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NOW LIVE! Into the Woods--new character species, eerie monsters, and haunting villains to populate the woodlands of your D&D games.
The Chronicle of Burne, and Some Others of Lesser Importance *Updated May 17th, 2009*
- Thread starter Rolzup
- Start date
Rolzup
First Post
Interlude: Yesterday at The Chapel of Love
“Did you ever wonder why our confessionals have the little slot at waist level?”
“No.”
Donatello Pazzi de Gallina, better known on the Street of Costs as the Right Reverend Don Magic Wand, known for his flashy robes, plentiful gold-seeming chains, and the sweetly-soft murmuring of his magic wand that coos at passersby from the vicinity of his belt, sighs loudly and leans back against the white plaster wall of his place of worship. It’s been a slow afternoon.
“The Chapel wasn’t always a temple to the Saint of Aces. It was originally consecrated to Belli, the Lord of Law, and doubled as a kind of municipal courthouse. In those days the confessionals were actually used to hear confessions, though why anyone ever used them is beyond me, since Belli only forgives crimes through punishment.”
Metierre, the so-called Deacon of Debt-Collection, idly checks his concealed knives with an absent brush of his hand.
“Back then, when a man gave testimony, he didn’t swear on a holy book or an idol; he swore on his sack. It’s like he was saying “If I’m lying may god strike me in the junk. The slot was there so the priest could see if a man was holding his stones.”
“What if it’s a lady?”
"If it was a lady there'd be no touching stones until there was a ring on her finger. Now…at some point the building fell into the well-manicured hands of the Church of Aja, Satisfaction Be Upon Her.” The Reverend makes a small, circular gesture with his forefinger. “They probably had no idea what a confessional was. To them, “confessing” means “gossiping”, usually while lying on silken pillows, eating laudanum-filled bonbons, and getting their feet rubbed by “eunuchs” who somehow managed to avoid The Big Snip.”
Metierre lets his boss talk, polishing the grease on his brass knuckles with additional grease from his thumb.
“Noting the placement of the slot, the Sisters of Desire finally hit on a novel usage that still
involved a sinner on one side of the booth and a person of the ecclesiastical persuasion on the other. In honor of the former owners they called ‘em “justice holes”. I don’t think the Church of Belli got the joke.”
A giant cupping a keg of ale in its mammoth hand ambles by. The walls of the Chapel of Love shake, which stops the Reverend’s reverie, but only for a moment.
“After the Sisters got run out of the neighborhood, the property changed hands a few more times before I bought it. Now you have to be careful when you buy in Narayan. It’s hard to find anything that didn’t once to belong to a church. So odds are you’re buying consecrated land. Sure, the seller’s supposed to deconsecrate it first, but all it takes is a little bribe to the Department of Licensing and Exorcism.”
“Hey boss….”
“Know that empty lot down on Mordant Circle? It used to be a barbarian cathedral dedicated to the Sky-Father. It got ransacked during the Troubles and then went condo. A year later it was blasted to flinders by lightening. Coincidence?”
“Boss….”
“Just to be on the safe side, the first week we were open I picked a wino’s pocket in the narthex and had the altar washed with the tears of a forty year old virgin.”
“Boss, I think I see someone.”
“Of course you do, man! That giant was 15 feet tall if he was an inch. Now…what was I was saying? Ah, you see, Narayan is a city of business. And what’s the oldest business in the world? That’s right, religion. So this city is just lousy with faith…”
“Boss, I think he’s invisible....” Metierre grabs for a knife.
“The bread you buy from a street vendor was likely baked in one of Kruetzel’s ovens by a man made of fire. Visit a moneychanger and you’ll feel the Invisible Hand of Mr. Spidergod pushing down on the scales. It’s getting so you can’t spill your seed on a harlot without having it glow as it’s transformed into grace by Aja’s miracle of the Trampsubstantiation...”
