D&D Snippets II: The Snippetting

[Admiral Squish]

I'm working, albeit slowly, on my first snippet, which is going to be the crowning moment of awesome from a recent changeling: the lost campaign. But, you know, new job, so my time is in short supply until I can get everything... arranged properly.

[White_Drake]

Okay, I finally made a third draft. It should be noted that the amount of time between posts should in no way be viewed as an indicator of the quality of the revisions. Any red text in brackets is a response to Dr Bwaa original critique.

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Caelain is a decently attractive young man of average height, lithely built. He wears his black hair in a longish fashion, although he occasionally crops it close due to burn damage. In sharp contrast with his hair, Caelain is very pale complected. His eyes are a brilliant green—he attributes the enhanced coloration to an experiment gone awry.

Caelain has a rather outlandish taste in clothing, but as the son of a wealthy and influential nobleman he can afford to be well dressed in his choice of garb. [Actually, unfashionable but expensive is actually exactly what I was going for. It's vague, but the detailed description following more than compensates for that. I figure that how his clothes contrasted the norms isn't relevant to the character, only that they did.]A black velvet slouch hat with green ribbon and silver buckle can easily be pulled down to conceal his singular eyes when he so chooses. A sturdy black leather duster worked with silver thread conceals dozens of tiny vials in secret pockets. Under the jacket he wears a silk shirt and pants, customarily in dark green, blue, black, or some similarly somber color. Close-fitting boots crafted from soft leather encase his legs from the calf down, fastened with a column of silver buckles on the sides. Numerous belts and bandoliers replete with alchemical components and additional bottles of various substances complete the attire.

Although quite charming when he so chooses, the ardor with which Caelain pursues his research is often unsettling to those less zealous than himself. Often performing acts with questionable or downright disagreeable ethical ramifications to further his studies, this heedless fervor was the reason for his eventual exile and disinheritance. Some even believe that Caelain would abandon morality entirely if not for the potential negative repercussions.

Caelain is gifted with both superb manual dexterity and an incredible intellect. His greatest failing is an incredible lack of wisdom, or as many would term it, good sense. [I couldn't figure out how to introduce the anecdote to the topic without the preceding sentence, although it might look better without it.]Caelain once murdered a city watchman, injured several others, attempted to escape from the guards of the town, failed, was cast into the desert, and brought a plague of undead down upon the aforementioned—and extremely unlucky—city, all because it was “easier” than admitting he had been trespassing in the sewers. Caelain often pays more attention to his own thoughts than his immediate surroundings, which has precipitated a great deal of misfortune.

To alleviate this, Caelain relies upon his closest friend and confidante, Tybalt, King of Cats, Lord of Shadows and Lost Places. Tybalt is an extraordinarily well kept young cat, and is much tougher than the average alley cat. He joined Caelain as he left the city, and received his moniker due to his royal appearance and poise. Tybalt usually surveys the surrounds from a perch on Caelain’s shoulder. Caelain once dragged Tybalt down into a desert cave, despite vigorous protest. Shortly after Tybalt redoubled his efforts and finally managed to bolt, several scimitar wielding skeletons rose out of the sand covering the cave floor. Since then, Caelain usually runs for cover whenever Tybalt makes an exit. Ironically, Tybalt is better at manipulating Caelain than the reverse. More than one of Caelain’s dissections has been interrupted by Tybalt’s insistence upon the immediate removal of the choicest cuts of meat, which Caelain has learned to locate, regardless of species. Fortunately, Caelain has never dissected a fresh human corpse, or things would have swiftly become very awkward. Despite his haughty refusal to do most anything Caelain requests, Tybalt does stay, and has chosen Caelain as his companion, although the reason for this adoption is anyone’s guess.

Caelain originally put his extraordinary intellect to use studying at the Carrickmore Academy for Practitioners of the Arcane Arts. [I suck at names. That is why I stole the name of a (hopefully obscure) Irish town, and why the name of the college is basically a string of big words meaning "wizard school"]His family, in combination with his talent and good looks, all but guaranteed his eventual succession of the kingdom’s current court wizard. Caelain however, was impatient. He was clever, and had a knack for the arcane arts, but he lacked the self-discipline necessary for practicing wizardry. The first couple years of college he managed to get by using only his marvelous intellect. As his studies progressed though, his lack of work ethic manifested itself. More and more attention was focused on his passions, alchemy and anatomy, which he found infinitely more engaging than his teachers’ fruitless attempts to explain higher arcana. In an explosive—quite literally—finale, he was expelled when a singularly volatile concoction nearly destroyed the dormitories.

Rather than returning to his family in disgrace, Caelain rented a small garret apartment, and continued his research there. Determined to show others his brilliance, he published a remarkable series of essays on alchemy, anatomy, and their interrelation, postulating wild theories such as chemicals from the brain influencing people’s actions, even that the brain, not the heart was the seat of man’s soul and intelligence. He retracted these statements when he was accused of heresy by the church of Pelor. Adding to his ill circumstances was that neither of his chosen pursuits was held in good esteem. Alchemy was seen as insane experimentation mainly carried out by lunatics with a mediocre understanding of magic. Anatomists were held in even worse regards, only slightly better than necromancers. Because any injuries could be healed by a simple trip to the local cathedral, and the illegality of studying human remains, anatomists were widely held to be grave-robbing ghouls. Unfortunately, the poor public opinion of the science was somewhat justified because many anatomists were forced to resort to hiring “body snatchers” to procure fresh corpses. His stunning intellect and wit was the only thing that made even these few publications as successful—meaning he was not lynched—as they were, he even managed to attract a small clique of followers. It was during this period that Caelain took his second name in a rather unusual manner. An opponent to his research compared his publications to "The noisome buzzings of the pestilential fly." Caelain noticed the potential irony and ran with it; Blackbottle is not, as most people assume, merely an allusion to his vocation, but a play on the green and bluebottle flies.

The final straw came when Caelain was discovered in a graveyard attempting to obtain a cadaver for study, he was exiled from the city and disinherited. The loss of his lab, notes, and the majority of his possessions, all of which were left in his garret apartment, hurt him badly, although he managed to keep his personal affects and some small alchemical items. It was then that Caelain made the decision to go adventuring. This would give him the opportunity to quickly rise to his previous wealth, and to dissect a great deal of different specimens without inquiry. As an added bonus, opportunities to field test his various alchemical substances would abound. As struck out from his home city of Carrickmore, a handsome young cat sauntered over to him from an alley.

Okay, I'm fairly certain I got the majority of the huge, glaring flaws. Of course, I probably missed at least a couple things between the three versions I transferred the edits through.

[Dr Bwaa]

Fine, I'm a liar, but only because I didn't actually take a lunch break that day. I have no excuse for all the other intervening days. Here are some comments.

@SleepyShadow

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Kresua groaned as he opened his narrow black eyes. The dragonborn sat up slowly as he looked around the pitch black room

The repeated structure here is noticeable, but not clearly intentional. If you're not doing it on purpose, I'd change the phrasing in one of these so it's less repetetive. Also it might be worth mentioning how he's able to look around the room in the dark.

the little silver scaled creature was far too bat-like to be a dragon, and far too scrawny to be some type of dwarf or halfling.

I'm intrigued.

The human began to stir, shaking the dust from his hair as he sat up. He muttered a few eldritch words, and the symbol on his armor began to glow with a soft white light. He looked startled to see Kresua.

You could do a much more dramatic job of this. Show him sitting up and staring around into the darkness for a moment before realizing he needs to cast Light, and then rather than just telling us "he looked startled to see Kresua" you can actually show him jump or some other real reaction.

"You're big," the human said immediately.

"No, I'm Kresua Turak,"

I lol'd.

I am a dragonborn anthropomorphic bat druid.

Oh. Obviously.

"That seems ... overly optimized," Kirk said thoughtfully.

Acuse raised his hand immediately. "According to my research

Really? Really?? Are we really doing this?

this is an ancient tomb of gnomish design. The real question is how we ended up down here.

For real though, I'd say the real question is when he had time to do research, since he presumably just woke up a couple moments ago.

the sound of metal grinding against stone

I wish we got to find out what this was.

they looked like no elves Kresua or the others had seen before.

The shortest among them, a woman, stood over six and a half feet tall.

Love the contrast between D&D elves and Tolkien's Elves.

"We are Caransil," she answered, her voice soft and calm. "This is our guide, an Esundiril."

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," Kirk said, scratching the back of his head.

"We're wood elves," snapped one of the tall elven men. "Our guide is a snow elf."

Lol. As per usual.

"We are being pursued by the forces of Izrador," the pale elf girl answered.

You do a very good job showcasing the Elves here. It sounds very Tolkien (the names probably help).

"I have a bad feeling about this," Kirk muttered suspiciously.

Someday I should go back and see how many of your campaigns' first snippets end with some approximation of this line Fun start; I hope you've played a few dozen sessions since that you can write up now, yes?

@Admiral Squish

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job

@White_Drake

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Of course, I probably missed at least a couple things between the three versions I transferred the edits through.

You know, I don't mind if you just edit the first one and post comments with a link. I imagine that would be easier This is a big improvement from your previous versions--I also just discovered that this snippet is not in the compendium in the first post. Would you like me to link it there? And if so, which copy should I link?

[White_Drake]

@ Dr Bwaa: Actually, the reason the revisions took so long for me to post was because I am totally incapable of editing a digital copy. After weeks of waiting to get around to it, I finally just printed a copy and made the edits with a pen before retyping it. On the topic of linking it, you may as well. It is a bit dry by itself, but I am thinking of writing more of his adventures. Unfortunately, the campaign has stalled, so I may run out of material rather quickly. Of course, depending on the quality of my writing, that may not be a bad thing.

Edit: Actually, perhaps I ought to post a final draft without the editorial notes. Later on tonight, when I am not posting with a kindle, I will do that.

[White_Drake]

Okay, here's the final draft:

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This is a bit of backstory for an alchemist (vivisectionist archetype) in a 3.p campaign. Assuming the campaign keeps running, I might write more so that's why it's here. Many thanks to Dr Bwaa, who provided a much needed critique. Anyway, without further ado, I present to you:

Caelain Blackbottle

Caelain is a decently attractive young man of average height, lithely built. He wears his black hair in a longish fashion, although he occasionally crops it close due to burn damage. In sharp contrast with his hair, Caelain is very pale complected. His eyes are a brilliant green—he attributes the enhanced coloration to an experiment gone awry.

Caelain has a rather outlandish taste in clothing, but as the son of a wealthy and influential nobleman he can afford to be well dressed in his choice of garb. A black velvet slouch hat with green ribbon and silver buckle can easily be pulled down to conceal his singular eyes when he so chooses. A sturdy black leather duster worked with silver thread conceals dozens of tiny vials in secret pockets. Under the jacket he wears a silk shirt and pants, customarily in dark green, blue, black, or some similarly somber color. Close-fitting boots crafted from soft leather encase his legs from the calf down, fastened with a column of silver buckles on the sides. Numerous belts and bandoliers replete with alchemical components and additional bottles of various substances complete the attire.

Although quite charming when he so chooses, the ardor with which Caelain pursues his research is often unsettling to those less zealous than himself. Often performing acts with questionable or downright disagreeable ethical ramifications to further his studies, this heedless fervor was the reason for his eventual exile and disinheritance. Some even believe that Caelain would abandon morality entirely if not for the potential negative repercussions.

Caelain is gifted with both superb manual dexterity and an incredible intellect. His greatest failing is an incredible lack of wisdom, or as many would term it, good sense. Caelain once murdered a city watchman, injured several others, attempted to escape from the guards of the town, failed, was cast into the desert, and brought a plague of undead down upon the aforementioned—and extremely unlucky—city, all because it was “easier” than admitting he had been trespassing in the sewers. Caelain often pays more attention to his own thoughts than his immediate surroundings, which has precipitated a great deal of misfortune.

To alleviate this, Caelain relies upon his closest friend and confidante, Tybalt, King of Cats, Lord of Shadows and Lost Places. Tybalt is an extraordinarily well kept young cat, and is much tougher than the average alley cat. He joined Caelain as he left the city, and received his moniker due to his royal appearance and poise. Tybalt usually surveys the surrounds from a perch on Caelain’s shoulder. Caelain once dragged Tybalt down into a desert cave, despite vigorous protest. Shortly after Tybalt redoubled his efforts and finally managed to bolt, several scimitar wielding skeletons rose out of the sand covering the cave floor. Since then, Caelain usually runs for cover whenever Tybalt makes an exit. Ironically, Tybalt is better at manipulating Caelain than the reverse. More than one of Caelain’s dissections has been interrupted by Tybalt’s insistence upon the immediate removal of the choicest cuts of meat, which Caelain has learned to locate, regardless of species. Fortunately, Caelain has never dissected a fresh human corpse, or things would have swiftly become very awkward. Despite his haughty refusal to do most anything Caelain requests, Tybalt does stay, and has chosen Caelain as his companion, although the reason for this adoption is anyone’s guess.

Caelain originally put his extraordinary intellect to use studying at the Carrickmore Academy for Practitioners of the Arcane Arts. His family, in combination with his talent and good looks, all but guaranteed his eventual succession of the kingdom’s current court wizard. Caelain however, was impatient. He was clever, and had a knack for the arcane arts, but he lacked the self-discipline necessary for practicing wizardry. The first couple years of college he managed to get by using only his marvelous intellect. As his studies progressed though, his lack of work ethic manifested itself. More and more attention was focused on his passions, alchemy and anatomy, which he found infinitely more engaging than his teachers’ fruitless attempts to explain higher arcana. In an explosive—quite literally—finale, he was expelled when a singularly volatile concoction nearly destroyed the dormitories.

Rather than returning to his family in disgrace, Caelain rented a small garret apartment, and continued his research there. Determined to show others his brilliance, he published a remarkable series of essays on alchemy, anatomy, and their interrelation, postulating wild theories such as chemicals from the brain influencing people’s actions, even that the brain, not the heart was the seat of man’s soul and intelligence. He retracted these statements when he was accused of heresy by the church of Pelor. Adding to his ill circumstances was that neither of his chosen pursuits was held in good esteem. Alchemy was seen as insane experimentation mainly carried out by lunatics with a mediocre understanding of magic. Anatomists were held in even worse regards, only slightly better than necromancers. Because any injuries could be healed by a simple trip to the local cathedral, and the illegality of studying human remains, anatomists were widely held to be grave-robbing ghouls. Unfortunately, the poor public opinion of the science was somewhat justified because many anatomists were forced to resort to hiring “body snatchers” to procure fresh corpses. His stunning intellect and wit was the only thing that made even these few publications as successful—meaning he was not lynched—as they were, he even managed to attract a small clique of followers. It was during this period that Caelain took his second name in a rather unusual manner. An opponent to his research compared his publications to "The noisome buzzings of the pestilential fly." Caelain noticed the potential irony and ran with it; Blackbottle is not, as most people assume, merely an allusion to his vocation, but a play on the green and bluebottle flies.

