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Thank you That was the feeling I was going for. I'm glad it worked so well, I wasn't sure if it was really coming across properly. But it's hard to really write/convey a sense of amnesia when you've never experienced it yourself.
Yeah, I really struggle with writing amnesia bits, but you really nailed it. I may have to use it as a reference some time.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Lady Moreta
19th Century, Victorian England. The game itself is set in 1891, and we've been told that the group has been together for about a year before the game itself starts. So I would say that scene happened either early 1890 or late 1889. Need to finish the actual character sheet already... it's a bit confusing trying to generate a 3.5 character when it's not normal fantasy.
Ooh! Fun! That sounds a lot like a steampunk game I just finished, in terms of the outfits and rule sets, at the very least. I should probably write some snippets based off of that campaign, come to think of it...
Meanwhile, I've been very productive snippet-wise recently.
Here's two more from the same story, but with a NEW main character, at least for the moment.
The Other Side
(or Ohhhhhhhhh...!)
Spoiler
I couldn’t believe that he was this much of an idiot. How the hell could he have possibly gotten here? This was never supposed to happen!
Varen, you were never supposed to come…
After three years, I almost wished I could just forget about him. Sure, I had known that he had been searching for me; the Legion’s scouts were highly efficient, and the Clans keep in close touch. But I had never expected him to get this far. He never could give anything up. It would be better for the mission, better for me, if I could just remove him from my mind, go on as though he never existed.
So why was I going out alone? Why had I left the Legion without so much as a word? Why had I walked for miles to the spot where he had last been seen? I wished that I didn’t know the answers.
Gods damn him!
I don’t know how I managed to find him so quickly. But there he was, sitting, watching the storm. I had to drive him away. I couldn’t let him risk his life any longer.
Slowly, I began to approach him. But I wasn’t stealthy enough. The crack of thunder filled the air, jolting him from his thoughts and revealing me. With horror, rage, and revulsion, he gazed upon me.
“You!” he screamed, drawing his sword and shield. He would have killed me if given half the chance. He absolutely despised me. It was surprising how much that hurt. But I had a role to play.
“You have come far,” I rumbled, my voice sounding so strange and alien through the magics of my mask. “But I would turn back if I were you. It would be a great waste to all of Attare to see the end of such a skilled warrior here. Leave now, little pawn of the emperor, and I may just spare your life,”
“Silence! You have been a source of misery in this land for far too long! I will make you pay for your crimes, here and now!” So that was how it had to be…
“Very well then,” I murmured, trying to hide my sadness. “You will die here,”
Before I knew what had happened, he had already rushed into me. I barely managed to block his blade in time. Since when had he gotten this good? But I had always been better. Fending off his attacks, I found an opening, and slammed my foot into his sternum. He screamed, and I heard the snapping of bone. Perhaps if I crippled him badly enough, he would have no choice but to abandon his useless search for me. Yes, that would be my new battle plan, I thought as I cracked the pommel of my sword against his head. I would make him forget about me. I swung my sword around, planning to hit him with its flat, but he somehow managed to dodge it. He had gotten better… But it didn’t matter. I would defeat him here. I had to.
But as I moved closer, he somehow managed to tumble under my blade, and struck me in the side. But he was too close to avoid me now. I whipped my sword around with as much force as I could muster, yet somehow he managed to block it. But the damage was done. He fell to the ground, coughing blood. There was no way he could keep fighting after that. He was open. I could have just finished our battle right then. But something stopped me. He looked so pitiful. I couldn’t bring myself to hurt him any more.
“You are strong-willed, paladin,” I said. What was I doing? “Far too strong-willed for your own good. Yet you fight us. You must know that you cannot stop us, so why do you resist? Join us, and exert this will of yours over others! You could have anything you desire!” I still don’t know why I said that. Was there still some foolish hope of mine that we could be together again? As soon as I spoke, though, I knew his response.
“All I want is Natalia, you son of a whore,” he spat, his blood splattering my boots. Why wouldn’t he just give up? I saw only one option. He had to believe that I was dead. Then there would no longer be a reason for him to search. I would have to crush his resolve, and destroy every last bit of hope he had in his quest. Then, at least he would live…
“Natalia…” I purred, shocked by malevolence in my tone. “Such a pretty name… Yes, I remember her. She was my favorite,” I began to laugh. It was almost as though the Deathwind himself was speaking through me, bringing up far too many bad memories. “Though never willing of course… She had such beautiful screams,”
But my words had the exact opposite effect of my intent. With a scream of rage that chilled my bones, he arced his sword through the air with tremendous speed, bringing himself to his feet. I blocked his strike just in time. But he refused to be stopped.
Time seemed to slow as he drove his sword through mine, splitting it in two. I had barely managed to jerk my head back in time as his blade careened into my mask, shattering it into pieces.
So there I stood. Face to face with him for the first time in three years. He seemed so different, but at the same time, he didn’t seem to have changed at all. He still had the same black hair, the same ponytail, and the same blue eyes. But he looked older. His face had narrowed, and he was taller. It amazed me how I couldn’t see the changes until now.
Perhaps most noticeable, though, was his horrified expression.
“N-Natalia,” he could barely speak. “Natalia… Tali… why? W-Were you behind all this? What have you done?!” Why couldn’t I have just finished him when I had the chance?
Over the sound of the storm, I heard the sound of voices getting closer and closer. Not now…
There was no time to waste. If I didn’t do something about Varen now, they would kill him for sure!
He was crying now. I made my way to him slowly, and brushed away his tears, cupping his face in my hand,
“Varen, I’m so sorry,” I whispered as I kissed his cheek, before ramming my broken blade right into his crushed rib. He stumbled backwards, and gaped in confusion and fear at the sword shoved into his side. His face was contorted with pain as he fell to the ground.
And then they finally arrived. Four scouts rushed to greet me, noticing Varen lying on the ground and the wound in my side. How could I have forgotten about them? I could only pray that they hadn’t seen anything.
“Lord Deathwind!” one wearing a tiger’s skull ran to me. “Are you alright?”
“I have taken care of the intruder,” I growled. “I am fine,”
Another scout wearing a crocodile’s skull kicked Varen.
“That no good bitch of the Emperor!” he shrieked, as he drew his knife. “I say we gut him right here! As a message to all those bastards who think to oppose us!”
“No!” I shouted, much more frantically than I had intended. “He was a worthy opponent! Respect his corpse as that of a warrior far more powerful than yourself! Only the weak seek to exert their power over those who are already dead,” He glared at me sullenly, before sheathing his dagger.
“Let's go,” I said, without looking back.
Betrayal
(or Karma's a Bitch)
Spoiler
The scouts were unusually silent on the way back. Still recovering from the battle with Varen, I didn’t realize what that meant until it was too late. When we had finally reached the camp, I was confronted with an unmistakable silhouette. Tall and thin, with massive antlers jutting from the fused skulls he wore as a helmet. The Hearteater. To my shock, the scouts who had accompanied me broke away from me, to stand behind him.
Just when I thought I had nothing more to worry about…
“Well, well, well,” he cackled smugly, his hideous nasally voice filling the air. “If it isn’t the Deathwind!” he taunted.
“What do you want?” I asked, knowing full well what he was here for.
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten!” he acted hurt. “Surely you must remember our little deal? If you don’t, I’m sure that the whole tribe would be happy to assist you in… remembering,”
A chill went down my spine. He couldn’t have told them, could he?
“Oh, I have told them. They all know how you really came to power,” he laughed even harder. “About the poison I lent you, and how you fed it to the real Deathwind in his sleep. About how he thought you were his deceased wife! About how he was too weak and heartbroken to raise a hand against you when you ran him through in a bid to become leader! And they too know about how you promised ME rulership of the clan for my assistance, before you EXILED me for knowing too much!” he was now screaming in rage. “THEY ALL KNOW, NATALIA! THEY KNOW THE DAMNING TRUTH! AND THERE IS NOTHING A CROWNBREAKER HATES MORE THAN A TRAITOR! I WILL TAKE WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY MINE, AND ALL OF THE FEAR LEGION STANDS BEHIND ME!”
How could he possibly have done all of this in the time it took for me to get to Varen and back? It made no sense! Even worse though, his screaming attracted the rest of the clan. Soon, we were surrounded on all sides.
“You’re wondering how I got them all to support me, aren’t you?” he said. “Quite simple really. They. Don’t. Like. You,” I could practically feel him smirking behind his mask. “Besides, there are many secrets I am privy to,” he said darkly. “Like Varen,”
No…
“Oh yes, Natalia. I know all about him. I know about his search for you, his…” he laughed menacingly. “His UNDYING love!” he shrieked in delight. “I also know that you didn’t really kill him there,”
I was speechless. Even the scouts looked surprised. How could he have known? That could have only happened mere hours ago, at the very most! Nothing was making sense anymore! What was going on? What WAS he?
“Smart move, by the way,” he said, sounding almost congratulatory. “Really, quite a wise decision, incapacitating him with pain like that. I bet he’ll still be unconscious by the time I’m finished with you. I’ll make sure to send some of my men back to that spot to finish him for good,”
“You’ll need to be alive to become chieftain first!” I snarled.
“Very well then!” he chortled. “Natalia, Deathwind, I CHALLENGE YOU FOR LEADERSHIP OF THE CLAN!” He pointed his finger at me, and suddenly, I couldn’t move. Slowly, he stalked towards me.
“Well, that was so fast as to be disappointing,” he shook his head. “I would kill you, but you know how magic isn’t technically allowed in these duels. I’d hate to break even more rules and kill you now,” he taunted. “After all, I actually want to lead them. Lead them to greatness, rather than use them for my own selfish ends as you did. So as much as it pains me deep down, I will not kill you. However, I will do the next best thing!” he began to laugh hysterically, as his right hand began to morph into a giant, hideous claw.
