# A Kingdom of Ashes (Zombies! Pirates! Giant Lizards! Intrigue!) UPDATED 07/01/05!!



## The_Universe (May 24, 2004)

*Prologue Part I*​ 
*Jeranna*​*(The Zombie's Tale)*​ 

Jeranna leaned into the salty spray of the sea, feet placed perfectly on the _Skyracer’s_ bowsprit. One long, sinewy arm reached back, holding onto a rope that one of her lieutenants had insisted she take with her out above the vessel’s prow. She smiled, crinkling the midnight skin around her eyes and mouth, feeling simple ecstasy at being able to ride the Placid Sea with such abandon.​ 

Jeranna’s Talon was rarely given assignments like this, and she intended to make the very best of it while she had the chance. The cargo the _Skyracer _carried was important, but there were few dangers remaining in the Kingdom of the Falcon, especially on the run between Thanesport and Crisoth. The King’s Navy had sunk the Bluestar’s last pirate flotilla almost a century ago, making the security that the King had insisted surround the Liegeblade on its voyage across the sea no more than a formality.​ 
Jeranna simply sought to make the best of a simple, ceremonial duty, and enjoy herself before she was once more drawn into the endless, mindless ceremony of the King’s court in Caer Albion.

A voice cut through the crashing waves, interrupting the young Talon’s thoughts. “Jeranna!”

She looked over her shoulder then, sighing as she sees Korin, the lieutenant in charge of the mission. Almost dancing along the bowsprit, she quickly returned to the relatively solid deck of the ship, her body going rigid as she stood in front of her superior officer. “Yes Lieutenant Bahn?”

Korin Bahn stood only a few inches taller than the young woman, but carried almost 2 decades more experience as a member of the Kingshield Talon on his muscular, ebon frame than did the young warrior who apparently fancied herself a sailor. “I think you’ve had enough fun, for the moment. We’re changing shift below decks, and you’re up.”

“But sir…” she started to plead, trying desperately to win a few more hours of freedom on the dark waters of the great inland ocean.

“Jeranna! You will report for duty immediately, or you’ll be shielding the king’s hounds when we get back to Caer Albion. Am I understood?”

Jeranna hung her head, then, a shock of white hair falling over her amber eyes. Dejectedly, she muttered, “Yes sir.”

Moments later, the young warrior found herself leaning against the narrow stairwell that led from the main deck to the cargo hold, rolling down her pant legs and pulling on the tall black boots that were an inextricable part of her duty uniform. She pulled on the black leather tunic that marked her as a member of the Kingshield Talon, straightening it slightly before stepping back into the small room that held (at the moment) one of the Falcon Kingdom’s greatest treasures. Two of her comrades leaned against the walls of the small room, while another was perched on the chest that carried the last Runeblade left in the known world—the Liegeblade, the sword of kings. 

Jeranna pointed to Teryn, whom she was to replace, guarding the weapon. As the older man passed Jeranna, she turned her head slightly, asking, “Anything new?”

A half-smile twisted the man’s lip upward, slightly. This was what passed for mirth in Teryn’s case. “There’s a sword in a box, and we’re watching it. What were you expecting? Pirates?”

Before Jeranna could respond, she heard a muffled _thud_, followed by a short, high-pitched noise…almost like a scream. Jerking her head back toward the stairs, she started to speak, saying, “Should I…”

Before she could finish, Teryn held out a hand, cautioning her from speaking more. Whispering, he looked into her eyes, his expression showing uncommon gravity, even for him. “I’ll check it out.” Widening his gaze to include the others, he said, “Stay here, and keep that chest safe!”

Teryn took a single, hesitant step toward the narrow ladder that led up to the _Skyracer’s_ main deck. Taking a deep breath, he looked back at Jeranna and the others, worry creasing his lined and battle-scarred face. His mouth opened, almost as if to say something, and then he turned back to the ladder, silently climbing into the night as he loosened his antiquated basket-hilted broadsword in it scabbard.

He disappeared, black armor and skin blending perfectly into the midnight sky. His boots made no sound on the deck above, leaving Jeranna and the others with no company other than silence. Unable to hear anything happening on the decks above, Jeranna nervously eased her steeldrake from its holster below her ribs, slowly pulling back the flint, and checking the pistol to ensure that, should it be needed, it would be primed and loaded. 

The _click_ of the steeldrake’s flint was agonizingly loud in the tiny chamber. Jeranna winced as she heard it echoing through the room, looking over her shoulder at her companions. Still, no sound drifted downward from the deck above. Whatever was happening above was frighteningly quiet, and there was little Jeranna could do but wait. 

Suddenly, a loud crash split the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of steel on steel. Battle! Jeranna pulled her own saber from the sheath at her hip. Looking over her shoulder to her companions, she checked the flint on her steeldrake once more, and with a weak smile to the remaining guards, she slowly climbed into the darkness where Teryn had disappeared, seconds before. 

Her eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness above as carefully ascended into the night. Her race’s vision allowed her to assess the scene instantly—a strangely silent battle, with Teryn just entering the fray, behind a still-living Lieutenant Bahn. Her amber eyes outlined each of the hulking creatures in the starlight. Great reptilian monstrosities, each stood a head (or more) taller than a man. Nearly a score of the creatures fought against no more than a half dozen sailors, with dozens more of the _Skyracer’s_ crew already laying dead at their feet. 

Jeranna watched as Teryn pulled the trigger on his own steeldrake, and then gasped as the hot, flying lead failed to slow the creature charging toward him, _making no sound_. Powerful legs drove the creature toward the Alder warrior, great scaly hands grasped a rune-cut spear. The reptilian abomination seemed to roar as Teryn managed to parry away the spear thrust with his sword. Once more, no sound escaped to reach Jeranna’s ears.

Jeranna carefully aimed her own pistol, and pulled the trigger, sending smoke and lead screaming toward the beast that Teryn was still battling. The trademark _boom_ of drakespowder pierced the silence, and then the beast, thudding through thick, reddish scales, and then outward, splintering the _Skyracer’s_ mast with fragments of the bullet. Snakelike eyes rolled upward into the creature’s elongated face, and Teryn was able to show her a quick smile over his bleeding shoulder, before darting forward to engage another of the invaders. His lips moved, but his words were lost to whatever magic had kept the battle silent for so long.

Caught in what seemed to be the eye of a storm of steel, Jeranna was finally able to fully appreciate the scene in which she found herself. A thick fog had enveloped the _Skyracer_ in the minutes she had been below decks, the ship boarded in silence while she and Teryn had joked. Someone had come. Someone had come, and they meant to have the Liegeblade.

Before she could launch herself into the fray, the fog parted, and Jeranna was struck dumb by the sight she beheld. A great vessel no less than 10 times the size of the _Skyracer_ pushed its way through the mist. Great black sails laid limp against their masts, and strange flying creatures swarmed around the vessel, seeming to drift in and out of reality as they disappeared and reappeared from the mist. The ship’s hull was a mix of coal-black and a strange stained ivory, almost as if the vessel was iron, poured into the ribcage of some unknown, terrible beast.

As she saw it, she gasped, and dropped the spent steeldrake to the bottom of the stairwell, and nearly lost the grip on her sword, as well. Steeling herself against the crushing despair that the vessel seemed to force upon her soul, she tightened her grip on her saber, and finished the climb to the deck. She whispered a short prayer to the Light, the sound suddenly lost to some unknown force, and then moved forward to defend the treasure below with her last breath, as she had sworn to do.

Before she could bring her sword to Teryn and Korin’s aid, cold metal hit her on the back of the head, summoning dancing stars to her vision. Managing to turn as she stumbled forward, she saw the handle of the steeldrake she had dropped, stained in her own blood. It was in the hands of one of the guards she had left to protect the blade. _Treachery!_ 

A cruel smile crossed his face, as she tried to regain her balance, and he drew his own steeldrake, as if in answer to her silent accusation. Two of the giant lizardmen walked forward, moving cautiously as if to protect the traitor that had hit her, as he cocked back the weapon’s flint. “_Remember me in Hell, Jeranna?_” he mouthed, and then the world went dark. 



* * *​ 


_“Darkson, what should we do with this one?”_ something whispers. This must not be Hell. But it hurts. It hurts a lot. At least the silence is gone. (she thinks, listening) 

A male voice laughs. “_She lives, eh? Not for long, I imagine?_”

“_Not without the healer’s touch,_” the whisperer answers. 

“_Then she’ll not last long enough to walk the shadow path. Too bad—this one had spirit,” _the laugher says, obviously considering something. _“We may yet have a use for her…I have an idea. Summon Mistress Blackadder.”_



* * *​ 


Conscious again. Still not dead. Still can’t see. Maybe blind, maybe my eyes are just closed? (she thinks again, drifting back into consciousness.)

Dammit. The laugher is talking again. Why won’t he shut up? Still hurts. “_Here she is, Mistress Blackadder. Will she serve our purposes?”_

A feminine voice this time, like razors over silk. “_That depends on how much she has seen._” 

“_Just the Dahaka, I think. And the ship. But word has already begun to travel about that.”_

Razors again. Why won’t they stop talking and let her die? “_I just want to make sure that an overzealous cleric doesn’t manage to pry too much of the truth from her corpse. The Apectan Order could ruin this if too much happens too quickly._”

“_Well then open her eyes…let’s make sure she sees what we want her to see. I’ll follow, and make sure that the right story spreads._”

“_Very well._” Razors starts to chant…her voice lowering, changing…now it’s like razors over razors. She’d shudder if she could. Suddenly, her eyes burst open.



* * *​ 


She saw a black flag with the outline of an eye and star, all in blue. She tried to gasp, but could not summon the strength. The Bluestar! In the Placid Sea! Her eyes refocused, almost blinded by the sun, now clearly overhead. 

Two shadows stood over her, slowly resolving into a man and a woman. Razors, the woman, still filled the air with her words. The sounds seemed to hover over her, and then slowly, excruciatingly, they began to slice into her flesh…and settle into her soul. She was almost painfully beautiful, made more so by the ugliness of the words she somehow managed to utter. 

She managed to glance to her left. A body—another Talon. She managed to smile. It was the traitor. I guess we all get out comeuppance in the end, eh? 

