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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Goonalan" data-source="post: 4151879" data-attributes="member: 16069">Thanks as always, a pleasure to have you along for the ride, this game is really turning out to be my favourite campaign I've played for quite sometime, the story hasn't started really, we've just played our 6th seesion- finished an hour os so ago, we were only going to play for two hours- it's a school night, but we didn't stop for four hours, I think they're all enjoying the play. Anyway you'll see with the write ups, although advance warning is given, one of the characters managed to get sponsored this evening (in-game) by the International House of Pancakes, and yes- I did say that, he's going to get a pile of pancakes stenciled on his shield, and if asked will claim that it is the power of pancakes that fuels his fury- he of course is a Paladin by trade- what else could he be. I await the introduction of Maple Syrup flavoured gods.And so, to conclude the backstories I believe...Castle Whiterock- The Backstory.Turn 4.Ronald’s (& Reggie’s) story.The Cillamar Academy for Waifs and Strays.Fifteen years ago…Two badly dressed boys stand either side of an open doorway, the one on the left is tall and rangy, the one on the right is much, much shorter- squat with a layer of puppy-fat. They must be six or seven years old.Through the open doorway can be seen a huddle of other boys, jostling and fighting around a series of trestle tables.One of them detaches from the crowd, carries a steaming bowl with him, balancing it carefully- grinning, towards the open doorway.The squat boy peeks around the doorframe. “This one.”“Hmm, ‘kay.”The rangy boy nods.It all happens so quickly, here goes-The bowl carrying child passes through the doorway.“I’ll take that.” The squat boy takes the bowl.SLUGThe rangy boy punches the bowl-less child in the face, a tooth flies out and the child crumples- begins to bawl and scream.His ambushers flop to the floor behind their screaming victim and using their fingers scoop the hot porridge out of the bowl, stuffing their laden digits in their greedy mouths.The pair blow on their burning fingers between scoops.“BINGO.”Matron, a very large woman, appears in the doorway, rolls up her sleeves and levers the Bingo twins to their feet- by their reddening ears.The squat boy, still has the bowl in hand, he continues to feed- gulping down what’s left of the meal.The rangy boy fishes in Matron’s pocket, unseen, quickly hides away a crumpled packet of “Fizzbang’s Red Wallops”, a hard rock Dwarvern candy- one piece will last you a weekend, also useful as doorstops. “You little bastards.” Matron calmly states, and then crashes the Bingo twins heads together.CLONKAnd again.CLONKAnd again.CLONK.Neither of the boys make a sound- stoic, they take their punishment.The Cillamar Special School for Vagabonds and Ne’er-do-wells.Ten years ago…The rangy boy is now a young man, he’s taller, thinner, and sports a bum-fluff moustache- he’s still badly dressed, mostly rags.The squat boy is also now a young man, he’s put on weight, but not much in the way of height, decidedly Dwarven in shape and size, he too sports the beginnings of a crooked moustache.The pair stand either side of a dilapidated wooden gate, hidden behind a low hedgerow- crouched, waiting.They’re in the gardens of the School, which are overgrown- ideal.Someone’s coming.A young man, well-dressed, or at least his ragged clothes are pressed and clean. He’s carrying a bag of what looks to be everything he owns.The young man turns, waves at someone unseen.“I’ll make you proud, just you see.” The young man calls back, then continues on, towards the gate, wiping his face with his sleeve.The squat young man peeks around the hedge. “This one.”“Hmm, ‘kay.”The rangy young man nods.It all happens so quickly, here goes-The bag carrying young man passes through the gate.“I’ll take that.” The squat young man takes the bag.SLUGThe rangy young man punches the bag-less young man in the face, a tooth flies out and the adolescent crumples- begins to bawl and scream.His ambushers flop to the floor behind their screaming victim rip and tear at the bag, till its contents spill out, they grasp and stuff away all that they can hold.The pair scrabble in the dirt.“BINGO.”Beadle, a large man, appears at the gate, rolls up his sleeves and levers the Bingo twins to their feet- by their reddening ears.The squat young man continues to stuff away a battered and much fingered picture in a silver frame.The rangy young man fishes in Beadle’s pocket, unseen, quickly hides away a ragged leather coin pouch.