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You'll need to wait on the rest of the Host. On the other hand, you guys can look forward to new characters, including my new Warblade, Kyllan, and a Changeling, Colors.
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Chilingsworth
Wow! Not only was that awesome, I think I actually kinda understand Archeron now. If all the "intermediate" outer planes got that kind of treatment, I doubt there would be anywhere near as many critics of their utility.
Wow. I got the library up to date... turns out having nothing to do at work can be a good thing after all
Writing short blurbs is the next step. If anyone feels like writings blurbs for their own stories (or anyone elses for that matter) go nuts!
example?
I may get some writing done today, no promises, but I do have several character concepts rolling around my head that may need spitting out.
I also have a parody running around my head.....
a snippet for a soulborn.
it'd take place in a setting similar to OOTS, where the people are aware of the game mechanics.
...
I actually now can't get an image out of my head...
you know the soulborn in magic of incarnum, the rather angry looking fellow that is the artwork for the "mauling guantlets"
I envision him just being absolutely plastered and crying his eyes out.
don't know why.
maybe cause I just crawled out of bed.
oh well.
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my awesome knight riding a bulette avatar was made by smuchmuch
Cookie Jar: 1
teej has quotes
Spoiler
Quote:
Originally Posted by Occasional Sage
big teej, you are the GitP forum with legs.
Quote:
Originally Posted by McSmack
Or if you're feeling saucy you can remind him that it's not a democracy, it's a Teej-tatorship, and he'd best remember that.
Quote:
Originally Posted by IthroZada
I imagine Cenobites to be what you get when you mash together the Book of Erotic Fantasy and the Book of Vile Darkness.
if I've gone quiet in a pbp we share, PM ME! this means I'm not getting updates!
Of what? a blurb? I dunno, I haven't written any yet
My plan is to make them pretty plain and boring, just a couple of sentences that accurately describe the snippets. Something to make it plain which snippet is which to make them easier to track down.
Quote:
Originally Posted by big teej
you know the soulborn in magic of incarnum, the rather angry looking fellow that is the artwork for the "mauling guantlets"
I envision him just being absolutely plastered and crying his eyes out.
I don't know... but the mental image is still amusing
__________________
There is no social situation that can't be improved if everyone was to go away and leave me to read.
Of what? a blurb? I dunno, I haven't written any yet
My plan is to make them pretty plain and boring, just a couple of sentences that accurately describe the snippets. Something to make it plain which snippet is which to make them easier to track down.
I don't know... but the mental image is still amusing
Boots pounding against the cobbles. Idiots ran into the old part of the city. This is my turf, my freaking turf, I've got them now. Hand draws my weapon, arm registers the weight. Light. Airy. Perfect.
A tall woman made all of stained glass dashes through the cobbled streets of old Philadelphia, long leather coat flapping behind her, combat boots pounding against the pavement - a war-drum beat to her hunt. Though it is a cool Autumn night, waves of heat crash from her flesh into the air around her, surrounding her with a haze of steam.
There is a stained glass sword in her left hand, and it hums with anticipation.
Left. Right. Left again. Slippery little punks, these. We warned them, told 'em to back off. Gods but I haven't done...that...in, what, a week now? Sword's getting thirsty. Shh, don't worry Agony, I'll get you something to drink. Wait. That alley is blind. I have them - ha!
She turns down an alleyway. She's beautiful, fit and athletic like a huntress, but her smile is malicious. Cowering at the end of the alleyway is a beautiful woman, a water nymph dressed like a Gothic street queen. The air around the nymph is full of laughter and the scent of Spring roses blooming, but her quaking terror betrays itself as she pulls a tiny knife. The stained glass woman laughs.
"Colors," the Gothic woman pleads, tears at the corners of her eyes, "Colors, don't do this, you don't want to do this. I'm from the Brotherhood, just like you, I swore the Oath, Colors please..."
Begging. I hate it when they beg. Maybe I should - no. She's angered Summer. Remember the fury. Grab hold of the wrath, Colors. You can do it. She stole from us.
"I'll swear any oath you want, I'll return the Horn, I'll throw myself at your feet in public, just please let me live! Please Colors! This isn't you! This isn't the woman who came out of the Thorns!"
Red haze parting. I could take her Oath, she wouldn't dare break an Oath on her own true name. No. Summer. I am Summer. I am wrath! I am fury!
"Ho la, OOOOOOOHDIIIIIN!" The cry pierces the air, rips from the stained glass woman's mouth as she rushes the Goth woman with her sword held low. Colors' face is contorted with fury, her eyes blind with hatred. Her victim goes to block low. The sword comes in high.
It only takes one blow.
* * *
Stained glass fists pound against the brick wall of the alleyway, cracking but not shattering. Crying out in pain, Colors slumps against the wall, her weapon cast aside near the corpse of her victim.
"Gods forgive me," she whispers harshly through the tears. "I'm so sorry. Gods I'm so sorry."
Colors puts her face in her damaged hands and cries as the blood dries into her clothes.
__________________
Quote:
Originally Posted by Chilingsworth
Wow! Not only was that awesome, I think I actually kinda understand Archeron now. If all the "intermediate" outer planes got that kind of treatment, I doubt there would be anywhere near as many critics of their utility.
so mayhap two weeks unless I find time and am just hammered in the head by insipiration aye?
new characters to write for.... (or just characters who haven't been written for.)
Azar – a character created in such a manner that I did not voluntarily choose ANYTHING (except gender). (he’s not finished yet, so I can’t write for him)
Bjorni Fellblow – a Boar Totem barbarian
Blake Hunts-With-Bears – a Ranger that I got to play…… once?
Bragi – A dwarf fighter who really needs a last name…. I’ll probably get to that later today.
Colm – a human barbarian
Elim – a Rogue/Fighter that I’m still not sure what I want to do with.
Erberk – Cleric of Kord
Guhingir – a Goliath Barbarian
Gol – another Dwarf fighter who needs a last name, still thinking of ways to really separate him from Bragi. Perhaps I’ll make them related.
Gwilym – a…nother, Dwarf Fighter, this time with Racial Sub levels to make him more dwarfy.
Heinrich Van Swartchz - a Lawful Evil knight.
Hlaine – a rogue who isn’t quite finished due to a lack of sources to fill out the concept, will likely become a scout as soon as I get that book.
Isador – Psychic Warrior
Kavakai – Goliath totemist
Loken – human monk (yes, yes, I know)
Mattias – Human Paladin
Maximillian Thanos – Human Necromancer – currently awaiting a complete rebuild as the homebrew class I was using was changed.
Mcolik – a human Knight, I’m waiting for inspiration to strike me on what makes him unique.
Mikol – as soon as I get my hands on the book with the ‘scout’ class, I’m out to make The Perfect Scout
Obi – a Halfling rogue, I don’t know if he’ll ever get played =P I’’m bad at small characters…
Raoul – a Human Psion, savant. I’ve got a few things rattling around my head for him.
Raskiel – a human rogue – going to be a swashbuckler type character.
Siegefried – a human cleric of sigmar
Shamus keysmelter – a dwarf wizard, plan on making him a craftsman
Soric – a human sorcerer, boom….
Teej – a self insert fighter I played a long time ago.
Tel Slightfoot – a tiny little human rogue. “the best thief ever”
Thad – a rilkan rogue TWF with light maces: perform (percussion)
An un named goliath raised by loxos
Torg Gorgemorsel – an Ogre Cleric of the Great Maw
Valek is back on his feet, and could use his own story.
Nih Doomtracker – 4th level ranger, playing up the bane and avenger aspects
Wallace – a giant of a man knight. Uses a harpoon for ranged combat
William – a judo monk that I got to play… once…
Jasal the many – an azurin totemist
SO......
any requests?
EDIT:
nothing?
nothing at all?
WHO DO I WRITE ABOUT!?!?!?!