“NO RULES AGAINST THAT!” he screeched as he plunged his talons into my eyes.
Last edited by Machuchang : 04-17-2011 at 12:16 PM.
Yeah, I really struggle with writing amnesia bits, but you really nailed it. I may have to use it as a reference some time.
Awwwwww (I am using that word way too much lately).
Quote:
Originally Posted by Machuchang
The Other Side
(or Ohhhhhhhhh...!)
Betrayal
(or Karma's a Bitch)
“NO RULES AGAINST THAT!” he screeched as he plunged his talons into my eyes.
Wow. Just wow.
You have an incredibly ability to get into the heads of your characters. No mean feat when they're so very different. I loved seeing and hearing from Natalia's point of view. You've managed to make the tone completely different - you can tell they're different people, because they really sound different in writing. Well done
You've done a fantastic job of creating her character in only a few short snippets. While you haven't come right out and said it, the reader knows that obviously the original Deathwind took Natalia, and to get away from him in desperation, she made some sort of deal with this Hearteater character (brillant name by the way, gave me the creeps), and he's now come to collect. I can tell that she's done things she's not proud of, but is fairly well convinced she can't do anything about that now. You've captured a sense of hopelessness very well.
And I love the last line of the second snippet. I can just hear a screeching voice in my head - making me think of Heath Ledger's version of The Joker... creeeeepy.
I'd love to see your latest Varen snippet from Natalia's point of view (the one where he finds her without her eyes and insists they can make things right again).
You're breaking my heart here... well done.
__________________
There is no social situation that can't be improved if everyone was to go away and leave me to read.
Okay, back again, deciding to write a bit more of a serious one... Kinda rare for me, as when I kill games, they die in the most hilarious and glorious manner possible. This is from an All Flesh Must Be Eaten game...
Two Sides
or Different Kinds of Madness
Spoiler
I am Michael Twofeathers, and the spirits guide my path. Over the past weeks, I have seen the Manitou rage across the plains, through the cities, destroying all before them, devouring the living and breaking the bonds of tribes. But the Great Spirits spoke to me, telling me of my part to play. Like Wolf, I must fight with honour. Like Raven, I will trick my enemies for the good of the only tribe I have. Colour. Creed. None of it matters. We must all fight the Manitou... or die.
Horse, in his strength and wisdom, granted me skill with one of his children. Before these dark days, I had never ridden. "Dumb Casino Indian", they would say, unaware of my faith, laughing at me. I chuckle a little, as the joke is on them. Their "God" has not helped them, but the Spirits will. Through me.
It is as I ride into the nearest settlement that I notice them. Four people, one, yet not one. They need guidance, and they are besieged by the bodies of the Manitou. I gently shift the reins, and my friend rides in, ready to help.
But one has the claws of the Manitou deep within his soul. He sees me, this strangely clad man, and his sword swings out, not to defend his fellow man, but to strike at me, my horse. My friend whinnies in pain, falls. And I fall with it. The man sneers at me, and I am in pain. But there is no time for pain, no time for dealing with this man. These others need me. I call to the spirits.
And this time, they answer. A great song springs from my lips, as from many tongues, and it bolsters all. My limbs ripple with the strength of Buffalo, and I strike out. Soon, it is over. For now. I turn to the rest, and introduce myself. The swordsman sneers, and mocks my ways. "What do we need some nutter for?" he asks. I look him up and down.
"Who are you that mocks the spirits so, and dresses so strangely?" The others nod, for he is indeed strange. He is not dressed in normal clothing, he is dressed in some black cloth, open at the chest, with a headband and tape wrapping his wrists and ankles. I know what he believes himself to be, but this cannot be so, for the ninja died long ago, in another country to this strange white man.
He is trouble, I know it. The Manitou is within his heart, and the proof is not long coming. "Me? I'm an assassin, mate. Master swordsman, and killer for hire, Steve Pierson, at your service."
My heart becomes like the storm clouds of the plains, and my face also. "Why, in the name of the Great Spirits, did you maim my horse? He could have aided you, carried you if you are wounded and a friend to the Spirits! WHY?!?"
He looks evasive, and then grins, the shadow in his soul plain on his face. "I thought you were a threat, mate." Even the others grow incredulous at this, and the thunder in my breast grows further. But it is now a cold rain, for I know his heart now.
"You are mad," I say. "You are mad, and the Manitou is within you."
He just chuckles.
"Yeah? Well, least I'm not the nutter riding around with a head-dress and no shirt!"
I turn my back on him. "If I am also mad, far better my side of the river than yours."
Yeah, that was a bad experience all round. The player in question was in a tizzy with me, and metagamed to hell, bringing his grudge in game. The fact I'd questioned his character, a super-munchkin with a background that would have fit better in a DCU game than a zombie apocalypse, was what set it all off. As you might expect, the game died shortly thereafter...
__________________
Pembrokeshire: A place where madness is an aid, not only to gainful employment, but continued existence.
"Wizards... the class everyone whines about, but I destroy whenever I feel like it"
- Darkpuppy, on Wizards in his DnD games.
also, lady moreta, the last one was an excellent read.
are we now bringing snippets from every system? or are we still trying to stick to dnd?
Thank you
I see no reason to stick with just D&D. Werekat posted a neat little vampire story earlier. Fire away I only stick with D&D because it's the only system I've used.
Quote:
Originally Posted by darkpuppy
Okay, back again, deciding to write a bit more of a serious one... Kinda rare for me, as when I kill games, they die in the most hilarious and glorious manner possible. This is from an All Flesh Must Be Eaten game...
Wow, this was fantastic! Have you studied Native American culture at all? because it sounds like you've really done your research. Very believable. We really get into his head despite the lack of dialogue. Very well done
__________________
There is no social situation that can't be improved if everyone was to go away and leave me to read.
I see no reason to stick with just D&D. Werekat posted a neat little vampire story earlier. Fire away I only stick with D&D because it's the only system I've used.
you're welcome,
in that case, I think the next one will be the origin story for a character I made in phoenix. (superhero expansion to d20 modern)
__________________
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!
Wow, this was fantastic! Have you studied Native American culture at all? because it sounds like you've really done your research. Very believable. We really get into his head despite the lack of dialogue. Very well done
Why, thank you! And yes, I've always been interested in both comparative theology, looking at other belief systems and cultures, that sort of thing. To be honest, without starting on character backstories, I'm sort of running out, because, while there were very many memorable moments in my life'o'gaming, most of these were the rather spectacular ways I'd crash and burn the campaigns I ran, such as making a large portion of the Marsh of Chelimber explode... my personal rule is, when people lose interest in a campaign (and my last few groups have had the attention spans of gnats, sadly), might as well go with a bang!
__________________
Pembrokeshire: A place where madness is an aid, not only to gainful employment, but continued existence.
"Wizards... the class everyone whines about, but I destroy whenever I feel like it"
- Darkpuppy, on Wizards in his DnD games.
Why, thank you! And yes, I've always been interested in both comparative theology, looking at other belief systems and cultures, that sort of thing. To be honest, without starting on character backstories, I'm sort of running out, because, while there were very many memorable moments in my life'o'gaming, most of these were the rather spectacular ways I'd crash and burn the campaigns I ran, such as making a large portion of the Marsh of Chelimber explode... my personal rule is, when people lose interest in a campaign (and my last few groups have had the attention spans of gnats, sadly), might as well go with a bang!
Sounds like fun I'd be interested in the explosive Marsh of Chelimbor.
And backstories are always good I think half of the stuff I've posted thus far has been backstory for one character or another.
__________________
There is no social situation that can't be improved if everyone was to go away and leave me to read.
Heh, not much to tell, and it was a somewhat nonsensical way to end things anyways... basically, black dragon (or was it red?) mullers party after eating a caravan of smokepowder (yes, an entire caravan of the stuff), one of my players begs for a final shot off, he rolls a nat 20, fireball goes down said dragon's throat, blows about 5 or 10 square miles of the Marsh of Chelimber to smithereens.
As to backstories, I'll see if there's any good ones, but I may mostly be doing stories on 'the characters that never ran', people who, for better or worse, I wanted to play or run, and they never got that chance... like Alethor the Well Travelled (known to everyone else as "Alethor the Testy")
__________________
Pembrokeshire: A place where madness is an aid, not only to gainful employment, but continued existence.
"Wizards... the class everyone whines about, but I destroy whenever I feel like it"
- Darkpuppy, on Wizards in his DnD games.
Dude, amazing! I love Michael Twofeathers! I've always been a sucker for Native American lore, and the way you conveyed his beliefs, his sense of compassion, and his honorable personality in so few words is nothing short of fantastic!
Quote:
Originally Posted by big teej
for starters, I am loving the Varen and Natali snippets
... even if they make me want to stop DMing and go back to playing...
Thanks a lot! But don't forget, the DM makes these stories happen in the first place.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Lady Moreta
Awwwwww (I am using that word way too much lately).
Means I'm doing something right.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Lady Moreta
Wow. Just wow.
You have an incredibly ability to get into the heads of your characters. No mean feat when they're so very different. I loved seeing and hearing from Natalia's point of view. You've managed to make the tone completely different - you can tell they're different people, because they really sound different in writing. Well done
You've done a fantastic job of creating her character in only a few short snippets. While you haven't come right out and said it, the reader knows that obviously the original Deathwind took Natalia, and to get away from him in desperation, she made some sort of deal with this Hearteater character (brillant name by the way, gave me the creeps), and he's now come to collect. I can tell that she's done things she's not proud of, but is fairly well convinced she can't do anything about that now. You've captured a sense of hopelessness very well.
