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Since the original thread is now languishing in the obscurity of the archives, and I really enjoyed it and have plenty more snippets to write, I'm reinventing the snippet. I'm in the process of done cataloging the snippets from the old thread by author/storyline. It's about halfway done! New stuff posted in this thread will be added right away.*
*Where "right away" means "as long as it takes me to get around to it."
For those of you who didn't see the stuff in the first thread, definitely go check it out. There's some great writing there, stories to make you laugh, cry, go "awwww" and go "uhhhh..."
I am also doing my very best to comment on every snippet posted here. If you'd prefer I didn't critique your work, let me know!
And one last thing before the Big List: I developed a very simple tool to look at your text and tell you some things about it (like if you have tons of sentences that are way too long, like I always do). It is available here! Please feel free to PM me with bug reports or feature requests, or just to tell me that you used it and found it helpful!
Snippet Compendium
Spoiler
Okay, here goes. I'll try to keep this list updated as best I can; let me know if I miss you, or if I have typos/broken links (I know I must), or if there's a better campaign/snippet name than the one I'm using.
(Double posting to clear the OP for the eventual snippet directory) To get things started, here's a clip from a session yesterday, while it's still fresh in my mind (the dialogue is aided significantly by skype chat records, to be fair).
Dark Interrogation
Spoiler
I wish I could see my interrogator. It would be nice to see anything, for that matter. It’s an awful risk we’re taking, giving them control like this. I hear screams from nearby. At least the slave we took from them is sticking to his story; there's a stroke of luck.
“Why are you here?” The voice rasps out from beside me in Undercommon, close but not close enough to make a grab for him. Not that that would be advisable in this situation. I make no reply, simply shaking my head.
My interrogator must have gotten the hint, because he repeats "Why you here?" in halting Common. Good, he isn’t fluent.
"We escorted your kinsman back to this location after eliminating a magma ooze that had assailed his party." I speak quickly, confidently. The less he actually learns here, the better.
There’s a slight pause, and then “How big ooze?” hisses from my other side. Two of them? Or is he just circling to attempt to keep me off-balance? Regardless, I face straight ahead, gripping my staff tightly in my left hand, trying not to show how tense I am.
"Its circumference approached that of an aseliak tree, and it was perhaps three xaqil in height." If this cretin knows far eastern flora or the Ignan measurement system I’ll turn in my spellbook.
“And how many it kill?”
He knows the right questions to ask, I’ve got to give him that. Not that he’ll get me to answer them. “We only recovered the one survivor.”
Another pause, longer this time. “How did you get a dragon skeleton?”
It is time for a gamble. “After my companions and I fought and slew the dragon Snadrathsen, I raised its skeleton to do my bidding.”
“Where did you kill him? How?”
“We tracked him down in the mountains and killed him with a multitude of powerful magics and physical might.”
“Where you go from here if we let you leave?” Now he’s behind me. Definitely just trying to unsettle me.
“A conference between my fellows and I would be required before I could declare an objective with any certainty, but we are in search of other travelers in these catacombs who may be in peril, and in all likelihood we would continue on that course presently.” Choke on that; you can’t even get basic tenses right.
“Where you find the dragon's wealth?”
“We scoured the nearby terrain and found a small stash in a secluded region of the mountains, which we took to be his.”
There’s a quick flurry of speech in Undercommon directed at my questioner, too soft for me to make out. Then, soft footsteps leaving in the direction of the Council seat. Moments later, a hand grabs my arm, and I limp behind my escort through the darkness.
Intermission: Some critiques I owe from the previous thread
Quote:
Originally Posted by Lord_Gareth
Autumn
The circle can barely be called a circle any more; more sorcerers are on the ground than there are standing, many of them dead, others clinging onto life by the thinnest of threads. The remaining members of the Ashen Court present for the ritual sway dangerously, chanting in pained monotones as blood oozes from their eyes, their ears, their noses, their mouths, pooling at their feet and running in slow rivers towards the center of the circle.
The blood crawls its way up Seraphina's legs like a bright red snake, burrowing into her throat as her back arches in sheer ecstasy.
The rain starts once more, lashing down on the battle and the ritual alike.
First of all, let me say that I want no part of this ritual. Second, your phrasing is always very elegant, but the pacing of this section I think is particularly cinematic. The slow, painful ritual focused on the sorcerers zooms out to Seraphina's gruesome part in it, and out again to the chaos of the bigger picture very smoothly.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Lord_Gareth
Feeling like the head of the world's deadliest rock band, Natasha leads the charge into the Host.
I really really loved the whole Spring section, but this line made me laugh the most.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Lord_Gareth
A helicopter lands, its crew spitting suppressive fire while Jillian sprints aboard. It begins to take off, but Jillian smacks the pilot upside the head and screams into his ear.
"GET ME ON THAT DRAGON!"
I like this moment a lot. The smack is the perfect choice of action to signify the urgency of the situation and need for attention; you'd see this in a movie. And the last line is classic, of course. I've said it before, but this campaign of yours sounds really fun.
End Intermission
Finally, here's a snippet I've been working on for a bit, from a character in a game I haven't played in quite some time. Warning, it's a bit on the long side.
Laelah’s Test
or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Exotic Weapon Proficiency Feat
Spoiler
Master Korag stood up once more to announce it. “Laelah Vrenn!” She stood, ready, hands at her sides. She would be paired with Desh Ka Redeem, a mage originally from somewhere in the South who specialized in Conjuration magic. She would save her Dispel for whatever nasty thing he summoned, and retaliate with a summon of her own, complimented by Web and her damaging spells.
“I will be your dueling partner this evening! Come! Julian will adjudicate!”
The students’ fervent whispering--many were interested to see what Laelah would choose, and if she would manage to be the only student to defeat an instructor--died on their lips. An eerie hush fell over the crowd as Laelah walked forward, her mouth dry, her hands suddenly trembling. She made her way toward the arena, was standing by its entrance when the Master Instructor, standing by the weapon rack, called to her: “no weapons, Miss Vrenn? Do you intend to face me armed with magic alone?”
Laelah doubled back to the weapon rack, mind racing as she tried to formulate a new strategy. Her boots on the dry earth were the only sound. She looked up as she reached the weapons, to see Sus Korag in front of her, holding her favorite hand-and-a-half sword, hilt towards her. “I know you prefer the bastard sword. Shall we?”
Numbly, she took it from his hands; her mind elsewhere. “Something the matter, Miss Vrenn? Come, everyone is expecting a show! Look!” Indeed, the entirety of the assembly was watching her ardently. She picked out familiar faces, locking onto them. Fwzltzrgh looked eager. Iya was smug. Nari looked worried.
Laelah followed Master Korag into the arena. He took up position at the far side, exactly sixty-five feet from her position. Julian gave the first announcement: “Combatants! You have tens seconds to prepare yourselves starting... now!”
Sus stood there, watching, as Laelah first cast Heroics, then Mage Armor, and held her scroll tight as the familiar lightning danced through her nerves and over her skin. Her very body gave off a faint red glow, and she breathed deeply, enjoying the sensation. Sus Korag did nothing. “Duel!” declared Julian.