__________________
my awesome knight riding a bulette avatar was made by smuchmuch
Cookie Jar: 1
teej has quotes
Spoiler
Quote:
Originally Posted by Occasional Sage
big teej, you are the GitP forum with legs.
Quote:
Originally Posted by McSmack
Or if you're feeling saucy you can remind him that it's not a democracy, it's a Teej-tatorship, and he'd best remember that.
Quote:
Originally Posted by IthroZada
I imagine Cenobites to be what you get when you mash together the Book of Erotic Fantasy and the Book of Vile Darkness.
if I've gone quiet in a pbp we share, PM ME! this means I'm not getting updates!
Hey now, I'd write more if I had spare time. I mean, don't you think I want to regale you folks with Bad Ideas (With Great Results), the story of how burning down a building around oneself sometimes pays off?
__________________
Quote:
Originally Posted by Chilingsworth
Wow! Not only was that awesome, I think I actually kinda understand Archeron now. If all the "intermediate" outer planes got that kind of treatment, I doubt there would be anywhere near as many critics of their utility.
Hey now, I'd write more if I had spare time. I mean, don't you think I want to regale you folks with Bad Ideas (With Great Results), the story of how burning down a building around oneself sometimes pays off?
I know the feeling.
wait...
a DM let you burn something down and it turn out well?
NO TEASERS!!!
I can't say that, I do it all the time.
I'm ready for exam week to get here so I can start writing again.
__________________
my awesome knight riding a bulette avatar was made by smuchmuch
Cookie Jar: 1
teej has quotes
Spoiler
Quote:
Originally Posted by Occasional Sage
big teej, you are the GitP forum with legs.
Quote:
Originally Posted by McSmack
Or if you're feeling saucy you can remind him that it's not a democracy, it's a Teej-tatorship, and he'd best remember that.
Quote:
Originally Posted by IthroZada
I imagine Cenobites to be what you get when you mash together the Book of Erotic Fantasy and the Book of Vile Darkness.
if I've gone quiet in a pbp we share, PM ME! this means I'm not getting updates!
Boots pounding against the cobbles. Idiots ran into the old part of the city. This is my turf, my freaking turf, I've got them now. Hand draws my weapon, arm registers the weight. Light. Airy. Perfect.
A tall woman made all of stained glass dashes through the cobbled streets of old Philadelphia, long leather coat flapping behind her, combat boots pounding against the pavement - a war-drum beat to her hunt. Though it is a cool Autumn night, waves of heat crash from her flesh into the air around her, surrounding her with a haze of steam.
There is a stained glass sword in her left hand, and it hums with anticipation.
Left. Right. Left again. Slippery little punks, these. We warned them, told 'em to back off. Gods but I haven't done...that...in, what, a week now? Sword's getting thirsty. Shh, don't worry Agony, I'll get you something to drink. Wait. That alley is blind. I have them - ha!
She turns down an alleyway. She's beautiful, fit and athletic like a huntress, but her smile is malicious. Cowering at the end of the alleyway is a beautiful woman, a water nymph dressed like a Gothic street queen. The air around the nymph is full of laughter and the scent of Spring roses blooming, but her quaking terror betrays itself as she pulls a tiny knife. The stained glass woman laughs.
"Colors," the Gothic woman pleads, tears at the corners of her eyes, "Colors, don't do this, you don't want to do this. I'm from the Brotherhood, just like you, I swore the Oath, Colors please..."
Begging. I hate it when they beg. Maybe I should - no. She's angered Summer. Remember the fury. Grab hold of the wrath, Colors. You can do it. She stole from us.
"I'll swear any oath you want, I'll return the Horn, I'll throw myself at your feet in public, just please let me live! Please Colors! This isn't you! This isn't the woman who came out of the Thorns!"
Red haze parting. I could take her Oath, she wouldn't dare break an Oath on her own true name. No. Summer. I am Summer. I am wrath! I am fury!
"Ho la, OOOOOOOHDIIIIIN!" The cry pierces the air, rips from the stained glass woman's mouth as she rushes the Goth woman with her sword held low. Colors' face is contorted with fury, her eyes blind with hatred. Her victim goes to block low. The sword comes in high.
It only takes one blow.
* * *
Stained glass fists pound against the brick wall of the alleyway, cracking but not shattering. Crying out in pain, Colors slumps against the wall, her weapon cast aside near the corpse of her victim.
"Gods forgive me," she whispers harshly through the tears. "I'm so sorry. Gods I'm so sorry."
Colors puts her face in her damaged hands and cries as the blood dries into her clothes.
I can't decide if I like this one or not... don't get me wrong, the writing is at your usual level of excellence - I just - well, I don't get it. And the not getting it doesn't work as well as the other snippet with the armies. Not really understanding what was happening with two armies clashing works, because it's a big canvas, everything is moving and confused, it's understandable that a third person, watching from on high wouldn't necessarily understand or be able to figure out what was going on. This snippet is much more intimate - there are only two people and we are very close behind Colors' shoulder, watching her every move - even hearing her thoughts. To me, that says the storyline should be clearer.
I'm a little confused as to who or what Summer is. At first it sounds like Summer is a person or thing to whom Colors reports - but then she starts referring to herself as Summer. Moreta is confused.
The only other thing that seemed a bit 'off' to me was the idea of a woman made of stained glass wearing a leather coat. This is entirely likely just due to the mental image I get when thinking of a stained glass woman - not really 3D, but in fact, like a window, thin like glass and not really capable of wearing any sort of coat. It just struck me as a little incongruous that she'd be wearing a leather coat, when she's made of stained glass, and clearly her sword is also made of stained glass. That is of course, entirely based on my own reading and it may not be what you actually intended.
Also not helped by the fact that I'm not sure exactly what's going on - I think if I understood the world you're in better, I wouldn't be so confused.
Right now I have to go fix a template for my other forum...
__________________
There is no social situation that can't be improved if everyone was to go away and leave me to read.
first things first,
the Judo Monk snippet is on indefinite hold, it's been over a year since the 1 single session I got to play him, and the details will simply not come to mind.
second, Krunch is going to be SOOOOO much fun to write for (probably less so to read, but hey, what can you do?)
in the meantime.
I bring you a story of goliaths.
Guhingir's tale
Spoiler
It happened while I was out hunting.
I was hunting stag in the mountain crags along with Vaunea and Aukan. We had tracked a herd to a valley and were preparing to ambush one when they came.
They swept through the valley, driving the deer away. We were but three, as might as we are, we stood no chance against such numbers, and their group momentum would surely overtake us if we fled before them. We climbed, up into the trees, and watched them pass beneath us.
They were heading towards the village
No. no no no no no no no.
We chased them, but they outpaced us, caught up in their feral lust of wanton destruction. We barely managed to keep pace, the dust kicked up by their passage taunting us at the edge of the horizon, mocking us from each ridgeline as we followed them.
They reached our home an entire hour before us.
A quarter of that is all it took.
We came upon our home camp. It had been obliterated. Dead goliath’s lay everywhere, hacked and torn apart. Our dawncaller lay rent asunder atop our altar-block.
Vaunea began to weep, Aukan went to comfort her. I searched the bodies of the slain, hoping to find some survivor amongst the tattered frames.
I found only 1…
An Orc.
Our folk had made a good account of themselves, from my swift count it seemed that for every goliath that fell here today, they dragged down 3 of their murderer’s with them.
The orc was missing his leg at the knee. I questioned him thoroughly, pulling on the exposed bone on his leg whenever he refused to answer me.
This was desecration, they must be destroyed. The tribe of Orc’s called themselves the mountain crackers.
I left that orc to die, and returned to my fellows. They both appeared numb and in shock.
Aukan, prepare a tablet for any other tribes who come here. Let them know that we pursue, and will not return until every orc from this tribe of desecrator’s is slain.
