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Story Hour
The Goodman Gang in The Mysterious Tower
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<blockquote data-quote="Goonalan" data-source="post: 3715335" data-attributes="member: 16069"><p>The Goodman Gang, that’s what we’re calling them, for now anyway.</p><p></p><p>Turn 11: After the Party.</p><p></p><p>The village of Lowth is a happier place, for many reasons. The citizens go about their business a little more safe and secure, after all the Ogre’s dead, and so is Newt.</p><p></p><p>It’s been four weeks since the brave adventurers returned- Lord Cas, Jim, Bec & Anya.</p><p></p><p>And for the six, yes I did say six adventurers; life has changed or is, as we speak, in the process of changing forever.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: Orange"><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 15px">Jim & Mischa.</span></p><p></span></p><p>Four weeks ago Jim went home, a hero in the pub and town, but still a ‘nobody’ back on his family’s farm. He went back to… heartbreak. The thing he remembered the most about his adventure in the Ogre’s cave was the moment on the return journey when Mischa turned to him and said-</p><p></p><p>“I’ve got to go, I can’t do this.”</p><p>“What… What’d you mean?” Jim looks suddenly lost in the dark forest.</p><p>“I can’t be like this.” Mischa shrugs, looks about her, feels the cool air of the morning on her face.</p><p>“This is my place- in the forest, not in some dark hole.”</p><p>Jim gawps. “But…”</p><p>“But nothing Jim, I’m sorry but I can’t be like you, I can’t take part in the slaughter, and some of the others… they mean well, mostly, but their motivations- greed, justice- ha, vanity, even you… you want to prove something. I’m not like that.”</p><p>A tear falls onto Jim’s armour.</p><p>“Oh, come on- it’s not that bad. We’ll see each other around. You’ll still be at the farm, I’ll visit, I promise.”</p><p>Jim sniffs, wipes his nose on his sleeve.</p><p>Mischa hugs him, holds him, and then pecks him on the cheek.</p><p>“Be careful.”</p><p>And then she’s gone.</p><p></p><p>Jim shakes his head; he’s back home, in his bed, something woke him. And being awake it starts again- the sadness fills him, four weeks, no Mischa- she lied to him, she had no intention of visiting, all she wanted was to get away, to get away from him. </p><p></p><p>Thunk</p><p></p><p>The sound again, a familiar sound, he goes to lie down… then stops.</p><p></p><p>Thunk</p><p></p><p>A stifled sob.</p><p></p><p>Jim gets up. Rone his brother wakes, there are four of them in the bed, Jim squats down places a finger over his brother’s lips- whispers, “shush”, then stands and grabs his father’s old Battleaxe, it’s been sat in the corner of his room for four weeks now, gathering dust.</p><p></p><p>He creeps out of his room, and along the landing.</p><p></p><p>Thunk</p><p></p><p>A sob again.</p><p></p><p>He stops at a door.</p><p></p><p>Takes a huge breath and pushes it open with his toe.</p><p></p><p>He’s seen it before, but each time it scares him, his father astride his mother- drunk again, punches and slaps, between hissed threats.</p><p></p><p>“What’d’you wan?”</p><p></p><p>His father half turns.</p><p></p><p>Jim steps closer.</p><p></p><p>“G’back t’bed.”</p><p></p><p>Closer.</p><p></p><p>“I sed…”</p><p></p><p>SHHHHHHHHK</p><p></p><p>The blade of the axe makes hardly a sound, he heaves his father over, and onto the floor, there’s a lot of blood already. </p><p></p><p>His mother gasps air, hiccup snivels as if trying to say something, to scream, to shout, to breathe.</p><p></p><p>THHHHHHHHK</p><p></p><p>He draws the axe back out, grips it tight to him, tears fall.</p><p></p><p>Bends down over his mother, smoothes her hair, and then kisses her forehead.</p><p></p><p>“I’ve got to go now.”</p><p></p><p>She half-smiles half-cries- reaches out for his hand.</p><p></p><p>But he’s gone.</p><p></p><p>Outside in the cold morning, just like that morning four weeks ago, Jim walks his father’s horse a little way from the farmhouse, then leaps on board, spurs the creature and is away- forever.