Laugher, the man, smirked over her burning black flesh. She was able to register surprise over her pain as she saw that he too wore the uniform of the King’s navy. Cold grey eyes sat deep in a sallow, mustached face. Crouching beside her, he tilted the her chin toward him, and pressed cold, hard lips against hers as Razor’s words bit deeper and deeper into her body. Something was changing. She was dying. He was enjoying it. Bastard. 

Pulling back, he (predictably) started to laugh again. “_Remember the flag, girl. You’ve been given the honor of being the first soldier in what will be a truly fantastic war,_” he said, unable to contain his mirth. As the laughter subsided, once more allowing Razor’s words to fill her mind, he continued, distracting her from sweet merciful death once more. “_Your King thanks you for your service, Jeranna, and he thanks you for the sword. One down, only twelve to go. Happy hunting, girl. You’ll have a feast, tonight!_” Laughter again, this time drowned out by the cutting words of the sorceress standing above her. 

More cuts, more razors, more changes. She screamed, an unholy cry, as if her soul were trying to escape the prison her body now represented. Then, the world went dark. This time, for good.


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## Xath (May 24, 2004)

Woohoo! A story hour!  The Universe is awesome.

To learn more about our rag tag team, visit our website:

The Kingdom of Ashes:  Saga of the Army of the Phoenix

It is unfinished, but we're still working on it.


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## AIM-54 (May 25, 2004)

Ahhh, the good old days when men were men, women were women and incompetence was something that happened to other people...


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (May 25, 2004)

The prologue looks great!  I can't wait to read more!


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## Laurel (May 25, 2004)

A yound halfling with blonde braids jumps up and down singing "tell me more, tell me more!"

Awesome intro!... and now I will get to see how much of L'aurel's memory is off


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (May 26, 2004)

The prologue was a very interesting perspective for me (a player in the campaign) because it's stuff that none of the players experienced first hand...

A whole new perspective for us, The_Universe!  Thanks!


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## threshel (May 27, 2004)

The prologue certainly makes me want to read more.

More, you hear me?  More! <pounds mug on his table>

er...ahem.  Sorry 'bout that.  Naval stories do that to me.
Glad to see some local talent on the boards.

J


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## The_Universe (May 31, 2004)

There's more comin'.  Had to head back to South Dakota for a wedding, but the next part is nearing completion.  Happy reading!


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## The_Universe (Jun 2, 2004)

*Prologue part II*

*Justice*​*(The Paladin's Tale)*​ 
It had been a long, hard, unpleasant ride across the plains of Maelwysrin, made longer by the fact that she hadn’t been allowed to return to the barracks before starting west. She hadn’t been forced to draw her sword to fell anything other than brambles, so far. Grand quest indeed. 

Justice squirmed in the saddle, raising her gauntleted hand to shelter her vision against the setting sun. The days were shortening. Autumn was coming, and winter would follow soon after. But, the trees hadn’t started to turn, even on this side of the mountains. She had soaked through the jerkin beneath her armor with sweat. If winter was coming, it was taking its Light-damned time getting here.

How long had she been on the road? Was it only weeks? It felt like years. She had passed the Academy’s tests with flying colors, and yet her success had been answered with exile. Damn Donovon. Damn the Oracle. The Academy, just like her parents, had little desire to keep Justice around. Lost in thought, she remembered… 

* * *​ 
It was a two week trip into the mountains from the Jade Forest, and everyone in the unit was complaining, except for Justice. Out here, the solitude of having so many admirers but so few friends easily faded into the background as survival became paramount. As always, she had stayed closest to the march leaders, avoiding her fellow students whenever possible.

She was the only member of the Apectan Order on this march, a fact made painfully clear by the Sun and Crosspiece emblazoned across the breast of her armor. She was accompanied by warriors, but none of them had heard _the Call._ Even in this auspicious company, she was alone. 

It had been a graduation march for the best and brightest of this year’s cohort. Even as peace had marginalized the Academy’s offerings over the past century, the quality of its warriors had grown. As she was often reminded, she was among the greatest warriors in the history of Aeres. Too bad they were all such arrogant fools.

Something shook her from her thoughts. A sound. A voice. Damn—Colonel Donovan was at her again. Trying so hard to learn; lost in daydreams again. She’d pray about it, tonight. Her voice, soft and melodic (but with a vein of steel running through it), answered the half-heard query. “Yes, Mistress! Everyone looks fine, Mistress! No need to slow, Mistress!”

Circling back on the dusty trail, Colonel Donovon’s charger bore down on the line of exhausted graduates, slowing just soon enough to keep from running Justice down. The corporal looked down from her horse, her nearly pristine state a sharp contrast to the dirt and grime that had become the small company’s only true companion. Donovon had never liked her, and she looked vaguely disappointed to see that the young paladin had not even flinched at her aborted charge. 

Looking over the exhausted group, she settled her gaze on Justice. “The cohort looks tired, Fairweather. We can rest now, and finish our ascent in the morning. I knew you wouldn’t be able to make it this far without at least one more rest. You push too hard, Fairweather. There’s no one here to impress, not even dear old Mum.” The last words were cruel, a deliberate slight against her. Donovon’s lip twisted into a self-satisfied smile. Bitch. 

Returning her attention to the mountain trail twisting back down toward the comfort of home, Donovon shouted to the cohort, “We’re setting up camp here, for the night. We can push on to the Oracle’s cave in the morning. Nothing to see there now that we won’t see in the morning. Swordswoman Fairweather has been pushing you too hard.”

As Donovon swung off of the horse, the rest of the cohort began to drop their packs, silent as they started to prepare for a night in the wild. Fools. Donovon was just goading her, trying make her look like a fool, and a weakling. Bitch, bitch, _bitch_! Justice stood, staring at Donovon, an angry flush reddening her already sun-blasted face. If looks could kill, the Colonel would have been halfway to Hell. 

Slowly, Justice too turned back to face the busy cohort, trying desperately to unload their heavy packs on the steep incline of the mountain trail. Slowly, deliberately, she began shouting orders, her melodic stream of her voice now running over steel. “Belay that order, ladies and gentlemen! We’ll make the climb tonight.”

The cohort stood dumbly, some with bedrolls half spread over the rocky ground. No one moved; no one made a sound. She thought she heard someone cough. 

Donovon wheeled to face her, then, furious at the junior officer’s attempt to override her authority. “Did I hear you correctly, Swordswoman Fairweather?” she emphasized the rank, beating her over the head with the club of propriety.

Justice ignored the older woman. This was her unit, at the moment, and it was her responsibility to decide when and where they made camp. Donovon had no right to stop them here, not when they were so close. “Pack it up, and gird yourselves for a bit more climbing. We can make it to the cave by nightfall, and _by the Light_ we _will_ make it there, understood?”

She stared down at the cohort, and a half-hearted affirmative drifted up toward her. She snorted, her anger transferring from Donovon to the warriors gathers below her on the trail. “I said we’re making the climb! _Understood!?_”

This time, a better response, “Aye!” they shouted, with only a few conspicuous silences. Donovon’s babies. Let her have them. She was leading warriors, and warriors didn’t quit just because they were tired. 

She turned away from them, half afraid to see how many would actually follow her all the way to the cave of the Stone Oracle. Setting herself against the slant of the trail, she pushed ahead, one foot ahead of the next. Her own breath deafened her, and the sweat of her brow blinded her. Still, she pressed on. Take that, Donovon. Take that, Mother.

After nearly an hour of pushing herself, she dared look back to the cohort she hoped she would find following behind her. Her breath caught in her chest, but she sighed in relief as she saw what seemed to be almost the entire group trudging up the path. Through the clouds of dust, she thought she even managed to see Donovon trailing behind the group. She’d never hear the end of it. Oh well—it had been worth it to see the look on Donovon’s face. 

She allowed herself a small smile. She had been elected to lead this march by the class of young warriors, below. Although most of them were over-inflated idiots, it felt good to know that they’d follow when she asked. 

Turning back to the trail ahead, she pressed on toward the small plateau upon which the cavern of the Stone Oracle huddled against the sun, wind, and rain. It seemed only moments between her triumphal inspection to reaching the mountain’s windy top, but by the time she reached the flattened stone, the sun had already begun to dip below the horizon. It would be dark by the time they set up camp. Yet, they had made it in record time—something for this graduating class to be proud of. Something for her to be proud of, though she had few to share it with. 

She dropped her own pack onto the smooth stone outside of the cave’s mouth, nodding to some of the Academy’s march leaders that had arrived here early, just in case anything had gone wrong with the march. She had been the first to reach the cavern, and she would be the first to see the ancient, long-dead oracle. 

She ducked her head as she stepped down into the cool, damp cave. Moving forward, she tried her best to prevent one of the low-hanging stalactites from catching her long, blond hair. The cave mouth descended for what had to have been a few hundred feet, a cramped stone pathway cut out of the ancient stone. This passage had been cut, carved out of the mountain itself for some long-forgotten purpose by something (or someone?) older than even the Alder.

As she moved further and further into the darkness, the age of the place seemed to press in on her. It was a strange forbidding notion, slowly building in the pit of her stomach. Even if the Oracle was dead, this place _remembered _what it was to have power. Still, she pressed forward into the darkness, slowly approaching a remnant of time gone by. 

Like thousands of students from the Jade Forest Academy before her, she would challenge the Stone Oracle to reveal her future. It would stare out of the stone, in silence. It was supposed to be a sign that her future was what she made of it. Justice knew it was nothing more symbolic than the fact that it’s magic was long spent. 

Still descending after what seemed like miles, the cavern seemed to brighten ahead of her. Something was producing light, ahead. Probably one of the march leaders. Maybe Tonnyn?

Muttering to herself as the passageway began to widen, she chose her steps carefully. The last few hundred feet down into the cavern were notoriously treacherous, and more than one of her predecessors had turned an ankle here. The light continued to brighten. Tonnyn (or whoever it was) must have been on his way back up. Still stepping with exaggerated care, she slid down a broken ledge of shale, using her long arms to steady herself. 

She stopped suddenly, once more on flat ground. This must be the end of the descent. In the bowels of the Oracle’s mountain, she had finally reached the place where she would demand her future. She stepped around an outcropping of granite, a wall carved out of the stone to separate the Oracle’s chamber from the narrow pathway its petitioners were forced to tread. 

She was surprised to find herself alone in the chamber. The light seemed to come from the walls of the chamber itself. Some sort of moss or lichen, perhaps? Maybe even an old magic still left over from whatever the Oracle’s makers intended. Whatever it was, it was bright enough to allow her to see the Oracle. No reason to question good luck. 

