin around, make sure it wasn't actually there. He chewed at his unlit cigar with fierce concentration.

"Um, hey. Something's coming down towards us. Any ideas?"

"I guess this just got worse."

*****

Even after he'd seen her tear a man's head off, Boyce found it difficult to shoot at a little girl.

When she turned toward him and hissed it got a lot easier.

The bullet struck her breastbone and she flew backwards with a shriek. She crashed through a wall and disappeared in a sudden cloud of plaster dust and wooden splinters. Boyce, Michel and Nervaine ran out the front door, leaving behind sprays of blood and a ruined house. They slipped in the mud, nearly fell, got themselves under control and charged for the coffee shop. Hollering the whole way.

They crashed into the shop, wide-eyed and quivering with sharp edges. Boyce hurriedly began reloading his pistol.

Ilonka came out from behind the counter.

"What -- ?"

"She attacked. At the house. The little girl. She killed them, everybody, damnit!"

Boyce straightened up, drew his other pistol and pointed both at arm's length at the doorway. Nervaine looked confused.

"Boyce, you shot her. You shot her right in the chest. She's dead, Boyce."

Boyce never looked aside from the doorway.

"You want to go out there and find me her dead body, you go right ahead. You saw what she did."

Nervaine and Michel looked at each other, nodded, drew their guns and joined Boyce, staring out at the rain. Ilonka and the other Pavairelleans watched in fear.

Vlad stood up.

"You got any more guns?"

Boyce nodded slowly. He dropped a heavy sack onto a nearby table. Vlad pulled it open and out spilled another half-dozen pistols of various sizes. After a second, everybody grabbed one. They all stood, pointing the guns at the empty doorway. Ilonka felt better with the hefty chunk of steel in her hands. Trazik stood on one side of her, tall and scared-looking but reassuring all the same. Vlad was on the other side, calm as ever, his broad shoulders a comforting presence. Karel had a crazy grin on, and the gun in his hands was shaking.

Most of the guns were shaking.

*****

"These Yshakans are crazy."

Elena felt the need to whisper. Their guides had shown no sign of being able to speak a word of Imperial Kishak, but she kept quiet regardless.

"Where are we going? That thing could be rummaging around in here. It could be anywhere."

They made their way along a narrow, low-ceilinged passage cut through the rock, following the line of the ore. Up ahead a hundred Yshakan men and women moved in silence, only the swinging rushes of the clothing giving any sign of their presence. At the back of the procession, Elena, Aubrey, Nevid, Philip and Arrafin struggled along, trying to keep up with their silent vanguard.

"Maybe we shouldn't be following them. Maybe this is some big Yshakan thing. Maybe they're going to sacrifice and eat somebody. I heard they do that."

"They do not. Don't be foolish."

"Oh, you're some kind of expert on Yshaka?"

"Guys, we have bigger things to worry about."

"Bigger than getting eaten? You need to rethink your priorities."

They moved on, deep beneath the dark earth, squabbling all the way.

*****

Dust settled in the room. It powdered the face of the middle-aged woman, disappeared into the spots of blood on her skin. The man's boot turned white as plaster dust drifted down on top of it. The rain pounded outside but in here everything was delicate and still. Only drops of blood, falling from the splintered table, added any sound to the scene.

Then a groan. Beams shifted and ground against each other. A slight, red-skinned form rose up from beneath a mass of shattered planks and lathes.

The little girl looked around the room. The mortals were gone. Out of habit, she reached down and pulled free an arm, started gnawing on it, but it did nothing for her hunger. One hand rubbed at her chest, the memory of that violent impact still clear to her extremely simple mind. She tore chunks of flesh from the severed arm and swallowed them, staring out the open doorway at the muddy street. Her eyes were dull and vacant.

She realised she recognized that building down the street. Her appallingly empty face suddenly lit up in a guileless smile and she looked for all the world like any other six-year-old.

Gnawing on a severed human arm.

She strode across the room, out the door and along the street.

*****

"Dark Water."

The Yshakans lit torches, revealing a vast chamber that stretched off out of sight, great flowing columns of stone rising into blackness. Their torches flickered as they formed a circle around a small pool. The five non-Yshakans watched in silence, awed by the grandeur of the cavern.

Chipucuaro turned from the water. His weathered face pulled into a friendly smile and he waved.

"Join us. Come. It is safe here."

With a few quizzical looks the five descended irregular slopes to stand next to the old chieftan.

"The chipactli cannot approach Dark Water. We are safe here. But you must lead us out."

The quizzical looks grew more quizzical. Aubrey spoke.

"Does anyone understand what the old guy is saying? That must be Yshakan. Arrafin, do you speak Yshakan?"

"Not a word."

"This could take a while."

 

[barsoomcore]

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