Richard Rawen
First Post
Huzzah! Indeed =-)
-
The VOIDRUNNER'S CODEX is coming! Explore new worlds, fight oppressive empires, fend off fearsome aliens, and wield deadly psionics with this comprehensive boxed set expansion for 5E and A5E!
Welcome to the Halmae (updated 2/27/07)
- Thread starter spyscribe
- Start date
spyscribe
First Post
CTSparky said:
Interesting question.
I might have briefly toyed with the idea of letting Lira really be dead dead, but I don't think I ever really seriously considered it, mostly because there didn't seem to be a good reason to. At a game level, I was still enjoying playing her, at an emotional level the impact had already been had, and at a story level it wasn't like this had been a noble sacrifice that she'd be squirming her way out of by returning to life.
Last but not least, after years of multiclassing, I wanted to get to Mystic Theurge, darn it!
Mechanics that you didn't ask about, but which came to mind:
Since the party leveled on the trip back to Dar Pykos (7th!), Fajitas kindly let Lira come back at 6th, the same level she died at, so she was only one net level behind the party. Also, it meant I wouldn't have to play through both sor4/clr1 and sor4/clr2 again (two straight levels that are pretty much the same anyway). Even so, I think we worked out the Lira went more than three years real time without learning a new arcane spell.
I got a lot of juicy plot stuff in return (as you will soon see), but man, that first web was sweet!
dpdx
Explorer
Congrats on getting your character back. First time one of my characters got raised, I was pretty happy, too.
Later, after hiring some Academy students versed in Create Wondrous Item and tooling for mass production, Thatch would go on to become the wealthiest Baron in all the Halmae and Pope Robert II of Alirria. Sales of 'The Rod' grew exponentially as it became the security item of choice throughout the Darine Confederacy.
Last edited:
spyscribe
First Post
Part the Two-Hundred Twelfth
In which: before we continue…
The pain is so strong it’s like its own being. It stands beside Lira on the deck of the Count’s barge, growling, waiting to take her away into unconsciousness. She ignores it. One of Lira’s arms hangs useless at her side. Lady Tempeste stands in front of her. She is swinging her chain again, and Lira can see her own blood glistening on the spikes.
She’s going to kill me, Lira thinks, time seeming to slow with subjective clarity. If she hits me again, I’m past healing, and there’s nowhere for me to go to get away.
Realizing that actually makes her decision easier. If she only has seconds left to live, Lira is going to make sure she does her damnedest to take her killer out with her.
Lira concentrates, casts, and two blue bolts go flying from her outstretched fingers. Lady Tempeste barely flinches.
Nice try… The chain come swinging around again. But not enough.
The pain is worse than she could ever imagine… but it doesn’t last.
There is darkness… and the distant clink of pewter steins… and voices…
***
Lira sits on a rough-hewn wooden bench before an immense trestle table. All around her is an incredible feast.
Red-haired men and women, laughing, eating, drinking, cursing… everything they do, they do with gusto. Everyone is huge, in body, voice, and manner, and with a start Lira realizes that she is as well.
The man beside her turns his head, and seeing a new face, claps her on the back.
He indicates the place before her. Lira hadn’t thought to look, but now she notices that there is a plate and stein. The trencher is piled high with fresh roasted game—venison and fowl—while the drinking vessel overflows with rich foaming ale.
Nods of greeting come from those seated near her at the table. And a few raise glasses to the new arrival. Lira returns the salutes in kind, sipping at the smoothest ale she has ever tasted, and taking tentative bites of the meats before her.
Near one end of the table, a man rises, and a cry of “Tell us your tale!” comes up from those at the feast.
The man takes a long swallow from his mug before he begins. “There I was,” he begins, “the rest of my comrades fallen, and only me between the advancing raiders before and the villagers behind…”
It’s kind of a grizzly tale actually. Although no one else at the table seems to mind. When that story of combat against incredible odds, bloody dismemberment, and ultimately honorable death concludes, a woman with two thick red braids rises and tells a story of facing down a pair of angry wolves with her bare hands.
It’s an excellent story, and Lira cheers with the assembled. Eating with more gusto as her stomach settles.
Why was her stomach upset? What was she doing before she was here? She can’t quite remember, and it doesn’t seem important, not really.