The final straw came when Caelain was discovered in a graveyard attempting to obtain a cadaver for study, he was exiled from the city and disinherited. The loss of his lab, notes, and the majority of his possessions, all of which were left in his garret apartment, hurt him badly, although he managed to keep his personal affects and some small alchemical items. It was then that Caelain made the decision to go adventuring. This would give him the opportunity to quickly rise to his previous wealth, and to dissect a great deal of different specimens without inquiry. As an added bonus, opportunities to field test his various alchemical substances would abound. As struck out from his home city of Carrickmore, a handsome young cat sauntered over to him from an alley.

[SleepyShadow]

Also it might be worth mentioning how he's able to look around the room in the dark.

I couldn't think of a good way to describe 3.5 darkvision. Back in my day, elves and dwarves had infravision, you could multiclass at level one, and monks were even worse than they are now. Kids today and their templates ...

Really? Really?? Are we really doing this?

Who doesn't like Magic School Bus?

For real though, I'd say the real question is when he had time to do research, since he presumably just woke up a couple moments ago.

*shrugs* I've never asked where my players' characters get their skill points.

You do a very good job showcasing the Elves here. It sounds very Tolkien (the names probably help).

Thanks. Maybe I'm just getting old, but I've always been a fan of elves regardless of how "un-optimal" they are.

Someday I should go back and see how many of your campaigns' first snippets end with some approximation of this line Fun start; I hope you've played a few dozen sessions since that you can write up now, yes?

A few dozen? You wound me. I'm not retired yet lol. But yes, we've played since then.

Crown of Shadow: Getting to Know Each Other

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Kresua, Kirk, and Acuse followed the four elves out of the crypt and up a short flight of stairs to where a metal door hung open. Scrape marks along the stone floor followed the path of the door's arc. Outside of the tomb was a wide meadow filled with wildflowers, a crystal clear pool of water occupying the west side of the field. A tiny waterfall cascaded beautifully into the pool from a high cliff. On all other sides of the meadow were thick woods, and to the north was a narrow trail leading away from the serene field.

"Pretty," commented Kresua, "but didn't you say you were being pursued?"

"You still haven't told us who you are, woman," Acuse said suspiciously.

"Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten my manners," the black-eyed woman said with a brilliant smile. "I am Lanisiree, a loyal servant of The Witch Queen."

"The Witch Queen?" Kirk asked.

"There they are!" Ashayla cried out in alarm as she pointed across the meadow.

Swarming through the trees were a dozen small with flat faces, broad noses, pointed ears, and sharp fangs. Their arms ...

"Goblins," stated Kirk confidently.

"They aren't what worry me," Lanisiree replied.

Smashing through the woods close behind the goblins was a monolith of stone that stood half again as tall as Kresua. It was carved in the likeness of a spiked suit of full plate, and had a clawed hand chiseled into its chest plate.

"What the hell?!" Kresua shouted, taking an instinctive step back. "We can't fight that thing!"

"No, we cannot," Lanisiee agreed solemnly. "However, the statue is under the goblins' control. With a bit of luck, my companions and I should be able to hold it off long enough for the four of you to defeat them and sever the connection to Izrador."

"The four of us?" Acuse repeated curiously.

Without another word Lanisiree and the two elf men took off with rapid speed to engage the stone monolith.

"I guess I'm with you boys," Ashayla said with a sheepish smile.

"Great," Kresua grumbled as the dozen goblins encircled the party. "Don't get yourself killed."

"Don't worry," Kirk said as the four adventurers stood back to back, "twelve goblins is still technically within our CR range."

"Oh joy," Acuse sighed.

[Dr Bwaa]

@White_Drake
Added!

@SleepyShadow
Well I'm glad you got what I was saying even though my link was broken

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...where a metal door hung open. Scrape marks along the stone floor followed the path of the door's arc. Outside of the tomb was a wide meadow filled with wildflowers, a crystal clear pool of water...

There's a really big conceptual break here between the dingy stagnation of the crypt and the lush beauty of the meadow outside. Your text does a very good job of conveying it, but I'd love to see a paragraph break between the two ideas to make it sharper.

"Pretty," commented Kresua, "but didn't you say you were being pursued?"

"You still haven't told us who you are, woman," Acuse said suspiciously.

It sounds like Acuse is talking to Kresua, except that he's not a woman. Some body language and a more vivid verb would help here. "...Acuse interrupted, jabbing a finger at the black-eyed Elf."

P.S. You have no idea how desperately I want someone to steal something or otherwise wrong them, so they have a reason to call that person out on it, because you know Acuse will be the first to do so, and I really just want to read "'You did it,' Acuse accused."

Swarming through the trees were a dozen small with flat faces, broad noses, pointed ears, and sharp fangs. Their arms ...

Two issues: one, you're missing a word after "small". Two, why does the narration trail off? That's super weird. If you're trying to show Kirk interrupting the GM, I'd use a dash rather than the ellipsis at the end to indicate that the narrator was cut off by the actor.

"Goblins," stated Kirk confidently.

"They aren't what worry me," Lanisiree replied.

Body language would do a lot to set the mood through here. Kirk readying his weapon, Lanisiree looking about worriedly, etc.

Smashing through the woods close behind the goblins was a monolith of stone that stood half again as tall as Kresua. It was carved in the likeness of a spiked suit of full plate, and had a clawed hand chiseled into its chest plate.

Given this description, you'd think we'd be able to hear this thing coming before we even see the Goblins.

"What the hell?!" Kresua shouted, taking an instinctive step back. "We can't fight that thing!"

Ahahaha. This is the best just-barely-flirting-with-OOC line I've seen from you recently. I love it.

"Great," Kresua grumbled as the dozen goblins encircled the party. "Don't get yourself killed."

Yeah, right.

"Oh joy," Acuse sighed.

As last time, I do so enjoy watching your players suffer. Nice snippet, and nice encounter. I'm interested to see some more setting fluff, especially since the PCs will presumably ignore and/or destroy and/or intentionally avoid it. You always do a good job with narrative exasperation. In any case, nice one!

[mebecronck]

I got a few days off coming up soon, so I will try to get something posted in that time. Things been remarkably crazy the last month. Odd considering that is normally when things start to slow down.

[Dr Bwaa]

Sweet! I should have something coming soon as well (something long-awaited even, even if only by me!)

[mebecronck]

Now without further ado .... adieu .... undo? .... eh, whatever, here's the story.

Cronc Goes to the WWE ... Again

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"It has been months, when are you going to put Cronc in another match?" Lue-Lee complains, pouting her lips at the end. She has been taking her job as manager very seriously. She even changed her wardrobe to business attire to match her new job, however, she kept her cowgirl hat.

"Look here little lady ... " Booker T responds, ready to deliver the rehearsed excuse. Knowing well that Lue-Lee was going to stop by with a attitude.

"That is Miss Winchester, thank you." Lue-Lee interupts. She thinks using her real last name makes her sound more like a manager.

Booker T obviously annoyed to be interrupted takes half a second to compose himself before he continues. "Look, I have no problem with putting Cronc in a match. Problem is, the trainers tell me he is still having trouble understanding the basic rules of wrestling."

"Yeah, but I been working with him and I think he understands it well enough. All he needs is an opportunity to prove himself. He just has trouble with tests ... and reading ... and thinking .... and being patient enough to even attempt those things." Lue-Lee pleas, "Just put him in the ring and he can show you what he has learned."

Booker T contemplates this for a moment. Cronc did give the audience a good show, and this girl will not give up until Cronc gets a shot in the ring.

"Alright, Miss Winchester, " exaggerating her last name, "you want a match ... YOU GOT IT!" Booker T exclaims. "You tell Cronc to get ready for SMACKDOWN!"

"OH! THANK YOU!" Lue-Lee loses her composure and jumps up to give Booker T a hug. Realizing what she just did, she backs up, adjusts her clothes to make sure everything is proper, then takes a deep breath. "So, uh, who is Cronc's opponent?"

"That is going to be my little surprise, you will find out in the ring." Booker T says this as if he was just issuing punishment for Lue-Lee losing her cool. "Now can you dig that ... " Booker T turns to walk away, then quickly turns back to add, "... SUCKER!"

Lue-Lee waits to make sure Booker T has left the room, then once she is sure he is gone ".... eeeeEEEEEE! OH MY GOSH! I got the Booker T 'Sucker" catchphrase. We are moving up in the WWE. This day is going great!"

-------

"This is already promising to be a great Friday night Smackdown. This is Josh Matthews on commentary and I am joined at ring side by fellow commentator J.B.L."

"That is 'Hall-of-Famer' J.B.L., Josh!" explains J.B.L., who is always annoyed by Josh"or fomer WWE Champion, or list any of my accolades. Don't just say fellow commentator. I don't have to explain this to anyone else, why do I have to explain it to you?"

"Well ... sorry ... " Josh stutters.

"Sorry don't cut it here. Why tell people this is going to be a great Smackdown. This. Is. Smackdown. Of course it is going to be great, and if you are a commentator, why not 'Comment' on what we just saw go on backstage. Booker T just made a match between Cronc, the first to give Ryback a legitimate loss in the ring, against a mystery opponent. Why not talk about that?"

"If you want to talk about, lets talk about it. Who do you think is going to be Cronc's opponent?"

"I don't know; it's a mystery!" J.B.L. answers more annoyed than before. "If you want to know so bad, why not ask Booker T? He knows. Grow some journalistic balls and ask Smackdown Manager Booker T."

"Well, then who do you want to be his opponent?" Josh tries to remain calm and carry on.

"Who cares? This is Smackdown. We fight on this show. Does it matter who? NO! Of course not." J.B.L. yells at Josh. "Are you interviewing me? You know Booker T won't waste his time with you, so you interview me! Is that it?"

"You are the one who wanted to talk about Cronc's mystery opponent." Josh responds.

"Just shut up. The first match is about to start." J.B.L. says trying to create some reprieve from the aggravation of Josh Matthews.

-------

"Guess what, Cronc?" Lue-Lee has a bounce in her step as she approaches Cronc, who is busy eating his fifth plate of ribs.

"PHWAT?" Cronc says with a mouth full of meat and bones.

"You. Got. A. MATCH!" Lue-Lee practically sings with joy.

Cronc almost spits out his food, but quickly swallows it before it flies out of his mouth. "CRONC GUT FITE!" A big grin spreads across his face. He stands up and starts moving frantically back and forth.

"WEER CRONC FITE? WOO CRONC FITE? CUN CRONC FITE NOW?" Cronc asks, more concerned about the answer to the latter than any of the others.

"We don't know who, yet, but your match is next." Lue-Lee says with a smile. She thinks to herself, 'Early in the first hour. Eh, obviously we are not main event material right now. We will get there soon enough.'

-----

"Welcome back to Smackdown." Josh Matthews says returning the T.V. audience from the commercial break. "We are just about ready for the second match of the night and the unveil of Cronc's mystery opponent."

"Cronc is already in the ring ready to go." J.B.L. added with enthusiasm. "I like this guy right here. He came here for one reason. To fight! He doesn't care about his paycheck of fame. He just wants kick somebody's ass."

"Cronc is in the ring, and he got there early. During the commercial break while Antonio Cesaro was still walking up the entrance ramp to leave Cronc practically ran him down to get in the ring. He was followed not long after by his manager Lue-Lee Gunner."

"What do you mean 'practically'? There was no 'practically' Josh! He didn't even touch him. There you go making up wild stories, again. What next? More about the how The Shield interupted the Championship match on Sunday?"

"Well the did ..."

"Noone saw anything! The lights went out! Now how about you shut up so the match can get started."

------

Cronc is on edge in the ring. He been waiting ten minutes in the ring and that is eleven minutes to long. He doesn't care who walks down that ramp. All he cares about is getting this fight started now.

"I hear voices in my head. They counsel me. They understand. They talk to me." Randy Orten's entrance music begins as 'The Viper' Randy Orten starts to walk towards the ring.

Lue-Lee, standing in the ring just behind Cronc, speaks up over the music, "Now, Cronc, remember you don't start fighting until the bell rings. Randy is going to walk down here and show off a little first, but you will be fighting soon."

In her head, though, she is think, 'Oh my gosh! We are fighting Randy Orten. This is bigger than I expected. Oh, shoot. We need to get some sort of entrance fanfare going, too.'

------

The ref makes sure both fighters are in their respective corners and helps Lue-Lee out of the ring.

"That is 'Hashtag-Hard Bodied Ref' being a proper gentleman, helping Miss Winchester out of the ring. You could take some lessons from him Matthews." J.B.L. says taking the opportunity to insult Josh Matthews one more time before the match starts.

The ref calls for the bell and the match starts, but no sooner does the bell ring, the sounds of another entrance theme starts off. Military radio calls then rock and roll music.

Lue-Lee quickly gets up on the side of the ring and grabs Cronc's attention. "Hold on a second, Cronc. This could be bad."

"It's The Shield! They are interrupting another match." Josh proclaims.

"Oh, would you shut up! The Shield! The Shield!" J.B.L. mocks Josh.

"The Shield typically comes in from the audience, but where are ... There, it's Roman Reigns, Seth Rollins, and Dean Ambrose. The Shield claim they are 'The shield of justice' and that what they do is right injustice, but all we see them do is interfere in matches and triple team opponents." Josh says in a very excited voice. "What are they doing here, though? What injustice do the believe has happened tonight? Are they here for Cronc or Randy Orten?"

"Why don't you ask them? Be a journalist and go ask them, Josh." J.B.L. yells.

Roman, Dean, and Seth take a stance just outside the barricade and wait for a moment. Inside the ring both Cronc and Randy have their eyes constantly switching between the three men now surrounding them. Lue-Lee has stepped down from the apron and is feeling just as surrounded.

"Perhaps they are here for Miss Winchester." Josh adds in contemplation.

"Really, Josh. Do you truly believe that The Shield are such monsters that they will beat up a 16 year old girl?" J.B.L. adds even more annoyed than ever before.

"I was just thinking."

"That's your problem, Josh."

The Shield jumps the barricade and quickly slides into the ring and immediately start beating up Randy Orten. The ref calls for the bell disqualifying Cronc.

"What?! No! NO!" Lue-Lee shouts both angry and surprised.

"The ref had to call for the bell and Cronc is disqualified. The ref has to treat this as if The Shield were trying to help Cronc win the match by outside interference." Josh explains.

