The Elfblood Wanderers--New Story Hour!!
Bob Aberton
First Post
It was dark on the road, and Pillars of the Sky loomed up ahead, dark and purple and almost threatening.
Down the long, dark road, a rider was riding. He was clad in a black cloak and seated on a black horse, and as he flashed past the midnight landscape, he shivered and took a tighter grip on his sword.
He was a message rider of Dwllyn, and though he did his duty, and did it better than any others, that didn't mean he had to like it. He peered ahead into the pitch blackness, though he could see nothing. There were dangers on the road, he knew, not the least of them being breaking his horse's leg in a hole in the ground.
After a few hours of steady galloping, he became aware that there was someone else on the road with him. Far, far back, the road went over the lip of a small hollow, and, glancing over his shoulder, he could see a faint speck on the rocky path, coming up fast. Then his horse stumbled over some hidden stone, and he barely kept his seat - or his silence, though no doubt the rider behind him was already aware of his presence.
That was when he heard the howling. A lone wolf wailed its sorrows to the moon, and, closer to him, more wolves picked up the cry. A nervous sweat broke out on his forehead and he realized they were all around him. Closing in for the kill, he thought, urging his horse on to greater speed. His horse, too, had pricked up its ears at the sound of howling, and its eyes rolled fearfully in its head as the poor brute realized that the threatening scent was drawing closer. He adjusted his grip on his still-sheathed sword, though he knew it would do no good against wolves. He barely knew how to use the thing; after all, he was a message rider, not a warrior.
Now he could even see the wolves; dark, sleek shapes keeping pace with him on either side of him, flowing over the ground and leaping over tree stumps and boulders. His horse tossed its head from side to side, seeking to bolt. He wanted to spin his horse around and make for Dwllyn, but something held him back - loyalty, and love for his liege lord. He was a message rider of Dwllyn, handpicked by his beloved lord for this perilous task. He knew his duty.
Now he was cresting a slight rise. On either side of the road, the wolves were still keeping pace with him. Now, up ahead, he saw something to give him pause. Four people were standing in the road, two holding loaded bows, and the other two standing impassive in the robes of Druids.
"Halt!" cried one of them in a commanding voice, a feminine voice at that, as the rider noted.
"Stand and Deliver!"
The rider snorted silently in derision. Not bloody likely. He was a message rider of Dwllyn, and he knew his duty. He did yield slightly at the top of the rise, and suddenly the wolves were all about him, milling around and snarling threateningly. He gathered his nerve for what he had to do. A message rider knows his duty, he reminded himself, and with that, he clapped his spurs into his horse and, drawing his sword with a sudden shout, his sent his horse surging forward with a patriotic cry.
"For Dwllyn!"
His horse panicked for a second at being forced into the midst of the mass of slavering jaws and gleaming teeth, then obeyed its master. Like its rider, the horse, too, knew its duty.
The wolves were surprised at this sudden move, and the furry mass melted aside like the Red Sea before Moses. Those few wolves that did not move were bowled aside, or trampled. The message rider paid them no heed, for the archers ahead on the road, who were noe raising their bows and taking aim, were more of a threat.
He was closing with them. Two hundred yards...then one hundred...he was thundering down the road, his horse's hoofs beating out a frenzied rhythm on the turf. He fancied himself an awe-inspiring sight. The manic tempo of hoof-beats grew more and more frenzied - he was closing with the two white-faced archers, barely more than fifty yards now, he was almost -
Suddenly, the branches of an oak tree loomed up in front of his face. Dropping his sword, he ducked, but he was not quick enough. As the branches struck him in the face and chest, he was shot backwards out of the saddle like an arrow from a bow. As he performed several lazy revolutions in the air, his last though was, Strange...why didn't I notice that tree before now?
****************************************************
There you have it - a nice, short update, and another one on the way in a few days.
saFire will be starting a thread in the Rogues Gallery detailing the stats and character histories/descriptions of the PCs and certain select NPCs.
