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Thread: D&D Snippets

  1. - Top - End - #451
    Dwarf in the Playground
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    *looks at all the stuff she's missed* Wow, that's a lot of text. I, uh, I don't really know how I'm going to catch up with the reviewing. I'm going to try. though, at least the nearest ones.

    Alone: No nitpicks, great job, Moreta! Poor Lyra, though. What point of her story is this set at? What happens next?

    Baroi: Wow, Big Teej, you've improved since I've last read your stories! I do have a couple of nitpicks, though, the gust of which can be summarized as "if you're writing from first person, try to catch the character's tone." Because a guy that looks at someone he just slept with and sees "a female form" instead of a pretty girl is just creepy. Or was that the intended effect?

    A Death in the Family: Marillion, enjoyable as usual! One of the things I like about 7th Sea is that you can play family revelations and have it all be a part of the setting. And I really enjoy reading about this kind of thing. Though now I want to see how a male character would react to an arranged marriage.

    I loved the bit about Montaigne food. Snails and frog legs makes it sound like they're all disgusting sorcerers! :-P

    And I liked the "your name is" bit. I'm a sucker for names signifying bloodlines.

    Monster: well done! In contrast to Moreta, I found the imagery quite understandable, even though I haven't played the Lost. Am I correct in understanding that Summer is Colors' court, and, in a way, her own essence now?

    As for my own stuff - I did do some recording of things in our D&D campaign, and a bit of stuff for Morgana. I'll try to post it in bits,

    First up is the D&D stuff - because our current DM and the player of our paladin asked me to. Kudos, Fearan. ;-)

    Reincarnation
    or
    Paranoid adventurers and hurt feelings

    Spoiler
    Show
    Soon my companions' excited clatter quiets down, as all retreat to their own packs and getting ready for the long day ahead of us. A very, very long way awaits us. Cypher, who no longer needs to gather his things, curls up in the corner with his sword in his paws, and covers himself with new wings. I watch him out of the corner of my eye. O Boccob, what a beautiful creature he has become! The blue dragon, Riantasala, was awesomely menacing and beautiful, in a way, but Cypher - even if he is a very young dragon, whose scales have but begun to shimmer silver... I find myself remembering why I'd bothered to study the arts of transmutation at all, back before I was aware of their true usefulness, I still harbor a dream to rise into the sky on silver wings...

    But the little dragon does not look too happy. No suprise there. My companions' reaction to the paladin-bard awakening in his new form was to conceal surprise with joking. I have nothing against the human sense of humor, really, but it can be harsh sometimes. Especially when the jokers forget - or do not know - that the return of the soul to the body is a painful and difficult ordeal.

    I've already packed my backpack. Might as well deal with this now.

    "Cypher?" I speak in Draconic. Luckily, we're the only two in our group who know the language.

    The little dragon raises his head. "Yes?"

    "Forgive." Oh, the tongue of the dragons... Even a simple request for pardon sounds like an order! "I believe that was unpleasant."

    Cypher shoots me a look of surprise.

    "It's all right." He nods. "But I am surprised that it is you who have come to apologize."

    I glance at the neighboring rooms, where my companions currently are.

    "You shouldn't be." I reply. "I just don't think our companions would have found such joking unpleasant, really. Their humor is always like that, and they would not have minded being targeted by it. I would have."

    I hadn't dared come close even when we had been resurrecting Katarina, despite the fact that it was a safe place and a joyful time, and her own temple, and all that. Such moments were too intensely personal. But here we had been forced to stay close, for fear of the dangers of the abandoned city, where you never know when an enemy might find you. So we stood in a semicircle, and waited for danger, and to awaken under our cold glares must have been... How did Cypher say? "Am in al-Zaraq or in the caliph's zoo?" I had nothing to reply to that. I still don't.

    But his strange ressurection turned out to be true, and our suspicions out of place. I'll not gather enough courage to explain them to Cypher. It must be too unpleasant when you and your god are suspected of something far from probable for your alignment.

    While I ponder that, Cypher says, "But you displayed far less unhealthy curiosity than the others."

    "I had no need to." I smirk. "They did my work for me... Anyway, I'm sorry."

    The dragon nods, and curls up again, muttering something under his breath. He's forgotten how well elves can hear, apparently.

    "They might have known about this virtue called compassion."

    A chill runs down my spine. The last thing we need here is a quarrel. It's unlikely, but... I'd never have dared to descened into a cursed city without loyal friends at my back. A quarrel would kill all of us.

    No. Never. I won't let it.


    And second out of a series of four...

    Of warfare among humans and elves
    or
    A small in-game exercise in world building

    Spoiler
    Show

    It had been a long day, and now, as the captured mage and her associate rest in prison, guarded by zombies - er, good warriors that arise to defend at the sign of need, I mean - and as their spellbooks rest in my backpack, the first trophies of their kind, I need to prepare spells. The problem is - I can't really think about magic right now. Something else is eating up my mind.

    I've nearly pinpointed what the problem is. That... Attitude. It's doesn't fit well into my head. Utterly human: no elf - except, possibly, the greys - would ever be quite this cold. But I can't shake the feeling that I am misunderstanding something. The two people with such an attitude whom I know well are also the two kindest people I know.

    It boggles the mind.

    Fai gives a quiet snort as he turns in his sleep. Ever since our two companions were swept away by the magic of their royal blood and the need of their country - incidentally, leaving us in need of a cleric and a rogue, and no less than in the middle of an underground cursed city! - we've had a different watch order. Fai takes first watch, I take second, and Cypher takes third.

    It is too dark to see, but I know the paladin-turned-dragon now reclines near the exit window, staring intently at outside world. A regal creature, no less, even though barely more than a wyrmling. His features are not fully formed yet, and yet he is absolutely breathtaking. An elfling's wish come true. One of the few things that I've always wanted to do was to take the form of a silver dragon some day. If only for a short while, to rest on the wind, to walk on the clouds!..

    I do not envy him and his transformation, however. The ways of the good gods are only somewhat less harsh than those of the evil gods, though he would not agree. He would probably try to explain, though. My other companions would not understand. Katarina lives like she does because of her own inner nature: she was born a chosen of the Sun, and she is his child in spirit and deed. She is the Sun's ray, she can be no other. For Cypher, as far as I am aware of, it was a choice to dedicate himself to the dragon god, despite of his heritage - a choice that took quite a bit of soul-searching and probably doubt. So he is better equipped to explain how cold...

    The coldness grips my heart with a sudden and razor-sharp clearness. I hear my own voice before I can stop it, a harsh whisper: "Gods, I hate you all who think with honor instead of common sense... You make me feel as helpless as an elfling."

    "Why?" Cypher whispers. His draconic voice carries, though, and my hearing is keen. So is his. We shall not wake Fai.

    "There is no persuading you." There is a bitterness in my mouth.

    "Well, common sense is good." The dragon says with a laugh. "But I'm trying to be a hero. not a commoner, if you know what I mean."

    "There are so many things wrong with that argument, you know?" I say as dryly as I can. Being a hero is exactly the problem. Those who try always end up with so many utterly unheroic consequences.

    "Sure." He replies mildly.

    Hm. Say what you mean outright, elf, or be silent? Is that what you mean?

    Might as well, since I brought the topic up.

    "I guess the one thing I've never been able to understand is how it is possible to put the fates of those you fight higher than the fates of those you fight alongside with. It is how it sometimes looks from the outside, and yet I... I can't say it's exactly true, something stops me. I really do not understand. Could you explain?"

    "Do you really need saving?"

    I hold the quick "no" that rather betrays the truth of the matter: that all adventurers need saving, and often. Where would I have been without Katarina's shield, Fai's blasts, Jelita's bow, Cypher's sword? Where would they have been without my magic and expertise?

    Not on this plane, certainly.

    But it is not about us.

    "I'm talking about the general tendency. It is somewhat of a given for me that it is a priority to save the lives of those who are on your side as opposed to your enemies. One must watch over one's own first."

    "Is that about the general tendency, as well?" He sounds a bit worried now.

    "Naturally." The fit of emotion has passed, luckily, and I can speak calmly and truthfully. "I can't get it through my head that human honor has you all put your enemies first."

    "It is more important for me to preserve those innocent lives that I am defending." Cypher says. "Human honor does not put one's enemies first. It might sound like a paradox, but it's really care for your own and yourself."

    I nod, and the coldness in my chest looses its hold somewhat.

    "I did have the feeling that I'm approaching this somehow wrongly. Would you care to explain?"

    He is silent for a time, conceiving an answer. I wait, hoping to quench the sickening, poisonous feeling in my soul,

    "Well, look here. Imagine... Orcs." Why does it always have to be orcs in these conversations, I wonder? "The gruffest, most primitive warriors you can find." О Lord of Knowledge, for a former bard he is certainly clueless about orcs. At least about their epic tales of bravery and so on. Absolute nonsense, but they explain a lot about the orcs. "Imagine they go into your forest and get shot down from behind a tree. What do the rest of them think? 'Dey wer anfair cawards! Elvs ar pansees! We c'n teik 'em!'" The parody of the orcish accent is amusing, though. "And they gather a warband again, and they go attack again. And again take a few of your people with them as they die. And what happens when those same orcs meet a bunch of men on the open battlefield? They get beat up fair and square, and their reaction is predictable. They respect our strength, and are far less eager to mount an attack again. It's ten years of peace at least, until a new generation breeds."

    Now, where do I start taking this mess apart?

    "Actually, that's not the way they react to our traps. All they know is that if they enter this forest - they die. It breeds simple fear. We need nothing more, really."

    "That's a human reaction." He points out. "What would an orc do?"

    "Even the most barbaric creatures know fear." I can't help but smile here. Yes indeed. Even the most savage brute wavers before certain doom, and the fear is that much greater when you do not know which direction doom lies.

    "Re-eally." The dragon drawls sceptically. "Then why are you under constant attack?"

    "You must have misunderstood me when we spoke earlier. We are under 'constant' attack only by our own standards. Like you, we get waves of orcs after a new generation grows up."

    "You might have given them a demonstrative thrashing once and for all."

    I shrug. "We probably could have, but genocide isn't really to our liking." When is Cypher going to understand: elves do not fight to defeat? That you *can't* fight to defeat when there are ten of them and only one of you?

    "And just imagine an encounter between... Hmmm... The drow and the paladins? When the drow understand just how limited the paladins were in their options and that they *still* won? They'll just think, 'Hey, there's a lot of *other* places you can get slaves!'"

    I've not heard much of the drow. A mere legend to my generation. But if the old stories are at all true, I don't know what chance would a paladin stand. Drow do not fight fairly, not any more than we do. And I've heard they routinely use a lot of nasty things we cannot use aboveground for fear of spoiling our own habitat.

    "No, I can't imagine that." I reply. "And, anyway, your calculations require one tiny condition..."

    "Agreed." He nods. "The victory of love and light for our part. But that's a necessary condition for all calculations of the aftermath, isn't it?"

    "True, but that's the crux of it. You seem to think might will always be on your side. Enough might to win with a handicap."

    "All of our battle plans take that into account... Wait! Elf, I've got it! I know the difference between us!"

    He sounds so excited, and... Truthful. Even before he says whatever it is he got, I feel like he is right. But I try to remain unmoved. "Hmm?"

    "Every adult elf is a combatant, right?"

    "Well, yes. Moreover, even those in their fifties will fight when necessary. Nine or ten year olds, by your reckoning."

    "That's it." Cypher says. "There are no professional warriors, no separate caste where these concepts could have originated. Naturally, an armed people has neither time nor use for 'warrior's honor.'"

    That's... Almost plausible.

    "Sounds good." I say skeptically. "But why didn't the entire people become a 'warrior's caste' of a sort?"

    But we are, I understand suddenly. I remember how my father's decision - to never let me learn weaponry beyond the simple knife, which any forest-dweller learns anyhow - had backfired when I'd gone to live in Sirfain, where even the other mage's apprentices knew the rapier and bow. I'm passable at weapons now, but never quite caught up with them, and I will never forget their looks when I learned with children fifty years my juniors.

    "Because a people has much more to do than war. Our warriors spend their whole lives fighting or preparing for war. You can't afford that. Your warriors, not counting the forest guards, blade dancers and such, are the artist, the builder, the musician who picks up a bow because it is war and necessary. The warrior of a human race is just that - a warrior."

    "I did say 'of a sort'..." I grumble softly. "But I understand. We do not learn all of war. We learn that of war which will help non-professionals survive in certain conditions."

    "Exactly." He says smugly. Still, he has reason to be: that was an admirable insight.

    We fall silent for a time, and then, after an idle exchange about garrisons and human warriors, I hear him slip off into sleep.
    There are thousands of good reasons magic doesn't rule the world. They're called mages. - Slightly misquoted Pratchett

  2. - Top - End - #452
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    lord pringle's Avatar

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    Will be writing some more Tanner Wolf stuff for english class so expect more soon.
    If you need me somewhere, don't hesitate to PM me. I have bad mental health days sometimes, so if I vanish that's probably why. PMs will help break me out of that.
    ~~~~~
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    Fate/Grand Order: Chaldean Irregulars (OoC)
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  3. - Top - End - #453
    Barbarian in the Playground
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    WEREKAT!!! I missed you! It's good to see you back!

    Sorry for the really late response on my part though...

    Quote Originally Posted by Werekat View Post
    Reincarnation
    or
    Paranoid adventurers and hurt feelings
    I love it! You really captured the feelings of distrust and perceived-offense between the characters very well, especially considering how this information comes secondhand from the speaker, which would usually deaden the impact. Instead, all of the bad feelings felt very prominent, and helped to create a very intense atmosphere. Incredibly well done!