Laelah immediately cast Nerveskitter to give her the extra timing edge, and began reading from the scroll. Sus slowly advanced on her, but he got only a short way before Laelah’s spell completed, and a snarling, blistered, horned wolf the size of a horse appeared in front of him. As it attacked, tearing into the Master Instructor’s greaves attempting to draw blood, Laelah drew her sword and began to advance, eyes alight with battle lust and limbs suffused with driving, irresistible energy.
Sus laughed, getting a firmer stance as the wolf rolled powerfully, trying to bring him to the ground. “A very good choice, Laelah! But I want to see your skills!” Giving the wolf a boot to the face, Sus took a step back and began to cast a complex spell. Laelah recognized it: it looked like a Dispel Magic, but this was much stronger, more absolute somehow. Nari got it first, yelling out just as an invisible hemisphere eliminated the front two-thirds of the summoned wolf: “Laelah! Your magic!”
Sus advanced, sword drawn, the hemisphere sweeping across the wolf, which disappeared entirely and reappeared in the same spot once the swordmaster was a good distance past. “Let us have a duel of purely martial prowess: I do not think that I have seen that from you this year. Am I right?”
The wolf leaped at Sus from behind, but disappeared entirely when it tried to get anywhere close. Laelah stepped forward, into the field she now recognized. As she did, she felt the magic drain from her body as she knew it would. What she wasn’t ready for was how much it would hurt. The loss was total. The glow vanished. Her body, which had been so filled with radiant, beautiful light, was now utterly, crushingly empty. The Weave, with which she shared such an intimate bond, was gone. She fell hard to one knee in front of Sus, barely managing to keep a grip on the sword.
“Get up! Got a little null arcana shock? That’s nothing to what people--regular, everyday people--can do to you with a simple piece of non-magical steel on a field of battle! Defend yourself!”
The sword came crashing down, and Laelah barely got her own up in time to turn it aside. The shock sang down her arms as the tears welling behind her eyes burst forth. Forcing herself to her feet, she thrust aside another swing and took a step back, out of the Antimagic Field. The surge of energy revitalized her, and even as Sus yelled, closing to come at her again, Laelah did all the damage she knew she could: a mere cantrip, a first-year spell, she fired off her Acid Splash while she was still outside the field. The tiny green orb hissed on contact with the Master Instructor’s shoulder, eating through fabric and burning the skin. Then she steeled herself for the loss to come.
It was no better for the preparation. Laelah managed to keep her feet this time, and met Master Korag head-on. Without the spells to guide her body, Laelah kept both hands on her sword and struggled to recall the tactics she’d been taught. She willed her body to employ them, while her mind concentrated on staving off the old veteran, but she was using every ounce of her strength and still falling short. A cut opened on her leg, another across her unarmored stomach. Not deep, but she was bleeding--she realized that the effect of the mage-duel arena that made all violence non-lethal did not function inside the Antimagic Field. I could die right here, she thought with a shock. He could kill me. He’s going to kill me.
Laelah put every ounce of her strength into her parries, attempting to knock his sword wide to make an opening, fighting for her life now. You’re an old man! How are you this strong? She swept his weapon out of the way, just enough, she thought, but when she went for the offensive sweep to the knee, his blade returned impossibly fast, from underneath. The grip twisted in her sweaty hands and then the sword spun away altogether, landing with a dirty crash on the ground some distance away. She felt steel--real, unmitigated steel--touch her throat as she came to her knees for the second time in moments. “This contest is over!” Master Korag declared, holding the blade to Laelah’s jugular. The whole duel had taken only thirty seconds from start to finish.
“There are two lessons here,” the Master Instructor continued as he took a step back from Laelah--not far enough to let her regain access to the Weave, nor to allow her to take her eyes off the tip of the blade hovering inches away. “First and foremost: we do not allow magical enhancement to be used during martial training! You all know this! But some of you, including Miss Vrenn here, have chosen to disregard that rule, thinking that if you got away with it, there was no harm done! Now you know that you were wrong. As you can plainly see, she cannot even wield her weapon of choice properly without magical crutches!
“The second lesson is this: Do Not Ever enter a battle without a failsafe, or you will lose. Do not carry a sword you cannot wield without magic, and do not rely on magic unless you know that you will be able to use it. This means keeping spare spell components, foci, spellbooks. Have backups, and be able to use them even in dire circumstances. Otherwise, this is all you are: quivering flesh, waiting to be impaled on some peasant’s spearpoint.” He shook his sword toward Laelah, spattering tiny drops of her own blood across her face.
“The war against the Shadovar is over. Do not think there will never be war again. I want every one of you to report to the Palace tomorrow at daybreak. Welcome to the Spellguard.”
The Master Instructor Sus Korag dismissed the Antimagic Field; the wolf did not reappear, its duration having long since expired. Laelah, kneeling still, was flooded with anger, with despair, with relief, but most of all, with the blessed Weave. It filled her, restoring her body, calming her tears. She didn’t notice as the arena was dismissed, and Nari rushed to her side, followed quickly by several of the other students--those who didn’t think she needed to be knocked down a peg, anyway. Rojeil stood impassively nearby, watching. Nari produced a cloth to dry Laelah’s eyes. “Sweet gods, you’re hurt! Is it bad? Medic!”
“No,” Laelah replied calmly into the turmoil around her. “It’s not bad anymore.”
I've been considering putting this second one in the first person instead of third. Thoughts?
I'm not sure that changing the focus would aid it, unless you're that much more confident in that writing style.
I'm actually less confident in the first person; getting stronger with it is one of my goals in writing these snippets. If I did change this one, it would be to make it more personal, but at the moment I'm not really sure how I would do that (especially since the current narrator already has access to her thoughts).
Here's another one--I'm really uncomfortable writing battles. Any advice would be much appreciated.
No One Likes A Paladin
or: Since When Can The Elf Fight?
Spoiler
With the undead unable to follow us, it’s just Sulderis and Maga to keep any assailants away from Moroch and I. I hope the Elf is up to it; he’s been twitchy since he had a discussion with a couple Drow back at the Grim Procession. Maga seems tough enough, anyway.
We enter the left door at the end of this short hallway. Inside, it’s what I’d expected: a cathedral. Row upon row of pews; the floor decorated with the same square-and-diamond pattern on the doors. Still Hallowed. Still—
“Prepare yourselves, foul necromancers! Your stain will not sully these aged walls!” The brass voice calls out from the opposite side of the room, and then immediately come the sounds of hurried feet and more shouts about “evildoers”. Paladins. Terrific.
Sulderis jumps a couple of pews, sending his light ahead of him so we can get a good look at three heavily muscled men with wolflike heads, clad in white and gold. Archon paladins. Of course they are.
At least I know how to deal with archons. As their leader engages Sulderis, I draw the symbols in the air and force the words of power from my throat. The oppressive Hallow makes it feel like my mouth is full of potatoes and my hands swimming in mercury, but I force the spell through to completion. The walkway next to the Elf sizzles and flares with blinding energy as a fiendish grizzly bear roars into being next to him, blocking the archons’ path to the frailer members of the team.