Thank you so much. I'm pretty much at a loss for words here. It's just really good to hear that I managed to actually convey everything that I wanted to.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Lady Moreta
I'd love to see your latest Varen snippet from Natalia's point of view (the one where he finds her without her eyes and insists they can make things right again).
I'd be happy to oblige.
Step by Step
(or No Comic Relief Title Here)
Spoiler
With a scream, I awoke, only to find more blackness. How could I possibly still be alive?
“Tali! Tali, it’s me!”
“Varen…?” Oh gods. Not him again! But I still wasn’t sure whether this was a good or a bad thing. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about being killed or left for dead again. But gods! I didn’t want to have to explain anything to him. And he would keep asking until he knew what was going on. I knew him that well at least. But he wouldn’t understand. He was always just too gods damned sensitive.
No, Varen was far worse than death in the wilderness. I would rather deal with death than him now. By all rights, my life should have ended here. I had failed in my duty.
“You should have just let me die…” I moaned. That at least, was true. I had failed. There was no longer a chance for me to reclaim what I had had with the Crownbreakers, now that the Hearteater had set them all against me. Without me in their numbers, the country would fall into chaos, just as Father said it would. The justification for my hideous actions was gone. All those innocents had died for nothing. I had no excuses. I had no reason to live anymore.
“Tali, please,” He was begging now. How I hated to hear that. “Tell me what happened. Why were you imitating the Deathwind? Were you leading them? What is going on?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” I coughed. “Besides, it doesn’t make a difference anymore…” Why couldn’t he have given up?
“Tali,” he pleaded. “I need to know. For three years, I have been searching for you, only to find this. Please…”
“Three years?” I couldn‘t help but laugh, imagining his earnest expression. I had known he had been searching for me, but for that long? Ever since we had last seen each other…
“Three years? You’re an idiot. You should have just given up on me…”
“I could never give up on you,”
Of course he would say that. He didn’t really know everything that I had done up until now. He remained blissful in his ignorance, and chose to see me as the same person he had known all those years ago.
“We’ll see,” I said bitterly.
“You really want to know what happened? I led them. I killed the Deathwind and took his place. I’ve been behind it all. I was your enemy,” That wasn’t what I meant to say! I was going to tell him the real story. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I just could not bring myself to tell him the whole truth. Sure, everything I had said was true, but he already knew those things. Why could I not just turn him away for good? I should hate him right now! I had sacrificed everything for him, knowingly or not. The Crownbreakers, the Plan, a better world…He had ruined everything! I had to hate him!
But I just couldn’t.
“Just end it,” I groaned. I was too conflicted, too frustrated, too confused. I wanted it all to just end. This would be my penance. I felt tears begin to fall from my empty eyes.
I was met with nothing but silence. Though I could not see him, I could feel his eyes boring into me.
“No,” he said. “If what you say is true, then there are crimes that you must answer for. But I will not be the one to condemn you. There are ways that you can right the wrongs you have committed, and I refuse to believe that there is no good left in you,” He sounded so convinced too, I just had to laugh again.
“You really think you can redeem me?” I chuckled incredulously. “You’re an idiot,” He couldn’t really believe that, could he? What was wrong with him? I was beyond saving!
Or was I? I had done many things I wasn’t proud of as the Deathwind. I had made far too many mistakes, ended far too many lives. Forever, I had been blind. Blind to my mistakes, blind to the horrors of my actions, blind to the Crownbreakers’ true feelings, blind to Father's motives, blind to Varen… and now physically blind as well. How fitting. Perhaps this was my penance. Perhaps, this was my chance to finally do what I had wanted to accomplish all along. I could still change the world, just from a different side.
Gods damn him. His optimism was contagious.
I felt myself being lifted to my feet. Gently, Varen slung my arm over his shoulder and held my side. At the very least I would always have his support, whether I wanted it or not. I found myself smiling for what seemed like the first time in ages.
“Alright,” I said, as I felt myself being overtaken by a strange sensation I hadn’t felt in years. Hope.
“Where do we start?”
He had finally found what he been searching for. His quest was now over, but mine was just beginning. Step by step by step, we were finally able to move forward.
But first, both Father and the Emperor had some explaining to do...
Last edited by Machuchang : 10-19-2010 at 09:17 AM.
As to backstories, I'll see if there's any good ones, but I may mostly be doing stories on 'the characters that never ran', people who, for better or worse, I wanted to play or run, and they never got that chance... like Alethor the Well Travelled (known to everyone else as "Alethor the Testy")
Sounds good I have a couple of character concepts up my sleeve I haven't had a chance to play with yet as well. But I have too many ideas for my current characters to write. Must continue on with the one I currently have...
Quote:
Originally Posted by cheese monster
i like how you converted D&D in to a story it makes it much more interesting
That's the plan feel free to join in
__________________
There is no social situation that can't be improved if everyone was to go away and leave me to read.
Sorry about the sudden disappearance - offline stuff got me as well. I'll comment on the individual stuff as soon as I can (might be a little slow). Right now I just have to say that Varen and Natalia are awesome, and beautifully different.
And, Darkpuppy? I utterly admire your skill at making a roleplaying experience out of bad out-of-character stuff. It's an acquired skill, and one that takes a lot of patience. I really liked what you wrote, as well. I'll comment more in detail in the evening, I hope!
In good news, I finally finished the snippet from two weeks ago. So here's Bashira being a bit more serious.
We really shouldn't have done that,
or Consequences of "kick in the door" style of play
Spoiler
"So, Bashira," Cris says thoughtfully. "What are you going to do with that bow of yours?"
"Who, me?" I smile in glee. "Go see the look on the shopkeeper's face. It'll be priceless. AND it should pay me for a new bow."
"I want to see it." He says decisively.
"I'll keep you company, as well." Says Hasam.
"Be my guests."
And within a half-hour, we walk into the weaponry shop.
"Hello, good sir!" I chirp as joyfully as possible. "Would you remember that bow you sold me a couple of days ago?"
"Hello, m'lady." He replies. "Certainly, what is?..!"
Because I'd just dumped the little bits of bone onto his table.
"But... How did... That's... That was... A BONE BOW!" He sputters, and I wait for him to get his picture of the world together. "I'll... Ok, I'll throw in a fix for free... Just tell me, WHAT DID YOU DO WITH IT!"
"I shot from it." I say coolly. "Maybe you have something for someone with more strength?"
"That's the best.. That can be. I'll fix it for free, though. You really didn't do anything else with it?"
"Nope."
"O-ok... Come back tomorrow, I'll see what I can do."
"Tha-ank you, my good man." I smile and walk out.
Cris and Hasam follow me, grinning. I can't help it - so am I.
"See? Priceless, absolutely priceless."
The boys nod their heads in agreement.
"Ok, guys, it's been fun, but I'd better go and cash in on my wine. So I'll be taking that belt now."
Cris hands it over. The thing looks ridiculous, too wide, and with a sky blue bow tightly-fitting over the butt of the wearer. Doesn't combine with my favorite reds and golds at all well, much less with Cris's sleek and imposing ranger outfit. But, hey - a deal's a deal.
Anyway, anyone competent enough to recognize this for what it is will not give a hoot about the colors. They will care how much it costs, though. I almost want a robber or two to try and hold me up!
But, nah, no such luck. In the time I reach the "Fair Wind" - the usual watering hole for all martial artists of the city of Zarakat, its building made from the hull of a crashed flying ship - I didn't get even one lousy robber. And no ninjas wanting to take revenge for their embarrassment. Pansies.
So I just come in, and dive into the limelight. Judging from the glances people give me, more than half of the people here know about my and Samir's little bet. But they're quiet so far, waiting for Samir to make an announcement.
And there's my martial artist, sitting in a corner.
I take the spot across from him and smile.
"Mission accomplished."
"Well, what can I say?" Samir grins and spreads his hands. "Barkeep! A bottle of your best wine! I lost." The bar, which had quieted down a bit with my entrance, is again full of sound. And more than a few glances come our way. Ah, glory, how wonderful it is to have ya!
"I really didn't think you'd succeed, though." He says.
"Well, I wasn't really alone," I say, watching him carefully. "I did have a friend or two with me."
"Ah, so you couldn't do it alone, then?" Nah, I'll get my wine. The man's too damn pleased his rivals got what was coming to 'em.
"C'mon, pal! I have friends with itchy hands, and where there's fun to be had, they'll be there!"
"Oh, whatever." He shrugs and smiles. "I suppose we didn't agree anything about that."
"Yeah," I nod, "And, y'know, your master might have taught you this teeny little thing called strategy? Then you might recognize what I did."
Much as I hate to admit it, were I alone, I would've been in trouble. They were kids, really, those ninjas, but kids quite able to gang up and kick
the snot out of one warrior, even one of my ability.
"So, anyway," And Samir gets this mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I want details!"
"Well, first detail you might want, is that we didn't take their relic. It was kinda guarded by a Great Shadow. We would've all died there, regardless."
He nods. "Sure, messing with relics ain't a smart thing. That's why I warned ya. And, anyway - just don't tell anyone - I couldn't face that thing either."
"Well, neither could we, so I won't tell if you don't." I wink.
"Deal!" He agrees quickly.
"Anyway, second detail you might really want, is that the first rumor on the city guard's list this morning is that some ninjas went running to the guard for help with a robbery during the night."
"Wait, WHAT?" The martial artist blurts out. Obviously he thought higher of his rivals. Well, the world can know the naked truth now!
"Oh, you heard me well the first time!" I say loudly. "Your Black Hand kids went running to the Guard for help!"
Samir bursts out laughing. So does the rest of the tavern.
And two embarrassed boys, whom I did not notice earlier, dressed in ninja black, faces utterly flushed, get up and sprint out of the tavern.
