Fall Ceramic DM - Final Round Judgment Posted!

[FireLance]

Thanks for the comments, Berandor. If any of the other judges can spare the time, I'd be interested in what they have to say too, but I'd understand if they want to focus on the rounds that need judging.

I think your comments are quite valid. I will have to beef up on the detail and conflict in my stories in subsequent rounds.

I wasn't too clear about the world you have your heroes inhabit, because most comments and titles are quite contemporary, whereas the background seems more like a fantastic D&D world. So, I can't really accuse you of using too modern a language, but I sure suspect it.

I'd actually set it in Eberron. That may have been one of the reasons why the story was lacking in some detail - some points were glossed over because I used an existing world.

I was also not too clear on the significance of the history book that got stolen from the library. Why did the elf need it?

Good catch. This was one of the bits that I planned to write in, but got omitted because I was in a rush. The elf needed a link to the time when the Mark of Death was still in existance. Unfortunately, that was also a time when the gnomish word for 'death' simply meant 'corpse'.

And how come the elf knew Zilan's name?

Another element that I should have mentioned, but didn't. Zilan is not only a paladin and a detective, he is the leading expert on the Old Gnomish script (everyone needs a hobby). Thus, the elf thought that blood from Zilan would be particularly potent, and purposely left clues in from of Old Gnomish words to draw him out.

In the mirror cabinet, when the heroes meet the skeletons, howe come the skeletons don't give of a reflection the heroes might notice.

Bad spot checks . Seriously though, I thought that even in a mirror maze, they wouldn't be able to see the skeletons until they rounded the corner. Still, I'm not an expert on optics and I could be wrong.

And what exactly happens to the guildmaster? After the Allip is gone, the guildmaster is, as well.

Another victim of rushed writing syndrome. Yes, I should have provided some kind of closure on the guildmaster.

Looking forward to the next round. This is fun!

 

[MarauderX]

Round 1.7, MarauderX vs. BigTom

Cursed

The waves rippled across the river like muscles under taught skin. I strained with effort as eventually white caps formed at the top of each crest, knowing the momentum was growing. I pushed and pulled with magic, quickening the pace and the river was now lapping at my feet, dampening my robes. On the other side a village of perhaps a hundred rested safely up from the shore, far from the river’s edge during this rainy season. The cold water flushed over my ankles and the village’s guard on the dock woke as the oscillating water knocked the lone riverboat against the short pier. He bellowed an alarm into the night air.

I knew that Notura was likely a day’s travel behind me and would latch onto the magical signals soon enough, but to stride into the town and take what I was after would allow her to pinpoint my location using the humans, and I surmised she would have no qualms about exerting her resources to appear next to me in less than a minute if she could. It had happened before and taught me how well she could use the humans to her advantage, and I was lucky that time. I had to be cautious with my use of magic, much more cautious.

To stop the incantation would be a waste, so I let the guard continue to wake the entire village as there would be nothing they could do to stop me. The waves washed over the dock now, and the riverboat slammed against it time and again. A group of villagers had formed at the edge of the water and backed away as it rose to meet their feet. I decided that I might have enough inertia to swamp most of the town so I gathered the great volume of water and pushed it forward with a last thrust of magic. At once a massive wave leapt from the river and swallowed the whole of the village, dragging down shanty homes, livestock and villagers in a cascade. Everything was flushed into the river and soon the surge of the water returned to normal and only scant cries for help echoed across the water.

I wrung out the bottom of my robes, though now I don’t know why; perhaps it was an illogical habit that I picked up from the humans, perhaps it was my need for fastidious cleanliness. I waded back into the deep and wide river, striding along the rocky bottom until the cold water soaked the fur on my face and water lapped over my head. I peered around beneath the muddy surface, striding cautiously toward the other side. All manner of the human settlement had collected on the bottom which made my progress slow but eventually I reached the riverboat now on its side and partly out of the water. It was still moored to the sturdy dock, and the boat was at a slight angle but I was still able to climb into the hull while remaining under the surface.

I wrenched through a number of crates, ripping their tops off until I found what I needed - Zephel-spider spores, the last component needed to begin the ritual. They were soaked, but it was a bath the spores could handle to keep my secrecy. Notura was following me and I knew that I would have to deal with her, but not until after I had all of the components to find the way to my new home. I had come this far, struggled through all of the hardships, and I would succeed and join the others of my race, where I’d find a strong mate to bear a healthy litter and live a long full life.

She was after the same thing, an escape to her own world, and knew she was beaten for the most part but also knew that I would need time to perform the ceremony and probably hoped to ambush me then. There was enough evidence of my passing at the village, and since it was likely no one saw me she would have a tough time distinguishing the cause from reading their memories, making it that much more difficult to track me.

I decided to leave the magical traces of how I had manipulated the river for her to discover. I knew it was a risk, but I wanted my last movements to seem frantic, as if I was impatient to race back to the druidic grove to begin the ceremony. I drew some of my blood and let it lead up to the hilltop, adding to the illusion of desperation. She would naturally suspect a trap but I hoped that she would have no idea it would be so close to her. As I waited I brushed my fur, pulling out the mud of the river from my striped back and white bib before cleaning my whiskers and ears. I had never minded getting wet as it was always the dirt that had been a problem to deal with.

She appeared the next day disguised as a lone traveler and strode about the wrecked village inspecting the signs that had remained. The humans were confused as to why she didn’t help and gave them looks of disdain, but I understood. She saw them in much the same way I did, as short-lived peons, a scourge that had blanketed the world with their numbers after they brought the downfall of our great races on this planet. And we were trapped until we could complete this ritual to escape at the proper lunar interval, and I was on the verge of beating her to the finish line. Each one of us wanted to make our way to our new promised lands in a cutthroat dash to the end, and as the human’s crowded us in more each century I wasn’t sure I’d live to see the next astral cycle and had to make this one work.

Notura crept along the outside of the town and made her way to where I stood the night before, studying the likely course I had taken. I could almost feel her mind working. I had hoped she wouldn’t be so quick and that she would have reached the edge of the river at sundown when I would have the advantage, when her eyesight was shifting from day to night, leaving her mostly blind. It was what had saved me once before, and I planned to use any edge I could gain. Our race was known for being diplomats and manipulators while hers was one of strategy and violence, and a Rakshasa like me was no match for her in a fair fight.

It was clear that she was getting frustrated with the surviving villagers, apparently not gaining any knowledge about me from their memories of the previous night. Notura probably smelled my blood late in the afternoon, but instead of coming directly to the hilltop she drove off the rest of the villagers, shooting several with deadly accuracy before the rest ran off. She dropped her powerful illusion and I watched as her natural form slithered up the empty hillside towards me. My pulse quickened and hoped my best charms would keep me hidden from her until sunset.