Aukan objected, “Guhingir, there is no way the three of us can accomplish this task.” Vaunea was apart from us, staring off into the sunset, remained quiet. “we have no choice” I replied. “this act cannot go unpunished. We three must avenge our blood.”
Vaunea spoke, her voice quavering like an icicle about to fall from the roof of a cave at the end of winter. “they have to die, even if it means our deaths.” The woman was not a warrior at heart, at least not yet, she would have to learn to be stone hearted. “you can track them can’t you Aukan? You’re the best in the tribe after all.” She continued.
Aukan shifted uneasily on his feet. “I believe I can do it. We can even catch them eventually, they can’t keep that pace forever.”
“so we are agreed.” I said, taking up my hammer, which I had lain aside for the conversation. “Lead on Aukan”
And so Aukan began to track our quarry across the mountains, the trail was painfully obvious at first, the earth having been trampled beneath their feet. We eventually grew close enough to shadow them, to gauge their strength and their numbers.
They were many, and we were few.
So we watched, and we waited. “aulak thala kaua gamala” - hunt the herd one animal at a time.
As night fell, they set up patrols, no more than 10 to 15 orcs each.
“Wheat before the reaper”, as I’d heard people of the lowlands say.
“a tiring stag before a goliath” we would say in the mountains.
We crept closer, our massive forms hidden within the shadows of our home. We waited until a patrol wandered in our direction, and we struck.
I stood from my concealment, and hurled my Harpoon at an orc. I had acquired the weapon during trade with some lowlanders; one man in particular smelled strongly of salt and told me the harpoon was used for hunting on a great expanse of water, called an “ocean”. He told me it was much bigger than any mountain lake. I had found the trader’s stories fascinating, but I prized the harpoon for its ability to bring down prey and allow me restrict their movements.
My harpoon caved in the Orc’s chest, pinning him to a tree. The remaining orcs milled about in confusion and panic at the sudden, violent death of a fellow, Vaunea began to rain arrows as long as an Orc’s forearm into the crowd, whilst Aukan and I waded in with our great hammers. We slew the orcs in seconds.
We faded back into the brush to wait for another band of orcs to come our way….
We harried the horde for some time in this manner, taking 10 to 15 orcs a night. Unfortunately, the orcs left the mountains, and travelled down onto the flatter lands. We could not help but give chase.
Many moons have passed since then. Both Aukan and Vaunea have long since fallen in battle with the orcs. I am the sole survivor of our tribe.
I will not rest until each of those orcs is dead.
I am Guhingir, Goliath, called “barbarian” by those who call these flat expanses home. I call myself “Avenger”.
My weapon’s and my very soul call out for the destruction of the swinekin.
enjoy
I'm off to keep writing, it's exam week. so I have alot of excess free time.
I hope you all enjoy the fruits of this.
also..... do you think I should just keep editing this post? or just go ahead and double/triple/whatever post? since apparently this thread has died down a bit, and I have much writing left to do.
__________________
my awesome knight riding a bulette avatar was made by smuchmuch
Cookie Jar: 1
teej has quotes
Spoiler
Quote:
Originally Posted by Occasional Sage
big teej, you are the GitP forum with legs.
Quote:
Originally Posted by McSmack
Or if you're feeling saucy you can remind him that it's not a democracy, it's a Teej-tatorship, and he'd best remember that.
Quote:
Originally Posted by IthroZada
I imagine Cenobites to be what you get when you mash together the Book of Erotic Fantasy and the Book of Vile Darkness.
if I've gone quiet in a pbp we share, PM ME! this means I'm not getting updates!
Boots pounding against the cobbles. Idiots ran into the old part of the city. This is my turf, my freaking turf, I've got them now. Hand draws my weapon, arm registers the weight. Light. Airy. Perfect.
A tall woman made all of stained glass dashes through the cobbled streets of old Philadelphia, long leather coat flapping behind her, combat boots pounding against the pavement - a war-drum beat to her hunt. Though it is a cool Autumn night, waves of heat crash from her flesh into the air around her, surrounding her with a haze of steam.
There is a stained glass sword in her left hand, and it hums with anticipation.
Left. Right. Left again. Slippery little punks, these. We warned them, told 'em to back off. Gods but I haven't done...that...in, what, a week now? Sword's getting thirsty. Shh, don't worry Agony, I'll get you something to drink. Wait. That alley is blind. I have them - ha!
She turns down an alleyway. She's beautiful, fit and athletic like a huntress, but her smile is malicious. Cowering at the end of the alleyway is a beautiful woman, a water nymph dressed like a Gothic street queen. The air around the nymph is full of laughter and the scent of Spring roses blooming, but her quaking terror betrays itself as she pulls a tiny knife. The stained glass woman laughs.
"Colors," the Gothic woman pleads, tears at the corners of her eyes, "Colors, don't do this, you don't want to do this. I'm from the Brotherhood, just like you, I swore the Oath, Colors please..."
Begging. I hate it when they beg. Maybe I should - no. She's angered Summer. Remember the fury. Grab hold of the wrath, Colors. You can do it. She stole from us.
"I'll swear any oath you want, I'll return the Horn, I'll throw myself at your feet in public, just please let me live! Please Colors! This isn't you! This isn't the woman who came out of the Thorns!"
Red haze parting. I could take her Oath, she wouldn't dare break an Oath on her own true name. No. Summer. I am Summer. I am wrath! I am fury!
"Ho la, OOOOOOOHDIIIIIN!" The cry pierces the air, rips from the stained glass woman's mouth as she rushes the Goth woman with her sword held low. Colors' face is contorted with fury, her eyes blind with hatred. Her victim goes to block low. The sword comes in high.
It only takes one blow.
* * *
Stained glass fists pound against the brick wall of the alleyway, cracking but not shattering. Crying out in pain, Colors slumps against the wall, her weapon cast aside near the corpse of her victim.
"Gods forgive me," she whispers harshly through the tears. "I'm so sorry. Gods I'm so sorry."
Colors puts her face in her damaged hands and cries as the blood dries into her clothes.
Oh goodness, I love this. Please, more Changeling fic!
I haven't posted anything here in forever and a day, but this scene cried out to be snippet-ed.
Spoiler
Dala brushed pale hair back from the sleeping child’s face, her touch light as a whisper. She’s so little, she thought, for the hundredth time. We shouldn’t have brought her.
Which was nonsense. Truth be told, Dala wasn’t sure they could have left her behind if they’d tried. The girl was a prodigy; barely seven years old, and more raw magical power than most wizards achieved with a lifetime of study. The Builder had needed her help to complete the spell that got them to the floating city in the first place – and if she were being honest with herself, Dala knew they’d needed the child’s support in the fights they’d been in since then, too. We’d have been slaughtered today, if not for her.
Dala had a pragmatic approach to magic. Her god, Olidammara, had gifted her with a few small tricks as a reward for devotion, but she knew nothing of how they worked. How any of it worked. If a spell existed and someone in her party could cast it, she could find a use for it – but she never pretended to understand it. So when the Builder had arisen, glowing blue, after falling in battle – when he stared at them with empty, uncomprehending eyes – when he attacked, his magic knocking them aside as easily as a child might toss a doll – she’d been helpless. All she could do was fight, for all the good her sword had been against the power that had lanced through her, breaking her apart.
She watched her father kill her mother, then helped her mother kill her father.
The next part was a blur. She’d been there, she knew – four of her had been there, and she hadn’t been sure which one was really her. All she knew was that she was dead, the Builder had killed her, and yet she was still there, still fighting, and they had to kill the Builder before he killed them all. She remembered Celia’s voice, high and terrified, screaming commands to them while she worked some desperate ritual with the – thing – the stone, the jewel, whatever it was, that the Builder had entrusted to her. She weakened him, Dala remembered, enough for the rest of them to put an end to the fight. Then when it was over… then, she’d been dead for real…
Not permanently, of course. Of course not. Hieza’s grasp of his own god’s magics was too strong for that. When you traveled with the little gnome, death was never final. A burden, maybe. An inconvenience. Never an end. And is it better or worse, that Celia seems to be grasping that fact? My gods, if that isn’t a terrible lesson to teach a child. “Other people have to worry about death, sweetie, but not us. We’re too special.” Dala shook her head in disgust, brushing another stray hair from the girl’s face.
