# energy_One's NEW Story Hour (Updated 5/3/03)



## energy_One (Apr 21, 2003)

Introducing new and imp--no... wait. Not so much new _or_ improved, actually. But... wait... maybe new... oh no!

Not more nonsense!

In any case, here for your viewing pleasure...

*Sleeping Sword Campaign!* (campaign page)

A Prelude: _*The Tumbling Begins!*_

* * *

A young man with eyes the strange shades of gold and silver, bearing golden, short hair, and wearing full plate of bronze walks the empty trail toward the busy river town of Glaspel, a crow image engraved on the hilt of his bronze longsword.

This man, Cerne Paliel, soon spots the town on the horizon.

* * * *

A human knight, one Ezekiel Flamebrand, leads a party of initiates, guided by a strange man with a russet beard, through the ruins of central Three Road.

The guide is to lead them to a particular stone said to sit at the site of an ancient battle in the time of the Circle War, and they are to protect him.

* * * * *

Creeping in the jungle near a primitive man-village goes a willowy, nine inch tall figure with dusky skin and yellowish eyes, black beady dots at the center. His hands extend almost to the ground and end in razor sharp needles that drip strange ichor. A cloak wraps over his frame, and a comparatively large pouch hangs from his little belt.

* * * * * *

In the merchant kingdom of Oceana, in a village near the city of Dunmare, a man called Valfein, a man of average height and wiry build, stalks through the grass.

This little village, Breeze, is the place where he has followed the men he now watches for—Gradan, a slave trader, and his hired thugs. Power has changed in Dunmare, and justice calls that this sort of man cannot be allowed to escape unscathed.

* * *

Cerne goes down the road in the mid-afternoon and finds the busy river town of Glaspel completely empty. Along the way he scours for bodies. He sees a mere scrap of parchment blowing through the empty streets.

He approaches a nearby door. He looks about, attempts to examine it… but it crackles strangely and turns to dust when he touches it. Inside there is only darkness, so he decides to turn his attentions to the scrap of paper.

* * * *

Ezekiel and his party follow the russet-bearded man. They pass pillars and ruined walls, all that remains of a battle between powerful sorcerers so long ago. King Edward’s orders ring through Ezekiel’s mind, and he follows the man (who is rumored to be a sorcerer himself). Magic is not trusted, but despite Ezekiel’s suspicions, the guide seems to have his use and knows where he is going.

Soon they arrive at a break in one wall. The sorcerer passes inside, seeming to think this is the place.

* * * * *

The little shadovig sprouts from the shadows of the jungle toward Tonchon, the primitive little village. Tonchon means “Hot Springs” in the language of the strange jungle men, the druids.

The hot springs today are filled with children bathing, while all of the men and some of the women are out in the jungle, gathering, the rest staying indoors. The tiny figure of Shink of the Dusk creeps on between the huts, looking for the man-leader he wants to visit…

Outside of the chief’s hut, Shink sees the most beautiful women of the village, the wives of the chief, bathing in the best of the hot springs, wide and shallow enough for comfort.

* * * * * *

The eyes of Valfein catch sight of his mark. Blonde-bearded, bald Gradan engages his two flunkies in conversation. Carefully, Valfein steps out of the brush, mingling in with the morning milling of the villagers.

Looking like a rather middle-class commoner, he fits right in. Looking for someone to engage in casual conversation, he avoids the gaze of Gradan as much as possible. But before Valfein has a chance to even say hello to one of the other villagers, Gradan’s flunkies take off in one direction, and Gradan himself runs… toward the town square…

* * *

When the piece of parchment blows by the young man’s feet, he decides to go chasing after it. It takes a few snatches at the ground, and a good deal of running, but soon Cerne has a hold of it. It crinkles in his gauntleted hand, but he uncrumples it.

As he reads it, a strange sensation travels up his spine… but he shakes the feeling off. Surely his imagination… but then the parchment seems to crinkle of its own accord and then… again flatten out to normal.