    Quote Originally Posted by Werekat View Post
    Of warfare among humans and elves
    or
    A small in-game exercise in world building
    This is great! I really love how the narrator's personality shines through in this one, especially in her dry, sort of cynical remarks. I especially loved how it shined through in the philosophical debate about battle with Cypher, and I really enjoyed how her logical viewpoints clashed with Cypher's idealistic ones. Plus, big points for justifying that elvish weapon proficiency thing. It really adds a lot of flavor to the world the characters are in. I really love the recurring references to Boccob and the narrator's dream of becoming a silver dragon as well. Those helped to create a nice consistency between the two stories, and I felt that they helped strengthen the voice of the narrating character. Excellent work as always, and I'm really looking forward to the next parts of this story!


    I've finally got a snippet too! I figured I'd try my hand at writing in third person again, since I haven't really done that since I started writing snippets. Hopefully, that still holds up alright. This story is told mainly from my friend's character's viewpoint, about my character, Hero.

    Moving On

    (or Holding Out For A Hero)
    Spoiler
    Show
    The mountains laid deep within the grip of winter, their peaks buried beneath the thick mantle of freshly fallen snow. Everything was still, except for the lone, dark form of a traveler as he made his way up the side of the mountain. Everything was silent, except for his ragged, labored breathing and the crunching of his boots as they sank into the snow.

    The journey had not been kind on Azring the dwarf. His dark eyes had sunken, his limbs ached, and his lustrous black beard had paled and frayed. The peaks of mountains were no place for a dwarf, he thought to himself. He was a creature of the underground, a digger, a miner. His was a race of warriors, not of bloody hikers! Azring spat in frustration and watched in disgust as his saliva froze solid before it hit the ground. He could have been back home in Akral by now, knocking back a pint with his brothers, rather than freezing his ass off in the mountains, lost in the middle of nowhere, searching for someone who may not have even been there. But no. He would not fail in his Duty, no matter how cold or tired or hungry he was. He was chosen by Moradin, and the Chosen did not falter. Especially not when the world was in danger. And so, shivering, he clutched his thin black cloak closer to his body as he trudged along.

    Fortunately, it was not long before Azring found what he was looking for, even though he couldn’t see it. A cave. A tiny little hollow, barely twenty feet across, hidden just around the corner. He could feel its presence in his bones, just as clearly as he could see the snow and the stone around him. Yes! Yes, this was the place! He would be there. He had to be. This was it! Azring grinned with satisfaction as his stonecunning led him to the opening of the cave.

    And there he was. The man Azring came to find. Sitting crouched over a small fire, his back to the mouth of the cave, was a slight young man. A thick shock of bright red hair covered his head, and his striking green eyes seemed to shine in the light of the fire. But by far, the young man’s most striking feature was his skin. Pale and milky-white, but blemished by the presence of numerous port-wine stains that stained his body with sickly red streaks and blotches. Azring smiled when he saw him.

    “There ye are Hero! Ah’ve ben lookin’ all over for ye!” Azring chuckled as he spoke, trying to hide the feelings of nervous anticipation he felt swimming within his gut. It had been three years since he had last seen Hero, and these were certainly not the circumstances he would have chosen for a reunion.

    “Hello Azring,” Hero did not turn. His voice was a dead monotone, all but devoid of emotion. Azring sighed in dejection. It looked like his friend hadn’t changed much since the last time they spoke.

    “Hero, come on lad. Et’s time ta leave,” Azring said tentatively. “The Dark One’s armies are gettin’ stronger by the day. The world needs us now. Come on Hero, et’s time ta live up ta yer namesake,”

    Hero stood suddenly and turned on Azring, his face wracked with rage.

    “DON’T YOU EVER SAY THAT!” Hero screamed, his voice echoing through the tiny cave. “DON’T YOU EVER SAY THAT AZRING! I AM NOT A HERO!”

    “Ye are,” Azring said sternly. He was determined to remain unphased by his friend’s behavior. He was not going to allow things to end like last time. “Et’s in yer name,”

    “Damn you Azring, I am not!” Hero growled. “I’m not strong, or smart, handsome, or brave! I was just named by a crazy old farmer with stupid dreams for my future! You know just as well as I do that I just got swept up in all of this by chance!”

    “The gods’d say otherwise,” Azring said. “Ye know ye were chosen,”

    “DAMN THE GODS!” Hero screamed. “They have no power! Or if they do, then they don’t care enough about us to use it!”

    “That’s not true Hero,”

    “IT IS TRUE, YOU STUPID OLD DWARF!” Hero’s tone became hysterical. “IF THEY EVEN GAVE TWO CRAPS ABOUT US, NISSA WOULD STILL BE ALIVE RIGHT NOW!” Tears began to roll down Hero’s face.

    Azring sighed. He knew this was coming. Not that the reminder of it hurt any less. Nissa was a good lass, for an elf anyway. Corellon’s blessing was strong in her, and she was the bravest, sweetest lass he had ever known. He and Addin used to joke that Nissa was the glue that held their little group together. It was amazing how right they were in hindsight, really. And she and Hero had been close. Really close.

    “Hero, Ah know et hurts,” Azring rested his hand on his taller friend’s side. “But ye know as well as Ah do that there are jus’ some things tha gods cannae control. Like tha actions o’ other gods, such as tha Dark One,”

    “They let her die, Azring,” Hero wept bitterly. “They let him rape her and steal her soul! And they didn‘t do a thing to help her, to save her! Not a damn thing!"

    Azring had enough. Drawing himself up to his full height, he grabbed his friend by the front and forcefully dragged him down to eye level.

    “Gods damn et, Hero!” Azring growled. “They tried to warn us, in case ye dinnae remember! They told us ‘e was more powerful ‘n we could possibly imagine! But we ‘ad a chance ta kill tha bastard then an’ there so we took et! HELL, ET WAS NISSA’S BLOODY IDEA, REMEMBER?” Azring bellowed, and fixed Hero with a piercing glare. The two stood in silence, staring one another in the eyes. “She was a casualty, but we need to move on now,” Azring said tensely as he released Hero. “Ah’ve tried ta be patient with ye, but Ah’m bloody well fed up! Tha whole bloody world needs our help now, an' if ye ever really cared for Nissa, ye’ll honor her memory and help finish what she started! Ye can either come with me, or stay here and sulk! Ah dinnae care anymore!”

    With that, Azring turned and began to walk away, stalking out of the cave and into the snow without looking back. Hero watched him go until he was almost out of his sight. Then, wiping his tears from his face, he followed.


  4. - Top - End - #454
    Troll in the Playground
     
    BarbarianGuy

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    I was reading Tome and Blood last night, as I'm finally getting around to playing a d4 caster.

    I read the Blood Magus prestiege class.


    I can now happily say I've got another source of inspiration.

  5. - Top - End - #455
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    BardGirl

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    Quote Originally Posted by big teej View Post
    I bring you a story of goliaths.
    Guhingir's tale

    Spoiler
    Show

    It happened while I was out hunting.

    I was hunting stag in the mountain crags along with Vaunea and Aukan. We had tracked a herd to a valley and were preparing to ambush one when they came.

    Violators, greenskins, desecrators, swinekin… Orcs.

    They swept through the valley, driving the deer away. We were but three, as might as we are, we stood no chance against such numbers, and their group momentum would surely overtake us if we fled before them. We climbed, up into the trees, and watched them pass beneath us.

    They were heading towards the village
    No. no no no no no no no.

    We chased them, but they outpaced us, caught up in their feral lust of wanton destruction. We barely managed to keep pace, the dust kicked up by their passage taunting us at the edge of the horizon, mocking us from each ridgeline as we followed them.

    They reached our home an entire hour before us.
    A quarter of that is all it took.

    We came upon our home camp. It had been obliterated. Dead goliath’s lay everywhere, hacked and torn apart. Our dawncaller lay rent asunder atop our altar-block.

    Vaunea began to weep, Aukan went to comfort her. I searched the bodies of the slain, hoping to find some survivor amongst the tattered frames.

    I found only 1…
    An Orc.

    Our folk had made a good account of themselves, from my swift count it seemed that for every goliath that fell here today, they dragged down 3 of their murderer’s with them.

    The orc was missing his leg at the knee. I questioned him thoroughly, pulling on the exposed bone on his leg whenever he refused to answer me.

    This was desecration, they must be destroyed. The tribe of Orc’s called themselves the mountain crackers.

    I left that orc to die, and returned to my fellows. They both appeared numb and in shock.

    Aukan, prepare a tablet for any other tribes who come here. Let them know that we pursue, and will not return until every orc from this tribe of desecrator’s is slain.

    Aukan objected, “Guhingir, there is no way the three of us can accomplish this task.” Vaunea was apart from us, staring off into the sunset, remained quiet. “we have no choice” I replied. “this act cannot go unpunished. We three must avenge our blood.”
    Vaunea spoke, her voice quavering like an icicle about to fall from the roof of a cave at the end of winter. “they have to die, even if it means our deaths.” The woman was not a warrior at heart, at least not yet, she would have to learn to be stone hearted. “you can track them can’t you Aukan? You’re the best in the tribe after all.” She continued.

    Aukan shifted uneasily on his feet. “I believe I can do it. We can even catch them eventually, they can’t keep that pace forever.”

    “so we are agreed.” I said, taking up my hammer, which I had lain aside for the conversation. “Lead on Aukan”

    And so Aukan began to track our quarry across the mountains, the trail was painfully obvious at first, the earth having been trampled beneath their feet. We eventually grew close enough to shadow them, to gauge their strength and their numbers.

    They were many, and we were few.
    So we watched, and we waited.
    “aulak thala kaua gamala” - hunt the herd one animal at a time.

    As night fell, they set up patrols, no more than 10 to 15 orcs each.
    “Wheat before the reaper”, as I’d heard people of the lowlands say.
    “a tiring stag before a goliath” we would say in the mountains.

    We crept closer, our massive forms hidden within the shadows of our home. We waited until a patrol wandered in our direction, and we struck.

    I stood from my concealment, and hurled my Harpoon at an orc. I had acquired the weapon during trade with some lowlanders; one man in particular smelled strongly of salt and told me the harpoon was used for hunting on a great expanse of water, called an “ocean”. He told me it was much bigger than any mountain lake. I had found the trader’s stories fascinating, but I prized the harpoon for its ability to bring down prey and allow me restrict their movements.

    My harpoon caved in the Orc’s chest, pinning him to a tree. The remaining orcs milled about in confusion and panic at the sudden, violent death of a fellow, Vaunea began to rain arrows as long as an Orc’s forearm into the crowd, whilst Aukan and I waded in with our great hammers. We slew the orcs in seconds.

    We faded back into the brush to wait for another band of orcs to come our way….

    We harried the horde for some time in this manner, taking 10 to 15 orcs a night. Unfortunately, the orcs left the mountains, and travelled down onto the flatter lands. We could not help but give chase.

    Many moons have passed since then. Both Aukan and Vaunea have long since fallen in battle with the orcs. I am the sole survivor of our tribe.

    I will not rest until each of those orcs is dead.

    I am Guhingir, Goliath, called “barbarian” by those who call these flat expanses home. I call myself “Avenger”.
    My weapon’s and my very soul call out for the destruction of the swinekin.
    I like this one. I think you captured the feel of the character, his personality, his feelings and emotions really really well. I could really feel his pain when he realised he was too late, and there seemed to be a sort of regret in his tone when he mentioned that the other two were dead.

    Two things I would fix:
    1. The first time your character speaks, you forgot the speech marks. Not a huge error, but it makes it a little tricky to realise he's speaking. I had to read it twice before I suddenly realised that he was actually talking.
    2. Write numbers in full. Don't just type '3' or '1', type 'three' and 'one'. The rules of English state that for any number ten and below you write out in full, anything from 11 up gets to be written in numerals. The only exception to this (in a story at least) would be if you were depicting some sort of accounts book, or perhaps describing something the character was looking at. If he's looking at a number scrawled on a page or something. Numbers that are part of the text as yours were need to be in full.

    There were a few grammar issues as well, but nothing that really impacted the story or made it hard to read so they're not really worth mentioning.

    Quote Originally Posted by Pisha View Post
    I haven't posted anything here in forever and a day, but this scene cried out to be snippet-ed.
    You're right. It did. I love Dala's wondering back and forth about whether or not they've done the right thing in bringing Celia and her final acceptance that they didn't have any other choice. I'm fascinated that this Builder turned against them yet Celia still brought him back. I'm sensing another story there that I really want to know! I liked Dala's pragmatic approach to magic as well, it's those little side-thoughts that really make these snippets interesting. I don't know of anyone who is so focused that they think of one thing and one thing only and never get sidetracked. But all Dala's side tracks were perfectly natural and made her seem incredibly real.

    Quote Originally Posted by Marillion View Post
    Not much action in this one: In fact, it's mostly exposition for the second part. But I like it.
    It is. And it works. I love Rafael's horrified realisation of who he really is. I love his and Josephina's reactions to all these revelations. They're horrified, but still bound by the niceties of society and it just reads wonderfully. You do a wonderful job of portraying them, with nice comic interlude with Dimitri

    Quote Originally Posted by big teej View Post
    got another one finished.

    this one is a Rilkan Duskblade
    I don't know why, but I seem to be fixating on the fact that he's lost his hat. I find it incredibly funny for some reason. All this crap going on around him and he's worried about his hat. Reminds me of Indiana Jones

    Quote Originally Posted by big teej View Post
    “It’s not yours to take, for I am in your way.”
    Wow. He's badass all right. I love the title, it really sets up the scene that follows. I usually can't stand writing in full caps, but it worked for the demon-dude, it gave an extra depth of feeling to his voice. I could just hear it in my head, so well done with that

    Quote Originally Posted by Machuchang View Post
    This was just incredible. Your writing had an amazingly powerful feel, and you masterfully created an incredibly intense atmosphere. That, and all the little bits of backstory really drove home how screwed up a life Lyra has had and how much her curse has affected her.