And now Lira is being prodded to her feet, and the voices, now directed at her, are nearly overwhelming. “Tell us your tale! Tell us your tale!”
Lira looks over the assembled. “What would you have me say?”
“Tell us of your deeds!”
“Your Quests!”
“The rout of your enemies!”
Lira casts her mind back. Her death (She’s dead?) doesn’t seem that heroic somehow. Not in this company.
She tells them about standing in the middle of a burning building in the Mage’s Academy, casting spells to hold back the flames to protect her friends and save the city—
The first man to rise interrupts her. “Yes, yes, your friends. What have you done?”
“When have you stood alone?” another voice adds.
“When have you looked death in the face… and laughed?”
Lira stares out over a sea of faces. Red-haried, women, red-bearded men, all huge like trees… like fire.
“I—” she begins. But it’s as though she can hear their objections before the tales leave her mouth. She let others rush in first. She stood behind. If she had been alone, she would not have prevailed.
Alone. At that word an image flashes in her mind’s eye, unbidden. She sees herself screaming, curled on the floor as her father's belt lashes down across her shoulders.
What has she ever been, when she has been alone?
The man beside her shakes his head, and seems almost sad. “Well, they can’t all be chosen.”
He turns away, and another champion of the table rises, and Lira is ignored.
She sits, but either the table has grown, or she has diminished. The plate before her now holds only a piece of bread, and her cup is filled with water. For the first time, Lira notices that there are others at the table. Clad in simple white gowns and tunics, they are served as she is. Ignored by all those around them. Present at, but excluded from, the feast.
Lira tugs the sleeve of the large man beside her. He barely spares a glance before shrugging her off and returning to his meal.
Lira doesn’t know whether to be bereft or angry. This is it? This is all I am to be judged on? This—
And then she notices a faint tugging sensation. As though there is a string passing through her middle, and someone behind her is pulling on the end.
She turns to look behind her. But there is no behind her.
The pull grows stronger, more urgent. Lira rises from the table, but no one marks her. The feast is everything. There is nothing else. Except… the pull remains.
Lira doesn’t try to look back again. Instead she faces forward, and then falls into the pulling sensation. In another second I will hit the chair. In another second I will hit the floor…
She keeps falling.
###
Lira opens her eyes, although a moment earlier, she hadn’t been aware they were closed. She’s lying on her back, on something very cold, and very hard. Above her, a red-bearded face is looking down at her.
Is this a new place, or is this man about to ask me to prove myself worthy?
Lira notices she’s breathing. Had she been breathing before? Can she use this breath for speech?
“Holy crap,” she whispers.
The face above her smiles, just a little. “Indeed,” the man replies. He gently helps her to sit up, and then takes his leave.
[size=-2]Boss! Boss!...[/size]
She’s in an unfamiliar room, but in one corner is a familiar face.
[size=-2]…found Barnabus…[/size]
“Anvil?”
[size=-2]…carried you on my back…[/size]
He nods.
[size=-2]…and then I pooped on that bitch who killed you!…[/size]
“Am— Am I… back?”
Euro's breathless monologue pauses and the voice in Lira's head sounds a little indignant. Of course you’re back. I’m here, aren’t I?
“Yes,” Anvil replies.
Concentrating, Lira reaches up with one arm to scratch Euro on the head. She notes that her arm works. They both do. Thank you, she thinks to her familiar. He curls protectively around her neck, nose tucking underneath his tail.
At the warmth of his touch, Lira suddenly notices she’s quite cold. She shivers.
“We have returned to Dar Pykos,” Anvil is informing her. “Professor Alexandra has asked us all to be present for a debriefing this evening, however, it is no fault to you if you wish to be excused.”
Lira nods, not quite listening. “How long?” she asks.
Anvil appears caught off-guard by the question. “In a few hours time.”
“No,” Lira enunciates carefully. Talking takes concentration, stringing words together again. “How long was I… dead?”
Anvil answers instantly. “Eleven days.”
“Eleven…” It didn’t seem so long. Lira looks down at her belly, and sees through the shreds of her tunic that there isn’t a mark on her. The scars she has carried from the shadowbeasts since the night of the Academy fire are completely gone. Lady Tempeste must have ripped them out. Lira runs a hand over the smooth skin, and shudders.
