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Dungeons and Warhammers (updated March 17th)
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<blockquote data-quote="NiTessine" data-source="post: 420395" data-attributes="member: 475"><p>Here. Chapter Four, second installment. I'm trying to fall into an installment per week rhythm, posting on the weekends. We'll see how long I can keep that up... <img src="https://cdn.jsdelivr.net/joypixels/assets/8.0/png/unicode/64/1f644.png" class="smilie smilie--emoji" loading="lazy" width="64" height="64" alt=":rolleyes:" title="Roll eyes :rolleyes:" data-smilie="11"data-shortname=":rolleyes:" /></p><p>But, anyway... Here it is! Have at it!</p><p>------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p></p><p>The following day dawned bleak and grey, fog hanging over the cold sea like a soft blanket. Frederich had decided to start the day early, and was sharing a large bottle of Bugman's ale with a few of the deck guards. Franz was also outside, bare-headed and –footed, letting the cold sea wind whip against his face. He reminded the others of flagellants. Fisibbei and Kase were down in the dining hall, breaking their fast. Khaelas was asleep.</p><p></p><p>The elf and the halfling were enjoying a light meal of fish, the only edible thing on board that wasn't crawling with worms. Suddenly, a bell started to sound. It was a loud, frantic clanging. After going on for five seconds, it was cut short. They both knew what this meant. It was the ship's alarm bell. And there was no time to run to the cabin and get weapons.</p><p></p><p>Fisibbei, thinking it was most likely a pirate attack, smashed his chair against the floor, and picked up a leg. As he ran towards the deck, he grasped his root and chanted words of Druidic. A bold green light settled over his makeshift weapon, which grew heavier and sturdier in his hand. No longer was it a chair leg, but a hard cudgel.</p><p></p><p>Kase followed after the halfling, running swiftly. As the two spellcasters ascended the stairs to the deck, they were greeted with a scene of carnage. Dead and dying sailors littered the deck, losing the battle against the invaders. The attackers were no ordinary pirates, but strange, blue-skinned goblins, wielding crooked spears, tipped with sharp bone. Snarling, they were butchering the helpless sailors.</p><p></p><p>Among the bloodshed, two beacons of hope arose. Frederich had littered the deck with sea goblin corpses, making his way for their leader. He was wielding a spear of a slain warrior, evidently stabbed to death with a broken bottle. Franz was keeping a doorway to the lower decks clear, staving off his blue-skinned attackers with a broken spear shaft, wrested from the hands of a defeated enemy.</p><p></p><p>However, where Frederich was cutting a swath of death across the ranks of the troglagobs, as the water-dwelling goblins were called, the priest was in dire trouble. He was encircled by the creatures, and for every one he slew, two another rose up to take its place. The dead lay around him in numbers, yet they came on, prodding and thrusting with their crooked spears. Again and again they plunged their bone blades in Franz's flesh, and the bleeding priest slumped down.</p><p></p><p>The goblins were upon him like vultures at a carcass, tearing him apart, taking his items, and making for the sea. And then, Fisibbei was there. He crushed the skull of one troglagob with his cudgel, then smashed it into another's face. He slew four of the sea goblins before they even realized he was there. And when they did, they ran. The druid's furious attack drove the scavengers from the fallen priest, leaving many of their number dead or incapacitated. But, as Fisibbei came to his comrade, he saw that he was too late.</p><p></p><p>For they had taken Franz Hoffman's head.</p><p></p><p>* * *</p><p></p><p>An hour later they were sitting in the dining hall. Eight sailors had fallen, in addition to Franz. Most bodies had been taken overboard by the goblins. The troglagobs had suffered greater casualties. Frederich, in his mad dash to get to their leader, had struck down seven of their number, even though their chieftain and shaman had both gotten away.</p><p></p><p>Even more worrying were the news of Captain Versenkung's disappearance, brought by the first mate, a Lothern elf named Ranland. He'd gone missing during the night, along with one of the ship's three lifeboats. The conclusion was obvious, but his motives remained unclear. The possibility of him hiding – or being hidden – somewhere on the ship was also brought up.</p><p></p><p>Thus, into the cargo holds they descended, them being a logical place for a man to hide. The cabins were few and had been quickly checked, leaving only the damp darkness where merchandise was stored. Fisibbei cast a few spells of detection, grasping the knobbly root that was his holy symbol, and chanting in Druidic. When he was finished, he stumbled and fell.</p><p></p><p>"Magic! Immensely powerful!" he shouted as he clambered up from the floor. The halfling was pale in the light of their lanterns. "Downwards. It is deep… Must be below the waterline!"</p><p></p><p>The four adventurers ran down the stairs, the ever darker and damper holds, deep in the bowels of the ship. They reached the bottom level. It was spooky, down there. The wood groaned and creaked, every now and then, and they were all too aware of the ocean pressing in on them, cold and lethal.