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Wulf's Collected Story Hour -- FINAL UPDATE 12/25
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<blockquote data-quote="Wulf Ratbane" data-source="post: 738" data-attributes="member: 94"><p><strong>THE SPEAKER IN DREAMS (Part IV)</strong></p><p></p><p>There wasn't time for a second curtain call. </p><p></p><p>The halfling had jumped down behind the stage and was beckoning the party to a dark hole in the wall. "Uh, guys, come take a look at this..."</p><p></p><p>"Pretty small hole. Yer better check it out first, peck. Quiet, like only yer can do it." Wulf winked.</p><p></p><p>The halfling just sighed, accepted the inevitable conclusion, and wiggled through the hole. Moments passed and the halfling's little curly-haired head came popping back out out of the hole—to Wulf’s great disappointment, it was still attached the rest of the filthy little bugger. The halfling held his fingers to his lips, then contorted his fingers into an impressive-looking signal. Wulf could only suppose it was some kind of silent rogues' language, though he half suspected the peck had simply dreamed it up in his spare time. Nevertheless, he assumed it meant trouble. He pulled his blackscale cloak tight and was wrapped in shadow as he crept into the hole as well.</p><p></p><p>Wulf could see the halfling sitting wide-eyed in the dark, straining to listen. Wulf cupped his own ear and he, too, could make out the sound of a low whisper-- speaking Undercommon. "<em>When the rest arrive...</em>"</p><p></p><p>The halfling looked towards him for confirmation, but Wulf merely shrugged-- though he grinned to himself and reflexively tightened his grip on <em>Taranak</em>. He longed to put his new hand-axe to the test as well.</p><p></p><p><em>Mmm... Bloodshed.</em></p><p></p><p>Wulf motioned for the halfling to bring the others in, and shortly all five of them were sitting there in the darkness. Only Wulf could see-- so he had big plans of being the hero. Any moment now...</p><p></p><p>The silence was broken by the sound of Draconic speech and a veil of pitch blackness fell over the entire group of them, huddled near the door. </p><p></p><p>"Ach, yer sons o'... aah!" Something was stabbing at him, and as shouts went up from his comrades he knew he wasn't the only one. Wulf grimaced and cursed his luck, and made a mad dash forward, hoping to come out from the area of magical darkness. Sharp metal and filthy claws sought him out as he ran, but he ignored the pain, plowed through, and turned to assess the situation.</p><p></p><p>Almost a dozen of the cave-dwellers had appeared, as if from nowhere, and were moving in and out of the magical darkness with ease. From the sound of things the halfling and Alliane were taking the worst of it, though he could also make out the sound of Keldas’ spellcasting, and the unmistakable sound of Halma’s greatsword shearing through flesh and bone. Wulf thanked Durgeddin as he once again set his battleaxe ablaze and waded into the thick of the fighting, near where he guessed Alliane to be. </p><p></p><p>These creatures, whatever they were, were no fools: they concentrated their attacks on the party’s healer and used the darkness to befuddle their foes. But ultimately, Wulf and Keldas maneuvered Alliane into safety, where she called on Corellan for <em>Daylight</em> to banish the darkness; the cave-dwellers fell quickly, once revealed. The last few stragglers fled, easily escaping Wulf and the halfling, though at least one was pursued by the fleet-footed barbarian and cut down in the street. (So much they surmised when Halma came trotting back moments later, a big grin on his face. They’d pretty much learned to accept that when Halma ran off alone after some poor bastard, sword in hand, sooner or later he’d come trotting back, looking deeply satisfied.)</p><p></p><p>While the halfling checked the filthy, nearly naked bodies for hidden coins, Keldas took note of the real treasure they’d gained—a convenient bolt-hole of their own, should they need it. The building appeared to be some sort of abandoned warehouse, and if creatures such as these could take up residence here, right in the middle of a populated area, and remain unnoticed— well, it was a good bet they could use it themselves, too.</p><p></p><p>Wulf’s mind was occupied with trying to figure out who was next on his “To Do” list. Ratmen and morlocks? That made little sense. Surely somebody else was calling the shots. Wulf felt the gods calling to him, in a very real and personal sense; and the voices that called the loudest, in the least divine and dignified terms, were telling Wulf quite clearly to find that “somebody” and put his boot in their ass. And the longer it took to deliver that steel-toed, hob-nailed justice, the more foul Wulf’s mood was sure to become.