* * * *

The knight, Ezekiel, decides to follow the man through the break. He bids the initiates, who seem rather frightened of this forbidden place, to follow him. The group moves toward the breach, and there they see their guide kneeling over something… a source of greenish light. Whatever it is, it is obscured by the russet-bearded man himself, whose back is to them.

Ezekiel pipes up, “What’ve you found there? Is that what the king sent us for?”

There is a flash of light…

* * * * *

He stays in the shadows, but speaks to them in his high-pitched, crackling voice, asking if the chief is in. Two of the three women are afraid, but one is eager to speak with this “spirit” that has visited them before. 

“He is in. He said for you to wake him when you arrived.”

Shading his eyes from the vile sun, Shink steps out of the shadows and heads into the chief’s hut. A conversation ensues in which the chief treats him with characteristic amazement and fear… but at the mention of his true name, “Shink of the Dusk”, the chief becomes afraid… and dies where he stands.

* * * * * *

Valfein is still posing as one of the crowd when Gradan takes a hostage, a young woman. Though the crowd becomes panicked, and a woman even screams, Gradan’s hostage is strangely calm.

Gradan proceeds to order whoever it is in the crowd that was sent after him to come out, or the woman will be hurt. Valfein just stands there, mimicking the shock of the rest of the crowd.

As Gradan again shouts out that his hunter reveal himself, the young woman lifts her hand gracefully, smacking Gradan with a blow to the temple and releasing herself. Gradan’s head strikes the well he stands near, sending a few old stones toppling.

* * *

Things become even more strange as the paper begins to take on words where before there were none, in the (obscure) language of Cerne’s birth, Lorni. The words are insubstantial and hard to follow. He fights the urge to look away from the page, and keeps his eyes locked on.

The writing becomes more intelligible, and even takes on frightfully bold print.

*Hello, my fellow traveller,* appears there. As soon as the words have appeared, they are gone, and are replaced by, You are strong. *Would you like to make a journey?* The plate-armored fellow curiously scratches the print as it disappears.

* * * *

Blinded momentarily by the flash of green light, Ezekiel topples over, striking his head on the ground. He regains awareness of his surroundings, and hears the rest of his party fleeing. He gets up.

The sorcerer is gone. The light is gone, and the building is dark. Only the night sky that shines through the long-rotted roof  remains. He shouts after the fleeing men, but they do not respond, and he no longer hears their footfalls.

“Initiates…” he says with a sigh.

Then he notices a pale light brightening where the sorcerer previously kneeled. Though he’s confused by the events, he is duty-bound as always, and looks at the source…

* * * * *

…a small, flat, gray stone falls out of the now relaxed hand of the dead chief, Dain. Shink, discovering the man-leader not breathing, commands him to “Wake! Wake! Wake!”, but he does not. He shakes him… but to no effect. He looks for the source of death… and finds nothing but the scrapes and healing scratches of a gatherer.

To his great shock and confusion, the human begins to turn to dust before his eyes and under his needled little fingers, as do the walls of the hut. The ground grows thick with weeds and grass, and Shink dives for the stone.

* * * * * *

The villagers continue to stand in shock as the young woman flees, fleet of foot, and Valfein approaches the still body of Gradan. Not entirely convinced that Gradan isn’t faking it, he takes caution, but the slave trader doesn’t move. Valfein begins to search him for weapons.

Gradan moans, and Valfein silences him by smashing his head again against the well. A few more stones tumble, this time into the well. One in particular falls forward, onto the ground by Gradan. A flat, gray stone, about three inches in diameter.

It winks with a strange glow.

Valfein announces that the man is all right as he heaves him over a shoulder and grabs the glowing stone. As he touches it… a tingle travels down his spine.

* * *

The tingling sensation engages golden-haired Cerne’s spine once again, growing this time and spreading across his body. He imagines he hears laughter, but he dismisses it to be the wind. He tries to pull his eyes away from the paper to look around, but the paper seems to tug at them.

*…but not so strong as I,* appears on the paper.

“What is this?” he cries out.