She wasn’t theirs, not really. Her actual family was dead – dead, and most likely past any possibility of resurrection, judging from the soul-devouring monstrosities they’d found roaming the deserted town. One more charge to lay at the feet of the Emperor, whose experiments had thinned the fabric between realities and let who-knows-what leak through. Celia had been the only survivor. They’d kept her, at the time, because there really wasn’t anything else to do with her – and because, with the Emperor’s armies marching north, their stronghold was possibly the safest place for her. By the time they might have found a better home for her, she’d already adopted the Builder as her magical mentor – and Dala as her surrogate mother.
It was all still fun, when we left home the last time. Still just a grand adventure. It wasn’t real yet. If I’d known we would be taking her into something like this, I’d have left her with Mordecai and the rest of the thieves’ guild, and taken our chances without her.
When Hieza brought her back, Dala had seen Celia bending over the Builder’s body. doing something. As far as Dala knew, resurrecting the dead was a secret known only to clerics – and a select few clerics at that – but the girl was obviously doing something. Whatever it was, it worked – Builder, too, slept only a few feet away, regaining his strength for the fight to come.
Dala had talked with her, after. Talked with her, and held her, and didn’t let herself cry. Didn’t comment, either, on the markings on the girl’s face – black lines, like veins, or some sort of obscure writing. They were fading… but they’d been there. She didn’t know enough about magic to know what caused them, or even if they were a cause for concern. Maybe they were normal, with powerful enough spells. She didn’t know. They worried her… but not as much as the marks she couldn’t see. What did it do to a child, she wondered, to constantly see her”family” cut down in front of her? To choose to help kill a man she loved and trusted? For that matter, what did it do to her when she shot fire from her hands, roasting minions alive in their armor? Celia was strong, yes, and Celia was brave and Celia was clever… but Celia was seven. What right did they have, to make her grow up so fast?
And how many children lost their childhoods under the Emperor’s immortal reign? How many were crushed or drowned or burned alive when the planes crashed together? How many were put to the sword, as the Emperor’s armies swept across the north? How many were lost to wander the wilderness and die of exposure when the Cataclysm swallowed whole towns? And before them – how many saw their parents, their brothers and sisters, taken by the Emperor’s men? How many died by inches, growing up, their whole lives ground away from them bit by bit, until they grew into the obedient men and women the Empire wanted them to be?
What is one little girl’s innocence worth, weighed against the chance of stopping him for good?
What is my soul worth?
Dala stroked Celia’s hair again, and wanted to weep.
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Our Shadowrun game is pretty much one long string of bad ideas, fueled by enthusiasm.
Not much action in this one: In fact, it's mostly exposition for the second part. But I like it.
A Death in the Family Or, How a Castillian Man Says Thank You, Part 1
Spoiler
My uncle Jose sat next to me in the pews, dark hair falling across his face rogueishly as he watched the service in quiet amusement. He knew that it was mockery for him to be in Theus' church, and he delighted in it. There was a glint in his eyes that could almost be mistaken for a dancing flame...Did the candles burn a little brighter? No, it was only my imagination. Heretic or not, sorcerer or no, my uncle was not a fool. He would not dare use his power here. He whispered to me "Rafael, do you actually believe this crap? I expected better from my nephew." I set my jaw and continued to ignore him. My sword was strong, but my faith stronger still. He would not get a reaction from me.
On my other side sat Josephina, my...sister..., wearing her finest red dress and a flower in her hair, Dmitri beyond her. He towered over everyone else, and he was causing quite a stir. Though he was nothing but friendly and polite, most people here had never seen a Ussuran, and those who had had never seen one quite so large, nor one whose eyes were quite so green. The brightly-colored beads in his hair shook slightly as he whispered to Josephina, whose eyes were rolled in annoyance. From what I could hear, he was translating the Mass from the traditional Numan to our native Castillian, "To better her understanding of the Vaticine faith." Or perhaps, just to be an ass. It was amazing how often those two motives intersected with him. I did not speak Numan, but I knew the Mass by heart and dutifully followed along, using this time to reflect on the past month.
It had been an eventful one.
Then, Josephina was nothing more than my ward. Someone had set fire to an inn we were staying at. Dmitri and I were woken by the would-be assassins, but by the time we dealt with them and got everyone else out to safety, we realised that Josephina was not with us. Dmitri had to use all of his freakish strength to keep me from running in after her. Though at the time I hated him for it, he was right; No one could have survived that inferno.
So imagine my surprise when Josephina came walking out the front door, appearing to be wreathed in flame but completely unharmed. I've always believed that Theus protects us and provides miracles when all seems lost, and for a time I could believe that was what had happened. But I could not ignore the voice in the back of my mind, whispering of the sorcery that Legion had once cursed Castille with. El Fuego Adentro...The Fire Within. And so, I arranged for us to return to Castille, to speak with her father. It was high time for this anyway, and surely he could set our minds at ease.
Sadly, the illness that had confined him to his bed upon our departure had claimed him in the intervening months, Theus rest his soul, and his only brother Jose had returned from...wherever it was he'd been to run the estate. We found him at the dinner table seated with the Montaigne Marquis whose amorous advances had made it necessary for us to flee in the first place, sharing a glass of wine.
What followed was perhaps the most awkward dinner ever eaten...
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"Josephina! My beautiful little flower! I am delighted that you could join us!" Marquis Francois des Gaulles stood up and bowed deeply, the locks of his powdered wig nearly brushing the floor. He was a tall 35 year old man wearing white shoulder-length gloves and a fashionable yet subdued suit, every garment exceedingly well-made. He straightened up, then pulled out a chair for her next to him. "Please! Sit down and eat with your husband!"
Pointedly ignoring the Montaigne man, Josephina addressed her uncle in cool tones. "Uncle, why is this man here? Why was I not told of my father's dea..." Horrible realization crossed her face. "Husband?"
The darker, shorter man seated at the head of the table shot des Gaulles a dirty look, then slowly stood himself. His slowness was not born of sloth, nor of age; rather, he had the look of a predator about him, as of a cat stretching after it has awoke. "Josephina, darling, is this how you greet your family? Please, sit down and all shall be explained in good time. You as well, Rafael. There is much to discuss."
Dmitri politely raised one finger. "Erm, I hate to impose, but it has been a long journey. May I...?"
Jose waved a hand dismissively. "Of course, of course! There is always room at the table for friends of family, especially one who has saved her life."
The large Ussuran clapped his hands, making everyone flinch a little from the resounding noise. "Fantastic." He sat down in the seat that the bewildered des Gaulles had pulled out for the lady and began to eat.
Heh. Clever man, Dmitri. Should this dinner go sour, he was in the right spot to keep the Marquis from grabbing Josephina. Or perhaps he's just hungry and lazy; it's hard to tell with him sometimes.
I stood by the seat directly across from Dmitri; Josephina suspiciously sat next to me. Once the lady was seated, the standing men sat themselves down once more, myself included. I looked at my plate; it was full of ...Montaigne food. I wrinkled my nose at the snails and frog legs, contenting myself with a sip of Castillian wine. Josephina did not touch anything. "There, Uncle. I have sat. Now explain. Why did you not tell me of my father? Why is this man here? Why did he say husband?"
"Lovely to see you as well, child. My brother died two months ago; I wanted to tell you, but your bodyguards took such great pains to hide you that it was impossible to give you a message. It is for the best, I suppose: I didn't want him to have to be the one to tell you. Josephina...The man who raised you, he is not your father." Jose breathed in deeply, then leaned across the table and locked eyes with Josephina.