"Thank you Captain Obvious." J.B.L. mocks. "Anyone who doesn't even know what wrestling is could figure that out."

Cronc goes up to the ropes, leans over and asks Lue-Lee, "WUT HAEPIN?"

"You just loss, Cronc. Thanks to those guys." she says pointing to The Shield, still beating up Randy Orten. "The fights over."

The thoughts run through Cronc's mind. The fight is over. I lost. The fight didn't even start, yet. Cronc wants to fight.

All of these things are making Cronc ... very .... angry!

Lue-Lee notices the change starting in Cronc. An expression of fear crosses her face. She shouts at The Shield, "YOU GUYS MIGHT WANNA RUN!" as she takes cover behind the commentators table.

---------

Roman Reigns stops the assault for a second to check out what the shout was for. He sees Cronc glaring in his direction. Cronc slowly stands to full height his muscles tense and sweat beads across his skin. His eyes turn blood-shot red. He breathes heavily through is nostrils, making them flare rapidly. His teeth clenched shut and bared through his pulled back lips, like a wild animal baring his fangs.

This is blood lust. This is RAGE!

"YU MAEK CRONC ANGREE! CRONC SMASH! ARGH!" Cronc roars the words like a wild animal, and charges at Roman. His massive arms knock him down like he was a toy. The shout draws the attention of the rest of The Shield. As they start to their feet Cronc grabs Seth by his legs and pick him up. He swings Seth like he was a giant club and knocks Dean out of the ring.

Roman gets up to his feet and tries to tackle Cronc ground. His shoulder meets Cronc's body and felt like he was trying to tackle a brick wall. Cronc discards Seth like a broken weapon. He turns his gaze to Roman. Roman looks into his eyes and feels as if nothing intelligent was behind those red eyes. Just pure predator instinct, and Roman is the prey.

Roman tries to run, but Cronc grabs Roman by the head with hand. Cronc starts slamming Roman's head into the mat repeatedly. Then against the turnbuckle. He then picks him up off the ground, still just holding him with one hand, and pulls Roman's battered and bruised face to look him in the eyes.

Roman couldn't help but feel his death was soon to follow.

Cronc flung him over the top rope with enough force that Roman landed on the steel entrance ramp. The rest of The Shield stagger their way to their fallen ally hoping to collect him and make a hasty retreat.

Cronc jumps out of the ring opposite the entrance then grabs hold of side of the ring. With little strain he begins to lift the ring from the floor.

Seth and Dean can't believe what they see. Like deer in the headlights they freeze in terror as they watch Cronc lift the ring above his head. Randy Orten slides off the tilted ring onto the mat below. The sight of Randy's body hitting the ground snap them back to reality. Adrenaline produced by fear made them ignore the pain in their possibly broken limbs as they quickly carry Roman up the ramp.

Cronc lets out a bestial roar and throws the ring at the retreating trio. He overshoots it and the ring makes contact with the Titantron instead, collapsing in between The Shield and the exit.

Seeing how close they just came to death Seth and Dean ... faint. Collapsing on the ground with their unconscious ally Roman, the wrestling ring, and the Titantron.

-------

Cronc turns his attention to the stunned audience. He beats his chest and calls out loudly, vocally claiming this area as his territory. Like a wild gorilla. Soon his head gets dizzy, as the blood lust subsides. He hunches forward and grabs his head.

Lue-Lee, noticing the signs that Cronc has calmed down, hurries to his side. She leaves behind J.B.L. and Josh Matthews, who remained silent this whole time, unable to find words to describe what they just witnessed.

"Hey, Cronc, feeling better buddy." Lue-Lee says in a very calming voice.

"Ehhhh ... ded Cronc ween?" Cronc says in a quieter than normal voice.

"Well ... I don't think that really matters anymore." Lue-Lee dodges the question.

"Ok. Cronc goe salewp now." Cronc says just before letting out a long yawn and collapsing on the floor. He then begins to snore, loudly.

-------

"Ehhhh." Josh attempts to comment.

"Ahhhh." J.B.L. attempts to retort.

"I don't know what to say." Josh finally manages to get out.

"For once Matthews ... I agree with you." J.B.L. resigns

An awkward silence hangs in the arena until the audience finally breaks it. They start shouting and cheering and finally start chanting Cronc's name.

Booker T then comes out, managing to squeeze his way around the debris on the entrance ramp. Microphone in hand, he hopes that the speaker system still works.

"Tell me ... I did not just see that." Booker T says, thankful that the speakers do work.

"Now Smackdown will go on. The rest of the night's matches will be 'No Countout', 'No DQ', and 'Falls-Count-Anywhere'. Because the show must go on." Booker T continues.

"As for Cronc." Booker T adds. The audience starts to chant 'Cronc Smash!' at the sound of his name. "He obviously is still in need of training, but he is obviously in need of staying ... with SMACKDOWN! Now can you dig that .... SUCKER!"

Lue-Lee, hearing that Cronc is not only still an employee with the WWE, but also not going to jail ... faints.

[Dr Bwaa]

@mebecronck
New (and long!) Cronc story! HUZZAH! By the way, is this character at all related to your handle?

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"It has been months, when are you going to put Cronc in another match."

It's a question, so it should end with a question mark!

Lue-Lee says aggrevated and impatient.

Show, don't tell!

He just has trouble with tests ... and reading ... and thinking .... and being patient enough to even attempt those things.

Eheheheh. The end of this line really makes it work.

"Alright, Miss Winchester, " exaggerating her last name

Nice flavor here without beating me over the head with it.

Booker T exclaims with excitement.

Here, on the other hand... is there some other way to exclaim that I should be aware of?

Lue-Lee waits to make sure Booker T has left the room, then once she is sure he is gone ".... eeeeEEEEEE! OH MY GOSH! I got the Booker T 'Sucker" catchphrase. We are moving up in the WWE. This day is going great!"

hehehe.

"I don't know! It is mystery." J.B.L. answers angrily to Josh's question, more annoyed than before.

This has been a pretty good exchange up until here. Writing WWE is obviously a florid, overwrought sort of situation, but there are certain places where it works and certain places where it doesn't. Simple redundancy isn't exciting; it actually just slows the pace of reading and makes it less interesting because it moves more slowly. Almost the entire sentence above is irrelevant: we know JBL is answering; we know he's answering the question Josh just asked, and once we hear "angrily", we don't want to hear "annoyed". You could replace the whole quote above with "'I dont know; it's a mystery!' J.B.L. snaps."

"Who cares? This is Smackdown. We fight on this show. Does it matter who? NO! Of course not." J.B.L. yells at Josh. "Are you interviewing me? You know Booker T won't waste his time with you, so you interview me! Is that it?"

All right this is pretty funny.

"You are the one who wanted to talk about Cronc's mystery opponent." Josh says felling slighted.

"Slighted" is not really the right word here; it means "ripped off". That said, there's no real reason to tell me explicitly how Josh feels; you can convey that through what he actually says.

More about the how The Shield interupted the Championship match on Sunday?"

"Well the did ..."

"Noone saw anything! The lights went out!

Ahahahahahahah

"Why don't you ask them? Be a journalist and go ask them Josh." J.B.L. yells at Josh.

I do enjoy how much he does not care about the commentating side of things, lol. You could take out "at Josh" here though, I mean really, he only has one person to talk to and he even used his name already!

She shouts at The Shield, "YOU GUYS MIGHT WANNA RUN!" as she takes cover behind the commentators table.

This, on the other hand, is great. Not so many extraneous words, just a shout and an action.

Roman Reigns stops the assault for a second to check out what the shout was for. He sees Cronc glaring in his direction. He slowly stands to full height his muscles tense and sweat beads across his skin. His eyes turn blood-shot red. He breathes heavily through is nostrils, making them flare rapidly. His teeth clenched shut and bared through his pulled back lips, like a wild animal baring his fangs.

I'm pretty sure the second half of this paragraph is supposed to be Cronc, but the first two sentences are using Roman as the subject, and you never make it clear when you switch to talking about Cronc instead.

With little strain he begins to lift the ring from the floor.

Yes!

"As for Cronc." Booker T adds. The audience starts to chant 'Cronc Smash!' at the sound of his name. "He obviously is still in need of training, but he is obviously in need of staying ... with SMACKDOWN! Now can you dig that .... SUCKER!"

Really awkward-sounding speech here. I know he's thrown off by the night's events, but this all seems way too forced.

Lue-Lee, hearing that Cronc is not only still an employee with the WWE, but also not going to jail ... faints.

Lol. Appropriate, I think Very fun snippet; the only big thing I'd say is that you consistently add a lot of redundant description that slows the narrative down. Try to get in the habit of letting your characters show how they're feeling and what they're thinking through their actions and words, rather than relying on the narrator to communicate these things. It'll make your writing flow much more smoothly.

[mebecronck]

@Dr Bwaa

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New (and long!) Cronc story! HUZZAH! By the way, is this character at all related to your handle?

Yup, my handle is mebecronck ... me be cronck ... I add the 'k' at the end because some people mispronounce his name otherwise. Saying things like "Crunse".

Eheheheh. The end of this line really makes it work.

Glad you liked it.

hehehe.

Glad you liked this, too. I wanted to illustrate that, though she is trying to take on the responsibilities of management, she is still just a little fan-girl.

All right this is pretty funny.

Thanks. It was rather easy for me to write out the exchanges between J.B.L. and Josh Matthews. It ended up taking more space than I intended.

"Slighted" is not really the right word here; it means "ripped off". That said, there's no real reason to tell me explicitly how Josh feels; you can convey that through what he actually says.

Really? Huh, I always thought it meant 'mildly offended'. But I agree, how Josh feels didn't really matter at this point.

Ahahahahahahah

Always like to know where you thought something was funny. Thanks.

I do enjoy how much he does not care about the commentating side of things, lol. You could take out "at Josh" here though, I mean really, he only has one person to talk to and he even used his name already!

I always thought of it as J.B.L. just doesn't like Josh Matthews, but that is a perspective I didn't consider ... and it may be right.

This, on the other hand, is great. Not so many extraneous words, just a shout and an action.

Sometimes simplicity is best.

I'm pretty sure the second half of this paragraph is supposed to be Cronc, but the first two sentences are using Roman as the subject, and you never make it clear when you switch to talking about Cronc instead.

I didn't even realize that until I reread it after your comment. I even wondered for a moment "... wait Roman did what?"
Yes!

Really awkward-sounding speech here. I know he's thrown off by the night's events, but this all seems way too forced.

I don't like how it came out either. I realized it was getting long and feeling I needed to wrap it up ... ehhh ... I'm probably going to rewrite it.

Lol. Appropriate, I think Very fun snippet; the only big thing I'd say is that you consistently add a lot of redundant description that slows the narrative down. Try to get in the habit of letting your characters show how they're feeling and what they're thinking through their actions and words, rather than relying on the narrator to communicate these things. It'll make your writing flow much more smoothly.

Glad you enjoyed it. I know there is going to be mistakes. Consequence of my "train-of-thought" writing style. You know, type it as you think it. Considering the length of this story I was thinking there would be a lot more mistakes. I will take this as a sign that I'm getting better. Sorry it took so long to get another story up. I got several in my head, but it has been getting pretty hectic at home lately.

Furthermore, anything not specifically responded to has been fixed.

[nersxe]

Hoping this thread is still open, else I will look very silly.

A bit of backstory for a character I've become very fond of. Setting is Ravenloft (DnD). There is a trigger warning for this story:

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Non-graphic rape.

The Fall of the van Richten Heir
or, A Concise Summary of How Fragile L0 Commoners Are

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It was fairly quiet for happy hour at a dive bar. The patrons were mostly wrapped in their individual sorrows, sipping or hammering away at their drinks as fit their disposition.

Sallah van Richten was no exception. Not normally a solo drinker, Sallah only sat alone at the bar proper because her latest in a short but intense line of lovers had yet to show his face. With every drink and every minute he failed to appear, her temper soured, face drawing tighter and tighter.

A pair of men lounged at a nearby table, the sole source of laughter and high spirits in the establishment. They drank heavily, throwing coppers at the barmaid in-between gropes. Sallah had been ignoring them since they walked in - she knew what their kind talked about when they were in a good mood - but her attention was drawn when she heard her surname.

"-thought van Richtens had some fight in 'em, but this one just stopped after one kick," the skinny one giggled, gesturing expansively with his drink, "she knew she wanted it."

"What did you say." Sallah's voice was low, dangerous, with a clear threat in it that caught the attention of the rest of the bar. She didn't turn from her perch on the bar stool.

"Had a little bit of fun with the van Richten youngest, that's all," he shrugged, toasting his companion.

"Are you sure she was a van Richten?"

"Sure was," the man smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Light brown hair-"

Sallah's jaw tightened, obscured by a curl of light brown hair.

"- dark brown eyes-"

The glass mug in Sallah's hand seemed to wilt under a vicious stare delivered by dark brown eyes.

"- thick built, just the way I like them-"

Thick muscles rippled underneath Sallah's skin as her grip tightened around her mug.

"- and oh, yeah, she was wearing one of them van Richten necklaces, the ones what got the crests on 'em."

A necklace with the van Richten crest swayed and thumped against Sallah's breastbone as she stood, mug cracking under the strength of her grip. She loomed over the man where he sat, pure hatred in her eyes. "And you raped her."

"Nah, just had a bit of fun," the man waved her off, too drunk or too cocky to understand the danger he was in. "She came 'round to it in the end, after all." He peered up at her, taking in her violation of her personal space. "Who the hell are you to be given me the bobby's runaround, eh?"

"I'm Sallah van Richten," Sallah bellowed, exploding into violence, "and that was my ****ing sister!"

When Sallah came back to herself, there was blood on her hands that couldn't all be accounted for by the tiny shards of glass in the palms of her hands, and she was lying on the floor of a holding cell. Her memory refused to cooperate, but the authorities were more than willing to fill her in when they came to take her to trial.

[Dr Bwaa]

@nersxe
The thread is absolutely still open! What would make you think otherwise? Was it the terrible, terrible lack of posts, or were you just ashamed that I, specifically, haven't written anything new in many months? Well either way, welcome to the thread and thanks for giving me something to read that isn't sketchy javascript documentation! On to comments!

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Before I actually go on to my critique: there's probably no need to warn for language, since the GITP board censors it anyway. However, I would absolutely add a content warning about the

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rape.

It was fairly quiet for happy hour at a dive bar. The patrons were mostly wrapped in their individual sorrows, sipping or hammering away at their drinks as fit their disposition.