As an aside, which, as readers, do you prefer - short, frequent updates (like the last few updates), or long, detailed updates every few weeks (like many other story hours, and like the original updates on Page 1 of this story hour)?
In other words, which should I do:
Short updates every few days?
or,
Long updates every few weeks?
Down the long, dark road, a rider was riding. He was clad in a black cloak and seated on a black horse, and as he flashed past the midnight landscape, he shivered and took a tighter grip on his sword.
He was a message rider of Dwllyn, and though he did his duty, and did it better than any others, that didn't mean he had to like it. He peered ahead into the pitch blackness, though he could see nothing. There were dangers on the road, he knew, not the least of them being breaking his horse's leg in a hole in the ground.
After a few hours of steady galloping, he became aware that there was someone else on the road with him. Far, far back, the road went over the lip of a small hollow, and, glancing over his shoulder, he could see a faint speck on the rocky path, coming up fast. Then his horse stumbled over some hidden stone, and he barely kept his seat - or his silence, though no doubt the rider behind him was already aware of his presence.
That was when he heard the howling. A lone wolf wailed its sorrows to the moon, and, closer to him, more wolves picked up the cry. A nervous sweat broke out on his forehead and he realized they were all around him. Closing in for the kill, he thought, urging his horse on to greater speed. His horse, too, had pricked up its ears at the sound of howling, and its eyes rolled fearfully in its head as the poor brute realized that the threatening scent was drawing closer. He adjusted his grip on his still-sheathed sword, though he knew it would do no good against wolves. He barely knew how to use the thing; after all, he was a message rider, not a warrior.
Now he could even see the wolves; dark, sleek shapes keeping pace with him on either side of him, flowing over the ground and leaping over tree stumps and boulders. His horse tossed its head from side to side, seeking to bolt. He wanted to spin his horse around and make for Dwllyn, but something held him back - loyalty, and love for his liege lord. He was a message rider of Dwllyn, handpicked by his beloved lord for this perilous task. He knew his duty.
Now he was cresting a slight rise. On either side of the road, the wolves were still keeping pace with him. Now, up ahead, he saw something to give him pause. Four people were standing in the road, two holding loaded bows, and the other two standing impassive in the robes of Druids.
"Halt!" cried one of them in a commanding voice, a feminine voice at that, as the rider noted.
"Stand and Deliver!"
The rider snorted silently in derision. Not bloody likely. He was a message rider of Dwllyn, and he knew his duty. He did yield slightly at the top of the rise, and suddenly the wolves were all about him, milling around and snarling threateningly. He gathered his nerve for what he had to do. A message rider knows his duty, he reminded himself, and with that, he clapped his spurs into his horse and, drawing his sword with a sudden shout, his sent his horse surging forward with a patriotic cry.
"For Dwllyn!"
His horse panicked for a second at being forced into the midst of the mass of slavering jaws and gleaming teeth, then obeyed its master. Like its rider, the horse, too, knew its duty.
The wolves were surprised at this sudden move, and the furry mass melted aside like the Red Sea before Moses. Those few wolves that did not move were bowled aside, or trampled. The message rider paid them no heed, for the archers ahead on the road, who were noe raising their bows and taking aim, were more of a threat.
He was closing with them. Two hundred yards...then one hundred...he was thundering down the road, his horse's hoofs beating out a frenzied rhythm on the turf. He fancied himself an awe-inspiring sight. The manic tempo of hoof-beats grew more and more frenzied - he was closing with the two white-faced archers, barely more than fifty yards now, he was almost -
Suddenly, the branches of an oak tree loomed up in front of his face. Dropping his sword, he ducked, but he was not quick enough. As the branches struck him in the face and chest, he was shot backwards out of the saddle like an arrow from a bow. As he performed several lazy revolutions in the air, his last though was, Strange...why didn't I notice that tree before now?