"You're kidding!" Samir's laughing so hard that he's nearly falling off his chair. "I can't wait to see the faces of those who trained that night! They'll never live it down!"
And somehow I can't really laugh along anymore. I heard the two schools were deadly rivals. Where'd they get the celestial permission to drink in one tavern?
I've always thought "deadly rivals" meant "kill on sight." I've been a mercenary for the better part of my life. It's pretty obvious that killing's no big deal for me.
And suddenly now I start to get that maybe, just maybe, we weren't supposed to kill anyone. Grand robbery, sure. But not killing, 'cause what they really wanted was to just to tweak one another's nose. For a value of a couple dozen thousand gold, sure, but not really more.
Oops. I'd better keep that little detail to myself.
Stupid kids, couldn't they have clarified this before the job? I'm a mercenary, not a babysitter!
But the barkeep brings us our wine, and we idle the night away, me the heroine of the day. I don't tell a soul about the dead kid ninja, though. I wasn't the one who killed him, but I did bring in the man who pulled the bowstring.
With my newfound money, I buy another bottle of the good wine - take it back to my comrades, they deserved it. The bottle Samir owed me I split with him - he was the one who gave me such a good place to show off. I am anything but unfair, after all!
But yeah, then again, what we did to that kid wasn't really fair.
So I keep on looking good at the party - you gotta work on that image, y'know? What would I look like if I got worried about it then and there? - but as soon as I get home - well, maybe after a few hours of sleep - I go see Cris and Hasam.
They've been discussing the same, Hasam - by far the kindest of our little mercenary outfit - chiding Cris for that stunt of his. Once I join him, and explain what I learned in the evening, Cris starts to get it, too.
"Yeah, that wasn't pretty. But what do you want me to do?" He says sourly. "It's not like we can help anything at this point."
"Sure we can!" I say brightly. "They can't have buried him yet, and if they did, we can always dig him up."
"Your point being?"
"That Raise Dead ain't that expensive. We pitch in - or at least I will - and suddenly bam, we get one kid alive. We didn't kill all of them, we can afford this!"
The look of relief on Hasam's face is just so huge, I have to bite my tongue not to comment.
"That's still expensive." Cris says.
"You can stay out if you want."
He sighs. "Oh, fine. I suppose that belt..."
"...here it is, by the way..."
"...Thanks. It's worth a lot more, anyway. I'm in. But how do we find them?"
"That's easy!" I laugh. "We ask Samir. It looks like they're pretty friendly when not screwing each other over for money."
"Ok, fine." Cris gets up. "If we're decided, no reason to put it off."
A half an hour later, we're standing before the gates of the Celestial Sword School, and asking some kid to fetch Samir, 'cause it's urgent.
He comes out, with telltale signs of yesterday's fun on his face, smiling at me. But his smile fades as he sees our grim faces.
"We gotta talk." I say. "In private. Can we come in?"
"My master's there." He says.
"Then come out."
"Can't, really. But I can do this," and he tells the kid to go and buy himself some lunch, and allows us just withing the gates. "So, what's up?"
"There was kind of an accident during that fight with your Black Hand guys." I begin. "Anyway, one of them's dead."
"You're kidding." He says, in a much more hushed tone than yesterday.
"Wish I was." I answer quietly. "But I'm not."
"How could you?"
Hey, pal, less guilt piling, more thinking ahead next time, ok? I feel bad enough as it is, and it wasn't even my kill. But I ignore the question, and cut straight to the remedy.
"Anyway, we think it was a mistake, too. So we've brought money, and if you could give it to his higher-ups..."
"That won't help!" He interrupts, almost in fear.
"Why not? Their school forbids them or something?"
Samir's almost shaking now. "If any trained warriors of their school die - they become shadows! As in undead shadows!"
I almost feel the weight of a heavenly judgement seal on my forehead.
"The - the kind that spawn when they kill something?"
"Right."
I look back at my companions. Hasam's utterly horrified. Cris, apparently, doesn't get it yet. Well, undead aren't his specialty. So I explain.
"We just earned a death penalty."
"And I thought that shot just cost me a couple grand." Cris spits out. "How?"
"Bringing spawning undead into the city." I say. "Whatever a shadow kills also becomes a shadow. And they have to kill. And you can't raise them. You'd need someone from the Emperor's ministers to be able to do that kind of magic."
Now Cris is appropriately horrified. However he steels himself, and says, "So I guess we kill it first, huh?"
I nod. "We have to, or this city'll be overrrun within a couple of days." I turn to Samir. "Any place where it might be hiding?"
"Those same sewers held their base. I'm guessing it's around there."
"We're going, then. Now."
"I'm coming." He says grimly. "It's kind of my fault, too."
"And your master? You're gonna leave him in the dark?"
"I'll tell him once we take care of the threat. It'll probably have me in for a world of hurt." He says evenly. "But we gotta do this."
"You're in. Get your stuff."
__________________
There are thousands of good reasons magic doesn't rule the world. They're called mages. - Slightly misquoted Pratchett
I'd like to tell you how a legend began, if I may. It is an odd legend, because it involves normal people, and it is a new legend, because word has not yet spread. But it is a legend nonetheless.
It all began, strangely enough, in an inn. Trite, I know. But reality is not always epic, and sometimes, no matter how trite a tale seems, it can be true. So yes, it began in an inn...
The first pair to arrive in the evening had been two men, remarkable only in that they were so different. The first had laughing eyes in a face seemingly made of stone, his body well muscled, his voice as large as the man himself. A great blade was strapped to his back, and, worn as it was, none doubted he was proficient in its use.
The second? He was, and was not, a man. Technically, he was a man in that he was male, but not a human. He was an elf, thin even for one of his race, his face perpetually downturned, aged before his time by cynicism and anger. His voice was almost theatrical, booming, grandiose. Much more grandiose than the man himself. But what most struck me about this one was that he hailed the goblin barman in, not only its own tongue, but the dialect of its own tribe.
The laughing man seemed unsurprised by this, but another within the inn? He was shocked.
This third man was remarkable. Whipcord thin, his face was heavily scarred, and his one good eye narrowed as he hailed the elf. "Where in the nine hells did you learn Broken Tooth Cant, wizard?"
Oh? I hadn't mentioned this? Yes, the elf was a wizard, and his companion a warrior. The third was a border-walker, one of those who feel uncomfortable in crowds of people, yet happiest within the
dangerous wilds. And he was unhappy. Only prisoners and spies were meant to know the language of the Broken Tooth goblins. But the elf was unfazed. He stared at the border-walker.
"If you must know, you unwashed clod, I know the tongue because it is merely a variation of Snaggle-Beak, a clan I had encountered before."
The clatter of a suddenly overtipped chair was all the warning anyone had, as the border-walker seemed to vanish, and then suddenly appear next to the elf, a knife in his hand at the elf's throat, and his face inches away. The elf looked rather less sure of himself for a moment (did I even hear him
gulp? I cannot be sure), but returned his composure.
"Before you die, point-ears, let me know who decided to insult Jarth Onaxil, Border-Keeper of Hambleton. I'm working on a book about fools, and you fit the bill."
The elf chuckled nastily, his sneer deepening. "Best put yourself in, Jarth Dropped-Breeches, because you have insulted Alethor the Well Travelled, Master of Magic, and - By Mystra, what's that?!?"
Jarth's eyes flicked sideways, not looking backward, but it was enough. A few words in a harsh, grating tongue, a pinch of... something from a pouch on his belt, and the scarred border-walker's eyes rolled back in his head, and
he collapsed to the ground. The laughing man, seeing nothing strange in this, merely popped the chair back up with a flick of his foot, set it straight, and lifted the man into the chair. Then, taking the drinks from the startled bar-goblin, sat in a different chair at the same table, and motioned Alethor to do the same.
"You know, one of those days, that's not going to work."
Alethor continued to sneer into his drink. "Bah. Adventurers, they're all stupid, loutish fools."
"Says the man who spent four days running from the Four-Spears tribe... of kobolds?" The laughing man drained his ale, chuckling as he did so. "That was a sight to see, you-" Alethor purpled.
"-shut up! I'm still sore from those sleep-poisoned darts, thank you very much! Rain, my spellbook getting wet, kobolds... I don't know why I ever agreed to travel with you, you big oaf!"
The laughing man merely chuckled again. "That's Michel to you, Alethor the Testy. And besides, you said you wanted adventure!" He gestured around the inn "And this, my friend, is the start of something grand!"
Alethor muttered as he drank. "Alethor the Well Travelled... It's Alethor the Well Travelled..."
Michel merely grinned. Then, draining his first mug, he gestured for a second. "You never did tell this one how you really learned Broken Tooth Cant, did you?"
Alethor suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "Well, I, er... I never really had the chance to, er..."
"...Tell him that you extrapolated it from all those dreadful insults they threw at you, along with the contents of their latrines?"
"Shut UP!"
And so begins the legend, as odd as it is...
Yeah, Alethor the Well Travelled. God, there's a character I'd love to develop! One of my favourite exercises is to make a backdrop for a character from completely random stats, and I can get very attached to the results. Alethor the Well Travelled (known to everyone else as Alethor the Testy) is a smart, but not very wise elf, adolescent, who is in the awkward position of hating adventurers (mostly for their egos), yet wanting to be one (and having much of an ego himself.)
He learned languages from the variety of insults hurled at him when he was forced to flee, is actually a bit of a coward, has a soft spot for the underdog, and is a hardened cynic. It doesn't help that, with a ridiculously low CON (I think it was something like 5), he is genuinely not built for the adventuring life, constantly catching colds, weak to sleep poisons... but he still masochistically goes on, because he genuinely thinks he's smart enough to counter all that... Who knows, if he ever got developed, maybe he would... but he'd still be the grumbling, insulting, cynical being he is in his background, and this story...