Nice opening. The only thing I'd change would be taking out "at a dive bar" and replacing that (probably later on) with some other scenery to make it clear to the reader the nature of the bar, without beating them over the head with it.

Sallah only sat alone at the bar proper because her latest in a short but intense line of lovers had yet to show his face.

This reads kind of strangely, like he's her lover but has yet to show his face to her ever. You're either being too subtle for me ("no one she wanted to go home with had showed up yet") or else this could use a touch of clarification (if she's being stood up, make it clear--even just through tone).

Light brown hair

dark brown eyes

thick

necklace, crest

You're being a little too blunt, here. First, you're violating the Rule of Three-- you only need three traits to identify something, especially when your description is broken up: you risk your reader losing the actual descriptions amid the higher-level association. Second, this would be far nicer if you didn't repeat all the exact same phrases (especially in the places where it seems forced (e.g. "thick-built" does not suggest "thickly-muscled" to me)). This description/identification you've got is good, but it would be easier to read with some synonyms or more-descriptive phrases on the narrator's part. You've only got a few hundred words in the whole snippet; every one of them should be used to give new information to the reader. So I might replace the narrator's first "response" line with "Sallah's jaw tightened, movement obscured by auburn curls", for instance.

He peered up at her, taking in her violation of her personal space.

Good reversal (personal space issues) and word choice. That last "her" should be "his", though

she was lying on the floor of a holding cell.

Ahahahahaha! Not the ending I was expecting at all, but I love it! Great way to wrap this up (and tie it in ominously to your subtitle, heh). I hope you've got more such tales to bring us; this was a fun read!

[nersxe]

Haha, yes, I thought the thread was dying due to lack of recent snippets.

I added the content warning right away; thanks for the catch, I didn't even think about that. The edits I'll have to mull over, but the feedback is certainly welcome.

There is quite a bit more to Sallah's story. She's 17 in this snippet, was 19 when I started playing her, and has since aged to 21. :)

[TheWombatOfDoom]

What an excellent idea! I have plenty to add! But what shall I start with?

A campaign introduction snippet! It's supposed to talk about the world setting a bit, with some adventurer type people, without giving too much about the plot away. Just create intrigue and information, as it were....

The Wall Campaign Introduction

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“T'ese triple Jains were a problem from the start. Everyone knows twiners and twainers are bad omens for this 'ere kingdom. If the king'd had 'alf a brain, ee’d ‘ve brained two o’ the t'ree when they were young an' defenseless. Should the last one meet 'is untimely? Why, just spawn som’more. Not really tha’ hard! Har Har!”

Brint was sprayed with spittle from his companion’s exuberant storytelling. His back stiffened in disgust as it splattered about his face. A cloth appeared from one of his pockets, and soon the offending liquids were swabbed. Garros was still going on about the triplet brothers of the Kingdom of Jain and how they had in recent past ruined Seregen, but Brint was done listening. They had lived this tale, him and Garros both, and he did not need to be reminded. Nor did it assist in relieving his headache. The succession war had been a grueling ordeal. The king unfortunately had not “brained his sons”. Instead, he had died. Without choosing a heir.

When royal brothers turned against each other you often ended up forced turn against your own, Brint thought bitterly. Civil wars were mad to begin with, but 3 armies within one kingdom, with each the enemy of the other? Pure folly. The fools nearly destroyed the kingdom! As Garros was still saying, “T’would 'ave been better t'croak ‘em when they was young.”

Four years after the war had ended and the kingdom was still only a shadow of what it once was. Towns were ruined or obliterated and many others were abandoned. Many of the towns that were untouched or able to be salvaged were unprotected from the variety of wild creatures in the realm, and so many were having difficulty protecting themselves. Soldiers unfortunately couldn’t be everywhere at once and with trouble everywhere...

Brint suddenly lost his train of thought as one of his coughing fits took him again. Blood. Wonderful.

“—an’ then I took th’ dragon by its great muscled throat and ripped off its tooth! It squeal'd like a pig, it did, or m’ma’s not named Sally.”

Garros’ mother was in fact named Margaret, and the “tooth” he was referring to was nothing more than a hawk’s talon. Garros was thrusting it in people’s faces as he told his story. There weren’t any dragons, Brint thought. Never were. Just a story the same as elves, and vampires and the other weird folk the gullible chose to believe in. The realm was already filled with dangerous creatures, so Brint didn’t see the point in making stories about fake ones. If I ever settle down, he thought, my kids won’t believe any of that crap. I’ll teach them what’s what. None of this "ghosts in graveyards" drivel.

Incidentally, there were more and more strange things crawling out of the ground lately. The last town Brint and Garros had encountered had paid well to rid them of an infestation of strange, skulking grey skinned men that screamed and snarled in place of speech. That job was how Brint had hurt his leg. With the rarity of a magic healer, nothing the town could pay could reimburse his injury – now it was a labor just to walk. That didn’t suit Brint at all.

Furthermore, they were close to the Wall, and that always disturbed Brint. Brint was a coast man, born and raised. Lived in sight of the sea all of his life till the war. He missed the smell of salty air, the call of sea birds, and the sunrise. The sun didn’t even rise here. It grew light, but you couldn’t see the sun for hours after it did. It eventually just came peeking out from above the wall, the only thing he could tell that could make it over the thing. His eyes found themselves drifting to the disturbing monstrosity to the east – The Wall. It rose up sharply, black and stark against an otherwise pleasant afternoon. Some said it writhed and roared, and snatched at you when you drew close to it. Brint did not want to venture close enough to deny or confirm such rumors. He didn’t even like being this close to it and it was miles away. The Wall was just…wrong.

He remembered the first time he saw it. Brint’s father had decided it was time Brint go on deliveries of wares with him. He was getting older and needed help in items he once could do alone. Brint had always heard stories of the Wall, but he was skeptical. How could something be so large it could block out the sun until midmorning? But when the thing boiled out of the eastern horizon as they rode Brint knew at once that this thing was very real and very dangerous. The people in this town seemed to have a knack for ignoring it. Their eyes didn’t wander like his. All their windows faced any direction but east. Even the doors faced the direct opposite side. He heard there were towns closer to the wall, but he shuddered to think what the people there were like. Mad most likely.

Brint suddenly hunched over at the sensation of someone plunging a heated hook into his belly. Brint realized then he was sweating something fierce, and the pain came again so suddenly he cried out in agony. Garros fell silent at this and the group Garros had been telling the story to cautiously backed away from Brint’s writhing body.

“Give ‘im space! E’ll be fine in a min’t,” Garros boomed in his slurring voice at the crowd. “E’s been doin’ dis since the las' town. Tryin’ to find a healer, but no one’s got one.”

Brint’s vision was blinking. One moment he could see, next it was black as the Wall. The mild twinge of a headache he’d had before had turned into a new creature entirely. It felt like some demon was riding his head wielding hammers. In his flashes of vision he noticed something alarming - his wounded leg had gone grey and festered. That wasn't like that a few minutes ago, was it? Panic suddenly gripped Brint. He tried to call out to Garros, but it came out as a snarl. Brint gasped at the noise, for he’d heard that snarl before. What’s…what’s happening to me?

Brint went still then. Garros, concerned, went over to turn his friend over. His friend was completely grey now, skin pasty and damp with sweat. Brint’s hair was torn out in chunks and gripped tightly in his hands. Had his ears been pointed before? Garros thought. I guess they were hiding under the hair. Brint began to stir, so Garros kneeled and pulled out his water skin. He was just about to offer it to his friend when Brint’s eyes shot open. Except they were not Brint’s eyes. Brint's eyes had been cool and calculating, these eyes were wild and savage. The thing that was once Brint opened its mouth to reveal a smile of sharp teeth. Garros lept back.

“Run!” he growled to his former audience, pushing at those closest to him. They stared at him stupidly. “RUN!” he screamed, trying to unsheathe his sword. It was too late. His former friend was already pouncing, screeching hungrily. And then Garros was no more.

[SleepyShadow]

Hey all, it's been a while. Life, the universe, and everything sometimes make it difficult to find time to write. Sorry about the delay. Anyway, here is my next (long overdue) snippet.

Crown of Shadow: Of Dwarfs and Channelers

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"Well done, Ashayla," Kresua said once the battle was over. "You seem to be a fairly capable combatant."

"She didn't die, at least," Acuse sneered.

Kirk placed a hand on Ashayla's shoulder and smiled warmly. "No need to listen to the crazy bat, miss."

"Thank you," she said, nodding her head. "Kresua, that wound of yours looks rather deep. I believe I have a salve that can help."

Kirk stepped away from her as he gave a hearty laugh. He placed his hand on Kresua's side, and with a few small prayers the wound had sealed itself shut. Ashayla stared at him in amazement for several long moments.

"Y-you're a channeler?" she asked.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Kresua grumbled. "He's obviously a cleric."

Ashayla frowned deeply at this answer, but before she could speak, Lanisiree and her two companions approached the group. The black-eyed elf seemed physically drained, but otherwise the three of them were uninjured.

"Come, children," Lanisiree said with a wane smile. "Durgis Rock is not far off. We should be able to reach it by the eve of the morrow if we travel with haste."

"What did she say?" Acuse quietly asked Kresua.

"She said we'll get to Durgis Rock by tomorrow night," the crusader replied.

The bat-creature looked up at the dragonborn curiously. "What the hell is that?"

"No clue," Kresua answered with a shrug.

***

The journey through the woods passed slowly by for the adventurers, with little to do but converse among themselves. Kresua, Kirk, and Acuse quickly got to know each other, while Ashayla would shyly interject in their conversations from time to time. Lanisiree spoke only when prompted, and she always spoke as if a kindly mother were speaking to her children. Her two bodyguards were silent as the grave.

Late in the afternoon on their second day of travel, Ashayla gave a cry of alarm and pointed down the trail toward a large figure ahead of them. Limping toward the group was a hulking boar-like humanoid garbed in tattered black armor. The creature clutched at a raw, gaping wound on its side. It took a few steps forward before it collapsed to the ground.

"What is that thing?" Kirk asked.

"It is an orc," Lanisiree answered simply.

"Not like any orc I've ever seen," Kresua replied as he approached the fallen creature.

"What is it doing out here?" Acuse asked as he flapped over beside the crusader.

Kresua folded his arms over his chest and gave the bat a smirk. "Not much now."

"Glory ..." the orc growled, his breathing ragged and labored. "... death ... for Izrador ..."

"What are you talking about?" Kirk asked the orc as he approached, Ashayla quickly following behind.

"Dwarf home ... death is glory ..." the fallen orc managed to choke out before the last vestiges of his life faded away.

"We have to hurry!" Ashayla cried out as she raced ahead of the group.

Hustling after the snow elf girl, the group soon came upon a hill overlooking a small fortress nestled in a low vale. One of the walls had been smashed open, and smoke billowed from a mass cairn where orc, goblin, and dwarf bodies all fueled the flames. A large group of goblins had corralled the dwarf women and children, but the dwarfs were most likely kept in check by the trio of stone goliaths that patrolled nearby.

"We have to help them!" Ashayla said.

Before she could take off toward the fort, Kresua roughly grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. "Rushing off to die won't help anyone, Ashayla."

"But we have to do something," she said meekly.

"Looks like we're too late," Acuse said nonchalantly. "Oh well."

"Not necessarily," Lanisiree replied. "The dwarfs may still be fighting in the catacombs beneath Durgis Rock."

The bat-creature glared at her sternly. "And how exactly are we supposed to get inside?"

The black-eyed elf woman gave a coy wink and smiled prettily. "Don't worry, I have an idea."

[Dr Bwaa]

Please forgive this travesty. Any and all critique is hugely appreciated.

Slime, Muck and Filth (Part I)
or: No One Said Adventuring was a Glamorous Life

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Trigger Warnings:
Gore
Really Really Gross Environment
No, Seriously

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One down, one to go, I think as we approach the Cathedral in the pre-dawn light. Of course, the one in the river was the easy one...

The iron grate set in the ground before us, not thirty yards from the gates, seems a likely bet. It smells like the last place I would ever want to be, though. Filbert and I begin hauling it out of the ground, while Nim watches and offers advice like "lift it up!" Eventually we drag the covering aside enough to fit past it, and I round on Nim with an exasperated sigh. He responds by thrusting out his arm, three knife handles protruding from his closed fist.

"Chipped blade stays topside with the rope," he says, wagging his knives at us. "Go on!"

Filbert and I each draw a blade delicately from Nim's grasp. As we inspect them for nicks, Nim tosses the third one high in the air. He catches it by the point and flips it around, showing a nasty bite taken out of the blade. "Looks like it's me! What do you know!"

I start to demand a retry--with no slight of hand--but Filbert's eyes widen and he shakes his head quickly, speaking low. "Stop it, quick. We've got company." He raises his eyes toward the Cathedral. I turn to see a guard--clad in chain and hand on his sword--approaching us. I roll my shoulders. They feel too light, and I realize just how long it's been since I went anywhere unarmored, let alone with only a dagger in my belt.

Nim takes a couple steps forward to meet the approaching guard. "Good morn, sir! What can my fellows and I do for you?"

The guard closes the remaining distance between them and stops, looking over Nim's shoulders at Filbert and me. I try not to look like an urchin with his hand in the fruit basket while he demands, "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Nim bobs his head. "My name's John, this is Frederick and Carl. The streets don't stay clean all on their own, you know, not all the time. Something's blocking the sewer under here; we're the guys who have to clear it out." I can actually hear him grin. "Well, those two. I'm watching the rope."

The guard pauses while he considers this. "How long is it gonna take you?"

"Well that depends on how fast they find the problem, and what it is. But trust me, they don't want to be down there any longer than they have to. We'll be gone by midmorning at worst."

The man nods. "All right. I'll give the word to the next watch; let 'em know who you are. John, right?" Nim dips his head as confirmation as the guard continues, "Well, good luck John, and you two as well. I don't envy you fellas at all; no sir!" He chuckles as he walks away.

Nim turns back to us. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he asks, much louder than necessary. "Get the rope tied down! We don't have all day!"

I glare at him, but toss down my pack and dig out a long rope, along with rags, oil, and two sturdy clubs. Filbert ties the rope to the grate while I ready the torches. We tie strips of cloth firmly over our noses and mouths, and take a last deep breath. Then I grab ahold of the rope and jump into the lightless pit, to the sound of Nim's "have fun!"

The walls of the shaft are slick with God knows what. It sucks on my boots like heavy mud, though it hasn't rained in days. I fight the urge to retch, trying to focus on the descent. It only takes a few jumps to rappel all the way to the bottom. It's slimy and wet, but mercifully devoid of more than a trickle of raw filth. A tunnel about chest-high extends in both directions. I hunch over and step to the side as Filbert arrives from above. We make eye contact in the flickering torchlight, and I gesture down the passage behind me. "This looks like 'upstream'. Let's get this over with."