Someone puts the Reverend’s soul in a vice grip. He stops talking. Metierre tries to throw a knife. He’s stopped by an unseen glance.
The invisible man grabs the paralyzed Donatello Pazzi and hauls him, unceremoniously, into his church. Inside, Richard, the bravest of the so-called Altar Boys, tries to draw his blackjack and is frozen where he stands.
Nadir Akmad-Medhi, a Shirac mind-witch and Renuciate of the Miir Valley School, carries Donatello back to the confessional. Dropping the priest like a sack, he takes his magic wand. Donatello can only watch dumbly as the Shirac magician speaks a single word; “Salomalle.”
The succubus inside the wand manifests herself in a shower of longing and cold sparks. Nadir and Salomalle converse in a language that suggests rutting and other more violent mortifications of the flesh.
For the first time in his life the Reverend thinks, “I should have learned Infernal”.
Done with his business, Nadir sends the demon back into the wand. With a manner almost suggesting respect, he returns the wand to the supine priest and then departs.
“Did you ever wonder why our confessionals have the little slot at waist level?”
“No.”
Donatello Pazzi de Gallina, better known on the Street of Costs as the Right Reverend Don Magic Wand, known for his flashy robes, plentiful gold-seeming chains, and the sweetly-soft murmuring of his magic wand that coos at passersby from the vicinity of his belt, sighs loudly and leans back against the white plaster wall of his place of worship. It’s been a slow afternoon.
“The Chapel wasn’t always a temple to the Saint of Aces. It was originally consecrated to Belli, the Lord of Law, and doubled as a kind of municipal courthouse. In those days the confessionals were actually used to hear confessions, though why anyone ever used them is beyond me, since Belli only forgives crimes through punishment.”
Metierre, the so-called Deacon of Debt-Collection, idly checks his concealed knives with an absent brush of his hand.
“Back then, when a man gave testimony, he didn’t swear on a holy book or an idol; he swore on his sack. It’s like he was saying “If I’m lying may god strike me in the junk. The slot was there so the priest could see if a man was holding his stones.”
“What if it’s a lady?”
"If it was a lady there'd be no touching stones until there was a ring on her finger. Now…at some point the building fell into the well-manicured hands of the Church of Aja, Satisfaction Be Upon Her.” The Reverend makes a small, circular gesture with his forefinger. “They probably had no idea what a confessional was. To them, “confessing” means “gossiping”, usually while lying on silken pillows, eating laudanum-filled bonbons, and getting their feet rubbed by “eunuchs” who somehow managed to avoid The Big Snip.”
Metierre lets his boss talk, polishing the grease on his brass knuckles with additional grease from his thumb.
“Noting the placement of the slot, the Sisters of Desire finally hit on a novel usage that still
involved a sinner on one side of the booth and a person of the ecclesiastical persuasion on the other. In honor of the former owners they called ‘em “justice holes”. I don’t think the Church of Belli got the joke.”
A giant cupping a keg of ale in its mammoth hand ambles by. The walls of the Chapel of Love shake, which stops the Reverend’s reverie, but only for a moment.
“After the Sisters got run out of the neighborhood, the property changed hands a few more times before I bought it. Now you have to be careful when you buy in Narayan. It’s hard to find anything that didn’t once to belong to a church. So odds are you’re buying consecrated land. Sure, the seller’s supposed to deconsecrate it first, but all it takes is a little bribe to the Department of Licensing and Exorcism.”
“Hey boss….”
“Know that empty lot down on Mordant Circle? It used to be a barbarian cathedral dedicated to the Sky-Father. It got ransacked during the Troubles and then went condo. A year later it was blasted to flinders by lightening. Coincidence?”
“Boss….”
“Just to be on the safe side, the first week we were open I picked a wino’s pocket in the narthex and had the altar washed with the tears of a forty year old virgin.”
“Boss, I think I see someone.”
