# My Stories.



## Joker (May 29, 2002)

*This is just a collection of things I want to save until I have enough material to make an actual story hour.
What?  I'm only lagging by 5.5 years.* 


I tried to write a Story Hour by the name of “Chronicles of Darkness” a while ago, but I failed.  I just couldn’t find the motivation to write something every week about the same campaign, and I had a lot of trouble writing it in first person.

So what I decided to do is just write short stories based on individual quests/missions/adventures, no matter the campaign.  Or (as you will see in the first story) the backgrounds of or descriptions related to the many characters I thought of (and trust me, with all my many personalities each working to create more and more characters, that’s a lot of characters ).

As more and more stories are written and posted I will continually update this post (which I will refer to hereafter as “Post Nr. 1”) to give an organized and complete overview of the things written.  To aid in that, every post will have a title, which I will also put in this first post.  Obviously .

Right then, here goes.

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*“Nemesis”* - This is a character I thought of a while ago for an FR campaign.  He’s a paladin of Torm.  Unfortunately I didn’t want to use him because I didn’t think he would “fit in” with a mostly evil group.  The conflicts that would arise would be fun to play, but I don’t think he would last long .  Anyway, enough rambling, in this part of the story, I merely give a lengthy description of him and what he’s doing.  It was meant to be an introduction to another Story Hour about him but I didn’t have time to finish it until now.  Enjoy.

*"Morpheus' Vendetta"* - High Strifemaster Morpheus Kenlor.  My regular character in our friday nights campaign.  The character which I have been playing for over two years.  This part is only an introduction to a large adventure to find one of his greatest enemies.  More to come soon (take "soon" with a grain of salt).  Enjoy.

*"The End"* - This is a piece of narrative I gave my players a while ago at my first time Dm-ing.  Best read slowly, with a calm and mildly ominous voice.  Enjoy.


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## Joker (May 29, 2002)

[Under construction until summer vacation]


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## Joker (May 29, 2002)

*Nemesis.*

“I am Nemesis.  May my sword of justice be sharp…” 

The man stood in front of the mirror, scraping the short hair of his head. 

“May the instruments of my righteousness be undefiled…” 

Scrape. 

“May the shield of my faith be strong.” 

With every scrape, he uttered another one of the lines from his three-line mantra. 
When his head felt smooth again, he wiped the condensation of the mirror to see the result of his handiwork. 
His unusually blue eyes stared back at him. 
He gazed at his throat, looked at it for a moment then looked back at the sharp razor.  He was tempted, but then he put the razor down. 

He turned around and walked out of the bathroom naked, into the large living area that contained everything he owned, which was everything he needed. 

He walked towards the man-high mirror and inspected his tall, muscular body:  The clean shaved head, the broad shoulders, the powerful arms, the rippling muscles on his stomach and the muscled legs.  On the left side of his body except his face he had carved the word ‘DUTY’ in every known language and on the right side he had carved the word ‘HONOR’ in every language. 
But there was not a single hint of vanity on his face.  Instead, the look that he wore was one of meticulous objectivity, as if checking to see if a tool or weapon that was of great import to him was in good shape. 

As always, he was satisfied. 

He put on his clothing and the padding that was needed to keep his massive full-plate armour from chafing his tough skin. 
While he walked over to a huge closet, pieces of the full-plate appeared out of thin air, enclosing his strong body in polished mithril.  The pieces seemed translucent at first, almost ethereal, finally shimmering into reality. 

He stood in front of the simple dark wooden closet for nearly a minute, giving his armour time to come into existence.  First came the straps, which were held suspended against his body by some unknown force until the individual pieces connected them.  The last thing that came into existence was his helmet.  But before it solidified into being completely he took it in his hands and laid it on the floor beside him as he kneeled in front of the closet. 
He put his head down, crossed his arms in an x and uttered a the same three-line mantra again. 
Then he opened his eyes as he looked up at the closet doors and opened them slowly. 

It was immediately obvious what the purpose of the closet was.  There were two distinct sides, the right one being a lot bigger than the left.  The left one was filled with some simple clothes and the necessary items for survival.  But it was the right side that he focused his attention on. 