The Oracle was carved out of the back wall of the chamber, a crude noseless face with no visible neck. A ring of stone seemed to surround the face, no more than three feet in diameter—almost as if its makers had intended to suggest a strange sort of halo around what she supposed was supposed to be a head. Was it once a Man’s face? An Alder’s? A Dwarf’s? Was this once a beautiful work of art, now ravaged by time? Whatever it was, it was fascinating, and ageless. 

In the present, two narrow slits in the stone made its eyes, and a third slash nearer the bottom, a mouth. Now in its presence, she no longer thought the ceremony trivial. Even to hear nothing from this ancient granite soothsayer seemed to speak volumes for the successes her future would hold. She steeled herself, and asked the question she had been told to ask, the question that thousands before (and even more after) her would ask of the inert stone face. “Oracle, I beg thee, reveal what Time has in store for this humble servant of the Light?”

She smirked a little. No answer. The future was wide open, and she could choose her own path. Mother, wherever you are, take that! Tomorrow belonged to Justice.

Happily, she turned back toward the passage, ready to begin her journey up into the fading daylight. She saw a silhouette in the passage—the next petitioner. She took a step forward, and then she felt the ground shake. An earthquake, and she beneath uncountable tons of rock. Time to start her devotions, she didn’t have long, now. 

Falling to her knees, she began, “I am the Hand of the Light…” but before she could finish the first sentence of her devotion, another voice cut in, far louder than her own. A foul wind seemed to rush from the depths of the cavern, and it carried her voice away with it. Turning toward the wind’s source, she nearly fainted. It may have been a trick of the light, but she _thought _she saw the Oracle’s features shift. Blinking, she tried to stand, bracing herself against the sourceless gust. 

Then, it spoke. With every word, her world changed. 

_Darkness falls on Traveler’s children,_​_Once and again as the line of Kings falters:_​_The fallen shall rise to consume their heirs, _​_As falcons are hounded from their roosts. _​ 
_Your Fathers’ victories shall become as ashes!_​ 
_The fallen return on serpent’s wings,_​_While the unquiet dead stir from their Prison Tombs._​_Man’s folly will shadow the world in flame, _​_Evil will rise to reclaim birth’s right._​ 
_Death will not bar midnight’s Imperator!_​ 
_True blood stirs, hidden by betrayal,_​_A single chance for Forest King’s last daughter:_​_Win the throne or face Covenant fulfilled,_​_A deal in blood, rising with Darkness’ Mistress._​ 
_The Hand of Death grasps the dying light!_​ 
_Daughter of Sun and Shadow, awake!_​_Salvation lives within your blade,_​_And in the heroes found in westward lands,_​_Who fight the dead and damned, drowning the spark of War. _​ 
_Redemption begins in the city of sacrifice! _​ 
_Look beyond peace’s waters, and face your shadows,_​_Gathering to conquer and kill._​_Darkness reigns as liege once, and again_​_Should the sword of Kings fall to Goddess’ son!_​ 
_Ready, Children, for now is your truest test!_​ 
_Meanwhile,_​_Silently, the ancient awake from timeless dreams,_​_To watch, to listen, to plan._​_They return for vengeance, and bring with them the end of all you know._​ 
Stunned, she stood. Mouth open, half expecting to hear greater pronouncements of doom from the Stone Oracle’s now-unmoving mouth, she blinked into the rising darkness, as the strange light she had noted before began to fade. She felt a hand fall upon her shoulder, and she nearly drew her blade before turning to see it was a friend. Tonnyn. 

Slowly, he turned her toward his own ashen, quivering face. “Did…did you…did you hear that? By the Light, Justice—I think it was talking to you!”

Regaining some small part of her composure, she batted his trembling hand away. “I heard it. But it couldn’t have been talking to me…” she said, all certainty leeched from her voice. “…it must have been a message for someone else. My future is my own.”

“Justice,” he said, trying to draw her attention away from a sudden, almost frantic search of the chamber for another person. “There was no one else here. I was still in the passage, coming to make sure you hadn’t hurt yourself on the descent…it was a message for you!”

“No…” she started to say, before his voice could overpower her own.

“It had to be! By the Light, Justice! It _spoke_ to you! It has not spoken in uncounted generations! It has given you your future! You must go!” 

She had lost the strength to protest. She was sure he went on for hours about the meaning of the prophecy, quickly copying it down from memory. She just sat, silently staring into the now blindingly dark cavern.

Yet, less than three hours later, she was on one of the march leader’s horses, with Tonnyn’s copy of the prophecy in one of her saddlebags. Even Donovon had come to see her off (although she had doggedly insisted that Justice and Tonnyn had fabricated the entire event from whole cloth). She had lost the battle in deciding the truth of the events of the Oracle’s cave, but she won the war. If the prophecy was true, than young Fairweather had no business returning to the Academy. _Heroes of westward lands_, it had said. So west she went—chasing the sun. Chasing destiny. 

* * *​A smile creased her dirty, yet still-beautiful face as her blue eyes focused against the light. Thanesport. The old city thrust itself out of the horizon, and into the sun. Red towers and ancient walls jutted out of the surrounding plains like a splinter wound in the earth, itself. Nothing further west from here without crossing the Placid Sea. 

She’d get a room with the gold the cohort had managed to pool for her journey, and hopefully a long bath. It shad been too long since she had last seen enough water to submerge herself in. After Thanesport, the Light only knew how long before she would see it again. 

Settling back down into her saddle, she patted her new horse’s neck, and whispered, “Not much longer now, Dew.” 

With the sun reflecting off of the studs on the tall, slender woman’s jade-green leather armor, the horse plodded forward, into the setting sun. Thanesport beckoned--and for now, Justice Fairweather was willing to heed its call.


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## Xath (Jun 2, 2004)

Woohoo! A new post!  There are a few typos though.



> Muttering to herself as the passageway began to widen, chose her steps carefully.




There was another one too, but I can't find it now.


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## The_Universe (Jun 3, 2004)

Correction made.  Happy reading!  

I'm already working on Prologue part III - Kaereth (The Monk's Tale)


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## threshel (Jun 4, 2004)

Keep 'em coming!  Great stuff.

Is this a homebrew world?


J


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## The_Universe (Jun 4, 2004)

Yes.  The campaign that's presently being written up in story hour form is actually the legacy of the first 3E DnD campaign I ran, back when I lived in South Dakota.  I like world building, so I tend to run things in homebrew, though there was some relatively silly stuff in the earlier version of the "World of Aeres."

When we moved out to the DC metro area, I got roped into a running a game, and I decided to set it in the same world.  Since it was an entirely new group (except for my wife), I had the opportunity to fix a few of the things in the original version, and make a more "realistic" setting out of it (By realistic, I mean it has greater verisimilitude--realistic and D&D are pretty hard to mix. ).  

So, this campaign is set approx. 900 years after the end of the previous campaign I ran.  It's still heavily influenced by the major events and characters of that first campaign (as you'll see as we get a little further in the story), but I tweaked the world a bit to make it hold to itself a little bit better. 

For example, the Bluestar referenced in the first post is actually a former PC, who wanted to be a Lich.  I granted his request, and he now figures as a major villain in the campaign world.   

The two major sects of the (monotheistic) religion are based on other PCs, particularly the Apectan Order to which Justice belongs.  

Tech level is something close to the 16th century on earth, although guns are highly regulated.  Using one carries a death sentence unless one happens to be a member of certain units of the royal army, or members of specific military and religious orders.  

Lots of detail that I hope to make clear as the story unfolds.  Of course, if there are questions, I am happy to reveal them!


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## Laurel (Jun 4, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> I'm already working on Prologue part III - Kaereth (The Monk's Tale)



Teehee, we finally get to see where the big green guy is from


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Jun 6, 2004)

As the only player that had the joy of playing in the World of Aeres, I have truly had an amazing time playing in the current game.  (I'm The_Universe's wife and Justice the Paladin)  The references to the old players--now long dead legends-- has been not only exciting but intriguing... it has added a certain depth to the game that few worlds ever experience... 

Sure, any DM can write up a history for their homebrew... but, having had adventurers play in the world 900 years before has created such a rich and fulfilling history.  We can look back on the world and not just know that, so many hundred years ago there was a great war, we can look back to the players that actually participated and have a link to what they were thinking, doing, and hope to follow in their footsteps to eventually become heroes of legend... 

Ahhh, I do love a good heroic game!


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## The_Universe (Jun 8, 2004)

*Prologue part III*

*Kaereth*​*(The Monk’s Tale)*​ 


Kaereth happily bounced along the well-tread path, hopping between the rutted tracks of uncountable wagons, horses, and oxen. There was Man tracks, Orc tracks, Elf tracks, and Dwarf tracks, too. Big feet and little feet, round feet and square feet. There were even the long lines that the wagons’ feet left as the turned around and around and around. Sometimes it made Kaereth dizzy! Sometimes it made Kaereth hungry. Kaereth was hungry now. 

He hoped he could find some food, soon. He was out of the food Master Ryoko had given him, and he had eaten Mother’s last biscuit almost an hour ago. He had rationed his food carefully, just like Master Ryoko had taught him, but he had been on the road a long time. He walked as fast as he could, but it was still slower than the horses, and even the horses got to stop to eat. So he had eaten his last biscuit, and he couldn’t even see the big town he was supposed to be going to. But biscuits always made him think of Mother, and Mother always made him think of home. He was thinking about home already. 

The hulking young monk had been called a half-breed by some (mostly people passing through One Oak), but those of his parentage were becoming more and more common. Kaereth had seen more people like him on the road than he could count on his fingers and toes! He had tried to use his nose, but he couldn’t see that unless he scrunched up his face, so he decided that anything that couldn’t be counted with fingers and toes was a lot. He had seen a lot, and that was what he would tell both Mother and Master Ryoko when he got back to One Oak. 

No one screamed and yelled at him while he was just walking. Nobody made fun of his big teeth (Master Ryoko called them tusks). Nobody called him “Greeny!” or “Bastard!” (whatever that was). Kaereth thought he knew why. He had heard his mother talking about how all the old tribes had settled down, banishing those who wouldn’t give up the old ways away to _the Black_. Whatever that was. Kaereth didn’t know. Kaereth didn’t really care to know. He knew how to run fast, how to kick hard, and how to _break_ things with his head (neck muscles tight, think hard, BREAK!). Kaereth liked to break things (but not people—Master Ryoko always reminded him that it wasn’t okay to feel good about breaking people). Kaereth smash. Kaereth smiled. 