</p><p></p><p>A hooded figure, unseen at the edge of the woods, halts their journey, turns to stare as Jim races by, the figure slumps hard against a tree; a hand comes up and pulls down the hood of the cloak, the figure waits- hardly breathing. </p><p></p><p>Then turns; Mischa walks back into the woods, and her old life.</p><p></p><p></p><p><span style="color: Orange"><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 15px">Lord Casimir.</span></p><p></span></p><p>Lincorn Cathedral, the largest temple to Pelor in all of Lincornshire, evensong, the voices of angels. Cas continues with his letter.</p><p></p><p>The food is first rate, we had veal last night in a plum sauce, a really thought Paladin-hood would mean hardship and having to make-do, but here I am living the high life, I’m afraid I may have even put on a little weight- filled out. That said they work us hard, and not just at the books, although it’s best to know the Book of Common Prayer backwards, Pelor knows what question Father Darus is going to dream of asking us next. The countryside is beautiful around here, as is the city, there are plenty of places to go on our nights off, and the locals are very welcoming. I feel as though I am at last growing up, becoming a man, the choices that have lead me here seem to be so far in the past. I’m so glad I made them, that you helped me to make them. I miss you and father, so much, as I’ve said the place is wonderful, and the people, but it’s not like home. </p><p></p><p>All of my studies are going well, you’ll be pleased to hear I got a first in fencing, and after only three weeks of training- my Sword Master, Dr. Valerius, says I am a natural, I guess by natural he’s referring to the four hours extra training I’ve been putting in with the blade most days. My favourite class though is “Leadership”, it’s taught by a bluff old ex-Major by the name of Gurnik, he shouts and fumes quite a lot but all that he says… well, it’s amazing what you can learn. I bless Pelor for everyday I spend here, for every hour of instruction I receive. </p><p></p><p>Anyway, it’s getting late and I want to make sure this gets to matron so that it’s on the coach of the morrow, I’ll just read through it again, check for any silly errors, and then put it in the post. I miss you all terribly, tell father I shall see him the next time he comes into the city, and mother, kiss little James for me, and shake Frank by the hand, he doesn’t know what he’s missing.</p><p></p><p>Your Loving Son,</p><p></p><p>Casimir La Frond.</p><p></p><p>Cas reads the letter through again, stands and walks over to the window, something outside catches his eye, it’s dark and yet…</p><p></p><p>A little while later, in the same spot, two robbed figures stand shoulders bowed, whispering.</p><p></p><p>“And all you found was the letter?”</p><p>“Yes Father, the window was wide open- Lord Casimir, it seems, has gone.”</p><p></p><p>“And you say you spoke to him earlier, he was at the window then?”</p><p>“Yes Father.”</p><p>“Well… What did he say?”</p><p>“I asked him if everything was alright, he was staring out of the window, smiling.”</p><p>“And what did he say?”</p><p>“He said, ‘Perfect’, and then grinned.”</p><p>“He did what?”</p><p>“Grinned Father.”</p><p>“Grinned?”</p><p>“Yes Father, like this.” The Acolyte beams in the half-dark, Father Darus scowls, mutters, and shuffles off- now what to tell the parents.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: Orange"><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 15px">Anya.</span></p><p></span></p><p>Anya sits in the bar of the Merry Riot, Lowth- her head fizzing with ideas, formulas, theories- she hasn’t done her hair for three days now, well she’s combed it a couple of times, and used a minor prestidigitation spell to heat up a pair of metal tongs to get the fringe to hang right, but she hasn’t done her hair properly- the full works.</p><p></p><p>She sips some more of the Goat’s Milk, it’s good for the complexion, and works through a magical formula in her head, this one will enable her to find hidden doors, concealed places, already she can see a way, a better way, to shape the incantation- she giggles. She hasn’t felt this good since her father had sent her the money for a ‘Yes St. Laurence’ Sable and Hippogriff cape with Ermine sheen. She shakes her head, clothes will have to wait, she’s a wizard now.