    I could really feel everything she was feeling, all of her guilt, her fear, despair, all of it. This whole piece really, really resonated with me. I mean, I'm on the verge of crying over here. Well done. Very well done.

    Poor Lyra...
    I really shouldn't be feeling as smug about this as I do... but I kinda can't help it. That was exactly the feel I was going for. If it makes you feel better, I was almost crying when I wrote it.

    Quote Originally Posted by Werekat View Post
    Alone: No nitpicks, great job, Moreta! Poor Lyra, though. What point of her story is this set at? What happens next?
    This was set some time after the snippet in which Garret dies (can't remember the name of that one). And as for what happens next? I don't know!

    If I may ask though - both you and Machuchang - what was it about the writing that worked so well? I rarely sit down deliberately intending to get a certain feel out of a story because it never works. This is the first time I've deliberately gone for a feel and actually achieved it. I need to know what I did right!

    Quote Originally Posted by Werekat View Post
    First up is the D&D stuff - because our current DM and the player of our paladin asked me to. Kudos, Fearan. ;-)
    Hey! It's the elf wizard lady-man... I'm not sure you ever confirmed whether they were a male or female in the end... I've missed this character (whose name I am afraid, I have forgotten). I wonder though - were you tired at all when you were writing these? I ask because your English doesn't seem up to it's usual fine standard. I mean, you write just as well as, if not better than me, and English is my first language. I just wondered - there was something about the flow that didn't quite work for me. Maybe it was just because I hadn't read this character for a while, maybe it's because I was tired when I first read it myself.

    I liked them though. I like the slight envy that this guy gets to be a silver dragon and the wonder in the narrative.

  6. - Top - End - #456
    Dwarf in the Playground
    Join Date
    Sep 2008
    Location
    Kiev, Ukraine
    Gender
    Female

    Default Re: D&D Snippets

    First, the general stuff: Jailin is male. All of the great age of 119 (basically 19 going on 20 human time). I guess it might be hard to tell from first person, considering the fact that elves, as I write them, have more acute senses than the average human, and thus pay a lot more attention to things like color, texture, quality of material, as well as to gestures and touch as a way to transmit information. Think not nearly entirely visually-based, as with humans, but an even three-way split between visual, audial, and kinesthetic. Which creates an attention to detail that should be seen as feminine without additional information - which I really have no idea how to give, so if anyone has suggestions, I'm open.

    Gods and dragons: Huh, I was wondering whether I was getting too repetitive with those two details. Glad to see that actually strengthened the feel of unity across pieces, as I aimed it to.

    Machuchang: Thanks! My favorite part of working on worldbuilding is taking details that were thrown in for random flavor, and then building up a culture around them. It helps that I'm a cultural studies major.

    Now, as for Moving On: I have to say I can't really get a feel for what Hero's been living in. He's been in that cave for three years, presumably brooding over the death of a friend. Here's the catch: I can't get the character his brooding takes. Is he still shocked to the point of not taking care of himself, does the cave have the bare minimum for survival? Has he just decided to live a life away from all that reminds him of Nissa, and has made his life more or less comfortable? Has he been actually wandering, and is this place only a temporary shelter?

    What also makes me wonder is what god chose Hero, and what is the nature of their relationship, now and previously. What does he know about the gods? Can they only act through their clerics and chosen, or can they actually *do* what Hero wanted them to do - only they didn't? The fact that this is unclear - only slightly implied by Azring that they'd come across a full-blown manifestation while having only partial powers (and I'm not at all sure I got that correctly) - makes it more difficult to understand Hero's reaction. Does he know in his soul that there was really nothing to be done?

    To summarize, I'd like a little more background to make the piece more meaningful, to contrast Hero's character. What you've got there is basic, pure emotion, and you do that well - a man who's wanted for three years to scream out his rage and sorrow at someone for whom Nissa is not just some casualty, but a friend, so that they'd understand - but without context it doesn't shine as much as it could.

    Lady Moreta: *laughs* That's what working without peer review does to you. *nods* I know there's a sort of awkward effect in these pieces. I'm just not really sure where it came from and what to do with it. I think I've slipped a lot into the "tell-don't-show" mistake, which is easy to do in first person. If there are any particular places that look wrong, could you please tell me?

    As for Lyra: The repetition works well. I mean how she remembers from the oldest to the most recent incident. It's done in a good rhythm that works: the interludes in italic help establish that. The fact that the last interlude is longer helps in the dynamic, as well - it leaves the reader with Lyra's expectation that because of her curse she *will* be rescued tortured, and it's going to go *horribly* wrong she's finally going to be punished for her sins and be freed of them.

    There's the good part, I think, actually. You speak of her tormentors with the same language as someone awaiting a rescue would speak of his or her friends who have not come yet. Where are they? Why aren't they coming? When will they relieve me? It creates a kind of "1984" effect, very creepy and appropriate. And when you realize she's actually waiting for her *captors* it becomes really crushing.

    And, of course, the fact that she's actually being watched all this time - which means, since her captors are happy, that she was desperate enough that they could notice it. This creates an additional level of indirect depiction, at least for me: not just tears, but the kind of tears that you know the person shedding them is going to break down soon.

    I think that's the crux of what worked - hope it helps!

    As for my own stuff: the other two parts of the tale!

    Human Oaths and Dragons
    or
    Psychoanalysis for the Draconic Soul

    Spoiler
    Show
    It is my second watch. We switched around a bit tonight: Fai was tired, he slept first. So as I make myself comfortable by the window, Cypher gets ready to go to sleep. He curls up a pace away from me, and covers his head with his wings.

    That's... Unusual. Usually he stretches out. Head on paws. I've had ample time to watch my companions, I know how they sleep.

    I watch him out of the corner of my eye for a few more minutes. His breathing does not get quieter and deeper - it goes from short and rapid to calm, and then back to rapid again.

    Should I?.. We're really not that close.

    The silver dragon shivers, as if cold. That's... Disturbing.

    "Are you thinking over our hopeless tactical situation or are you just sad?" I say as nonchalantly as I can. "Or do I just not get something about dragons?" That's always a distinct possibility, too.

    Cypher pokes his head out from under his wing. Only his snout and an eye shows.

    "Just thinking." He mutters quietly. "About my transformation."

    I nod. "A lot to think about."

    We fall silent again. I try not to pry. Though I do wonder... Of so many things. Of why the spell did not go as planned. Of what Bahamut had in store for the young paladin. But all of that is between him and his god. Too personal.

    "I just don't understand." He says quietly and suddenly. "What it was all for. Why me, after all. What does he want from me?"

    That's... Peculiar. I thought a being of pure law and good would be more straightforward. "He did not tell you directly?"

    "No." A quiet whisper.

    "Do you have any idea why?"

    "Two versions." The dragon lifts a claw, speaking slowly, as if in fear. "Either it's some kind of draconic game. And I mustn't know. Or... Else..." His voice is shaking as he finally exhales, "I'm unworthy."

    "You?! Unworthy?" This coming from the man who'd given his life to save me once, when he barely knew me, and did not waver! From the man who put himself into danger over his word on a regular basis! If Bahamut considers *him* unworthy... No. Hardly possible. "What could you possibly have done to be unworthy of such a simple?.."

    "I. Don't. Know." The dragon closes his eyes limply.

    This coming from the boy who hadn't known fear since he took up the sword of a paladin. And who now has to deal with knowing fear and uncertainty again.

    What the hells do I say to him?

    "Maybe you should give your god a little more credit." The words
    somehow start flowing on their own. "Those reasons are both rather harsh for a being of law and good."

    "I don't see any alternatives."

    "You're how old? By dragon standards?"

    "Very young." He sighs.

    "That's quite possibly it, then." I say reassuringly. "They may just
    want you to have a good... Childhood, for what it's worth."

    The dragon raises his head hopefully. "As in 'go on, grow up, and we'll call you when we need you?'"

    "Yes, exactly like that. Your god is supposed to be merciful and understanding, is he not?"

    "Merciful - yes." Cypher nods. "Understanding... He is far too high above us mere mortals, I think."

    "Gods are supposed to be all-knowing within their portfolio." I note. "And you were part of Bahamut's portfolio long before you became a dragon, were you not?"

    "Yes, but... He's so high up, and I'm just a wyrmling. What could he possibly care for a single wyrmling in a huge world?" Cypher curls up again, only paws showing. The despair is palpable, and I catch myself on wanting to move closer, to take those paws into my hands, to hold him for support. But I stay myself. What would be wholly appropriate among elves might not spread to dragons so easily.

    I'm so glad the Indifferent One leaves no questions about what catches his interest and what does not. What do gods care about mere mortals, indeed... Should I tell him of my own experience?

    No. One does not tell a silver dragon of how one wanted to kill an innocent for the sake of one's own safety.

    "I wish Katarina was here." I say simply. "She'd be able to explain. She knows."

    The dragon snorts a little jet of frost. "Right. And she doesn't doubt herself, either, does she?"

    A-and good job, Jailin. You didn't notice *that* one before, did you? So that's why our two pious warriors had kept their distance. How do I explain?.. Damn it to the Grey Wastes, I'm not a cleric!

    "She... Understand, Cypher. She isn't just a follower of Pelor. She is his beloved daughter." That sounds so honey-sweet, my teeth are hurting as I say it. But with Katarina it is all true. "She wasn't making a decision to follow his ideals - she was born like that, and so he chose her when she was old enough to take care of herself. She is a ray of the sun. She acts like that because of who she is, not because she decided to be that way..." Somehow by the look of him I don't think I'm making any sense. So I finish lamely: "But she's still human, and she still doubts herself."

    "She did not doubt herself much when she chose to save Fai over those whom she promised her protection." The dragon says grimly.

    "You just have no idea." I remember that sleepless night well. I'd never seen Katarina quite so forlorn. She - and we with her - had promised to check out a possible danger to the village. But then Fai had been kidnapped, and she was faced with either breaking her promise or saving a friend from certain death. She decided to go after Fai, risking the lives of the villagers. Luckily for us, we killed two birds with one stone. Yet it was the closest our party had ever come to a split, Cypher wanting to keep his promise to the villagers, and Jelita...

    "Maybe." The dragon acquiesces. "But what I don't understand is Jelita. Why would she leave her sister to go with me?"

    "Really?" I make no effort to hide my amusement. "I'd say *her* motivation is clear as an ice crystal."

    To my surprise, the dragon ducks his head in what could only be embarrassment.

    "If that's really true," he says, "that is, of course, nice, bu-ut..."

    "That, too." I laugh. "But, really, that's not the main reason as I see it." The dragon fires me a curious look, and I continue. "She is younger than you are, Cypher, even if you have seen the same number of summers. She is yet like a child, who sees only the curiosity and wonder of travel. And when choosing between two tasks - one which is full of excitement, mystery, and where you can come back to be cheered by the townsfolk, and one where you have to go find some guy you don't really even know, you have no idea where to look, and it promises to be long and tedious, and above all boring... I'd say the choice is fairly obvious!"

    My chuckle freezes in my throat, as suddenly all I can see are the dragon's molten gold eyes, staring through me. His claws clench, and he emits a low growl.

    "Are you all right?" I ask carefully.

    "You hold up too good a mirror, mage." He spits out dejectedly. "It's just that... Take all that which you just said about Jelita. Apply to me. I want the glory. The good story. The grateful looks. I'm... I'm the same as she is."

    You think you just want the outer wrappings? I can't help but smile. Truly, one's own soul is often darker and more mysterious than another's.

    "Well, that's a good thing, isn't it?" I ask as cheerfully as I can.

    Cypher looks disgusted. "How can *that* be a good thing?" He hisses.

    "You can actually enjoy what you're doing, despite all the danger. There's nothing wrong with that. There's nothing wrong with liking being thanked. With enjoying being good. It's not the entirety of your motivation, is it? Don't tell me you went with us just because we'd come back and be thanked for it. That wouldn't be true, would it? You'd have gone with us even if they hadn't known."

    "True." He admits. "But I was exactly like her, once. I was that kid
    who wanted to save the village and be cheered on by the grateful villagers. I..."

    "You've obviously grown since then."

    "Right." He snorts skeptically and curls up again.

    "Anyway, you were quite careful about it."

    "Not careful enough, apparently." He grumbles.

    "What do you mean?" I really do not understand.

    "I should have just quietly gone my way," He sighs. "Without declaring it. I shouldn't have pushed you along my own path."

    "Don't be ridiculous." I laugh quietly. "First of all, remember that you did not. Our paths just happened to coincide."

    "True, but... What I did was blackmail anyway."

    I briefly go over the scene in memory. All he did was say that he was going to save the villagers regardless of us, and that he bids us farewell in our journey.

    "That? That was being honest. You have full right to be what you are, do you not? And let the rest choose their own ways. Even if we go our separate ways as a result, you have full right to say goodbye, Cypher."

    "To say goodbye..." The dragon murmurs sleepily and shifts his pose, suddenly much more relaxed.

    "Yes, to say goodbye." I barely stop myself from running a hand reassuringly along the ridges of his spine. Careful with any physiology you do not know well, mage! "And let them go their way while you go yours. We are all adults here..."

    A quiet snore rises from the dragon's nostrils. He is finally asleep.

    I smile and turn my attention to the window.


    And the last part of the series, which I think is the best written (yay, third person, and yay, Cypher who was a former bard and is easier to write!) Heed my warning, though: it's long.


    Hypocrisy
    or
    D&D has no wound penalties - that's no reason not to roleplay them, is it?