It was filled with ‘the instruments’ of his ‘righteousness.’ 
Weapons of all shapes and sizes.  All of them were simple of design, yet masterfully crafted.  On the bottom shelf there laid three weapons.  An intricate steel dagger, flanked by two gauntlets.  The daggers’ point was in the shape of an arrowhead and it had a slit running through the middle.  The gauntlets were identical, save that they each were for different hands.  They sprouted all manner of spikes, which were designed in such a way that they did more damage when pulling it out of your opponent just like the dagger. 

To the right hung a large bow, made of the horns of the demons that had met him and that didn’t survive, not that any did.  To the right of the unstrung bow hung a quiver completely filled with arrows.  And below the bow was one arrow laying horizontally.  Its head was in the shape of a toothy and horrifying skull of one of the mightiest demons that can be found in the Abyss.  It was a special arrow that he had never seen used before but only knew its purpose from the High Priest Azoun.  He once told him that these extraordinary arrows were keyed to a certain creature, in this case denizens of the Abyss, and that the merest touch of this arrow would consume it and the creature touched entirely. 
To the left of the bow were the two parts that, when screwed together, would make a lance.  Beautiful in its simplistic design it is nonetheless extremely deadly in trained hands. 

But the thing, the one thing that made his very being bathe in pure delight was the sword that hung suspended directly in the middle of the closet next to its leather scabbard.  The entire sword radiated a powerful aura of righteousness and was the pinnacle of expert craftsmanship.  Yet it was completely void of any kind of expensive material such as a hilt laid in with diamonds or gold, something that you would expect from someone of his status.  No, everything he owned was simplicity in itself and was designed for one thing and one thing only.  Killing. 
Even though all the weapons were cleaned and polished meticulously, it was obvious by the worn hilts that they had been used countless times. 

He carefully pulled the large sword out of the closet.  Its blade was so keen that the merest touch would cut him. 
He stroked it gently, watching how the bright light from the window glistened of the beautifully polished steel.  Images flashed through his mind.  Instances when he used the sword to sink it deep into the skulls of his enemies.  A smile crept on his face with these wonderful thoughts. 
He put on the strap of the scabbard around his shoulder and waist and then let his greatsword slowly slide into his scabbard.  He took the rest of the weapons and put them or strapped them where they belonged. 

When he was finished equipping himself, he moved over to a small featureless desk that stood under a small square window.  Nothing lay on it, save for a sealed scroll.  He didn’t need to know what was written inside.  He knew what he had to do. 

He took a large dark brown cloak from the left side of the massive closet and pulled it around his entire body.  The cloak had a slit in the neck for his sword, so that he could swiftly pull it out of its scabbard if it was necessary. 

He put the unopened scroll in its case and hung it on his belt. 

With his lance in his left hand and his bow over his right shoulder he slowly pulled the door open. 
The warm morning sun hit his exposed face.  He took it and the cool morning air in with his eyes closed.  A moment of pure calmness and absolute tranquility washed over him as a pleasant smile emerged from deep within his heart.  But the smile faded quickly as he felt the heavy weight of his armaments and opened his eyes with the dim realization of what he had to do.  The world around him didn’t share his sense of dread, however.  The birds were singing their morning songs, the sun kept on rising slowly, burning away the morning mist.  He didn’t mind.  He has chosen for a life of servitude so that others can enjoy theirs without knowing about the war being waged for their lives.

Still standing in the doorway of his small keep, he took his helmet from under his arm and stared at it intently.  He gazed through the t-like split and it filled him with unease.  He hated putting on his helmet.  For he knew that as soon as he put it on, he would no longer be Aaron Blake, noble servant of Torm.  No, once he put on that helmet, he would become Nemesis.  But then again, to all who knew him, Aaron Blake was dead and all that remained was a heart full of hate and a mind set on revenge.

He gazed at the helmet for minutes, took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 

“It must be done.”  He whispered softly to himself as he slowly pulled the helmet on.

“I am Nemesis.”


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## cthuluftaghn (Jun 20, 2002)

Sweet!  Not only do I want to know more of the adventures of Nemesis.... I'm also interested in hearing a bit more on the background of Aaron Blake.  A very interesting character!  Great description!  Need more paragraph breaks to be a bit easier on the eyes.... as they remain glued to the screen eager for more


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## Joker (Jun 20, 2002)

Oh my, people actually read this.  *pinks away a tear.*

Well, thank you for your compliment, but I'm afraid I have to dissapoint you when it comes to Nemesis.  At least for now.  
I am going to write a story on the quest he was going on eventually but not just yet.