He _did _know that people on the big road weren’t scared of him, or mad at him, and that was a good thing. He continued on his way, with only hunger to distract him from his purpose. Thanesport, the big town on the river. Even Master Ryoko knew Thanesport was big, and he hardly ever knew anything about anywhere, except for One Oak, and the far away place where he came from (and talked about when he was feeling sad). Kaereth was sure that there would be at least two hands and two feet worth of people in Thanesport, whenever he got there. After all, that was a lot. A lot of people had to live in such a big place. Kaereth could only imagine. 

But, even as he walked north on the old road, his bare toes scraping through the dust and brown grass that formed the road, he couldn’t help thinking of home, just a little. Master Ryoko had had a bad dream, and somehow, Kaereth going to the big town on the river was going to help Master Ryoko’s bad dreams go away. Kaereth didn’t know how it would help Master Ryoko’s dreams, but in the one hand and 2 fingers of years that Master Ryoko had been in One Oak, he had never told Kaereth _anything_ that wasn’t true. Never told him _anything_ that didn’t make perfect sense. Even though _this_ didn’t make sense to the hulking, grey-green brute of a young man, Kaereth knew it would eventually. If nothing else, maybe someone would want him to _smash_ something. That would be good. That would be fun. Kaereth smash. Kaereth smiled. 

Lost in his thoughts of smashing things (trees, bricks, boards, columns, wagons, churches, big rocks, small rocks, boulders….), Kaereth didn’t notice at first that the big town on the river—Thanesport—had appeared on the horizon. Kaereth stopped in his tracks, his happy humming trailing off as his breath seemed to catch in his chest. There were big walls, and tall buildings…and even from this far away, Kaereth could see more people than he had ever imagined _existed _milling about outside the reddish stone walls of the city. He’d need a lot more fingers and toes to count them. 

He shook his head, and _willed_ his breath out of stubborn lungs. Kaereth was Master Ryoko’s best (_only_, a pessimistic voice whispered in the back of his mind) student. He was better at smashing, and running, and jumping than anyone he had ever seen. But there were _so many…_He needed to meditate. To calm down. Or else he was going to have to _smash_ something! It wasn’t time for smashing. The half-orc plopped down in the middle of the dusty road, gathering his thickly muscled legs beneath him. _Breathe_… 

* * *​ 
Master Ryoko was always somewhat reticent about his homeland, especially in the early years of his stay. Part of that was probably because he could not speak the language of One Oak, but maybe he was just quiet. Kaereth was never sure. He was strange, and different—just like Kaereth. 

Even his name was strange! Once he had mastered Falcontongue enough to speak a little, Mother asked him his name. After all, he had been staying with the youthful human woman that was Kaereth’s mother, and (of course) Kaereth, in the empty room that Mother called “Father’s Study” for more days that Kaereth could count! 

“Ryoko. Ryoko good name. Ryoko sacrifice for me. Ryoko be me. I dead. I be Ryoko, now,” he had forced out, each word unsure. Just like Kaereth. Maybe he was a half-breed, too? Kaereth didn’t know what half-breed meant at the time. Too bad. Kaereth _wanted _to be like Ryoko. In the end, he would get at least part of his wish. 

In the drifting, dreaming of his meditation, Kaereth knew that Master Ryoko would be able to talk better than him, eventually. But then, in this happy memory, he sounded just like Kaereth. Kaereth liked him. He liked Kaereth. It was good. Kaereth smash. Kaereth smile. 

Kaereth’s memory was clear, if not always understanding. The young half-orc seemed an oddity to the stranger--so strong compared the other children his age, and so clearly not completely human. This seemed to puzzle him for a time, but after learning that Mother was _Kaereth’s_ mother, he became even more accepting of the overgrown lout of a boy. 

He smiled differently at her, Kaereth noticed. He didn’t know how or why it was different, but Kaereth was still good at noticing things. Undertsanding was what was hard. 

Over the next few years, Kaereth remembered, freely drifting on a sea of hazy pictures, he had become a personal project for the strange Master Ryoko. Yet, it was almost as if the strange wanderer was learning as much from Kaereth as Kaereth was from him. Kaereth needed a teacher if he was ever going to be anything other than a good _smasher_, and Master Ryoko seemed to desperately want a student. “A match made in the Light’s Heaven!” his mother had often laughed, as they came in from under the Oak. 

Master Ryoko was not old. He probably had about as many hands and feet of years when he came to One Oak as Kaereth did now. But his eyes—his eyes were ancient. They were always weighed down with something. It looked like it hurt. Kaereth didn’t like it when anybody hurt. But this looked like it hurt on the inside. Like _sick, _but worse. He saw, like he almost always saw, but he couldn’t quite make himself _understand._ 

Yet, when he was with Kaereth and Mother, he smiled. He smiled big, and happy, and long! It seemed to Kaerath that he was having fun whenever he helped to teach the young half-orc. Kaereth didn’t know why it always seemed like such a big deal when Master Ryoko smiled. The little lines on his face just seemed to say that smiling had been a rare commodity wherever he came from. Kaereth was glad to help. And he was learning to _smash_ even better than before, and run _even faster._ Kaereth was happy to learn. Books were too hard to learn, speeches too hard to memorize, but nothing was too hard to _smash_. 

Part of it was that Ryoko didn't need words to teach Kaereth. Kaereth simply followed the way he moved, using his own incomplete grasp of language to express confusion, or anger, or whatever he was feeling when the lessons moved too fast. Even though Master Ryoko sometimes had trouble talking, it didn’t matter--Kaereth could talk to him at the same level he could talk to Kaereth. They learned to talk with silence. 

As Kaereth learned, following ever-closer in Ryoko’s footsteps, Ryoko learned One Oak's ways, as well. It took a lot of sunrises before Master Ryoko was even as accepted as Kaereth was, but he was accepted, eventually. Eventually, he even became a protector of the town, of sorts. His wisdom (and by extension, Kaereth’s) became almost famous in the area around One Oak. Understanding it always seemed hard, though. Kaereth didn’t know how people could fail to understand Master Ryoko. Master Ryoko seemed to know _everything_. He acted as an informal judge at times, and at others he was more like a sheriff. He seemed to laugh at mortal danger. 

A handful of sunrises before Kaereth left, he told the young monk, “Nothing here is dangerous, Kaereth-chan. It is only the groanings of the dragon beneath us...nothing unnatural here. It is the unnatural, only, that we must fear. When the unbreathing walk...fear. When the winged serpents, masquerading as gods, come to you, fear. But never before that, my big green friend.” 

Kaereth remembered looking confused, but Master Ryoko just shook his head, smiled, and then continued with the day’s lesson. “Gather the air around you. Make it surround your fists...channel it. And then break the tree, releasing all that you have gathered, Kaereth-chan.” 

“Kaereth smash?” the young orc had asked, smiling.

The strange man nodded, smiling back. “Kaereth smash!”

Kaereth smashed. Kaereth smiled. 

As Kaereth got older, it became more and more apparent that Master Ryoko was not from anywhere near One Oak. Not from the mountains, not from across the lake. Travellers would come along the road, in strange clothing, with strange accents, but none as strange as Master Ryoko (who had stumbled into One Oak bruised, battered, bleeding, wearing what looked like a royal-purple dress).

Eventually, Kaereth had asked him what his home was like, fully realizing that home for Ryoko must have been a long way away. "Not too different, before. Older, I think. The mountains to the east here would tower over the tallest in my homeland. But these mountains are still. Ours shake with the dragon beneath them...he always stirs. It is his blood that flows through my veins, you know! Hot, burning blood that turns to stone when it cools, bled from the dragon-beneath. You have no dragon mountains, here. 

“Our trees are different, but we do have trees, grass, and people—people like me, but none like you, Kaereth-chan! Never would I have thought I would see green people! Amazing!” He laughed, and continued with Kaereth lessons, clearly pleased to have changed the subject.

Still later, he told Kaereth, “My lost homeland is smaller than this place. Everything is closer...you have been blessed with breathing room, Kaereth-chan. Our hills and forests are nearly on top of each other, without the wide plains and giant lakes to separate them.” 

He never talked about his people, though. That seemed only to amplify the pain in his almond shaped eyes. The night Kaereth left, he told him what he had dreamed about. “They are lost to me, and I to them. When he came, I could not stand against him. The dragon throne now belongs to a monster in the form of a man, a dark dragon-god. Speak of it no further, Kaereth-chan. It reminds me only of the weakness of youth. Beware the serpentblood, Kaereth-chan. They are to be feared...they take trust, they take men, they take everything, and twist, until it is a grim parody of what it was meant to be...they are unnatural…I dreamed of them. It is time for you to go. They call to me from the shadows of memory—the West stirs.” 

* * *​ 
Kaereth slowly opened his eyes, revealing a red, mustachioed, screaming face. Gradually, sounds returned to him, as well. As he expected—screaming. “What in the _durned_ Hell are ya doin’ plopped right down thar in the middle a’ the _durned_ road, ya _stupid_ orc-varmint!?”

He looked mad about something, but he was talking so fast that Kaereth had a hard time figuring out what he meant. He looked over his shoulder then. Wagons. People. Horses. Oxen. Lots of them. Lots of them, lined up farther than Kaereth could see behind him. They must be waiting for something. Kaereth didn't know what that had to do with him. 

The important thing, no matter what, was to make the angry man happier (Kaereth knew that). So, Kaereth smiled at him, revealing two small, curved tusks and a row of crooked, ivory teeth. The smiling didn’t seem to be helping. Kaereth needed to say something. Happily, he said, “Kaereth meditate. Kaereth calm down, breathe happy air. You look like you need breathe happy air. Suck it!” To demonstrate, Kaereth pursed his lips, and started to loudly inhale.

Kaereth wasn’t sure why, but this seemed to enrage the man further. He shook his head, his sincere smile fading. Sometimes smart people were so dumb. Kaereth didn’t want to have to smash something. Smashing should be reserved for later. But if the little man didn’t stop yelling at Kaereth, Kaereth might have to smash _something_ and he wasn’t sure that he could stop himself from smashing the closest thing. The man. Kaereth knew he wasn’t supposed to smash people. Kaereth tried to breathe more happy air. Someone had to. 

