DoctorB's Legacy of Alexander Story Hour

[DoctorB]

Cobbe is Dead, Long Live Cobbe

[DM]

She laughs.
" So many questions! I will respond as I can.
I cannot speak for the existence of all the planes, but the Seven of us created the heaven that you see. Many strange creatures exist in the world and the planes reflect all of them somewhere. Some of them have since made the planes their home sometime in the distant past.

Leaving them aside, the beliefs and emotions of thinking beings are powerful. The creatures here are built up over centuries and millennia while only one generation of beings lives in the world at one time.

'Irredeemably evil' is a difficult concept for me, and a subject of many debates among us. It seems to me you must weigh the damage the evil being can do to others against the chance that it might be redeemed.

As for the tree, it exists in a place that reflects all wooden objects that ever were. The Heart Oak is also in the prime material plane (as some call it). One piece of the tree would allow Joy to transport the Champions to that 'Plane of Wood.' Not all of the tree is corrupted. The corruption is very localized (at least for now). I cannot show you the actual source of the corruption, even here.

Come, there is another gift I wish to give to you."

She takes your hand and leads you to a doorway in the garden. Stepping through, you find yourself on the slope of a hill. Grass and flowers extend from your feet up the hill. Above you stands a low tower of smooth stone.
The sky above it is perfectly blue with not one cloud. The sun stands high in the sky and makes the air comfortably warm.

The image of Clarice picks a white rose from the flowers at her feet and hands it to you. Taking hold of the stem, it suddenly feels different in your hand. Looking down, you see a silver key with a rose symbol carved into the handle.

She takes you up to the door and opens it. Inside you see a hall with tables. An open doorway leads to a kitchen, while stairs lead up to higher floors.

"This place can serve as an occasional haven for you. I have given you the key to return here. You will find that one day here lasts only one bell on your world. You may only visit when the Haven is close enough for you to reach. That is only true on the monthly Festival of the Lady [first ladyday]. At least here you can occasionally remember who you are and why you fight against such terrible enemies. It will also give you time to strengthen yourself without endangering our allies by a lengthy delay. Use it well."

She turns away from the tower and you find yourself again in the garden of the Lady.

"Walk here for as long as you like. I am certain we will speak again soon."

Though you cannot say when, she is suddenly gone. You find yourself alone in the garden again. Night is falling but the fireflies continue to light up the beautiful plants and waters with their light.

 

[DoctorB]

Cobbe is Dead, Long Live Cobbe

[Cobbe]
Oh, shoot; I forgot to ask her about Meroway. Joy keeps gettin' all bent outta shape about Meroway, and then looks at me like it's my fault. Bad for morale . . . Ah, but it's nice here. . . . [heavenly crickets . . . trickling waters]
. . . Maybe I can ask the Lady about . . What did I want to ask her? Ah well. [snooze].

 

[Type_II_Gamer]

No freaking way, when I die, it's going to be that nice. I'll probaly get assigned to the gardening team or something....

Toiva, on hearing Cobbe's tales of the afterlife...

 

[Sacred Cow]

No freaking way, when I die, it's going to be that nice. I'll probaly get assigned to the gardening team or something....

Toiva, on hearing Cobbe's tales of the afterlife...

(checking clipboard) "You, Cobbe! Go be an angel and walk amongst the beautiful flowering trees. You, Toiva! Here's a shovel and there's the manure patch. go make those trees flower so Cobbe can enjoy them."

 

[Type_II_Gamer]

Fair enough. Toiva does have a talent for shovelling the manure...

 

[DoctorB]

Sorry I have been so slow to update. Real life keeps getting in the way. In the meantime, here is something the player of Bacha wrote about his doings recently:

Bacha Tales
Part 1

Bacha, the Black Tiger of Irmak and the 143rd Fist of Yakun, listened to Cobbe’s recitation of his dream the night before. The Yakuni people were threatened and required Bacha’s return.