“Are you alright?” Anvil asks. “What do you require?”
Lira has to think about it. She isn’t hungry, although it seems like she should be, if she hasn’t eaten in eleven days. Maybe because of the food from… She pushes that thought aside. Is she thirsty? Maybe. Tired? “I think… I think I want to lie down.”
An acolyte enters the chamber, carrying a robe for Lira, and a mug. Lira takes both, looking down into the earthenware cup. Water. Of course. Dimly, she notes that the voices continue:
“She requires a place to rest.” Anvil is informing the acolyte.
“Of course. That is not unusual in these cases.”
Lira drinks cautiously, letting them talk over her head. The water slips down her throat, cool and pure, like life.
It tastes wonderful.
In which: before we continue…
The pain is so strong it’s like its own being. It stands beside Lira on the deck of the Count’s barge, growling, waiting to take her away into unconsciousness. She ignores it. One of Lira’s arms hangs useless at her side. Lady Tempeste stands in front of her. She is swinging her chain again, and Lira can see her own blood glistening on the spikes.
She’s going to kill me, Lira thinks, time seeming to slow with subjective clarity. If she hits me again, I’m past healing, and there’s nowhere for me to go to get away.
Realizing that actually makes her decision easier. If she only has seconds left to live, Lira is going to make sure she does her damnedest to take her killer out with her.
Lira concentrates, casts, and two blue bolts go flying from her outstretched fingers. Lady Tempeste barely flinches.
Nice try… The chain come swinging around again. But not enough.
The pain is worse than she could ever imagine… but it doesn’t last.
There is darkness… and the distant clink of pewter steins… and voices…
***
Lira sits on a rough-hewn wooden bench before an immense trestle table. All around her is an incredible feast.
Red-haired men and women, laughing, eating, drinking, cursing… everything they do, they do with gusto. Everyone is huge, in body, voice, and manner, and with a start Lira realizes that she is as well.
The man beside her turns his head, and seeing a new face, claps her on the back.
He indicates the place before her. Lira hadn’t thought to look, but now she notices that there is a plate and stein. The trencher is piled high with fresh roasted game—venison and fowl—while the drinking vessel overflows with rich foaming ale.
Nods of greeting come from those seated near her at the table. And a few raise glasses to the new arrival. Lira returns the salutes in kind, sipping at the smoothest ale she has ever tasted, and taking tentative bites of the meats before her.
Near one end of the table, a man rises, and a cry of “Tell us your tale!” comes up from those at the feast.
The man takes a long swallow from his mug before he begins. “There I was,” he begins, “the rest of my comrades fallen, and only me between the advancing raiders before and the villagers behind…”
It’s kind of a grizzly tale actually. Although no one else at the table seems to mind. When that story of combat against incredible odds, bloody dismemberment, and ultimately honorable death concludes, a woman with two thick red braids rises and tells a story of facing down a pair of angry wolves with her bare hands.
It’s an excellent story, and Lira cheers with the assembled. Eating with more gusto as her stomach settles.
Why was her stomach upset? What was she doing before she was here? She can’t quite remember, and it doesn’t seem important, not really.
And now Lira is being prodded to her feet, and the voices, now directed at her, are nearly overwhelming. “Tell us your tale! Tell us your tale!”
Lira looks over the assembled. “What would you have me say?”
“Tell us of your deeds!”
“Your Quests!”
“The rout of your enemies!”
Lira casts her mind back. Her death (She’s dead?) doesn’t seem that heroic somehow. Not in this company.
She tells them about standing in the middle of a burning building in the Mage’s Academy, casting spells to hold back the flames to protect her friends and save the city—
The first man to rise interrupts her. “Yes, yes, your friends. What have you done?”
“When have you stood alone?” another voice adds.
“When have you looked death in the face… and laughed?”
Lira stares out over a sea of faces. Red-haried, women, red-bearded men, all huge like trees… like fire.
“I—” she begins. But it’s as though she can hear their objections before the tales leave her mouth. She let others rush in first. She stood behind. If she had been alone, she would not have prevailed.