He noticed his enormous fists were clenched. Whoops! He took the happy air, and directed it to his still-clenched, gigantic hands. No smashing!

The man was still screaming at him. Kaereth needed to leave. He had to get to the big town, anyway. He could still see it, and it was still scary, even from up here on the hill. But meditating had helped, a little. He had to go there. He hoped the people were nicer there than they were on the road. 

Ignoring the barrage of insults and threats, Kaereth started walking. Happy thoughts, happy memories, happy air. Thanesport was a new place. Maybe he would meet some new friends! He smiled again. Maybe, there’d be something to _smash_!


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## threshel (Jun 9, 2004)

Excellent post.  You should be carefull, I'm beginning to expect good things.  

Homebrew worlds are my favorite to read about, and I'm glad this story hour is shaping up so well.  I look forward to finding out more about your world as the story progresses.

J
PS There is a local gameday being organized by/for the ENWorlders in the DC metro area.  If ya'll are interested, the link is in my sig.


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## The_Universe (Jun 9, 2004)

Barring disaster, we should be up there for the gameday.  Xath (the UMD connection) is one of the players in this very campaign, in fact.  Hopefully, we can do a meetup of some sort then.   

As for the story, I am extraordinarily glad that you're enjoying it.  I just hope I can eventually pull a few more readers than yourself and my players.  Only time will tell, though!


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## threshel (Jun 9, 2004)

Hope to see ya'll there.
J


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## The_Universe (Jun 9, 2004)

The next part will be Arfin: The Mercenary's Tale.  Expect it sometime soon!


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## Xath (Jun 10, 2004)

Write faster! I demand it!


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## Laurel (Jun 10, 2004)

*Good PR and Ads*

I concur with xath    
Look you are quoted by Thresel  Soon they will all be tangled in the web and will not be able to stop reading.


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## Xath (Jun 17, 2004)

*looks up at the cieling and scratches her head as she pushes the story hour*


BUMP


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## The_Universe (Jun 17, 2004)

I am working! I am a bit stumped on Arfin's prologue. Maybe I will go back to L'Aurel's....


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## The_Universe (Jun 21, 2004)

*Prologue IV*

*Arfin*​*(The Mercenary’s Tale)*​

Arfin Kegsplitter was having a _bad_ day. At least, he was pretty sure it was day. He hadn’t yet determined if it was worth the effort to open his eyes and confirm his suspicions. There were splinters in his nose, again. Not from a fight, or even from a fall. He’d passed out at a table, again. _He had to stop_. He sighed. 

He couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop. Better to wake up like this than to fall asleep and _dream_. He shuddered, and soon the shudder had transformed itself into a full-bodied shake. He was cold. Freezing. That’s what happened when whiskey was the only thing keeping you warm. He’d been learning that lesson for more years than he cared to count. More years than he cared to remember. Maybe a drink would help him forget. 

Slowly moving his thick, short-fingered hands, Arfin gripped either side of the unfamiliar table, preparing to pick himself up off of the splintery mess that had apparently served as his bed last night. Even this small activity managed to banish some of the unnatural chill that seemed to have settled into his bones. 

The cold followed him everywhere, since…before. He didn’t want to think about it, so he thought about the time. How long had it been? 10 years? More? The years blurred together. Thank the Builders! Thank the whiskey. Eh…well. Better not start thanking the whiskey, yet. He still had to get his now-throbbing skull off of the table.

Eyes still closed, he pushed upward from the table, and then almost dropped his bulbous nose back onto it. Stabbing pains lanced through his head, reminding him of the _personal_ cost of some of the kingdom’s cheaper liquors. The room spun. Just like always. He had to stop. 

He opened his wide, bloodshot eyes before trying to put his boots beneath him. Builder’s only knew where he had passed out. The light! His head was the anvil, and daylight the hammer. Fighting the pain, he opened his eyes further, and tried desperately to get them to focus. Still blurry. Well, not every ingot becomes an axe. He’d make do with what he had at the moment. 

He looked around gingerly, trying to keep his head from exploding. He _had_ to stop. Rough hewn tables and chairs were haphazardly stacked throughout the cold (but rapidly warming) room. A small hearth jutted out from the wall across from him, with no signs of having been burned for at least a week. Arfin remembered that it had been warm yesterday. It must have been cold last night, he assured himself. It had to be. Why else would he be so cold? He tried to forget that he woke up cold every morning. He didn’t succeed. He couldn’t shake the chill. He couldn’t shake the _dreams_…

* * *​
Arfin felt _alive._ Just like he always did when standing over an anvil. He was a builder, a _maker. _He breathed in the smell of hot steel as he gazed down upon the gift the earth had given him, the gift it had asked him to shape. His hand seemed to naturally curve around the hammer’s handle. His lean, strong arm raised the hammer with ease, and then and dropped it as he tried to free the steel’s soul from the unshaped ingot. 

Other smiths often spoke of being able to _see _what the metal wanted to be when it laid upon their anvils, but Arfin knew that for even the best metalworker, it was almost all exaggeration. Even when gazing into the finest steel, most of his race still saw no more than their torch lit reflection. But Arfin was different. He _could _see the destiny of every piece that his hammer shaped. Squinting down at the ingot, he could see a strange, sorrowful violence hiding, waiting to be released. This was to be a tool of war. _An_ _axe_, he thought, just as he had thought a thousand unbearable times before. He should have known; he should have expected what was to come next. But, he did not, could not. Such is the curse of dreams.

His hammer rose, his hammer fell, and the steel took on the shape it was meant to have. 

He could feel intense heat upon his back. He smiled. _The forge._ This, more than any other place was his home. He loved his daughters, loved his wife, but this was the place of his calling, the place of his truest joy. This was where he belonged, and today, it was a joy to answer his calling, just as he helped the steel fill its own. 

Seemingly of its own accord, the hammer rises and falls, driving sparks from the half-formed blade, leeching every impurity from Dumathion’s gift. Over the ring of a thousand hammers, over the crackle and whoosh of fire and bellows, over the shouts of a hundred smiths he heard it, he felt it: a low rumble. It moved from his ears to his shoulders, from his shoulders to his chest, and from there throughout his entire body. His heart skipped a beat. His hammer faltered, leaving a scar on the rudimentary blade that had just begun to show its true shape. Something had happened in the clanholds! 

The Mine Warden, dark eyes and hair marking him a Thunderheart, rushed into the forgevault. Breathless and dirty, whatever he had to say must have been deeply urgent. Fear gripping his stout heart, Arfin turned from his forge, white knuckles showing around his hammer’s grip. This would not be good news. He prayed, as he had never prayed, silently screaming to his Fathers that they keep his wife and children safe. 

“There’s bin a collapse, Lads!” the warden shouted, pale beneath the dust. A few more hammers stopped their ringing. The earth often rumbled here in the homes of the dwarves, especially in Arutha’s Forge. Such was not often a thing for worry. But a collapse…a collapse was unheard of. 

“The support for Kegsplitters’ Clanholds’ve cracked, th’n they went’n let go! It was the new tunnels, the mines beneath…” the warden puffed, still breathless from his trip up to the forge. Sucking in the smoky air of the stone furnaces, the warden managed to continue. “I tell’ya true that we need every strong arm and back among ye to save who ‘n what we may!” 

Arfin’s hammer dropped from suddenly limp hands, and the proud dwarf fell to his knees. He could feel hot tears streaming down his soot-stained face, and he watched as his hands tried to grasp at the air, searching for solace where none could be found. _The support for Kegsplitter’s Clanholds’ve cracked…_

He heard screams, then. Even in the twilight of his life, he would never be sure if the screams were his own, another’s, or nothing more than the imagined cries of his lost family. Regardless of whose screams they were, Arfin could hear pain and aguish so laced within the sound of them that the world around him blurred, and then seemed to disappear. 

The ruined smith lumbered to his feet, then, throat suddenly raw from cries of which he was only half-aware. Leaving his hammer lying on the smooth stone of the cavern, he hurtled past cousins and brothers, desperately trying to reach the wife, and daughters that he still-hoped to find alive. He would not say their names, afraid that somehow invoking them would ensure that he would find them lost. In the end, even his caution would not matter. 

Arfin felt no pain as he scraped the flesh from his thick, calloused hands, prying at the unmoving stone that bore terrible, mute witness to his loss. Arfin felt to pain, no fear as he hurled his body against the wall of rubble that had separated him from the remains of his life. Finally, he collapsed—bruised, battered, and cut. When he awoke, they were gone; he was truly, horribly, _alone._ 

* * *​
Arfin forced himself out of the horrific daydream as he tried to finish plodding toward the door. He needed to at least find out the name of this place. He had been in Thanesport for months, trying to forget his past. Aye, the dream was the worst of it, but there were terrors north of the Wall, as well. He would do himself well to forget all of them. But some things are not so easily forgotten. 

But Arfin had learned on more than one tour in the Deathlands that what the mind could not defeat on its own, whiskey could. Pain pierced his fire-bearded head as he squinted into the sky outside the swinging half-doors of the tavern. He searched for the sun among the grey clouds that must have settled over Thanesport in the night. He was still chilly, but everyone else looked like they were on the verge of melting. The innkeeper swabbed the sweat off of his wide, balding pate with his right hand, and then used the moisture to clean the dust from the mug in his left. Delicious. He had to stop. 

He grunted. He couldn’t stop. His eyes focused on the gloom outside to pick out the shadow of the sun from behind the curtain of clouds. _Noon._ A little early for heavy drinking, but there was no way he was going to find a job out here on the street. Arfin may not have been much more than a blade for hire, but he knew where to find work. He managed a small, pained smile. Most of the Merc Captain’s would be looking for blades in the seedier taverns. Today’s whiskey would just be a business expense. What was one more tour above the wall? Maybe this time something would get him. Maybe this time, he’d just _die._ 

A voice cut into his dark revelry. He turned his head toward the ramshackle bar, pieces of driftwood from the river worn smooth with the drinks and elbows of a thousand pieces of living detritus like him, nailed onto a small stand of wood, probably stolen from the shipyards. The bartender…what was his name? _Cawys_, he thought he recalled as he searched the tavern for the voice’s source. The bartender clearly hadn’t said a word. It must have been someone else. 

His rheumy eyes swung back toward the door just in time to hear the message repeated by the figure standing within. “Arfin Kegsplitter!” a happy voice said, a hint of shadow beneath a veneer of sunshine. “Aw hell, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” 

The voice was still a mystery. The man (if a man it was), was taller than Arfin. Thinner. Maybe human. Maybe a mid-elf. Too short for one with orc-blood. 