“It is clear, Beer-Pourer, that I must go. Your visions, gifts from the Prophet, do not lie,” Bacha said impassively, “I will leave immediately.”

To the surprise of some, Bacha the Fist, immediately gathered his belongings. It took a few moments for the Champions to realize what this meant.

Joy, ran up wrapping her arms around Bacha's leg, tears streaming down her face, but a brave smile on her lips and whispered, “be careful. I'm gonna miss you until we see you again.”

Bacha grunted an indecipherable response as he continued to pack. [Spot check 25: Are he eyes really glistening?]

The others, one by one, said their farewells. Bacha nodded to each in his gruff, stern manner.

Then, without warning, Bacha dropped to one knee, facing his companions, “fight well, live well, and die well, Honored Elders.”

The huge half orc rose, spun on his heel and strode away toward the city gate.

Bacha paused a moment and turned his head to look back with a fang-filled grin on his face, “and be sure not to bleed while I am away....”

[Bacha’s Humor roll: 8. Not bad for Bacha, but pretty feeble by human standards]

****************

Bacha ran at a brisk pace along the rocky road, leaving the city of Sazan far behind. His hair ringlets clinked slightly together at every step. His glaive was held low in his hand, multiple scalps hung from the shaft, swaying in time with his stride.

Although the half-breed barbarian only left that morning, the city’s gaudy décor, huge crowds, and the overwhelming stink of human filth were thankfully now a distant memory.

Still, his thoughts turned back to the “Lady’s” Champions. The servants of the Triad and creatures of the Spiral had attacked them repeatedly. How would they fare without the Fist to defend them?

His eyes moistened slightly. He had grown fond of them -- all of them. Although he would never admit it, he missed Joy’s prattle about the mid-evening pre-supper meal, and the Beer Pourer’s devotion to the Prophet. Their faith was strong.

Their faith needed to be strong to fight against such monstrosities.

Never, in all of his experiences in the wilds of Irmak, had Bacha seen such beasts as they had fought. Truly the need of the tribe must be great for the Prophet to send him back to Irmak in the face of such dangers that the Champions fight.

Did his tribe fight such beasts as well? Few among them would last more than a few seconds in combat against such things.

A chill ran up his spine at the thought.

Bacha pushed on.

*****************

Bacha, the 141st Fist of Yakun, bent down to examine the corpses strewn about the clearing.

Bodies of hobgoblins and their hacked-apart dire wolf mounts lay scattered about.

Bacha’s orcish eyes picked up the glint of a Yakuni blood spear, as well as few Yakuni arrows.

This had been an ambush.

From the tracks it was apparent that the hobgoblins were traveling southwest in pursuit of the Tribe. This hobgoblin cavalry force was a smaller war party of the larger pursuing horde.

Yakuni braves, at least thirty according to the tracks, had lain in wait for their pursuers. There appeared to be no Yakuni casualties, although at least fourteen hobgoblins and six wargs were brought down. The hobgoblins and wolves scattered during the attack. Although many were slain, more escaped.

The battle occurred not 3 hours ago. Bacha was close.

******************

It had been three weeks since Bacha left the Champions of the Lady. He had traveled almost constantly, pausing only for eating and short naps.

He would have already reached his people several days ago if they had not been on the move.

He examined the tracks of the Tribe. They were heading almost due west, out of Irmak.

An Irmakian force of at least ten times their number was locked in pursuit and was slowly gaining on the fleeing Yakuni people.

It was obvious to Bacha that the Tribe’s Voice had commanded them to flee Irmak in the hopes that the horde would be unwilling to follow the tribe out of their homeland.

If the tracks were any indication, the gambit hadn’t worked thus far.

Bacha spotted his first living member of the enemy force about one hour later. A dozen hobgoblin cavalry that had paused to examine tracks and hadn’t noticed the giant barbarian stalking them through the hills.

Without saying a word, Bacha walked into the middle of the force and soundlessly began swinging his glaive. Hobgoblin bodies fell without heads, wolves collapsed with their riders, as the whirling blade slashed among them. One wolf managed to cry out before being felled.