"I am."
Josephina's face drained, and she began to breathe in short, shallow pants. "No...No! You lie!"
"My daughter, I wish I did. Your mother did not love my brother, not at first. Arranged as her marriage was, she had little choice in the matter. She played the part of dutiful loving wife by day...But when Carlotta would cry in the night, alone where she thought none but the river could hear her, I was there to comfort her. I did not mean to betray my brother..." Jose turned his head, swallowing hard. "...But your mother was...bewitching. Beautiful, charming, and oh so vulnerable, I could not help but..." He trailed off, dark eyes staring at...no, past Josephina, perhaps reliving that night. "You have all of her beauty, Josephina. We hid our love for a while, but we were found out. All my life, I haven't seen a fury so great as the one Antonio bore in his heart that day. He challenged me to a duel to the death, and though I knew he was a master swordsman, I thought myself his better. Perhaps, another day, I would have been. But that day, he was possessed by Legion, a raging animal who overwhelmed me with strength born of madness. At his mercy, I prepared for death...but it never came. Poised to deliver the death strike, Antonio broke down. Suddenly, all the fury left him, and he collapsed, sobbing. He could not kill his baby brother, no matter what I had done, but neither could he live with me in his life. And so, I was banished. I went to Montaigne, and I found myself in the court of Monsieur des Gaulles here. The rest, as they say, is history."
A single tear ran down Josephina's pale cheek. "You...you have betrayed us? My own unc...Mi padre? A traitor for Montaigne? This is how a Castillian man says thank you?"
Jose slammed a fist onto the table. "A traitor!? No, it was Antony who betrayed ME! He disgraced me, EXILED me from my home, mi amor! I could not have my love, so I will have his land. And all it took was your hand in marriage." At this, the Marquis smiled. "Yes, you and des Gaulles were married the very week your father died."
"What!? I never consented to marriage with this frog!" Francois tilted his head at Josephina, almost as though his feelings were hurt.
"Perhaps not, my daughter. But someone who looks very much like you did. Someone who used your name to sign the certificate. Someone who vowed to honor and obey this frog, in front of Theus and everybody!" Francois whipped his head around to look at Jose, disbelief on his face.
I slapped my hands down on the table, pushing my chair out and drawing my sword. "Enough! You are nothing but a pretender, Jose, a charlatan and a fool! No one gave you authority over Josephina's life, OR her land, and I demand that you dissolve this marriage and go back to hiding in Montaigne, where you belong!"
For a full minute, there was a silence, interrupted only by Dmitri asking a servant for seconds. Then the Marquis stood, sneering at me. "And who are you, to make such demands?"
"I am Valiente Rafael Luis Zepata de Castille. I am a swordsman, and I am a matador. I have stood against a rampaging beast stronger than any man, and I have slain him when no one could tame him. I am sure that I can kill a frog such as yourself, AND your dog!"
Jose called out "That is not your name."
I blinked in confusion. "What? Don't be silly, of course it-"
"Your name is Valiente Rafael Luis de Torres del Castille. Now sit down; I've had enough family violence for a lifetime."
Stunned, I sheathed my sword and sat down. "You mean...?"
"Yes. Carlotta was with child when Antonio found us. He assumed, incorrectly, that our affair was a recent development, that the child in her belly was mine and not his. And though he could not bear to raise another man's son, nor could he abandon his nephew. And so, you were raised among the servants children: One more brat running around would make no difference, but you would be well looked after. He was not at all surprised when you showed talent with our family's sword, but he took it as proof that you were my child. If he'd been wiser, he'd have looked for a different...talent that marked a child as mine." He grinned, dark eyes suddenly dancing like flames. It was then that I knew. "Such is life, I'm afraid. You are his son, and rightful heir to this estate...But who will ever believe you?"
Still standing, the Marquis suddenly clasped his hands. "Such a tense atmosphere! I have something that ought to cheer everybody up. Servants, bring the surprise!" Two nervous-looking boys flinched at his voice, then scurried past the double-doors into the kitchen.
Within a minute, they were wheeling a cart out. I gasped, then rubbed my eyes. The sheer audacity! "Is that..."
"Yes! It's our wedding cake! Lovely, isn't it? I saved the first cut for you, ma petite." Josephina stood, then walked over to the cake, entranced by the extravagant baked good. "It is tradition, is it not?" Francois picked up a cake knife, then held it out to Josephina, handle first. She looked from him, to the knife, to the cake, and back to the knife, incredulity painting her face. She laid her hands on the handle of the knife...
And shoved it into the Marquis' belly.
Pandemonium broke out, and everyone who wore a weapon was wielding a weapon and shouting, while the servant boys screamed and ran to fetch the Montaigne garrison. I was about to leap for Jose, when des Gaulles called out "Quiet, quiet, mes amis! It is nothing. It is only a love bite. My wife is very eager!" He pulled out the knife, and typical Montaigne inanity aside, I could see he was right; the wound wasn't deep, and it wasn't anywhere vital, though he was bleeding. "Laramie, be a dear and go intercept the boys, will you? No need to rouse my soldiers." A shaking servant boy nodded, and ran off. "Yes, a love bite only. Nonetheless, I think I shall retire for the night. Sleep well, my dove." Placing a laced glove over the wound, he limped out of the room, presumably to see the field surgeon.
Jose sheathed his sword. "Yes, sleep well, all of you. We must attend church in the morning. You'll find your quarters exactly where you left them." Then, cloak billowing behind him, he left the room.
Josephina was trembling, on the verge of tears. My weapon put away, I reached out to touch her shoulder, to offer some form of comfort. She broke, falling into my arms and weeping openly. For the first time, I embraced my sister.
"You gonna eat that?" Josephina and I both turned to look at Dmitri, who was gazing longingly at the cake. In unison we rolled our eyes and sighed in disgust, then left the room for him to do as he pleased.
---------------------------------------------
Mass came to an end, and everyone began to file out of the pews, exchanging pleasantries and shaking hands. More than a few of the young women were glad to see me again, and I spoke with them shortly, deflecting their attentions. I caught the eye of fair Diego, my old rival, from across the building; he tipped his hat in my general direction, then switched his focus to the flirtations of a girl who not minutes ago had been fawning on me. Dmitri and Josephina came to me, asked if I was ready to go. I demurred, told them I had someone else to catch up with, told them I'd meet them at the estate. They left with Jose.
I found my way to the confession box.
"Theus bless you, my child." An old, familiar voice, warm and kind. A voice that could calm any storm, that stood against Legion. A voice who would surely know what to do.
"And you, Father."
"What sins do you need to confess?"
I breathed in deeply, steeling myself for this.
"I fear for the safety of my soul."
"Why is this?"
"I believe that my bloodline may contain sorcery."
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Xefas
I like my women like I like my coffee; 10 feet tall, incomprehensible to the human psyche, and capable of ending life as a triviality.
Last edited by Marillion : 05-05-2011 at 12:55 PM.
and in case you're wondering, it's pronounced "ba-roy"
Spoiler
Pain….
World. Encompassing. Pain. It defined existence.
Pain and dryness, I could not breathe for how dry my throat was.
I raise myself and lights explode behind my eyes, it feels as if the kings of hell themselves grip my tender skull in their not-so-tender fists.
I definitely drank too much last night…
Retching my excess out of a conveniently placed window, I turn away from the window and gaze at the female form sprawled on the bed. The woman, Elizabeth, was thankfully just as pretty now as what I remember taking to bed with me last night. She was a little thinner than I normally like, but her luxurious copper colored hair more than made up for it. She’d been swept up in the excitement of some of my (only slightly exaggerated I promise) stories about my latest adventures and tales of daring do.
Alas, like many before her, I’ll likely not get to share a bed with her again. My feet were already beginning that all too familiar tingle that told me it was time to move on again. I can’t stand being in one place for too long, it’d kill me. Mostly because of boredom… the people who mean to either kill me or drag me off in chains probably would too now that I think about it.