</p><p></p><p>Unfortunately, there were no clues to lead them to their next “appointment.” They wandered the streets back to their inn, though the tale of yet another daring battle raced ahead of them. By the time they returned to their rooms, the grateful populace, led by Captain Shella and the dwarven smith Shuma, had organized a celebration party for them, and they were shuffled off in the midst of a drunken throng.</p><p></p><p>They celebrated long into the night, though Wulf drank little, brooded petulantly, and took out his frustrations on his companions. Halma was plied with dwarven ale that was far too strong for a human boy unused to spirits of any kind, and Keldas was subject to more race-baiting than usual. Wulf whiled away the remaining time making furtive gestures towards the halfling’s drink—forcing the paranoid peck to throw out several perfectly good drinks in favor of yet another “fresh” one.</p><p></p><p>Just as Wulf felt that he could stand no more, the party finally ended, and the companions spilled out onto the street to find their way home. Wulf was miserable— more time wasted, and no closer to the heroic conclusion. He prayed to the gods to direct him to the object of their righteous wrath. Something. <em>Anything.</em></p><p></p><p>A raspy voice called to them from the alleyway. It was a ragged old man— no, a woman, though it made little difference— a beggar of some sort. She rocked back and forth, muttering and mumbling, though between babbling and begging she seemed to have moments of cryptic insight. </p><p></p><p>“Seek... the Speaker in Dreams!”</p><p></p><p><em>At last!</em>, Wulf thought; his heart swelled with emotion as he realized his prayers had once again been answered: A bum to kick around. </p><p></p><p>Oh, the gods were wise. It was as if Moradin had draped his arm across Wulf’s shoulders and said, “Here, boy. Kick around this worthless bum for a bit, get it out of yer system, right? In the mornin’ yer’ll feel better and know just what to do.”</p><p></p><p><em>That Moradin.</em> Wulf grinned. <em>He’s one wise old geezer. Praise Moradin!</em> Feeling a religious epiphany upon him, Wulf instinctively made the fist and stepped closer to the old beggar woman.</p><p></p><p>“Whoa whoa whoa!” Keldas’ shrill and ever-annoying voice roused Wulf from his divine reverie. Keldas stepped between them and pressed a coin into the beggar’s hand “What did you just say?”</p><p></p><p>“Yer in my way...” Wulf stomped about impatiently. </p><p></p><p>Keldas stood up while the old woman continued her babbling. “This woman is an oracle of some kind. If you pay attention, you might find out who’s behind all this.”</p><p></p><p>“Aye, and if yer pay her another coin, she’ll tickle yer palm and tell yer fortune. I’ve seen this scam before.”</p><p></p><p>Keldas ignored him and spoke softly to the old woman. “Who is the Speaker? Where can we find him?”</p><p></p><p>“He is the Master. He is the Speaker.”</p><p></p><p>“Yeah, yer said that already. Now how about that WHERE part?”</p><p></p><p>“He is the Speaker. Seek Those Who Hear Him.”</p><p></p><p>Wulf tugged hard on his beard, trying to control his frustration. “Now look, I got no patience for yer creepy old crone act. If yer got summat to say, say it!”</p><p></p><p>The old woman cackled and started to shuffle away. </p><p></p><p>“All right then. If yer not gonna direct this beatin’ where it rightly belongs...” Wulf hitched up his belt, but the old woman had already moved off into the darkness.</p><p></p><p>Wulf raised his eyes to the gods and bellowed in frustration. "If yer got summat to say, say it!"</p><p></p><p>Another voice spoke to them from the doorway of the tavern. "Well, if you just need something to do, there's the haunted bookstore..."</p><p></p><p>A wild-eyed, red-haired dwarf stepped into the street with them. "People say it's haunted, always hearing weird noises and talkin' about the whispering ghost."</p><p></p><p>The halfling chimed in. "A ghost, we <em>don't</em> need."</p><p></p><p>The dwarf kept on. "I got my own suspicions about the place. Go with me, and we can check it out."</p><p></p><p>"Who are you?" Keldas looked suspiciously at the dwarf.</p><p></p><p>"They call me..." his eyes darted up and down the street, "...<em>the Roach.</em>"</p><p></p><p>Wulf nodded. Now <em>this</em> was a sign he could appreciate. Didn't really matter if he could trust this Roach fellow or not-- one way or another, there was sure to be a good ruckus at the end of it. "Sounds good to me. Lead the way."</p><p></p><p>It was nearing midnight, but the dwarf led them away to another part of town. The streets started to slope sharply upwards and they realized they were trudging to the top of a hill. Perched at the apex was the old bookstore.