EDIT: Thanks, guys and gals. To be honest, my philosophy is that if you can't see the funny side in things, or turn even a piece of metagaming into a good story, you're a bit shafted as a DM. Then again, I've always had bad lucks with groups. The most recent RL group I had seemed to literally fall apart, and everything seemed to be going so well... I kinda miss my days in Bradford Uni Roleplay Society (BURPS), because there, there wasn't nearly the amount of crap that I had to deal with here in Pembs... after all, groups are rare in Pembs (some might say nonexistent)
Still, the Bashira tale was really good, I liked it! It felt a bit awkward to read at first, but as I got deeper into it, I was hooked! You have a gift for implying world details, and I like that! Myself, my specialty is characters. Heck, when you're running WoD (whether oWoD or nWoD), you sorta need to be...
EDIT 2: Michel and Jarth are just characters I created on the fly, though. Can you tell?
__________________
Pembrokeshire: A place where madness is an aid, not only to gainful employment, but continued existence.
"Wizards... the class everyone whines about, but I destroy whenever I feel like it"
- Darkpuppy, on Wizards in his DnD games.
Darkpuppy: *nods* True what you say about turning bad gaming into good stories. It's saved me any number of times. Though I prefer having good stories, and am pretty blessed with a good gaming group.
As for the text - on re-reading, I guess I should have put more description into the beginning. I tried to make it read like Bashira kind of telling a joke, but I think I failed at that. :P
As for implying world details - our DM's to thank for those. I'm just describing what he throws at us as Bashira notices it. I also think my specialty to be characters (and I run WoD games, to boot - that makes two of us, funnily enough). Then again, you always think you're good at something when you write, and then people go and notice completely different things.
And Alethor - ye gods, I'd like to meet that wizard in a game! He sounds like a lot of fun! Snarky adolescent elven wizards... Reminds me of a bit of background for Jailin - "...And the instructors at the academy know well why elves under the age of a hundred are almost never taught magic." If you have any other scenes in mind with this guy, I'd like to read more.
As for the others - they sounded like fellow PC's at first, just not developed yet, because of a snippet's time constrain. So, no, I really couldn't tell.
__________________
There are thousands of good reasons magic doesn't rule the world. They're called mages. - Slightly misquoted Pratchett
Sorry about the sudden disappearance - offline stuff got me as well. I'll comment on the individual stuff as soon as I can (might be a little slow). Right now I just have to say that Varen and Natalia are awesome, and beautifully different.
And, Darkpuppy? I utterly admire your skill at making a roleplaying experience out of bad out-of-character stuff. It's an acquired skill, and one that takes a lot of patience. I really liked what you wrote, as well. I'll comment more in detail in the evening, I hope!
In good news, I finally finished the snippet from two weeks ago. So here's Bashira being a bit more serious.
We really shouldn't have done that,
or Consequences of "kick in the door" style of play
Spoiler
"So, Bashira," Cris says thoughtfully. "What are you going to do with that bow of yours?"
"Who, me?" I smile in glee. "Go see the look on the shopkeeper's face. It'll be priceless. AND it should pay me for a new bow."
"I want to see it." He says decisively.
"I'll keep you company, as well." Says Hasam.
"Be my guests."
And within a half-hour, we walk into the weaponry shop.
"Hello, good sir!" I chirp as joyfully as possible. "Would you remember that bow you sold me a couple of days ago?"
"Hello, m'lady." He replies. "Certainly, what is?..!"
Because I'd just dumped the little bits of bone onto his table.
"But... How did... That's... That was... A BONE BOW!" He sputters, and I wait for him to get his picture of the world together. "I'll... Ok, I'll throw in a fix for free... Just tell me, WHAT DID YOU DO WITH IT!"
"I shot from it." I say coolly. "Maybe you have something for someone with more strength?"
"That's the best.. That can be. I'll fix it for free, though. You really didn't do anything else with it?"
"Nope."
"O-ok... Come back tomorrow, I'll see what I can do."
"Tha-ank you, my good man." I smile and walk out.
Cris and Hasam follow me, grinning. I can't help it - so am I.
"See? Priceless, absolutely priceless."
The boys nod their heads in agreement.
"Ok, guys, it's been fun, but I'd better go and cash in on my wine. So I'll be taking that belt now."
Cris hands it over. The thing looks ridiculous, too wide, and with a sky blue bow tightly-fitting over the butt of the wearer. Doesn't combine with my favorite reds and golds at all well, much less with Cris's sleek and imposing ranger outfit. But, hey - a deal's a deal.
Anyway, anyone competent enough to recognize this for what it is will not give a hoot about the colors. They will care how much it costs, though. I almost want a robber or two to try and hold me up!
But, nah, no such luck. In the time I reach the "Fair Wind" - the usual watering hole for all martial artists of the city of Zarakat, its building made from the hull of a crashed flying ship - I didn't get even one lousy robber. And no ninjas wanting to take revenge for their embarrassment. Pansies.
So I just come in, and dive into the limelight. Judging from the glances people give me, more than half of the people here know about my and Samir's little bet. But they're quiet so far, waiting for Samir to make an announcement.
And there's my martial artist, sitting in a corner.
I take the spot across from him and smile.
"Mission accomplished."
"Well, what can I say?" Samir grins and spreads his hands. "Barkeep! A bottle of your best wine! I lost." The bar, which had quieted down a bit with my entrance, is again full of sound. And more than a few glances come our way. Ah, glory, how wonderful it is to have ya!
"I really didn't think you'd succeed, though." He says.
"Well, I wasn't really alone," I say, watching him carefully. "I did have a friend or two with me."
"Ah, so you couldn't do it alone, then?" Nah, I'll get my wine. The man's too damn pleased his rivals got what was coming to 'em.
"C'mon, pal! I have friends with itchy hands, and where there's fun to be had, they'll be there!"
"Oh, whatever." He shrugs and smiles. "I suppose we didn't agree anything about that."
"Yeah," I nod, "And, y'know, your master might have taught you this teeny little thing called strategy? Then you might recognize what I did."
Much as I hate to admit it, were I alone, I would've been in trouble. They were kids, really, those ninjas, but kids quite able to gang up and kick
the snot out of one warrior, even one of my ability.
"So, anyway," And Samir gets this mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I want details!"
"Well, first detail you might want, is that we didn't take their relic. It was kinda guarded by a Great Shadow. We would've all died there, regardless."
He nods. "Sure, messing with relics ain't a smart thing. That's why I warned ya. And, anyway - just don't tell anyone - I couldn't face that thing either."
"Well, neither could we, so I won't tell if you don't." I wink.
"Deal!" He agrees quickly.
"Anyway, second detail you might really want, is that the first rumor on the city guard's list this morning is that some ninjas went running to the guard for help with a robbery during the night."
"Wait, WHAT?" The martial artist blurts out. Obviously he thought higher of his rivals. Well, the world can know the naked truth now!
"Oh, you heard me well the first time!" I say loudly. "Your Black Hand kids went running to the Guard for help!"
Samir bursts out laughing. So does the rest of the tavern.
And two embarrassed boys, whom I did not notice earlier, dressed in ninja black, faces utterly flushed, get up and sprint out of the tavern.
"You're kidding!" Samir's laughing so hard that he's nearly falling off his chair. "I can't wait to see the faces of those who trained that night! They'll never live it down!"
And somehow I can't really laugh along anymore. I heard the two schools were deadly rivals. Where'd they get the celestial permission to drink in one tavern?
I've always thought "deadly rivals" meant "kill on sight." I've been a mercenary for the better part of my life. It's pretty obvious that killing's no big deal for me.
And suddenly now I start to get that maybe, just maybe, we weren't supposed to kill anyone. Grand robbery, sure. But not killing, 'cause what they really wanted was to just to tweak one another's nose. For a value of a couple dozen thousand gold, sure, but not really more.
Oops. I'd better keep that little detail to myself.
Stupid kids, couldn't they have clarified this before the job? I'm a mercenary, not a babysitter!
But the barkeep brings us our wine, and we idle the night away, me the heroine of the day. I don't tell a soul about the dead kid ninja, though. I wasn't the one who killed him, but I did bring in the man who pulled the bowstring.
With my newfound money, I buy another bottle of the good wine - take it back to my comrades, they deserved it. The bottle Samir owed me I split with him - he was the one who gave me such a good place to show off. I am anything but unfair, after all!
But yeah, then again, what we did to that kid wasn't really fair.
So I keep on looking good at the party - you gotta work on that image, y'know? What would I look like if I got worried about it then and there? - but as soon as I get home - well, maybe after a few hours of sleep - I go see Cris and Hasam.
They've been discussing the same, Hasam - by far the kindest of our little mercenary outfit - chiding Cris for that stunt of his. Once I join him, and explain what I learned in the evening, Cris starts to get it, too.
"Yeah, that wasn't pretty. But what do you want me to do?" He says sourly. "It's not like we can help anything at this point."
"Sure we can!" I say brightly. "They can't have buried him yet, and if they did, we can always dig him up."
"Your point being?"
"That Raise Dead ain't that expensive. We pitch in - or at least I will - and suddenly bam, we get one kid alive. We didn't kill all of them, we can afford this!"
The look of relief on Hasam's face is just so huge, I have to bite my tongue not to comment.
"That's still expensive." Cris says.
"You can stay out if you want."
He sighs. "Oh, fine. I suppose that belt..."
"...here it is, by the way..."
"...Thanks. It's worth a lot more, anyway. I'm in. But how do we find them?"
"That's easy!" I laugh. "We ask Samir. It looks like they're pretty friendly when not screwing each other over for money."