Not that that matters, of course. These savages have no idea how much trouble they’re in for against one bear. The leader does engage with the grizzly and the Elf, but the two others disappear, reappearing between Moroch and I with a thunderclap.
Startled, I stumble back, into the side wall, and fumble for a bit of gauze in my spell pouch. I’ve no intention of going hand-to-hand with these sword-wielding brutes, so as Moroch turns to run back the way we came, I complete my transformation into a harmless mist, and drift gently upwards out of reach to watch the battle unfold.
From my vantage point between the two rooms I watch Maga chase the two archons following Moroch—growing up as a slave to the trolls doesn’t leave much room for fear, I suppose. Moroch beats a hasty retreat to the skeletons in the next room, taking occasional hits from the archons but keeping his feet and wearing them down thanks to a fiery shield I’m not familiar with. Sulderis and the bear soon overpower the paladin fighting them, and as Moroch finally gets behind his skeletal monsters, Sulderis comes tearing out of the church toward the two remaining archons.
They blink away from him, past the skeletons and next to Moroch once again, but Sulderis catches one on his blade mid-spell, and only a messy lower half of that archon arrives to block Moroch’s escape. The last archon, surrounded now by all the skeletons and the bear, yells some defiant challenge, but he barely has time to swing his blade before a Missile barrage from the Elf puts him down for good.
I should find out what’s eating at him, maybe aggravate it. Whiny as he is, it’s making him a better fighter.
Your battle is written fine. What exactly are you thinking is wrong with it?
I wish I were still working as a player...I can't do the villain's side because they don't need to know, and I can't do the player side because they never seem to flesh out their character's personality. Even if they did, I don't like writing the POV of someone else's character...
Your battle is written fine. What exactly are you thinking is wrong with it?
I can't point out anything in particular that I dislike about the battle scene; it just feels very uncomfortable to write, like I can't get across the necessary information without the scene feeling static and slow. If it doesn't come across that way, then I guess I've succeeded--just have to convince myself of it.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Winds
I wish I were still working as a player...I can't do the villain's side because they don't need to know, and I can't do the player side because they never seem to flesh out their character's personality. Even if they did, I don't like writing the POV of someone else's character...
Writing from the PoV of an NPC, I think, could provide some great perspective on the party (like all those demotivators that are captioned "The PCs have Been Here"), and generally be very strong. I actually wish I'd DMed more recently, so I'd have some of the encounters with my more-important NPCs fresh in my mind. Depending on the person telling the story, that kind of situation could lend itself really well to comedy or drama.
General news: I've updated the first post; I'm about halfway done with cataloging all the snippets from the first thread, so if you've been avoiding going through the archives because you didn't want to go searching for snippets, your excuse is no longer valid.
And finally, here's a snippet regarding my party's first really serious act of terrorism. I'm also working on a sister snippet from someone in the other half of the party's PoV. My biggest concern with this snippet is whether it's clear enough what happens at the end. Without further ado...
Diversion
or: The Renaldwatch Massacre, Part I
Spoiler
This isn't the righteous mob protesting the Magocracy we'd hoped for, but at least we have the guards' attention. I move to intercept a young guardsman advancing toward the crowd with his sword drawn. My fist connects with his jaw and he topples; I snatch his sword as he falls and toss it onto a rooftop. Let there be as little permanent damage done tonight as possible.
Filbert appears at my side to let me know that we're coming up on another tavern. I know the place; it used to be a favorite of my father and his war buddies. I give Filbert a nod, and he ducks back into the crowd. I make my way toward the opposite side of the street, to avoid the incoming rioters.
There's a crash, and I see a glint of torchlight on armor where a guardsman has apparently been thrown through the door of the Sweaty Sorceress. Filbert comes rushing out just behind him, followed by a dozen or so angry drunks. It's impossible to hear what they're shouting; no one knows what the riot is about anymore, but we're still making haphazard progress toward the richer districts, where the law will be forced to act in earnest. The moon is low in the sky before us, silhouetting the spired pinnacle of the academic dormitory—the Tower of Scholars.
A real troupe of guards arrives, blocking our path with weapons close to hand, but not drawn. This is the tricky spot; we must convince them we are a danger without risking any real bloodshed. As I push my way to the front of the mob to deal with it, someone behind me yells "Down with the Queen!" and the mass of bodies crushes forward.
I see the Sergeant pull out a glowing talisman, which is all I need to see. Backup is on the way. It'll be pulled from the academic district, giving Charlize and Nim a clear path to the Academy itself. So they can do what they need to do.
I hunt for Filbert in the crowd, which has turned into an all-out street brawl. Some guards have managed to draw weapons; I disarm two that I can get near, but they seem mostly concerned with the few people in the crowd who are also armed. At least they are still as disciplined as I remember.
Filbert finds me first, tapping me on the shoulder as he spars with an off-duty Lieutenant wearing nothing under his breastplate. "More are coming. We're done here," I mutter to him, as quietly as I can make myself heard over the noise.
As if on cue, the hurried pounding of boots double stepping in unison can be heard from ahead. I see the ranks of guards round the corner, and as they spot the melee, the front lines break into a full charge, weapons held high.
Filbert and I force our way through the thinning press of panting, sweating men to the side of the street. I glance at the advancing guards, not slowing their charge, polished blades ready to shed some common blood. Not as disciplined as I'd thought, after all. We turn away and duck into a long alley, making good our escape while there's still time. But I can't tune out the sound as shouts of drunken defiance give way to shrieks of panic and pain. I pray at least it's quiet at the Academy.
Then all other sound becomes lost in an incredible, soul-quaking roar that comes from everywhere and seems to last forever. Filbert and I halt our flight, gritting teeth and grimacing as the ground beneath us shivers like a tent unsheltered from a rainstorm on the open plains. When the tumbling, rolling noise finally quivers to a halt, a silent cloud of soot and dust hangs low in the moonlight over the city.
We sit and watch the sky for several minutes. Without moving, I wonder to the stars, "Did we do the right thing?"
Nice work I really like how you made our little brawl seem more sucessful then it probably was! Can't wait to read more. Maybe I'll post something from Filbert's perspective.
For those of you who don't know I play Filbert in this campaign. We are having another session tomorrow for the first time in 6 months!
The four of us returned, spirits high, to the field we'd left the owls and the grey, goblin-like creatures Charlize had called Svirfneblin. Nim had stayed behind to watch over them all; he was showing off some knife tricks to a couple of the ugly creatures. The owls were nowhere in sight, and Namia immediately shrunk into a forest bird of some kind, and took off to retrieve them as we entered the clearing.
"Filbert, that's an awesome look for you," Nim exclaimed. "Can you really see normally through that now?"
"I can," Filbert replied. I have to admit, the silk blindfold did make him look more intimidating somehow, like the legendary Blind Warrior of myth. And apparently he could see through it normally, now that he was wearing all of his ancestral gear. It was a good look, for sure.
Namia returned shortly, with the owls and an accusing look on her face. "Nim, Urlene told me they left because you were throwing rocks at them? Why would you do such a thing? You usually show them at least a little respect!"