After what feels like an hour of hunchbacked creeping through the fetid tunnel, the sound of falling water reaches us. Around the next bend in the passage, the torchlight falls upon its source and my stomach clenches. I stop in my tracks, moaning behind my mask.

"What is it? What do you see?" Filbert asks from behind me in a strained voice.

I shudder. "The sewers really are stopped up. The passage is blocked... by bodies." I don't count them, but the corpses fill the opening from floor to ceiling. They're packed together by what must be tremendous pressure on the other side, a dam on the verge of breaking. Putrid streams leak through in places, running over limbs and upturned faces to the ground beneath me.

"Should we turn around?" Filbert asks with a note of ambivalence.

Yes. We should turn around and think of any other way to get into the Cathedral. "We've already given the guards a story. We can't risk changing it now..." I start to take a deep breath, and gag on it. "We won't be able to get in anywhere else, not with it all backed up. We're going through."

I take several determined steps forward, stopping just in front of the wall of bodies. "I'm going to try to free it up." My throat tightens at the thought. "Hold on to something. There's a lot on the other side." I hand Filbert my torch and then take my own advice, finding a thick, slippery root hanging from the ceiling. Gritting my teeth, I wind the root around my hand for a better grip, then reach for the nearest body. I try not to consider who this middle-aged woman might have been as I yank her free of her shameful resting place.

Thoughts of the dead are banished immediately by the torrent of filth that rushes from the new opening. I retch and hear Filbert do the same behind me, but I reach for another swollen arm, and pull. The wall collapses with a roar, and I squeeze my eyes and mouth shut. I'm battered first by body parts, then by a churning, neck-high river of raw sewage surging away down the cramped tunnel.

Would that I could die instead. Hell can be no worse than this.

The few seconds it takes for the flow to drop to thigh height are about all I can take. I cough violently through my ****-soaked mask and tear it from my face, releasing the root above me and forging blindly against the current, as though the darkness ahead holds something better. I try to ignore Filbert's pained hacking and sputtering as he follows behind me.

At least, when I pass the spot where the bodies were, the tunnel widens enough that I can stand upright. I stretch, but don't stop, eyes focused straight ahead. Only when the current subsides to a sluggish, shin-deep crawl, do I pause and turn back to Filbert.

When I do, I feel my face twisting upwards despite everything, and in a moment I burst into laughter. Filbert is covered head to toe in slimy, ghastly clots of refuse. His clothes swing heavily from his arms, held out awkwardly to his sides with one torch in each hand. He clings gamely to his guttering, dripping torch, glaring back at me with the desperate grimace of a torture victim. I picture how I must look, and laugh all the harder, spitting and coughing between breaths. A few seconds later, Filbert starts laughing too, both of us overcome by the sheer horror and absurdity.

Eventually, Filbert looks up at me, his face sober once more. "Let's get this the hell over with."

"I couldn't agree more," I reply. I turn back down the tunnel and resume walking. "At least there's room to stand, now."

"Thank God for small favors."

We keep slogging upstream. Soon (but not nearly soon enough), the path ahead vanishes into inky blackness. I slow my pace, coming to a stop where the tunnel walls widen. Ahead is a deep chamber far too large for our feeble torches to light. Several pillars reach up into darkness at the edge of my vision. Filbert stops alongside me, and I think I can hear something moving out in the darkness. It's hard to be certain, thanks to the slow gurgle of sewage around our legs, but I warn Filbert anyway.

"Of course there's something out there," he replies blandly. "We wouldn't want this to be too easy."

I try to snort, but it turns into a cough. Recovering, I change the subject. "We should be under the Cathedral by now. This must be the main cistern."

"Yes," Filbert agrees. "There ought to be a way up; maybe on the columns."

I start moving again, toward the closest of the shadowy pillars. "Let's start looking. Keep watch for any wretched creatures that would live in a place like this," I add. "I don't know if that's even possible, but at this point, I'm done being surprised."

Filbert nods, making for the next column in the line. We stay within sight of each other as we search, so when a splash echoes from the opposite direction, I'm instantly on alert, knife in hand. "Filbert!" I shout over my shoulder as I creep toward the source of the sound. "We're not alone!"

Quiet slooshing behind me signals Filbert's approach as a dim shape begins to materialize out of the gloom. As it enters the reach of my torchlight, I spy at least two spine-covered tentacles thrashing the air above the dark blob. Then one of them whips out at me. It slams into my shoulder and immediately grabs hold, thick muscle tightening steadily around my arm. I grit my teeth and struggle to switch my knife and torch hands, finally giving the gruesome tendril a deep slash. Vile fluid pours out; the stink overpowers even the horrid reek of the tunnels themselves. Sewer bugs crawl toward the wound and waste no time in wriggling inside. The tentacle only responds by coiling harder.

The creature is in full view now: a grotesque monstrosity with two more long tentacles and a toothy maw as wide as I am tall, all covered in maggoty boils. It takes a wide swing at Filbert as he bounds past me, but catches only air. Filbert barely touches the water as he closes the gap and lays into the sewer monster's body. Every punch is punctuated by a wet smack and gurgling howl.

I'm jerked around a bit by the tentacle holding me, but I have no intention of being pulled into the muck. I twist my left arm to bring the torch to bear, and reach across to plunge the knife in, sawing at the corded muscle. It clenches and twitches, spurting rancid black sludge in all directions, but finally I sever something important and it goes still. I pull my arm free and wade forward to join Filbert. As I get near, I spear another tentacle on the tip of my blade and hold it in check. Filbert glances at me, then rushes in to deliver the final strike, twisting the top of the creature's enormous jaw entirely off its body in a geyser of foulness.

The tentacle I was holding falls limp. I let it slide off my knife as the third one lands with a splash beside me. Three infected, bulbous eyes stare up at me, each blinking separately as they slowly discover their fate. I shudder and push the eye stalk underwater with the tip of my boot. When I look up, Filbert has already moved off toward another of the columns. A moment later, he calls out, "Claaus! I found a way up!"

I try to put the grim spectacle out of my mind, and hurry to catch up with him. Soon a rough ladder appears, hewn into the stone pillar. "Well, whatever we find up there, it can't be much worse than down here." I spit out some slime and Filbert laughs.

"Maybe we can find a washroom."

Ok now that that's over with I can add everyone's new stuff to the OP, and now on to the comments!!

@TheWombatOfDoom
First, welcome! Sorry for taking so long to get to you (I'd promised myself that my next post in this thread would contain a snippet, hence the unedited mess above). If you have any requests for the type of critique you'd like to receive (including "don't"), let me know! Otherwise I'll go with my standard variety. I frequently make revision suggestions: if you'd like to revise; I recommend that you revise your work in the same post, so that I don't miss the update and leave the link in the OP pointing to an older version (but of course do whatever you like).

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I have plenty to add!

Just FYI, this is already my favorite part of your post.

Everyone knows twiners and twainers are bad omens

Love this already.

If the king had had half a brain, he’d ‘ve brained two o’ the three when they were young and defenseless. Should his sole heir die, why, just spawn som’more. Not really tha’ hard! Har Har!

The tone is kind of weird throughout this. You've got loads of unconventional spellings in some places and then none in others where the reader is now expecting them. If you're going to use eye dialect (of which I definitely approve; don't get me wrong), just make sure it's consistent. That said, the actual content here is hilarious.

Brint was suddenly sprayed with spittle from his companion’s exuberant storytelling.

From the tone we've read so far, it doesn't seem likely to be sudden, so much as an ongoing annoyance.

It had been a grueling ordeal, the succession war.

Nothing really wrong with this; I just think it's an awkward construction. "The succession war had been a grueling ordeal" feels much more natural.

The king unfortunately did not “brain his sons”. Instead, he died. Without choosing a heir.

Since the narration is in the past and you're talking about something that's done with, you need the past perfect here: "The king unfortunately had not “brained his sons”. Instead, he had died. Without choosing a heir."

As Garros said, “T’would have been better to croak ‘em when they was young.”

Since this isn't the exact quote we heard, I'm guessing he's maybe just continuing to repeat this point in different ways: this is a prime spot for the narrator/Brint to inject a little value judgment into the description. "As Garros was still saying, ..."

Four years after the war had ended and the kingdom is still only a shadow of what it once was. Towns ruined or obliterated and others abandoned. Many of the towns that were untouched or salvaged were unprotected from the other wild creatures of the realm, and many were having difficulty protecting themselves. Soldiers couldn’t be everywhere at once. It was sad times.

The tense here is very strange, not least because you've got long stretches without any actual tense (and a full sentence with no main verb). Also, "It was sad times" is just not a proper sentence no matter which way you slice it; your subject and verb and pronoun do not agree at all. Luckily, the passage is better if you just take this sentence out altogether ("show, don't tell").

Garros’ mother was in fact named Margaret, and the “tooth” he was referring to was nothing more than a hawk’s talon. Garros was thrusting it in people’s faces as he told his story.

Lol. Great tone and great imagery.

Just a story, same as elves, and vampires and the other weird folk the stories children were told inhabited.

You're missing a word at the end of this.

There were plenty enough of creatures round to keep a need for made up ones

This is super convoluted. "Plenty enough" is okay I guess (if redundant), but the second half of the sentence confounded me. Are you using "keep" as "avoid"? That's technically okay too, but usually only in a context where it's obvious that that's what you're doing; otherwise you garden-path your reader like crazy.

If I ever settle down

AAH! First person?! When did this happen?

skulking grey men that acted like animals. That’s how Brint had hurt his leg.

Sounds like wights/ghouls to me. Very well done here, with Brint's persistent denial of "weird folk" followed by this ominous bit. Very nice indeed.

He remembered the first time he saw it.

New paragraph for the coming flashback.

All their windows faced any direction but east. Even the doors faced the direct opposite side. He heard there were towns closer to the wall, but he shuddered to think what the people there were like.

This is great. We get a good sense here of the length of the Wall, as well as the faux-casual attitude of the citizens living near it. I'm intrigued.

Brint suddenly hunched over as stomach pains created the sensation of someone plunging a heated hook into his belly.

You can take out the part I bolded. It's better to give the audience some credit: we understand that plunging a heated hook into someone's belly is going to produce "stomach pains". At the very least. It's often much more effective just to give the action, or in this case the metaphor, than to state something plainly. The metaphor is far more vivid.

Brint realized then he was sweating something fierce, and the pain came again so suddenly he cried out in agony.

Okay yeah definitely ghoul fever. And in what looks like a super-low-magic setting... poor townspeople.

It felt like some demon was riding his head wielding hammers

Ahahahaha. Fantastic. You really have some beautiful (if disturbing) imagery.

brandishing them menacingly on his head

You don't need this; take it out. Especially since "brandishing" means "displaying".

His wounded leg had gone grey and festered.

Ew (I'm so right). Might want to mention some surprise at how fast this happened ("Sometime in the last minute, his wounded leg had gone grey and festered.").

No, he thought. Not that. Anything but that. I can’t be becoming one of THEM. What’s…what’s happening to me? What’s...

Too much. No need to beat the audience over the head with it.

Except they were not Brint’s eyes. They were the eyes of a Ghoul.

This is almost great. The only issue is that I, as your reader, have never seen a ghoul before. So "they were the eyes of a Ghoul" tells me nothing. Instead, give me a pithy, vivid description like you've done elsewhere, and let me draw my own conclusions.

Overall conclusions: I really like your style, not to mention this great campaign setting. I really hope you bring us more! In fact, I hereby demand the rest of the story! You have one week. GO!

@SleepyShadow

Life, the universe, and everything sometimes make it difficult to find time to write.

Preaching to the choir here

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Kirk placed a hand on Ashayla's shoulder and smiled warmly. "No need to listen to the crazy bat, miss."

Oh, how I missed your party dynamics. lol.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Kresua grumbled. "He's obviously a cleric."

I just feel the need to point out all the moments in which I laugh. This was one.

"Come, children," Lanisiree said with a wane smile.

The word you want is "wan".

The journey through the woods passed slowly by for the adventurers

Can't help but assume this is meant as much OOC as in-character, lol.

"We have to hurry!" Ashayla cried out as she raced ahead of the group.

I'd say "we must hurry" is more in-style.

"Looks like we're too late," Acuse said nonchalantly. "Oh well."

This guy.

The black-eyed elf woman gave a coy wink and smiled prettily. "Don't worry, I have an idea."

"Prettily" would be weird here even if it weren't already a really bizarre time to start smiling. I'm very curious what the plan is here, though. Get into the dwarven stronghold, ok. But what are they possibly going to do to be of use in there?

Also I have to mention again that this is a really cool setting. Because it is.

[TheWombatOfDoom]

@TheWombatOfDoom
First, welcome! Sorry for taking so long to get to you (I'd promised myself that my next post in this thread would contain a snippet, hence the unedited mess above). If you have any requests for the type of critique you'd like to receive (including "don't"), let me know! Otherwise I'll go with my standard variety. I frequently make revision suggestions: if you'd like to revise; I recommend that you revise your work in the same post, so that I don't miss the update and leave the link in the OP pointing to an older version (but of course do whatever you like).

Thank you for the welcome, and no worries on the longevity of time in your response. I just am glad to have been gotten to! I certainly understand the goal to post and the incidental amount of time used to attain it - muses are fickle creatures. Your normal critique I found to be quite valuble, but what are other options for types of critiquing?

As for revising, I took all your advice into consideration and edited the OP accordingly. It got a few new things put in, and a few things taken out. If you could give it a once over to see if I was successful in my edits, I would certainly not complain! If it looks good, let me know, and consider it my final draft.

As for more in that current vein of story, I'm afraid I'm not sure if I can give it to you. That was just a introductory snippet to attract gamers to my campaign. A sort of teaser. The rest is playing material. I'm glad you like my style, however, and your hunger for more of the setting certainly shows I accomplished my intended goal!

[Dr Bwaa]

@TheWombatOfDoom

what are other options for types of critiquing?

At the risk of sounding full of myself, I'm happy to give advice in whatever sense you (or anyone else) are looking for it. My default is just the easiest thing for me to do on lunch breaks: mostly low-level word choice, tone, and grammar comments in a sort of liveblog style. It's basically the middle road between various sorts of analysis. I could also focus on higher-level stuff (feel; plot; pacing; themes) or lower-level stuff ("close reading"; symbolism; subtext). Those are really more enjoyable for me, but they also take longer (especially if you ask for a close reading of a 10-page short story or something ). Or any mixture of these things; like I said, I'm happy to do all of it.