Arfin stumbled forward, commanding his still half-functional eyes to focus. They did, but the figure’s face was still obscured, hidden by a small sliver of shadow. Arfin thought he saw a smile within the darkness, but there was no way to be sure. The problem resolved itself as the man stepped from the peculiar shadow of the doorway, into the dusty bar. It had been a smile on his face. In fact, the smile seemed to have persisted. 

“Don’t you remember me, Kegsplitter?” the man asked, dark hair and dark eyes shining atop a pallid-grey face. Short points poked through the unruly mop of hair, right where his ears would be. A mid-elf. 

Arfin was unable to keep the confusion off of his face. “I’m sorry, friend, but I’d be a liar if I said I knew yer face, or yer name.”

Strangely, the pallid stranger’s smile seemed to widen at the revelation, uncovering a row of perfectly straight white teeth. “Well, I admit I’m surprised you don’t remember me, Arfin. But perhaps you’re just better at forgetting, than I. 

“What was it?” the man speculated, looking into the air above Arfin’s head, “Three years ago? That village—Durin. Nearly lost it all, didn’t we?”

Arfin’s eyes widened at the mention of the village. Another nightmare to dull with whiskey. _His axe rising and falling like his hammer once had at the anvil…the hands of the dead, still grasping at his ankles as he tried to run…_

He squinted once more at the stranger, trying to banish the onrush of old memories, old terrors. He thought he might have remembered something. “Edriss? Is that ye, lad?” 

The smile became a full-fledged grin. But something seemed strange. The smile was almost like a rictus. A grim parody of joy. What was it that Arfin saw dancing behind those black eyes…? 

Edriss’s answer stopped the speculation, distracting Arfin from what had been a quickly growing disquiet. “You see? You don’t forget _everything_. I’ve been taking care of the family business in Odir, but I’ve come up with some free time. Hoping to meet a friend, here. And though you’re not the friend I was looking for, you’ll certainly do for now.” The mid-elf paused for a moment, gliding past the dwarf toward the makeshift bar. Catching the bartender’s eye with a quick, fluid motion of his hand, he continued, “I’d like an ale, publican.” Looking over his shoulder to the hungover dwarf, he raised an eyebrow, but directed his comment toward the still-polishing bartender. “And for my friend…?”

Arfin grunted, and then pulled his sluggish body toward the nearest hunk of polished driftwood. “Whiskey. Leave the bottle.” 

“Say,” Arfin said, as the sweat-stained rag slammed a small glass down in front of him, “Ye know if any of the old boys are hirin’…?”

_He had to stop_. 

But not today.

Edriss laughed, eyes seeming to brighten as the shadows deepened around him.  “Drink up, Arfin.  There’ll be time enough for work, soon.  Trust me.”  Arfin drank, and tried not to look at Edriss’s smile.  

He shuddered.  Why was he always so _cold_?


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## Xath (Jun 21, 2004)

Woohoo!!! An update!


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## AIM-54 (Jun 21, 2004)

And a fine update, indeed.  Huzzah!


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## Laurel (Jun 22, 2004)

And with this update the more... 'gong show' our later actions and adventuring becomes   Ah but the fun continues onward  .... and the things we never knew.
-I would have to agree that it is a continued success, Universe-


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## The_Universe (Jun 22, 2004)

Laurel said:
			
		

> And with this update the more... 'gong show' our later actions and adventuring becomes   Ah but the fun continues onward  .... and the things we never knew.
> -I would have to agree that it is a continued success, Universe-



 Ah well...don't get too broken up.  Consider Edriss's intro author's liberty.  As we go through, I'll probably give more than a few NPCs a slightly different personality than they originally had, as the players (and I) weren't always consistent.


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Jun 25, 2004)

*grumbles* Edriss... I do hate him.

Looks great, The_Universe!  

When can we expect L'Aurel's story?


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## The_Universe (Jun 25, 2004)

Sometime around a quarter to HELL!

Or within a week.  I know what happened, it's just a matter of getting the time to put fingers to keyboard.


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## exile (Jun 25, 2004)

*A new fan*

Universe,
I just wanted you to know that there are others (me at least) out here reading your posts and enjoying them greatly. I love all of teh cahracters so far, but am particularly eager to find out what the heck is up with Jeranna. Is she a zombie? A PC? A zombie and a PC?
Chad


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## The_Universe (Jun 25, 2004)

Jeranna's not a PC, but she does meet them shortly.  

I could tell you more, but it would ruin the surprise.


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## AIM-54 (Jun 25, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> Jeranna's not a PC, but she does meet them shortly.
> 
> I could tell you more, but it would ruin the surprise.




And what a surprise it will be! 

...stupid...*deleted to preserve the surprise*


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## The_Universe (Jun 30, 2004)

One prologue left, and then we get to Chapter 1: Pirates!


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## Laurel (Jul 1, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> One prologue left, and then we get to Chapter 1: Pirates!



And only through the power of the universe can he make L'Aurel interesting at this stage of the story line  
But from the little glance I got.... the ohhhhhs and ahhhhhs will continue


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## The_Universe (Jul 8, 2004)

*Prologue part V*

*L’Aurel*​*(The Ranger’s Tale)*​ 

L’Aurel waited patiently on the deck of the _Waverunner_, happy to stay in the breeze of the vessel’s deck. Hundreds of passengers flooded the small ramp ahead of her, seemingly desperate to get off the ship, and onto the Thanesport docks. Rather than try to fight her way through them, she relaxed and waited. _Take your time and watch, L’Aurel-dear. Men are always in a hurry, rushing from birth to death. You have a bit of their blood, a bit of _my _blood, but you’ve your mother’s as well. Be patient, let them act first. This way, you’ll always be able to ensure that you act _last. 

Aon burned low in the sky, pushing its heat (but precious little light) through the thick grey clouds that now shrouded Thanesport in dull, lifeless twilight. Even the wind seemed somehow deadened as she waited for the narrow ramp leading down to the dock to empty its humanoid cargo into the busy dockside shops and taverns that the port city had to offer. Though she didn’t particularly want to spend any longer on the salt-encrusted deck of the Waverunner, she wasn’t in any hurry to set foot in Thanesport. No grand quest had brought her here. Not even a mediocre quest. She was doing little more than running from loneliness, fleeing the sadness in her heart at being left _alone._ 

Thanesport was different, but not as different as she had expected. There were a lot more people, of course. More than she could imagine, in fact. Yet, here she stood beneath a forest of masts not so very different from the canopy of her home. The difference she felt most keenly was her father’s absence. Now, only the memory of his cool, steady voice accompanied her as she made her way through life. She hoped she was ready. _No one can tell you when you’re ready for something but yourself, L’Aurel- dear. Your heart always tells you true. Fear is a liar, fear is a thief. A deceiver. But as long as you _know _that fear is only trying to interfere with the message of your heart, you can ignore it. Your heart speaks softly, but true. You’re ready, my love. Now pull…_

The last of the crowd had filtered off the walkway, then, leaving L’Aurel with an open path before her. She looked over her shoulder for one long last gaze at the ship had carried her to a new life. Silently, she thanked the sea for a safe journey, and then started down from the deck, carrying everything that she owned in a single sack thrown over a tightly corded shoulder. 

* * *​ 
Her labored breathing flooded her ears, blocking out the sounds of the forest around her. Sweat burned in her emerald green eyes, but she blinked it away, frantically searching the shadows around her for any sign of her pursuer. Her muscles screamed at her, begging her to stop moving, to stop running. But she couldn’t. Not if she wanted to get out of this with her hide intact. She had been hunted long enough. Now, she would become the hunter. 

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she reached up to her face, smearing grime and sweat across her brow, but finally clearing the sting from her burning eyes. This had been going on for days, chased from the shadows by a figure she could barely see. She knew who it was, and she would _not _give him the satisfaction of taking her. She glanced down at her bow, checking to make sure her arrow was properly notched, ready to spin through the air toward the target she chose. She tugged at her bowstring as her hand screamed in piercing, cramping pain. Her fingers had been curved around the bowstring for what seemed like days. It may have _been _days. She hadn’t been tracking Aon’s traverse across the sky. She had been running. But she would run no more. 

L’Aurel was tired. Exhausted. But she had to stay ready. _The unready are soon the un-living. _That much she knew. 

Carefully—silently—she moved, placing her bare feet between leaves and fallen branches. Stilling even her breath, she darted from shadow to shadow, hurtling beneath limb and leaf. She flew over the deadfall so common the dense forest that was her home, wary of leaving any trace of her passage for the Hunter to follow. Branches tore at her cheeks and eyes as she sped through the wood, grasping at her passage with an almost living desperation. 

As she ran, she searched her surroundings, looking for the perfect spot with which to—_There!—_lay her ambush. She slowed, gently parting the bows of oak and ash, fading into the shadows, positioning her body so that she would be all but invisible to the untrained eye. As she pushed herself further back against the tree that would serve as her hiding place, she took a slow, deep breath, cautious not to penetrate the sounds of the forest with a gasp for air. 

She leaned against the wide trunk, safe in the embrace of darkness, at least for now. Still clutching her bow, arrow still notched, she carefully rotated her shoulders back in their sockets. She allowed herself the pleasure of the small _cracks _that accompanied the stretch, but forced her arms to stay taught, ready to aim and fire with less than a moment’s notice. 

Believing herself safely hidden, she focused her sight and her hearing outward, straining every sense for some sign of her pursuer. She continued her slow cycle of breath, letting the sounds of the forest around her fade as she half-consciously searched for anything out of place. She would find him before he could find her. She had to. 

As she let her senses blanket the forest, she kept her breathing shallow, silent to all but God, himself. Though her tired arms continued to scream at her for release, she did not relax. She waited for her hunter, eyes narrowed with an anger that had built over days of pursuit. This had gone more than far enough. 

Her mind wandered for hours, or perhaps only seconds, running through a thousand plans and scenarios for her still-missing hunter. She refused to believe that he had lost the trail. He had harried for too long to allow this. She had become used to his presence, just beyond the shadows. It couldn’t end like this. It was so…anticlimactic. She wanted to scream. She nearly did. 

And then she heard it. A branch snapped, right of the setting sun, over her left shoulder. She didn’t move. She’d let her ears see for her. Besides—she had fallen prey to this, before. This was no more than a ruse to draw her out of her hiding place. 