****************************************************
There you have it - a nice, short update, and another one on the way in a few days.
saFire will be starting a thread in the Rogues Gallery detailing the stats and character histories/descriptions of the PCs and certain select NPCs.
As an aside, which, as readers, do you prefer - short, frequent updates (like the last few updates), or long, detailed updates every few weeks (like many other story hours, and like the original updates on Page 1 of this story hour)?
In other words, which should I do:
Short updates every few days?
or,
Long updates every few weeks?
Rogue's Gallery thread
Just to let everyone know:
I'll probably be starting the Rogue's Gallery thread this weekend, maybe sooner. Here are some things I'll be detailing:
Stats of Nystyra, Eliad, Math, Mathonwy, Diesa,and Damara
NPC Stats like Lord Meiron, maybe Adrin Emberlord
and stats for Smeidir, artifact-weapon of Clan Swifthammer.
As the story hour progresses, I'll add stats and character histories for PC's and NPC's that have yet to arrive.
Just to let everyone know:
I'll probably be starting the Rogue's Gallery thread this weekend, maybe sooner. Here are some things I'll be detailing:
Stats of Nystyra, Eliad, Math, Mathonwy, Diesa,and Damara
NPC Stats like Lord Meiron, maybe Adrin Emberlord
and stats for Smeidir, artifact-weapon of Clan Swifthammer.
As the story hour progresses, I'll add stats and character histories for PC's and NPC's that have yet to arrive.
Bob Aberton
First Post
While Eliad and Nystyra rifled through the message rider's pockets, Diesa checked his pulse, finding he was still alive. Eliad broke the wax seal on the solitary letter gracing the rider's saddlebags, and Mathonwy walked over to the great oak, whose branches still flailed about menacingly.
"Grace of the Gods to you, Brother Oak, and our thanks for aiding us," he said. He knelt among the hoary old tree's tangled roots and pulling out a flask of wine, poured on the ground at the foot of the oak. The leaves in the tree's branches fluttered, seeming to sigh in a satisfied way, though there was no wind.
"May Herne shield you from the huntsman's arrows, Brothers and Sisters," Math said, addressing this speech to the pack of wolves surrounding him. "And our thanks for aiding us." He pulled a joint of meat from the supplies and tossed to the wolves, who growled their thanks and padded off into the night, dragging the haunch of venison with them.
To Garr Longbeard, most Magnificent Patron of Clan Longbeard:
Greetings and Salutations! I hope and trust that this correspondance finds you well.
Alas, this is no mere trifle of personal friendship that this letter contains. I must be brief
so that our enemies learn little should this missive fall into the wrong hands. I am forced once more to invoke the terms of our treaty; in other words, my finances run low, and ere I
can be of benefit service to you, I require more money. My vast armies clamor for payment, and I fear they are close to mutiny. I shudder to make such a demand of your most Formidable personage, but I must have no less than 1500 pounds in gold bar at the earliest convenience (that is to say, no later than one month from now) if my armies are to be maintained. Lest you think I demand too much and give too little, I give you my assurance that as soon as the detestable Free Townships have been dealt with, I shall honor my alliance with you, and assist you in every way, martially and materially, against your foes of Clan Swifthammer.
-Dyved Meiron, Lord of Dwllyn
They had just finished perusing the letter, when they heard hoofbeats fast approaching. They were frozen with shock for a moment, fearing that the message rider had had an escort and that "the jig was up," as Eliad put it. Then, in a sudden scramble, they all grabbed for weapons dropped here and there on the ground after dealing with the message rider. They stood ready, ready to sell their lives dearly, when the rider - it was only one - burst into the roadside copse. Moonlight illuminated the rider's face. A woman, clad in guilded chainmail, and riding on a shaggy desert pony.
