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Story Hour
The Thorns of Winter -(updated 8/1/2023)
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<blockquote data-quote="Nthal" data-source="post: 8359888" data-attributes="member: 6971069"><p><h2 style="text-align: center">Open House - 7/31/2021</h2><p></p><p></p><p>“I don’t like this,” Adrissa said looking over her shoulder and watching the trio of figures head down a causeway.</p><p></p><p>“We get the gate open, its over. Simple as that,” Doxx said with confidence.</p><p></p><p>“Do you think it will?” Sage asked. “I might be rusty on rules of engagement and tactics, but if it isn’t a large column, I do not see how they would rout that army.”</p><p></p><p>Doxx simply glared at the juggernaut, and they all continued down the road. It was strewn with smoking pots and other debris. Storefronts were dark with broken glass panes, and smoke wafted from the insides. As they pressed on, the horn called out again.</p><p></p><p>“Lots of damage, but…” Bookshelf trailed off quietly.</p><p></p><p>“What?” Rosa looked around in confusion.</p><p></p><p>“Bodies,” Mobad said sniffing the air.</p><p></p><p>“There aren’t any,” Rosa said still confused.</p><p></p><p>“That’s the problem,” Bookshelf said. “We saw a fair number before the bridge. Now none. Something isn’t right.”</p><p></p><p>“That’s an understatement,” Doxx grumbled.</p><p></p><p>“Get out of the middle!” The Blade said as he dashed and pressed himself against the front of the building. His eyes were trained down the throughfare towards the main gate. The others followed the elf’s lead, and he moved along the storefront. He stopped a moment and turned to face the others, raising a finger to his lips, and then pointing down the road.</p><p></p><p>The gate leading to the southern road was like the one on the north, if wider. The gate itself was flanked by a pair of towers, with a grey stone arch connecting the two, and with a parapet for cover. Wagons were tipped over and arranged partially blocking the gate. There were a handful of spears and weapons lodged into the wood. The smokey haze was thick here, and the call of the horn overtook any other noise.</p><p></p><p>“What are we—” Sage started, when the juggernaut’s mouth clamped shut.</p><p></p><p>Rosa squinted to look at the gate, as a breeze brushed her nose. And there with the acrid scent of tar and wood, was the faintest touch of musk. “Oh no,” Rosa said in a pained voice.</p><p></p><p>Through haze, there were several human sized figures. They shambled almost aimlessly around the roadway. They didn’t look concerned, or defensive or even interested in their surroundings. As they watched, they heard the sounds of bodies scuffling, and moving. Soon more figures shuffled into view, none more interested in the world around them.</p><p></p><p>“Like the ranch hands,” Adrissa said quietly.</p><p></p><p>“There must be a plant nearby,” Sage said.</p><p></p><p>“It must be behind the wagons or the gatehouse,” Doxx said.</p><p></p><p>Bookshelf peered at the small throng, “Those were the guards; they still have armor on them.” As the warforged whispered, more figures emerged from the makeshift palisade.</p><p></p><p>“Those are townsfolk. If it is creating them now—”</p><p></p><p>“We better move now,” Mobad said pulling his axe close.</p><p></p><p>“I’m going to the roof,” The Blade said. “Cover me!” and he started to scale up the side of the building.”</p><p></p><p>“Aren’t you supposed to cover us?” Doxx said as the elf disappeared on top of the building.</p><p></p><p>"I trust his archery and bravado. His understanding of military jargon, not so much.” Sage said. “Rush!” And the juggernaut started to charge towards the gate. Just behind him, Mobad ran, and quickly overtook the heavily armored warforged, as did the old woman with staff in hand. The warforged armblade flared to life as Mobad hew into on of the yellowish musky figures, his second strike nearly splitting it into two. Doxx whirled their staff around and the sounds of bone splintering echoed near the gate, as they quickly beat down a second. Finally, Sage’s blade connected with Doxx’s target felling them, and the flames spread to another zombie like figure.</p><p></p><p>The noise of steel and wood on bone and flesh, caused the others to turn to look at the trio with a hunger in their eyes. They stumbled forward moving towards the group, arms outstretched, their faces twisted with rictus grimaces. As they staggered forward, a bead of light streaked across and detonated into a conflagration. The wagons and zombies alike were set aflame, with some falling to the ground. But several staggered back to their feet and joined more that lumbered out from behind the wagons. As the burned figures moved forward, the twangs of bows and the impact of arrows into dead flesh and bone, knocking two of them over. A half dozen had now emerged and too began to charge, when beam of light illuminated some of them, searing them with light. Wisps of smoke drifted off them, as they continued forward.