Travels through the Wild West: Books V-VIII (Epilogue)
- Thread starter Lazybones
- Start date
LuYangShih
First Post
Well, I just finished reading this, and I have to say, I'm impressed. This is the best Forgotten Realms story I've ever read, and it's one of the best stories period I've ever read. I love everything you've written here, and this is one of my favorite types of stories, the type where I love the vilians even more than the heroes.
The way you set up your villians, as well as their motivations and actions, is inspired. They're devious, ruthless, cunning, calcuating and coldly effecient. I was so certain when the two Riders in Red were fleeing they would escape, yet a relatively minor villiain in your story managed to slay them with simple tactical knowledge and effeciency.
It's great to see villians who don't trip over their own two feet at every opportunity, giving Heroes the edge they need to win. I really feel your characters have had to struggle for every victory they've won, and you've really done a great job with all your villians. The anticipation for more updates is almost killing me, and I'm a bit dissapointed that I will now have to wait every week for a new chapter in this amazing story instead of the non stop reading I've been doing.
I'm especially impressed with what you're doing with the corrupted hero archetype. I always loved that quote from Planescape:Torment "Time lays waste to all things". I seriously doubt anyone could retain any semblance of morality or compassion if subjected to that kind of mental and physical pressure for that long.
I can barely wait for the next part, and I have to say this is simply incredible once again. May the villians prevail!
The way you set up your villians, as well as their motivations and actions, is inspired. They're devious, ruthless, cunning, calcuating and coldly effecient. I was so certain when the two Riders in Red were fleeing they would escape, yet a relatively minor villiain in your story managed to slay them with simple tactical knowledge and effeciency.
It's great to see villians who don't trip over their own two feet at every opportunity, giving Heroes the edge they need to win. I really feel your characters have had to struggle for every victory they've won, and you've really done a great job with all your villians. The anticipation for more updates is almost killing me, and I'm a bit dissapointed that I will now have to wait every week for a new chapter in this amazing story instead of the non stop reading I've been doing.
I'm especially impressed with what you're doing with the corrupted hero archetype. I always loved that quote from Planescape:Torment "Time lays waste to all things". I seriously doubt anyone could retain any semblance of morality or compassion if subjected to that kind of mental and physical pressure for that long.
I can barely wait for the next part, and I have to say this is simply incredible once again. May the villians prevail!
Lazybones
Adventurer
Thank you LuYangShih, and welcome to the story. Of the many things I've written, I think Travels has been the most fun (probably why I've done it for so long... I never initially intended to go beyond a single Book). Or maybe I'm just addicted to the positive feedback
RE your comments in the Rogues' Gallery: I had originally given Delem another two levels in the AotS prestige class, but for plot reasons, I later decided that I didn't want him to have access to 5th level spells just yet.
* * * * *
Book VII, Part 48
Lariel urged his companions on the wood-cutting detail to hasten, as twilight settled around them, the already dim light of the gray day deepening inexorably to black. With his low-light vision, he would be able to see clearly for some time yet, but the humans he was with would soon be effectively blind. Well, if it came down to it he still had his light spell, though he’d rather not be carrying such a beacon in this place. Although the valley had been almost eerily quiet over the last few days, without so much as a bird or a mouse to shatter the emptiness, there was an uneasy air that the elf could sense even before his visits to the dark tunnel and its warding statutes. To him used to the rhythms of the natural world, this place seemed alien, unnatural.
While the cutters worked quickly and efficiently, as eager to be back within the shelter of the stockade as the elf, Lariel kept watch with an arrow fitted to his bowstring. It took some doing to find wood that was not soaked beyond use, but the townsfolk worked hard and soon had gathered six armfuls of usable fuel onto a simple tarp they laid out beneath the shelter of an overhanging boulder.
Except when they gathered to depart, only five of them were present.
“Where’s Narleth?” Lariel asked. The townsfolk exchanged a worried glance, and one of them, a grizzled farrier with a good half-century under his belt, shook his head.