She stopped at the top of the hill, backtracking away from the decoy trail I had left as the sun met the mountain horizon. I focused with my slitted eyes on her six-armed silhouette and at first thought she was scouting the valley below, with bow in hand ready to shoot any humans unlucky enough to cross her path. It wasn’t until the sun was nearly below the peaks that I realized she was waiting for the dusk to end and for her night vision to adjust. I had to seize the opportunity.

I drew down streaks of lightning from the sky in massive netted swaths, with one catching her, but it only stunned her momentarily. It gave me enough time to close but not the chance to get an outright death blow as I had hoped. It was wishful thinking, in truth, and I ran at her silently before leaping through the air. Notura had drawn crooked sabers with each of her six hands and in a flurry they whisked across my upheld arms as my momentum carried me through them. I latched onto the marilith’s torso and bit as hard as I could where her neck met her shoulder and felt my teeth sink deep into her flesh. She flailed wildly, steel slashing stripes of red across my fur as I held on and dug deeper. On her back Notura regained her composure and her arms worked quickly to cast a spell to knock us apart.

I had used enchantments to conceal myself from her and she quickly realized this as I struck again, surprising her from behind as I clambered onto her back, raking her flesh before I clasped both of my claws around her neck. She broke my hold, more easily than I had imagined, and whirled me to the ground heavily. Her tail thundered across my chest, pinning me there as she brought down my magical defenses with her four free arms. I bit and raked her tail as I tore my way to a temporary freedom, scrambling on the ground out of her reach.

But now she could detect me without her blind glowing eyes, and though she was badly wounded Notura easily struck me with the tip of her tail, piercing through my calf with her poisonous barb to ensure that I couldn’t stand. She could sense my defeat as I backed away and that was when I lurched upon something she had dropped earlier. I grabbed her bow from the ground and quickly notched one of the arrows as she closed the gap between us, and I loosed the arrow. She writhed in pain and anger as she gripped my skull with all six of her hands, her tail coiled around me and I feared the arrow had only upset her. Thankfully with a blazing jolt I heard her exclaim a last appeal to Vecna before collapsing.

I buried her head last, face down and complete with her odd shaped hat and wicked arrow protruding from her left eye. I knew the god Vecna well enough and her final omen and coincidental arrow through the eye was disturbing enough not to ignore. The last thing I ever wanted at that point was Notura rising to continue Vecna’s unholy work. Notura’s right eye had twitched for nearly an hour, and though I had dismembered her corpse I had thought that somehow she would find her revenge, instilling a curse that I would never break. I would later find that the marilith’s curse would follow me to this day, but not nearly in the way I expected.

I had another week to prepare but because of the poison the wound to my leg had refused to heal, which made the taxing magic much more difficult and prolonged the rite. The lunar ceremony was time consuming and drained the last of my energy despite its simplicity. The magic coursed through my nerves and pried open a gap from the old planet to the new plane, to my new home with the others of my race. I hobbled through the wide magical gate and looked down upon the stony valley and wind-whipped mountains beyond, glad to be rid of the human-laden hell behind me. Already I could feel the sinews of magic arc through my new home world and welcomed the cold fresh air with glee.

The gateway shriveled behind me as I staggered to sit on the mountainside. I sent out a faint message with magic, seeking out someone, anyone really, and waited for a reply. An hour passed as I rested and I was greeted with a purring welcome and told I would be transported soon to join my brethren. I wondered gleefully if there were other new arrives from our old world, female arrivals, and would have been glad to meet any of them. I had so many questions about this place, and I couldn’t wait to discover everything on my own or with someone, but first I would rest and recover from the ordeal.

It took them a long time to arrive and I must have passed out as I only remembered their voices talking in hushed tones when I awoke. My eyelids fluttered open and I could see it was night, and I felt refreshed and breathing was easy in the thin mountain air. I made to sit upright but thin strands of metal string held me fast to a wooden board beneath. All of my limbs were held, and I made out the faces of those who stood in a semi-circle around me. There were sad voices, expressing sorrow for me as I took in the meaning from the striped faces of my fellow Rakshasa. I did not understand. I struggled and broke one hand free.

The voices stopped murmuring and the heads swiveled to reveal faces of astonishment with the starless sky in the background. The surroundings were black from the darkness yet I could still sense the edge of the cliff nearby, could feel their breath as it left their lungs, and hear the beating of their hearts pounding with fear in their chests. They were afraid of me as I wrenched loose from my bonds to stand.

The first of them to act began a spell and I leapt upon him only to disrupt him, and watched as the others followed with the same, some invoking charms, others attempting paralyzing invocations. All of them failed, and at the time I wondered why since I had applied none of my typical protections. The female leader charged me, trying to toss me over the edge of the cliff and I felt myself grab something around her neck to pull her with me. We both fell and separated in the air.

Our eyes met through the darkness as we dropped, and I had long enough to imagine a life with her as my mate, a strong companion with which to raise a litter, the hopeful wish that kept me alive in the old world and ever striving to find a way to our race’s new home. That would all be gone, and I wouldn’t know why, would never know what it was that threatened them so, and why she still looked at me now with a sorrowful gaze. I heard us hit the boulders below at the same time and resigned myself to a mediocre death.

But I woke moments afterward. The pain was but a dull throb and my muscles worked to pry my broken body up from the jagged stones. She lay next to me, obviously dead, and I pondered why I was not. Her necklace was in my hand and I pulled it forth to dangle from my palm, and at that moment I knew why.

I saw my hand in a new way, with detail that I had never known. My curved out-faced palms led to lean fingers that ended in curved claws. Blood, dirt and neglect had made my hands well worn, but what I saw now was nothing caused by the work I had done. The flesh was thin and dry, clasping to the bones and forming rough ridges. There were places where my skin and fur had been torn like matted cloth and folded to the side to reveal grey decay beneath. Upon examination my fingertips had pushed through their pads, worked to the bone from the labor of the ceremony and I hadn’t noticed.

I looked up the mountain and was aware that the others had left, fleeing to wherever they had come from probably. I also fled; I understood that for what disease I had there was no remedy and cursed my misfortune, the marilith Notura, my life and now my undeath. I was uncertain what would happen to me, hoping I would be free to roam but I knew better. I wondered if I would be killed, or if I could be. I had some time to think about it and to run. Would they capture and hold me? They must have known that though my body was flawed my mind was untouched, and would they simply detain me for the rest of eternity, letting my mind rot as much as my body? I had over four days to think such things before I was captured.

A dome had been formed around me with more powerful magic than I had ever witnessed and soon a ceremony was under way. I didn’t know what it was at first, but then I comprehended I had done the same one, in reverse, to get there. Now it looked as though I would be sent back, and I cursed myself for ever trying to find a home, for wasting all my time, and the marilith Notura for damning me to a fate worse than death.