Still, tis a shame, we had a wonderful night… from what I remember of it. Alas, it’s time for me to move on. I gather my things from where they were strewn about the room, sword, leathers, backpack, most of my clothes…
Crap.
Oh well, I suppose she can keep the hat… wherever it is. I’m sure I can find another one that is suitably dashing on the way out of town.
I slip into my leathers and buckle my scabbard across my back and head down stairs. “One of these days I’ve gotta find a woman who’ll travel” I think to myself when I hear something from the common room that fills me with dread and turns my blood to ice.
A gravelly voice which I’d recognize anywhere.
“Barkeep! we understand you have a certain rake within your tavern… where is he?”
Natoii. A human warrior with a mean streak at least as large as my (utterly deserved) ego. His family took it real sore awful when his sister entertained me for a few nights.
It would seem that the conversation has moved to the point of “I need to get out of here… now.”
I hear the barkeep telling Natoii where I am. Well, knowing Natoii how I do, and knowing Elizabeth how I do, I can trust him to do no more than question her as to where I’m going… so if I can just sneak..
-Creeeeeeek-
A creaky step, would you look at that.
Wait.
Uh oh.
Natoii’s head whips around at the sound and our eyes lock. BAROI!!! He yells drawing a club from his belt.
Well that settles it. I dive down the stairs and roll to my feet in front of Natoii, letting my enchanted leathers absorb a blow from his club as I speak a word of power and gesture at him. A great ball of light explodes in front of his face (ow. My eyes!)
While he’s blinded, I race out into the street. And off I go onto the next town.
…
As soon as I get past Natoii’s goons.
There are 3 of them waiting for me outside. A large half-orc, a skarn dressed in heavier armor than natoii, and an older human dressed in robes. All of which I recognize, I dealt with them before. Thankfully, they weren’t expecting me to dive out of the tavern, so none of them are ready for me.
I draw my sword and swing at the old man in robes while I throw another ball of light into the half orc’s eyes. The old man falls to the ground bleeding profusely from his chest while the orc covers his eyes and howls in pain.
They’ll be fine, heck I’ve carved that orc up 3 different times now. The Skarn puffs out his spines and takes a step forward swinging a heavy mace at me. I duck out of the way and murmur an enchantment which will magically guide my next swing to the target.
Closing with the skarn, I slam my arm into his wrist, stopping the blow while I bring my blade around and under his armor, slicing through the joint and emerging from his back.
As I retrieve my sword from him the half-orc has recovered enough to take a swing at me with a massive axe. He cuts me across the chest and blood begins to soak into my leathers.
I believe it’s time to make my escape. Murmuring the words of another spell, a cloud of mist springs up from the ground, allowing me to evade the orc.
I make a run for it.
I run to the end of the street and turn, about to break away from those goons, when a tendril of pain wraps around my arm and yanks me off my feet.
I look at my arm and see that it is wrapped in coils of fire; I follow the flaming rope to its source and see a stocky man dressed in red leathers. A Crimson Scourge.
This is going to be interesting…
EDIT:
not to muscle in on Varen... but I've a paladin I need to write for.
Mattias, Paladin of Kord.
following Mattias...
Raoul and Isador, my resident Psykers*
Leander, a samurai
Bill, the Were-Bison
and Krunch, all of which will be in progress once I've hammered a few more things out...
*teej uses this term as a blanket for anything with abilities of the mind, and is not restricted to warhammer, dnd, x-men, or anything else with heavy use of psychic abilities
2nd EDIT:
nothing's flowing.... so I guess more writing will have to wait...
__________________
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Or if you're feeling saucy you can remind him that it's not a democracy, it's a Teej-tatorship, and he'd best remember that.
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I imagine Cenobites to be what you get when you mash together the Book of Erotic Fantasy and the Book of Vile Darkness.
if I've gone quiet in a pbp we share, PM ME! this means I'm not getting updates!
Okay, first off - I have read the other snippets and I loved all of them. I will comment on them as well, but not right now because I need to be able to think first
On the other hand, I did write a snippet about Lyra (not the one I was intending, but oh well)
Not sure what to call this, but we'll go with...
ALONE
Spoiler
I am alone. They’ve decided to see how well I can take the silence I suppose. They’ll see.
Alton was the first one to leave me. He just stopped coming to the inn – none of his group came any more. I had my ribbon all ready to play our game, it was the time they were due. And – no one came. No Alton. No one. And no one could explain why. Mama suggested later that they had found another trade route, but that was a lie. One of the other members of Alton’s group came in three days later, covered in blood. Mama tried to make me go upstairs, but I slipped out of her grip and stayed where I was. I can still remember his words, they had been ambushed, they were all dead, all of them – even Alton. Then the halfling caught sight of me and my ribbon. He limped over to me and loomed as best he could. It was all my fault, he said. Alton had stopped to buy a new ribbon for the barmaid’s daughter. He sneered at me. Alton had left me and it was all my fault.
I am alone. Not a word all morning, no food either. I am hungry.
Mama left me next. It was all my fault. I wasn’t careful enough and Tanner got nervous. I suppose that was understandable. Mama almost killed him. But he went to the Barkeep and the Barkeep went to the temple and the temple took Mama away from me. I wasn’t there. Mama had told me to go out and play with the other children. I shouldn’t have gone. Mama needed me with her. She struggled with the curse for years and years. I knew all the warning signs and all the ways to snap her out of it. But I wasn’t there because Mama sent me away. I wonder if she knew. The temple wouldn’t let me in to see her. They said it was too dangerous. I ignored their rules and went in anyway. This was my Mama, she couldn’t hurt me. But she said I could hurt her. She insisted that I would get caught and that they would do things to me. I ignored her as well. I wouldn’t leave my Mama alone like I was alone. Only then, she left me anyway. Her body was there, but her mind had left me all alone. She didn’t recognise me any more. I wonder if she knew.
I am alone. The day is getting late. They aren’t coming. I have been alone all day. It is so quiet.
Garret. I killed him, as surely as if my hand held the sword that pierced him. He had tried to save me, that was all he ever wanted to do. He tried to protect me like I tried to protect my Mama. But we cannot be protected, cannot be saved from the curse. All that we do is destroy and ruin. Oh, we do not cause physical damage, I have never burnt a building or caused its stones to be pulled down. But I have destroyed minds. I had destroyed Garret’s mind long before his body followed it. Otherwise he would have left long ago, to protect himself as so many others have done. Garret was an optimist, he thought I could be cured. I don’t know who was more foolish, him for believing it was true, or me for hoping it was. If I close my eyes, I can see Tredan’s sword slide smoothly through his chest. I should be grateful it was so easy I suppose. I can see the surprise on Garret’s face, neither of us had realised the paladin was so close. It was my fault. If I had not stayed, if I had run when he told me to he would not have stayed himself. He would have run. He would have survived. I would not have killed him – no matter that I did not intend it. He would not have left me alone.
I am alone. It is full night now. The ropes that bind my hands behind me have ceased to chafe. Or I have ceased to feel it. I can no longer feel my feet or legs up to my knees. The ropes that bind my ankles and keep me from moving from this spot are doing their job well. They have not come all day. Why should I care? Why should it make my heart ache that my tormentors have left me alone for an entire day? I should rejoice in their absence. My soul should not cry out for their presence. They bring nothing but pain to me. They force the curse from me, call out to it and try to exorcise it from my body. They bring only the wrongness so familiar to me. So familiar it is – comforting. I am alone. They have not come. And it hurts.
Two figures shrouded in dark cloaks watched through the barred window set into the door. They silently observed the tears that slid down the face of the young woman in her cell. They listened to her sobs with quiet satisfaction. Perhaps tomorrow she would be willing to cooperate with them. All in all, today had been a good day. A productive day. As one, they turned to leave her alone.