Now on to some comments on your revisions!

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His back went stiff in disgust

I think "stiffened" is a nicer word here. I'm liking the changes so far.

There almost wasn’t a kingdom left after!

There's nothing actually wrong with this, but I don't like the phrase very much. "Almost" seems weak and "after" feels too juvenile for the feeling that's being conveyed.

“—an’ then I took th’ dragon by it’s great muscled throat and ripped off its tooth! It squeal'd like a pig, it did, or m’ma’s not named Sally.”

One of the bolded words is wrong (it's the first one).

Just a story the same as elves, and vampires and the other weird creatures that inhabited the stories children were told.

This sentence got away from you a bit on the revisit: dragons (and elves, etc) are "just a story" that "[inhabit] the stories...". I think you can trim the end here; the reader can get that you're talking about fairy tales from context, e.g. "...and the other weird folk that children whispered about."

None of these ghosts in graveyards crap.

You've got an agreement problem here ("these" is trying to refer to "crap"; you want "this ghosts in graveyards crap"). You could make it a little clearer by putting "ghosts in graveyards" in quotes, or compounding it together ("None of this ghosts-in-graveyards crap").

The last town he had come to had paid the two well to rid them of these strange, skulking grey men that acted like animals.

A few things here. First, you don't need "he had come to"; it's implied from context. Next, "the two" is awkward since we were just in an internal monologue--remind us that the other one is Garros. Third, this is a very modern usage of "these" and it breaks your setting as a result. The sentence works better if you just take it out. Finally, "men that acted like animals" is weak compared to what else you've got going on. A specific example of their animal behavior would be better.

now he couldn’t walk very well. And that meant slow to no movement.

It's not really clear what you're trying to achieve here. Is it slow, or no movement? You'd probably be better off just making the previous stronger; e.g. "now he struggled just to walk" and let us figure out why that doesn't suit him.

Tryin’ to fin’ da healer

Of course, I can see what you're going for, but if you can figure out a way to reword this, or write out Garros' accent in a way that doesn't look like a typo for "find a", you probably should.

his wounded leg had gone grey and festered. That wasn't like that a few minutes ago, was it? Panic suddenly gripped Brint. He tried to call out to Garros, but it came out as a snarl. Brint gasped at the noise, for he’d heard that snarl before. What’s…what’s happening to me?

This is a huge improvement over your first draft. Nice job.

Brint's eyes had been cool and calculating, these eyes were wild and savage.

Same here.

At this point, the thing that was once Brint opened its mouth to reveal a smile of sharp teeth.

What other point would it be at? You can take that out; it really interrupts the climax of the snippet without adding anything.

“Run!” he said urgently to his former audience.

As a rule of thumb, adverbs are often the least effective way of saying something. Most of them have a true verb already created to do the thing you want (e.g. "urged"), but even more effective is just providing vivid actions that communicate the idea on their own. Here, you've got a very physical sort of person trying to convince an audience to do something--since he says it twice, the first time is lower--you could make it "growled". He's probably making hand motions, and I'm guessing he actually starts drawing his sword right here. After all, you've already got the exclamation point in there for the in-character audience; what you're really trying to do is convince your readers of the feeling of urgency.

It was already pouncing, screeching hungrily.

This "it" comes totally out of the blue; we need a reference back to Brint-ghoul, especially since this sentence immediately follows another sentence starting with "It was" but with a completely different context. Sometimes leading your readers along the garden-path can achieve really cool literary effects, but more often, it's just confusing.

Very good revisions overall! If you want a sample of some of the other kinds of critiques I mentioned, let me know (but beware that it could take even longer than I usually do ). And I'm still hoping for more, maybe this campaign, or else just more of your work in some form or another!

[Lord_Gareth]

New snippets from Gareth will be coming soon. In the meantime, I drop a THREADBOMB:

Play at least one level or match of a non-RPG videogame, then write an in-character snippet about it.

[Dr Bwaa]

In the meantime, I drop a THREADBOMB:

Play at least one level or match of a non-RPG videogame, then write an in-character snippet about it.

Ooh, we should do these sorts of things more often. Challenge Accepted; I'll be back tonight with a game and a snippet.

[mebecronck]

New snippets from Gareth will be coming soon. In the meantime, I drop a THREADBOMB:

Play at least one level or match of a non-RPG videogame, then write an in-character snippet about it.

Hmmmm ... alright. Challenge Accepted. I will try this.

Also, my next entries will be along the lines of ... one or more of the following:

1. Profile entries on all the characters I intend to write about. Detailing physical descriptions, brief background information, and origins/inspiration drawn from.

2. A Cronc story outside of "What if Cronc was in the WWE?" I'm thinking Cronc goes on a blind date, but I got others in mind, too. That one is just in the forefront.

3. Whatever inspiration hits me between now and tomorrow (which is when I set aside some time to write).

4. The Challenge! I'm thinking a parody of Samus Aran in Other M, but I just picked up some new games recently, so who knows.

[TheWombatOfDoom]

A new snippet! (also, edits completed on my previous story. Thoughts?)

Also, general critique and mood critique for this. This could likely have more snippets, both before and after this one. Also, the way I reveal an aspect of the city that this snippet is based on is building up to the reveal of its true nature toward the end. Let me know if its confusing. Or if you think it would be better order. Anywho, here it goes. Hope you folks enjoy!

--

Close To Home

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Darien saw the door first. "There's another one, Ryan!" he whispered excitedly.

"Three," Ryan counted quietly. "One more to go." Ryan had no idea how long they had crept along this tunnel, but he hoped they would get out soon. Larin had said to be quick and quiet.

Thump. YOWCH!

Ryan nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden outburst of pain. He turned to find his friend sprawled out on the ground, holding his knee.

“Darien! Shhhhhh. Are you alright?”

“Yeah," the boy said, wincing. "I tripped over one of these things.” He gestured sheepishly at a domed object that jutted out low on the floor. They had seen a few of these along the rounded floor as they had progressed.

“Well, be careful! I don't even want to think of how much trouble it would be if someone caught us.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Silence fell once again, save for their footsteps which echoed faintly along the darkness of the cylindrical corridor. Along the rounded ceiling of the tunnel, glass tubes hummed as electricity ran through them. They faintly lit the way with a flickering, pale-blue light.

“Ryan, maybe we should turn back.” the blond haired boy whispered.

“Don’t get cold feet on me now, Darien,” Ryan responded. He faced his friend and flashed a smile. “Just think, in a few minutes we'll be this close to a real live Kawe," motioning to the space between them. "I still can’t get over the fact that Larin is letting us see them! You shouldn't be nervous. You should be excited!"

Ryan was letting his excitement get the better of him. To calm himself he returned his gaze to the right wall as they continued, searching for the next door. He glanced at another square chute as he passed it by, identical to the many he'd encountered along the passage.

Ryan idly wondered what these corridors under the labs were for. He knew it was for the electric tubes that ran along the top, but it couldn’t be just that. There were similar tubes main part of the city, but they didn’t have all the vents and domes in the floor. Those tubes were also much smaller - even someone his size would have to crouch. Before he could conjecture further, they came upon their quarry - a door.

“Four. This is it,” Ryan whispered excitedly. I hope, he thought. He eyed the door warily. It looked thick and solid, with heavy hinges that attached it to the stone of the corridor. It was impacted so that it did not break the line of the wall, just as the previous doors they had encountered. Ryan felt his pulse quicken as reached up to the door. He attempted to knock quietly, but the sound still echoed the passage in a chatter of low clangs. Darien looked around in alarm. After a few tense moments, the door opened and let a bright light spill out into the passage, momentarily blinding them. As Ryan's vision adjusted to the light, he saw the face of an older girl with bright orange hair and gray eyes peeked out.

“Oh good,” came a sigh of relief from Larin as she opened the door all the way. “I was beginning to wonder where you were. Or that it was someone else coming.”

“It’s us,” Darien said with a small smile.

“Is he in there?” Ryan asked anxiously, trying to peer around Larin, who was currently filling the small access door.

“Well, you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?” Larin said, grinning. “Now, before I let you in let’s go over some things. It is extremely dangerous for me to be letting you into here. I could lose my job and be thrown out of the school.”

Ryan hadn’t considered the risk Larin was taking by sneaking them into the labs. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Ryan certainly knew how it felt to be excluded; he’d hate to be responsible for bringing that on someone else.

“So, if we come across someone,” Larin continued, ”you’re on your own. If you see anyone, run. And don’t you even think about going through this corridor again unless I let you through it. It’s going to be very dangerous in this hall in about ten minutes. I’ll have to hide you somewhere until its clear for people again.” Larin stopped to read their faces. After a moment, she seemed to find what she was looking for. “Ok, you ready?” she said, with a conspiratorial smile.

The younger boys exchanged glances, nodded, and grinned back at their friend excitedly. Larin quietly pulled open the door to admit the boys and then closed it behind them. She stopped and bolted the door in three places before turning to lead Ryan and Darien up a set of stone stairs.

Ryan eyed the access door and began to worry about being caught. That locked door was their only way they knew out. "Eh, so what," he muttered, "you’re leaving in a few days anyway." Tears welled up in his eyes as this thought came. Everything I know…will be gone. He pushed the thoughts aside. Stop. Not now.

They came to the top of the stairs and into a wide, circular room. Ryan noticed immediately that there were several arched entrances aside from the one they had just entered. It was some small comfort to him to know there were other ways out. Of course it also meant there were plenty of ways in.

Larin walked to one of the right hand entrances to the room and disappeared behind one of the round arches, motioning for them to stay there. Darien and Ryan obediently waited, rocking on the balls of their feet with an antsy anticipation.

After creeping through the dark tunnels, Ryan felt exposed in the open room. As he glanced around for prospective hiding places, a glimmer caught his eye. Ryan looked up and couldn't help but gasp. Crystals lined various points of the upper wall and dome, forming whimsical patterns throughout the roof of the room. He wondered if this was what stars looked like. He'd only read about them in books, after all.

As Ryan admired the flickering crystals, he noticed that the dome was carved from the same material as many of the buildings in Eron: hardened ash. "That's strange," he said, frowning. "I thought all the buildings at the labs were stone."

"Yeah," Darien agreed. "This room must be somewhere toward the center of the complex, or something."

Eron's ash was from thousands of years ago when two nearby mountains had erupted and spread ash throughout the Eastern Mountains, especially on the mountain between them, which was where the city was eventually founded. It had been packed through the centuries and frozen from the cold until it became the material it was today. This material was malleable enough to easily carve and form buildings out of, yet durable enough not to be destroyed from the storms that constantly were above Eron. To further protect buildings from weathering, a protective coating was often implemented.

Ryan's curiosity was interrupted by the faint sound of hooves clocking against the stone of the floor. As he turned to the sound, any of his previous consternation turned into complete awe.

The Kawe was a majestic creature. Distant glimpses had not prepared Ryan for the experience of being near one. Its appearance and demeanor was that of a deer: calm, beautiful, proud, but there was one major difference. Where horns would have been on a deer’s crown instead came forth lightning on the Kawe. Even now the bluish electricity sizzled and crackled around behind its head. Ryan watched, enchanted as the electricity twisted about in some sort of dance.

These creatures generally lived in the lightning plains. They were unharmed by the lightning that struck, as it was absorbed by their horns and used for energy. Ryan's people had been affected in their own way by the lightning that surrounded their mountain, but not in the same way as these animals. To a Kawe, the lightning meant life. To the inhabitants of Eron, it meant death.

The Kawe turned its head toward the Ryan and Darien and sniffed at them. Larin began petting its nose and motioned that they could come over. As Ryan approached, he asked, “What’s his name?”

“Her name is Draliss,” said Larin pleasantly. She scratched Draliss’ forehead, careful not to get too close to her horns. The lightning flickered in what seemed to be a slower and more lulled manner.

“Hi, Draliss,” said Darien in a voice full of wonder, rubbing her flank gently. As he continued to remain in contact with the Kawe, Darien’s long hair began to stand on end. He looked at Ryan with a wide smile.

“We found her hurt along the side of the wall. She had a broken leg, and she put up a heck of a fight before she let us treat her. She’s as docile as a pussycat now, though. She knows we won’t hurt her, so she has no need to hurt us,” said Larin self-importantly.

“What do they eat?” asked Ryan interestedly.

“They eat…little children…” said Larin mysteriously in a sinister voice, grinning.

Darien apprehensively pulled back his hand and Ryan took a step back before going, “Nuh uhhhh.”

Larin chuckled. “I’m sorry, just a joke. They eat grass and other plants, just like a regular deer. They just look different, that’s all. There are people that look different from us, but they eat the same kinds of things we do. Same goes with a Kawe.” Larin patted Draliss and then set down a bucket full of some sort of plant. Draliss gracefully bent down and began to eat.

As Larin did this, Ryan caught a glimpse of her staff strapped behind her back. That staff represented everything Ryan and Darien did not have - the ability to use Magic. While their peers went to study magic, the rare children who could not cast were left behind to find other uses. Ryan usually helped his parents where he could in their work, or went spent time with Darien.

Ryan’s parents were glassblowers. The glassblowers of Eron were very valuable. They created the glass tubes that were used to contain and conduct the electricity that ran through every house. Glassblowers had the responsibility to create and maintain the tubes, and this was sometimes a dangerous job. If something went wrong, it was up to the glassblowers in that area to control the situation, and contact anyone if they needed help. They were always coming up with new mechanisms to stop power from going to certain areas of the city when needed or finding new ways to use the glass for magical purposes. Without the glassblowers, Eron would be a very different place.

A harsh flash of lightning brought Ryan out of his thoughts. He looked to see that Draliss’ ears had perked up and she was looking alertly behind them, toward one of the wider arched entryways. Larin cursed, and ushered them toward the arched doorway she and Draliss had used earlier. As they passed through, Ryan heard the distinct open and close of a door. Someone had come into the Kawe compound. Ryan became increasingly aware of how loud the clatter of hooves on stone was. He winced at every step Draliss made.

The new room seemed to wrap around half of the circular area they had just exited. Along the ceiling were numerous glass tubes that seemed to come out of the previous room, though Ryan had not seen any on the other side. Ryan glanced around and found there were several pens aside from the one that Draliss was being returned to. Each pen held another Kawe. Some appeared to be sleeping, and their characteristic lightning was not present on their heads. Instead, only a pair of glowing stubs sticking out of the backs of their heads was evident, and Ryan surmised that was where the lightning probably came from. The Kawe that were not resting seemed to be watching what was going on with curiosity.

As footsteps quickly approached from the other room, Larin grabbed them and hurried to a side door at the other end of the Kawe stables. Ryan waved a soundless goodbye to the creatures as he was half dragged toward the door. Darien was wide eyed, and Ryan was scared out of his wits, his heart beating fast. Even Larin looked terrified.