Before the bodies even stopped twitching, Bacha removed the water skins and food sacks off of a couple of the fallen. He opened one flask and took a long, hard drink. He replaced the cork and quickly and stealthily disappeared into the rocky foothills.

*************

The cry of alarm quickly turned to one of recognition as Bacha entered the Yakuni encampment. The half orc was wounded in over a dozen places and his left eye was swollen shut. “Where are the Elders? I must speak with them immediately!”

Jorak Skullsmasher, his left arm ending in a bloody bandaged stump spoke up, “it is good you are here, Fist of the Prophet, for the times are dark and our people suffer.” He points with his remaining arm toward the center of the camp

Bacha immediately altered his course to take him straight to the elders without saying a word to the wounded that surround him.

It had been a difficult journey for Bacha. As he got closer to this encampment, he had to pass through many of the enemy. He had used all of his arrows in addition to many that he stole off the dead. Bacha lost count of the numbers he had killed after about ninety, but his many wounds were a testament to their ferocity and great numbers.

A young brave, no older than sixteen years of age spotted the Fist and moved to intercept him. His torso was bare and heavily muscled. Despite his young age, he was clearly an accomplished warrior, and carried a long spear with many hobgoblin scalps tied to it.

The young half-orc clearly favored his human parent. From the looks of him, Bacha deduced that this was Yargath’s son.

The boy ran to block Bacha’s path. With a look of anger and youthful passion on his face he cries out, “Hail, Fist of Yakun! The Tribe bleeds because you were not here. I invoke the Shagra and claim your Office by right of combat!”

Not now, thought Bacha. He needed to meet the Elders immediately. The pursuers were only a half a day behind the tribe and something clearly needed to be done quickly.

Bacha pushed past, “Begone, Son of Yargath. It is not your time. I must speak with the Elders.”

The youth’s anger flared even stronger. He leapt in front of the Fist, barring the way with his long-spear.

A crowd of Yakuni had begun to gather at the sound of the exchange. Almost all of them bore some wound or injury from the last few weeks of fighting.

Bacha’s temper began to flare. He had traveled three weeks at a speed that would kill most other warriors and now his own people blocked his way!

Inhaling deeply, Bacha controlled his anger and spoke out, “The Fist has returned. I have killed Enemies of the Tribe. I have been to the human realm. I have met the Beer-Pourer and Bridge-Builder and the path to our Salvation is before us. I have been to the Heavens and seen the Halls of our Ancestors. I have spoken to the Herald of Yakun. Will you, my own people, hinder me as I go to meet our Elders?”

Bacha’s words seem to have a profound affect on the crowd and they began to nod in agreement. Some eyes widen in awe at Bacha’s words. The path once again opened in front of him. Some dropped to their knees.

As Bacha tries to leave again, the youth once again blocks his path.

“I am Yir, 3rd Son of Yargath. I have challenged you to combat and you flee me? Our tribe suffered and you fled then? Can it be our Fist is a coward?”

Bacha paused.

If those words had been spoken only one year earlier, Bacha would have removed the youth’s head from his shoulders before the word “coward” could be fully spoken. Not now, however. Bacha knew the tribe was short of fighting men.

“Yir, Son of Yargath, you do not know your place. You will stand down or be struck down,” Bacha’s voice growled in warning.

Yir lunged at Bacha with the long spear but stopped short as Bacha stepped forward, letting the spear pass under his arm. The heel of Bacha’s hand slammed into Yir’s jaw, breaking it with an audible crack and knocking the youth unconscious.

Bacha stepped over Yir’s unconscious body to meet with the Elders.

 

[Type_II_Gamer]

The winner and still the champion...

By the Lady, Bacha has become quite the diplomat...


Toiva of the Lady.

 

[Bacha the Fist]

diplomatic Bacha

You should see him negotiate with the Lady of Pella. His -2 diplomacy skill rolls get him invited into the manor for dinner at least twice a week! (okay, maybe not.)