“Of course you do, man! That giant was 15 feet tall if he was an inch. Now…what was I was saying? Ah, you see, Narayan is a city of business. And what’s the oldest business in the world? That’s right, religion. So this city is just lousy with faith…”
“Boss, I think he’s invisible....” Metierre grabs for a knife.
“The bread you buy from a street vendor was likely baked in one of Kruetzel’s ovens by a man made of fire. Visit a moneychanger and you’ll feel the Invisible Hand of Mr. Spidergod pushing down on the scales. It’s getting so you can’t spill your seed on a harlot without having it glow as it’s transformed into grace by Aja’s miracle of the Trampsubstantiation...”
Someone puts the Reverend’s soul in a vice grip. He stops talking. Metierre tries to throw a knife. He’s stopped by an unseen glance.
The invisible man grabs the paralyzed Donatello Pazzi and hauls him, unceremoniously, into his church. Inside, Richard, the bravest of the so-called Altar Boys, tries to draw his blackjack and is frozen where he stands.
Nadir Akmad-Medhi, a Shirac mind-witch and Renuciate of the Miir Valley School, carries Donatello back to the confessional. Dropping the priest like a sack, he takes his magic wand. Donatello can only watch dumbly as the Shirac magician speaks a single word; “Salomalle.”
The succubus inside the wand manifests herself in a shower of longing and cold sparks. Nadir and Salomalle converse in a language that suggests rutting and other more violent mortifications of the flesh.
For the first time in his life the Reverend thinks, “I should have learned Infernal”.
Done with his business, Nadir sends the demon back into the wand. With a manner almost suggesting respect, he returns the wand to the supine priest and then departs.
Bloodcookie
Explorer
Brilliant, as always 
Richard Rawen
First Post
Mmmm... tasty background bits...
We are coming up on the first character death in the campaign.
[start soothing music]As stress and nervous tension are now serious problems, I will reveal that the character does get better. However another character's upper arm will be brused as well and in order to preserve a sense of excitement and suspense, who's upper arm will not be revealed...[end soothing music]
[start soothing music]As stress and nervous tension are now serious problems, I will reveal that the character does get better. However another character's upper arm will be brused as well and in order to preserve a sense of excitement and suspense, who's upper arm will not be revealed...[end soothing music]
Rolzup
First Post
Rackhir, The Dead Archer
So. There I stood, surrounded by foreigners of the most disreputable sort, watching a shamanistic greengrocer give orders to a musical giant.
I wish that I could claim that this was somehow unusual, but alas...this seems to be the sort of pattern into which my life has fallen. It is a tremendous burden to bear, being the sole voice of rationality when all around you is silk-clad madness...but I endure, stoically. Because that is the kind of man that Burne, is. An Erisian, an Alchemist. And, I daresay, a hero.
I REALLY DON'T NEED TO SAY ANYTHING HERE, DO I?
In any case, we had come to the monastary to look into this alleged "hidden chamber" that the child Calliope had spoken of. Daikon knew nothing of this, and had found no such place in his investigations of the grounds. He had, however, found that the spirits which he claimed haunted the building were oddly silent in some areas. Specifically, it was a part of the courtyard of the monastery that was this "dead zone".
The solution was clear. Destruction was the answer, as it so often is. As my lackies had done inside to speak with Daikon, I took it upon myself to deal with the situation. I suggested to the Tenor that he try moving the statue of the Late-and-not-in-the-least-lamented Bishop first and foremost, and then perhaps using it as a club to demolish the second statue. An act of chiefly symbolic value, and one that I found morally appropriate.
MORALS DON'T ENTER INTO IT. HE WAS MUTTERING "SMASHY-SMASHY!", AND RUBBING HIS HANDS TOGETHER.
The Tenor did, in fact, move the statue. Not without some effort, mind. And that was, perhaps, the last thing that went as I had planned. The movement of the statue cracked the masonry around its pedestal and revealed a small metal door, marked with some sort of
rune, flush with the paving-stones.