    Spoiler
    Show
    "I'll tend to our prize before those mechanical beasts catch up, and play lookout while I'm at it." Fai says. "Cypher, you take care of Jailin. And I'll be going somewhere where there's more light and space."

    With that, he exits, magical sack in hand.

    "I'll be fine." The elf growls after him through clenched teeth, spreading his bedroll on the "ground" of the rope trick. He flinches every time his burned hands touch cloth, his movements falter, but still Jailin tries to be as meticulous as ever - if only as a means to keeping conscious. The mage does not bother lighting a lamp. It's bad enough feeling the wounds. He doesn't want to see them, too.

    Cypher, of course, needs no lamp.

    "Fine or not, but you look like hell." The dragon observes, coming closer on silent paws. "You've got that amulet, though. Why haven't you healed up a bit?"

    The mage stops moving. Then Jailin very deliberately looks towards dragon, hand clutching at something hidden under his coat, and says in a very calm voice, "Because I will die the moment I remove the little trinket around my neck now."

    The dragon's heart skips a beat. "Why didn't you say something? Give me the healing amulet!"

    A small golden cornucopia appears on the wizard's outstretched palm.

    "Here. And I was quiet because we were flying too quickly. If we'd lost the amulet, trying to heal me on the run, we'd have had too difficult of a time looking for it. We couldn't afford that, it's our only means of reliable healing now."

    "Just sit down." Cypher says grimly, as he dons the amulet.

    Jailin sits, closes his eyes, and waits for the dragon to activate the cornucopia. The mage tries to keep silent, but a small hiss escapes him as his wounds begin to close.

    And they do not close fully. Not even close; Cypher fails to see much of a difference. Even as the worst charred patches fall away, replaced with new skin, most of the burns remain red and deep, and seep with ichor.

    But the elf exhales carefully, and touches his hands together, running attentive fingers along wounds. "Better. Much better. Thank you." And forces a small smile. "Now I will even be conscious if I lose the amulet. I won't be much help, though."

    "Rest will make you better." Cypher nods at the bedroll. "Lay down. Just don't wrap yourself up."

    "You take me for a complete fool?" The elf smirks, peeling outermost layers of burnt clothing off. "There is a lot of excess heat to lose. And I'll be sitting, thank you very much, otherwise I'll leave too much skin on my bedding."

    "I'll help you with losing heat. And treat you once it's gone." The dragon's tone allows no protest. "Lean against me. I am cool enough."

    "It will not hurt you?" The elf asks.

    "No." Cypher has no idea, really, but the last thing he wants is to breed doubt.

    Jailin nods, and rests his wounded back and hands across the dragon's hide. And so they sit, leaning against each other, in the dark of the pocket dimension. The mage is too hot to Cypher's touch, but he bears the discomfort easily. *After all,* the dragon thinks to himself, *if you couldn't prevent a friend from being hurt, you might as well help him heal.*

    The thoughts ring uncomfortably, reminding him of what he had lost. Among the things Bahamut had released him from was the power to heal. You could not re-think oaths while still having them, he had said. Human oaths and dragons do not mesh well, he had said. You will have to start over: such is the price for your new rebirth, he had said.

    It was all so reasonable.

    But right now a wounded friend was trying not to cry out from pain each time he moved, and Cypher could do nothing.

    "Forgive me for being so crass." The elf mutters suddenly. "I was afraid, and not thinking clearly. One flying anti-magic zone in this madhouse
    of a city - nothing we can rule out, really - and I would have been dead."

    "No offense taken." The dragon says, shivering uncomfortably.

    A pause falls. And then Cypher knows what he wants more than
    anything in the world.

    "Rest, elf." The dragon whispers happily. "Very, very soon, I will no longer be helpless when friends are hurt. I don't want to see you like this ever again."

    But the mage inhales sharply, as if someone jabbed him under the ribs. "That is wrong." He says suddenly. "That is just so very wrong."

    "That's the only *right* way possible." Cypher says kindly, basking in the calmness that has descended upon him. The dragon can't help but smile now.

    "No." The elf curls into a ball, burying his face in his hands, and whispers. "No, no, no, no, no."

    "Shh." The dragon says, not understanding what just happened, but huddling closer for comfort. "It's all right."

    "No. No, it is not." The mage chokes. The dragon listens, hardly believing his ears. The elf was always calm, maybe a bit irritable, but this was something new entirely. "You cannot live your life like that. Not like that. You cannot... Keep living just for the sake of others, you cannot keep doing what they want."

    *What?* Cypher thinks in confusion. *Where'd *that* come from?* And just when he finally understood that it really was not the glory and all that he wanted, but simply for his friends and family to never know pain and fear. Just when he finally remembered what his oaths were for.

    "Listen to me, my friend Jailin." He says, gently putting a clawed paw on shaking shoulder. "Didn't you hear what I said? *I* don't want to be helpless. *I* don't want to see you hurt."

    "That cannot be your true motivation." The elf says flatly.

    "Why not?"

    "We are far too different, you and I." The mage's voice is heavy and desperate. "You cannot possibly be wanting to help me because we are akin in spirit; we are not. Thus, your desire to aid me stems from you feeling bound to serve. And that..." He trails off helplessly.

    *What a mess,* Cypher thinks to himself.

    "Why do you think that I can't be wanting to help you?"

    "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not... How do you say it... A good man. Not by any of your standards. I'm not one. I'll never be one. When I'm in my right mind, I don't *want* to be one. I'm not going to dedicate my life to going around saving people just because. How can you possibly *want* to help someone that doesn't even try to change to your ideals?"

    "Simple." He replies. "Picking and choosing those who to save - unless they do evil themselves - is the shortest path to becoming evil. And you don't do evil."

    "That's not true."

    "Fine," He admits. "I have not seen you do evil."

    "I..." The mage falls silent for a moment, then tries again, "I've..." And finally, succeeds. "I'm... More than capable of killing an innocent for the sake of my own safety. Cypher, do not mistake me for a good man, I..."

    Cypher hears that which remained unsaid, that which he himself had cried out yesterday. "I am not worthy." And knows that, just as yesterday no amount of direct convincing would change what he thought of himself, no words would convince the mage.

    "I do not care for what you were or might have been." The dragon says firmly. "What you are now is what matters."

    "I have not changed, I will not change. I do not want to change. I just
    do not want you to think wrongly of me. I am who I am, Cypher."

    "That's fine with me."

    "That's impossible."

    "No, really." The dragon says quietly, and carefully tries to turn the elf towards him. But Jailin does not budge. "It's all right."

    "How can it be all right, if..."

    "If?"

    "It is not fair." The elf says suddenly. "I have no choice. No choice but to risk myself when you do. Because you would like to take the needless risk. The risk that is fair, but makes us so much more likely to fail entirely. The world is hard enough to live in as it is! Why do you not take the easier path? There is no dishonor in that!"

    "To you, possibly not." Cypher answers curtly. "Now, let me treat you."

    "But..."

    "Sh." And suddenly Cypher holds the shuddering mage's shoulders with human hands. "Let me look at your burns, Jailin. Please."

    "I'm moving." The elf replies after a grunt of pain. "I think a few are stuck to each other. Stupid of me to press them together."

    "I'll take care of that in a moment."

    For the longest time they are silent, interrupted only by muffled curse words from the elf. The former bard recognizes no less than five languages. He works, silently thanking Bahamut that he did not take away his skills in regular healing.

    "Unfffffair." The elf hisses as Cypher ministers to his stomach. He tries to speak on, but the words visibly catch in his throat.

    "I am sorry you got hurt." Get some more water and a fresh bandage.

    "Hurt... Matterssss.. Damn! Not." The elf stays the healer's pain-bringing hand momentarily, to speak. "It couldn't be helped this time around. I w-wish we would just use the chance to not get hurt."

    Wash the wound. Don't defend yourself. Bind the wound. "I am sorry."

    The elf cracks a smile. "Your enemies must hate you, Cypher. You are impossible to get to."

    That was not true. Jailin's words stung. Especially coming from one who had not too long ago encouraged Cypher to go his own way.

    Cypher keeps his silence until he is done, and Jailin follows suit. Then the dragon reverts to his own form and says, "Keep near. I need an eye on you."

    "Very well, I shall. Thank you." And the elf carefully lowers himself onto the cloak.

    "Welcome." the dragon replies calmly.

    Time passes so slowly in the dark. The elf does not move, and Cypher thinks him asleep, when he suddenly stirs and whispers.

    "Cypher?"

    "Yes?"

    "I was wrong. About taking needless risks. I am sorry."

    The dragon is quiet for a moment. He had been thinking about hypocrisy this whole time. And about how it really was easier to just be silent than to face accusations of selfishness.

    "When did you understand?" He finally asks.

    "A moment ago. Forgive me. You have full right to take any risk you want. I have full right to refuse to come with you. But I have no right to tell you that you are somehow responsible for me taking your path or going my own way. Was it not I, who said but a few nights back that we are all of age here? I still stand by that, and I am sorry for having forgotten it in a moment of weakness. I now know *why* you were so afraid of accusations of blackmail."

    Cypher gives a soft sigh.

    "You are forgiven." He says quietly.

    "Thank you." The elf raises his face, and turns to the dragon, looking pained. His eyes are still closed, but they appear to be dry.

    *I'll never understand elves,* Cypher thinks to himself. "Are you well?"

    "Yes." A barely audible sigh.

    "You don't look well."

    The elf waves a hand dismissingly. "Just very... What do you call it... Embarrassed. This has given me a lot to think about."

    "Then think. Or better yet, sleep."

    "I think I'll put off repeating this conversation for a bit more, if you don't mind." The elf says wryly, finally opening his eyes into a squint. "I'd like to at least end it on a positive note, so I have something to look forward to while I review it."

    The dragon smiles as the weight on his chest grows lighter. "Your call, then. What do you want to talk about?"

    "Some time ago you said that paladinhood doesn't give you immunity from yourself. From your own fears. So what are you afraid of?"

    "...Very positive."

    "It will be, I think." A mischievous smile plays across Jailin's lips. "But if it is too personal..."

    "No, it's all right." Cypher replies. "I'm afraid... You know, it's quite banal. Of being afraid. Of not doing the right thing."

    The elf's smile widens into a full grin. "And here you said this was not positive."

    "Just how is it?.."

    "You jumped in to save me before thinking. More than once." Jailin replies simply. "You do this sort of thing on instinct now. You won't have time to make the appropriate mistake, believe me."

    "What do you mean?"

    Surprise flashes across the elf's face. "Simple." He answers. "As soon as you know what is right, you do it. The difficult part is figuring out precisely what *is* right. But you're pretty good at that, I think. You can certainly fail. Anyone can. But it's not too probable, as long as you choose your battles wisely."

    "I go where I am needed." The dragon grumbles.

    "And you are needed in many places. I trust you will choose the one where you can do most good. You are certainly smart enough for it."

    "Well, thank you." Cypher answers crossly. "But I also trust this is a positive enough note."

    "Indeed. And I am growing rather cold." The elf smiles up at the dragon. "Thank you, Cypher, and a good night."

    "Sleep well, wizard. We'll need your magic in the morning."

    "Certainly, if I can make the gestures." The elf jokes humorlessly, as he carefully wraps himself tighter in his cloak. Cypher silently helps the wizard tuck in, and watches him drift off into his trance. And knows that, come daybreak, no one Cypher holds dear will have to suffer again while he lives.
    There are thousands of good reasons magic doesn't rule the world. They're called mages. - Slightly misquoted Pratchett

  7. - Top - End - #457
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    Aye Werekat, Summer is Colors' Court - at least, during that little flashback it was. Any comments on my earlier piece, Endgame (Or: the Host of a Thousand Princes)?


    Quote Originally Posted by Chilingsworth View Post
    Wow! Not only was that awesome, I think I actually kinda understand Archeron now. If all the "intermediate" outer planes got that kind of treatment, I doubt there would be anywhere near as many critics of their utility.
    My extended homebrew sig

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    My family is in the middle of packing up the house to move, so I haven't been able to write as much as I've wanted.

    I did however manage to finish two characters today, a devoted defender and a...... uh oh, my girlfirend is staring at me like i'm in trouble.....and now she's reading this
    OW
    she just hit me....

    she's threatening to hurt me unless I say she's amazing and wonderful and awesome.

    help help I"m being repressed
    come see the violence inherent in the system!


    ahem. anyways, a devoted defender and a gladiator

    so as soon as we're finished moving (some time in the next few days) I'll pick up writing more often again.

    and I'll go and really critique all the awesome stuff I've been reading and not commenting on.

    I mean honestly,

    the stuff y'all've been putting out puts my stuff to shame.

    especially given since all of you are writing from actual sessions. I'm relegated to character backgrounds and intros until further notice.

    ick...

    anyways. carry on oh fellow snippeteers

    yes, she really is making me post that.

  9. - Top - End - #459
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    The Host of a Thousand Princes
    Part Two

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    Spring

    Natasha Romanov's smile is winsome; the little Darkling girl speaks softly and reasonably, with a certain amount of cheer to her voice that is wholly inappropriate for the situation at hand.

    "General Northman," she is saying pleasantly to the military officer she and her fellow Spring Courtiers are 'entertaining' against his will, "If I might direct your attention to the television, you may decide to listen to us. We'll only take a few moments of your time."

    To human eyes, Natasha is a small, slight girl with idealized proportions, a miniature nymph, and her red contact lenses and fingernails only serve to give her a sort of infernal allure that draws men and women alike to her in equal measure. General Northman is just past middle-aged and, frankly, getting quite irate both about the six elegantly-dressed people in his office (holding swords, of all things!) and the loss of his hair piece, which had been sliced off the top of his head to prove a point about the efficiency of archaic weaponry when he'd expressed certain doubts by drawing his sidearm.