And then she heard the true sign of his passage. Nothing. At least, nothing more than a rustle of leaves, a stirring of the air. Something that should have faded into the sounds of the wood. But this time she was ready. And waiting. 

She didn’t have to turn. In one fluid motion, her bow lifted, and her elbow flowed back, pulling the already taut string almost to its breaking point. Then, she released. The bow snapped forward, pulling the string and arrow forward faster than even L’Aurel’s keen eye could see. As the arrow pulled free of the bow, it’s carefully fletched feathers set it spinning through the barely shuddering leaves of her makeshift shelter. Silently, it hurtled forward, slicing through the still quiet air. 

And then it stopped. The hunter grunted, and then fell. The idyllic sounds of nature, pierced by the crash of a man to earth. 

Resisting the urge to cheer, L’Aurel pushed herself into motion, darting out of the shadows of the tree that had been her savior. As she ran toward the fallen hunter, she reached across her thickly solid body into the quiver of arrows strapped to her hip. She drew another arrow, quickly letting it settle into its natural place on the bow. Just as the arrow reached its rest, she skidded to a stop, several feet from the fallen hunter. 

Ignoring the protests of the arm that had only recently been given its first rest for some time, she drew back the bowstring, ready to fire again should the hunter prove _uncooperative_. Gazing down the slender wooden length of her arrow, she spoke. Her voice cracked. She had not spoken since the hunt began.

“Throw your weapons away! Now!” She hoped her voice displayed more menace than fear. She certainly _felt _fear most strongly, but he didn’t have to know that.

He didn’t move. He didn’t stir. Had she killed him? She didn’t think so. While her strike should have been enough to knock him down, it was unlikely that it could have ended his life. Was his chest moving? She needed a closer look. 

Cautiously, she inched forward, no less silent than before. He may only be unconscious, and there was little advantage in waking her quarry as she stood over him. Her bow had served her well, but it was hardly the best weapon to use in such close quarters. 

Standing over the prone figure, she looked again, still trying to determine if her fallen foe was still breathing. Bowstring still pulled, she kicked softly at his ribs, hoping to see some life in the face down body. Still nothing. 

She started to kneel, hoping to turn the body over to expose its face to Aon. She slowly released her bowstring, keeping the bow and arrow held lightly in her left hand, as she hesitantly reached down to touch her quarry with her right. In retrospect, she would think of this as her worst mistake. 

Her hand within a hair’s breadth of the hunter’s cloak, he moved. Blindingly fast, his own left arm snaked around her ankle, and then pulled, sending her sprawling, crashing to the ground next to him. He rolled onto his back, lightning wrapped in forest green. Before L’Aurel could get her feet beneath her, he was already standing, having found his own feet while she was still trying to regain control of her breath. 

He turned back to her, pulling his cloak back up to shadow his face. Still no good look at her attacker. Moving with graceful fluidity and almost blinding speed, he reached across his own slender hips, and with the familiar sound of metal against leather, drew forth a short, wickedly curved blade. He danced toward her with his strange dagger flashing in the scattered rays of sunlight that forced their way through the forest, above. 

Just as he stood above her, she made her move. As he slashed at the soft flesh of her stomach with the knife, she rolled away, ending with her feet beneath her. She was disappointed to see that she had not succeeded in putting any significant distance between her attacker and herself. This was going to make using a bow difficult. 

She tried, anyway. Her right hand darted toward her left, which still held the bow and arrow. Grasping the loosened string around the well-fletched arrow, she yanked back, hoping to fire before the hunter could strike again with his blade. 

She wasn’t fast enough. He kicked at her ankles, trying to bring her back to the soft ground of the wood. Meanwhile, his blade arm slashed at her face and arms, knife still flashing in the sunlight. She ducked and weaved, desperately trying to back away further than he could pursue. Every time she tried to loose her arrow, he was there—harrying her. Distracting her. 

It seemed to L’Aurel that she backpedaled forever, hurling her body away from the hunter’s steel. At last, she saw an opening—a tiny hitch in his furiously working shoulder. She lifted the bow, ready to loose the arrow into the hunter’s chest from less than a few feet away. 

She aimed, and then loosened her fingers, setting the arrow free to hit its target, and send him back to the forest floor. Or, at least, that was what was supposed to happen. As she let go of the string completely, it snapped. After the small hitch in the hunter’s shoulder, he had continued his strike, slashing in a shallower arc than he had done before. Steel parted the taut string, and cut deeply into the yew of her bow. 

Useless. She snarled. Throwing the broken bow aside, she drew a dagger of her own. This was not going well. Even as she tried to bring the blade to block the lighting strikes of the hunter’s knife, she felt metal sliding across her flesh. 

She slashed at her enemy in utter futility, unable to score even a cut as he easily slipped past her every defense. She knew it would be over soon. In fact, she was right. 

Suddenly, his attack pattern changed, and he slashed at her eyes, sunlight cutting into her vision, soon to be followed by cold steel. As she threw up her arms to protect them, he lashed out with a short kick, catching her behind the knee. Her feet were pulled from beneath her, and she found herself falling again. 

She hit hard, knocking the breath from her lungs and the blade from her hand. She gasped for air, trying to force her lungs to work after the fall. Still begging her lungs to function, she tried to sit up, but instead found icy cold steel against her throat. It was over. She had lost. It was time to pay the price. 

Finally catching her breath, she rasped, “You win. I submit.”

She could hear the smile in his words, even from the shadow of his cloak. “What’s that? I don’t think I heard you, my prey…”

“I submit!” she tried to shout, words scraping against her throat as they escaped her laboring lungs.

Still keeping the blade on her throat, he knelt beside her, much as she had done mere minutes before. “You do know what the price of failure is, don’t you?” he asked, amusement seeping into his ominous words, unseen in the shadowy hood. 

She swallowed hard. “I do.” She tried to blink back tears. “Death.”

He laughed. This was not making her loss any easier. “Yes. I suppose it is,” he muttered, as he pressed the steel harder against her thickly muscled neck. “But not today.”

Suddenly dropping the oddly curved blade, his hands darted to her ribs. Not again! His fingers danced across her sides, brushing just hard enough to make her…_laugh_. “Today the price is _tickling_, L’Aurel-dear!” he shouted over her uncontrolled guffaws. “And the payment will be dire indeed!” he wailed as his fingers continued to pull laughter from her exhausted lungs. 

Tears of laughter flooded from her eyes as she rolled, trying to escape his grasp. “Father! Stop it!” she yelled in the few second pauses between bouts of chortling. “Knock it off!” she gasped, as he exacted his vengeance for her failure.

Eventually the punishment subsided, and the two of them, father and daughter, lay on the forest floor, staring at the clouds between ancient limbs. “It was a good shot you made, today,” he said, rubbing his chest where the dummied arrow had hit him. “If there had been a point on it, it probably would have actually felled me. As it was, it knocked more than the wind out of me. I think it’s time we got you a bow with a stronger pull.”

Her thick brown brows furrowed as she responded. “It might have been a good shot, but it wasn’t enough to keep you down. And I’m still terrible with a knife.”

“Certainly better than the last time,” he said. “I’ve got more than a few nicks, even with the blades dulled.”

“But nothing anywhere vital…?”

“Nothing,” he sighed. “We’ll have to concentrate on knives for the next couple of months. I think there’s very little left I can teach you about the bow, anyway,” he said, turning his weather-beaten face from the sky to look into her eyes.

She managed a smile at that. “You mean it? You really think I’m good with the bow?”

“Better than good, L’Aurel-doll.”

She beamed. 

“But I can’t have you getting soft, yet. You still lost. Run along home, and make sure that bow is ready to pull by the time I get there. I’m not as young as I used to be, so I’m going to take a leisurely pace as I head back to the cabin...try to work the kinks out of my muscles that I’ve gained by chasing you for two days. I’ll be back by suppertime.”

She smiled, and then rolled easily to her feet. He might be old, but she was not. “Of course, Father. I’ll see you at the cabin. I love you!”

Grunting as he pushed himself off of the forest floor, he responded, “I love you, too. Now get.”

* * *​ 
L’Aurel found herself standing on the tattered boardwalk, with the unregulated clamor of far too many people pushed into far too small a space cutting into her memories. She raised a hand to her cheeks. Was she crying? Must be the dust. Light! She missed home already.

He had died less than two months later. Fever, from the deluge that had flooded the forest that very night. He’d held on for more time than she cared to remember, though. He never quit. She wished she were as strong as he. 

They’d never gotten the chance to practice with knives. But his curved blade was packed into the bag she carried on her back, along with everything else that was left of him. She was going to make a life, make him proud. This seemed as good a place to start as any. 

She looked around, sizing up the dockside inns that crowded the busy docks of Thanesport. Her eyes seized upon a wooden sign, topped by an iron mockup of a sword’s scabbard. “The Rusty Scabbard,” she wondered aloud, reading the inn’s name from the sign below. There were worse places to begin, she supposed. _Make every step a careful one, my L’Aurel-dearest, but never be so cautious that you fail to step, at all. _

And so step, she did. The Rusty Scabbard. Maybe she'd find some inkling of purpose, there. She snorted at the thought. And maybe pirates would attack Thanesport! Half giggling at the thought, she rearranged her bag over her shoulder, and started across the street to the inn.


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## Xath (Jul 9, 2004)

Excellent!


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## The_Universe (Jul 9, 2004)

Thanks!  Every positive comment means faster writing!


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## Laurel (Jul 9, 2004)

Greg's response: really cool.... your dad's weird....

Kat's response: I like it, I like it!!!  Cool imagery- Just one technically thing in the fifth paragraph she has brown eyes, then green in the sixth.... 
Now on to pirates


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## The_Universe (Jul 9, 2004)

CRAP!  Which did you want?  Green or Brown?  I'll consistency-ize it as soon as I know.  You told me once, but now I forgot!  :S


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## Laurel (Jul 9, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> CRAP! Which did you want? Green or Brown? I'll consistency-ize it as soon as I know. You told me once, but now I forgot! :S



Due to the elf blood and nature -green please-


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## The_Universe (Jul 9, 2004)

Green eyes, it is!


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## Archon (Jul 11, 2004)

...


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Jul 11, 2004)

Wow, Kennon... this is really really really good stuff... and I don't say that because I am a player in the game OR because I am your wife...