I called forth an order, and the foreign contingent rushed to my side.
HE SENT ME TO FETCH THEM. I SAID "PLEASE". BURNE NEVER DOES.
We considered the rune for a time. None of them had anything constructive to offer, although Daikon, Meiji, and Wu took the opportunity to once more display their ignorance of the workings of higher magic.
Kenji, on the other hand, had been staring at the sky. Possibly composing a poem, or considering a flower arrangement, or something similar. Just this once, his effeminate concerns proved useful, as he discerned (largely because of the dagger Squint) an invisible hawk circling high above the courtyard.
On the instant, I knew exactly what this meant. We'd seen this hawk before, and it could only mean that its master, this Nadir Medhi fellow, was somewhere nearby.
I was unsure why Nadir was spying on us in such a fashion. An interest in architecture, perhaps? A hunger for fresh radish? Curiosity over what would become of the place now that Xian was gone? But of course! Nadir was espying none other than Burne the Magnificent, eager to learn what my next marvelous creation would be! Probably in the hopes of being able to create some cheap crystal knockoff to sell in Marimbra.
OR, MAYBE, THE HIDDEN SHRINE THAT LITTLE CALLIOPE HAD TOLD US ABOUT? THE SAME CALLIOPE THAT NADIR HAD SPOKEN TO ONLY DAYS EARLIER? BURNE'S MIND WAS CONSUMED BY HIS GENIUS. ALL THAT'S LEFT IS A FINE GRAY ASH. THAT CAN BE FOUND ON THE BACK OF HIS COLLAR.
Whatever it was, he soon discovered more than he had bargained for....
Without hesitation, I promptly used the Engine to fire a cloud of Burne's Luminescent Motes into the air, revealing the previously invisible hawk.
And Nadir, clearly a coward, refused to present himself.
ACTUALLY, NADIR ASKED HIM IF THE SPELL WAS MEANT AS A CHALLENGE. BURNE SPENT THE NEXT SEVERAL MINUTES EVADING THE QUESTION, AND SEEKING THE EXACT DEFINITION OF "CHALLENGE" LEST HE TAKE THE HIMSELF TO ANYTHING DANGEROUS.
Nadir, curiously, took my simple working as an act of hostility, and demanded that I remove the effect.
Naturally, I refused.
IN OTHER WORDS, HE COULDN'T.
A moment later, I found an arrow lodged in my duodenum. It smarted a little.
YOU SHOULD HAVE HEARD HIM SHRIEK. IT WAS...GLORIOUS.
Oddly enough, it had been fired by Rackhir. Who, despite being both foreign and terribly accident-prone, is generally a reasonable sort of fellow. For, and I cannot stress this enough, a foreigner.
Before I could respond in kind, Meiji used his "arts" to paralyze the archer, who had apparently fallen under Nadir's control. Nadir, for his part, once more demanded that I remove the spell upon his witch-hawk.
Meiji chose this moment to begin taunting Nadir, for reasons that continue to elude me. Perhaps he was attempting to assert his masculinity; understandable enough, considering his mode of dress, but his timing was not well chosen.
He and Nadir continued to exchange threats for a space, and then I noticed a curious look upon the Tenor's face. The giant's normally pleasant expression had vanished, replaced by a vacant stare. He began raising his club over the helpless Rackhir's head, while Meiji continued to make crude comments about Nadir's mother.
I acted as quickly as I could, attempting to use Burne's Improved Vapors of Induced Somnolence to render the Tenor unconscious, but he proved able to shrug off the effects. The club came down, hard.
The resulting sound was most unpleasant. Have you ever seen a melon stuffed full of human cranial matter smashed to pieces by a 12 foot tall hack comedian? It was much like that, only moreso.
Rackhir dropped, unmoving.
The Tenor, horrified, burst into tears.
Meiji, for a wonder, fell silent.