    Natasha languidly presses the power button on the remote. The television turns on to a local news channel that General Northman has never even so much as heard of; his brief confusion is met only by laughter from his captors. From their vantage in the news chopper, the reporter attempts - and fails - to comment on the carnage below him. To mortal eyes, a rag-tag army of surprisingly well-equipped vagrants is doing battle with animals and humans that continue to pour out of some manner of rift in the Magnolia Crescent park in an endless tide. The carnage is shockingly unedited on the video feed, and blood slicks the grass and plants, flowing in rivulets to the gutters and the sewers.

    "What is this?" General Northman demands to know, a note of horror creeping into his voice.

    "There's a certain price for that knowledge, General," Natasha explains gently, walking closer to him. Her scent wafts into his nostrils, full of Springtime flowers and the promise of heat and passion. Fantasies creep unbidden into his mind, and hastily, the General banishes the thoughts. Natasha laughs lightly, a low, dark sound, and smiles with a certain grim satisfaction.

    "Understand that if I explain these things to you, it's the end of the line for me and mine. Our whole world changes today, one way or the other. So if I tell you, you need to promise me troops. Everyone on this base loaded up into tanks, personnel carriers, the works, and marched to that battle to help my friends."

    The General thinks for a few moments, staring at the television, and Natasha adds softly, "Your daughter lives near Magnolia Crescent, doesn't she? I don't think she left her apartment today, General."

    General Northman finally nods his head and speaks the words, "I promise. All the reinforcements I can muster in an hour."

    The six Spring courtiers have a hushed conversation, until finally Natasha breaks off, still smiling, "You have a deal, General. Full disclosure in exchange for reinforcements, and Death take the traitor."

    There is a surge of energy that ripples from the Darkling girl into the General, and his eyes burn briefly before he sees the whole world in an entirely new light. Natasha's skin turns ash gray and her smile gains dancing shadows that laugh and jeer at him, and the other five captors go from simply being large into monstrous Ogres, all dripping tusks and walls of muscle. Natasha seizes him under the chin and, with strength impossible for her tiny size, forces him to look at the television once more, where he sees the armies of the Lost confronting the Host of a Thousand Princes.

    "What am I looking at?" he finally breathes out, terrified, confused, and exhilarated.

    "Armageddon."

    Winter

    Exhale. Squeeze the trigger.

    The field is so full of targets now that it's beginning to grow difficult to pick out which ones are of value. The quiet girl with the stained glass hair keeps up a withering rate of fire, manipulating her bolt-action rifle with understated grace and elegance. Exhale. Squeeze the trigger. A gigantic man-shark goes down in a spray of blood and crushes a gang of goblins to death beneath his bulk; their screams echo through the din of the battle. Exhale. Squeeze the trigger. A beast-master dies horribly; his man-hounds, freed from their tethers made from lies and cat's breath, leap upon their former fellows and gleefully tear them limb from limb.

    "We must retreat," someone is saying. The girl with the stained glass hair pretends not to hear him. Exhale. Squeeze the trigger. The self-styled Flawless King of Flawless Diamonds takes an iron-tipped round to the chest and explodes onto a thousand times a thousand perfect, fist-sized gemstones.

    The retreat order is repeated. Squeeze the trigger. A mechanical elephant begins leaking oil all over the enemy ranks, setting a blaze that spews black smoke into the sky like hellfire. Her fellow Winter courtiers pick up and leave, finding a new vantage point, and the stained glass girl keeps firing, tears streaming from her eyes, her lips a silent litany of hate for the monsters that took everything from her.

    She never hears the goblin miners that sneak up on her position.

    Exhale. Swing the pickaxe.

    Autumn

    Her Magnificence Seraphina Lumiere, Queen of Autumn in Seattle, Chief Sorceress of the Stacked Deck Freehold, Duchess of Down Street, Lady-Protector of the Thorns, stands in the center of a circle of Ashen Courtiers, hundreds strong. Because this was her idea, she has the right to speak, though other monarchs of Fall watch her closely from the ranks of the circle. In the distance, they could hear the battle raging on. Many of them itched to join it.

    "What we do here tonight can never be undone! Tonight, we throw all the locks! We open all doors! Tonight, we realize our birthright here, on the soil that first nourished us in our mortal shells. Our Keepers have come in Their glory and Their fury to extinguish the Lost from Earth, but we are ready. We were waiting for them, were we not, O Children of Fear?"

    There is an exultant cheer from the circle; Her Magnificence spreads angelic wings wide, and they drip blood from a dozen human sacrifices, each of them innocents of virtue fair. She scoops one clawed hand into a vessel full of blood and hurls it into a crescent arc on first her left side, then her right.

    "Hear me Autumn, Season of Sorcery, holder of mysteries! I am one of Your chosen monarchs, and I come to tell you that the Lost are finally calling in the debt you have owed us since the days of Clay Ariel. One wish, one dream, turned into reality!"

    There is a hush in the circle; frost forms on all the plants, and a great upwelling of spiders dashes towards the Ashen courtiers, symbols of Autumn's presence. The circle begins to chant, a dark-sounding thing in an ancient tongue dragged forth from the Fairest of Lands.

    "Autumn, season of ashen leaves and first frost, of the harvest and of raw, bloody fear, this is our demand - grant us the sorceries needed to destroy the Host of a Thousand Princes and drive them back to the Fairest of Lands!"

    My price, O Your Magnificence, Queen of Angels?

    Autumn's voice is like all of your worst nightmares speaking in eerie concert, focusing their baleful attention on you all at once in a perfect storm of raw, soul-shredding fear. Her Magnificence takes a step back from it, her voice wavering, but she steels herself, praying silently in her mind to gods she no longer really believes in.

    "W-w-we offer th-the m-m-Mask, my Lord," she says humbly, kneeling before the seething mass of spiders in supplication.

    Interesting. Acceptable. It is done.

    The clocks strike as the Court of Fear screams in unimaginable pain.


    Part three....soon.
    Last edited by Lord_Gareth; 2011-05-18 at 02:31 AM.


    Quote Originally Posted by Chilingsworth View Post
    Wow! Not only was that awesome, I think I actually kinda understand Archeron now. If all the "intermediate" outer planes got that kind of treatment, I doubt there would be anywhere near as many critics of their utility.
    My extended homebrew sig

  10. - Top - End - #460
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    I am far too tired to make any sense right now, but first impressions:

    Gareth: that was creepy as hell, well done.

    Teej: I like your girlfriend

  11. - Top - End - #461
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    I'll review yours when it isn't 3:30 AM, Moreta. For now, g'night!


    Quote Originally Posted by Chilingsworth View Post
    Wow! Not only was that awesome, I think I actually kinda understand Archeron now. If all the "intermediate" outer planes got that kind of treatment, I doubt there would be anywhere near as many critics of their utility.
    My extended homebrew sig

  12. - Top - End - #462
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    Quote Originally Posted by Lord_Gareth View Post
    I'll review yours when it isn't 3:30 AM, Moreta. For now, g'night!
    Hah... look at that. You're exactly 12 hours behind me.

    Sorry... that was totally unrelated, I just had to mention it.

    On topic, I started writing backstory for another character today. I have got to stay out of the recruitment forums

  13. - Top - End - #463
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    BarbarianGuy

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    Quote Originally Posted by Lady Moreta View Post
    Teej: I like your girlfriend
    I'll be sure to pass that along

    I'm rather fond of her myself.

    EDIT: officially going dark until after the move now.
    Last edited by big teej; 2011-05-18 at 07:48 PM.

  14. - Top - End - #464
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    BardGirl

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    I'm sure we'll still be here when you get back

    Werekat, I think I might have figured out what seems off with your writing lately... there's something about the word flow that just isn't right. I think you've picked words that are almost correct, or perhaps technically correct, but where another would improve the flow and readability more. I'll have to go through it again (when I'm actually awake) to really tell. But I will!

    I did like the last two you posted though

    Oh! I almost forgot... I wrote up some backstory for another potential character today...

    Leith
    or I am never getting on another ship ever again
    Spoiler
    Show
    This is not going well. Leith thought as she clung to the ships rigging and attempted to stay out of the way of the sailors frantically trying to keep the ship afloat. Followed closely by This is really not going well and I wish I’d taken the long route and walked. Leith clung to the bow strung across her back as the ship lurched again and she was drenched in salt water as the ocean attempted to drown the vessel. She wished there was some was some way she could maintain hold of both her father’s bow and the quiver of arrows at her waist, but she needed one hand to keep hold of the ship and – while an archer was next-to-useless without arrows, her father would be devastated if she lost his precious bow. It was the first bow he’d gone adventuring with and once he had outgrown it, he had kept it in the hopes that one day a child of his might take it up again. And her she was, having taken up her father’s bow she was now desperately trying not to bring up her lunch.

    And I was so proud of myself for not being seasick, she thought idly, ducking down to press herself against the wooden hull, hoping for some meagre protection. A deckhand screamed at her but the wind stole his words and the spray of rain and sea water mixed obscured her vision. She realised he must have been saying “look out!” when he hammered into her, sending them both flying across the deck and slamming into the railing hard. Leith gasped as the breath was forced from her body, both by the ship beneath her and the weight of the sailor atop her.

    Water rushed in at them, sweeping across like a desperately hungry beast, devouring all in its path. Struggling to get her breath back, only a small part of Leith’s mind realised that the water was coming from a different direction. It wasn’t until someone else screamed and a piece of wood slammed into her forehead, bringing bright blood to mix with the water streaming down her face that she realised what had happened. And that the sailor was now yelling into her face.

    “The mast is gone! The ship is doomed!” His breath smelled of salt-pork, that horrendous meat that was the staple of a diet at sea. Ship! Sinking! Leith’s mind screamed at her as finally her reactions caught up to the rest of her. She struggled up to her knees and opened her mouth to respond, only to fall back as a wave of water slammed them both into each other and the ship. This time to the accompaniment of cracking and breaking timbers. Oh dear…

    The sailor had risen to his knees and was slamming one foot into the deck, right where the cracks had appeared.

    “What are you doing?!” Leith screamed at him, finally finding her voice. He glanced up at her then turned his eyes upwards, towards the looming hull, then resumed his stamping without a word. Leith paled. She could see now, what the sailor must have seen all along. The mast was gone. The ship was heeled over onto its side – starboard or port Leith couldn’t remember which was which. Instead of sky above them, or sails, she saw only the other side of the ship. And it was getting closer. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, only to start gagging again as a mixture of sea, rain and blood poured in. The sailor was in her face.

    “Close your mouth if you don’t want to drown!” He roared. “Take this!” And he thrust into her hands a piece of decking, ripped from the crippled ship.

    “What about you?” Leith babbled, taking the decking on instinct.

    “It won’t take both of us!” He yelled back, straining to be heard above the crashing of the waves and the breaking of the ship. “I’ll find another. GO!” and with that, he shoved Leith into the raging sea. She closed her mouth just in time and squeezed her eyes shut for good measure as the ocean swallowed her whole.

    Too terrified to open her eyes, Leith kicked hard, in the direction she desperately hoped was up. The rain hammering on her face told her she’d reached the surface and she opened her eyes, raising one hand to wipe water from her face so she could see.

    “Hell!” Instantly she dropped her hand back to the plank, clinging like a vine to a tree, praying she wouldn’t lose this fragile raft. The motion of the waves left her dizzy and it was only in the back of her mind she realised the ship was no longer visible. Whether it had sunk or was just hidden by the curtain of still-falling rain she didn’t know. But she thought of the sailor and how by his quick actions he had undoubtedly saved her life. She offered a quick – and silent – prayer to Ehlonna that he would survive.

    “No!” The cry was ripped from her throat as she felt the bow slip sideways off her shoulder. Desperately, this was the one thing she could not lose, Leith let go with one hand and grabbed at the bow. Her aim was sure and she hastily looped the bowstring over her neck, swinging the weapon so it hung between her and her fragile life raft.

    There was nothing left to do now but wait. Wait for the storm to abate and see if she was still alive at the end of it. She tried closing her eyes but that just made her feel sick. Despite her best efforts to keep her mouth shut, seawater continued to flood her and make her gag. She was so busy concentrating on that that she almost didn’t notice the change in the sound of the water. It was still crashing, but the tone had changed. Raised in a landlocked village, it took Leith a while to realise it was the sound of water slamming and crashing into rocks. Little heading the danger of being dashed against them, she strained her legs and kicked towards the slight hint of safety.

    The sight of a small sandy beach offered more in the way of hope and Leith somehow angled herself towards it, washing up finally on a gravelly beach. Not willing to trust her legs, Leith crawled forwards and finally collapsed on the wet sand, lying awkwardly on top of both her bow and the plank that had saved her life.

    “Next time father,” she paused to cough up water, “someone else can take the priest back to the mainland.”

  15. - Top - End - #465
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    SwashbucklerGuy

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    Whuff... back after a long hiatus (GF was ill, things got hectic, etc), but back now, and looking forward to reading... what, 8 pages now of wonderful snippets? and writing a few more of my own. Anyways, good to see the thread's still alive, it's a good one!

    EDIT: Aaaand my long overdue Fading Suns vignette... keep in mind, this entire vignette is about a single roll... one that almost derailed the plot, until the GM was nice enough to give us another lead...

    A Strong Arm and Sharp Eye
    (Is Not Always Enough)

    Spoiler
    Show
    The Agora of Shaprut assaults the senses of all who do not live there, a wild commingling of sweat, spice, cries, laughter, conversation, sweet flowering plants from other worlds, and the rushing, to and fro, of servant, merchant, priest and noble alike in a grand and chaotic dance. It showed, felt Sir Miguel Don Esteban De Sutek, both the glory of the Pancreator in the wide variety of people and beings, and the sin that causes the Fading Suns, all in one square mile.