I was thrown out of my homeland and back into the hell that I had fought so hard to escape. I had a new reason to return now. I would strive to revisit them once more, alive or undead, and have my revenge upon them. I would chase each and every one of them down, and let them feel my seething hatred for them, for all of them that drew breath, before yanking their limbs from their sockets and beating them as they bled dry to an undeath just like mine. I would have it, but first I would recreate my own world here in their likeness, purging every other race and living thing from it until I had at last made this hell into my own creation. If I were to die from the attempt, so be it, I was ready to leave this vile existence, but until then I would know no peaceful rest.

I flew down and hovered over the river that they had delivered me back to. I threw the necklace into the deep water and watched it disappear into darkness. With it went all of my dreams for a life, prosperity, learning, success, riches, and hope. Now I would only carry destruction to the lands of the usurping men.

 

[MarauderX]

Pardon the speed, I realized tonight was the only time I would have to get my entry in, and luckily before the boards went down.

 

[Piratecat]

Speed is good.

Details of my story slunk into my mind as I slept, sort of like a dingo circling an abandoned baby in the Outback. We'll have to see if it snatches the prize and sprints for victory, or decides that there's tastier food out there and slinks away.

 

[RangerWickett]

I can't think of good trash talk against P-kitty, and he's not my opponent anyway, so the best I can say is:

Judges, if Piratecat does manage to advance to the next round, could you please have for pictures illustrations of the PCs and monsters in his storyhour? It'll give him an excuse to update.

 

[BigTom]

Big Tom's Story

“Dude, I have smoked a lot of things, and taken a lot of pills, but I have never heard of getting buzzed from eating cactus.”
“I’m telling you man, these are, like, the bonus level for shrooms. You will never have an experience like this again. Just take one. Would I steer you wrong?”
Jakey didn’t thing Bo would steer him wrong. He also didn’t think he was going to have the freakiest experience of his life from a little cactus. But Bo was a wise man. He had survived the 60s and lived with the Indians, so Jakey was pretty sure he knew what he was talking about. When Bo had called and said he had something special to share, Jakey had assumed that he meant the California Gold Bo was always raving about. He hadn’t expected to find Bo with a cake pan full of cactus. As Jakey debated whether to eat one of the spikey little things, Bo told him, “Well, this goes back to when I was on the reservation. I was a freaked out kid in a freaked out world, and the Indians seemed to be the only people I met who had their thing together. So they let me crash out with them. I guess maybe they figured they needed all the white friends they could get, what with the G trying to take their land because they might have some oil. After a while, they sort of adopted me into their tribe. They didn’t, like, give me feathers or paint my face or any of that stuff. They did give me an Indian name though, ‘Chi-hoo’, which meant ‘seeker of medicine’. For them, medicine wasn’t just some pills that made you feel better; medicine was about curing what ailed the body and the spirit. I wasn’t, like, allowed into their meetings or anything, but they did let me work the land and consult with the elders. Eventually, they turned me on to shrooms. You can call it peyote or mescaline or whatever man, but I call it the short path to God. I followed Peyote to Coyote and he lead me to the Promised Land. But it was like Moses man, he could take me to the entrance, but I could go no further. That’s when the medicine man turned me on to these bad boys. They never talk about these to outsiders, but they considered me on the inside then. When the missionaries came, they found the mushrooms and the weeds, but they never grokked the cactus, so it remained their little secret. I can’t describe what I found on that next trip to you. I can just tell you I learned everything I needed to know to become the groovy human I am today on that trip. I saw god, man. When the medicine man passed on to the spirit realms, he left instructions that I should receive these, and use them to, like, turn on another mixed up white dude to the spiritual truth. Jakey, you are the most mixed up cool little white dude I know, so I decided to share them with you.”
Jakey looked down at the pan of baked cacti. Then he gingerly picked one up. He sniffed at it, and it had a strangely pleasant aroma. A weak, aloe vera like smell. “Go on, man,” said Bo, “it will crunch in your mouth just like a popper.” Jakey took a deep breath, tossed the cactus into his mouth, and crunched down. It did indeed crunch like a popper, but his mouth was instantly filled with a strangely bitter taste. He clamped his jaw against a sudden reflex to spit it out. He bit down a few more times. His face grew into a twisted mask from the awful taste and the battle to hold his mouth closed. Finally he swallowed it down. “Man, that was the worst thing I ever tasted,” said Jakey. Bo replied, “yeah, but the best medicines always taste the worst man.”
Then the room spun.

Jakey was standing in the empty lot next to his apartment building. It was a dirty place. The neighbors used it as a dump. He saw the metallic carcasses of televisions and air conditioners. Something was different though. At first he couldn’t quite figure what it was. He looked up, and the sky was still blue. He looked around, and the buildings were still there, then he looked down.
He was completely naked.
And that was ok.
Jakey began to slowly walk across the field. He knew his nudity should bother him. After all, if the cops caught him walking around naked he’d be downtown again for sure, and his mom would throw one of her tantrums and his dad would smack him around again and ask him what was wrong with him. That didn’t matter right now. Right now being naked was just perfect. A voice in his head told him, “clothes inherently lead to fashion. Fashion by its nature leads to vanity and conformity. By shedding your clothes, you have removed the need to hide yourself or to appear better than you are.” Jakey smiled at that thought. He thought about all the girls in school who spent so much time putting on make up and picking out clothes and how nasty that all were to each other and to guys like him who bought second hand clothes. He thought how much happier all of them could be if they could all just be naked together and not have to fight over who was pretty. Then he thought, “Wait a minute, I heard that statement.” He looked up and saw The Warrior. A moment before it had been a bright afternoon. Now it was sunset. Against the blazing orange of the sunset stood the most incredible person Jakey had ever seen. He was a tall Indian warrior. His head was wrapped, and his skin was painted with strange symbols. It was hard to read them against the brightness of the sunset. In his hand he held a bow, and Jakey could sense by his stance that he was ready and able to use it. When he turned, Jakey saw arrows sticking out of his back. Jakey knew those arrows were what killed The Warrior and knew The Warrior was standing before him. The Warrior spoke again. “Jakey, I am your guide. In life I was a great leader of my people. I fought glorious battles against my enemies. But I never looked to the spirits to learn how to use my gifts. In the end, my own people shot me in the back to end my reign of terror, even though I gave them victory and glory. Now my eternal penance is to guide lost souls like yours. Come now and journey with me to heaven.”
The Warrior began to walk into the wastes, and Jakey followed.