“He was right behind me, I swear. We were just over by that tree over there.” He indicated a leaning scrub tree that had been half-toppled by the storm, with half of its exposed roots hacked away by the workmen.
“Could be he slipped, brained himself on a rock,” one of the others suggested. “Damn near did that myself a dozen times already.”
Lariel frowned. Already the details of the tree were growing indistinct even to his vision, and he’d be surprised if the humans saw anything more than a shadow. Still, he gestured for them to wait for him, while he took up his bow—still carefully covered under his cloak against the rain—and nimbly made his way across the slope toward the leaning tree. Behind him, the other men clutched unfamiliar weapons nervously and stared out into the gathering gloom.
It didn’t take the agile elf long to make his way to the tree, nor did it take him long to find out what had happened to the missing man. Narleth—what was left of him—was crammed into a narrow gap under the tree’s remnant, his torso torn by a dozen long gashes. His face, left intact, bore a look of utter terror.
The elf felt a prickling down his spine, punctuated a moment later by a shout from the woodcutters. Even as the elf leapt up and over the bulk of the tree, that shout was followed by a cry of pain, and then another, more desperate wail.
Lariel’s sharp eyes made out a chaos of moving bodies, as the townsfolk tried to get away from whatever it was that had ambushed them. There—he saw it, a squat black form that seemed to wear the shadows around it like a cloak. It lashed out with claws already wet with more than rain at a fleeing man, dragging him down as it tore into his back. Another was already leaning hard against a boulder, clutching his side, and the rest were bent only on escape. A hobgoblin shortsword lay abandoned in the mud; if it had had any effect on the creature, it showed no sign of it as it eagerly pressed its attack.
It was a difficult shot, with the motion and the dim light and the rain, but Lariel didn’t hesitate. The arrow came to his cheek in a smooth motion, and even as he felt the energy imparted by his magical bow tingle down the long shaft he fired. The shot was true, slamming hard into the short creature’s shoulder, and it hurt it, by the way that it reared up and let out a feral cry of pain.
But that was nothing compared to the reaction among the townsfolk. As one they screamed out in sudden agony, even those already a good ten paces away. The one leaning against the boulder suddenly jerked back as if struck, and he fell limply to the muddy ground. Another spun around in his flight and lost his footing, skidding hard until he bounced up against a cluster of protruding stones. None escaped the effect, and Lariel himself felt it, a sudden twinge at his shoulder that faded quickly.
A pain at exactly the same point where he’d struck the creature.
The creature snarled at him, and started away, darting quickly across the muddy slope despite the long shaft jutting from its shoulder. Lariel had instinctively drawn and readied a second shot, but even as he aimed he hesitated. Several of the men of his party were still moving, though most were down, clutching their shoulders in pain. Another shot, while it might kill the creature, might kill them as well...
Reluctantly, he lowered his bow, and hurried toward them. The creature seemed content to withdraw, and soon it had vanished into the gathering night.
Lariel collected those who still lived—the man whom the creature had attacked was dead, as was the one who’d been leaning against the boulder—and they headed back toward the camp. On the way they met Cal and Lok, who had come in response to the shouts, and with their help they brought the wounded men back into the shelter of the stockade.
Night descended over the valley, as the storm continued.
RE your comments in the Rogues' Gallery: I had originally given Delem another two levels in the AotS prestige class, but for plot reasons, I later decided that I didn't want him to have access to 5th level spells just yet.
Not so! I update 3-4 times a week (very boring job with small gaps between major projects = time to write).LuYangShih said:
You're going to like what's coming.May the villians prevail!
* * * * *
Book VII, Part 48
Lariel urged his companions on the wood-cutting detail to hasten, as twilight settled around them, the already dim light of the gray day deepening inexorably to black. With his low-light vision, he would be able to see clearly for some time yet, but the humans he was with would soon be effectively blind. Well, if it came down to it he still had his light spell, though he’d rather not be carrying such a beacon in this place. Although the valley had been almost eerily quiet over the last few days, without so much as a bird or a mouse to shatter the emptiness, there was an uneasy air that the elf could sense even before his visits to the dark tunnel and its warding statutes. To him used to the rhythms of the natural world, this place seemed alien, unnatural.