And again, new print on the paper appears, *It is my existence, traveller.* His eyes begin to feel as if they are being pulled from his sockets. The world around him gets dark, fades, including his own armored body below him.

“Stop it!” he cries. And the final words come to the parchment…

*Stop what?*

* * * *

Ezekiel picks up the flat, gray stone. “This _can’t_ be it.” Something happens, and a tingle spreads over his skin. There is a flash of numbness then, and then another flash of almost painful tingle. It soon stops being just a thing of the body, spreading to his mind. He finds it hard to concentrate, and he seems to be locked within a single moment in time. The stars, however, seem to turn and turn and turn onward and forever, now streaking across the sky!

* * * * *

It’s about three inches in diameter, this former possession of the man-leader, so he has a little trouble maneuvering with it, especially as the grass grows taller than him and thicker than is comfortable…

Truly odd things are happening! But Shink calms himself, and the grass seems to stop growing. There is clear blue sky above, but even that seems to change, becoming darker as he watches. The grass blows by what looks like a strong wind, but Shink cannot feel it.

“Refreshing gloom, embrace him,” comes the raspy little words from the shadowy fey. The darkness does embrace him… it tugs at him, hard, pulling at his very essence. He begins to feel lethargic, and his body feels heavy.

* * * * * *

Valfein wonders… _Was that stone… loose… or part of the well?_

Suddenly the villagers seem unconcerned by the scene. They turn back to their work as if nothing has happened. Valfein’s whole body goes numb, and everything going on around him seems to take on a terribly speed, and it only accelerates. The stone burns in his hand, and seems to drift into nothingness, as does all around him.

* * *

The parchment crinkles into a ball, turns gray, and travels up from his hands. Words appear on the blackness now, white letters on a field of nothing.

*Traveller? Are you sane?*

Cerne cries out with, “Evidently not! This is _paper_ talking to me!” His bones ache, creak, and all of them seem to shatter, sending pain through his body. As he realizes he still feels them, solid, the pain spreads throughout his body and fades. The now-gray paper balls loses its wrinkles, and flattens out slowly. Cerne falls to his knees.

Now in the shape of a flat, gray stone, the thing circles around him as if observing. *Traveller?* the word appears. This final bit of text fades away, as does the gray shape. He feels his head fall downward, and finds his body gone.

* * * *

To Ezekiel, the streaking stars continue… but no day ever seems to come as time speeds up thus. The streaks of white on dark, dreamy blue expand to form a completely white backdrop. For a moment, he forgets his troubled past, and forgets all the world save the whiteness.

* * * * *

Shink hears the sound of screaming. Not men-folk, not anything he recognizes, just a noise that seems hollow and despairing. He quickly becomes worried, his heart beating faster. He sees nothing, and feels nothing, and nothing but darkness surrounds him and his mind. Strangely, though, he finds no peace in this… it does not feel like _death_.

Then, just as before, he feels the tugging, tugging! Tugging until there is nothing but pain… “Please, Masster, make it end!” he cries out… and his pain ends. He feels exhausted, breathes, seems to sit in the center of a broad nothing.

* * * * * *

The burning in Valfein’s hand does not intensify. As he tries to release the stone, he sees it drift from his hand and vanish into his surroundings, which ripple and vanish all the same. Blackness creeps upon him. Everything familiar seems to fade.

* * *

_Somewhere in the back of his mind, the golden-haired young man imagines he feels a wind on his shoulder… but he doesn’t._

* * * *

_His body feels old. Darkness falls over the bright white, as Ezekiel reaches out for it longingly. He sees nothing… he is nothing…_

* * * * *

_Shink hears a soft voice, almost like that of poor, dead Dain… “Come, come Shinkofthedusk… come…” The voice echoes, but is at the same time subtle and soft… “Come.”_

* * * * * *

_A last thought drifts through Valfein… “Damn… I hope I actually killed that #^@$%&…”_

*END
*END!

_I am le Roche! Malamala *Stay tuned!*_


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## Kosh (Apr 21, 2003)

This is the best thing I've ever read.

Ever.