</p><p></p><p>The ones that survived found themselves fighting against a trio they could not touch. The juggernauts plate armor held easily against their flimsy blows. Doxx simply avoided them, easily swatting away clumsy punches. And as for Mobad, he simply roared, and ignored the red gashes in his grey skin. And each with axe, staff and armblade, cut them down as the zombies fell over themselves trying to pummel and claw down. Meanwhile more arrows landed as did a beam of light striking from the distance, and the column of moonlight burning away more dead flesh, as more arrows struck home.</p><p></p><p>As more fell, the fire from the blast, had set the wagons on fire, and they were quickly consumed by the flames. One collapsed, as fibrous tendril extended and pulled down the sides of the ruined wagon. The creeper stretched upwards, and a pair of pale-yellow flowers bloomed in the night air. From Rosa’s beam of moonlight, puffs of pollen spread wide and then lazily drifted through the air.</p><p></p><p>From his perch, it appeared that the party seemed to have beaten most of the zombies to the ground, but from his vantage point atop the battered building, The Blade could see Mobade, Sage and Doxx rushing in to battle the final threat. Remembering the basement of the farmhouse, he scanned the creature for a similar weak point and found it: a plexus of sorts in whatever this thing might have called a nervous system. A difficult shot, but not impossible. He took aim and let the arrow fly. It felt like hours before it finally hit the creature… several inches away from the plexus. The creature shuddered only briefly but it did not die.</p><p></p><p>"Damn it!"</p><p></p><p>Standing at the top of the barricade, Sage continued to be buffeted by the heavy thorny tendrils as The Blade frantically grasped at the quiver on his hip. "Ugh, too slow!" he hissed to himself as he finally pulled an arrow free and drew for another shot. Suddenly aware of his tension, he caught his breath and whisperd to himself.</p><p></p><p>"Inhale… aim… exhale… fire."</p><p></p><p>The new arrow is released and whistled through the air until it plunged into the target. The creature stopped, and the tendrils flop to the ground around it, shriveling slightly.</p><p></p><p>Mobad, Doxx and Sage are still standing. The party has survived. But the screams continue to ring from all directions in the hazy, musk laden, toxic air. Punctuated by the sounds crumbling stone and splashing water, the screams seem to grow louder in his head until they drown out all else.</p><p></p><p><em>I can't do this. This isn't a bunch of thugs snatching coin purses or beating up a shopkeeper. There's no one to tie up and leave for the guards. The guards are blind or dead. These are monsters… real ones. People are dying. They need something better than me. Something stronger. What the hell am I doing here?</em></p><p></p><p>[HR][/HR]</p><p></p><p></p><p>In a wide garden behind the large manor and surrounded by tall stone walls, a ten-year-old elven boy stands holding a bow that seems just slightly too large for his frame. A few dozen yards in front of him stands a lone tree. Hanging loosely from the thickest branch by a bit of sturdy rope, is a large wooden disc painted with a few wobbly concentric circles.</p><p></p><p>Pulling back on the string, the boy falters in the middle of the draw and loses his grip. The arrow flies past the tree, striking the wall. He winces at the loud clatter and quickly glances around. Seeing no apparent witnesses, he picks up another arrow and begins to draw again but stops at the sound of voices escaping through an open window.</p><p></p><p>"Really? A weapon?" a man's voice asks.</p><p></p><p>A woman replies "I'd hardly call it a weapon, dear. It's a bow."</p><p></p><p>"It's just not an appropriate gift. Not at that age."</p><p></p><p>"I couldn't agree more. He should have had one years ago."</p><p></p><p>"We're not warriors anymore. Life here is about business, not battle."</p><p></p><p>"Well then, how fortunate that I bought it at your store. Perhaps you'll get a tax deduction."</p><p></p><p>After an exasperated pause, the man's voice finally speaks. "You know, you're not as funny as you think you are."</p><p></p><p>With a somehow audible smirk, the woman retorts "Yes I am."</p><p></p><p>A moment passes after the voices have trailed off into the distance. Stepping out the door into the garden, the elven woman pauses abruptly for a second when she finds the boy's eyes already expecting her. Continuing forward, she says "It's not polite to eavesdrop."