</p><p></p><p>“Why dun ya turn me inta frog den missy?”</p><p></p><p>He looks like a pig-farmer, he smells like a pig-farmer, oh Wee Jas, here we go again.</p><p></p><p>“I’m sorry?”</p><p>“There’uns no need to be sorree, young missy.”</p><p></p><p>The pig-farmer approaches, slurring his words, and his legs.</p><p></p><p>“Tha’s say yous a witch. Tha’ ain’t ryte is it? Bootiful gurl like yous.”</p><p>“Look if you don’t mind, and I can see that you’re awfully busy, I have to get some things sorted out, I’m working- thinking, if you’d just be so kind as to leave me alone…”</p><p></p><p>This was her new tack, be nice to them, try to gently tell them to go away.</p><p></p><p>“Oh, wud I mine awfully, and yer busy, and yer thinkin’ begging yer please.”</p><p>“And so if you wouldn’t mind… please…”</p><p></p><p>The drunk pig-farmer looks at her a while longer, makes up his mind, turns and wanders off, mid-stride changes his mind again and starts back.</p><p></p><p>“Yer weren’t always so hoity-toitty, I member yew when yous wer dis ‘igh, an’ yer mother, an she nivver wur sew well mannared. As I recal she didna use sutch big wurds, on accownt of ‘er ‘avin sum fellers co…”</p><p></p><p>WHUMP</p><p></p><p>The pig-farmer flies a good ten feet before thumping into the back wall of the bar, slides down and ends up in a heap on the floor.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: Orange"><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 15px">And Bec.</span></p><p></span></p><p>Bec leans his mop against the bar, wanders over to where the pig-farmer lays. Anya grabs his arm.</p><p></p><p>He likes her touch, he thinks, and follow this closely; softtouchwarmspreadingfarmerstupidfarmerpigsmellyoinkoinkSMASHhahafarmerpigsmellyoinkoinkstilltouchwarmspreadingAnyalovelythensometimegoneawaytheninOgreCavethengonesometimegoneawayAnyabacksandwich.</p><p></p><p>“Sandwich?”</p><p></p><p>Bec looks up, Anya’s half-way to the door, he goes to pick his broom back up, but Anya’s pointing now, past him, Bec turns around, the barman’s holding something out for him to take, he stares at the package till he hears Anya’s voice.</p><p></p><p>“Bec, come on, get my bags, we’re going… and don’t forget your sandwich.” The barman motions again with his package, as Anya steps out of the Inn.</p><p></p><p>Bec grins, grabs the sandwich and Anya’s bags and follows.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: Orange"><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 15px">Ala.</span></p><p></span></p><p>She’d been waiting quite a while, she didn’t like Lincorn, too busy- too many people not enough trees for her liking. She decides to wait a little while longer, it’s getting dark, she knows he’s up there, and then… he is.</p><p></p><p>She watches him at the window, he must be talking to someone, he turns away for a second, her heart skips a beat, and then he’s back and looking right at her.</p><p></p><p>She says nothing, he says nothing- time passes, it gets darker.</p><p></p><p>And then he climbs out.</p><p></p><p>Thirty minutes later they’re out of town, nestled in the back of an empty hay cart winding its way down a lonely road, the farmer sings a song about the stars and the moonlight- they still haven’t touched, they still haven’t spoke, they’re both just smiling.</p><p></p><p>She hopes it will last forever.</p><p></p><p>So does Cas.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: Orange"><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 15px">Newt.</span></p><p></span></p><p>“You’re dead.”</p><p>Newt nods.</p><p>“I’ve taken the posters down like you said.”</p><p>Newt passes over a small pouch of gold.</p><p>The speaker ups and leaves.</p><p></p><p>The inhabitants of the Smuggler’s Inn, in the port town of Grimbo, continue to shout, cry, drunk, sick, fight, snarl and spit- all is well with the world, except for an itch that for four weeks now Newt has failed to scratch.</p><p></p><p>He’d left them in the woods, on the way back from the Ogre’s Cave, he didn’t want to go back to Lowth, he knew what was waiting for him, it was easy enough to just slip away- nobody missed him.</p><p></p><p>Time stood still.</p><p></p><p>“Nobody missed him.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p></p><p>He hadn’t realised he’d spoken aloud.