Of course, I am a little biased...

     -Shink


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## Cozy Lemon (Apr 21, 2003)

I think it is the second best piece of writing ever.

Surpassed only by, of course, that which is above me.

Genius.

You must be jealous of me, I came first.

Cerne


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## energy_One (Apr 22, 2003)

Cozy Lemon said:
			
		

> *I think it is the second best piece of writing ever.
> 
> Surpassed only by, of course, that which is above me.
> 
> ...




I resent that. I am more than second... be--wait... what was I... huh?

No!

No!

- Feathers... er... le Roche!


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## energy_One (Apr 25, 2003)

The character sheet for Cerne for Cerne is now up on the campaign web site. So go... look at it. It's wondrously wonderful. And thanks to Sagiro for letting me steal his his campaign page 's code for the basis of my own. Be sure to visit the most recent thread of his Story Hour. Go anality in HTML.


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## energy_One (Apr 26, 2003)

Ezekiel's character sheet is now online.


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## energy_One (May 3, 2003)

And now, without further adieu... *The Sleeping Sword* continues!
_______-________
*Chapter 1: The Back Steps, Part 1* _(In which those concerned find themselves awash in obsidian and starting off their relationships bickering like wee sword-wielding children...)_

Each of the characters feels a darkness surround and envelop them. They are greeted in the darkness by the smell of roasting meat and quiet, almost _distant_ laughter. Just as soon as the laughter leaves their ears, they feel cold, and each begins to suspect they might be dead.

Their sight, however, returns, each to each. They see two torches free-floating in the center of a large cavernous chamber of obsidian-seeming stone. Each sees the other figures standing with them. Cerne, Ezekiel, and Shink are present, all strangers to one another, all baffled by what has presented itself to them.

Ezekiel stands up straight, the image of stoicism (though strangely seeming to have aged beyond his years, looking more the part of a 42-year-old than a 22-year-old, as previously). The light of the torches shrinking away from Shink, toying with his rather misproportioned pouch nervously. Cerne stands still, betraying nothing.

The image of the chamber gets clearer, stalagtite shapes jutting from the ceiling, the two brass-lined torches flickering with flame, marking the start of a single path of silvery, wonderfully polished silver cobblestones, working their way up towards an exit from the chamber—a swirling door-shaped darkness, a mouth in the wall of mysterious nature.

Ezekiel speaks: “Who are you… both of you? Why have you brought me here?” He slowly eyes the two strangers. Shink merely hisses at the light, and begins to slink toward the door. Cerne eyes them.

Cerne turns his eyes from them to the figure of a tall young man with long, straight, almost feminine red hair, irises of his eyes black as night, looking just as bewildered as the rest of them. He wears dark brown robes, finely trimmed with silver threading. He comes walking as if from nowhere, simply appearing. Cerne decides to eye _him_ instead.

Shink stops his slinking, turning over his cloaked little shoulder to hiss at the new stranger. Ezekiel yells after him with a resounding, “Halt!” He moves forward a bit. “I demand to be returned from whence I came!”

Cerne begins to pander around the chamber, touching the floors and the walls with his gauntlet-bearing hands. Shink stares up in curiosity at the red-haired stranger, pattering his little feet, walking over to him to _smell_ him. He sniffs the air.

The fellow looks somewhat dim-witted and rather out of his mind. He wanders about the chamber, seeming bebuggered indeed, but paying no particular attention to any specific strange detail about the room, including the floating torches. He seems totally unaware.

Ezekiel harumphs. “I see I am being ignored… very well.”

Shink looks to the humans around him and peels back his lips in disdain. At this, the red-haired fellow snaps out of whatever trance he is in, looking down and smiling softly at Shink innocently. “Oh… hello, creature.”

Ezekiel crosses his arms across his tightly armored breast, plates a’scraping. He decides that he hasn’t given up. “Which of you brought me here? Where is that crazy _sorcerer_ that lead me to that stone?!” The red-haired man looks around the chamber again in bewilderment, as if he had not quite snapped out of his reverie. Shink eyes the man and his quarterstaff, and decides to slink back some distance.