"Ok, fine." Cris gets up. "If we're decided, no reason to put it off."
A half an hour later, we're standing before the gates of the Celestial Sword School, and asking some kid to fetch Samir, 'cause it's urgent.
He comes out, with telltale signs of yesterday's fun on his face, smiling at me. But his smile fades as he sees our grim faces.
"We gotta talk." I say. "In private. Can we come in?"
"My master's there." He says.
"Then come out."
"Can't, really. But I can do this," and he tells the kid to go and buy himself some lunch, and allows us just withing the gates. "So, what's up?"
"There was kind of an accident during that fight with your Black Hand guys." I begin. "Anyway, one of them's dead."
"You're kidding." He says, in a much more hushed tone than yesterday.
"Wish I was." I answer quietly. "But I'm not."
"How could you?"
Hey, pal, less guilt piling, more thinking ahead next time, ok? I feel bad enough as it is, and it wasn't even my kill. But I ignore the question, and cut straight to the remedy.
"Anyway, we think it was a mistake, too. So we've brought money, and if you could give it to his higher-ups..."
"That won't help!" He interrupts, almost in fear.
"Why not? Their school forbids them or something?"
Samir's almost shaking now. "If any trained warriors of their school die - they become shadows! As in undead shadows!"
I almost feel the weight of a heavenly judgement seal on my forehead.
"The - the kind that spawn when they kill something?"
"Right."
I look back at my companions. Hasam's utterly horrified. Cris, apparently, doesn't get it yet. Well, undead aren't his specialty. So I explain.
"We just earned a death penalty."
"And I thought that shot just cost me a couple grand." Cris spits out. "How?"
"Bringing spawning undead into the city." I say. "Whatever a shadow kills also becomes a shadow. And they have to kill. And you can't raise them. You'd need someone from the Emperor's ministers to be able to do that kind of magic."
Now Cris is appropriately horrified. However he steels himself, and says, "So I guess we kill it first, huh?"
I nod. "We have to, or this city'll be overrrun within a couple of days." I turn to Samir. "Any place where it might be hiding?"
"Those same sewers held their base. I'm guessing it's around there."
"We're going, then. Now."
"I'm coming." He says grimly. "It's kind of my fault, too."
"And your master? You're gonna leave him in the dark?"
"I'll tell him once we take care of the threat. It'll probably have me in for a world of hurt." He says evenly. "But we gotta do this."
"You're in. Get your stuff."
(other than the fact that it was hard to tell who was talking) That was really nice. I like how it went from a very casual informal Adventurer's adventuring scenario to realizing a rather nasty horror to fixxing it with a "lets get this done" attitude scenario. Some of it was the DM's plot but I think alot of it was Bashira's cool attitude.
Originally Posted by Werekat;9592113
In good news, I finally finished the snippet from two weeks ago. So here's Bashira being a bit more serious.
[CENTER
We really shouldn't have done that,
or Consequences of "kick in the door" style of play[/center]
I have to admit, I don't think this one is your best work. I enjoyed it - the shopkeeper gaping at the broken bow was nicely done, but it didn't flow very well to my mind.
I found it difficult to get a feel for what was going on - the ending was great, when they got serious and realised just what the hang they'd done (I'd like to know what idiot training school turns dead members into Shadows though, that's just - so very dumb.)
The part where Bashira is talking to Samir in the tavern felt awkward to me. Especially the part where she talks about having friends along with happy trigger fingers - I'm still not entirely sure what was going on in that scene, or what she was actually talking about. It wasn't until I got to the end that I got a feel for what must have happened. I still enjoyed it, I just don't think it was your best work
Quote:
Originally Posted by darkpuppy
It all began, strangely enough, in an inn. Trite, I know. But reality is not always epic, and sometimes, no matter how trite a tale seems, it can be true. So yes, it began in an inn...
Heeheehee, well done
Quote:
Originally Posted by darkpuppy
"Before you die, point-ears, let me know who decided to insult Jarth Onaxil, Border-Keeper of Hambleton. I'm working on a book about fools, and you fit the bill."
This confused me for a second, I wasn't sure who was talking. I think it was that Jarth came across like a bit of an idiot (low int, perhaps low wis), and then all of a sudden he's talking about writing a book and I got confused. I thought it was perhaps the narrator who had interrupted at first.
Quote:
Originally Posted by darkpuppy
he is genuinely not built for the adventuring life, constantly catching colds, weak to sleep poisons...
But... elves don't sleep. Aren't they immune to sleep affects?
Quote:
Originally Posted by darkpuppy
EDIT 2: Michel and Jarth are just characters I created on the fly, though. Can you tell?
Nope I had assumed that Jarth was an NPC, and that Michel was another PC. So well done there.
Quote:
Originally Posted by big teej
uhm.... no =P
warhammer 40K dark heresy...
Awwwww... now I is sad
I am desperately trying to finish a couple of snippets myself - parts of Lyra's backstory. One is being written longhand, I'll probably finish it tonight when I get home, but may not type it up til later. The other one I'm struggling with. A lot. I'll post it, but I suspect it may need much revision. I hate work. It's stopping me from doing the important things in life
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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.
Anyway, I'm trying something a little new with this one, so tell me if it doesn't work. I gave up on first person for this one, and yet, I'm not sure it's worked! Also, the small size writing in the [ ] is meant to be background thoughts that aren't being articulated, but are always there in the back of the mind. Please tell me if it doesn't work. The idea popped into my head and I thought I might as well give it a try as not.
So, without further ado and rambling... (also, it's really long)
How Lyra met Ket'Thull or, Yes Sir, No Sir, Three Bags Full Sir
Spoiler
Lyra took one last look around the crowded marketplace and sighed. Once again her attempts to find an easy mark had gotten her exactly nowhere. Her gaze wandered of its own volition over to the food stalls lining the eastern wall and she sighed again. She had been stealing food from the stalls on a fairly regular basis and the vendors were starting to get suspicious. If she was going to eat, Lyra needed to find a mark and she needed one soon. She was getting hungry. [hungryhungryhungry]
She’d been staring for nearly a minute before she realised what was in front of her.[hungryhungryhungry] The mark she’d been searching for. Coming into the markets from the east, pausing at food stalls obviously looking for something to eat. Lyra came smoothly to her feet and moved away from the doorstep she’d been sitting on. A half-orc was perfect, big, slow and stupid.
Light on her feet and quick, Lyra moved easily through the crowd. Sunlight glinted off the mark’s armour, and the fairly monstrous [hungryhungryhungry] – what was the sword?[hungryhungryhungry] She didn’t bother figuring it out, it wasn’t what she was after, so it wasn’t important. What she was looking for was – [hungryhungryhungry]. Lyra stopped abruptly, letting the crowd swirl around her. Damnit it was hard to concentrate. If this didn’t pay off, she’d have to take her chances with the vendors. But there! The big brute pulled off his gauntlets and attached them to his belt. And shining in the sun was a ring. That would do for starters.
Small and slender, she slipped between two merchant arguing over the price of – something, and came out right near the mark. And there, there was the prize – a small coin pouch, currently in the half-orc’s hands. Patience. Patience. [hungryhungryhungry]
“Hey! Watch it!” a sharp angry voice pierced her revere. Lyra back-pedalled fast, letting the crowd swallow her up and spit her back out behind the half-orc. She swore under her breath. This was getting dangerous, she should give it up. Wait until she had her focus back. Until she could concentrate. But then the pouch went on the belt, next to the gauntlets and the mark’s attention was elsewhere. She’d never have such a chance.
Moving quickly [hungryhungryhungry] she stepped forwards [hungryhungry]. Casual. Casual was the key. Her right hand drifted out and she hitched her pace the barest amount necessary. The manoeuvre should have let her keep right on going, with none the wiser. Instead, she came to an abrupt halt.
She looked up. And up. And up. Dear gods he was massive! The half-orc was looking down at her, quite calmly, her right hand caught firmly in one massive fist.
“Whoops...”
“That is one way of describing the situation” Lyra paled, had she said that out loud? Ignoring that for a moment, she focused on the mark. His voice was deep, and oddly for a – well, a half-orc, rather compelling. A light tug on her wrist
“Just what do you think you were doing?”
Think fast woman, think fast. [hungryhungryhungry]
“I was… uhhh. I-” [hungry]Damn it[hungry]
“Trying to steal from me?” he sounded more amused than angry, probably because he was fast enough to catch a thief. Damn him.
“No!” Lyra tried for real indignation, and found it – mostly. “I wouldn’t- I was…” Her voice trailed off as the half-orc continued to watch her with that steady, calm, and knowing gaze. She sighed heavily, shoulders drooping. This was not her week. [hungry]Damn it[hungry]Damn it[hungry]Damn it[hungry]
“Oh hell…”
The mark – well, she couldn’t really call him that any more – chuckled. Chuckled? Now that rankled. That hurt. More than your stomach? [hungryhungry] Probably not. The hand around her wrist relaxed slightly, apparently tiny Lyra wasn’t considered much of a threat.
“Now, how bad can things be that you’d try stealing from a paladin?” He sounded more amused than anything else. “We’re not noted for our valuables.”
As soon as the word ‘paladin’ left the half-orc’s lips Lyra stopped listening, tensed and pulled away. Startled the half-orc pulled back. In a match of brute strength, it was no contest.
“Hey!”
The hand around her wrist tightened and Lyra panicked. Forgetting the full plate, she stomped on his foot, swearing when it did more damage to her than him.
“Easy!”
Get away! She swung her free hand, intending to slap him and cause a scene. That hand was also caught and held. Had she been thinking, she would have realised it was a light grip, meant to hold her, but not hurt. Instead she screamed.
Or tried to.