</p><p></p><p>“I said…”</p><p></p><p>Newt takes a good look at the stranger swaying slightly before him, a dockworker, all corded muscle and pent up frustration.</p><p></p><p>Newt stands up.</p><p></p><p>“I said feck you yer fairy…”</p><p></p><p>FUMP.</p><p></p><p>The beating takes quite a while, passers-by, concerned with the miss-match, try repeatedly to drag the dockworker off of him, and yet each time Newt manages to find something insulting enough set him going again, even though it becomes increasingly difficult to talk through the wreck of his mouth.</p><p></p><p>When it’s over, when he can talk no more, he lays there in his own blood till they throw him out into the street, and there in the gutter he realises that he feels no better, and that death isn’t the answer; and that although nobody misses him… he misses them.</p><p></p><p>He leaves Grimbo the next day, a little less itchy than before.</p><p></p><p>Next Turn: Catch Up.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Goonalan, post: 3715335, member: 16069"] The Goodman Gang, that’s what we’re calling them, for now anyway. Turn 11: After the Party. The village of Lowth is a happier place, for many reasons. The citizens go about their business a little more safe and secure, after all the Ogre’s dead, and so is Newt. It’s been four weeks since the brave adventurers returned- Lord Cas, Jim, Bec & Anya. And for the six, yes I did say six adventurers; life has changed or is, as we speak, in the process of changing forever. [COLOR=Orange][CENTER][SIZE=4]Jim & Mischa.[/SIZE][/CENTER][/COLOR] Four weeks ago Jim went home, a hero in the pub and town, but still a ‘nobody’ back on his family’s farm. He went back to… heartbreak. The thing he remembered the most about his adventure in the Ogre’s cave was the moment on the return journey when Mischa turned to him and said- “I’ve got to go, I can’t do this.” “What… What’d you mean?” Jim looks suddenly lost in the dark forest. “I can’t be like this.” Mischa shrugs, looks about her, feels the cool air of the morning on her face. “This is my place- in the forest, not in some dark hole.” Jim gawps. “But…” “But nothing Jim, I’m sorry but I can’t be like you, I can’t take part in the slaughter, and some of the others… they mean well, mostly, but their motivations- greed, justice- ha, vanity, even you… you want to prove something. I’m not like that.” A tear falls onto Jim’s armour. “Oh, come on- it’s not that bad. We’ll see each other around. You’ll still be at the farm, I’ll visit, I promise.” Jim sniffs, wipes his nose on his sleeve. Mischa hugs him, holds him, and then pecks him on the cheek. “Be careful.” And then she’s gone. Jim shakes his head; he’s back home, in his bed, something woke him. And being awake it starts again- the sadness fills him, four weeks, no Mischa- she lied to him, she had no intention of visiting, all she wanted was to get away, to get away from him. Thunk The sound again, a familiar sound, he goes to lie down… then stops. Thunk A stifled sob. Jim gets up. Rone his brother wakes, there are four of them in the bed, Jim squats down places a finger over his brother’s lips- whispers, “shush”, then stands and grabs his father’s old Battleaxe, it’s been sat in the corner of his room for four weeks now, gathering dust. He creeps out of his room, and along the landing. Thunk A sob again. He stops at a door. Takes a huge breath and pushes it open with his toe. He’s seen it before, but each time it scares him, his father astride his mother- drunk again, punches and slaps, between hissed threats. “What’d’you wan?” His father half turns. Jim steps closer. “G’back t’bed.” Closer. “I sed…” SHHHHHHHHK The blade of the axe makes hardly a sound, he heaves his father over, and onto the floor, there’s a lot of blood already. His mother gasps air, hiccup snivels as if trying to say something, to scream, to shout, to breathe. THHHHHHHHK He draws the axe back out, grips it tight to him, tears fall. Bends down over his mother, smoothes her hair, and then kisses her forehead. “I’ve got to go now.” She half-smiles half-cries- reaches out for his hand. But he’s gone. Outside in the cold morning, just like that morning four weeks ago, Jim walks his father’s horse a little way from the farmhouse, then leaps on board, spurs the creature and is away- forever. A hooded figure, unseen at the edge of the woods, halts their journey, turns to stare as Jim races by, the figure slumps hard against a tree; a hand comes up and pulls down the hood of the cloak, the figure waits- hardly breathing. Then turns; Mischa walks back into the woods, and her old life. [COLOR=Orange][CENTER][SIZE=4]Lord Casimir.