Cerne looks around, finally speaking, scraping his fingers along the ground. “T’hell’s going on here? Where the &%$#’sa paper?” Shink fingers something in his pouch. A surprised look wisps over his face. His little hands stop moving.

The red-haired stranger stalks backwards, turning his head to stare at Cerne. Cerne stares back, blank-faced.

Ezekiel, tired of being ignored, shouts, “Where is this place?!”

The red-haired man turns his eyes to Ezekiel, finally seeming to notice him, and even wears a refreshingly aware look of horror on his face. “What is this place?” He looks around, frowning, lips twisting. “Oh… gods… what am I doing _here_?”

Shink gets interested in the shouting human now and decides to scamper up behind Ezekiel, sniffing him. The knight looks down at the thing. “Who… or what are you?” he demands, a stern look upon his face. Shink sighs and slinks back.

Cerne throws his arms up a bit in his bronze suit, “Oim leaving! You &$#@%&ds better not follow me!” He heads towards the swirling darkness. Shink decides to scamper towards the door as well. The red-haired man collapses to his knees on the floor, sobbing. His fine-looking, smallish wooden crossbow clacks on the ground.

Ezekiel eyes the whole scene with suspicion. “No, you are _not_ leaving. Not until I get answers!” Cerne ignores him, as does Shink, who is now examining the door-shape.

“Where does it go?” little Shink asks to no one in particular, his voice choc-full of gravel and high-pitch.

The chamber echoes with the slither of the knight’s blade being released from its sheathe. “Halt!” shouts Ezekiel, his eyes narrowing. He waits a moment, Cerne looking over his shoulder, irritated. “Now that I have your attention, who are you? What is this place?”

Cerne turns fully to him. “If you aren’t gonna use that thing, you best put it away…” he says quietly, calmly. He draws his own sword.

A wind blows then out of the darkness, filling the chamber for the smallest moment. “&#@@%mn wind…” mutters Cerne, his eyes looking around for a brief instant. Then he looks back at Ezekiel. “Well? Anything else you want to say a’fore I head out that door?”

Shink holds his little hands up. “It is unknown! Where doesss it lead?!” he squeaks with a hiss.

Both of them ignore the black little fey. “You head out that door, you do it in pieces…” says Ezekiel, “unless you decide to cooperate.”

“Cooperate my @^&, you can go to &%$$, mate.” He turns to leave again.

Ezekiel starts to breathe heavily, the sword shaking in his hand for a moment. He sneers and sheathes the sword, his breath calming. “Very well, leave. But if I find you brought me here, there will be %^$# to pay.”

Cerne turns. “Use your brain,” he barks. “If I brought you here, what chance would you stand against me?”

Ezekiel ignores him, approaching the sobbing red-haired fellow, still absorbed in his own grief. “You look vaguely familiar. Who are you?” Ezekiel notices that the man _almost_ resembles a younger version of his sorcerous guide from before.

The stranger, now on his back, lays with eyes wide and looks blankly up at Ezekiel, his sobs departing. Ezekiel cocks his head to the side. “Are you well?” he asks the red-haired man. And again, as if snapped out of a trance, the man startles and speaks:

“OH! Yes… yes…” Then he turns his head to Cerne, urgently speaking. “Sir! I don’t believe you should leave this place alone. Whatever brought us here obviously brought us here for a reason… and that reason may not be our continued well-being.” Cerne swivels.

“I don’t see why not. I certainly don’t need any of _you_ to help me. I’ve died _once_… this time I’ll try to embrace that.” Cerne clearly suspects that he has died. He turns to look at the swirling darkness, steeling himself to step through.

 “_Who_ are you and _what is this place_?” Ezekiel says firmly, looking at the red-haired man and then at Cerne, a desperate look in his eyes.

The red-haired fellow once again speaks: “Perhaps for our sake, then?” He seems frustrated by Cerne.