Jakey wasn’t sure how long he walked. There was no sense of time in this place. He only sensed that it was a long time, and that his body was tired and sore. Yet The Warrior walked on and on, never breaking stride. Jakey tried to question him, but the warrior would only reply, “your answers lie at the end of your path, not here.” So eventually Jakey stopped questioning and began to concentrate on keeping up. They walked through many places. For a while they were in a vast wasteland of rotting televisions and rusted out cars. Then they were in a forest, full of the sounds of the animals and cool from the shade. Then they were on a great cornfield walking though row after row after row. Then they walked across a lake. This Jakey found slightly disconcerting, but he was afraid to not follow The Warrior so he walked on water. Finally they came to the base of a low hill. Their The Warrior stopped. He did not turn, but spoke to Jakey as he stared at the hill. “Jakey, this is where you must make a choice. On the other side of this hill is the path to heaven. This path is long and painful, and many do not complete it. Those who fail to complete it are damned souls doomed to forever walk the spirit world aimlessly and hopelessly. I cannot accompany you on this path, Jakey. I can take you home now. You must either travel alone to heaven or hell or travel with me to the safety of your life. Choose.”
For Jakey there was no choice. His life was already a path to Hell and he knew it in his heart. Any path with heaven at the end was better to follow. Jakey answered The Warrior by climbing the hill. At the top, he looked out over a vast, blasted wasteland. There were tall mountains, but nothing grew on them. The only change in color from the burned, ashen gray of the mountains was the white caps of snow on top of them. Nothing green was visible. There was no movement. There was no sound. There was just Jakey and emptiness as far as the eye could see. Jakey turned around to look at The Warrior, and The Warrior was gone. So was everything else that had been behind him. He beheld nothing but a void. Now the only ground he could walk on lead into the waste. Jakey took one more look at the way in front of him, and took the first step into the wastes.

For Jakey there was no time except the feeling of eternity. There was no distance; each mountain seemed to lead to another mountain and another empty valley. He slaked his thirst on snow at the top of the mountains, then shivered from the cold entering his body and felt even weaker. Many times he fell. He felt the bruises and sometimes the tearing of his flesh, and was aware that he had begun to bleed. He could do nothing about it. If he rested to let his wounds heal, he wouldn’t have the strength to finish the journey. Finally he came to the base of the tallest mountain he had ever seen. His strength was gone. He felt more pain in his body that ever before, even when his old man beat him down or the kids bashed him around in the gym. He felt weak from blood loss. He felt himself dying. He knew he could lay down right now and die. Dying here was the least painful thing he could do. He could simply lay down and let the bleeding take him out slowly. Or he could climb until his body stopped, and every step would be agony. As he looked at the mountain, he realized he wanted to see what was on the other side. Finally, he said to himself, “I am going to die, but I am at least going to die walking towards heaven.” He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth, and took the first agonized step up the mountain.
By the time Jakey reached the top of the mountain, he had no strength left. He could accept death in this moment to end the agony he felt. But he wanted to see the other side before he lay down in the snow to freeze. Before him was unending mountains. Unending waste. Unending death. The gray was broken up by one spot of color. It was at the base of the mountain. Jakey looked and knew what it was. It was a door. Jakey took a step forward, and everything began to spin. Jakey realized what was happening, he was falling down the mountain. He hadn’t the strength to hold himself up anymore. He could do nothing but let himself fall. He felt pain after pain as he bounced down the mountain. He felt his bones break. The wind was knocked out of him and he was even more helpless. There was an enormous feeling of force striking his whole body, and Jakey realized he had reached the bottom. For a time everything went dark. Then it became gray again, and Jakey was conscious. He saw the door in front of him. It was a simple wooden door with a simple brass handle. Realizing that his legs would no longer work, Jakey crawled with his hands to the door and, with the last of his strength, pulled himself up enough to turn the knob and open it. He collapsed through the door, and merciful oblivion took him for a time.

When he woke up, he was in Bo’s apartment, sticking out of the wall. In front of him he saw Bo slumped over at his kitchen table. To his right he saw himself lying on the couch glassy eyed and drooling. It wasn’t a pleasant picture. To his left he saw The Warrior, standing by Bo’s stereo. “Is this Heaven?” Jakey asked The Warrior. “No, this is your life and you must return to it.” The Warrior looked at him and smiled slightly. “Jakey, you are a man who can climb a hundred mountains, who can bleed from a hundred wounds and can still triumph. If you can do that, you can achieve any happiness you want in this life. It is time for you to walk this world as a man, find your happiness, and conquer it like you conquered the tall mountain. That is Heaven.” And The Warrior was gone. Jakey crawled to his disgusting, drooling body and felt himself return into himself. Then he rested some more, but this time it was the simple, dreamless sleep of the very intoxicated.

Bo and Jakey both awoke several hours later. They did not speak for some time, as neither could put words to what he had discovered. They quietly ate some Pizza Bo had left from the night before, and that helped restore their strength. For some time they sat at the kitchen table, staring at each other. Finally, Jakey broke the silence. “Bo, I need some money man. I need enough bread to get a bus ticket out of this town.” Bo looked down at his plate and spoke. “You found out where you need to be?” “No,” Jakey responded, “but I did find out I need to go. My happiness isn’t here man. I don’t know where it is, but if I stay here, I ain’t gonna find it ever. I need bus fare man.” Bo smiled. He looked at Jakey and giggled a bit before speaking. “Jakey, I wandered for, like, twenty years to find this hole of an apartment so I could find one screwed up kid to help, and I have not regretted a moment of it. Here is my wallet, there should be, like, three hundred bucks and a Visa card in there. Take the cash. Use the Visa to order a bus ticket by phone. And I have something else for you. Something more valuable.” Bo got up and went to his dresser. He pulled out a strange looking necklace. It was a chain mesh with what looked to be nutshells hanging from it. Bo handed it to him. “This was a gift to me from my Medicine Man. Those things hanging from it are wampum. They used to be money before the white man replaced them with coins and paper. Now, they hold a little bit of luck and a little bit of history. Take this with you. If you ever get lost, use this to get a little luck and find your path. If you ever get confused, use this to remember what you learned today and find clarity.” Jakey stared at the necklace for a moment, and what had looked ugly a moment before was suddenly beautiful for what it was. Quietly, Jakey put it in his backpack. Then he ordered a bus ticket and put the cash in his pocket. Jakey and Bo hugged. Then Jakey turned and walked away, heading for the bus station. They didn’t say another word to each other. There was nothing left to say and too much to do.

 

[orchid blossom]

Then and Now

by: orchid blossom



Spring 1998

“No, I’ve had it,” Deanna said. “I’m tired Seth. I’m tired of being alone at every family function and every holiday. Maybe if you didn’t promise to be there, but you always do. I want a boyfriend, not a roommate. An other who’s actually significant.”

“You knew I traveled when we got together,” Seth objected.

“Yeah, I did. But you didn’t spend every night at work then. You didn’t go golfing with your boss on the weekends and fill in on holidays. I’m not saying your career shouldn’t be important, but I’d be making a mistake to sign up for this for life. We just don’t fit anymore Seth, and the sooner we admit it the better.”
………………………

Summer 1998

Deanna shut the door behind Seth and watched as he drove his packed car out of the lot carrying it’s last load. It had been her choice, but she still didn’t like it. She hadn’t wanted to give him an ultimatum, she didn’t ask him to change, but she still felt like the “change your job or I’m leaving” threat was there.