[/SIZE][/CENTER][/COLOR] Lincorn Cathedral, the largest temple to Pelor in all of Lincornshire, evensong, the voices of angels. Cas continues with his letter. The food is first rate, we had veal last night in a plum sauce, a really thought Paladin-hood would mean hardship and having to make-do, but here I am living the high life, I’m afraid I may have even put on a little weight- filled out. That said they work us hard, and not just at the books, although it’s best to know the Book of Common Prayer backwards, Pelor knows what question Father Darus is going to dream of asking us next. The countryside is beautiful around here, as is the city, there are plenty of places to go on our nights off, and the locals are very welcoming. I feel as though I am at last growing up, becoming a man, the choices that have lead me here seem to be so far in the past. I’m so glad I made them, that you helped me to make them. I miss you and father, so much, as I’ve said the place is wonderful, and the people, but it’s not like home. All of my studies are going well, you’ll be pleased to hear I got a first in fencing, and after only three weeks of training- my Sword Master, Dr. Valerius, says I am a natural, I guess by natural he’s referring to the four hours extra training I’ve been putting in with the blade most days. My favourite class though is “Leadership”, it’s taught by a bluff old ex-Major by the name of Gurnik, he shouts and fumes quite a lot but all that he says… well, it’s amazing what you can learn. I bless Pelor for everyday I spend here, for every hour of instruction I receive. Anyway, it’s getting late and I want to make sure this gets to matron so that it’s on the coach of the morrow, I’ll just read through it again, check for any silly errors, and then put it in the post. I miss you all terribly, tell father I shall see him the next time he comes into the city, and mother, kiss little James for me, and shake Frank by the hand, he doesn’t know what he’s missing. Your Loving Son, Casimir La Frond. Cas reads the letter through again, stands and walks over to the window, something outside catches his eye, it’s dark and yet… A little while later, in the same spot, two robbed figures stand shoulders bowed, whispering. “And all you found was the letter?” “Yes Father, the window was wide open- Lord Casimir, it seems, has gone.” “And you say you spoke to him earlier, he was at the window then?” “Yes Father.” “Well… What did he say?” “I asked him if everything was alright, he was staring out of the window, smiling.” “And what did he say?” “He said, ‘Perfect’, and then grinned.” “He did what?” “Grinned Father.” “Grinned?” “Yes Father, like this.” The Acolyte beams in the half-dark, Father Darus scowls, mutters, and shuffles off- now what to tell the parents. [COLOR=Orange][CENTER][SIZE=4]Anya.[/SIZE][/CENTER][/COLOR] Anya sits in the bar of the Merry Riot, Lowth- her head fizzing with ideas, formulas, theories- she hasn’t done her hair for three days now, well she’s combed it a couple of times, and used a minor prestidigitation spell to heat up a pair of metal tongs to get the fringe to hang right, but she hasn’t done her hair properly- the full works. She sips some more of the Goat’s Milk, it’s good for the complexion, and works through a magical formula in her head, this one will enable her to find hidden doors, concealed places, already she can see a way, a better way, to shape the incantation- she giggles. She hasn’t felt this good since her father had sent her the money for a ‘Yes St. Laurence’ Sable and Hippogriff cape with Ermine sheen. She shakes her head, clothes will have to wait, she’s a wizard now. “Why dun ya turn me inta frog den missy?” He looks like a pig-farmer, he smells like a pig-farmer, oh Wee Jas, here we go again. “I’m sorry?” “There’uns no need to be sorree, young missy.” The pig-farmer