Ezekiel crosses his arms again. “If this place doesn’t kill you, the king surely will when he hears that you have disobeyed the commands of one of his officers.”

Cerne turns yet again. “Your sake?!” he cries, sounding a bellowing guffaw. “And KING? I don’t have any clue what you’re talking about… frankly, I don’t _care_, either.”

The red-haired man gets up. “Wait! Perhaps we can… offer our help to you, then? I need to find something, and I think it might be here…” He has a worried look in his eyes.

Ezekiel, however, seems to have had enough of Cerne. “You dare flout King Edward’s authority?!”

Cerne’s eyes flare up. “I’ve said it once… I need _no one_! I don’t even known what you mean by a ‘king’, so you can stop your drivel… and LEAVE ME BE!” Ezekiel’s hand shoots once again to his sword. A peculiar glint crosses the eyes of the brown-robed, red-haired stranger.

Cerne challenges, “Like I said before, don’t touch it unless you plan to _use_ it.”

As if he hasn’t heard a bit of the shouting, he announces what he has been looking for… “A… stone.”

Ezekiel turns abruptly, his hand resting on his sword’s pommel. “Did you say… a stone?” Cerne peaks with a bit of surprise. “A stone?”

The red-haired man nods. “A flat stone. About… three knuckles wide?”

Ezekiel nods. “Grayish?” he asks. Cerne begins to mumble.

“Yes,” the man mumbles himself, “worn by… time, one might say. I was supposed to find it at the bottom of a river, but instead I found myself walking from the open air into this…” He looks around. “…place.”

Cerne growls. “That stone &^mn near killed me!” He seethes with anger.

“That stone was in mine hands when I was brought her by some means,” speaks the knight, Ezekiel. Shink stands near the exit still, curiously eyeing the goings-on.

The red-haired fellow once again looks worried and bewildered. “What? I… don’t understand. It’s just an old sitting stone… used for milling wheat and corn….” He seems uncertain of his own words.

“Yes!” Cerne says, glaring at Ezekiel. “Stop talking gibberish. No one can understand you, you pompous fool!” Ezekiel’s brow furrows.

“That… is it. Draw thine sword! This be settled _now_.” Ezekiel draws his sword.

“If you want some, I’ll be glad to fight you. I promise _no_ mercy.” Cerne taps the tip of his blade on the ground.

Ezekiel scowls. “I shall not _need_ mercy.”

“Wait! We cannot fight each other!” the red-haired stranger shouts.

Cerne shrugs. “I don’t see why not. He _wants_ to fight.”

Near sneering and fuming now, the stranger stamps his foot, red hair falling in front of his eyes. “I don’t know about you, but I want out of here _ALIVE_!!”

At this, Cerne merely shrugs. “I don’t really care either way.”

“Agh! Then kill each other _later_… by all means!” He seizes his quarterstaff from the ground and brushes himself off.

Ezekiel nods. “I shall do just that.” He sheathes his sword once more. Cerne does the same.

The stranger, despite the end of the brief bout, shouts, “FOOLS!” and storms off through the swirling darkness. The stranger fades from view, as if dissapearing into a fog.

Cerne smirks at Ezekiel. “He called you a fool. Are you going to kill him, too?”

Both Cerne and Ezekiel continue to bicker. Cerne decides he is done, and exits himself, fading into the darkness just as the red-haired man had. Ezekiel follows behind after a moment or two, giving barely a look to Shink as he leaves.

Shink looks about suddenly, long ago having lost interest in the argument. “Where are they?” He turns and turns, and locks his yellowy little eyes on the exit. A dark maw of blackness sits in silent answer. Shink shrugs, sighs, and scampers into the darkness after them… with a little smile of bliss at the lightlessness.
_______-________
_*Stay tuned!*_


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## Cozy Lemon (May 4, 2003)

*stays tuned*

Yay!