    Here, a Shantor, horselike, but sentient, arguing tonelessly with a Charioteer Guild pilot over the price of a better voicebox, there, the nimble hands of a child pickpocket, and the cry of distress and rage as a Decados noble was stripped of his purse. The last made him smile, for, even with his vows to Emperor Alexius to uphold the vows of a Questing Knight, he felt no favour toward the members of the decadent and godless Mantis House. But he was here on business, and so could not tarry here as long as he wished. The Emperor Protects, he briefly mused, And I am but a finger of his hand.

    Making his way through the crowd, he kept one hand upon his pistol, another upon his belt pouch, and, after a small eternity, he turned left, into a small alleyway. The dust and grime were thick here, and boxes, containers, and the occasional smashed urn littered the way. The sun did not reach here, and Sir Miguel took a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow before continuing.

    There had been rumours of illicit slave trading on Shaprut, and he was most eager to deal justice to those who robbed freedom from others, but first, he was to meet with...

    He halted. A pattern of rags, at first indistinguishable from the muck in the shade, had resolved itself, and the dark scarlet stain was unmistakable. The pile was, for the moment, still moving, and still, for the moment, his only source of information.

    Kneeling in the dust and dirt, Sir Miguel cradled the young woman. She was known to him. Not dear, but known. Seriah Al-Malik. Soon, she was to be no more, but he took in her face as she breathed shortly and painfully. She had been beautiful, but her face was now scarred, as if her assailant had taken offense at her beauty, and, without her synthflesh mask, she looked doubly incongruous in the robes of an old beggar that she favoured when walking anonymously. She was a spy, but not for much longer. Her brown eyes, still crinkled with laughter lines, were becoming glazed.

    “Seriah Al-Malik, you have something to tell me? Who must I find to avenge you?”

    She pulled herself closer to him, and, with her last strength, whispered into his ear, and then fell heavily back into his arms. He laid her gently on the floor, spoke Final Rites, as a dutiful son of the Orthodoxy, and then swore, heartily. Reaching for his communicator, he muttered to himself in frustration. He had his information, but lacked the means to understand it...

    ...Her final words had been in The Graceful Tongue, and, being a warrior, not a poet, he had never understood the metaphor and allegory that would help him.


    Much happier with this one, though, set in the new World of Darkness...

    Opposite

    Spoiler
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    I watch you as you leave the nightclub. God above, you're more beautiful than ever. You've been looking pale this past few days, and, while I understand, my heart aches at seeing you like this. In a way, I'm directly facing you. That hurts, too, because I'm a poetic soul, and the situation just reflects what we've both become.

    You haven't aged a day. I feel envious. I certainly did, with the war. Life becomes all the more precious, love, the more you see it wasted around you, for nothing more than dreams of money. I have all the money I need after my discharge, have had for years, even if every picture of the queen is soaked in blood in my mind. Still.

    I'm listening to Flogging Molly as you talk to some dried up old stick in edwardian clothing. He's a freak, but it's Saturday morning, oh-dark-God-alone-knows, and nobody notices one more oddball around this club. The music's talking about the history of our shared isle in terms that would have made them dead, this time even ten years ago. But it makes me laugh. After all, I do always find myself in the same old mess, and I certainly drink enough to make me sleep. But that's all by the by, love.

    I tense my finger, watch you for a few moments more, and then leave, quickly. Staying would be awkward, and I know you wouldn't want that...

    *-*-*

    The black market trader had looked really scared when I'd asked him for 7.62 Dragonsbreath. They're really rare, expensive as all hell, but he knew not to f*** with me. He'd seen me during the Troubles, he'd heard of me from his army mates, and we both knew he'd get what I needed, or he'd be havin' Guinness with the angels. Those blokes from the church must have known this too, known a lot more than I did, when they offered me the job. I'd seen even more working for them than I had during the war, but here... I felt better. I was doing good, this time, God's work.

    Even as your head turned into red mist, flaring in a fireworks display that would have made you squeal with joy when you were younger, I felt the love for you. It had never gone, not when you vanished, not when the men from the church told me where you were, and how you were. And I never talked to you, because old instincts die hard. I couldn't believe it, when I saw what you did with the poor lads you took home, when I realised that you'd not aged a day, and I'd become a tired, bitter old man. I'll never forget, like some of my brothers never forgot, and the people they hurt never forgot. But it was nothing personal, and I'll raise a glass to you, my long departed... sister. And your wake'll be a fine thing, even if it's the second time around...


    I don't think I'll explain that one too much unless I'm asked to. But I will say it represents a situation I've yet to see in a game I've played in, and now know how I'd go about it, in this case. If you listen to the track the unnamed character's listening to (I might name him, make more stories about him), you'll understand what he's talking about, and see another layer to the story. The song is Drunken Lullabies.

    EDIT 2: Ooooh, other nWoD snippets? Laaaaavleee! xP

    EDIT 3: Lord Gareth, even though I hate, hatehatehate, apocalyptic WoD games, be they old or new WoD, I love the first snippet! Haven't read the next (if it's been written) 'cos I have to do stuff, but wow... the emotion is just right, the feel of madness and beauty and horror and... just wow. I especially loved Winter. Perfect!

    EDIT 4: Bleedin' Nora, I come back after a break, and I'm on a roll! Another one with my previously unnamed character, now known as Finlay Houlihan (or Finn, for short)...

    Good Craic

    Spoiler
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    I'm down at Siobhan's bar, a fine old place with good craic, when I see the lass. She's a pretty one, for sure, but she's not waiting for anyone, and she's not getting into the spirit of things. Forgive me for sayin', but I can't help but take that personal. So, in the spirit of our fine isle's hospitality, I set my Guinness down next to her at her table.

    She must be havin' a hard time, she doesn't even look up. Now I'm up close, it's not so much that she's pretty, but that she looks wild. Her eyes... God above, her eyes look just like mine. And that's not right in a fair world. But it's not a fair world, is it? It's a right s***hole. But I cough, just to let her know I would appreciate helpin' her out of her mood.

    When she looks up, I feel like a rabbit caught by my grandpa, just staring, like. Not many people do that, after what I've seen, but she had it. “Death surrounds you.” No gab, no flirting or moaning, just that. Somehow, I chuckle. Hard when it's clear she doesn't want the company, but I'm stubborn. To make it worse, she's a Cork girl, and, judging by the looks of my fellow drunks, they've only just realised.

    “Aye, lass, and I'd not be surprised at that, considering!” She just nods, as if she knows my life already. “You look like someone with a few skins under yer coat as well, lass... care to make your no doubt overdue confession?” Now it's her turn to chuckle. Not much, barely a snort, but it warmed my heart, so it did! I would no doubt have gotten a bit further on, had Sean not decided to cause trouble.

    The sound of his fists hittin' the table as he leant on it were like guncracks, and his voice was no less harsh as he asked “Ye're from t'other side, aren't ye?” My mind was going through all sorts of ungodly words, not to be spoken in polite company, and I was seriously considerin' a quiet final confession, when, without warning, she pins his right hand to the table with the biggest pigsticker y'ever saw, real primitive and nasty lookin'. Now Sean may be a bully, but he sqeualed like a babe.

    I don't rightly remember much after that, but I do feel, and will feel for a while... well, until my arm heals up, anyway, that it was another night of good craic, right there. I do remember after, though, because we're both panting, and laughing, and Siobhan's laughing, too, 'cos she's used to this sorta thing, and everyone else in the place is lyin' about groaning. The Cork lass turns to me, and she says “You fight well... want a drink?”

    Well, God help me for a sinner, but a pint of our fair land's produce is never turned down, much less a glass of the good stuff, and so we had a good chat. Turns out her name was Kathleen, which was fitting, because I'm a Finn, and we resolved to meet again. She was... well, not worried, but concerned that might not be right, but I assured her that none of the fellers would cause trouble, especially since they'd die of embarassment if their wives found out.

    And that would have been that, except for the giant spider which chose that moment to burst through the door. Well, Siobhan wasn't used to that, but I was, and it seemed so was she. We both just sighed, and went to our bloody business. Took a long time, and we were exhausted, but we still said we'd meet again, trouble and all. It was funny, because she called me a “Wolf-blood”, whatever on God's green Earth that is – a compliment, no doubt – and... Father, please don't judge on this....

    ...But I'd swear, for half that fight, she had claws.


    He's a mortal with the wolf-blood merit, and he works for one of the Hunter organisations, although he only knows his local vicar gives him strange jobs every now and again. For reference, he's 56.
    Last edited by darkpuppy; 2011-05-20 at 01:33 AM.
    Pembrokeshire: A place where madness is an aid, not only to gainful employment, but continued existence.

    "Wizards... the class everyone whines about, but I destroy whenever I feel like it"
    - Darkpuppy, on Wizards in his DnD games.

    Vale of Shadows OOC
    Vale of Shadows IC

    All The Kings Men IC (DEAD)
    All The Kings Men OOC (DEAD)

  16. - Top - End - #466
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    BarbarianGuy

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    well, we've moved.

    and we're (mostly) settled.

    as an update
    I taught my girlfriend how to play warhammer 40k last night

    we split my ~1000 point space marine army in half and fought it out across my kitchen table.
    (this is using 3rd edition rules, call me a fossil I dare you )

    my forces
    1 Force Commander
    4 terminators - 1 with a power sword
    4 scout marines - 2 sniper rifles, 2 shotguns
    5 assault marines - 1 with a plasma pistol
    1 dreadnought - assault cannon and heavy flamer

    her forces
    1 emperor's champion
    4 terminators - 1 with heavy flamer
    'command squad' - apothecary, techmarine, veteran sarge, standard bearer
    5 space marines
    1 dreadnought - multi-melta and storm bolter


    she stomped on me....
    in her first game!

    I WAS STILL TELLING HER WHAT HER TO HIT WAS!!!



    AND NOW SHE WANTS TO LEAVE THE MARINES BEHIND AND PLAY ORKZ!!!

    -sob sob sob sob-

    my girlfriend rocks




    PS: I'm not quite settled in enough to pick up writing again yet... but soon.

  17. - Top - End - #467
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    SwashbucklerGuy

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    Well, on the bright side, teej, at least she's not going for 'Nids or Guard, considering her natural talents!

    Still, good to hear the move's going okay, and good to hear you're doing alright!
    Pembrokeshire: A place where madness is an aid, not only to gainful employment, but continued existence.

    "Wizards... the class everyone whines about, but I destroy whenever I feel like it"
    - Darkpuppy, on Wizards in his DnD games.

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  18. - Top - End - #468
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    Quote Originally Posted by darkpuppy View Post
    Well, on the bright side, teej, at least she's not going for 'Nids or Guard, considering her natural talents!

    Still, good to hear the move's going okay, and good to hear you're doing alright!
    I could handle her becoming a guard player, as that still falls within the realm of His Divine Light.

    but Orkz?

    filthy xenos!

    -shudders-




    Quote Originally Posted by Werekat View Post
    *Baroi: Wow, Big Teej, you've improved since I've last read your stories! I do have a couple of nitpicks, though, the gust of which can be summarized as "if you're writing from first person, try to catch the character's tone." Because a guy that looks at someone he just slept with and sees "a female form" instead of a pretty girl is just creepy. Or was that the intended effect?
    that would actually be a combination of me writing while tired, and writing from a perspective very alien to my own (that being a worldview where casual sex is acceptable.)

    Baroi is a lech, a gentlemanly one, but a lech and a rake nonetheless

    if the tone sounds a bit off, it's because I pride myself on being as far from those qualities as I can get.

    alas, if it came off creepy as opposed to "easy come easy go" I shall endeavor to fix it.


    and now....

    for the teasing

    -ahem-

    *announcer voice*

    coming soon, from the crazed mind of big teej....

    Reminisces of The Skulltaker
    - Prizing of a Skull
    - The Fight in the Mountians
    - Trophy Rings

    Spoiler
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    "So the story of my axe has not satiated ye?
    very well then, I have many more tales to tell. what'll it be? the Prizing of my first skull? my fight with two elves in the mountians? or would you care to know how I won these?" the man taps on the metal bands around his arm, causing them to ring in a manner disconcertingly reminiscient of a master's sword drawn from its scabbard


    Reflections During Time Spent Outside a Tavern on Romance, Loyalty, The Code, and Royalty by Gideon, Knight of the Old Code
    Spoiler
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    as I wait for my companions outside the Boar's Head Tavern, I cannot help but contemplate the things that have lead me here, and what may the future hold? doubt creeps into my mind...
    have I held true to The Code? there are few of us left.... I must not falter.


    Boenald the Dread Pirate
    "how I won my ship"
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    "oh aye lass, pull up a stool and pour me another cup of jarez, I'll tell ye the story of how I won my ship, a grand tale so tell! I won it off of an ol dog of war, both by strentgh of arms, and strengh of cards!


    Conrad
    The final test of a duskblade
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    in order to truley carry the title of DuskBlade, I must satisfy my master... there are three challenges I must complete in my final test
    I must show strengh of mine arms against magic
    I must show the depth of my knowledge against might
    I must prove that I wield both equally.


    Isador
    my mind is as strong as my arm
    Spoiler
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    the fools think they can hold me here? armed and dangerous they call me, "a threat to myself and the world around me"
    they refuse to believe I have control.

    I take stock of myself and my surroundings.
    Armed? maybe
    Dangerous?
    definitely.
    I feel my mind broil with power as I contemplate my escape.