</p><p></p><p>The building was unlike anything they'd ever seen. Everywhere your eyes came to rest, there was some new piece of unsettling architecture- impossible angles, arches, and colors, unusual metals and stones that even Wulf could not identify, and seemingly infinite additions. Overall the house seemed not so much designed and built by human hands, as something grown organically from a fever dream.</p><p></p><p>Keldas looked over at Wulf. "Oh, THAT'S inconspicuous."</p><p></p><p>Wulf just grinned and pulled his cloak tighter around him.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Wulf Ratbane, post: 738, member: 94"] [b]THE SPEAKER IN DREAMS (Part IV)[/b] There wasn't time for a second curtain call. The halfling had jumped down behind the stage and was beckoning the party to a dark hole in the wall. "Uh, guys, come take a look at this..." "Pretty small hole. Yer better check it out first, peck. Quiet, like only yer can do it." Wulf winked. The halfling just sighed, accepted the inevitable conclusion, and wiggled through the hole. Moments passed and the halfling's little curly-haired head came popping back out out of the hole—to Wulf’s great disappointment, it was still attached the rest of the filthy little bugger. The halfling held his fingers to his lips, then contorted his fingers into an impressive-looking signal. Wulf could only suppose it was some kind of silent rogues' language, though he half suspected the peck had simply dreamed it up in his spare time. Nevertheless, he assumed it meant trouble. He pulled his blackscale cloak tight and was wrapped in shadow as he crept into the hole as well. Wulf could see the halfling sitting wide-eyed in the dark, straining to listen. Wulf cupped his own ear and he, too, could make out the sound of a low whisper-- speaking Undercommon. "[i]When the rest arrive...[/i]" The halfling looked towards him for confirmation, but Wulf merely shrugged-- though he grinned to himself and reflexively tightened his grip on [i]Taranak[/i]. He longed to put his new hand-axe to the test as well. [i]Mmm... Bloodshed.[/i] Wulf motioned for the halfling to bring the others in, and shortly all five of them were sitting there in the darkness. Only Wulf could see-- so he had big plans of being the hero. Any moment now... The silence was broken by the sound of Draconic speech and a veil of pitch blackness fell over the entire group of them, huddled near the door. "Ach, yer sons o'... aah!" Something was stabbing at him, and as shouts went up from his comrades he knew he wasn't the only one. Wulf grimaced and cursed his luck, and made a mad dash forward, hoping to come out from the area of magical darkness. Sharp metal and filthy claws sought him out as he ran, but he ignored the pain, plowed through, and turned to assess the situation. Almost a dozen of the cave-dwellers had appeared, as if from nowhere, and were moving in and out of the magical darkness with ease. From the sound of things the halfling and Alliane were taking the worst of it, though he could also make out the sound of Keldas’ spellcasting, and the unmistakable sound of Halma’s greatsword shearing through flesh and bone. Wulf thanked Durgeddin as he once again set his battleaxe ablaze and waded into the thick of the fighting, near where he guessed Alliane to be. These creatures, whatever they were, were no fools: they concentrated their attacks on the party’s healer and used the darkness to befuddle their foes. But ultimately, Wulf and Keldas maneuvered Alliane into safety, where she called on Corellan for [i]Daylight[/i] to banish the darkness; the cave-dwellers fell quickly, once revealed. The last few stragglers fled, easily escaping Wulf and the halfling, though at least one was pursued by the fleet-footed barbarian and cut down in the street. (So much they surmised when Halma came trotting back moments later, a big grin on his face. They’d pretty much learned to accept that when Halma ran off alone after some poor bastard, sword in hand, sooner or later he’d come trotting back, looking deeply satisfied.) While the halfling checked the filthy, nearly naked bodies for hidden coins, Keldas took note of the real treasure they’d gained—a convenient bolt-hole of their own, should they need it. The building appeared to be some sort of abandoned warehouse, and if creatures such as these could take up residence here, right in the middle of a populated area, and remain unnoticed— well, it was a good bet they could use it themselves, too. Wulf’s mind was occupied with trying to figure out who was next on his “To Do” list. Ratmen and morlocks? That made little sense. Surely somebody else was calling the shots. Wulf felt the gods calling to him, in a very real and personal sense; and the voices that called the loudest, in the least divine and dignified terms, were telling Wulf quite clearly to find that “somebody” and put his boot in their ass. And the longer it took to deliver that steel-toed, hob-nailed justice, the more foul Wulf’s mood was sure to become. Unfortunately, there were no clues to lead them to their next “appointment.” They wandered the streets back to their inn, though the tale of yet another daring battle raced ahead of them. By the time they returned to their rooms, the grateful populace, led by Captain Shella and the dwarven smith Shuma, had organized a celebration party for them, and they were shuffled off in the midst of a drunken throng. They celebrated long into the night, though Wulf drank little, brooded petulantly, and took out his frustrations on his companions. Halma was plied with dwarven ale that was far too strong for a human boy unused to spirits of any kind, and Keldas was subject to more race-baiting than usual. Wulf whiled away the remaining time making furtive gestures towards the halfling’s drink—forcing the paranoid peck to throw out several perfectly good drinks in favor of yet another “fresh” one. Just as Wulf felt that he could stand no more, the party finally ended, and the companions spilled out onto the street to find their way home. Wulf was miserable— more time wasted, and no closer to the heroic conclusion. He prayed to the gods to direct him to the object of their righteous wrath. Something. [i]Anything.[/i] A raspy voice called to them from the alleyway. It was a ragged old man— no, a woman, though it made little difference— a beggar of some sort. She rocked back and forth, muttering and mumbling, though between babbling and begging she seemed to have moments of cryptic insight. “Seek... the Speaker in Dreams!” [i]At last![/i], Wulf thought; his heart swelled with emotion as he realized his prayers had once again been answered: A bum to kick around. Oh, the gods were wise. It was as if Moradin had draped his arm across Wulf’s shoulders and said, “Here, boy. Kick around this worthless bum for a bit, get it out of yer system, right? In the mornin’ yer’ll feel better and know just what to do.” [i]That Moradin.[/i] Wulf grinned. [i]He’s one wise old geezer. Praise Moradin![/i] Feeling a religious epiphany upon him, Wulf instinctively made the fist and stepped closer to the old beggar woman. “Whoa whoa whoa!” Keldas’ shrill and ever-annoying voice roused Wulf from his divine reverie. Keldas stepped between them and pressed a coin into the beggar’s hand “What did you just say?” “Yer in my way...” Wulf stomped about impatiently. Keldas stood up while the old woman continued her babbling. “This woman is an oracle of some kind. If you pay attention, you might find out who’s behind all this.” “Aye, and if yer pay her another coin, she’ll tickle yer palm and tell yer fortune. I’ve seen this scam before.” Keldas ignored him and spoke softly to the old woman. “Who is the Speaker? Where can we find him?” “He is the Master. He is the Speaker.” “Yeah, yer said that already. Now how about that WHERE part?” “He is the Speaker. Seek Those Who Hear Him.” Wulf tugged hard on his beard, trying to control his frustration. “Now look, I got no patience for yer creepy old crone act. If yer got summat to say, say it!” The old woman cackled and started to shuffle away. “All right then. If yer not gonna direct this beatin’ where it rightly belongs...” Wulf hitched up his belt, but the old woman had already moved off into the darkness. Wulf raised his eyes to the gods and bellowed in frustration. "If yer got summat to say, say it!" Another voice spoke to them from the doorway of the tavern. "Well, if you just need something to do, there's the haunted bookstore..." A wild-eyed, red-haired dwarf stepped into the street with them. "People say it's haunted, always hearing weird noises and talkin' about the whispering ghost." The halfling chimed in. "A ghost, we [i]don't[/i] need." The dwarf kept on. "I got my own suspicions about the place. Go with me, and we can check it out." "Who are you?" Keldas looked suspiciously at the dwarf. "They call me..." his eyes darted up and down the street, "...[i]the Roach.[/i]" Wulf nodded. Now [i]this[/i] was a sign he could appreciate. Didn't really matter if he could trust this Roach fellow or not-- one way or another, there was sure to be a good ruckus at the end of it. "Sounds good to me. Lead the way." It was nearing midnight, but the dwarf led them away to another part of town. The streets started to slope sharply upwards and they realized they were trudging to the top of a hill. Perched at the apex was the old bookstore. The building was unlike anything they'd ever seen. Everywhere your eyes came to rest, there was some new piece of unsettling architecture- impossible angles, arches, and colors, unusual metals and stones that even Wulf could not identify, and seemingly infinite additions. Overall the house seemed not so much designed and built by human hands, as something grown organically from a fever dream. Keldas looked over at Wulf. "Oh, THAT'S inconspicuous." Wulf just grinned and pulled his cloak tighter around him. [/QUOTE]
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