"Damara!" cried Nystyra joyfully, recognizing the familiar face. The Allamidian woman looked around at the other Wanderers. They saw that her scimitar, unsheathed and ready in her hand, was blooded to the hilt. Damara's surcoat, emblazoned with the hawk-and-sun emblem of the Allamidian Tribes, was ripped to shreds and bloodied, and her chainmail was scratched and nicked. Her face was haggard and sweaty, covered in a mask of blood and dust. But she was alive. Nystyra's faith in her own leadership suddenly returned.
"It is I," the warrioress said shortly, dismounting from Sandstorm and looking at the prone figure of the unconscious message rider. "Not a few of Meiron's soldiery will have cause to remember me - and my blade as well. I see you have caught the rider of whom I spoke."
They all looked to the rider in question. As a matter of fact, he seemed to be coming to, so Eliad walked over and struck him over the head with a tree branch until the rider lapsed back into unconsciousness.
Moments later, the Wanderers were back on horseback and riding hard for Urglath with the rider tied to Damara's saddle and the dawn at their backs. All save Eliad, that is. When the Wanderers realized that someone needed to deliver at least a copy of Lord Meiron's letter or it would be missed, Eliad squared his shoulders, donned Cnorrec, and, looking exactly like the message rider now tied to Damara's saddle, rode off for the Pillars of the Sky, bearing a skillful forgery of Lord Meiron's letter.
The rest of the Wanderers arrived in Urglath hours later and handed the mayor the original copy of the letter. Soon, Nystyra walked out of the Mayor's office bearing the License to Crenellate she had worked so hard to gain.
****************************************************
Short, I know, but another update's coming soon. Would anyone else besides Corwyn like to leave a comment/bump? Taboo? Horacio? Enkhidu? Anyone? Note that I mean no offense to Corwyn, just that I'd also like other readers to reply as well.
And, I urge to to visit the "Elfblood Wanderers Dramatis Personae" in the Rogues Gallery. It's in need of a bump and a kind comment or two.
"Grace of the Gods to you, Brother Oak, and our thanks for aiding us," he said. He knelt among the hoary old tree's tangled roots and pulling out a flask of wine, poured on the ground at the foot of the oak. The leaves in the tree's branches fluttered, seeming to sigh in a satisfied way, though there was no wind.
"May Herne shield you from the huntsman's arrows, Brothers and Sisters," Math said, addressing this speech to the pack of wolves surrounding him. "And our thanks for aiding us." He pulled a joint of meat from the supplies and tossed to the wolves, who growled their thanks and padded off into the night, dragging the haunch of venison with them.
To Garr Longbeard, most Magnificent Patron of Clan Longbeard:
Greetings and Salutations! I hope and trust that this correspondance finds you well.
Alas, this is no mere trifle of personal friendship that this letter contains. I must be brief
so that our enemies learn little should this missive fall into the wrong hands. I am forced once more to invoke the terms of our treaty; in other words, my finances run low, and ere I
can be of benefit service to you, I require more money. My vast armies clamor for payment, and I fear they are close to mutiny. I shudder to make such a demand of your most Formidable personage, but I must have no less than 1500 pounds in gold bar at the earliest convenience (that is to say, no later than one month from now) if my armies are to be maintained. Lest you think I demand too much and give too little, I give you my assurance that as soon as the detestable Free Townships have been dealt with, I shall honor my alliance with you, and assist you in every way, martially and materially, against your foes of Clan Swifthammer.
-Dyved Meiron, Lord of Dwllyn
They had just finished perusing the letter, when they heard hoofbeats fast approaching. They were frozen with shock for a moment, fearing that the message rider had had an escort and that "the jig was up," as Eliad put it. Then, in a sudden scramble, they all grabbed for weapons dropped here and there on the ground after dealing with the message rider. They stood ready, ready to sell their lives dearly, when the rider - it was only one - burst into the roadside copse. Moonlight illuminated the rider's face. A woman, clad in guilded chainmail, and riding on a shaggy desert pony.