“This is where we part guys,” Larin whispered quickly. As she spoke, she pulled her staff from her back. “There’s a sequence of main hallways that will eventually lead to the way out. Follow the largest hallways you find until you reach outside, and then go out under the wall the same way you snuck in. If you reach there in time, you might get away while the guards are still changing shifts.”

“Why can’t we hide or go back the through the tunnel we came through?” Ryan interrupted. Right now hiding seemed like a better idea than running through a maze of hallways.

“If you entered the tunnel you came through right now, you’d be fried,” said Larin dismissively. “And does it look like there’s anywhere to hide you here?”

The sound of voices cut off any more room for argument. Whoever it was, they would be appearing in the doorway at any moment. Larin glanced back down the corridor urgently, and then began digging in a bag at her belt. From it she procured a small, rounded stone. She touched it to the crystal at the edge of her staff and began murmuring quietly. The stone immediately responded with a green glow, and lifted out of her hand and settled in the air between Darien and Ryan.

"Follow this," she said simply.

The boys nodded in understanding.

“And here,” Larin added as an afterthought, snatching two masks that hung on pegs by the door and handing one to each boy. “If somebody sees your faces, you’re screwed if you're caught or not.” This was true. Nobody came or left Eron, so it was common for people to be easily recognized on a normal basis. Worse, since Ryan and Darien’s parents were fairly known mages, there was likely little chance that someone would not recognize them. “That’s pretty much it,” she grimaced helplessly. “I hate to do this, but…” Larin took a deep breath. “WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU TWO DOING IN HERE? GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!” as she opened the door quickly, motioning them out.

Darien and Ryan both jumped in surprise at the sudden shouting, before bolting out the door in panic. The green stone shot around the corner.

Right.

They ran down an empty hall shoving the masks Larin had give them onto their faces. A quick study showed Ryan that the mask seemed to be some kind of tinted glass that when worn could see through. Ryan realized he never thanked Larin in the rush to escape. Ryan assured himself that that would have to come later. Right now he had more pressing matters - to escape.

The hall curved, halls branching off of it. As the passage straightened, a wider hall appeared ahead of Ryan and Darien. The boys veered sharply around the corner without pause, following the green stone.

Left.

The hall that Darien and Ryan hurried down was much more crowded than the last. Each person was in similar clothing to the outfit Larin had been wearing. With Darien and Ryan in their own clothes, every person who looked at them knew instantly that they shouldn’t be there. A few stopped in surprise as the boys ran past, and Ryan ducked as one grabbed at him. Doors flashed by as they ran, some open, others closed, their contents blurs. Ryan heard the sounds of several people running behind him. This told him that if “someone” had not been chasing them before there were certainly plenty of “someones” now, though he dared not look back to see how many.

Left again.

Darien was beginning to tire and was falling behind. Ryan was panting, and he knew they couldn't outrun their pursuers for much longer. Even if Ryan could keep up his pace, he couldn't leave Darien behind. The corridor ahead was wide and open, and their pursuers would be on them shortly if he didn't do something. He grabbed Darien’s wrist and pulled him around the next corridor at random. The green stone froze in midair and fell to the floor.

Right.

The new corridor seemed to be mainly for transporting crates and boxes on carts. Darien and Ryan were immediately able to put more distance between them and their pursuers as they weaved through the traffic in the crowded hall. A crash behind them made Ryan glance back. He smiled under his mask at the commotion. One of the carts had been knocked over by a mage that had been chasing him. As a stroke of luck, the event had blocked the rest from continuing the chase. Some were yelling and pointing in Ryan’s direction.

“Look out!” Darien said from behind. Ryan whirled and found one of the lab workers who had been pushing a cart had stepped out to block his path. Instead of attempting to run past the burly looking man, he tried to squeeze around on the other side of the cart. Again, the man tried to cut Ryan off. As Ryan slipped out the other side, the man grabbed at him, knocking off Ryan’s mask. Ryan cursed and kept running, hoping no one would recognize him. Darien, who had hurried past while the man was distracted with Ryan, kept pace as they careened around another corner.

Left.

Ryan saw an exit. He saw the door at the end of the hall. Despite the stitch in his side, he sprinted toward his freedom. Go. Go. Go.

“Ryan?!”

Ryan and Darien both gasped at the familiar voice. Ahead of them, turning out of a side hall, was his father, looking very surprised.

“Dad?!” came Ryan’s voice, almost as surprised as his father’s was.

Wham.

Without time to stop, the boys ran head on into Ryan’s father, toppling all three to the ground in a panting pile. Well, this is not going to end well.

…

Ryan sat in his room watching the flashes of lightning from his window. Tears were streaming down his face and his nose was runny. His parents were less than pleased that he and Darien had snuck into the magical complex. Even so, they had calmed substantially after they had gotten over the original shock. He had confessed that trouble was the last thing on his or Darien's mind; they just wanted to see Draliss. After this, he realized that he had given away Larin by naming the Kawe and had started to cry. His parents comforted him, and after Ryan had told them the whole story between sobs, he had been sent to his room.

Ryan sat and scanned across the buildings, looking at their beautiful and intricate designs. The carved ash had a certain beauty about it. As the sun set, it glistened over the miniscule minerals that had been trapped within the ash. Ryan watched as one young girl ran down the street and disappeared down a set of stairs. She was one of the many that lived under the city of Eron.

Eron was a city that could not expand outward. The barrier of lightning that encircled the city ensured that. So, when there was need for more room, the only way to go was down. Under the city’s visible layer lay hundreds of carved out rooms, passages and homes. The under dwellers often had it better than the surface – homes were able to be warmed and cooled with the assistance of the mages and shafts to the water basin that lay deep beneath the city. This water basin was where the city got most of its water, aside from that which was collected from the rain. Since no one came or went from Eron, nothing was wasted. The rain was saved and stored, the animals raised and eaten, the earth and ash beneath them made their homes. Even the lightning that surrounded them was used.

Ryan turned his eyes to one of the many lightning rods that rose out of the wall that encircled the city. The outer wall was one of the few structures in Eron that was not made from the ash, but instead from a thick stone. The lightning rods harnessed the lightning and somehow directed the power to an extensive maze of glass tubes. The tubes ran throughout the underground city and the city above, giving light to all, among other things.

It often amazed Ryan as to how much they now relied on the object of Eron’s imprisonment. He frowned at the constant barrage of electricity. Ryan wondered what had his ancestors had done to warrant such an extreme measure of confinement. Further, the question every resident of Eron had to wonder was – Why were they still imprisoned generations later? It didn’t make much sense to Ryan. Whatever the cause, he supposed it had to do with magic. There was a silver lining - without the lightning, there would be much Eron would not have been capable of. With the help of the mages, they’d managed to advance in great strides by harnessing small amounts of this deadly barrier.

Ryan turned his gaze to the mage’s school and smiled. Despite getting caught, Ryan felt the adventure to the school had been worth it. He knew Darien would feel the same way. They had always wanted to sneak into the complex, but neither had ever followed through with this until now. Even then, they would not have even been able to see the Kawe had it not been for Larin’s help.

He sighed as his eyes drifted to the mountains beyond the lightning plains. Soon, Ryan would be sneaking into the rest of the world. Any dangerous action or adventure he had ever been party to seemed inconsequential comparatively. Ryan glanced back at his half packed room. What do you bring on a one way journey? Most of his possessions seemed useless for a long journey. He’d have to leave most of it behind, along with everything and everyone he knew. His parents wanted to give Ryan his dreams. Ryan dreamed of being a master swordsman, but fighting was forbidden in Eron. Darien’s father knew a few basic techniques, and secretly had taught Darien and Ryan what he knew. Ryan found no passion in ash carving or glassblowing, but put a sword in his hand, and he lit up like a flash of lightning. What was more important to Ryan and Darien’s parents was that helping their children escape gave them something they as parents never had – freedom. Maybe I can find out why Eron is like this, he thought. Maybe I can fix it and free everyone. That is, if I manage to get free myself.

“I have to be ready,” he said aloud. In just a few days he would be leaving Eron with Darien. He was nervous. He was excited. He was terrified.

A knock came from the door and he turned to see his father come in and close the door behind him. “I just got off the Sonaduct with the school,” he said, lowering himself to Ryan’s bed, which was adjacent to the window Ryan was perched in. “I explained that you boys had just wanted to see the Kawe, and that you didn’t mean any harm. They still weren’t happy, to say the least, but since nothing really was harmed, they let you off easy. I’m just going to be on the outs with them for a while.” He laughed. “Then again, I wasn’t exactly on their good side to begin with, so I guess it just one more thing to the pile.” His father gave him a reassuring smile. Ryan’s father looked around the room and sighed. “Ryan, I need you to really focus tomorrow. You do not have much time before you leave, and there is plenty of things you must practice and prepare for. This is serious business. You are going out on your own. I won’t be there next time to save you from trouble. I wish I could but you’re going to be on your own, and I want you to be ready. Alright?”

Ryan nodded wordlessly. He felt ashamed, realizing the escapade to the school had cost him the entire day.

Seeing his reaction, Ryan’s father patted him on the shoulder. “We’ll just have to do better tomorrow. Do what you can with what time you have, right?” he said. After a long pause, Ryan’s father rose walked to the door, and opened it. “Oh,” he said turning back to Ryan, “I decided it would be best if I didn’t mention Larin’s involvement to the school. I figured that could be something we just keep to ourselves, yeah?” He reached over and pushed a lever on the glass tube that ran into Ryan’s room and the light provided by it faded out. “Now get some sleep. Another long day is ahead of us.”

Ryan jumped up from his spot by the window and ran over and gave his father an embrace.

“I love you,” Ryan said.

“I love you, too,” his father said in return, a small smile on his face. After Ryan let go, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Ryan lay down on his bed with a sigh. What a day, he thought wearily. He was completely exhausted, yet relieved. His father had just done something very kind. Even though Ryan had misbehaved, his father was still there for him. At least for now, he thought sadly. He began to cry silently. He was going to miss his parents very much. He loved them. For Ryan, leaving everything behind was easy. He didn’t exactly fit in, being that he wasn’t a mage. Leaving everyone however…that was an entirely different thing altogether. What scared Ryan the most was he wasn’t sure he could actually survive on his own. He had been training hard, but still Ryan feared what would happen if it wasn't enough. He shuddered at the thought and turned over in his bed. He would be ready. He had to be. At least he would have Darien with him. His mouth curled into a slight smile and he closed his teary eyes, falling into a deep sleep.

[Lord_Gareth]

Warning: Extreme violence. Reader discretion is advised.

Nail
The Moontown Massacre

Spoiler

Show

Laron's last sight was moonlight streaming through the broken temple window.

The human opened his mouth to speak. The words were interrupted by a jagged, triangular knife stabbing through his ribs and into his lung, snapping bone and tearing tissues. It left his body with no blood whatsoever - though Laron could feel his life leaking from him, no hot wetness told him he was bleeding. No sound splashed into the tiles.

Another knife opened a jagged cut in his throat. A savage stab in the spine threw the mortal down on his face, severing nerves. A rain of blows clove into his torso, ripping through soft tissue, splintering bone, then powdering it.

His assailant left the room silently, leaving a greasy smear vaguely recognizable as human.

* * *

It took more than an hour for the Sons of Fenris to realize that their temple was under attack. By then it was far too late.

Brother Redfang discovered the first dead sentry - or, rather, his skin, carefully peeled from his body and nailed to a tree. He vomited, once, and sprinted inside to report to the others. He entered through the library.

Brother Redfang vomited again when he stepped in Brother Laron, and then he shrieked in terror. Brother Redfang was a warrior, used to death - but this, this was beyond the pale.

He sprinted into the hallway, hearing his fellows rousing from their beds, lungs swelling for another shriek.

Stab.

Chains made of rusty razors wrapped around his body as Brother Redfang's punctured lungs drowned in blood that refused to spill out onto the floor, to so much as stain his clothing. A plate boot was planted into the small of his back.

The chains were tugged with inhuman strength. Brother Redfang fell apart.

* * *

In the kitchen, a cook hefted her cleaver, eyes wary. She was the veteran of a dozen wars.

Chains rustled and clinked from the ceiling. The cook let loose a mighty roar that shook the room.

A minute later, what was left of her slumped over the cutting board. Her broken bones rested in a neat pile next to the flesh.

* * *

Inside the sanctum, what was left of the Moontown branch of the Sons of Fenris clutched at their weapons, shaking in terror. Four of them were left, holding spears and axes. They had come here to consult with the high priest, only to find his skin stretched thin over the altar, nailed to the sacred icon with jagged splinters of his own bone. There was no blood.

There was no blood anywhere in the temple.

They had barred the doors to prevent them being opened, to hold the only entrance to the sanctum. There was a horrible screech of metal on metal as something cut through the mighty hinges. The iron-reinforced doors groaned as they were pushed, ever-so-gently, inward. They fell with a mighty boom that echoed through the room.

When the dust cleared, they saw a fey woman.

She was slender and pale, dressed in rust-red traveling clothes in simple, sturdy designs, with a cloak of the same color over her back. Rusty red hair framed her face in dreadlocks, held together by flaking beads of rusted iron, and oxidized loops of steel pierced her pointed ears, growing smaller and smaller as the piercings reached towards the tips. Iron manacles, loosely dangling half-finished chains, were locked around her wrists. She stared at the remaining Sons of Fenris with metallic grey eyes, a silent accusation.

The fey woman threw an object in her hand at their feet - a pointed ear.

"You killed a woman last week," she accused in a low murmur, her voice carrying through the shocked silence. "She spoke her wedding vows to a mortal. You killed her, and you made him watch. He killed himself, leaving his parents to bury them both. They are poor, and unable to afford a proper funeral."

The Sons of Fenris stared, dumbfounded. One of them managed to utter, "So what?"

Rage overwhelmed the fey woman's ethereal features, and she flew to the attack. One of the Sons of Fenris stepped forward to meet her unarmed charge. The last words he heard were hers, a scream filled with fury, cutting through other sound as though it were, somehow, more real.

"SHAME! BLAME!"

The first Son spilled to the floor with his throat stabbed through, the force of the impact enough to shatter his neck bones and tear through skin and muscle - almost, but not quite, beheading him. He hit the stone - not a drop of blood followed him.

A spear thrust at the fey woman, only to be turned aside by links of rusted iron that were already forming over her body - chain mail settled over her form, rusty and battered, full of gaping holes that rattled and shook with hollow sound. The chains on the woman's wrists had grown, becoming long things made of rusty razors that wrapped around her body, slithering and dancing with a life of their own, their ends attached to the hilts of the knives in her hands.