"They were trying to eat the Svirfneblin! I just wanted them to back off!" Nim protested.
"You know how to speak with them!"
"They wouldn't listen! The little guys were screaming! I was flustered!"
"So you decided to attack them?"
"Nim does not always make the most… rational decisions, Namia. You know that," Filbert interjected helpfully.
Nim whirled on him, uncharacteristic anger marring his face. "Oh, so now I'm irrational?! Then why did you all leave me here with them in the first place? Just to see how irrational I would be?"
"Nim, please," Namia said softly, "calm down. There's no harm done…"
"Oh, really? Are you sure I can be trusted? What if I did something crazy again, and people got hurt?" He really looked the part, brandishing a knife in each hand and glaring about wildly. Apparently Charlize thought so too, because she decided enough was enough and stepped forward.
"Nim, put the knives down and shut up before you do hurt someone. You're not helping your case at all, here."
"Oh yeah, well she's pregnant!" he thrust a dagger in Namia's direction. The silence was absolute, save for the muted whimpering of the Svirfneblin hiding behind Charlize. The only movement was Nim's heaving chest as he continued to point the accusing dagger at his lover.
Namia was the first to break the silence; I guess the news probably didn't come as such a surprise to her. She spun away, leapt onto Urlene's broad back, and took off into the sky.
Forsworn of the Scarlet Liturgy
or: Plot Twist My Players Hated
Spoiler
Victorious. That is the word that has been chanted in your ears the entire night throughout the streets and within the taverns. Glory. Your prize and your right after having saved this two bit town for the third time. When the wererats threatened to overrun the slums, you were there to defend the common people. As demons poured forth from twisted crags in the upper hills, you were there to save the noblity from certain damnation. In the end when all hope had been lost and the Ash King's firey sigil scorched the skies for weeks on end as his Legion of Flame advanced like a slow burning wildfire... you stood against it all. Victorious. You have become the word, it is but a single aspect of your character. Everyone knows your name, it is chanted in the streets long after the sun has set. This, the latest of the numerous parties you have been invited to, has spilt out into the street as should be expected. Every patron wishes to drink to your name. Gold and silver flows as readily as water. All the songs are of joyous celebration, and they are all singing of you.
The sound of silence roars, as it once had on the fields of battle just outside the city walls. It leaves you deaf to the singing, the praise, the joy of the people. You know what is coming, and that you can do nothing to stop it. Heat bursts forth, escaping from every crack and crevice of the cobblestone street. Even the screams of the first dozen or so to fall cannot reach your ears, you hear only silence. It aches. The utter lack leaves your mind grasping. You take your blade in hand, striking at the first Legionnaire you see. Even as the bone armor grows and distorts his skin from the inside, the man's eyes beg you to save him. Fire burst from his mouth as he screams unheard. You give him a good death. The blade in your hand seperates his life from the everburning hellflames of the Ash King. Guards pour into the square, each clasping the glowing amulets around their necks as they mutter prayers to whatever gods they worship. They join the battle, adding their strength to yours. But you know it won't be enough. You don't even bother with why or how. You just fight.
In the distance, at the edge of sight, stands a slender figure atop a low roof overlooking the town square. He watches the battle with some interest, obviously not bothered by it. There is a white mask covering his face, and his hands are decorated with vicious claws. He stands with his elbow resting in his palm, and his free hand taps a claw against his chin every so often. Every time you think of confronting him, the legions press harder and in greater numbers. Just as you become used to fighting the terrible brutes, they are replaced with many smaller and faster ones that you can’t seem to pin down. Every time your strategy changes, so does the forces fighting against you. In the end, it is all you can do to hold them back.
The masked stranger raises a single claw from his lower hand, a dark red light growing there until it suddenly unleashes itself on the town square, removing many of the guards and legions from the fight in a single instant. The blast didn’t kill those caught within it, it removed from this world them along with any else that was within its grasp. With that act of recklessness, the tide of battle turned against you. The legions press in harder from every point, your forces spread far too thin to deal with the onslaught. Now that the legions easily outnumbered you five to one. Just as it seemed that your night of celebration was to come to a sudden and bloody end, the legions numbers seemed to thin. It wasn’t that there were less of them, but rather that they were pulling away. The masked stranger turns away from the battle and simply disappears, but not before saying one thing that you will never forget. "The Ash King lives."
@Volos
I like the 2nd person perspective you've gone with, here. I think that's really hard to write, and you did a good job with it; I think it fits the story you're telling really well. The narrative really hammers home the "you"s; that relentlessness I think is a driving force behind the general feel of your snippet.
My favorite bit, I think, is your choice of the word "remove" in the last paragraph. It serves to really underscore the instant, careless brutality of the stranger's action.
--
I'm working up the other half of the Renaldwatch Massacre; the process has been slowed by my getting a "real job." I should be able to finish it by this weekend at the latest.
If I can squeeze writing it up around DMing every week and class... I have a lovely tale of a quest to the elemental plane of water involving a kraken killing 2 party members followed by someone soloing a megalodon.
__________________
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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!
The prince approaches the ancient, dying oak tree with his sorcerer companion. The old crone had steered them right; he could feel the stir of spiritual activity all around. He closes his eyes and focuses his will; the king of the wood would answer his call. Speaking in as authoritative a voice as he could muster, he calls out.
"O forest-king! Let my call be heard! Let us have words!"
No answer comes from the tree; Shen opens his eyes, but keeps his face forward. A light breeze blows, and the forest stirs as Shen ignites the golden brand upon his brow, letting all the wood know that one of the chosen of the gods was present.
"I call you forth, forest-king! A hidden sun beseeches you! Answer the call of the Lawgivers!"
The sorcerer looks about as Shen speaks, observing the gathering of curious wood-spirits, hearing their whispers in the ancient tongue. The prince ignores these distractions, and in one swift motion, looses a perfectly-balanced throwing knife from his belt. He draws the edge along the palm of his hand, and then clenches his fist for a moment, before pressing his bloody hand to the trunk of the tree.
"Once more I ask you, forest-king! We have business to discuss! Answer my call!"
Shen stands stock-still, bleeding palm held firmly to the oak, as the tree comes alive beneath his hand. It grows warm as vitality surges through it, and begins twisting in place, creaking as it moves, until a strange gateway stands open before Shen and the sorcerer.
Shen withdraws his hand from the trunk, concentrating to close the wound. He gives his trusted companion a confident look, and says, "Shall we?"
Ahh, Exalted, where even knocking on someone's door can be a three-die stunt.
__________________
Daybreak Caste Abyssal by Gnomish Wanderer!
Quote:
Originally Posted by Holden, on Exalted Week
It's like Shark Week only with way more sharp-toothed unreasoning predators
Last edited by TheCountAlucard : 01-29-2012 at 09:53 PM.
Since I get to be a player about as often as it snows it July, this snippet is written from the point of view of an NPC named White Crow. I was (and currently am) running the Red Hand of Doom.
"Don't worry, you'll be fine!"