"Damara!" cried Nystyra joyfully, recognizing the familiar face. The Allamidian woman looked around at the other Wanderers. They saw that her scimitar, unsheathed and ready in her hand, was blooded to the hilt. Damara's surcoat, emblazoned with the hawk-and-sun emblem of the Allamidian Tribes, was ripped to shreds and bloodied, and her chainmail was scratched and nicked. Her face was haggard and sweaty, covered in a mask of blood and dust. But she was alive. Nystyra's faith in her own leadership suddenly returned.
"It is I," the warrioress said shortly, dismounting from Sandstorm and looking at the prone figure of the unconscious message rider. "Not a few of Meiron's soldiery will have cause to remember me - and my blade as well. I see you have caught the rider of whom I spoke."
They all looked to the rider in question. As a matter of fact, he seemed to be coming to, so Eliad walked over and struck him over the head with a tree branch until the rider lapsed back into unconsciousness.
Moments later, the Wanderers were back on horseback and riding hard for Urglath with the rider tied to Damara's saddle and the dawn at their backs. All save Eliad, that is. When the Wanderers realized that someone needed to deliver at least a copy of Lord Meiron's letter or it would be missed, Eliad squared his shoulders, donned Cnorrec, and, looking exactly like the message rider now tied to Damara's saddle, rode off for the Pillars of the Sky, bearing a skillful forgery of Lord Meiron's letter.
The rest of the Wanderers arrived in Urglath hours later and handed the mayor the original copy of the letter. Soon, Nystyra walked out of the Mayor's office bearing the License to Crenellate she had worked so hard to gain.
****************************************************
Short, I know, but another update's coming soon. Would anyone else besides Corwyn like to leave a comment/bump? Taboo? Horacio? Enkhidu? Anyone? Note that I mean no offense to Corwyn, just that I'd also like other readers to reply as well.
And, I urge to to visit the "Elfblood Wanderers Dramatis Personae" in the Rogues Gallery. It's in need of a bump and a kind comment or two.
Taboo
First Post
Never fear, I'm still an avid fan! I'm enjoying your story hour immensely, but haven't been able to be on the boards quite as much as I'd like to lately.
My story hour is catching up to where we are in our game, so I'll be able to spend more time reading and keeping up with my favorite stories, which certainly includes yours!
I like the stories and characters I can really picture in my mind, and don't just sound like a blow by blow recount of a game and that's one of the things I really like with your story.
I'll be sure to throw in a bump when you need it! As far as story length, I like regular updates even if they're short rather than sporadic updates that take weeks in between (then I forget what I've already read). But if the author is busy, real life intrudes, etc.. it's totally understandable when there are delays.
And before I forget, I love the way you've handled Eliad.
My story hour is catching up to where we are in our game, so I'll be able to spend more time reading and keeping up with my favorite stories, which certainly includes yours!
I like the stories and characters I can really picture in my mind, and don't just sound like a blow by blow recount of a game and that's one of the things I really like with your story.
I'll be sure to throw in a bump when you need it! As far as story length, I like regular updates even if they're short rather than sporadic updates that take weeks in between (then I forget what I've already read). But if the author is busy, real life intrudes, etc.. it's totally understandable when there are delays.
And before I forget, I love the way you've handled Eliad.
Last edited:
Bob Aberton
First Post
"Now what?" Diesa asked grumpily, a hood pulled low over her eyes. She, Nystyra, and another Dwarf, named Fjal, were standing on the crest of the hill known as Greytop Knoll. Like most of the other mornings Nystyra had encountered in the region, it was drizzly and bleak. Below them, the stony, hard road that they knew so well snaked away, toward Urglath and Dwllyn and Greattree to the south and west, and slithering northward across bleak moors and stony harshlands to the Pillars of the Sky. It was early fall, and there was a bite in the air, a little edge to the breezes swirling emptily across heather and bog, boulder and hemlock tree.