Shame and Blame, the twin knives of the Iron Banshee. More like hatchets than proper blades, with jagged edges and rusty blades that drank in light.

The three living Sons of Fenris screamed in terror as the stone sanctum turned to rusted iron around them. One tried to run, throwing down his weapon, but the chains lashed out, looping around his arms and neck. The fey woman - Nail, the Iron Banshee - pulled him into twin stabs that ripped through his kidneys and then slashed up through his torso as she tore out with savage glee. No blood stained her as she released the body and advanced on the two survivors.

One, perhaps wiser than his fellow, pulled a small crossbow from his belt and fired a bolt through his own temple.

"Mercy," the last Son of Fenris begged, falling to his knees with tears streaming down his face. The light of the half-moon outside shone down upon him, illuminating his terror.

"I dedicate your death to Iron," the fey woman intoned before breaking his arms with a savage, inhumanly strong pair of twists.

It took him hours to die.

* * *

Five months later, an acolyte from another temple of Fenris was sent to investigate the Moontown branch on suspicions of anti-fey activity.

He found the bodies. There was no blood.

[PaperMustache]

Hello! I'm not dead! I've just been singularly uninspired to give a damn! I've been writing an alternate universe of the campaign I usually write about. You don't need to know anything about the other story to read this one. Although if you can even remember a bazillion years ago when I last posted, the narrator is the same person if her father hadn't gone insane and abandoned her in the desert. Otherwise, you don't even have to notice.

You Deserve to Know

Spoiler

Show

It was a beautiful day outside. At least I figured it was based on how desperately my best friend wanted me to leave the library.

"Sam, you know I can't climb like you can. Can't you go without me?" I asked without taking my eyes off the book I was reading.

"We don't have to climb if you don't want. We can just go for a walk. Prank the new clerics at the temple. Do SOMETHING other than sit in this dusty library all day and read," she cocked her head to the side to read the cover of my book, "Masters and Collins Arcane Compendium Volume 3? Myaaaa! You have that book memorized!"

"I had it memorized the first time I read it." I muttered, flipping the page. In reality I hadn't been paying attention to what I was reading. I had been waiting for my dad to get home. He hadn't been around at all lately and I missed him.

"You're seriously going to re-read your encyclopedias instead of going outside with your best friend?"

I sighed, closing the book, "fine."

She grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the comfort of my chair, "You're the best!"

I allowed her to drag me to the door. Perhaps spending an afternoon with my friend would be preferable to sitting in the library all day waiting for my dad to show up.

"Oh, hi Mr.Collins." Sam chirped, stopping short.

My dad was standing in the doorway, blocking our passage. He had on the black half-mask he wore to hide his identity at work, and his grey robes were more disheveled than usual. I could see his greasy red hair poking out from under his hood. He must have just come home from work.

"Dad!" I smiled, "I've been waiting up for you all day."

He gave me a weary smile, and I realized that something was wrong. Perhaps I shouldn't be bothering him.

"Uh, Sam and I were just gonna go hang out at the temple." I grinned nervously.

"Oh," he looked relieved, "well, go ahead and have fun." He stepped aside. Sam tightened her grip on my arm and sprang for the door.

"Wait." My dad called suddenly. Sam acted like she didn't hear him.

"Sammie, my dad's talking to us!" I objected, pulling back. Sam looked worried, but I couldn't understand why.

"Mya! I need to talk to you." My dad called. Sam shivered.

"You okay, Sam?" I asked.

"Uh huh..." She lied.

"Look, I'll meet you at the temple later, okay?" I assured her, extricating my arm from her grasp.

"Okay..." She sounded unsure. I couldn't puzzle out why she seemed so frightened all of a sudden. Before I could ask, she bolted.

I returned to the library to find my dad in his chair. He had taken off his mask. His head was buried in his hands.

"Dad?"

"Mya." He smiled weakly, looking up at me, "sit, I have something I need to discuss with you."

"Is it about the brotherhood?" I asked hopefully.

"No. It's about me."

"Is it about why you haven't been around lately?"

"Yes."

"And why you look so worn out?"

"Mya..."

"Because you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I understand why you have to keep secrets. I'm not a kid anymore."

"Mya will you just listen to me?!" He growled suddenly. I had never seen him angry before. I shut my mouth, a little scared.

"I'm sorry." He looked pained, "I shouldn't have yelled. This is just very important."

I bit my lip, not wanting to annoy him again, and nodded.

He opened his mouth to say something, but faltered. "There's no easy way to say this, and I don't know how to make you understand. But you have a right to know. I...I'm mad, Mya."

"Is it something I did?" I asked, not understanding.

"God's no, Mya. Not angry, mad. I'm telling you I'm insane." He insisted.

"Like psychologically? Like you have a mental disorder? Because academically speaking-" he cut me off.

"I enjoy killing things. I can't stop myself from wanting to tear the throats out of people I don't even know. My judgement is impaired for months at a time. My father and brother were both similarly afflicted, but they didn't understand how to fight it and it led to their deaths."

"You're...joking right?" I chuckled nervously.

"No. You're almost an adult now. You deserve to know. I've been fighting it for so long that the madness doesn't overtake me for years at a time. When it does, I sate it on the blood of monsters and animals and I find myself back to normal." He stared at me, deadly serious.

I squirmed under his gaze. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because it is a curse on our family. You didn't need to know before because it skips women. My sister was unaffected, you and Inara never manifested. However, now you are almost an adult yourself. If you ever want children of your own, it's something you should take into account."

"I-I'm seventeen. I'm not exactly getting married."

He chuckled, "no. I suppose you're not. Perhaps I just didn't want to hide it from you anymore. You're growing up so fast and I didn't want you to have time to figure it out on your own. I want you to look at me and see the father who loves you, but I also don't want to lie to you."

"I love you too, Dad."

"You don't believe me, do you?" He muttered.

"That you love me? Of course. That you're a murderer? I'm having trouble internalizing that, yeah."

"Well," he smiled wearily, "it's about that time. I can prove it to you if you want, or you can just take my word for it for once."

I chuckled to lighten the mood, "when have I ever?"

He sighed and offered his hand, "then lets get this over with."

I took his arm and we teleported somewhere near the Red Mountains. A few feet away were the beginnings of a small village milling with red-scaled kobolds.

"Stay back." My father's voice was strange and low as I had never heard it before. He let go of my arm and stepped in front of me as a group of the creatures broke off from the rest to inspect us.

"They're...just Kobolds." I chuckled nervously.

My father snarled in response. A low, feral growl from the boring man who used to tuck me in at night. I took a reflexive step backwards out of shock before he threw himself at the unsuspecting kobolds.

He pulled a sword from his belt and lashed out at one of the kobolds before it could react. It fell in two pieces, twitching on the ground. He whirled around to smash another's face in with his elbow and I could see his eyes were wild with glee. My stomach turned as the fallen kobold's fellows turned on him while he was distracted. Whatever state he was in, it was impairing his judgement. My father was a wizard, not a soldier. He didn't know how to use a sword and it was embarrassingly apparent. I almost called for him to watch out before both of his enemy's attacks were rendered ineffective against his Mage armor.

He chuckled darkly as they caught his attention, taunting them in their own language. Were they their tribes primary defenders? Did the women and children look to them for protection? What would become of those innocents once he got past them? The stupid little men took the bait all too willingly. A few seconds saw them join their comrade on the ground, though they still gasped for breath.

I watched my father rage against the kobolds for minutes that felt like hours. They came at him in waves, but they were no match for a wizard of his skill. I realized the sword was merely an amusement. Something to provide the visceral feeling of torn flesh and the sight of dripping blood from an enemy that could not hope to defend itself. He put their houses to the flame. He used enchantment magics to turn the women against the men who tried to defend them. When a few tried to flee, he let them think they had escaped before using a spell to telekinetically drag them back for more. All the while the air was alive with his laughter, shrill and cruel. It was not the reserved chuckle of the man I knew. It was the wailing of a mad man harmonizing with the terrified screams of his victims.

And yet I did not shudder. I followed at a safe distance and watched as he had wanted me to. The shock wore off quickly. I was simply amazed at the change, at how sorely I had misjudged this man. I loved him. I was closer to him than I was to anyone, even Sam. How had I not known?

A glint of steel caught my eye from the bushes. I followed it to a kobold, separate from the rest. Bigger, with a feathered headpiece denoting him as a shaman of the tribe. He was rubbing a thick, green liquid into his blade. Poison.

I panicked. If my dad was poisoned, I might not be able to get him to a cleric in time. I muttered the words to a spell that would let me whisper in the thing's ear from where I was standing several yards away.

"You should just run away! While you still can. Just get out of here." I pleaded.

The thing whirled around, looking for me. When I wasn't behind him, he searched wildly for whoever had seen his position. His eyes fell on me at last. His look was accusing.

"Please." I whispered again.

The thing snarled at me, turned around and went to charge my dad. His blade gleamed with the green liquid in the sunlight. My dad was distracted, hunched over one of the dying ones and totally vulnerable.

My heart was pounding in fear and panic, and my hands were shaking before I realized I was casting a spell. If I could daze the kobold for just a few seconds, maybe Dad would be okay. The spell didn't always work for me, but luckily this time it did. The kobold stopped in his tracks inches away from my father's throat.

It had a moment to blink in confusion before my father noticed it, and a moment more before he brought his bloody blade down on it. He sliced the thing's head off cleanly with a chuckle and went back to whatever he was doing with the other kobold. It lay still on the ground, soaking in it's own blood. It's face was frozen in anger. The blade still gleamed with poison. Seconds ago it had been a threat. Now it was a corpse, an inanimate object. I did that. My dad swung the sword in some sort of addled rage, but I killed it by making it unable to fight back.

It made me feel queasy to think about it, but when my father stood up and gave me a weary smile, I knew I had done the right thing.

"And so the monster is kept in check another day." He muttered, looking miserable.

Now that the danger had passed, the adrenaline caught up to me. Fear and panic washed over me as I thought about what I had seen. My dad, the monster, the kobold, the poison. I started hyperventilating.

"Mya..." He looked down at the shaman and the poisoned blade, "...gods, Mya, you saved my life."

I answered him by losing my lunch all over myself and the bloodstained ground in front of me.

"Mya!" He rushed over and steadied me as the adrenaline wore off, leaving me weak kneed. He cast a spell to wash the vomit from my robes even as his own were red with blood. He looked miserable and guilty. I collapsed into his arms. Hopefully that was reassuring. He held me for a moment, telling me it was okay to be scared and that he was sorry. I could barely hear him, so distracted by nausea and shock. Over his shoulder, my eyes fell on the kobold whose death had been my doing.

When my father finally released me to clean off his robes, I staggered over to it. Blood was pooling from its decapitated head, but otherwise it looked just as it had in life. I realized I had never seen a corpse before. Purely from an academic standpoint, this scene was fascinating. The bodies would decay over time, the flesh and scales would be consumed an give sustenance to mold and fungus. That is if animals did not drag them away first, which was more likely. They would be ripped apart by mountain cats, or wolves. That seemed a pity for the mold and fungus.

I reached out with one foot to nudge the corpse's tail out of morbid curiosity. It jerked to life, shocking me. I yelped and jumped back. It caught my father's attention.

"Gods, Mya, don't prod the thing!" His voice was stern.

I started babbling like a fool. "Oh my gods I knew that the peripheral nervous system of reptilian humanoid species remained sensitive to stimuli up until approximately two hours after it's death, but I didn't expect it to actually move!"

"I know, kid. It's okay, lets get you home." He put an arm around me and teleported back to the library. He let go of me immediately and took a step back to give me space. He stared at me desperately, like an interesting bird who was about to fly away. I tried to think of something to say, but to do that I would have to understand what I actually felt. My hands were shaking. I was definitely tense. I met his eyes and I could tell he was scared. He was bracing himself, expecting me to hate him.

"I'm not scared of you." I said firmly. That was the truth at least. Whatever I was it wasn't scared. Was I tense? Nervous? Excited? Disgusted? None of them? All of them?

"Are you sure? I couldn't fault you if you were." He answered miserably.

"Yes. I am sure. I just need..." What did I need? What would make this okay? "I need to move." I said finally.

He raised an eyebrow. Nervous energy was welling up inside of me. I started tapping my foot.

"I need to move. I need to do something. I need...I need to hit something." I decided aloud.

"Whatever you need. Just know that I love you, and I'm sorry."

I smiled, but it turned into a nervous chuckle, "I love you too, Dad. I'm just going to go see Inara."

"Oh. Well, give your sister my love." The normalcy of his voice was almost humorous. Minutes ago he had been shrieking with mad laughter. Now he sounded like a father again.

I turned to leave quickly to escape the uncanniness of it all, calling over my shoulder, "right, I'll be back later."

[Winds]

Well, I have schoolwork to do. Lots. But, I have quick notes.


@Wombat

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Eron seems like an interesting place. Nicely written.

@Gareth

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My goodness. I assume the Sons actually did something to invite that thing's ire? But wow. You did well capturing the horror aspect of the whole thing.

@PM

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She is...considerably calmer than I would have thought. In the beginning, though...Sam seems to know something's up much faster than Mya. Better at reading people, or did she already know something about this?

And a preview for what will be in my next snippet, when I get to it:

Another Realm

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Half the party dies, while the other half tries to figure out how. Kol and Kalach find themselves in another Plane. While there, Kol is annoyed by a creepy little girl, and Kalach is annoyed to find that death represents an additional complication rather than an ending.

[TheWombatOfDoom]

Well, I have schoolwork to do. Lots. But, I have quick notes.


@Wombat

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Eron seems like an interesting place. Nicely written.

Thanks Winds! It needs a bit of editing, but I appreciate your compliment. Working on figuring out my gramatical tendancies that when found, I will work to avoid/rectify. Then my writing shall be much better!

[PaperMustache]

@PM

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She is...considerably calmer than I would have thought. In the beginning, though...Sam seems to know something's up much faster than Mya. Better at reading people, or did she already know something about this?

Thanks for reading. I hoped to get her freaking out in the next one. Stunned silence seemed more appropriate and the way she is reacting is abnormal on purpose. Less "oh gods oh gods you killed a thing" and more "how did I not know." And yeah, Sam just picked up on the fact that something was wrong.

@Gareth

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I read your snippet and I thought it was freaking amazing. I can't actually think of any criticism. It was just so concise and professional and interesting. I'm actually intensely jealous.

[Lord_Gareth]

@Winds - Nail did accuse them of murdering a fey woman.

@Paper - *Blush*. I'm certain there's something...