Spoiler
I owed Herodrith and Tom a lot for saving me from a hobgoblin ambush, but I never thought my debt would lead me where it did. When I was the only one that was able to spot the ambush that was set for us later in our journey, I should have accepted Herodrith's offer of releasing me from my debt for having saved the group. At the time, leaving the group was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. I finally got to be a heroine, to travel the land and help people, just like the stories I had been told when I was a little girl. I was treated kindly by these adventurers, always thanked for assisting them in a difficult battle, or healing someone's injuries, or just relaying some piece of information I had recalled from the many things I had learned. I admired Tom and Herodrith, and I was even starting to like the warlock Zendra. I considered them friends, and I felt cared for and respected.
I was foolish and naive to think so.
The city Brindol had come under attack by the army of the Red Hand, and it was up to us to stop a group of giants from smashing their way through one of the city walls. Since the fighting at Brindol had just begun, I cautioned Herodrith that he and I needed to conserve our magic for the fights to come, but he disregarded my warning and called upon every last ounce of divine power he could muster in order to bring the giants down. Not long after we defeated the giants, Tom informed us that Lord Jarmaath needed us to thwart the dragon that was setting the town ablaze.
We rushed to where the dragon circled the city, and I fired my bow as soon as he flew within range. Though the arrow barely scratched its scales, the dragon ceased burning the town and began flying down to confront us.
"Is everyone ready?" I called out over my shoulder at the rest of the group.
"I'm out of spells!" Herodrith replied as he and the others quickly climbed inside his giant undead worm. "Don't worry, you'll be fine!"
As the worm bore them to safety beneath the earth, I realized I had been abandoned by them. The last thing I ever saw was a massive wave of flame as it engulfed my body.
Silent Night
or: The Renaldwatch Massacre, Part II
Spoiler
I brush the corner of a table in the half-light given off by everburning torches far above. It's just a gentle touch; I'm starting to tell myself to be more careful when a terrific smash shatters the silence; apparently there was a vase or something on that table moments ago. I freeze, eyes on the door halfway across the room that leads toward the faculty quarters; Nim dives under the long table next to him, and we wait.
It doesn't take long before the door pulls open and an instructor I don't recognize enters the hall, flanked by two self-important-looking students wearing golden Prefect badges, gleaming with lights of their own. Out of the corner of my eye I see Nim begin to creep toward them under one of the long benches.
I take a few steps forward, bowing just enough for it to be believable. "Good evening, sir. Forgive me for disturbing you; I was just on my way back upstairs." I continue walking forwards, breaking eye contact and making for the door on the far end of the hall.
"Not so fast, young lady. What is your name? What are you doing all the way down here past curfew?"
I stop, turning around. The instructor's puffed-up goons are striding towards me; any second now they'll see that I'm not a student. I look at the ground, hiding my face as long as possible and feigning a whole different kind of nervousness than I actually feel. "I was... uh..."
I flick my eyes up for just a moment; see Nim crouching under the table just feet from the instructor.
"Ah, I see. Out on a tryst? Do the words 'Indefinite Suspension' mean anything to you at all? Who is he? Tell me, and perhaps I'll ask the Headmaster to lessen your punishment... Who are you? Stop hiding your face!" He takes a couple steps forward, putting Nim behind him. I raise my face defiantly, pulling back my hood and brushing the hair from my eyes so the silver slivers in my irises are clearly visible to the meatheads in front of me.
"You," the instructor whispers. "You're--" but he gets no further, interrupting himself to stare down at the dark, thin blade protruding from his chest. Nim lets the man slump to the floor. One of the Prefects looks back at the sound, sees the shadowed figure blocking their retreat, then looks back at me and whimpers softly.
"Sorry, boys," I reply softly. "Silmoor fe Cefis!" Five tiny globes, invisible except for the swirling path they leave through the dust motes suspended in the still air, streak from my lowered hands into the chests and stomachs of the unfortunate students. They're thrown back several feet by the force. They stay where they land.
Nim softly makes his way to me, and we wait, listening for anyone else who might have heard the commotion. After several long minutes, we move on, across the hall, through the light wooden door and up the stairs.
The living quarters at the Academy are in the Tower of Scholars, a vaulted spire directly on top of the main Academy building with fifteen levels of bunkrooms accessed by two long, twisting stairways. We ascend the eastern stair in silence, Nim somewhat ahead of me looking out for anyone still awake. We reach the top without seeing anyone, and look around in the dim torchlight.
As on each other level, there are several rooms arrayed about the outside of the tower, with a large empty practice room in the center, flanked by the two staircases. There would be almost fifty students on each floor; the most senior on the privileged lower levels and the youngest at the top of the tower. The next generation of xenophobic, hate-filled Wizards. I know the dimensions of these halls by heart, but I pace it off anyway just to be sure, measuring the length and width of the hallway and extrapolating the size of the small bedchambers. As I had suspected, two casts will suffice.
Silent, I motion Nim to retreat back down the stairwell, and I follow him quickly, stopping just before I lose sight of the top floor around a corner. Nim looks to me and nods, ready to move. My hands twist into a painful configuration of digits, and I mutter as quietly as I can, "A draelis vaum abbadek. A draelis vaum abbadek." Yellow-green vapor coalesces in the hall above, first on the west side of the tower, then more, closer, nearly on top of the east stairway. Most of the students wouldn't even wake up; wouldn't notice the deadly mist creep into their rooms and their beds. Nim and I hurry down the stairs as the cloud begins its slow descent through the tower. We pause halfway down so I can repeat the process.
We stop again at the base of the Tower, in a large circular room dominated by a large central pillar covered in gently-glowing grey-blue glyphs. There are six doors leading from this nexus, off to all the other parts of the Academy. Nim draws a pair of potions, handing one to me, and I point at one of the doorways. "That one leads to the Library. We'll be able to get in and then out a window there without any trouble; it's never locked." I pause as Nim starts toward the Library. "You know, I always thought this rock might be the only thing holding this tower up," I muse aloud.
I follow Nim to the Library, looking back occasionally. We reach a window just across from the door, and drink our potions. "Can you get this open?" I ask Nim, gesturing to the heavy glass between us and the open air, twenty feet or more above the ground. He goes to work without a sound, and I turn back towards the door to the Library and the hub beyond, eerie blue pillar quietly glowing to itself in the darkness.
"Got it," Nim whispers from behind me.
"Alright," I reply without turning. Holding my hands about a foot apart, I hiss the words and feel a suction between them, building, building until I turn my hands and let the void escape across the room, out the door and into the pillar in the hall beyond. The blue glimmer instantly goes out. Then everything lights up with a brilliant green as I point my finger into the hall, following my last spell, and a thin line strikes across the empty space, illuminating the column for a brief moment before reducing it instantly to ash. An ominous groan sounds from above, and I finally turn to Nim and the window. "Time to go!"
As we fly into the night air, the creaking and rumbling intensifies behind us, growing inexorably until I can't help but to look over my shoulder and see the whole tower crumbling and smashing down on top of the Academy. The sound is incredible, trampling through the air like a horde of hell-bent ogres. At the Palace in the distance, lights rise into the air and begin speeding towards us. I utter a bark of exhilarated laughter, lost in the cacophony, as Nim and I race away from the scene, shrouded by darkness.