Nystyra suddenly remembered a lesson she had learned from Adrin Emberlord on the history of the region. It had once been a profitable area for raising sheep, and it was dotted with thoroughfares and small landholdings, of which Urglath, Dwllyn, and Greattree were the last remnants.
That was before the Ruinous Wars. When Nerwyn Nherianthir, High King of Avalon, and the only living descendent related even indirectly to the fabled Pendragon bloodline, had rode through here and in the shadow of the Pillars of the Sky done battle with the Grey Hordes of the Wizard, a southern warlord and the only living descendent of Mordred Pendragon the Slayer of Arthur, the land had been wounded beyond repair. Towns and freeholds were burned. It was said that King Nerwyn had razed half the castles in the land, and the Wizard had razed the other half. Now only one other building, and that ruined, remained that Nystyra could see. It was and old tower a mile away, rearing its shattered crenellations to the sky like a broken middle finger, in defiance to fire, sword, and wind.
"Empty monuments in an empty land," Nystyra whispered. What kind of a leader could callously do this to his own land, his own people? Though he was still sung of by the bards as a hero, Nystyra in that instant knew better than that. No hero-king would have turned his realm into a battleground and let his people be trampled under his own armies. "I will lead better than he," Nystyra vowed to herself, and she meant it with all her heart.
"Scacth," Diesa said to her companion, and they both laughed. "Scacth" meant "moonstruck, crazy, or stunned" in Swifthammer Dwarven.
Nystyra didn't understand what they meant, however, but she was jolted out of her musings by the rumbling of...mine carts? At the foot of Greytop Knoll, a shower of dirt-clods and small rocks flew into the air, and then a great hole appeared in the ground. Then, Dwarves began climbing out of the hole. There was half a hundred of them, dressed in plain miner's clothes and carrying chisels, axes, picks, hammers, plumb lines, quadrants, surveyor's tools, forge tools, woodworking tools, seemingly every kind of tool know to man, and some that weren't. After the Dwarves finished climbing out of the hole came mine carts after mine carts after mine carts. Pulled by straining, sweating dwarves while other dwarves laid out rails in front of them and other dwarves collected the rails they had already rolled over, which were them laid out in front of them again, the carts were loaded with all manner of supplies. Some had blocks of cut stone. Others seemed to carry tents made of the skin of mountain-goats. Others were piled high with coal, and yet others with iron ore to be smelted. One appeared to be a wheeled forge (probably a rolling repair kit for mining tools), and another, a wheeled kitchen. Still more were piled high with kegs and kegs marked: 'Haelu,' seemingly a Dwarven word for "liquor."
"Who are these?" Nystyra asked, bewildered at this sudden rush of activity.
"Min eaxlgestall," Fjal replied proudly.
" 'My comrades in labor; my workforce,' he says," Diesa translated. "You wanted a castle, did you not? My clan brothers can build you one. For the right price, of course (but my interest is in spiritual matters; I know little of such things)."
****************************************************
Sure it's a little short, but just think of it as an overly long BUMP.
Thanks for the reply, Taboo. I'm glad you like the way I handle Eliad. The game occassionally gets a little grim, and Eliad is the humor that brightens everything up. Speaking of which, his Character History has been posted to the "Elfblood Wanderers Dramatis Personae" thread in the Rogue's Gallery forum, if you're interested.
Nystyra suddenly remembered a lesson she had learned from Adrin Emberlord on the history of the region. It had once been a profitable area for raising sheep, and it was dotted with thoroughfares and small landholdings, of which Urglath, Dwllyn, and Greattree were the last remnants.
That was before the Ruinous Wars. When Nerwyn Nherianthir, High King of Avalon, and the only living descendent related even indirectly to the fabled Pendragon bloodline, had rode through here and in the shadow of the Pillars of the Sky done battle with the Grey Hordes of the Wizard, a southern warlord and the only living descendent of Mordred Pendragon the Slayer of Arthur, the land had been wounded beyond repair. Towns and freeholds were burned. It was said that King Nerwyn had razed half the castles in the land, and the Wizard had razed the other half. Now only one other building, and that ruined, remained that Nystyra could see. It was and old tower a mile away, rearing its shattered crenellations to the sky like a broken middle finger, in defiance to fire, sword, and wind.