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There is no social situation that can't be improved if everyone was to go away and leave me to read.
The Tale of the Twice-Fought Hydra
(or Of Slow Paladins and Civilized Barbarians)
another Lelk story of mine, it actually happened in game, over the course of three sessions.
Ok, so my party, (Lelk (me), Al the paladin, and the monk) had gone out to fight a Hydra. problem was, once we got to the Hydra wefought it for a while and it wasn't dropping, it was stronger than we thought and we got out of there before the Hydra could kill any of us.
So we went to this barbarian village to get help to kill the hydra. the paladin arrived there first on his mount, he sort of ran over what he called a "pimp barbarian" said barbarian had a leopard skin hat and cape so...whatever...
the pimp barbarian sorta got mad and Al had to run to the local paladin fortress which had been stationed there to watch the barbarians for some reason to get away from the angry imp barbarian,and the paladins basically told him he was being a bad paladin and such.
Lelk and the monk arrived next of course. Lelk sort of failed on some roll, and gone into a tavern and started drinking and soon started singing on stage, (he had a picked up a tendency to sing over the course of his adventures)
and basically became an instant celebrity through my own warped luck. the monk meanwhile fruitlessly tried rallying the populace of the barbarian town to kill the hydra.
next sessions, I go find the barbarian leaders place, but his door guard person stands in the way and prevents Lelk from getting in, the monk goes in instead, tells him about the hydra, the leader guys kicks the monk out and then forms a committee on killing the hydra- like I said, oddly civilized barbarians.
So seeing as how Lelks attempt at getting to the barbarian didn't really work and he didn't know the monk did stuff, I decided that since the barbarians didn't really like the paladins stationed at the fortress, and Lelk didn't know where the fortress was and since the barbarians did know but hated the paladins, I decided that Lelk would go "hey, I hate paladins! who here also hates paladins?" and so I succeeded in like gaining people to help me tell me where the paladin fortress was, I just, succeeded too well and formed this anti-paladin barbarian mob....who just began to tour me around
meanwhile the monk did.....I dunno I forgot what exactly, the important thing is, that when the tour was over and the anti-paladin barbarians had shown me where the fortress was then decided to go home, cause they weren't stupid and try and assault that place, so I just slinked off from the group, met up with the monk then gone to the fortress, paid a copper to get in.
So then I decide that the best way Lelk gets to be known as good and such is by singing songs and so he starts singing a song called "Oh My Paladin Buddy" basically an upbeat song about awesome paladins are, dedicated to his good friend Al the paladin. the paladins of course like it, so now Lelk is a musical celebrity to both the barbarians and the paladins.
During the paladins dinnertime, I tell the paladins that they should help us go kill this hydra we found (Al couldn't because they thought he was a bad paladin and such) and so the next day we go to slay the Hydra with a bunch of paladins.
Problem: these paladins are slow. Seriously, first they take all morning to get ready, my DM described the paladins as one of those large families taking a vacation and generally being disorganized and taking their sweet time, they go along the roads, through the barbarian town (I evaded being discovered by the barbarians there) and we gone down the roads to the monastery where we set out from in the first place to kill said Hydra, then they spent two days there giving the monks a lot of tribute cause the paladins receive tribute and yadda yadda yadda, meanwhile cooking nice foods with lots of spices that the monk generally don't eat cause they are ascetic monks and such, but they soon finally get going towards the hydra.
problem: in the woods we run into the barbarian horde the barbarian hydra committee had sent out and while they were faster, the barbarians were stupid and got lost in the woods. So now, we were surrounded by two factions armed to the teeth...with me right there, who had kinda manipulated them both...
now in the final session, a new player had arrived int he group playing and elf ranger, the Dm said that the elf ranger had led the barbarians through the woods cause she didn't like stupid barbarians being in the woods.
I then tried singing a song about killing the hydra, it fails, the monk spots the ranger tries to get a better look at her but it also fails and basically the monk and ranger just interact with each other while important was happening.
and, while all this was going on, Al while in the middle of the paladins for some reason decided to weave a basket of flowers, three rolls, he rolls all of them well,finding the best wood, the best flowers, crafting it very well....and declares it that he is going to give it to....the hydra. that we are trying to slay.
I have no idea what was going through his mind.
Meanwhile, negotiations wasn't going well, if I didn't unite the barbarians and the paladins we wouldn't have enough manpower so I decided to sing "Oh My Paladin Buddy" on an absurd gambit.
To a bunch of barbarians.
That hate paladins.
armed barbarians
The DM rolled a d100 and I got an 86. turns out they all liked the song weird.
A few more turns pass before I decided to try and speak a speech to unite the two factions to team up and work together.
I rolled and got a 20.
Instant unity, they put aside their differences to fight the hydra, my poor DM hung his head at my absurd luck.
meanwhile on the way to the hydra, Al ran ahead, put his flower basket in front of the hydra and ran away, the Hydra just looked at it, completely confused. (still have no idea what was going through Al's head). then the barbarian-paladin horde descended upon the hydra and killed it, I just stood admiring that my plan had worked, then the barbarians went back into the woods to get lost, again, and the paladins and us went back to the monastery.
wow... your dice seem to love you. You do seem to get some awfully lucky rolls sometimes.
That was very funny, I can just imagine your DM face-palming over that last one - with the barbarians deciding a song about how much you like paladins being just awesome.
__________________
There is no social situation that can't be improved if everyone was to go away and leave me to read.
wow... your dice seem to love you. You do seem to get some awfully lucky rolls sometimes.
That was very funny, I can just imagine your DM face-palming over that last one - with the barbarians deciding a song about how much you like paladins being just awesome.
I don't know why man, luck warps itself around me. its freaky, every where I go it just happens every now and then. and that is outside games involving dice.
Credit to Blitzkrieg's song "devils spawn" to breaking my writer's block.
I bring you a snippet of mattias, paladin of kord.
enjoy.
“It’s not yours to take, for I am in your way.”
Spoiler
Few receive the call to the life of a paladin.
Even fewer answer that call.
When I received it, and how I have followed it are tales for another time. Now I must tell you of my fight against the spawn of hell itself.
It was three winters ago….
I had stopped in a nameless backwater of a village, I had been a paladin for less than 6 months, and I was still unsure of what my God wanted of me.
I found a village in chaos.
Men and women ran about the town in a blind panic, carrying what meager belongings or children they had with them. I saw one, an ancient priest exhorting them to remain faithful. I strode toward him, holding the reins of my pack horse. The people, in their panic, broke around me like water around rocks.
“Priest! Explain this turmoil!” I declared as I closed with him. He whipped his head around, a fiery look in his eyes.
“Identify yourself stranger! These are dark times, and I would know ye before I answered you”
I parted my over cloak, revealing my intricately engraved and etched armor. Covered in scriptures and holy symbols sacred to The Deity of Strength and raised my voice. “I am Mattias, Paladin of Kord, and I intend to aid your village in its plight if it is within my power to do so!”
The priest saw the zealous fire burning in my eyes and nodded.
“And so our prayers have been answered. Paladin, a daemon comes to destroy this village. The strength of my youth is spent, and I cannot stand against it. It has sworn to break open every child in its village and offer its heart as a sacrifice to its lord while their mothers watch. “
My blood began to burn with hate for this foul creature.
“I will destroy this creature. When does it come?”
“IT COMES NOW FLESH. YOU MAY CALL ME PHANATOS, AND YOU WILL SCREAM MY NAME WHEN I RIP OUT YOUR HEART”
I turned to face the end of the village as the voice thundered through my head. The townsfolk went hysterics and the Priest muttered an oath one would be more accustomed to hearing from one who sells themselves.
A blasphemy stood at the edge of the village, its skin was white, not the white of purity, this was a white that reeked of corruption and damnation. From its head grew two horns, one black, one red. Its eyes were the color of blood, and its teeth were like needles made of emeralds. It’s body was thin, smaller of frame than I. but possessed of an obvious might. Ectoplasm radiated from it in sickly loops and waves. The being radiated power and evil.