Kenji leapt into much belated action, peering about with Squint in an attempt to find our assailant. Too little, too late -- Nadir, fearing my wrath, had already fled.
REALLY, I THINK THAT HE JUST FELT THAT HE'D PROVED HIS POINT.
We were left staring at his Rackhir's corpse, and I think that all of us were thinking the same thing at that moment: "What wonders can the incredible Burne produce using the pieces of this simple dead archer? Some hoodoo charm versus arrows? A steam-powered arbalest mounted on skeletal legs? A golem? Or some other automated killing-machine, of the sort employed by the better sort of iron-fisted tyrant? "
The answer, sadly, shall have to wait.
So. There I stood, surrounded by foreigners of the most disreputable sort, watching a shamanistic greengrocer give orders to a musical giant.
I wish that I could claim that this was somehow unusual, but alas...this seems to be the sort of pattern into which my life has fallen. It is a tremendous burden to bear, being the sole voice of rationality when all around you is silk-clad madness...but I endure, stoically. Because that is the kind of man that Burne, is. An Erisian, an Alchemist. And, I daresay, a hero.
I REALLY DON'T NEED TO SAY ANYTHING HERE, DO I?
In any case, we had come to the monastary to look into this alleged "hidden chamber" that the child Calliope had spoken of. Daikon knew nothing of this, and had found no such place in his investigations of the grounds. He had, however, found that the spirits which he claimed haunted the building were oddly silent in some areas. Specifically, it was a part of the courtyard of the monastery that was this "dead zone".
The solution was clear. Destruction was the answer, as it so often is. As my lackies had done inside to speak with Daikon, I took it upon myself to deal with the situation. I suggested to the Tenor that he try moving the statue of the Late-and-not-in-the-least-lamented Bishop first and foremost, and then perhaps using it as a club to demolish the second statue. An act of chiefly symbolic value, and one that I found morally appropriate.
MORALS DON'T ENTER INTO IT. HE WAS MUTTERING "SMASHY-SMASHY!", AND RUBBING HIS HANDS TOGETHER.
The Tenor did, in fact, move the statue. Not without some effort, mind. And that was, perhaps, the last thing that went as I had planned. The movement of the statue cracked the masonry around its pedestal and revealed a small metal door, marked with some sort of
rune, flush with the paving-stones.
I called forth an order, and the foreign contingent rushed to my side.
HE SENT ME TO FETCH THEM. I SAID "PLEASE". BURNE NEVER DOES.
We considered the rune for a time. None of them had anything constructive to offer, although Daikon, Meiji, and Wu took the opportunity to once more display their ignorance of the workings of higher magic.
Kenji, on the other hand, had been staring at the sky. Possibly composing a poem, or considering a flower arrangement, or something similar. Just this once, his effeminate concerns proved useful, as he discerned (largely because of the dagger Squint) an invisible hawk circling high above the courtyard.
On the instant, I knew exactly what this meant. We'd seen this hawk before, and it could only mean that its master, this Nadir Medhi fellow, was somewhere nearby.
I was unsure why Nadir was spying on us in such a fashion. An interest in architecture, perhaps? A hunger for fresh radish? Curiosity over what would become of the place now that Xian was gone? But of course! Nadir was espying none other than Burne the Magnificent, eager to learn what my next marvelous creation would be! Probably in the hopes of being able to create some cheap crystal knockoff to sell in Marimbra.
OR, MAYBE, THE HIDDEN SHRINE THAT LITTLE CALLIOPE HAD TOLD US ABOUT? THE SAME CALLIOPE THAT NADIR HAD SPOKEN TO ONLY DAYS EARLIER? BURNE'S MIND WAS CONSUMED BY HIS GENIUS. ALL THAT'S LEFT IS A FINE GRAY ASH. THAT CAN BE FOUND ON THE BACK OF HIS COLLAR.