approaches, slurring his words, and his legs. “Tha’s say yous a witch. Tha’ ain’t ryte is it? Bootiful gurl like yous.” “Look if you don’t mind, and I can see that you’re awfully busy, I have to get some things sorted out, I’m working- thinking, if you’d just be so kind as to leave me alone…” This was her new tack, be nice to them, try to gently tell them to go away. “Oh, wud I mine awfully, and yer busy, and yer thinkin’ begging yer please.” “And so if you wouldn’t mind… please…” The drunk pig-farmer looks at her a while longer, makes up his mind, turns and wanders off, mid-stride changes his mind again and starts back. “Yer weren’t always so hoity-toitty, I member yew when yous wer dis ‘igh, an’ yer mother, an she nivver wur sew well mannared. As I recal she didna use sutch big wurds, on accownt of ‘er ‘avin sum fellers co…” WHUMP The pig-farmer flies a good ten feet before thumping into the back wall of the bar, slides down and ends up in a heap on the floor. [COLOR=Orange][CENTER][SIZE=4]And Bec.[/SIZE][/CENTER][/COLOR] Bec leans his mop against the bar, wanders over to where the pig-farmer lays. Anya grabs his arm. He likes her touch, he thinks, and follow this closely; softtouchwarmspreadingfarmerstupidfarmerpigsmellyoinkoinkSMASHhahafarmerpigsmellyoinkoinkstilltouchwarmspreadingAnyalovelythensometimegoneawaytheninOgreCavethengonesometimegoneawayAnyabacksandwich. “Sandwich?” Bec looks up, Anya’s half-way to the door, he goes to pick his broom back up, but Anya’s pointing now, past him, Bec turns around, the barman’s holding something out for him to take, he stares at the package till he hears Anya’s voice. “Bec, come on, get my bags, we’re going… and don’t forget your sandwich.” The barman motions again with his package, as Anya steps out of the Inn. Bec grins, grabs the sandwich and Anya’s bags and follows. [COLOR=Orange][CENTER][SIZE=4]Ala.[/SIZE][/CENTER][/COLOR] She’d been waiting quite a while, she didn’t like Lincorn, too busy- too many people not enough trees for her liking. She decides to wait a little while longer, it’s getting dark, she knows he’s up there, and then… he is. She watches him at the window, he must be talking to someone, he turns away for a second, her heart skips a beat, and then he’s back and looking right at her. She says nothing, he says nothing- time passes, it gets darker. And then he climbs out. Thirty minutes later they’re out of town, nestled in the back of an empty hay cart winding its way down a lonely road, the farmer sings a song about the stars and the moonlight- they still haven’t touched, they still haven’t spoke, they’re both just smiling. She hopes it will last forever. So does Cas. [COLOR=Orange][CENTER][SIZE=4]Newt.[/SIZE][/CENTER][/COLOR] “You’re dead.” Newt nods. “I’ve taken the posters down like you said.” Newt passes over a small pouch of gold. The speaker ups and leaves. The inhabitants of the Smuggler’s Inn, in the port town of Grimbo, continue to shout, cry, drunk, sick, fight, snarl and spit- all is well with the world, except for an itch that for four weeks now Newt has failed to scratch. He’d left them in the woods, on the way back from the Ogre’s Cave, he didn’t want to go back to Lowth, he knew what was waiting for him, it was easy enough to just slip away- nobody missed him. Time stood still. “Nobody missed him.” “What?” He hadn’t realised he’d spoken aloud. “I said…” Newt takes a good look at the stranger swaying slightly before him, a dockworker, all corded muscle and pent up frustration. Newt stands up. “I said feck you yer fairy…” FUMP. The beating takes quite a while, passers-by, concerned with the miss-match, try repeatedly to drag the dockworker off of him, and yet each time Newt manages to find something insulting enough set him going again, even though it becomes increasingly difficult to talk through the wreck of his mouth. When it’s over, when he can talk no more, he lays there in his own blood till they throw him out into the street, and there in the gutter he realises that he feels no better, and that death isn’t the answer; and that although nobody misses him… he misses them. He leaves Grimbo the next day, a little less itchy than before. Next Turn: Catch Up. [/QUOTE]
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