“You little bastards.” Beadle calmly states, and then crashes the Bingo twins heads together.CLONKAnd again.CLONKAnd again.CLONK.Neither of the twins make a sound- stoic, they take their punishment.The Cillamar Juvenile Correctional Facility.Five years ago…The rangy young man has now come of age, he’s taller again, and even thinner, the bum-fluff moustache has filled out a little, although still a ragged mess- he’s still badly dressed, mostly rags.The squat young man has also come of age, he’s put on weight again, but very little in the way of height, you’d think he was a Dwarf, his crooked moustache is still crooked and tufty.The pair stand either side of the exit of a dark alley, hidden behind crumbling blackened walls, waiting.They’re in the exercise yard; it’s a broken shadowy arena- ideal.Someone’s coming.A tattooed lithe man dressed in ragged prison uniform strides down the alley. He’s carrying a heavy crate, and grinning, there’s the clank of bottles coming from inside the crate.The tattooed man turns, nods and gestures to someone unseen.“Same time next week.” The tattooed man half-calls, half-whispers back, and continues on, towards the exit of the alley, struggling to lug his load.The squat man peeks around the edge of the wall. “This one.”“Hmm, ‘kay.”The rangy man nods.It all happens so quickly, here goes-The crate carrying tattooed man exits the alley.“I’ll take that.” The squat man takes the crate.SLUGThe rangy man punches the crate-less tattooed man in the face.The tattooed man just stands there, then turns to face the rangy man.WHUMPThe squat man kicks the tattooed man in the balls.OOFAll the air goes out of him.SLUGThe rangy man connects again, a tooth flies out and the tattooed man crumples- begins to bawl and scream.His ambushers flop to the floor behind their screaming victim wrench and tear at the slats of the crate, till they’re through and at the moonshine, they grasp and stuff away all the bottles they can carry.The squat man, bites and pulls out the cork of one of the bottle, swiftly upends it.GLUG-GLUG-GLUG“BINGO.”Jailer, a very large man, appears in the alley exit, rolls up his sleeves and levers the Bingo twins to their feet- by their reddening ears.The squat man continues to glug down the contents of the uncorked bottle.The rangy young man fishes in Jailer’s pocket, unseen, quickly hides away an ancient looking key.“You little bastards.” Jailer calmly states, and then crashes the Bingo twins heads together.CLONKAnd again.CLONKAnd again.Blood pours.CLONK.Neither of the twins make a sound- stoic, they take their punishment.Cillamar, outside the Slumbering Drake Inn.Six minutes ago…It’s dark down the alley.Shadowy even.Ideal.The trained eye would be able to pick out a myriad details, loose paving stones curled at the edges with crumbling mortar, pools of oily water reflecting the toe nail of the moon’s chill light, the remains of a Hessian sack- ripped and torn, cast aside.And two spots of denser shadow.The half-blind, all blind-drunk, merchant staggers on into the darkness.“This one.”“Hmm, ‘kay.”It all happens so quickly, here goes-The fat drunk merchant staggers forward.He’s suddenly not alone.The man at his side is squat- thick set, very thick set, almost Dwarven in his build- his moustache is bushy and full, he’s armed and armoured.The second man is tall, almost too tall, he must have to stoop to pass through doorways, and thin, almost unhealthily so. His moustache is a little lank but just as thick and fulsome. He’s also heavily armed and armoured.“Give kindly.” The squat man spits out.“Money.” The rangy man simply states and rattles the merchant, coins clank in his fat purse.“For the orphans… and that.” The squat man states.“Yeah. Money.” The rangy man continues to shake the merchant, his free hand searching out his equally fat purse.“BINGO.”Sergeant Gandle, a very, very large man hoves into view, rolls up his sleeves and clasps his arms around the shoulders of the Bingo twins- encompassing the Merchant also.The squat man grins up at the Sergeant, nods.The rangy young man fishes in the merchant’s purse- grabbing out handfuls of coins.“You little bastards.” The Sergeant calmly states, and hugs the Bingo twins to him.“Sergeant.” The squat man grins.“Sarge.” The rangy man grins.“Collecting?” The sergeant nods towards the fat drunk merchant, now sprawled in the gutter.“S’right.” The squat man states.The rangy man nods his reply.“Good lads. Good lads.” Sergeant Gandle hugs the pair again- grins all round.“Right then- good work. Well then… about your business.”Sergeant Gandle shuffles off, back on his patrol, still chuckling to himself.“G’night Reggie.” “Night Sergeant.” The squat man states.“ G’night Ronnie.”“Nigh’ Sarge.” The rangy man states.The pair move out of the shadows leaving the Merchant clutching the cold cobbled stone, a little light in the purse.They head across the street, deserted at this time of night, to the Inn- The Slumbering Drake, and enter.The Inn is jumping- and packed, a mixture of locals and visitors from far flung places.The noise dies down- gradually.The Bingo twins wait for silence.“I am Reginald Bingo, Priest of Kord.” The squat man sternly qualifies.“Ronald Bingo, Paladin of Kord.” The rangy man nods.“Get your money out sinners.” The squat man orders.“The temple is collecting.” The rangy man finishes.To groans.</blockquote>

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