</p><p></p><p>Oblivious to the hint that he should mind his business, the boy blurts his observation. "He doesn't think fighting is important."</p><p></p><p>She answers with a wistful sigh. "One of the few things upon which we will always disagree, I'm afraid."</p><p></p><p>"You always say a united front makes us strong."</p><p></p><p>The slight raise of her eyebrow betrays her mild surprise that he had paid enough attention to remember that. "True," she concedes thoughtfully. "But diversity of perspective makes us wise."</p><p></p><p>The boy rolls his eyes. "What good is that?"</p><p></p><p>"Well one is rather useless without the other. Strength is very valuable, right up until the day you face something stronger. And then what do you do?"</p><p></p><p>Silently, he replies with a curious shrug.</p><p></p><p>"You adapt. That's where the wisdom comes in."</p><p></p><p>Intrigued, he presses. "How?"</p><p></p><p>"It's simple," she says. "You identify your weakness. Then you change it. As many times as it takes." Seeing his mental gears turning, and his mouth preparing to open for another question, she quickly intervenes. "That's enough philosophy for today. Why don't you show me what you can do?" With a wink, she adds "I'd hate to think I've wasted my money."</p><p></p><p>Resuming his stance, the boy begins again to draw the bow, faltering only slightly this time. As he takes a moment to focus on his target, he hears a slow whisper from above his shoulder.</p><p></p><p>"Inhale… aim… exhale…fire."</p><p></p><p>On the last word, his fingers release the string without hesitation. His eyes remain locked on the arrow for several seconds after it embeds itself in the bullseye, and a smile slowly crosses his face.</p><p></p><p>[HR][/HR]</p><p></p><p></p><p>From the rooftop, The Blade scanneds the battlefield below. Bookshelf destroyed the last of the zombie creatures, and it appears that all of the party is safe and accounted for.</p><p></p><p>He turned his gaze to the quiver on his hip, and mumbled to himself "Too slow…"</p><p></p><p>The quiver's condition is as pristine as the day he first laid eyes on it. He runs his fingers along the well-stitched vertical seam. With both hands, he grips the mouth of the quiver and pulls hard several times, until a rip in the seam becomes several inches long. Folding the leather flat around the wider opening, he nodded. "Better."</p><p></p><p>Outside the city, the muffled voice called again. "Open the gate!"</p><p></p><p>From the rooftop, The Blade yells down into the streets below "Let's move!". He rushed to rejoin the party.</p><p></p><p><em>People are dying. They need me. They need us.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em><strong>Session Notes:</strong></em></p><p>Never split the party. Yeah right.</p><p></p><p>Thanks again to Ryan for his piece on the Blade's back story. And we'll see what happened at the church later this week.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Nthal, post: 8359888, member: 6971069"] [HEADING=1][CENTER]Open House - 7/31/2021[/CENTER][/HEADING] [I] [/I] “I don’t like this,” Adrissa said looking over her shoulder and watching the trio of figures head down a causeway. “We get the gate open, its over. Simple as that,” Doxx said with confidence. “Do you think it will?” Sage asked. “I might be rusty on rules of engagement and tactics, but if it isn’t a large column, I do not see how they would rout that army.” Doxx simply glared at the juggernaut, and they all continued down the road. It was strewn with smoking pots and other debris. Storefronts were dark with broken glass panes, and smoke wafted from the insides. As they pressed on, the horn called out again. “Lots of damage, but…” Bookshelf trailed off quietly. “What?” Rosa looked around in confusion. “Bodies,” Mobad said sniffing the air. “There aren’t any,” Rosa said still confused. “That’s the problem,” Bookshelf said. “We saw a fair number before the bridge. Now none. Something isn’t right.” “That’s an understatement,” Doxx grumbled. “Get out of the middle!” The Blade said as he dashed and pressed himself against the front of the building. His eyes were trained down the throughfare towards the main gate. The others followed the elf’s lead, and he moved along the storefront. He stopped a moment and turned to face the others, raising a finger to his lips, and then pointing down the road. The gate leading to the southern road was like the one on the north, if wider. The gate itself was flanked by a pair of towers, with a grey stone arch connecting the two, and with a parapet for cover. Wagons were tipped over and arranged partially blocking the gate. There were a handful of spears and weapons lodged into the wood. The smokey haze was thick here, and the call of the horn overtook any other noise. “What