Alone. At that word an image flashes in her mind’s eye, unbidden. She sees herself screaming, curled on the floor as her father's belt lashes down across her shoulders.
What has she ever been, when she has been alone?
The man beside her shakes his head, and seems almost sad. “Well, they can’t all be chosen.”
He turns away, and another champion of the table rises, and Lira is ignored.
She sits, but either the table has grown, or she has diminished. The plate before her now holds only a piece of bread, and her cup is filled with water. For the first time, Lira notices that there are others at the table. Clad in simple white gowns and tunics, they are served as she is. Ignored by all those around them. Present at, but excluded from, the feast.
Lira tugs the sleeve of the large man beside her. He barely spares a glance before shrugging her off and returning to his meal.
Lira doesn’t know whether to be bereft or angry. This is it? This is all I am to be judged on? This—
And then she notices a faint tugging sensation. As though there is a string passing through her middle, and someone behind her is pulling on the end.
She turns to look behind her. But there is no behind her.
The pull grows stronger, more urgent. Lira rises from the table, but no one marks her. The feast is everything. There is nothing else. Except… the pull remains.
Lira doesn’t try to look back again. Instead she faces forward, and then falls into the pulling sensation. In another second I will hit the chair. In another second I will hit the floor…
She keeps falling.
###
Lira opens her eyes, although a moment earlier, she hadn’t been aware they were closed. She’s lying on her back, on something very cold, and very hard. Above her, a red-bearded face is looking down at her.
Is this a new place, or is this man about to ask me to prove myself worthy?
Lira notices she’s breathing. Had she been breathing before? Can she use this breath for speech?
“Holy crap,” she whispers.
The face above her smiles, just a little. “Indeed,” the man replies. He gently helps her to sit up, and then takes his leave.
[size=-2]Boss! Boss!...[/size]
She’s in an unfamiliar room, but in one corner is a familiar face.
[size=-2]…found Barnabus…[/size]
“Anvil?”
[size=-2]…carried you on my back…[/size]
He nods.
[size=-2]…and then I pooped on that bitch who killed you!…[/size]
“Am— Am I… back?”
Euro's breathless monologue pauses and the voice in Lira's head sounds a little indignant. Of course you’re back. I’m here, aren’t I?
“Yes,” Anvil replies.
Concentrating, Lira reaches up with one arm to scratch Euro on the head. She notes that her arm works. They both do. Thank you, she thinks to her familiar. He curls protectively around her neck, nose tucking underneath his tail.
At the warmth of his touch, Lira suddenly notices she’s quite cold. She shivers.
“We have returned to Dar Pykos,” Anvil is informing her. “Professor Alexandra has asked us all to be present for a debriefing this evening, however, it is no fault to you if you wish to be excused.”
Lira nods, not quite listening. “How long?” she asks.
Anvil appears caught off-guard by the question. “In a few hours time.”
“No,” Lira enunciates carefully. Talking takes concentration, stringing words together again. “How long was I… dead?”
Anvil answers instantly. “Eleven days.”
“Eleven…” It didn’t seem so long. Lira looks down at her belly, and sees through the shreds of her tunic that there isn’t a mark on her. The scars she has carried from the shadowbeasts since the night of the Academy fire are completely gone. Lady Tempeste must have ripped them out. Lira runs a hand over the smooth skin, and shudders.
“Are you alright?” Anvil asks. “What do you require?”
Lira has to think about it. She isn’t hungry, although it seems like she should be, if she hasn’t eaten in eleven days. Maybe because of the food from… She pushes that thought aside. Is she thirsty? Maybe. Tired? “I think… I think I want to lie down.”
An acolyte enters the chamber, carrying a robe for Lira, and a mug. Lira takes both, looking down into the earthenware cup. Water. Of course. Dimly, she notes that the voices continue:
“She requires a place to rest.” Anvil is informing the acolyte.
“Of course. That is not unusual in these cases.”
Lira drinks cautiously, letting them talk over her head. The water slips down her throat, cool and pure, like life.
It tastes wonderful.
Shieldhaven
Explorer
*sniff* Yaaay, Lira!
Looking forward to seeing if she changes as a result. Awesome update!
Haven
Looking forward to seeing if she changes as a result. Awesome update!
Haven