Whatever it was, he soon discovered more than he had bargained for....
Without hesitation, I promptly used the Engine to fire a cloud of Burne's Luminescent Motes into the air, revealing the previously invisible hawk.
And Nadir, clearly a coward, refused to present himself.
ACTUALLY, NADIR ASKED HIM IF THE SPELL WAS MEANT AS A CHALLENGE. BURNE SPENT THE NEXT SEVERAL MINUTES EVADING THE QUESTION, AND SEEKING THE EXACT DEFINITION OF "CHALLENGE" LEST HE TAKE THE HIMSELF TO ANYTHING DANGEROUS.
Nadir, curiously, took my simple working as an act of hostility, and demanded that I remove the effect.
Naturally, I refused.
IN OTHER WORDS, HE COULDN'T.
A moment later, I found an arrow lodged in my duodenum. It smarted a little.
YOU SHOULD HAVE HEARD HIM SHRIEK. IT WAS...GLORIOUS.
Oddly enough, it had been fired by Rackhir. Who, despite being both foreign and terribly accident-prone, is generally a reasonable sort of fellow. For, and I cannot stress this enough, a foreigner.
Before I could respond in kind, Meiji used his "arts" to paralyze the archer, who had apparently fallen under Nadir's control. Nadir, for his part, once more demanded that I remove the spell upon his witch-hawk.
Meiji chose this moment to begin taunting Nadir, for reasons that continue to elude me. Perhaps he was attempting to assert his masculinity; understandable enough, considering his mode of dress, but his timing was not well chosen.
He and Nadir continued to exchange threats for a space, and then I noticed a curious look upon the Tenor's face. The giant's normally pleasant expression had vanished, replaced by a vacant stare. He began raising his club over the helpless Rackhir's head, while Meiji continued to make crude comments about Nadir's mother.
I acted as quickly as I could, attempting to use Burne's Improved Vapors of Induced Somnolence to render the Tenor unconscious, but he proved able to shrug off the effects. The club came down, hard.
The resulting sound was most unpleasant. Have you ever seen a melon stuffed full of human cranial matter smashed to pieces by a 12 foot tall hack comedian? It was much like that, only moreso.
Rackhir dropped, unmoving.
The Tenor, horrified, burst into tears.
Meiji, for a wonder, fell silent.
Kenji leapt into much belated action, peering about with Squint in an attempt to find our assailant. Too little, too late -- Nadir, fearing my wrath, had already fled.
REALLY, I THINK THAT HE JUST FELT THAT HE'D PROVED HIS POINT.
We were left staring at his Rackhir's corpse, and I think that all of us were thinking the same thing at that moment: "What wonders can the incredible Burne produce using the pieces of this simple dead archer? Some hoodoo charm versus arrows? A steam-powered arbalest mounted on skeletal legs? A golem? Or some other automated killing-machine, of the sort employed by the better sort of iron-fisted tyrant? "
The answer, sadly, shall have to wait.
Last edited:
shilsen said:
You really want to make me regret saving Meiji from that Succubus.
For those of you interested. This marks the point at which Rackhir became the punching bag for the creatures in the campaign. A lot of it comes down to the replacement of the Druid/Barbarian/Holy/Crazy Man and his penchant for recklessly charging into battle with "Not In the Face" Meiji.
That and Mallus's seeming inability to comprehend things like damage potential and lethality of things like a Giant making a coup-de-grace. This little incident marked the first time (though not the last) that I would be sitting at the table and hearing him say something to the effect of "Ohhh! Wow! That's going to hurt...."
shilsen
Adventurer
Rackhir said:
You're telling me you don't already regret it? Obviously I've been slacking off!
Life sucks when you're a frontline archer, eh?
I think the line more commonly is "Oh, so that's what it does?" And that line is, for those of us standing in the background, one of the more entertaining ones to hear from the DM. Especially since it usually prefaces some even more entertaining lines from you