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## energy_One (May 4, 2003)

*Chapter 1: The Back Steps, Part 2* _(In which the party is faced with puzzzzling chamber, a dead dwarf, and bubbly little frogs… with pointy sticks...)_

All feel warm and rather safe passing through the darkness. The journey feels like a walk through a grassy field on a warm spring day, passing through a tavern to the backdoor where the customers are jovial and music is playing, climbing over rocky steppes on a shadowed plain, the soft smell of _cinnamon_ in the air… all of these scenes pleasant, endless, and comforting.

And yet, they do come to an end. Though all passed into the darkness at different times, all emerge simultaneously, in a straight line, equidistant from one another. Their bodies feel stronger, healed, as if this place is infused with life itself. Refreshing!

The walls of the chamber are made from large, smooth bricks, mortared together with barely-visible seams. The floor and ceiling have been carved from natural stone, a green light cast upon the ceiling and all surroundings by a marble pool in the center of the room. It holds cloudy water, moving just enough that the strange light flickers and dances on the walls and ceiling.

Cerne and the red-haired man look about the room, the red-haired man seemingly in awe.

Large iron doors, each with a large, sliding iron handle, are set in the room’s four walls, in the center of each door resting an inset from puzzled with odd symbols. Next to each door save the one through which the group entered is a small pedastel with tiles stacked upon it. The room is quiet.

Behind them, the black, swirling maw from which the party came is swallowed by the marble. There is a sucking noise, and it is gone, a blank wall in its place. “COW!” shouts Cerne.

In a rather odd moment of randomness, the red-haired stranger looks back at the others and announces, “My name is Tersoal.”

Cerne trudges over to the leftmost pedestal. Shink parades about the room, examining the symbols on the doors. The symbols on the stacked tiles and in tiles already set in the doors include a fish, a lobster, a “whale” (which is to all a creature of myth and legend), and finally, a snake. Each pedastel in the room, they find, has one of each of the four symbols. On the doors the symbols are in four vertical columns, each animal positioned differently, an empty circle in the center with eight dark holes awaiting tiles.

Ezekiel stays put, peering at this “Tersoal”. “Now I get a name? …I am Ezekiel Flamebrand.” Tersoal, distracted by the pool, walks away from him, leaving Ezekiel the only one unmoved. He shrugs at the new-found silence.

Cerne, presses on one of the snake tiles, looking to the door, looking for some clue. Shink stares at the doors. Tersoal, bending over the pool, speaks up. “There’s something at the bottom, here…” he says quietly.

Ezekiel steps up to him. “What is it?” Cerne and Shink also meander over, leaving the puzzle-doors. All look down, seeing at the bottom what look like bones of a dwarf (to Ezekiel, Cerne, and Tersoal, the only ones familiar with dwarves). Cerne grins at the sight of the dead.

Shink tests the water, sticking his whole little hand in, eyeing the pool, which looks fairly deep, many times his height. The water is cool and clear, almost magical with the green light it casts.

Tersoal watches him, looking disgusted. “What happened here?” he says. Tersoal speaks again. “Perhaps we shouldn’t stick around to find out. Such dallying ways turn people to bones.” He gestures toward the unfortunate dwarf.

Ezekiel nods grimly. “Let us find a way out, then.”

Shink, inattentive, takes a few breaths, and dives in. Tersoal cries, “Creature, what are you doing?!” Cerne merely looks to the bottom and sighs as Shink begins to swim down, oblivious. When he gets to the bones, he rummages, discovering the the dwarf has left behind not only a fine axe, but a rotting pouch of gleaming gold pieces. The stones beneath him begin to swirl visibly. First those above notice, then Shink, who begins to scoop the gold into his boundless pouch in a panic.

He swims up. The floor visibly melts away, leaving a swirling pool of green, opaque liquid that shimmers and shines below the water. Something emerges, then. Shink swims _faster_. Cerne draws his sword, as does Ezekiel, who backs up as well. Another figure emerges from the bottom, and then, four more! Each looks like a tiny, bipedal frog, mouths agape. Each would tower above Shink, and tower… somewhat below the others.

Nonetheless, they carry _wicked_ spears.

Cerne grins to Ezekiel. “Maybe you’ll get to kill something _besides_ me.”