are we—” Sage started, when the juggernaut’s mouth clamped shut. Rosa squinted to look at the gate, as a breeze brushed her nose. And there with the acrid scent of tar and wood, was the faintest touch of musk. “Oh no,” Rosa said in a pained voice. Through haze, there were several human sized figures. They shambled almost aimlessly around the roadway. They didn’t look concerned, or defensive or even interested in their surroundings. As they watched, they heard the sounds of bodies scuffling, and moving. Soon more figures shuffled into view, none more interested in the world around them. “Like the ranch hands,” Adrissa said quietly. “There must be a plant nearby,” Sage said. “It must be behind the wagons or the gatehouse,” Doxx said. Bookshelf peered at the small throng, “Those were the guards; they still have armor on them.” As the warforged whispered, more figures emerged from the makeshift palisade. “Those are townsfolk. If it is creating them now—” “We better move now,” Mobad said pulling his axe close. “I’m going to the roof,” The Blade said. “Cover me!” and he started to scale up the side of the building.” “Aren’t you supposed to cover us?” Doxx said as the elf disappeared on top of the building. "I trust his archery and bravado. His understanding of military jargon, not so much.” Sage said. “Rush!” And the juggernaut started to charge towards the gate. Just behind him, Mobad ran, and quickly overtook the heavily armored warforged, as did the old woman with staff in hand. The warforged armblade flared to life as Mobad hew into on of the yellowish musky figures, his second strike nearly splitting it into two. Doxx whirled their staff around and the sounds of bone splintering echoed near the gate, as they quickly beat down a second. Finally, Sage’s blade connected with Doxx’s target felling them, and the flames spread to another zombie like figure. The noise of steel and wood on bone and flesh, caused the others to turn to look at the trio with a hunger in their eyes. They stumbled forward moving towards the group, arms outstretched, their faces twisted with rictus grimaces. As they staggered forward, a bead of light streaked across and detonated into a conflagration. The wagons and zombies alike were set aflame, with some falling to the ground. But several staggered back to their feet and joined more that lumbered out from behind the wagons. As the burned figures moved forward, the twangs of bows and the impact of arrows into dead flesh and bone, knocking two of them over. A half dozen had now emerged and too began to charge, when beam of light illuminated some of them, searing them with light. Wisps of smoke drifted off them, as they continued forward. The ones that survived found themselves fighting against a trio they could not touch. The juggernauts plate armor held easily against their flimsy blows. Doxx simply avoided them, easily swatting away clumsy punches. And as for Mobad, he simply roared, and ignored the red gashes in his grey skin. And each with axe, staff and armblade, cut them down as the zombies fell over themselves trying to pummel and claw down. Meanwhile more arrows landed as did a beam of light striking from the distance, and the column of moonlight burning away more dead flesh, as more arrows struck home. As more fell, the fire from the blast, had set the wagons on fire, and they were quickly consumed by the flames. One collapsed, as fibrous tendril extended and pulled down the sides of the ruined wagon. The creeper stretched upwards, and a pair of pale-yellow flowers bloomed in the night air. From Rosa’s beam of moonlight, puffs of pollen spread wide and then lazily drifted through the air. From his perch, it appeared that the party seemed to have beaten most of the zombies to the ground, but from his vantage point atop the battered building, The Blade could see Mobade, Sage and Doxx rushing in to battle the final threat. Remembering the basement of the farmhouse, he scanned the creature for a similar weak point and found it: a plexus of sorts in whatever this thing might have called a nervous system. A difficult shot, but not impossible. He took aim and let the arrow fly. It felt like hours before it finally hit the creature… several inches away from the plexus. The creature shuddered only briefly but it did not die. "Damn it!" Standing at the top of the barricade, Sage continued to be buffeted by the heavy thorny tendrils as The Blade frantically grasped at the quiver on his hip. "Ugh, too slow!" he hissed to himself as he finally pulled an arrow free and drew for another shot. Suddenly aware of his tension, he caught his breath and whisperd to himself. "Inhale… aim… exhale… fire." The new arrow is released and whistled through the air until it plunged into the target. The creature stopped, and the tendrils flop to the ground around it, shriveling slightly. Mobad, Doxx and Sage are still standing. The party has survived. But the screams continue to ring from all directions in the hazy, musk laden, toxic air. Punctuated by the sounds crumbling stone and splashing water, the screams seem to grow louder in his head until they drown out all else. [I]I can't do this. This isn't a bunch of thugs snatching coin purses or beating up a shopkeeper. There's no one to tie up and leave for the guards. The guards are blind or dead. These are monsters… real ones. People are dying. They need something better than me. Something stronger. What the hell am I doing here?