"Empty monuments in an empty land," Nystyra whispered. What kind of a leader could callously do this to his own land, his own people? Though he was still sung of by the bards as a hero, Nystyra in that instant knew better than that. No hero-king would have turned his realm into a battleground and let his people be trampled under his own armies. "I will lead better than he," Nystyra vowed to herself, and she meant it with all her heart.
"Scacth," Diesa said to her companion, and they both laughed. "Scacth" meant "moonstruck, crazy, or stunned" in Swifthammer Dwarven.
Nystyra didn't understand what they meant, however, but she was jolted out of her musings by the rumbling of...mine carts? At the foot of Greytop Knoll, a shower of dirt-clods and small rocks flew into the air, and then a great hole appeared in the ground. Then, Dwarves began climbing out of the hole. There was half a hundred of them, dressed in plain miner's clothes and carrying chisels, axes, picks, hammers, plumb lines, quadrants, surveyor's tools, forge tools, woodworking tools, seemingly every kind of tool know to man, and some that weren't. After the Dwarves finished climbing out of the hole came mine carts after mine carts after mine carts. Pulled by straining, sweating dwarves while other dwarves laid out rails in front of them and other dwarves collected the rails they had already rolled over, which were them laid out in front of them again, the carts were loaded with all manner of supplies. Some had blocks of cut stone. Others seemed to carry tents made of the skin of mountain-goats. Others were piled high with coal, and yet others with iron ore to be smelted. One appeared to be a wheeled forge (probably a rolling repair kit for mining tools), and another, a wheeled kitchen. Still more were piled high with kegs and kegs marked: 'Haelu,' seemingly a Dwarven word for "liquor."
"Who are these?" Nystyra asked, bewildered at this sudden rush of activity.
"Min eaxlgestall," Fjal replied proudly.
" 'My comrades in labor; my workforce,' he says," Diesa translated. "You wanted a castle, did you not? My clan brothers can build you one. For the right price, of course (but my interest is in spiritual matters; I know little of such things)."
****************************************************
Sure it's a little short, but just think of it as an overly long BUMP.
Thanks for the reply, Taboo. I'm glad you like the way I handle Eliad. The game occassionally gets a little grim, and Eliad is the humor that brightens everything up. Speaking of which, his Character History has been posted to the "Elfblood Wanderers Dramatis Personae" thread in the Rogue's Gallery forum, if you're interested.
Bob Aberton
First Post
Y'know, I don't mean to be rude or anything, dear readers, bu this storyhour is in sad need of a well-meaning bump or two...
A comment or criticism would be even more appreciated...
Update soming soon.
Where, O where have the readers gone/where, O where could they be...?
A comment or criticism would be even more appreciated...
Update soming soon.
Where, O where have the readers gone/where, O where could they be...?
Taboo
First Post
I KNOW I'm not your only faithful reader, but I just had to reply to this one!
I love the way you brought the dwarves in! It's very creative, and I just had to tell you so! I've had my share of interesting times with dwarves, but it's in my alternate game, not Slaves to Heroes. I can't wait to see how this goes.
If you get a chance, visit my webpage, there's a gallery there of figures from my story hour and let me know what you think (Be kind, I'm still setting the webpage up)! (Link's in my sig.)
Great job! I can't wait for the next post.
I love the way you brought the dwarves in! It's very creative, and I just had to tell you so! I've had my share of interesting times with dwarves, but it's in my alternate game, not Slaves to Heroes. I can't wait to see how this goes.
If you get a chance, visit my webpage, there's a gallery there of figures from my story hour and let me know what you think (Be kind, I'm still setting the webpage up)! (Link's in my sig.)
Great job! I can't wait for the next post.
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