Ezekiel merely smiles back. “So it seems…”

Soon, ten of them swarm out of the small pool just after Shink, who scrambles out, soaking wet, and rushes off behind a pedestal. He pulls out a hollow piece of wood, needle-like teeth gleaming. Cerne raises his sword. Ezekiel does the same, and arms himself with shield in hand.

The froglings wear mean snears with flattish, herbiverous teeth. Shink sinks into shadows. Just as quickly as he is gone from sight, a tiny needles flashes from the shadows and strikes a frogling near Cerne. It “pops”, almost like a bubble, releasing filmy gas into the air nearby. None of the others seem concerned at this.

Cerne chants a spell, and his muscles ripple from his armor. He looks altogether far more intimidating. He backs up a bit, sword in hand, near the pedestal behind which Shink hides. Ezekiel begins to hack at several as a small group advances on Cerne. The froglings make no sound as they stab at Ezekiel, doing little more than annoying him, spears glancing off of his armor harmlessly.

Several more go _POP!_, more gas erupting. Ezekiel coughs as he inhales some of it. Cerne cuts on down, and does the same. Both cough and hack. Cerne puts his own shield between himself and the froggies, striking at another. Ezekiel continues to cleave through the retinue. More froglings emerge from the pool as he cuts down the last of them…

Cerne looks around, seeing no sign of Tersoal. “The coward’s run off!”

“So it seems,” says Ezekiel as Cerne angrily swings and downs another of the froglings. Ezekiel advances toward the pool to catch a few of the new arrivals. He cleaves several before they even fully exit the pool. The concentration of gas gets heavier, and Ezekiel begins to cough, hacking again.

Then, like a flying fish, Tersoal splashes out of the pool, his red hair and robes soaking. A spear flies out after him as he pulls himself—and the dwarf’s axe!—from the pool, getting his footing. Seven more of the froglings begin to emerge as Ezekiel places himself near Tersoal. The battle continues, Ezekiel slicing through three more of the emerging froglings. Shink slinks out from his hiding place and begins to fiddle with the door.

The attackers continue to emerge from the pool, Tersoal and Ezekiel cutting at most, Cerne attempting to guard Shink as he _walks up the vertical door_, and begins work with a tiny set of tools on the door. More froglings continue to emerge, now swarming about Ezekiel. All move to attack _him_, serrated spears ready.

They prove to be more than a little pitiful, barely striking anything other than his ornate armor, off which their spears harmlessly clank. The gas is getting so thick now that Ezekiel and Cerne can barely see, Tersoal merely frowning in the backround, trying to take aim with his small crossbow. Once he finds a target, he pulls at the trigger… to no avail! The mechanism is broken.

Stamping his foot, his opens his mouth, spitting out a diamond with well-trained force. Cerne dodges, thinking it is about to hit him. Instead, it falls low, and pops another of the dreadful little frogs. All are getting tired as Shink hears a *CLICK* from the door. He continues his work with renewed vigor. Ezekiel grimaces and cleaves through every one of the froglings at the edge of the pool. He hacks and coughs as the gas grows stronger, nearly toppling over into the pool.

But he steels himself, and looks around. The chamber is empty now save for the party! And another *CLICK* comes. The danger seems to be gone now, the gas beginning to thin.

Tersoal cries out, asking about wounds. None seem to have come to much harm, save Ezekiel, who seems quite a bit weakened by the gas and the exertion. The diamond Tersoal spit lies nearby Cerne, sparkling with spit and refracting green light.

Seconds later, another shout from Tersoal, shattering the silence… “MORE OF THEM!” Six more of the bipedal frogs crawl, sneers at the ready, and emerge from the pool.

Ezekiel grits his teeth. “&^mn it! Is there no _end_?!” The battle goes on, Shink getting through to the last of the slots, finding it quite a bit of trouble… meanwhile, the party slowly weakens as the battle trudges on and the few-and-far-between wounds from the froglings start to become _quite_ noteworthy…


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## Cozy Lemon (May 4, 2003)

*reads it first*


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