However, the Nemesis series (it's one post now, but hopefully it will become a series ) is almost purely fiction, save that my current party pops up in the quest.  You'll see.

Until I get to that, I *have* written a few things on the adventure my regualr character went through these past few weeks.  It was the module from Dungeon (or Dragon, it was the one that has a devourer on the front cover and it shares the magazine with polyhedron or something like that).

And if I work hard I could get it done at the end of the day, otherwise it will be done tommorow.

Tata.


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## cthuluftaghn (Jun 20, 2002)

I'll be watchin' for it.


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## Joker (Jun 20, 2002)

*Morpheus' Vendetta.*

As soon as you walk into the dusky room, you notice the silhouette of a man with his hands behind his back standing by the window.  He slowly moves the curtains to the sides and stares out the window.
He is a tall man, with a shaven head.  The hair on it being no longer than a fingernail.  His purple lined and gold inlaid black cloak drapes to his ankles.  On his right shoulder, a large curved neckgaurd, formed like a wave and ending in a sharp point juts from a specially made hole in his cloak.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”  He slowly moves his head to you but not far enough for him to make eye contact as if waiting for you to give a reply.

“The sun I mean.  Such a brilliant blinding light hiding some great power.”  He takes a deep breath as he looks outside again.

“Just beautiful.”

He stares out for a few moments, and turns to face you.  The massive full-plate he is wearing is beautifully crafted.  Every single one of the black colored plates is rimmed with purple and held together by golden rivets.  His deep blue eyes, like ice, pierce your very being as he looks at you intently.  
He then motions with his gauntleted hand for you take a seat in the comfortable and lavish red chair with dark wooden armrests.

“Please, sit.  I doubt you will want to stand for the entire length of my account.”

He looks at the his left hand, at where his fingernails would be under the gauntlet and then speaks a few unintelligible words.  When he utters the soft phrase, the plates of his armor slowly fade into nothingness revealing rather wealthy attire and a beaded necklace hanging from his neck.  In the middle of the necklace hangs a symbol, depicting a jawless human skull placed on a purple sunburst.  He sits down in an identical chair across from you with a small wooden table in the middle.  Then he bends forward and pours two crystal glazes with crimson red wine.

“The best Amn has to offer.”  His words accompanied by a toasting gesture.  Leaning back in his chair he continues to speak.

“You are probably wondering why I have hired you?  I need someone.  Someone to record the things I have done and the things that have been done to me.”  He puts his hand to his shaven chin and is silent for a few moments.

“You are that someone.  I have heard you were one of the best scribes in Cormyr.  Nothing less will do.  You do understand that if you tell anyone of my account, that you will not survive long enough to regret the mistake.  No, I can see that you are the kind of person that can keep a secret or two.  Good.  If you have no reservations, I don’t see anything that should stop us from starting now.  But where to begin?”

Subconsciously he caresses his bottom lip as you pull out your pen and parchment.

“Ah yes, I know where.  Tolchok.”  A smile tugs on his lips as he utters the name.

“But before I start with how I taught this harlot her true place, I must first enlighten you as to why it is I hate…ahem…heartily dislike her.
 She and I go further back than I would care to remember.  It was several years ago that we first met.  She was accompanied by a Banite.  Of course I was foolish, so sure of my own superiority that I took it on to myself to kill the Banite.  However, both of them overpowered me and they strapped me to a tree.  When I regained consciousness, I found that she had taken out my eye and had almost maimed my…well…we needn’t go into such detail.”

He sits back and takes a long sip of the wine, carefully considering his next choice of words.

“When I was loosed from the tree, my rage and my desire to see their heads parted from their bodies pushed me on an impulsive course of action.  Fortunately, the Lord of Three Crowns smiled upon me and shielded me with his omniscience and omnipotence.  With the Banites’ body lying dead on the floor, there rested only the case of the whimpering Tolchok for me to deal with.  I should have killed her right then and there, but as I said, I was young and her feminine virtues overcame my better judgment.  So I let her go.”

“I met her again some years later when we were hired by Bella, some local lord that enforced his “protection” on a few neighboring villages.  We were hired to support his assault on a Githyankie stronghold.  Tolchok was assigned to join us, however, in the beginning of the assault the cowardly priest of an ignorant deity scuttled away like a dog with its tail between its legs.  When the stronghold was ours, I wanted to track her down and bring back the treasure that was rightfully ours but my sister Lucilla stilled my rage and told me there was a time for such things.  I agreed with her, but I vowed that I would some day exact my revenge upon Tolchok.”