Her left hand went free as the half-orc slapped a beefy hand over her mouth.
“Calm down!”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Ket’Thull was starting to get confused. He had stopped a young thief, nothing more. And she was wildly overreacting. He had to stop her before she attracted attention. He couldn’t afford the delay, his mission was too vital.
Moving faster than his bulk suggested, Ket’Thull released the girl’s left hand and clapped his hand over her mouth, cutting off the building scream before she could loose it. He tugged sharply on her wrist, pulling her arm down to her side and pinning it there. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he had to get her quiet.
She kicked him in the shins.
“ENOUGH!” He hissed the word at her, feeling his frustration rise. He glared down at her, fighting the urge to simply throw her over his shoulder and find some quiet corner to give her a stern talking to. It was then he saw her face.
She was terrified.
And not just the guilty fear of someone who, when confronted by a paladin, can’t help but think of all the not-so-nice things they’ve ever done. Not the disgusted fear of those who looked upon his face and saw only the marks of his orcish ancestry. This was real fear.
He let her go.
Still, Ket’Thull wasn’t an idiot. He released her hand, but kept his fingers lightly enclosing her wrist, just in case. It hadn’t really hurt, but he would prefer she not use his shins for target practice again.
“It is all right” he said, pitching his voice to be low and soothing. “I will not hurt you.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Hurt you... Lyra jerked back, only to find that the hold on her wrist was gone, or at least relaxed. … not hurt you… not... not. Not hurt you. Her eyes snapped up to the half-orc. He stood over her, doing his best not to tower, and watched her, his eyes strangely – gentle? Well that didn’t make any sense.
She blinked rapidly and uncurled her fingers from the fist they’d formed.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I don’t- I didn’t mean…” Lyra found herself trailing off lamely, unsure of what to say but well aware she could still be in a lot of trouble. She glanced up, surprised by the kindness in the half-orc’s eyes. He let her go completely and simply folded his arms across his (admittedly massive) chest and studied her closely.
“You didn’t mean to steal from me?” He asked sceptically, one eyebrow going up.
“Well, no… I didn’t mean to get caught” there was a sudden pause. Horrified, Lyra clapped her hands over her mouth. The half-orc seemed to find it rather funny, and he burst out laughing.
“Well, an honest thief” he chuckled. “That’s a new one. All right, little thief, what shall we do with you?”
“You could just let me go” Lyra turned her face up towards him, attempting to look sweet, innocent, and utterly adorable. It worked. About half the times she tried it. He kept laughing. That was getting rather annoying.
“I don’t think so, little thief.” He peered down at her and smiled. “I don’t think you’re really a bad person. Perhaps it would be best if you travelled with me for a time. Yes, that should keep you out of trouble admirably.” He leaned back, beaming, clearly pleased with himself. Lyra couldn’t believe her ears. It was time to take more – drastic – action.
“And exactly what sort of mission – quest… err, thing(?) would a paladin be on that requires a thief?” Her tone was a both pert and cynical, but that was simply a blind. To distract him from what the fingers of her left hand were busy doing. Lyra had spotted some of the young street kids hovering at the edges of the market. Hoping, as they always did, that Lyra would have some bounty to share with them. Quickly, she signalled for a diversion. The quick pattering of feet told her they were coming.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
She was funny, he’d give her that. And she raised a good point – what sort of mission would a paladin be on that would need the services of a self-confessed thief? He couldn’t exactly tell her the truth about his mission, but he found himself strangely reluctant to just leave her behind. She was afraid of paladins – he’d be lying if he didn’t acknowledge that interested him. He would like to know why. Would like to see if he could change her mind. She was a thief – he felt it his duty to put a stop to that. So why didn’t he just turn her over to the authorities? That would be the most logical, and simplest answer. So why didn’t he?
Hands slapped at his leg.
Startled Ket’Thull looked down. A small human child had run into him and fallen to the ground. The little girl promptly burst into tears, causing the boy just behind her to run up and start berating Ket’Thull in a shrill voice. Another small boy joined them, slapping ineffectually at his legs.
The young woman moved.
She was fast, he would give her that. One sharp tug, and she yanked her hand free from his loosened grip. She twisted to one side and darted past him, affording him a fleeting glance of black hair as she ran.
Ket’Thull smiled.
The big half-orc moved fast. Planting one foot, he pivoted around and got in her way. He grabbed her by the shoulders and held her firmly in place.
“You are going to be trouble” he sighed, wondering briefly at his attitude, insisting that she come with him. Ket’Thull looked down at his captive; she stood quietly in his grasp, not that he trusted that seeming compliance, not any more. Blue eyes looked up and regarded him silently, she seemed both exasperated and resigned.
“Why are you so determined to get away from me?” Ket’Thull asked finally.” I’ve already told you I won’t hurt you.”
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
[hungryhungryhungry] Damn it. Lyra would have sworn aloud if she’d thought it would make any difference. Stung by their failure, the children had fled. She didn’t blame them. This city wasn’t easy on the little ones of the street. And she was seriously having trouble thinking. It should never have taken this long to talk her way out of a situation. And stumbling? Never. [hungryhungryhungry] The paladin clearly hadn’t noticed, otherwise he probably would have said something about it by now. He seemed fond of the sound of his voice. Lyra was tired[hungryhungryhungry]and so very hungry. She wasn’t sure she had the energy to argue too much longer.
“I believe you” she said finally. “But in my experience being caught means only one thing. Trouble.”
“I have no intention of handing you over to the authorities.” Lyra’s head snapped up and she gaped at him. He seemed just as surprised as she was.
“You aren’t?” She asked incredulously[hungry], taking a step back so she could look at his face without craning her neck. It turned out to be a mistake. Hunger[hungry]it seemed, was catching up with her. Lyra staggered, as her knees gave way and her feet slid on the dusty ground. Before she could hit the ground, two arms went around her and she discovered the half-orc had caught her. He stepped closer and held her upright til she found her feet again, then immediately stepped back. He seemed to have realised constantly titling her head back was giving her a headache. Or perhaps that was the hunger.
He was watching her again, with those eyes that saw more than she’d like.
“How long has it been since you last ate?” He asked finally. Damn. Did it really show that much?
“A while…” Lyra muttered, unwilling to admit to the truth. The half-orc snorted, his breath stirring her hair, and she realised he was just as frustrated with the situation as she was. “About three days” she admitted.
He walked away. Startled, Lyra made no attempt to run. Instead she gaped at him as he marched to the nearest food vendor, spoke a few words and made the music of coins changing hands. He marched straight back and placed something into her hands. A loaf of bread. Lyra stared at it dumbfounded.
She blinked at the load, then tilted her head and blinked a couple of times at her benefactor. Finally she dropped her head and whispered
“Thank you.”
She turned around and whistled softly. Without warning, the three youngsters reappeared, looking up at her with wide eyes and eager hands. Smiling, Lyra dropped the loaf into the hands of the girl, who beamed up at her.
“Wha’ ab’t you?” the older of the two boys asked, his mouth already full of bread. Lyra grinned down at him, taking the loaf back, she pulled off one small piece and popped it into her mouth.
“That’ll take care of me” she said. “Go, eat. And stay out of trouble!”
She turned back to the half-orc, feeling suddenly self-conscious as she squinted up at him. He was watching her with surprise on his face.
“I learned that from my first guild” she murmured. “Anything that sparkled or shone we could handle as we saw fit. But food was first for those who can’t feed themselves.” Her expression said she expected him to make fun of her. Such a response was the farthest thing from his mind.
“You have a good heart little thief” he said finally. He found himself wondering if it would be entirely ethical to use his sight to find if she were truly good. His instincts told him that she was, but – well, even the evil and depraved looked after their own – in a way.
“I’d say thank you, but that won’t really help me much” Lyra replied. “Now that you know I’m not completely evil, perhaps we can come to some sort of agreement. You don’t turn me in, and I will – behave myself.”
“No, I don’t think so” his voice was quiet, and almost pensive, but there was no mistaking the unmovable quality. “I think you should come with me. There is good in you, you simply need to find the right path.”
“And you don’t think I have that path already?” He burst out laughing
“Obviously not little thief!” Ket’Thull chortled. He stepped forwards again, crowding her space, and well aware of the fear that flashed through her eyes before she got her expression back under control. A part of him felt guilty for deliberately intimidating her, but he was convinced this was the best option.
“I won’t turn you into the authorities; but I think I will insist that you come with me. For a time at least.” He looked down, keeping his face impassive. She sighed
“I can see I don’t have much of a choice. Fine… My name is Lyra.”
“And I am Ket’Thull. Now, young Lyra, we have a long way to go. Perhaps we should see about feeding you, since you so kindly gave up your previous meal to the less fortunate.”
“Now that I won’t argue with.”
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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.
didn't help that I read this after coming from a workout and a run... but still
om nom nom nom......
I loved it!
the hungry's didn't detract from it at all in my opinoin, it really hit home that this girl is HUNGRY
and, being rather large in the gut area... I can sympathize with hunger pangs. (curse you hypoglycemia!)
...hungryhungryhungryhungry
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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!
the hungry's didn't detract from it at all in my opinoin, it really hit home that this girl is HUNGRY
and, being rather large in the gut area... I can sympathize with hunger pangs. (curse you hypoglycemia!)
...hungryhungryhungryhungry
Thank you I really wasn't sure it would work, but I wanted to try it.
And I'm sorry I made you hungry!
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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.
Next time something I post involves food, I'll warn you first
I seem to be on a role this week, because here's another one. I freely admit to cheating with this one - it's taken directly from the game, so I haven't had to come up with any of Ket'Thull's dialogue, or his actions. I just copied/pasted from the in-game thread Only things I have done are take the colours out (Ket'Thull speaks like this, and Lyra speaks like this), and tidy things up a little. I haven't changed anything of what he said (except for adding a 'the' in one spot). All I really did was flesh out Lyra's thoughts, and rewrite some of the action so it flowed better.