    LB-426
    I sleep yet, awaiting to take to the field of battle again.
    Spoiler
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    a man stands at the head of a shining legion, a force that could conquer nations. but this is an army made to defend, to hold until reinforcements can be brought to bear.
    the man speaks.
    "Warforged Legionaires! the Orc menace approaches this pass, if the break through here, the lands of man, elf, and dwarf will be o'erwhelmed. it is YOUR duty to stop them. Retreat is not an option, you will fight and you will hold this pass until reinforcements arrive!"

    amidst the legion, in a thought process almost identical to the numbers around him, Land Battle unit four hundred and twenty six recieves, contemplates, evaluates, and internalizes the orders he has been given.
    OPERATION THRESH-HOLD
    MISSION PARAMETERS: NO RETREAT, ELIMINATE TARGETS WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE.
    MISSION...
    ACCEPTED


    Leander
    - I wander yet, searching for a new home.
    Spoiler
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    My Lord is dead, I am Ronin, a lordless Samurai. his dying wish was for me to serve another.

    but who would take one as disgraced as I?
    in the meantime, I will fulfill my lord's other wish. to fight evil and see it driven from this world...


    Lochlan
    oh how I HATE public appearences
    Spoiler
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    My name is Lochlan, and I am the Devoted Defender of her Most Royal Highness Brat...
    I am charged with her personal bodily safety, and the protection of her virtue.
    what I did to anger the King so I have no idea...
    why does this woman insist on going to the commons?
    why do I put up with her?
    oh
    that's right
    I love her....


    Opariel
    - death of a way of life, a path anew
    Spoiler
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    I was lucky I guess...
    I fell in the first moments of the devestation, I wasn't forced to watch the atrocities they inflicted upon my people.

    my tribe has been utterly wiped out. I am all that's left. My familly, my friends, my children.... my woman.

    all have been taken from me...
    I have become like a ghost.... a vengeful apparition that will stalk them unto the ends of existence.

    I will destroy them...


    Raoul
    - the secrets of the mind.
    Spoiler
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    the monks came for me today.... the crisis in the city has come to a head.... the penultimate sanction has been approved.
    psykers shall be let loose in the city.

    we will scour the population for the source of this unrest. the head of those who would dare foment unrest in my beloved home.

    I will break open their minds and burn out their bodies....





    well, that's it for my teaser's... I should be able start writing them tomorrow.
    Last edited by big teej; 2011-05-22 at 10:30 PM.

  19. - Top - End - #469
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    SwashbucklerGuy

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    Wow, Teej, that's a lotta stuff! And don't worry, you'll no doubt be favoured by the God Emperor of Mankind soon enough... man, if it weren't for EMA, I'd start writing some more Finlay Houlihan stuff, or maybe even something based on X-COM... xP... But still, expect more stuff from me between the EMA due date (26th) and the end of the month!
    Pembrokeshire: A place where madness is an aid, not only to gainful employment, but continued existence.

    "Wizards... the class everyone whines about, but I destroy whenever I feel like it"
    - Darkpuppy, on Wizards in his DnD games.

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  20. - Top - End - #470
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    BarbarianGuy

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    Quote Originally Posted by darkpuppy View Post
    Wow, Teej, that's a lotta stuff! And don't worry, you'll no doubt be favoured by the God Emperor of Mankind soon enough... man, if it weren't for EMA, I'd start writing some more Finlay Houlihan stuff, or maybe even something based on X-COM... xP... But still, expect more stuff from me between the EMA due date (26th) and the end of the month!
    we can only serve to the best of our abilities, as long as we are aware that only in death does duty end.
    and the emperor protects

    speaking of...

    if I get a warhammer group together, I'll defintily start posting up stories detailing those as well.

    heh, when this thread hits that max page limit, we may want to name the second one "gaming snippets"

    ... EMA?

    unrelated note...
    I found a manual for X-COM interceptor the other day, the game is some box somewhere... but I never installed it.

    is it any good? what's the premise?

  21. - Top - End - #471
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    SwashbucklerGuy

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    EMA = End Marked Assessment... basically, my "exam" for this course/module is to write another essay by the deadline. I love Eng. Lang/Lit!

    As to naming it gaming snippets... definitely. We've got WoD, 7th Sea, DnD, Star Wars... Ahh, it be grand! And lots of good characters out there too!

    And finally... Interceptor... Interceptor was, for many X-COM fans, the beginning of the end for the series. It was a 3d space-shooter, ala Wing Commander, with minor elements of base building, etc, and, even by the standards of the day, it was considered dire. Ship variety, enemy variety... Interceptor knew not these things. And many fans consider it outside of canon.

    EDIT: As to the premise - It's a while after the first X-COM game, and X-COM has gone intergalactic in its search for Elerium-115, that odd element that gives so much, yet can't be made artificially. But the remnants of the Martian Alliance, the "Ethereal Empire", are once again looking to destroy earth with some superweapon/strength of numbers. It's up to YOU to save... yada yada Zzzzzzzz...
    Last edited by darkpuppy; 2011-05-23 at 01:06 PM.
    Pembrokeshire: A place where madness is an aid, not only to gainful employment, but continued existence.

    "Wizards... the class everyone whines about, but I destroy whenever I feel like it"
    - Darkpuppy, on Wizards in his DnD games.

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  22. - Top - End - #472
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    Quote Originally Posted by darkpuppy View Post
    As to naming it gaming snippets... definitely. We've got WoD, 7th Sea, DnD, Star Wars Savage Worlds, Dark Heresy, ... Ahh, it be grand! And lots of good characters out there too!
    fixed that for you.

    EDIT:

    -ahem-

    uhm....
    so, apparently I suffered a bout of temperary insanity while creating Conrad....

    a 4th level duskblade can cast in medium armor
    I gave him "great armour" from Oriental Adventures... probably planning on making it out of mithral so I can still cast in it.

    a 4th level character cannot afford heavy armor made of mithral.

    so while I rethink the character and what level he needs to start as, his snippet is on indefinite hold....

    that said. I'm working on everything I posted a teaser for, hopefully that's the only one that will be postponed...

    EDIT:EDIT:

    so apparently my work starts to degrade when I churn through several backgrounds in a row....

    to make up for the fact it's going to take longer than I thought, here's one.

    The Extermination of the Draken Tribe rough draft

    Spoiler
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    The Extermination of the Draken tribe.

    It was my boy’s third summer. His sister’s 8th. And my 12th with their mother. I remember it well, it was the year of the claw, and I was gathering a party together to stalk the mammoth out on the steppes.

    I was taking count of who I had yet to find, Sven, Ulli, Brognan and a few others. When the horns sounded, following the horns, a voice rang out “the Boars approach! Seeking Trade and Succor!”

    Odd, I remember thinking, the Trade season is essentially over, and we and the Boars have very little we need from each other, the mammoth and bison are plentiful, so we rarely quarrel over resources, and by the same token, there is little amongst our possessions that cannot be found in the other.

    The Boars were allowed entrance through the palisade, and the majority of my kinsmen came into the center of the village to greet the Boars.

    Odd.

    Where are their wagons? Their meat-stock and trade goods? One of the most popular trade items between our tribes is that of our brewed alcohol, both recopies are well kept secrets and we enjoy trading our distinct liquors back and forth.

    The village chief, a distant cousin on my mother’s side, approaches the leader of the Boars.
    “Greetings brothers of the Boar! What brings you to our home so late in the season?”

    Their leader, a massive brute with a golden medallion worked with a boar design, his cloak was held in place by two boar tusks. He wore a massive sword on his back.

    “We have come for your lives” the man announces, and plunges a dagger made from a Boar’s fang into the Chieftain’s neck.

    Pandemonium breaks out as my kinsmen and I react to this treachery. I pick up my massive axe and wade into the fray; I cut two down before the chieftain turns to me and opens my chest and my face to the sky with his sword.

    I collapse to the ground and I know no more…

    Pain is good.
    Pain means life.

    Pain….

    Is painful.

    I fear to move, I worry that my skull will hinge open like a plunder-chest. My ribs may spill out my entrails unto the dirt.

    I fear to touch my wounds, what I may find terrifies me…

    But what terrifies me more is the idea that I may lay here for eternity. Broken and spent upon the ground… is this what it is to be dead? To be bound to one’s own rotting carcass until the vagaries of existence see fit to extinguish me?

    I can feel the dirt rubbing against my back.

    Pain means life…

    I pull my right arm off the ground and feel my face. A massive cut still oozes blood over my face. Though it seems that my skull is intact; I move my hand lower, feeling the great gash across my chest. It seems to have scabbed over; I feel nothing but dried and clotted blood underneath my fingers.

    I open my eyes. One of refuses to budge, have they taken my eye from me? I explore my face with my fingers and discover that blood has pooled in the socket, gumming it shut. I will let it dry further before I worry about it.

    I pull my body into a sitting position and grunt with pain as the scab across my chest cracks and begin to ooze weakly. I look down at myself. My chest and leggings are awash with blood, I am filthy.

    I smell smoke. I gaze around me and feel my heart drop out of my chest. My village has been obliterated. The huts have all burned to the ground and bodies lay everywhere, rotting. How long have I slept? I stumble to my feet like a corpse pulling itself from an early grave. I stumble around the shattered remains of my village searching for my family. I find my boy, his chest broken open by some massive blade. I find my daughter; her body has been crushed by a Boar’s Great mace. Their favored weapon.

    I find my wife, my beloved Sun-el. She is mostly untouched; she was taken through the stomach by a spear.

    My life has been obliterated by the treachery of the Boar Clan.

    I feel an emptiness spread from my heart. Heart? HA! I have no heart now! It has been torn from my chest and crushed before my very eyes. Ash, emptiness, an insatiable void now resides in my chest. Vengeance writhes about it like a clutch of vipers. The emptiness is solid, a knot within my chest that weighs more than the world.

    I do something I have not done for 20 years. I weep. I weep for my kin, my lover, and my tribe’s spirit as a whole.

    Tears stream down my face.
    The tears from my left eye cut a path through the grit and grime that covers my face until they drip to the ground.
    The tears from my right eye are stained with the blood that fills the socket. They form a single bright red line down my face until they fall and stain the earth red.

    My tribe has been obliterated, and yet I remain. I will hunt down the Boars and visit such destruction upon them that daemon’s shall weep for the manner of their passing. I take up my axe and feel the spirits of my ancestors flow through me and my weapon, charging me with a lust for vengeance that can only be slaked by the lifeblood of the Treacherous Boar Clan. The spirits change my countenance, I feel them tattoo symbols of vengeance around the gash in my chest, I feel war paint applied to my face. The dead shamans of my tribe ensorcelle my weapon and guide my purpose.

    My Hunt begins.
    Now.

    I set off to where I know the Boar village lays; they have not migrated since my great grandfather’s time.

    The journey takes me three days, though I barely even feel them, I arrive at the village as fresh as if I’d slept all winter.

    The village is empty…

    As if all the people had simply been spirited away.

    It is of no matter.
    I fill find them.
    And then blood will flow.





    EDIT:EDIT:EDIT:
    I might turn Vaul Krieger into a character for a full length novel...
    Last edited by big teej; 2011-05-23 at 11:42 PM.

  23. - Top - End - #473
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    Wow. These are just.... amazing. I've got a couple from my character in an Ebberon setting, what I'm hoping to do in these stories is show you who he is now, what he was then, and what happened to change him. I'll be writing mostly past-tense for this guy, it enhances dramatic effect. He started as a ranger who swore a blood oath to avenge someone, I can't tell you who yet though. He took levels in Rogue and Assassin, followed by Ninja levels. The next one will probably be tomorrow, because the group is meeting tonight and I need to know what the setting is. But I hope to have it up tomorrow night under the name Necessary losses[or, the dream again]

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    BarbarianGuy

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    what's this here? another snippet for Cog!

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    A Story From the Skulltaker
    “The Fight in the Mountains”

    I had left that imbecile witch hunter and his cronies behind. I didn’t need them, and I had grown tired of their company. Even if I’d had a choice in the matter, I would have left them behind, probably in several bloody pieces.

    But I’m getting ahead of myself aren’t I?

    I have yet to decide if it is a blessing or a curse, but I seem to wake up in different realities every so often. More often than not this switch heralds a new bout of bloodshed and violence in my life, which is always welcome, as such… I look upon these transferences with mixed feelings at best.

    I’ve been in this world for about 3 months as far as I can tell, the longest I’ve spent in any one place in quite some time. I’d even made something close to a friend, well, more of a comrade in arms rather than a friend. Tarik, a dwarf who was pretty good in a fight, last I saw him; he travelled with a few other adventurers on various heroic actions.

    Well, to make a long story shorter, and bring myself to the point. I’d grown tired of sitting around the tavern drinking the goats water the called ale there and had set off for the mountains, which I’d been told, are full of Orcs.

    Or as I like to call them, “warm ups”

    So I had travelled to the mountains and much to my chagrin, found that there were orcs, lots of them… in fact, the orcs were lead by a young dragon.

    As much as I hate to admit it, I wasn’t exactly prepared to tackle a dragon on my own (though I’m sure wrestling it would have been some fun.) So I retired from the mountains, sulking over the fact I’d only found one Orc worth prizing a skull from.

    Which brings me to the focus of my tale, my little fight in the mountains.

    I was nearing the exit of the pass when an arrow arced down from the sky and planted itself 2 strides in front of me.

    I do not appreciate being greeted by arrows….

    A figure strides up the road towards me, an elf from the looks of it.

    I hate elves….

    “Ho there traveler! What business have you in these mountains?” The Elf calls out.

    “I go where I damn well please, Elf, by what right do you question me?” I reply.

    The elf seems rather off put by my reaction, arrogant knife-ear.

    “The mountains abut our forest, and we have interest in the goings on here.”

    Knife ears having interest in the mountains? Fat chance.