It was funny how she could miss someone who hadn’t been around that much in the first place. She missed his dirty shoes by the door, his shaving mess in the bathroom, the half drunk cups of coffee he’d leave on the table. As the weeks passed she got used to no piles of dishes next to the sink, but she couldn’t get used to not waking up to his alarm at 6 am.
………………………..

1850

“What is that horrid little figure?” Margaret asked. “It looks like some sort of fairy tale creature that steals children in the night. If that’s the gift you can just turn around right now and go home.”

William shook his head. “No, no. The man I bought your present from insisted I take it as well. I’ll probably get rid of it as soon as I get home.”

William put a box on the table and Margaret lifted the lid. “Glasses?”

“Do you not like them?” William asked anxiously. “I thought we could toast each other.”

“They’re nice enough,” Margaret answered. “I expected something a little more, bridal, I suppose.”

Will paced back and forth to the fireplace while she unpacked the glasses. “Listen, I know you don’t want to marry me, but I think I can make you happy. I’d like the chance.” He filled two of the glasses with wine and toasted his reluctant bride.

Margaret lifted her glass and sipped. He wasn’t so bad. Quite handsome, now that she looked closer. She sipped again. He’d never been cruel; the only real thing she had against him was that her parents chose him. The new glass caught the light and reflected it through the wine. Maybe she was just being stubborn.
…………………………

Fall 1998

On the other side of the world, Seth walked through a nameless village market. Colors and sounds swirled around him and overwhelmed his senses. Voices shouted to passersby, each claiming he had the finest wares to be found. Seth ignored them and pushed through the crowd.

“Fine gifts! Beautiful fabrics and jewelry, glassworks and perfumes!” The voice cut through the cacophony. “Come, come, you who left ladies at home. A trinket for her favor!” A cart came into view, drawn by a tired-looking donkey. The little man who followed it continued to shout at the top of his voice, his long mustache and beard waggling and even longer nose twitching.

The cart stopped with Seth standing at its side. “Ahhh, you sir. I know the look of a lost man. A trinket, sir, to brighten the ladies eye, or blind it.”

“I don’t think a trinket is going to do it,” Seth answered roughly, but he didn’t move on.

“You’d be surprised, sir.” The merchant dove into his cart piled high with brightly colored shawls between racks of jewelry and bottles. Seth’s eyes fell on the rings, something he’d refused to buy her when she’d wanted one. Something he wished he’d bought when he had the chance.

“Not for you the jewelry,” the merchant said, his voice muffled under the cloth. “Nor the perfumes.” He wiggled back out with a study box in his hands. “For you it is the glass, yes.” He lifted the lid to show three small glasses nestled inside.
……………………………….

1858

"I thought you were going to get rid of that thing," Margaret said, looking at the small figurine of the gnome on a donkey.

William shrugged. "I gave up. I've put it with the rubbish several times, and it keeps reappearing in the china cabinet next to the glasses. One of the children probably does it. Why not just leave it? We can move it if we have guests."

"It's harmless I suppose," Margaret agreed. "But it still makes me uneasy, Will." She suddenly laughed. "If I'd known I would be stuck with that thing for life, I'd never have married you."

"You're not sorry, are you Maggie?" William asked, putting his arms around his wife.

"No, although I never have been able to figure out why I changed my find in the first place."

"Does it matter?"
……………………………………..

Spring 1999

Seth had held on to the glasses for a long time. His break-up with Deanna had been one of those rare kinds where they really were still friends afterward. Still, he hadn’t been sure about giving her any kind of gifts. But it had been six months, and he’d either had to give them to her or forget about it.

“I thought since it’s not a full set, maybe you could use them for cleaning your brushes or something,” Seth said, waving at her easel.

“Or call them a set of two with one extra, just in case.” Deanna pulled out the tissue paper and started folding it like she always did when a little figurine fell out of the wrappings. “Where did you get that thing? It looks like a reject from a Nativity scene.”

“A little village in the middle of India. The merchant I bought the glasses from gave it to me. Pretty vain for an ugly guy, I think it’s supposed to be him.”

Deanna picked it up, laughing. “I kind of like it. You mind if I keep it?”

“Nah go ahead. Little guy was kinda creepy, actually.”

They spent the night watching movies, eating pizza, and drinking beer. Once it got late and they were both feeling a little mellow, Seth said, “Listen, I want you to know that I’m happy we can still hang out, but I still miss you. You were right about what you said when we split. If you ever feel like giving it another shot, I think I could do better.”

“Truth be told, I’ve been missing you too. But I’m not sure I want to get back together just to find out that you go back to your old habits a few months later.”

“Try this. We just keep it casual for now. A few dates, nothing serious, just like we’d never been together. Anytime you want to bail, say the word. But I hope you won’t.”

Deanna was quiet for a minute. “I think I can handle that.”

“Toast on it?”

“Sure.” Deanna lifted her can. “Oh, wait. Let’s do this properly.” She got two of the new glasses and filled them up from her can. “A little small for beer, but what the heck. To those first, few, awkward dates,” she said and tapped her glass against Seth’s.
…………………………….

1862

The Doctor shut the door and entered the parlor. "I've given Margaret something to make her sleep. She shouldn't wake before morning, but leave someone to watch her anyway."

"What's wrong with her?"

"I don't know, Mr. Barker. Your wife doesn't have a fever, no cough or congestion, no signs of a physical illness. What has her state of mind been the last few days?"

"There have been little things for a while. A few months ago I caught her pulling out her hair, little bits at a time. I kept an eye on her and it stopped. A few weeks after that she became paranoid, thinking someone was trying to hurt her or the children. There have been other things too, just odd statements and lapses of concentration. But I've never seen Maggie like this. She just started screaming, raving about things I could barely understand. It was when she came after me with the knife that we had to restrain her."

"Mr. Barker, I’ve visited this house many times. I’ve tended to your illnesses and attended the births of your children. I hate to say this, but I think you have to face the fact that your wife is going mad. Has gone mad. I know you love her, but keeping her in this house is a danger to you and your children. She should be in an asylum."
…………………………..

Winter 2002

Deanna popped two more Advil and pulled her blanket over her shoulders.

“Not feeling any better?” Seth asked, laying her hand against her forehead.

“The meds help for a while, but then it just comes back again. I can't understand it, I never had migraines before. I can’t concentrate. It’s like there’s something crawling around in my brain, trying to grab hold.”

“I wish you’d go to a doctor, Dee. Seriously.”

“If this keeps up you’ll get your wish. Tomorrow, if I’m not any better.”
…………………………………..

1863

I must be insane, Will thought to himself as he held the mediums hands. But nothing else had helped his Maggie. The doctor couldn't think of any treatments he hadn't tried, and the priest had tried every holy right he could think of.

The current fashion among the ladies of his wife’s acquaintance was séance’s and many of them insisted that a medium could tell him what was causing her illness. It had cost a pretty penny to get the woman to come out to the new house in the country, but here she was.