I was not impressed.
I removed my cloak, allowing it to fall to the dirt, and strode to my pack horse. Kord may call his priests to use a mace, I feel called to a larger weapon.
I reached into my saddle bags and pulled forth my great sword. It was a gift from the clerics who trained me when I answered the call. Its 5 foot long blade was etched with scriptures of Kord, it was my most prized possession after my faith.
I leveled it at the blasphemy and spoke. “I am Mattias, chosen of Kord, I will banish you back to the pits from whence e ye came. “
The blasphemy began to float off the ground.
“These people are not yours to take!”
“FOR THIS INSOLENCE, I WILL TEAR YOUR SOUL APART!”
The blasphemy hurtled towards me through the air. Many men in such a position would have either cowered in fear, or attempted to brace against charge.
I ran straight at it.
We collided with the wet impact of flesh on metal and that of an iron works collapsing. I was thrown from my feet, hurtling several yards before crashing to the ground. I pushed myself up to my hands and knees.
My armor is on fire.
I grabbed my sword and used it to push myself back to my feet and scanned for the daemon. He was walking towards me, a massive gash across its chest oozing forth a substance that looked like a tide of sapphires. It did not appear overly troubled by the wound.
YOU CANNOT HOPE TO STAND AGASINT ME. Spoke the blasphemy
“You are right, I can not hope” I replied.
The blasphemy stopped, obviously surprised by my response.
“You cannot hope for what you know for certain” I informed him, I watched rage take over the being before me. I lashed out with my great sword, carving a great rent in its chest, digging deeper within its body.
The blasphemy took a staggered back a step. And laughed.
I WILL SAVOR THE TASTE OF YOUR SCREAMS, YOU HAVE HARMED ME. FOR THIS YOU WILL KNOW ULTIMATE SUFFERING.
It reached out for me, grasping my sword as I swung it through a defensive arc. I watched its flesh smolder and crack in contact with the holy blade. I watched it raise its fist and bring it crashing into my weapon, snapping it halfway through the blade. It then touched my chest, and my world exploded in pain.
And then it went dark.
I awoke. And the pain returned. I looked down at my body a massive splinter was sticking through my thigh, blood rushing from around it. There was a massive rent in my breastplate.
I still gripped the broken remains of my sword in my hand. I looked up, tearing my gaze away from my broken body.
The daemon had thrown me through a tavern.
I reached up and grabbed the shattered edge of the bar and pulled myself to my feet. Blood ran through the joints and rents in my armor.
The daemon was walking towards me.
I will die soon.
But not before this creature… this… fiend… this…
This.
Blasphemy.
My blood began to burn; I saw it running down the blade of my broken sword. I raised my arm, and strode towards the blasphemy; everything seemed to have slowed to a crawl. I reached out with my broken blade, so slowly… and the fiends arm fell from its body. Shock filling those blood filled orbs. Time suddenly sped back up as I gave voice to a battle-prayer to kord.
“I AM CHOSEN OF KORD! HIS STRENGTH FILLS MY BODY AND HIS HAND GUIDES MY BLADE! IN HIS SERVICE I CANNOT FAIL AND I WILL NOT FALTER. IN THE NAME OF THE LORD OF STRENGTH I SMITE THE DAEMON AND BANISH THEE BACK TO THE HELL FROM WHENCE YOU CRAWLED!!”
I plunged the broken remains of my weapon through the blasphemy’s chest and ripped it out of its rib cage, leaving a massive L shaped hole in its chest. A torrent of sapphires poured from its body as it fell to its knees. My sword lashed out again and its head separated from its shoulders. The body fell over and collapsed in a mound of sapphires.
Grunting in pain, I reached down and grasped its head in my gauntleted hand and strode towards the center of the town, blood marking my steps.
The townsfolk were huddled at the far end of town. I stopped once I could make out individual faces. And raised my arm – so heavy! – and shouted to the assembled peoples.
“FEAR THIS, NO MORE!”
And I cast the head to the ground where it shattered like glass before dissolving into a poisonous looking smoke.
Then, I fell forward, and knew nothing….
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teej has quotes
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Originally Posted by Occasional Sage
big teej, you are the GitP forum with legs.
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Originally Posted by McSmack
Or if you're feeling saucy you can remind him that it's not a democracy, it's a Teej-tatorship, and he'd best remember that.
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Originally Posted by IthroZada
I imagine Cenobites to be what you get when you mash together the Book of Erotic Fantasy and the Book of Vile Darkness.
if I've gone quiet in a pbp we share, PM ME! this means I'm not getting updates!
I do believe that Varen has been eclipsed a thousandfold in terms of badassery! THIS is the stuff that paladins do!
Really, really awesome work here Teej. I love it. You were really able to capture a strong atmosphere in this snippet, and I was really sucked into the story. Your descriptions were very well done, I felt I could see every little detail with perfect clarity, which is no mean feat, especially considering how they never felt jilted or difficult to understand.
My only complaint, and it's a little one, would be the typos. Around the middle of the snippet, a few of them started to show up, such as:
Spoiler
The townsfolk went hysterics
and those disrupted the flow a little bit, but that's it.
Overall, an excellent piece. I thoroughly enjoyed it!
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Originally Posted by big teej
Guhingir's tale
Quote:
Originally Posted by big teej
Baroi's Story
The opening lines of this are nothing short of magical. I really love how well they illustrate Baroi's very distinctive personality. All of his little asides to the reader had me in hysterics, and in this one in particular, I really felt like I was being told a story in addition to seeing things from a character's point of view. The descriptions, particularly of the battle scene, were very well done, and the whole story had a great flow in general. Loved it!
Quote:
Originally Posted by Lord Raziere
The Tale of the Twice-Fought Hydra
(or Of Slow Paladins and Civilized Barbarians)
Your rolls are absolutely incredible, and your group sounds hilarious. I really love how you manipulated the situation, turning the barbarians and paladins against one another, and then somehow managed to get the two groups back together, through the use of song. That's nothing short of awesome right there.
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Originally Posted by Marillion
A Death in the Family Or, How a Castillian Man Says Thank You, Part 1
You, my friend, are nothing short of an absolutely amazing writer.
Your style has a very natural, unforced feel to it, and the way you can set a scene is just fantastic. Your descriptions are always nicely balanced, creating a strong picture but never going overboard, and I felt like I could get a very strong sense of each character from the way you portrayed them, particularly Valiente. Though I have to say, the Marquis was a delightfully unlikeable character. The story itself was perfectly executed, with a perfect blend of drama, action, and comedy. I was really blown away by this one.
I have to agree with you. It would have been a real shame if this scene never got snippeted.
This was an incredibly powerful piece. You captured your character's sense of empathy and sorrow perfectly, which, while amazing on its own, struck me as especially so considering how the majority of this snippet was in the first person. I also loved the way you provided the horrifying background information in a such a simple, yet emotional manner, which really let my imagination go to work and helped to cement the tone of the story. Your writing itself had a perfect flow, and nothing ever felt awkward or unwieldy. This was just amazing. I love it!
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Originally Posted by Lady Moreta
ALONE
Wow...
While anything you would've written would have been worth the wait, this was super-duper-extra worth the wait.
I mean, wow...
This was just incredible. Your writing had an amazingly powerful feel, and you masterfully created an incredibly intense atmosphere. That, and all the little bits of backstory really drove home how screwed up a life Lyra has had and how much her curse has affected her.
I could really feel everything she was feeling, all of her guilt, her fear, despair, all of it. This whole piece really, really resonated with me. I mean, I'm on the verge of crying over here. Well done. Very well done.
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Re: D&D Snippets
a blurb? I dunno, I haven't written any yet 
your dice seem to love you. You do seem to get some awfully lucky rolls sometimes.