    “Look here, Elf, my business is my own, but if it’ll set your mind at ease, I was here hunting orcs.” I raise the Prized Skull from the orc.

    It’s a disgusting thing admittedly, much in need of cleansing. The orc’s skull is covered in rotting flesh, one of its eyes is hanging from it, and its tongue lolls out of its mouth. Cut into its forehead is the Mark of Khorne, my God.

    The Elf visibly pales at the sight of it.

    “Oh come now.” I say jovially “sure it still needs a little cleaning, but it’ll make a fine trophy once I’ve burned everything else off.”

    “That mark” the Elf says shakily.

    “Oh this here? What of it?” I ask in a jocular tone, I feel a grin creeping across my face.

    “That is the mark of the blood god” he stammers.
    As if I don’t know that.

    “Is it now? What of it Elf?”
    The elf’s fear is palatable, this is great.

    “I… uh… I... UZIEL!!! KHORNATE CULTIST!”

    Now that’s a bit harsh, cultist has very strong implications about one’s intelligence.

    Having alerted his bow-toting comrade, the Knife ear draws his sword and springs at me.

    Oh goodie, fisticuffs.

    I feel a maniac grin split my face as I close the distance with the elf. He raises his sword, bringing it down in a glittering arc to split my skull. I leap forward and grab his sword arm, stopping his blow in its tracks; I ball my other hand into a fist and bring it crashing into his face. I feel more than hear the crunch of bone and blood spurts from the elf’s nose all over my fist.

    The elf crashes to the ground in a heap, stunned by the blow. “not even worth my time” I think to myself, I’m willing to go on my way at this point, he certainly isn’t worth my time, and I’d rather not smirch my axe with his blood.

    An arrow soars out of the bushes a little ways up a nearby hill and buries itself in the meat of my chest.
    It hurts. A lot.

    Funny thing about pain, it doesn’t slow my people down, it just makes us angry. Very angry in fact. I myself have ripped smaller creatures bodily in half whilst in a fit of rage. I feel this killing fury building within me as my head whips around to the source of the arrow. I reach over my shoulder and pull my axe off of my back. The elf on the ground is picking himself up off the ground I look at him and spit at him in contempt. “I was content to pass here in peace, a rarity for my kind I assure you, but now I’ll have one of your skulls if either of ye be worth the fight!” The elf lunges at me yelling “in the name of correllon, I will slay thee fiend.” I easily sidestep his blow and lash out with my axe. “Better men than you have tried.” I snarl
    “Better men aye monster! But I’m an Elf” the elf declares taking another swing at me. Which I block with the haft of my axe.

    “Men are better than elves knife ear, and here’s a tip, try less melodrama” I state calmly while bringing my axe around in a brutal arc that ends in the elf’s chest. My blow takes him to the ground, my axe catching on the remains of his shattered ribs. The elf has a panicked look in his eyes; no doubt his world has shrunk to include only the feeling of my great axe buried within his chest. That and my hands dipping into his lifeblood which is gushing forth into a red lake around his body. I take the blood on my fingers and ink Khorne’s Mark onto each side of both blades on my axe; the blood smokes and congeals on the blade, blackening quickly.

    Another arrow whistles through the air and catches me in the side. I grunt in pain and turn towards the bushes. I can see the archer now; he has a grim look on his face. I level my axe in his direction and yell at him.

    “Do you think you can do better?” And rush up the hill. As I climb the hill another arrow flies towards me, I feel it hit me, but I feel no pain. Time seems to slow down and speed up at the same time; I’m 20 strides away as another arrow flies down the hill, this one skidding off of my shoulder.

    15 strides away.
    I bellow a wordless battle-cry at the elf, feeling rage course through my veins, turning my muscles into iron bands ready to crush this puny elf. I see him drop his bow to the ground

    10 strides away.
    I push myself even faster, closing the distance as I raise my axe to bring it through his fragile body.
    The elf draws a longsword and sets himself.

    5 strides away.
    I leap forward bringing my axe down on the elf, but he dives out of the way and sends a returning blow into my back. I can feel blood running down my back as I turn to face the elf.

    “My name is Cog, known as The Skulltaker flesh, what is yours?”
    “My name is Uziel, Cur. And I will send you to hell.”

    Laughing, I rush the elf again, meaning to barge him down the mountainside. He deftly checks my headlong rush with a swipe of his longsword. I stop short of the blow and swing my axe at him. He ducks it and attempts to step into my guard. I take a step back and bring my axe in close to my body, blocking with the haft of my Axe as if it were a quarterstaff. The elf rains blows down upon me, left, right, top, left, top, right, down, left. THRUST! I push his sword away from me and spin inside HIS guard and hammer the pommel of my axe into his gut, he doubles over as the air rushes out of him and I reach forward and push him off the ledge we are standing on.

    The elf tumbles down the hill and bounces twice in a very satisfying manner.

    The elf lays stunned at the base of the hill for only a moment before springing to his feet.

    “You’ll find me harder to kill than that pup.” He yells up to me.

    “Good!” I call back. “I was worried this was going to be a complete waste of my time.”

    I begin to walk down the hill, axe resting on my shoulder.

    “There’s something I want you to know Uziel.” I tell him. “If you keep doing this well I’ll be taking your sword as well as your skull.”

    He draws himself up into a fighting stance and replies in a grim voice. “I’d take that as a compliment if I didn’t plan on killing you.”

    Without ceremony, he lunges at me, hoping to stab me before I reach level ground. I bring my axe around in a great arc knocking his sword out of the way. I step forward and aim a horrid swing at his head, which he barely bats aside. The force of my blow knocks him off balance and I press him harder, raining blows just as quickly on him as he did on me. I settle into a comfortable rhythm, my axe swishing through the air back and forth, seeking his fragile body. I slowly weave a net of steel around him, leaving him nowhere to escape. He attempts to break the deadlock repeatedly, scything in with his sword whenever he thinks he can break my rhythm.

    Unfortunately for him, the sensuous women of the pleasure god are far more adept at this than he, and I have bested them in combat as well. Also unfortunate, this costs him his hand. He lashes out with his sword, aiming for my face. I raise my axe up in both hands, leaving his sword pointed up towards the sky; I follow the motion of my arms with the head of my axe. His fore arm and hand, still clutching his sword, fall to the ground in a welter of blood as he staggers back, screaming in pain.

    He utters a curse in elven. At least, I assume he’s cursing, not speaking a word of that soft language. He collapses to his knees, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

    I stand before him holding my axe. “Uziel, know that you’re name shall live forever, you have proved yourself worthy, and I shall carry your name and your sword into battle and legend for the rest of my days.” I tell him.

    He looks up at me with fear in his eyes and shakes his head. He stammers “no” pleading for his life.

    My axe flickers out and his body falls over into the dirt, a lake of blood oozing forth from the severed stump of his neck.

    I pick up his skull and whisper his name to myself so that I will remember it. I pry his sword, a work of the elven art surely, out of the broken thing that was his arm and walk over to his corpse, I lay the head of my axe in the blood, coating both sides of its wickedly sharp head.

    I raise his sword and his head to the sky and shout out for my deity; for I know he can hear me, regardless of where I walk.

    BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!
    SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!

    My ritual complete, I sheath his sword at my waist and replace my sword on my back. And I hang uziel’s skull on the same chain that holds the orc.

    My wounds ache. I will likely rest before I finish my trek out of the mountains….






    in hindsight I completely forgot to write in his magic.... oh well, the story flows just fine without it.

  25. - Top - End - #475
    Dwarf in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: D&D Snippets

    We didn't get as far as I might've hoped tonight last night, but I'm still going to try and type it up. I'll have to improv a little, and I need to wait so I can get names, but it'll be up today/tomorrow.

  26. - Top - End - #476
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    Lady Moreta - Leith: Honestly? I didn't like it much. It's not up to your usual standard; the description seems forced and is hard for me to envision clearly in my mind, and a lot of your sentence transitions could be smoother - the whole thing, in fact, has a tendency to chop awkwardly where it could flow. I've got difficulty connecting to Leith as a result, and the lack of context on her history or why she's adventuring (or even why she's on the boat in the first place, which doesn't clearly appear until the end) only serves to distance her from the reader further.

    Now critique the Host of a Thousand Princes (Part II) or face my eternal wrath >.>


    Quote Originally Posted by Chilingsworth View Post
    Wow! Not only was that awesome, I think I actually kinda understand Archeron now. If all the "intermediate" outer planes got that kind of treatment, I doubt there would be anywhere near as many critics of their utility.
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  27. - Top - End - #477
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    SwashbucklerGuy

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    Okay, bit of a mega-post here, let's see...

    Big Teej

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    While I can see what you were aiming for with the latest snippet, there are quite a few places where the rhythm feels wrong. Rhythm, when writing such a dynamic scene, is very important. For example:

    "Without ceremony, he lunges at me, hoping to stab me before I reach level ground."

    reading that aloud (best way to find the rhythm, I find), I found that, among a few other examples, didn't flow so well... to illustrate.

    "Without Ceremony (brief pause) he lunges at me (brief pause) hoping to stab me before I reach level ground."

    Now, let's try this:

    "He lunges (darts, perhaps?) at me before I reach level ground, hoping to stab me before I find my footing."

    Okay, that wasn't quite what I originally thought would work (I'd just shuffled a few words around originally), but... the rhythm does seem to work better. Also, there are some word choices you might want to look at (maniac== manic)... but I still got the gist of it (intelligent khornate beserker in an epic duel)... still, keep 'em coming, we all have our off days!


    Lord Gareth

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    You make the changeling apocalypse sound plausible, and I can't find any technical faults with the writing. This, in and of itself, makes the Host of a Thousand Princes (Part II) good. Only criticism? wasn't sure how Spring was being... well, Spring-like, beyond the challenging bit of desire making (god, that sounded awkward!). Autumn, was, however, spot on... deal-makers and fear workers, to the very end!


    Also, welcome to lerg2, looking forward to seeing your snippets!

    Aaand finally, because I hate just posting critique...

    Lamb of God
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    Father Michael kneels, praying to the God he no longer believes in, and wondering: When, Lord, did I fall from Grace so badly? His sins are unnumbered now, mostly murder and deceit, but the hate and disgust that has formed in his heart proves too much for even a man of the cloth, God's most favoured. He mouths the words of his faith, his tongue leaden and his heart heavy, as he thinks of the latest of his sins.

    Holy Father, if you have any kindness in you at all, save old Finlay, he inwardly cries, and Damn me, Lord, for having led him, once more, to the path of temptation. Let him hear me no more, even if monsters walk your Earth, tools of the Evil One.

    But, as always, there is no answer. Father Michael knows, has known for years, that God has turned his back from the fair isle he calls home. Even were it not for the bombings, the fear, and the hate that culled the young in their prime, and led man to kill man, claiming that they acted in His name, the filthy liars, he would believe so.

    Monstrous creatures, obviously of the Devil, walked the earth. How else, then, could Father Michael explain that painful night, the night he lost his dear wife to something bestial, something with fangs and claws that, even today, shone red with blood in his mind?

    Since then, he had seen more... oh, so much more. Men who claimed God's grace, yet acted as if they were the Light themselves. Vampires, eaters of the dead... even a marionette that cut the hearts from men, thinking it would help her become one of God's best loved...

    No, thought Father Michael, as he finished his prayer, No, poor Finlay is as lost as I.

    He sighed heavily, and prepared to open the church, even as his mind ran through its well-treaded grooves. After all, I, the shepherd, have led my lambs astray. And I shall continue to do so. Not in your name, Father, for I am lost to you. No, all in the name of hate. Hate for that which offends you. I damn myself, and others, so that still more can be saved.

    The thought didn't comfort him as much as it used to.
    Pembrokeshire: A place where madness is an aid, not only to gainful employment, but continued existence.

    "Wizards... the class everyone whines about, but I destroy whenever I feel like it"
    - Darkpuppy, on Wizards in his DnD games.

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    All The Kings Men OOC (DEAD)

  28. - Top - End - #478
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    BardGirl

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    Quote Originally Posted by Lord_Gareth View Post
    Lady Moreta - Leith: Honestly? I didn't like it much. It's not up to your usual standard; the description seems forced and is hard for me to envision clearly in my mind, and a lot of your sentence transitions could be smoother - the whole thing, in fact, has a tendency to chop awkwardly where it could flow. I've got difficulty connecting to Leith as a result, and the lack of context on her history or why she's adventuring (or even why she's on the boat in the first place, which doesn't clearly appear until the end) only serves to distance her from the reader further.
    Which bits didn't flow? I'm curious... and I suppose I'm not that surprised either... I had fun writing it, but I was at work at the time and my writing was very stop-start. I kept stopping in the middle of sentences, which is never a good thing.

    Quote Originally Posted by Lord_Gareth View Post
    Now critique the Host of a Thousand Princes (Part II) or face my eternal wrath >.>
    I thought I had...

    You go critque the Lyra snippet on the previous page and I will

  29. - Top - End - #479
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    A single sentence is not a critique, Internet Wife >.>

    In-depth critique of Lyra snippet shall come either later tonight or else tomorrow.


    Quote Originally Posted by Chilingsworth View Post
    Wow! Not only was that awesome, I think I actually kinda understand Archeron now. If all the "intermediate" outer planes got that kind of treatment, I doubt there would be anywhere near as many critics of their utility.
    My extended homebrew sig

  30. - Top - End - #480
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    BardGirl

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    Quote Originally Posted by Lord_Gareth View Post
    A single sentence is not a critique, Internet Wife >.>

    In-depth critique of Lyra snippet shall come either later tonight or else tomorrow.
    Is that all I did? Whoops...

    Let me go fix that... er, later... (what? I'm at work!)

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