@TheCountAlucard
This is nice; I'm intrigued by what business such a cast of characters has to discuss. The only moment that bothered me was here,
Quote:
Originally Posted by TheCountAlucard
The sorcerer looks about as Shen spoke
"Spoke" ought to be "speaks" since the whole thing is present tense.
...Man, every time someone posts an Exalted snippet I come away really wanting to try the system out.
@SleepyShadow
I LOLed. Poor NPCs, such is their lot in life. One of these days I have some great NPC-perspective stuff I want to write up in this same vein (being abandoned, forgotten, ignored, etc) that I think would be highly amusing. This was really fun to read and believable; I especially loved the moment where White Crow naively attempts to advise a PC on how to approach a problem
I LOLed. Poor NPCs, such is their lot in life. One of these days I have some great NPC-perspective stuff I want to write up in this same vein (being abandoned, forgotten, ignored, etc) that I think would be highly amusing. This was really fun to read and believable; I especially loved the moment where White Crow naively attempts to advise a PC on how to approach a problem
Sadly, that's how they treat NPCs that they like. I have quite a few good moments from that disastrously ended RHoD campaign. Here's one of my personal favorites. I decided to give them the opportunity to rescue one of the Brindol Knights delivering the gold for the dwarves, but ...
A Paladin's Payment
Spoiler
I had thought at first it was the ettins coming back to finish me off, but when I was roused it was by the sweet sensation of divine healing magic. I immediately sat up to thank my rescuers, and saw that the ettins lay dead and the goblins were nowhere to be seen. A human and an elven man were tending to the corpses of the giants, a halfling was investigating the area to make sure it was clear, and the one tending to my injuries was a brown-skinned human girl. She smiled at me as I observed my surroundings.
"Good, you're awake," the human male said as he and the elf approached me. "We found three chests. Are they yours?"
"Ah, indeed they are sir," I replied, getting to my feet.
"I see you're an elf," the elven man said. "Herodrith, we could use a lovely little elf wench like this around."
"Excuse me?!" I said indignantly. "I am Maynara Valera, Knight of Brindol and a Paladin in the service of ..."
"Oh $#@% she's a paladin!" Herodrith exclaimed. "Right, load the chests up. We're leaving."
"But those are mine!" I protested. "I must deliver them to the dwarves so that they will aid Brindol against the Red Hand of ...."
"Don't care. I hate paladins. You're all brainwashed drones. Tom, White Crow, Neila, let's go."
Without so much as another word Herodrith and Tom secured the chests meant for the dwarves, loaded them into a wagon, and quickly were on their way. White Crow and Neila barely had time to get to the wagon, and before I knew what had happened they were gone, with White Crow bidding me a hasty apology as they drew out of sight.
Heh... poor paladins. They're the only class I know of where even the PCs are , almost without exception, treated as NPCs. I really enjoyed that, especially Herodrith's surprise/disappointment as soon as Maynara mentions the P word.
Another snippet from me coming soon, assuming nothing too crazy happens this weekend.
The following is a little intro I wrote for an Exalted game that I might have run.
The Warning
Spoiler
On a night much like any other, in the twilight of his years, Chejop Kejak couldn't sleep. This wasn't unheard of. Discounting the times he'd gone without sleep for weeks at a time, there were still numerous evenings where sleep simply never came. But, with few exceptions, they were limited to his early years. The first couple centuries of an Exalts life almost always being much more hectic than the latter ones. Now, however, he was almost 5 thousand years old, and in that time he'd learned that there was a pattern to these 'exceptions'. Like an old wound that would throb at the approach of a Storm Mother, he found himself unable to sleep with certain, well, Great events. The Beginning of the Contagion, near as he could tell, the disappearance of the Empress, the first whispering of what would lead to the Great Prophecy. Most recently, the return of the Solar Exalted. For that one, he even had as close a ringside seat as anyone else; taking a walk through the Loom, having long since discerned the pattern, such as it was. For an instant, standing in the sudden shower of golden light, even he felt the string of doubt. Maybe, just maybe, their return could set things right.
Making his way to the Bureau, it didn't take long to notice something wrong. There are few enough Sidereals as it is, and so many tasks that needed attention yesterday, if possible. Yet, entering the Bureau, it looked as if every Sidereal was here. At the very least, the great majority. And now something even odder. The normal Celestial Lion detail was standing by, but there was something else. Every the Head of every division, with their lead Vizier, was present. At least, with his arrival, that was true. The fact that Nara-O looked surprised as he approached was simply one of life's little pleasures. The mysterious god quickly seemed to recover, and spoke in his accustomed whisper.
"Kejak, I just sent a messenger for you, but I'm guessing that he missed you. The Maidens have requested your presence."
A gesture to the assembled Elders, "All of you. They're inside."
A quick glance, only lingering a moment on Ayesha Ura, and Kejak advances at a brisk pace. Never one to waste time, either his or others, the pace set was just a tad fast. But the Maidens themselves requesting their presences? It was rare enough for one Maiden to tear herself from the Games, much less all of them.
Entering the Loom, Kejak was, as always, struck for a second in awe. Ten million, million streams of silver, each one an artifact among artifacts, and each one weaving together to form something so much more. In their interplay, the fall of Kings and the simple joys of a child playing in the spring air had equal rank. Being this close to the center of things something sang to his soul. Reminding him that, even in the darkest moments of Creation, that it was worth it.
And among the silver streams stood the maidens plus Luna in the aspect of the navigator. There was silence, for a moment.
They Came. We should hurry.
Yes, we know. But what of...
He won't come.
So they turned, the Six Incarna, facing the eldest exalts in Heaven. And then the stepped aside, showing what was behind them. And there was a gasp. Not from Kejak, though even he only barely held it in. On the floor of the Loom, lay the Sun. But, obviously, no longer could he carry the title Unconquered. Dark Ichor flowed through unhealing wounds, and of his 4 great limbs, only 2 remained whole. The limb carrying the godspear was shattered, and that great weapon along with it. But, more troubling, was the limb that held his aegis. Or, rather, the lack of it, along with a sizable portion of his chest. Also lacking was his normal laurel's, instead clutching a chiped, protean blade. The same one, that whole, currently hung from Luna's hip. The fact that this figure's glow was barely even noticeable almost slipped past, with so many other shocks self-evident.
"Wha-!"
This is not the Sun. Not really.
Or, it is. Simply one from what May Be, or Must Be.
Listen now. We aren't sure how he was sent here, but he came in this condition.
And he is fading. His end comes, and there is nothing any of us can do about it. But-
I have a message.
The figure on the ground spoke, opening his eye as he did so. His normal, strong, vibrant voice a raspy shell of its normal self. But, for all that, it still held that quality of command.
They are coming. From the deep, they come to smother all in an eternal darkness. We fought too late, and too slow. Our fire burned brighter than ever in My memory, but in the end that darkness smothered it as though it were only a lone spark in the night.
We failed. Failed, in the one task that was ever our own choice. And now I can only whisper fragments of what might be. We've sent back all we can, the fiercest sparks that remain. All that remains is to rage,rage against the dying of the light.