</p><p></p><p>After a moment's concentration, Fisibbei pointed at a crate at the far side of the hold, almost hidden by the shadows. The box was made of flimsy wood, and painted with the text "VON HEDON". Nervously, sweating even in the coolness of the cargo hold, Frederich grasped the box's lid, and pulled. Nails bent and wood shattered as it came off. They all crowded around to look at what lay within.</p><p></p><p>And that which lay within looked back at them.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="NiTessine, post: 420395, member: 475"] Here. Chapter Four, second installment. I'm trying to fall into an installment per week rhythm, posting on the weekends. We'll see how long I can keep that up... :rolleyes: But, anyway... Here it is! Have at it! ------------------------------------------------------------------ The following day dawned bleak and grey, fog hanging over the cold sea like a soft blanket. Frederich had decided to start the day early, and was sharing a large bottle of Bugman's ale with a few of the deck guards. Franz was also outside, bare-headed and –footed, letting the cold sea wind whip against his face. He reminded the others of flagellants. Fisibbei and Kase were down in the dining hall, breaking their fast. Khaelas was asleep. The elf and the halfling were enjoying a light meal of fish, the only edible thing on board that wasn't crawling with worms. Suddenly, a bell started to sound. It was a loud, frantic clanging. After going on for five seconds, it was cut short. They both knew what this meant. It was the ship's alarm bell. And there was no time to run to the cabin and get weapons. Fisibbei, thinking it was most likely a pirate attack, smashed his chair against the floor, and picked up a leg. As he ran towards the deck, he grasped his root and chanted words of Druidic. A bold green light settled over his makeshift weapon, which grew heavier and sturdier in his hand. No longer was it a chair leg, but a hard cudgel. Kase followed after the halfling, running swiftly. As the two spellcasters ascended the stairs to the deck, they were greeted with a scene of carnage. Dead and dying sailors littered the deck, losing the battle against the invaders. The attackers were no ordinary pirates, but strange, blue-skinned goblins, wielding crooked spears, tipped with sharp bone. Snarling, they were butchering the helpless sailors. Among the bloodshed, two beacons of hope arose. Frederich had littered the deck with sea goblin corpses, making his way for their leader. He was wielding a spear of a slain warrior, evidently stabbed to death with a broken bottle. Franz was keeping a doorway to the lower decks clear, staving off his blue-skinned attackers with a broken spear shaft, wrested from the hands of a defeated enemy. However, where Frederich was cutting a swath of death across the ranks of the troglagobs, as the water-dwelling goblins were called, the priest was in dire trouble. He was encircled by the creatures, and for every one he slew, two another rose up to take its place. The dead lay around him in numbers, yet they came on, prodding and thrusting with their crooked spears. Again and again they plunged their bone blades in Franz's flesh, and the bleeding priest slumped down. The goblins were upon him like vultures at a carcass, tearing him apart, taking his items, and making for the sea. And then, Fisibbei was there. He crushed the skull of one troglagob with his cudgel, then smashed it into another's face. He slew four of the sea goblins before they even realized he was there. And when they did, they ran. The druid's furious attack drove the scavengers from the fallen priest, leaving many of their number dead or incapacitated. But, as Fisibbei came to his comrade, he saw that he was too late. For they had taken Franz Hoffman's head. * * * An hour later they were sitting in the dining hall. Eight sailors had fallen, in addition to Franz. Most bodies had been taken overboard by the goblins. The troglagobs had suffered greater casualties. Frederich, in his mad dash to get to their leader, had struck down seven of their number, even though their chieftain and shaman had both gotten away. Even more worrying were the news of Captain Versenkung's disappearance, brought by the first mate, a Lothern elf named Ranland. He'd gone missing during the night, along with one of the ship's three lifeboats. The conclusion was obvious, but his motives remained unclear. The possibility of him hiding – or being hidden – somewhere on the ship was also brought up. Thus, into the cargo holds they descended, them being a logical place for a man to hide. The cabins were few and had been quickly checked, leaving only the damp darkness where merchandise was stored. Fisibbei cast a few spells of detection, grasping the knobbly root that was his holy symbol, and chanting in Druidic. When he was finished, he stumbled and fell. "Magic! Immensely powerful!" he shouted as he clambered up from the floor. The halfling was pale in the light of their lanterns. "Downwards. It is deep… Must be below the waterline!" The four adventurers ran down the stairs, the ever darker and damper holds, deep in the bowels of the ship. They reached the bottom level. It was spooky, down there. The wood groaned and creaked, every now and then, and they were all too aware of the ocean pressing in on them, cold and lethal. After a moment's concentration, Fisibbei pointed at a crate at the far side of the hold, almost hidden by the shadows. The box was made of flimsy wood, and painted with the text "VON HEDON". Nervously, sweating even in the coolness of the cargo hold, Frederich grasped the box's lid, and pulled. Nails bent and wood shattered as it came off. They all crowded around to look at what lay within. And that which lay within looked back at them. [/QUOTE]
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