[/I] [HR][/HR] In a wide garden behind the large manor and surrounded by tall stone walls, a ten-year-old elven boy stands holding a bow that seems just slightly too large for his frame. A few dozen yards in front of him stands a lone tree. Hanging loosely from the thickest branch by a bit of sturdy rope, is a large wooden disc painted with a few wobbly concentric circles. Pulling back on the string, the boy falters in the middle of the draw and loses his grip. The arrow flies past the tree, striking the wall. He winces at the loud clatter and quickly glances around. Seeing no apparent witnesses, he picks up another arrow and begins to draw again but stops at the sound of voices escaping through an open window. "Really? A weapon?" a man's voice asks. A woman replies "I'd hardly call it a weapon, dear. It's a bow." "It's just not an appropriate gift. Not at that age." "I couldn't agree more. He should have had one years ago." "We're not warriors anymore. Life here is about business, not battle." "Well then, how fortunate that I bought it at your store. Perhaps you'll get a tax deduction." After an exasperated pause, the man's voice finally speaks. "You know, you're not as funny as you think you are." With a somehow audible smirk, the woman retorts "Yes I am." A moment passes after the voices have trailed off into the distance. Stepping out the door into the garden, the elven woman pauses abruptly for a second when she finds the boy's eyes already expecting her. Continuing forward, she says "It's not polite to eavesdrop." Oblivious to the hint that he should mind his business, the boy blurts his observation. "He doesn't think fighting is important." She answers with a wistful sigh. "One of the few things upon which we will always disagree, I'm afraid." "You always say a united front makes us strong." The slight raise of her eyebrow betrays her mild surprise that he had paid enough attention to remember that. "True," she concedes thoughtfully. "But diversity of perspective makes us wise." The boy rolls his eyes. "What good is that?" "Well one is rather useless without the other. Strength is very valuable, right up until the day you face something stronger. And then what do you do?" Silently, he replies with a curious shrug. "You adapt. That's where the wisdom comes in." Intrigued, he presses. "How?" "It's simple," she says. "You identify your weakness. Then you change it. As many times as it takes." Seeing his mental gears turning, and his mouth preparing to open for another question, she quickly intervenes. "That's enough philosophy for today. Why don't you show me what you can do?" With a wink, she adds "I'd hate to think I've wasted my money." Resuming his stance, the boy begins again to draw the bow, faltering only slightly this time. As he takes a moment to focus on his target, he hears a slow whisper from above his shoulder. "Inhale… aim… exhale…fire." On the last word, his fingers release the string without hesitation. His eyes remain locked on the arrow for several seconds after it embeds itself in the bullseye, and a smile slowly crosses his face. [HR][/HR] From the rooftop, The Blade scanneds the battlefield below. Bookshelf destroyed the last of the zombie creatures, and it appears that all of the party is safe and accounted for. He turned his gaze to the quiver on his hip, and mumbled to himself "Too slow…" The quiver's condition is as pristine as the day he first laid eyes on it. He runs his fingers along the well-stitched vertical seam. With both hands, he grips the mouth of the quiver and pulls hard several times, until a rip in the seam becomes several inches long. Folding the leather flat around the wider opening, he nodded. "Better." Outside the city, the muffled voice called again. "Open the gate!" From the rooftop, The Blade yells down into the streets below "Let's move!". He rushed to rejoin the party. [I]People are dying. They need me. They need us. [B]Session Notes:[/B][/I] Never split the party. Yeah right. Thanks again to Ryan for his piece on the Blade's back story. And we'll see what happened at the church later this week. [/QUOTE]
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