He shut his eyes as instructed and became more aware of the think smell of incense in the room. The gas lamps had been turned out in favor of a single candle on the table. The medium's voice rose and sank in a singsong that soon had his mind fuzzy.

"Spirits of the afterworld, you who see beyond the veil, reveal to us the evil to afflicts our poor sister!" the medium commanded. If his mind hadn't been so vague, he would have laughed. Instead, he opened his eyes to a black fog. He blinked to clear them, but the fog remained, slowly forming into a black-cloaked figure.

It stalked the room, glaring without eyes at the medium. It seemed to sniff as it walked, stopping at pieces of furniture and taking great interest in the parakeet in its cage. Finally it stopped in front of the china cabinet and pointed.

"What is in there?" the medium asked him without breaking her singsong rhythm.

"Beside dishes? Just that little figurine that the children....."

Will pulled his hands free and his mind instantly cleared. The figure disappeared and the room seemed just an ordinary room again. He took the figure from the cabinet and ran outside with it. How many times had Maggie told him it made her uneasy, and how many times had he brushed it aside. But how could he have known? He wasn't even sure he believed it now.

He ran half a mile until he reached the trench that the previous tenant had dug for some inscrutable reason of his own. William jumped down and dug a hole in the mud, dropped the figure in it, and stomped the mud down over it.
...........................................

Winter 2003

Deanna hated the drugs, and Seth hated that she had to take them. She said they quashed her creativity, that she couldn’t see anything like she used to. All the colors were dull, the sounds distant. She’d quit taking them twice, but each time she became so delusional that she couldn’t even function.

This was the third time. Seth had gone on a trip, but only at her insistence. He had kept his word, no more late nights at the office, and only the occasional holiday. He still had to travel, but she could accept that.

But he watched her too closely for her to try and stop the drugs again. She had to pretend to be reconciled and wait for her chance, and here it was. It had been four days.

The hallucinations were slowly coming back, but she ignored them. They were like flickers on a television screen at the sides of her vision. But their colors were vibrant and she was tempted to peek at them. She dipped her brush into the red and swirled it onto her canvas, a bright spot against the black she had painted while still on the pills.

A shadow passed over the metal table where she'd set the three glasses Seth had given her years ago, turning itself upside down in the one she'd filled. She kept seeing him out of the corner of her eye. A short, gnome like figure with a donkey. He danced around the edge of her vision, as if waiting for her to notice him. She flicked her brush at him, flinging tiny spatters of red against the wall.
………………………..

1863

It was full daylight, and Will had been out searching since two hours before dawn. The nurse checked on Margaret several times a night, so they knew she had disappeared sometime between two and four A.M.

It had been easier to find her when they still lived in the city, but her screams had been clearly audible to the neighbors, and it wasn't long before some of them began hinting that they should leave.

William headed toward the trench. No one had been able to tell him why it was there when he bought the place. He had thought as an obstacle it would keep her from straying too far. Instead, it was a favorite place of Maggie's lately, and he often found her sitting happily playing in the mud.

His pants were soaked up to the knee and his boots caked with mud when he finally came to the bend in the trench. She didn't usually go that far, but he could never be sure. He kept walking, his boots squelching with every step.

He found her digging with a knife in the mud, her white nightdress covered in filth. “Maggie?”

“I found it!” she crowed. Her fingers rubbed feverishly at the figure she’d pulled from the mud. She turned and narrowed her eyes. “Found it Will,” she purred.

The donkey and cart moved silently though the trench as the short, round man followed William Baker. Most humans just called him a short man, but children and the mad called him a Boggart. He watched as the man rounded the bend, calling for his beloved wife. All William had wanted was for his Margaret to love him, and the Boggart had arranged it.

But it could only last so long. They always struggled. They tried to come back.

A shrill scream cut through the air and the Boggart imagined he saw flashes of a white nightdress and the glint of sunlight on metal. It always ended the same way.
…………………………….

Summer 2004

Deanna kept wondering why he was so familiar. She gave up ignoring him and gave a good, long look. The paint she had flung was on the wall behind him, but also on him. With her hand out in front of her she walked forward, certain her hand would stop when she reached him. Instead it went right through and grasped the little figurine on the mantle. She squeezed it and heard a high-pitched squeal come from the shadowy life size figure. The harder she squeezed the louder he protested.

The Boggart struggled to bring himself fully into the room. When she’d stopped the drugs he’d found hope again, but the last vestiages of them were still in her body, still leaving her mind just closed enough to keep him out. He screamed as he’d heard so many other scream over the centuries.

“Go away!” Deanna shouted as she threw the figure into the fire. It was funny how she thought she heard glass shattering.

……………………………..

Fall 2004

“What did you say happened, Dee?”

She shook her head. “I think it just fell off the easel. I’m not too clear on that night.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you here. I should have known you’d quit the drugs the minute I left.”

“Look, I know you were worried, and I’m sorry. But it seems to have worked out this time. I mean, really, is a little paint on the wall and a broken glass that big a price to pay?”

“You forgot the gnome flambé.”

Deanna laughed. “You never liked that thing anyway.”

“I kinda liked those glasses though.”

Deanna came up behind him and slipped her arms around his waist. “It’s alright. We still have two.”

 

[Boojum]

Yelmak hurried through the grand hall, barely even noting the ostentatious richness of the decorations. The kobold walked as fast as he possibly could without breaking the illusion of the humble servant. Approaching a gathering of four high-ranking ship captains, he docilely extended his tray of appetizers. They glanced down at him and seemed to agonize over the decision of which morsel to take. Yelmak barely suppressed the urge to yell “They’re all the same, you bastards! Just empty my tray so I can get back to the kitchen already!” After they finally made their selection, he made the rounds to a couple of other groups, but so near the start of the feast, most of the guests had had their fill of the sweetmeats. Left with one final solitary piece that no one seemed to want, Yelmak looked around to make sure he was unobserved, then surreptitiously scarfed it down himself.

His tray finally empty, he hurried back towards the kitchen. As he did so, he rehearsed again in his mind the details of the plan that had just been interrupted when the head steward had ordered him to take the appetizer tray out. He would bring the tray of glasses he had filled with the clear liquor known as ochleq to Melchor Vorstad at the head of the table in preparation for the toast to begin the feast. He would make sure that the glass on the left would be given to Melchor himself. A few minutes later, the tycoon responsible for the largest slave-trading cartel in the city of Ferrum would transform into a giant chicken in front of his favored business partners and most of the captains in his fleet. With any luck, he would be a laughingstock without credibility. His empire would crumble, a great blow struck for the Kobold Liberation Front. Yelmak almost giggled at the thought of it, but breathed deep and composed his features as he passed through the kitchen doors.