While the cutters worked quickly and efficiently, as eager to be back within the shelter of the stockade as the elf, Lariel kept watch with an arrow fitted to his bowstring. It took some doing to find wood that was not soaked beyond use, but the townsfolk worked hard and soon had gathered six armfuls of usable fuel onto a simple tarp they laid out beneath the shelter of an overhanging boulder.
Except when they gathered to depart, only five of them were present.
“Where’s Narleth?” Lariel asked. The townsfolk exchanged a worried glance, and one of them, a grizzled farrier with a good half-century under his belt, shook his head.
“He was right behind me, I swear. We were just over by that tree over there.” He indicated a leaning scrub tree that had been half-toppled by the storm, with half of its exposed roots hacked away by the workmen.
“Could be he slipped, brained himself on a rock,” one of the others suggested. “Damn near did that myself a dozen times already.”
Lariel frowned. Already the details of the tree were growing indistinct even to his vision, and he’d be surprised if the humans saw anything more than a shadow. Still, he gestured for them to wait for him, while he took up his bow—still carefully covered under his cloak against the rain—and nimbly made his way across the slope toward the leaning tree. Behind him, the other men clutched unfamiliar weapons nervously and stared out into the gathering gloom.
It didn’t take the agile elf long to make his way to the tree, nor did it take him long to find out what had happened to the missing man. Narleth—what was left of him—was crammed into a narrow gap under the tree’s remnant, his torso torn by a dozen long gashes. His face, left intact, bore a look of utter terror.
The elf felt a prickling down his spine, punctuated a moment later by a shout from the woodcutters. Even as the elf leapt up and over the bulk of the tree, that shout was followed by a cry of pain, and then another, more desperate wail.
Lariel’s sharp eyes made out a chaos of moving bodies, as the townsfolk tried to get away from whatever it was that had ambushed them. There—he saw it, a squat black form that seemed to wear the shadows around it like a cloak. It lashed out with claws already wet with more than rain at a fleeing man, dragging him down as it tore into his back. Another was already leaning hard against a boulder, clutching his side, and the rest were bent only on escape. A hobgoblin shortsword lay abandoned in the mud; if it had had any effect on the creature, it showed no sign of it as it eagerly pressed its attack.
It was a difficult shot, with the motion and the dim light and the rain, but Lariel didn’t hesitate. The arrow came to his cheek in a smooth motion, and even as he felt the energy imparted by his magical bow tingle down the long shaft he fired. The shot was true, slamming hard into the short creature’s shoulder, and it hurt it, by the way that it reared up and let out a feral cry of pain.
But that was nothing compared to the reaction among the townsfolk. As one they screamed out in sudden agony, even those already a good ten paces away. The one leaning against the boulder suddenly jerked back as if struck, and he fell limply to the muddy ground. Another spun around in his flight and lost his footing, skidding hard until he bounced up against a cluster of protruding stones. None escaped the effect, and Lariel himself felt it, a sudden twinge at his shoulder that faded quickly.
A pain at exactly the same point where he’d struck the creature.
The creature snarled at him, and started away, darting quickly across the muddy slope despite the long shaft jutting from its shoulder. Lariel had instinctively drawn and readied a second shot, but even as he aimed he hesitated. Several of the men of his party were still moving, though most were down, clutching their shoulders in pain. Another shot, while it might kill the creature, might kill them as well...
Reluctantly, he lowered his bow, and hurried toward them. The creature seemed content to withdraw, and soon it had vanished into the gathering night.
Lariel collected those who still lived—the man whom the creature had attacked was dead, as was the one who’d been leaning against the boulder—and they headed back toward the camp. On the way they met Cal and Lok, who had come in response to the shouts, and with their help they brought the wounded men back into the shelter of the stockade.
Night descended over the valley, as the storm continued.
Broccli_Head
Explorer
Nasty little demon with that trick!
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