With that final exclamation, the wounded god collapses backwards, and fades away, leaving the tattered remains of his panoply as he does so.
Kneeling, Saturn traces an outline of her sign, and gathers the remains.
Thus passes Ignis Divine, the Sun Unconquered, Most High, and Once-Guiding Star.
__________________
He fears his fate too much, and his reward is small, who will not put it to the touch, to win or lose it all.
-James Graham, 1st Marquess of Montrose
Satomi by Elagune
Yet another snippet from the RHoD campaign. This one took place after Brindol fell to the horde thanks to the PCs fleeing.
Good Help is Hard to Bribe
Spoiler
Sam the barkeep knew this scene all too well. Those damned adventurers were back in his tavern, and he knew exactly what they wanted. They dragged a table into the middle of the room (never mind the fact that they did not ask permission), set up their chairs on one side of the table and left a single vacant chair across from them. Sam shook his head and grumbled to himself.
Perhaps half an hour later, a lovely girl entered the tavern, showed the two adventurers a rolled up slip of parchment, then sat down across from them with a smile on her face.
"Greetings," said one of the adventurers, "I'm Tom 'The Finger-Man' Thompson. This here is Herodrith."
"Nice to meet you," the girl replied. "My name is Ellis."
"Ellis, we'll get straight to the point. You saw one of the posters that we hung around town, and since you're here that means you want to be hired."
"Maybe, sir. I have a few questions first."
"It's never a good sign when they ask questions," Herodrith complained.
"I won't be the first companion you've hired, found, or otherwise been accompanied by. Stop me at any point if I'm wrong," Ellis said, her friendly smile slipping into a sly one. "First, you hired on a priest named Yigga. He didn't survive the Witch Wood, killed by minotaurs I believe. You had a brief tryst with an elf woman named Alinora, but she was captured by the Red Hand and not seen again. Your longest lasting companion was a girl from the plains tribe named White Crow. You rescued her from a hobgoblin ambush. She lasted, what, three weeks? Then that poor fellow Smithe ..."
"Jeez, okay, okay," Tom interrupted quickly. "How do you know all of this, anyway?"
"Oh, I pick up a few things here and there," Ellis replied with a wink. "I know all sorts of obscure knowledge like that."
"She's a bard ..." Herodrith groaned.
"So did you come down just to flaunt the fact that you know all of this?" Tom asked irritably.
"Not at all," Ellis answered. "I want to be hired on. You guys have some great stories. Here's the deal though: I want 5,000 gold up front, first pick of any loot we find, and an equal share of all profits."
"Are you nuts? There's no way in hell we'd agree to that!" Herodrith snapped.
"Oh, well, okay," Ellis replied as she rose from her chair. "I guess you don't mind me spreading the word around town. I wonder how many other adventurers you'll be able to pick up if this extremely obscure piece of information suddenly became common knowledge ..."
"You wouldn't dare," Tom snarled.
"Try me," she said in as sweet a voice as could be.
"I hate bards ..." Herodrith sighed, hanging his head low.
"Fine, you have a deal," Tom grumbled, handing her a large belt pouch. "There's your money, just don't tell anyone."
"Thanks very much!" Ellis replied sweetly, taking the bag. "I'll be back after I spend my hard-earned money. Oh by the way, I've got a contingent message spell set up in case I die, so no hard feelings, 'kay? Ciao!"
She skipped out the door, humming a merry tune to herself.
"I hate bards," Herodrith said again.
"I can't believe we just got blackmailed," Tom muttered irritably.
"We got blackmailed by a bard ..." Herodrith sobbed.
Yay! I'll be by to write more soon - after all, I've got the Host of a Thousand Princes to finish!
If someone could be so kind as to dig up the various parts of it, I'll post all of them plus the new one when I finish it out, offering the complete set in one package.
__________________
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.
Good to see you, Gareth! I've collected (I'm pretty sure) all the Host of a Thousand Princes snippets and put them in the directory; let me know if I missed any.
Everyone else, I love your snippets and better comments are forthcoming in the next day or so.
"Monster" is not part of Host of a Thousand Princes. There's also another one that isn't - the one with the motorcycle chase.
__________________
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.
Fixed (got distracted by Colors), and do you mean I'm missing one? Certainly not all the stuff you've posted is up there yet; I'm only through about page 10 of the old thread, but I thought I grabbed all of the Host ones (they are pretty clearly labeled in your posts).
Journal, entry one: It's been a long day. I'm given to understand that happens a lot for wanderers like us, so maybe I should get used to it...Anyway.
My name is Kalach, and I am a warlock. I'm sure you have reason to be reading this.
I met up with Irthos in a small town. I bear the signs of one who made the warlock's pact with a fiend-dragon, and he was one of the kobold throwbacks that call themselves 'dragonwrought'. I needed a...'locksmith', which he was. He needed the assistance of an arcanist, which I am. An excellent match, in any case.
We later met two of Tempus' followers. One a warrior. Not very original, but the followers of the wargod would hardly be anything else. The other was more interesting. He was more directly blessed by his patron deity, and had the power of a cleric, without the need for study and supplication. A neat trick.
The four of us were hired to investigate an old ruin. It was, however, rather beyond our meager experience. There are few adventurers that can contend with a being that turns others to stone. In the end, we found ourselves trapped in a room containing a great portal. From one entrance we heard a gargantuan serpent, and the other a sound of armored men approaching. So, we dove though the portal, which collapsed behind us. We came out above the sea, and were rescued by fishermen. More lucky contrivances...I mislike it.
In any case, they belonged to a monastery on a secluded isle. They welcomed us easily enough, but tomorrow we work in the fields. There will be no ship to return to the mainland for several months. With luck, however, we can find some other way back.
This is very intense; I love how you've captured the setting and tone. Your use of the various fonts & colors was very well done as well; you bring across very clearly what's going on without needing to say it. Sounds like it would have been a great game
I just had a couple nitpicks; there's a weird tense thing going on in the second paragraph and a couple typos sprinkled around, but nothing awful. This was a really enjoyable read (and again, I find myself wanting to go pick up Exalted...)
@SleepyShadow
Spoiler
Ha! This was fun to read; the interview setup was hilarious (though I wish the PCs would have at least tried to haggle a bit). Ellis is great. You got her cheerful, snarky demeanor down perfectly, and Herodrith's despondent attitude towards bards is so easy to visualize (is there any class he doesn't hate?) I have to admit the very beginning threw me off a bit though-- from the way you began the snippet I was expecting the PCs to be actually interacting with Sam. Keep 'em coming!
@Winds
Spoiler
Oh man, low-level misadventures are the best. Good times. I really liked Kalach's comment at the readers of his journal-- very smooth way to handle the exposition problems inherent in journal entries. I wish that voice was more persistent though; the few paragraphs didn't preserve the sense of who he is as strongly, I felt. Hopefully your group plays more often than mine; I'm really looking forward to seeing where this goes (monk levels for everyone? I certainly hope so).
I think I see what you mean. Thanks for the input.
Spoiler
Entry two
When I made my pact, I did not expect to be in a situation like this.