His tray clattered to the floor, dropped from his suddenly nerveless fingers. He stared in disbelief at the drink tray. It sat on the table right where he had left it, but two of the glasses were empty! http://www.enworld.org/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=17115 All the kitchen staff were staring at him. He bent and picked up his dropped tray and smiled in a forced grimace. Three months of work infiltrating the household and becoming a trusted part of the serving staff wasted. He had turned his back for just a minute and someone had taken the opportunity for some free booze. It might not be totally ruined, he thought, trying to perk himself up. One of the glasses was full, and they had all been rearranged. The remaining one might still be the one he had slipped the potion into. Gritting his teeth while attempting to act nonchalant, he refilled the other two glasses.

Yelmak tried to put all his doubts out of mind as he carried the drink tray out to approach Melchor. He shuddered inwardly as he approached the corpulent human, who sat in his chair, waving his sausage-like fingers around to punctuate a story he was telling to the guests. When he had nearly arrived, a door burst open with a bang. All eyes turned toward the noise and saw a cloud of feathers and a massive white shape burst into the room, followed by a figure that Yelmak recognized as Gribblik, one of the scullions. The panicked slave was pointing and yelling at the beast, and a hush fell over the crowd as they wondered if it might be some sort of special entertainment for the night. “Flames take you,” Yelmak cursed under his breath at the scullions, as he looked up and saw a murderous rage glinting in Melchor’s pig-like eyes. Not daring to approach, he kept right on walking as if he had meant to do so all along. His cover was blown now. There was no way the questioning that would follow this incident would fail to turn up just who had prepared those drinks.

Luck seemed to be with him as no one glanced his way while he made his way out the side door. He stashed the drinks in the nearest alcove and sprinted towards the exit, slowing down just before he came in view of the guard at the gate. He waved cordially, “Hi there Laine. They’re just sending me into town to pick up some more fruit.” He prayed to the air that the words carried by his breath would be believed. He let out a sigh of relief as the guard smiled at him and began to crank the gate open. Just then, another servant came running out and ran up to Laine, speaking quickly to him while casting a suspicious glance at Yelmak. The guard looked surprised, but shrugged and reached out again for the lever, causing the gate to begin to close again. Looking around in a panic, Yelmak dove forward through the last crack as the gate closed. Ignoring the shouted commands to stop, he dashed out into the streets, narrowly avoiding the wheels of a steam-carriage. Behind him, he heard whistles blowing, and glanced back to see Laine running out in pursuit, still with a confused look on his face.

The streets were a blur as he ran: taverns, smokestacks, shops, foundries, carriages, the legs of big people. From time to time, he would catch a glimpse of his pursuers, hard-faced men in armor and the livery of the Vorstad cartel. He ran by instinct, not even sure of the direction he was going, and soon found himself near the docks. A hideous, ant-like being stepped out of the shadows on his left. It stood upright on four of its legs and held a gun in the other two. Yelmak quailed—now that one myrmidus had seen him, he knew that it would have relayed his location to the others in the area through their hive mind. This wasn’t his first run-in with them, and once again he cursed being forced to operate in a town that employed the devil-touched creatures as law enforcers. He tried to dodge aside as the creature raised its rifle, but as he did so, felt a sharp pain in his calf. He tumbled forward to the ground as the creature advanced on him. He saw another one approaching from down the street as he fought to regain his feet. He hobbled forward, and the myrmida seemed to be in no rush now. They knew that he was cornered and hobbled, and were enjoying the last moments of the chase. “Not if I have anything to say about it,” he muttered. He dropped a pouch of marbles behind him in the hopes of slowing down the pursuers, and kept limping forward

Yelmak found himself in a huge open square at the edge of the docks. A chaotic tangle of platforms extending into the empty air at the edge of the island, they were the mooring place for an eclectic of collection of airships and zeppelins, of both magical and steam-powered designs. Over a dozen myrmida were emerging into the square from its tributary alleys. They seemed to regard him with a cold amusement, making no move to attack. A crowd had emerged from the Rusty Shiv, a popular sailors’ tavern, to watch the entertainment. Knowing they had him cornered, the ant-creatures slowly moved in to make the capture. He knew there would be no mercy for him in the enforcement system after offending a citizen as powerful as Vorstad. He was backed up onto one of the docks, with two of the myrmida slowly approaching. He glanced down at the clouds below and the blasted contours of the surface even below that. He bared his fangs. “I won’t give you the satisfaction, oppressors!” he called, and took a final step back off the end of the platform.

Yelmak caught a momentary glimpse of the shocked expressions on the bystanders’ faces as he began to fall. The black carapaces of the myrmida betrayed no emotion, but he imagined their bafflement with a sneer. The cold wind whipped at his clothes as he dropped. The docks and the stony surface of the island passed before his eyes, and in seconds they were above him and he was falling free. His lips curled into a tight smile as he raised his left wrist to his face and looked with gratitude at the broken shackle he wore as a bracelet. The symbol of the Kobold Liberation Front, it was enchanted to aid agents in just such situations by slowing their fall to a safe level. He glanced down again, and the smile disappeared. He would survive the fall, confounding his enemies for a little bit at least, but there was no guarantee he would survive much longer.

He shivered, recalling the bedtime tales told to him by his father, of the Devourer, the unrestrained force of pure entropy and destruction, which lay in wait on the surface. Its creation 500 years ago had been the greatest cataclysm the world had ever known, and had forced the devastated remnants of civilization into the sky to escape it. None of the stories ever mentioned the physical form of the Devourer, for none had seen it and lived. It was only known that its attention and that of the demons that somehow seemed to coexist with it on the surface were drawn like iron shavings to a lodestone by any form of order or technology, even one as simple as woven cloth.

As he continued to fall, Yelmak reached into his beltpouch and withdrew a small paper fan, inscribed with intricate glyphs and sigils. He raised it to underneath his chin and fanned outward as he spoke tersely, “KLF high command, this is agent Yelmak. Mission failed, I am wounded and have been forced off the side of island. Now falling towards surface.” The breeze from the fan seemed to catch the words as they left his mouth and whisk them away into the air. As it did so, the glyphs on the surface of the fan flared and then faded, one at a time. With his last word, the last glyph faded, and the fan crumpled into dust. Yelmak glanced down and saw that he was nearing the ground. Trying to compose his mind, Yelmak began removing his equipment, as he had been warned to do. His pistol, dagger, lockpicks, rope, and everything else he was carrying were soon in a bundle in his arms. He glanced down at his clothes. Well-spun woolen cloth emblazoned with the Vorstad symbol. He grimaced—they would have to go too. When he was naked and shivering, he wrapped the clothes around the rest of the equipment. He looked at the broken manacle, but couldn’t bring himself to throw it away as well. He needed it to fall safely, and whatever order it had once had was lost when it was broken, he reasoned. He was within a few hundred feet of the ground then, and tied his belt in a knot around the bundle and used the trailing end to swing it around twice and launch it into the air as far away from him as he could.