“More than a year later I had almost forgotten about her, my mind being more occupied with the struggles in my own church, when I met her at one of Bella’s parties.  Her countenance suggested that she had something planned, but I dismissed those thoughts with the belief that she would not dare do anything to me.  It was the last mistake I made, and hers as well.
The next morning I woke to find my most powerful items of arcane make stolen.  And not only mine, those of my other associates as well.  And Tolchok had left.”

“As you can no doubt imagine, the hatred that filled me was to great to control.  Yet with the guidance of the One and All I found resolve in my troublesome thoughts.”

“Every single time I burned with the desire to kill her, something more pressing stood in my way.  But then,  a few weeks ago, the hunt for the Loviaterist Tolchok began.”


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## cthuluftaghn (Jun 20, 2002)

I'm ready to read about the hunt when you're ready to post it 

Good descriptives... especially the narrator's armor.


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## Joker (Jan 23, 2003)

*The end.*

You sit, stand, hover in a space, a space without walls, without a ceiling and without a floor.  You’re there, in darkness, absolute darkness.  You’re alone, you can’t see the others, you can’t see yourself.  But when you think about it, you’re not alone.  You can feel the others, you can feel them close by, in you and around you.  You’re not alone.  A sense of calm, of never-before-felt tranquility washes over you.  But you can’t see each other, it is only the blackness that you see.  There is absolutely no light.  Save for one thing.  One tiny point of light in the infinite distance.  You’ve never seen it before, it is as though you had you’re eyes closed and only now you have opened them.  But that is the only thing you see.
Suddenly you accelerate, straight for that unknown light.  But the light doesn’t seem to be getting any closer.  Maybe it is infinitely far away.  You’re thoughts are occupied with one thing and one thing only during you’re unending journey:  What is it?

Then…you are there.  It is as if an eternity passed in an instant.

In front of you is man, wreathed in a white-blue flame, sitting, with his hands on his knees en with his eyes closed.  To his left lies a sword, still sheathed.  The scabbard is simple, made of black wood.  The sword slightly curves at the end of the blade.  It looks like one of those oriental swords.  A katana.  Where you hold the sword is simple, leather-bound wood.  The flame illuminates nothing but him and his sword, which still zit motionless on a floorless floor.  The garments the man wears are made of one simple black cloth without sleeves.  It’s the only clothing he’s wears, which is bound by a simple cord around his waist.

He is completely bald.  But his head, face, yes, his entire body is covered in tattoos.  Black ink on his otherwise white skin.  Exactly on the middle of his head is the image of a star with an infinite amount of points.  The points flow into an infinite amount of little snaking lines which resemble small lighting bolts.  All those infinite lines flow into one large twisting lighting bolt which runs down his back and disappears into his garment.  But they appear again on his bare, muscular arms.  Dozens of thin lightning bolts going down the length of his arm, only to end in black fingernails.  But the thing that you notice the most are the two separate tattoos around his eyes.  Around his left eye the tattoo looks like that of a comma, and around his right eye is the same thing but then upside down.

He still sits there in contemplating silence.  Then he slowly picks up his sword with his left hand and holds it in front of him, horizontally.  Then with his right hand he slowly pulls his sword out of its scabbard and places the scabbard back on the ground next to him.  With the sword in his right hand he brings into a vertical position directly in front of him.  Then he slowly places his left hand directly across from where his right hand is and holds the sword with his palms, fingers stretched but together.  With the only exception of the erratic lightning bolts on his arms, everything about him is perfectly symmetric.  His sitting stance, his clothes, his sword and his knees that lay against the non-existing floor.  All of it, the epitome of perfection.  Then he breaks the symmetry by moving his right hand up and his left hand down until they are horizontally clear of each other.  Then he clasps the handle tightly but delicately.

A moment of silence passes until he, still sitting motionless, begins to speak.

“One of you has died and this is the only gift I can give you.  But, to keep the balance…”  He is silent for a moment.  “…an eye for an eye.  A tooth for a tooth.  A life…for a life.  Prepare yourselves.  Because the day will come that eternity has an end and infinity has a beginning and a conclusion.  Prepare yourselves for that day…that _will_ come."


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## Joker (Jan 27, 2003)

*whoops*

wrong button.


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