We have been at the monastery for two days now. The monks here all have taken a vow of silence, with two exceptions. They have a leader, of sorts, who did not take such a vow. There is a ship from the mainland that comes here once every two months. It is his duty to speak with them. Annoyingly, the ship left somewhat recently. We are required to help on the farms, in the meantime.
Bards. Liars, I'm sure of it. This is not what I was given to believe adventurers did.
The other monk who speaks has evidently forsaken his vows. He seems more merchant than monk, now. Most of what we traded with him was information, as they have no use for gold. We have learned a little about the isle.
First, there is no way we could swim to the mainland. About the isle itself, there is a rather sizable forest covering most of it. It seems to glimmer in the sun...there's something odd about that. The monks want to convert it to farmland. The monks are not warriors, and cannot deal with it. So, we have offered to hunt it down in exchange for use of a smaller ship they have moored here.
Hunting some dangerous beast in exchange for passage. I suppose that's a little closer.
He's the sort of player who firmly believes that the only tier worth playing is Tier One, so as a general rule of thumb he dislikes anything that does not fall into that category. His only exception is the Dread Necromancer. He believes it becomes "Tier Zero" as soon as it hits level 8.
Back on topic now, this one comes from a more recent adventure that I ran them through after converting Forgotten Realms: Ninja Wars to 3.5.
Unintentional References Work Both Ways
Spoiler
Sumihiro Matsutomo stood proudly at the main gate of the city, waving on travelers as they left or entered the city. It was a warm summer day, and he was glad to be outside rather than stuck at the palace.
A trio of travelers caught his attention as they approached the gate. They were clearly foreigners, and quite strange looking as well. Cautiously, he lowered his spear at them and ordered them to halt.
"Wait," said Herodrith with a wry grin. "This guy looks like Xin Zhao."
"My name is Sumihiro Matsutomo!" the warrior barked.
"Whatever Xin," Tom laughed. "Just don't grab your Atma's Impaler and we'll be fine."
"Xin's O.P.," Niani giggled.
Matsutomo glared at the travelers, but waved them silently into the city.
***
The meeting with Lord Benju was almost complete. The only thing left to do was have ceremonial tea to finalize the deal with the adventurers. Benju was clearly relieved to have outside help. He waved over his shoulder to beckon forth Sono, the palace minstrel. She sat silently down beside Benju and began to play her shamisan, the music ...
"Did you say Sono?" Tom interrupted.
"Does she have blue hair and big boobs?" Herodrith cackled. "You said she was silent. Is she mute?"
"No, she's not ..." Benju growled.
"Poor Sona, nobody likes support girls," Herodrith laughed.
"Her name is Sono," Benju corrected.
"Well I see why Benju keeps Sona around," Tom stated. "Huge knockers."
"Get out of my palace," Lord Benju snapped, pointing to the door.
***
Karima leaped out at the foreigners from the tree tops, laughing delightedly at their startled reaction. The monkey hengeyokai bowed low before them ...
"Time out," Herodrith said quickly. "He's a monkey man?"
"Close enough!" Karima laughed. "My name is Karima, and I ..."
"Wu Kong," Herodrith interrupted.
"Karima."
"Wu Kong," Tom stated firmly.
"Seriously, cut it out ..." Karima sighed.
***
The party stood triumphant over the vanquished Eichiro Tanaka, the man who had attempted to sabotage the summer festival and discredit Lord Benju. However, before celebrations could begin, there was a deafening crackle of thunder, and three powerful looking ninjas appeared in the center of the street. The crowd parted quickly as they strode calmly toward the party. Herodrith and Tom looked at each other and smirked.
"Oh, what is it this time?" one of the ninjas sighed.
"A team of three ninjas in this adventure?" Herodrith laughed. "The gnome clearly has lightning powers due to the thunder noise, the chick probably dual-wields kamas, and the dude is probably really beefy and will be a pain to kill."
"I haven't even told you races or genders yet ..." the lead ninja grumbled.
"No need," Tom said. "It's the Triumvirate of Shadow."
"The what?"
"Kennen, Akali, and Shen!" Herodrith laughed uproariously as he pointed at the three ninjas.
The following Snippet has been spruced up from my memories of a game I played years ago. Enjoy.
Tournament
Spoiler
The third round of Kokage's tournament was underway; the last match would be between Shichirou and Sah Mi. Shichirou had been unable to observe his opponent in the previous rounds; the Immaculate had kept him too busy. He still hadn't fully healed from that fight, either; his lungs still felt as though they were burning.
Shichirou first stripped to the waist, then gulped some water. The Flaming Arena was packed, and Kokage seemed pleased. As the Solar stepped into the ring, he saw Sah Mi do the same. His opponent was dark-skinned and as rugged as stone. Shichirou bowed, and Sah Mi returned his gesture. The bronze-skinned god stood, and with his proclamation, the match began.
"Fight!"
Shichirou surged forward, charging his opponent, throwing three punches. Two landed, but Sah Mi did not flinch; Shichirou observed with bemusement that the stony floor of the arena seemed to show some damage. Rather than retaliate, though, Sah Mi dropped prone, touching his forehead to the floor, before chunks of the rock rose up to cover his body completely.
"Interesting tactic," Shichirou said, and then laced his fingers together and hammered at Sah Mi's back. The force of his blow once more rippled down the foe's body and cracked the floor. Sah Mi stood, and grabbed Shichirou in a stony bear-hug. The brawler attempted to stand his ground, but his foe now towered over him, and so Shichirou was lifted off his feet.
"Patient Rockslide taught me well." Sah Mi began to squeeze the struggling Shichirou with his monstrous arms. His grip was stronger than a vice; the stone itself was actually crumbling from the force. Shichirou's breath left him, but he was not injured; the brawler had poured his spiritual strength into a moment of invulnerability, the mark of the Dawn Caste shining on his forehead.
Shichirou continued to struggle against Sah Mi; finally he slipped free of his foe's embrace and fell to the floor. He unleashed another series of rapid-fire blows at the earthen-armored man, channeling the pain in his hands to fuel a fierce, bellowing kiai. Sah Mi shrugged off the blows and lifted Shichirou again, pinned the brawler's arms to his sides, and squeezed harder.
Shichirou's caste mark burned brighter as Sah Mi squeezed; soon he would have no protection from the stone-skinned giant's crushing grasp. Shichirou suddenly twisted and slammed his head into Sah Mi's, causing chips of rubble to fall from the force of the impact. The martial artist tightened his grip until the cracking of ribs was audible.
"Why won't you go down?" he thundered.
"YOU FIRST!" shouted Shichirou, channeling all his strength into another headbutt. This time, it shattered through Sah Mi's stone armor, which began to crumble into gravel as he fell. Shichirou pulled himself to his feet, and for the first time, was able to hear the roaring of the crowd around him as they cheered his victory.
Letting out a ragged breath, Shichirou looked to his unconcious opponent. "Patient Rockslide did teach you well."
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Daybreak Caste Abyssal by Gnomish Wanderer!
Quote:
Originally Posted by Holden, on Exalted Week
It's like Shark Week only with way more sharp-toothed unreasoning predators
Last edited by TheCountAlucard : 03-15-2012 at 01:54 PM.
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