Unexpected Friend or, Now What Did I Do That For?
Spoiler
It’s a nice night out, I’ll give it that much. Merv, Corian and Daxter have already vanished. Goodness knows where they’ve gone – to rest presumably.
Xenith is just ahead of me, still clutching that wine bottle damn him. I’d been looking forward to finishing that off. It’s a sad day when someone has faster hands than I, Garret would be disappointed in me, I’m sure. It’s probably just as well he isn’t here to see me now. Vampires. I shudder.
Xenith is turning the wine bottle over and over in his hands, but not drinking from it. All of a sudden, I’m rather glad I don’t have the bottle. Something tells me drinking from that now wouldn’t be a good idea. Besides, we have to head off to find the vampires tomorrow! If ever a situation called for a clear head, it’s this one.
The things I get myself into… it’s all Ket’Thull’s fault.
Speak of the devil –err, half-orc. Ket’Thull is just ahead of me, in the centre of the courtyard. He has his head back and he’s staring up at the sky. I wonder what he’s looking at. And – is he talking? I can see his lips are moving, but I’m too far away to really hear him. Who on earth could he be talking to? Unless it’s not someone on earth. That makes me grin.
He’s stopped now, and has walked into the inn. I don’t know what makes me do it, curiosity, or just a certain mischievousness, but I march myself up to the same spot he stood in and tip my head backwards. The stars are up there. They’re very pretty, but that’s about it.
The sound of a door shutting echoes around the courtyard. The door to the inn is swinging gently shut, and I can see outlines of people within the building. Suddenly I would very much like to be inside. Besides, I have a bone to pick with Ket’Thull. He got me into this mess.
He’s at the counter, asking for the room the mayor has arranged for him. The poor innkeeper doesn’t look like they quite know what to do with such a well-mannered half-orc. I know exactly how they feel.
The others appear to have vanished. Good. I can pick my bone in private.
I march up to the counter and lean against it, standing far enough away that I don’t have to crane my head too much to look at Ket’Thull’s face. He’s so tall.
"You know, I should never have listened to you." I look up into his face, but he is wearing that stoic, un-expression that annoys me so much. How am I supposed to tell what someone is thinking if they won’t show it on their face? I twitch my shoulders just thinking about it. Listening to Ket’Thull got me in this situation – with vampires.
"What I should have done, was run when I got the chance. Vampires..." I shudder again – just the thought of undead gives me the creeps. I’m never going to get to sleep tonight. What I am going to get is a massive crick in my neck from standing here staring up at him.
"And why do you have to be so damn tall?!"
He looks a little startled at that, then, still with that annoying un-expression on his face, he answers me.
"Because," he replies, "my mother and father had a fight to have custody over me when I was just a child. In fact, my father grabbed my hands, and my mother disagreed, grabbing my legs, and they just pulled... They pulled so hard that my length increased... A little."
“Very funny.” I say it flatly. My expression must be speaking volumes. I certainly hope it is. He stops speaking and peers into my face, then he laughs aloud – it’s a surprisingly cheerful sound.
"Heheh, not true my dear," he says smiling. "I was just joking. Must be my orcish heritage what made me like I am: A tall half-human, half-orc with a short life, but an early maturehood. And more importantly, a selfless servant of good."
My dear… my goodness it makes me want to kick him in the shins again. The way I did when we first met. Still, I suppose it isn’t his fault. He’s not to know how much that particular endearment – doesn’t endear me. I hate being called ‘dear’. Just because I’m short. One of these days, I’m going to find someone with a potion of Enlarge Person, and I’m going to drink the whole thing. Then I’m going to find all those people who’ve ever called me ‘dear’ and stomp all over them.
Now that I think about it, Daxter is a wizard. I wonder if he can cast it?
The sound of tapping on the countertop draws my attention back to my companion. He is speaking again.
"Yes, vampires are dangerous abominations, servants of evil. You could run if you wish, young Lyra," he says gently. "But you didn't. You're here, with us. You just proved to me that you can choose the best, between a life of accomplishment, and a life of regret - running away from your problems, eternally."
I manage not to laugh in his face. Me? Choose the best? I haven’t chosen since the day I fled my home. Since the day my mother was taken from me. A life of regret? He doesn’t know what the word means. Of running away? I don’t run away. I haven’t run away from a job my entire life.
Armour jingles as Ket’Thull removes his sheathed sword from his back and sits down on a nearby bench. I watch in seething silence as he rests the weapon across his knees. I hate to think how much it weighs.
"I personally prefer to accomplish things, my dear," he continues, smiling. "A life of regret means having a long life of no true accomplishments. You may call me crazy, but I think stopping this undead is a small contribution to a peaceful world."
I open my mouth to retort, only to close it again. I didn’t think I’d called him crazy, though he’d clearly taken it that way. No, that wasn’t what had me pausing. What it was, was the memory of another voice, of another time. Calling me crazy. Garret.
Like it was yesterday, I could hear his voice in my memories. Insisting that I was crazy for leaving. That it could be sorted out. That I didn’t have to leave. Didn’t have to run. The words still sting. And it makes me think. Jobs were never my problems. Jobs were easy. Jobs were fun. No, my problems… those were different. Those were insurmountable. At least, that’s how I’d always viewed them. Now, with Ket’Thull’s and Garret’s words playing chase in my mind, I start to wonder if perhaps they were right. Perhaps I have made a career out of running from my problems. But still. Vampires.
I moved over to stand in front of him, planting my hands on my hips to cover my sudden discomfort. It’s much easier to talk when I don’t have to crane my neck to look at him.
"Perhaps," I say finally, it’s a generic word, it should cover me nicely. "I still think I only agreed to come with you because you're big enough to squash me." I grin at him, I know he’s sensitive about being teased, and I do want him to realise I’m only joking.
"Anyway,” I add. “I have plenty of 'true accomplishments'. I just don't think they'd be what you would consider very accomplished.” That’s the gods own truth. I don’t think my ‘accomplishments’ would loom very large in a paladin’s view of the world.
“I don't know if you're crazy, but I do think you're the strangest paladin I've ever met. And I don't mean because of your race."
He’s quite quiet, thinking I guess. Finally, he wraps his hand around the hilt of his sword – that thing is quite a monster.
"Fear not. For I'll protect you as long as you stay close."
I can’t help but laugh at that, he’s always so serious. I know he means well, but I’m not sure he realises why I’m not likely to ever stick too close to him. I’m laughing as I answer him.
"I don't think I'd care to stick too close to you though, you're too big a target!"
He is serious though. It’s – strange to me. I’m not used to anyone other than Garret caring about my safety; and I’m certainly not used to a paladin caring about my safety. Wanting to grab me and lock me up ‘for my own wellbeing and the safety of others’ – sure. But actually caring? Never. I realise I’m staring at his hand, as it rests on the hilt of his sword. Impulsively, I reach out and place my hand over his.
"You're a good man Ket'Thull" I say, suddenly serious myself. There is something very kind in his eyes. I think I like this man. I lean forward and kiss his check.
What the hell? What on earth did I do that for? Ket’Thull looks surprised, and I don’t blame him. I don’t know why I did that either. Abruptly I pull back and walk away, my spine tense and my head held rigidly high. That was stupid, but it’s too late to change it now.
Behind me, I can hear the clink of armour as Ket’Thull stands up, and the solid thud of his footsteps. I’m so tense I just about jump out of my skin when he puts his hand on my shoulder. Thankfully, he’s taken the gauntlet off, I bruise easily.
"You're a good girl too, Lyra," he replies, smiling slightly. "Heroineous' blessings be upon you, my dear."
Shut up! The vehemence of my internal voice surprises even me. The gods and I have a – tenuous relationship at best, but my inner voice knows this isn’t the time to get into a religious argument. Ket’Thull has gone past me now, and is approaching the stairs where Daxter is waiting.
"It's time to rest, young Lyra," he says. "Tomorrow we'll be having an eventful trip..."
I tip my head back to look up at him – why does he have to be so tall? Oh, how I miss Garret. I give him a quick smile and mumble
“Goodnight” I don’t trust myself to say anything else. I’ve already put my foot in it once. Daxter is waiting on the stairs, but I dodge around him and go flying up them, shaking my head as I go. I’m not sure whether I’m doing it to discourage Ket’Thull from following me (though I can hear Daxter chuckling behind me, so I assume he’s inadvertently run interference for me), or if I’m trying to tell myself to stop being an idiot.
I throw myself onto the bed – oh a bed! and kick off my shoes, the bag has already been dumped on the floor. All I really want to do is sleep, and it’s been a long time since I got to sleep in a bed.
I curl up under the blankets and lie there, wondering why I’m not automatically falling asleep. Unconsciously I reach under the pillow, and promptly realise why I’m so restless. Leaning over I grab the straps of my haversack – handy little thing. I asked about them once, apparently, so the story goes, some mage by the name of Heward created them. Must have been a bit of a weakling. Still, they’re useful.
Rummaging around in that with one hand, my other reaches towards my boot. I pull both hands free at the same time. One holds the small whistle I kept from the guild, the other has my dagger. I tuck both of them underneath the pillow, and curl up on my side, one had wrapped around the whistle. I have slept like this ever since they took my mother. It’s not comfortable, but at least now I can sleep.
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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.
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That was the feeling I was going for. I'm glad it worked so well, I wasn't sure if it was really coming across properly. But it's hard to really write/convey a sense of amnesia when you've never experienced it yourself.
(I am using that word way too much lately).