Yelmak hit the ground and his legs almost buckled under the force of the impact. He bent down to snatch up a rock from the ground, and looked around to take in the surrounding terrain. It actually didn’t look as bad as he had initially expected from the tales of horror of the surface. He was in a hilly scrubland dotted with occasional rock outcroppings. A few small animals were nibbling at the bushes. There was no sign, at least in this area, of any disaster. A chill wind blew from the west, where the sun had just set behind a large hill several miles away. His teeth began to chatter and he started awkwardly jogging toward the hill, simply as a way to keep warm. The first thing to do was to find shelter, he thought, and then work from there. Yelmak deliberately focused his mind on the mechanics of survival, squelching the part of it that kept threatening to start gibbering in uncontrollable panic at being exposed to the Devourer.

As Yelmak crested one of the rock outcroppings, he looked back the way he had come. A little ways south of the spot he had fallen, he was barely able to make out an indistinct number of shadowy shapes milling around the spot where his bundle had landed, doing something to it. Somehow, the sight of them instantly filled him with an indescribable sense of dread and unease. Something just seemed utterly wrong about their shapes. They seemed to finish with whatever it was and began moving off in various directions, several appearing to be coming towards him. He shuddered, wishing he hadn’t looked back, and redoubled his speed.

With his mind on the things behind him, he skidded around another large boulder and let out a sharp yelp as he came face to face with some sort of beast with four legs, two arms, two heads, and a variety of indefinable protrusions. It seemed to leap back in startlement at the sight of him as well, and as he caught his breath and looked at it more calmly, he realized that it was simply an old halfling riding a donkey. The old man’s hair and beard went wildly in all different directions, he was garbed in unworked animal furs, and he stared at Yelmak through rheumy, distrustful, eyes. http://www.enworld.org/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=17116 Yelmak stood there trying to decide whether to fight, run, or try to talk, with one hand holding his rock raised to throw and the other covering his nakedness.

After a tense moment of staring at each other, both parties seemed to relax a tiny amount. The old halfling spoke up in a querulous voice, “Aright, then demon. My time’s long up, and ye can have old Mohai without a fight.” It was a strange, archaic dialect of the halfling language, but Yelmak was able to make it out with difficulty.

Still distrustful, Yelmak replied, “I’m no demon.”

“Aye, ye looks different. But if ye’re nae demon, what—“ The speech cut off as a spine-chilling growl was heard, and a spined, dog-like creature leaped down from the outcropping. There were bulges under its skin that seemed to constantly move about as though something was trying to fight its way out. In its first rush it knocked Yelmak to the ground and its claw ripped into his side. As he tried to regain his feet, the beast slapped him back down with another claw and gathered itself for a lunge for the throat. Yelmak looked up and saw Mohai shrug and his eyes roll back in concentration. Suddenly there was a loud snap and the beast leaped into the air, yowling in pain and shaking its head wildly. It turned to face the old man, and Yelmak seized the moment of distraction, leaping to his feet and stabbing the pointy part of his rock into the creature’s eye. It let out a piercing shriek and then lay still.

The old halfling extended his hand to Yelmak. “If ye want to live now, ye’d best come. There’ll be more o’ them along now that they’ve heard this one. Up on Binster now.” With a last harried glance behind him, Yelmak leaped up onto the donkey, which began to canter forward at a rapid clip.

With several minutes of distance behind them, they pulled to a halt. Yelmak heard snorts, growls, and calls in some strange language echoing from the rocks seemingly all around them. They had stopped at the edge of a large trench, a place where the bushes and grasses vanished and a scar had been cut into the land. The ground sank down nearly 10 feet, and no plants grew there—just barren black rock. http://www.enworld.org/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=17117 “Quickly now. Into the tendrilscar. They willnae find us there.” With some prodding, they coaxed the donkey into the trench and followed it down themselves. They crouched under a slight overhang, and slowly let themselves relax. “Heh. These tendrilscars be the safest places to hide. There’s nae life in them, so we be harder fer the beasties to find.”

The horrid sounds seemed to be coming no nearer them now, and even dispersing somewhat. Yelmak looked at his new companion questioningly, “But what causes them?”

“Well, the beasties out there,” he made a vague gesture with his arm, “they come find ye if there’s too many of ye, or ye have too much stuff with ye. But if there be something even bigger, like one o’ them big metal things from the sky, a tendril o’ pulsing light shoots out of the earth and rips along until it gobbles up the big metal thing.” The old man bowed his head and Yelmak made out tears standing in the corners of his eyes. “This’n’s from when a metal thing came down and the big folk in it rounded up all my tribe in chains. Binster’n’ me were out getting herbs when they came so they missed us.” His voice was oddly calm and steady as he related the story. “They fought off a bunch o’ the beasties while my people were fighting to get free o’ them, and something happened to the metal thing. They couldnae fly any more, and while they tried to get it to fly, a tendril came up and ripped the whole thing to bits. All me people were inside the metal thing when it happened.”

Amazed at the old man’s fatalistic tone, Yelmak didn’t know what to say. “I hate slavers too.” He offered lamely.

“Aye, ye seem like a decent sort.” Seeming to sense Yelmak’s surprise at his attitude, he added “It’s just a part o’ life. Ye can’t expect to live long. I was about ready for me own end so I headed out to find the beasties, but ye seemed like ye might not be ready just yet.” He cracked a slight, toothless smile.

As the rest of the night passed, they talked for a little bit longer, and then fell asleep. Dawn brought Yelmak awake with a start. The trench looked equally bleak in the daylight, but he could almost kiss the black rocks for hiding him from the creatures pursuing him. He looked up into the sky, hoping that he hadn’t missed his chance by falling asleep. His heart leapt and he had to rub his eyes to make sure he wasn’t imagining it, but right there above him and to the north was a cloud that was moving quickly, and against the wind. He leaped to his feet and began waving his arms, and the cloud began to approach and descend.

He roused his companion. “My people are coming for me. You can come too, since there’s nothing left for you down here. You’ll even get a chance to strike back against the slavers.”

With a bleary look in his eyes, Mohai nodded. “Aye, I suppose ye’re right. Perhaps me time isn’t quite yet.” A slight smile played around the corners of his mouth.

Yelmak waited, dancing from foot to foot in impatience as the cloud approached. Finally, it enveloped them in a thick fog, and he saw the swirling mass of air of the creature that was pulling the ship. A rope and a ladder dropped to them. “Hurry aboard. There’s demons inbound.” Rushing through the motions, Yelmak tied a knot around Binster and he and Mohai scurried up the ladder as the donkey was hauled up. The ship lurched forward again into the air as they were surrounded in the fog by kobolds congratulating them. One of them tossed a black robe to Yelmak http://www.enworld.org/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=17118 “Here, put this on so you’re not naked at least.”

He gladly did so, and relaxed among friends as they flew higher and higher into the air. He would yet have his chance to bring down Vorstad.

 

[Sparky]

I keep freaking out when I see later-than-my-round stories post -- thinking that I've missed my deadline.

So cut it out already!

 

[mythago]

Firelance, as soon as this round is done (whew) I'll be happy to make comments.