Now, bring on the zombies and pirates!!


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## threshel (Jul 12, 2004)

Yes, very good, indeed.  

And, hey, I'm neither a player, nor married to you.  

So there you go.

[hijack]  I see that you guys have signed up for my MnM game at the gameday.  Excellent!  I look forward to meeting you and kicking your proverbial butts.    [/hijack]

More story please!
J


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## The_Universe (Jul 12, 2004)

We aim to please.  As soon as I'm ready to update, you all will be the first to know.


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## Archon (Jul 14, 2004)

*"Brick killed a guy."*

it will be cool to see how it all got started (being as i was not there).
good job kennon. i like. i look forward to seeing Archon on these pages.
mik


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## El_Dudereno (Jul 15, 2004)

Good Job The_Universe, can't wait for the Pirates, gar...I am a huge fan, but hey! I don't want any guff from you...you should know who this is after that...Good writin'...lookin forward to more...


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## The_Universe (Jul 15, 2004)

Thanks for the encouragement, Keaton!  Look around the boards to other places, and see what there is to see!

And because of his encouragement, I can post the header for Chapter 1!  Huzzah!


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## The_Universe (Jul 15, 2004)

*And in the past we see our future...*

*Chapter 1:*​ 
*The City of Sacrifice*​ 

_And at the last bend in the River of Blood, the Bluestar—servant of Death—was felled and imprisoned by Th. Apecto—servant of Life. As the Last Priest of Aon, First Priest of the Light’s heart beat its last, he struck down the Deathlord, sending his dark, twisted, soulless spirit back to his northern stronghold._ 

_But death has no claim to the already dead. Already, the foul Lichlord was reborn, ready to continue his conquest of the lands that had once been his home. He made ready to return to the field, to harvest the body of the fallen Bishop. _

_But this time, the Kingdom was ready. Even as the Bluestar’s legions pressed southward, the King’s men had begun construction a great golden wall. Concieved by Quarion of the Fortresslands, the Deathward was constructed, laced with magic of Oberon’s devising. Nothing without a soul could pass through its gates, or over the shining golden crenels of the wall. _

_The Bluestar was trapped in an unliving Hell of his own making. His army, leaderless, soon found defeat in the ruined city that the living now call Thanesport, for the hero’s great sacrifice. Some few surrendered, others crossed the wall to dwell in exile with their trapped chief. But a great many were killed, as well. _

_Now, we try to rebuild what we have lost, ever watchful of the walls of the north’s prison tomb. The unquiet dead are quiet once more, and we have earned peace, at last. _

_Long live the heroes of the War of the Damned. Long live Maelwys, Falcon King. _

--a page, preserved from the journal of Lord Corran Araesi, Baron Destron.


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## Xath (Jul 15, 2004)

*whines* more more more more more!!!


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## El_Dudereno (Jul 15, 2004)

Good Job Kennon, I am glad that I have SOME influence on you in the D&D world, considering I never do any time else...but Good Story Hour, you know what would be better? MORE! hop to it! I command it! Good Story stuff...I am looking forward to hearing about Krosport...


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## Laurel (Jul 16, 2004)

It may be wise to listen to the commands of your readers Universe... 
Patience... what is patience! Greatness-what do you mean it takes time for greatness!

On the other side, I have to say each of these has been worth the wait


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## El_Dudereno (Jul 18, 2004)

Yes, they are all awesome..but you should definately post as soon as possible, these are all awesome story hours...just post faster...


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Jul 20, 2004)

You really are doing a great job, Kennon/The_Universe!


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Jul 24, 2004)

So, The Universe... when can we expect an update?


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## threshel (Aug 20, 2004)

OK.  Since I'm not going to get to meet you guys at the gameday, here's a little BUMP for ya.
BUMP=HINT BRICK
More, please?

J


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## The_Universe (Aug 23, 2004)

Sorry gang.  Hit a little bit of a creative block, but I think I can get things back on track.  Had some inspiration last night in the car on the way back from Gen Con.  Hopefully, I'll get you the next part sometime soon.   

I am VERY sorry about the wait.  Hopefully, today will let me do some writing.


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## Laurel (Sep 3, 2004)

Update? ...................................


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## The_Universe (Sep 6, 2004)

Uh...still working.  Now, if I got paid to do this, all would be much faster....as of now, however, I am still workin' on an update that we all can love.  I wouldn't want to put out a less than stellar product in the interest of speed.   

Until then, I leave you with this: 

_Lightning flashed in the doorway, screaming daylight breaking through the heavy cover of night.  In the split second of false sunlight, a single obsidian figure filled the long-empty portal.  A man-shaped piece of midnight lurched forward, Shadow itself fighting into the fireglow of the tavern.  _

_Not a man.  A woman.  _ _Ivory tresses hung limp against her ebon face, a stark contrast to the blood on her arms, and the darkness of her uniform.  She took a single, hesitant step forward.  Then, eyes rolling back into her head, she collapsed to her knees, as if her bones had suddenly fled.  _

_Over the stunned silence of the tavern, she could be heard, muttering.  Like a tide of words, her voice grew stronger, washing over the stunned onlookers.  It was a fulfillment of the oft-whispered portents of doom.   Even as she seemed to wither before their eyes, her voice continued to grow, filling the rough-hewn rafters of the common room._

_Rising into a screaming crescendo from some unseen agony, there could be no mistake as to what she bellowed.  Her soul seemed to flee with the word, leaving the body lifeless in its fearful wake. They would all remember, for it was this one word that shaped their lives from this point forward._ 

"PIRATES!" _the dead woman had screamed.  Now, she lay dead.  And then the world exploded into madness._


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Sep 7, 2004)

*giggles with joy!!*  Lookin' great, The_Universe!!  Let's get the rest!


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## Xath (Sep 8, 2004)

More More More!!!


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## The_Universe (Sep 14, 2004)

*Part 1 - The Rusty Scabbard*

_The Zombie_​ 
Jeranna stared upward at the stars; mind gripped with a sort of gibbering terror that most would identify only with the most terrifying nightmares the mind can conjure. But Jeranna’s terror was not a product of her mind. It had been forced upon her, a twisted reward for her bravery in trying to protect the sword. She had failed, and this was her punishment. She prayed that it would be over soon, but silently she feared that this would never end. She prayed for death, but feared that she had already passed somehow beyond it. 

A sound ripped her from her terror, returning her twisted thoughts to the task at hand. What task? Was there a task? She couldn’t think, and she could barely breathe. Somehow, she suspected that she didn’t really _have_ to do either.

The sound, again. A hollow, echoing thud. Pain and an unidentifiable _wrongness _screamed through her muscles as she tried to sit up. Heaving her battered torso up, the stars disappeared. As her eyes slowly refocused, the great black sea above was replaced by a dirty, barnacle encrusted hull, bobbing heavily through the midnight of a sea below. 

No—not a sea. A river. She had reached her destination. What destination? Where was she going? Where were these thoughts coming from? 

Impulse defeating thought in a battle that Jeranna was not even half-aware of, she rose from the deck of the tiny lifeboat, unfeeling hands searching for purchase on the hull of the ship before her. Nothing. She had to reach the docks. It was a necessity, the only thing keeping her in this grim parody of life. 

Her once-manicured hand straightened, and without thinking, she slammed it forward, driving it deep into the wood of the ship. She felt no pain as splinters drove deep, stripping the flesh from her arm. Raw muscle, bone and blood glistened in stark contrast to once-perfect ebon skin. 

Her muscles screamed as she pulled herself upward, driving her left hand into the ship’s wooden flesh, slowly ascending as her mind cried out at the nightmare of her actions. She was trapped, a prisoner in her own body, made to witness as she slowly tore herself apart. 

Finally reaching the ship’s deck, she flung herself over the railing, landing heavily on the dry, salt-smelling deck. Her arms were ruined, bleeding masses—little more than strips of skin and muscle loosely hanging from the bones of her arms. Part of her thanked the Light she could feel nothing beyond the screams of muscle; that true pain seemed to have been taken from her sometime _before. _Part of her silently screamed in uncomprehending terror at what she had become. 

Sluggishly pulling her legs beneath her, she stood on the deck of the vessel, her head slowly turning to take in the scene before her. A city shined in the moonlight of Homonaes and Tamaeres. The stars above blended seamlessly into the torches of Thanesport, each a tiny flame in a sea of darkness. 

But Jeranna could not linger; she had a mission. A quest. A single purpose pulling at whatever remnant of a soul dwelt within her ruined body. 

Hurriedly, she crossed the merchantman’s empty deck, blood covering the remains of her hands, eventually dripping to the deck below. Leaving two crimson trails in her wake, she stumbled toward the ship’s ramp, and then down it to the dock, below.



* * *​ 

_Arthur Cawys_​ 

Arthur Cawys stared out at the floor with squinted, pig-like eyes from behind a bar that seemed both ancient and hastily constructed. A dirty rag wiped out countless wooden mugs as the tavern’s myriad patrons roared and whispered about their business between his comfortable spot behind the bar and the ramshackle stage he had constructed a few years ago. Men and women of a hundred shapes and sizes ate, drank, shouted and fought atop a dusty packed earth floor covered in what might once have been sawdust, pushing their way between half-broken chairs, tables, benches and stools. 

The tavern was disgusting. For Cawys, the grime was almost a point of pride. For most of the patrons, he assured himself, it just made the place feel more like home. Fish-smelling dockworkers and sweaty, unwashed mercenaries all crowded onto the uneven floorboards of the ramshackle former warehouse, batwing doors swinging in and out to the stagnant Bleeding Star River. This was the Rusty Scabbard. 

Outside, the Blue Star hung in the air, a harbinger of doom. More than a few of the superstitious men that frequented the Scabbard spoke in hushed tones of the ill-wind that blew in from the sea, covering the docks with a thick, impenetrable haze. As if to punctuate their dire tidings, lightning flashed in the sky above, racing downward to the sea before reversing course to strike back among the black clouds that spawned it. The rumble of thunder followed the brief illuminations of each strike, rolling over Thanesport like an earthquake of sound. The clouds brought no rain, and dust filled the air no less than fog. Across the city, Cawys was sure that the people of Thanesport were grimly reminding their whimpering children that were reasons to fear darkness.

But the Blue Star held little dread for Arthur Cawys. Even as his thirsty patrons warily eyed the grim sky through the yellowed windows of the common room, the portly innkeeper chuckled to himself. The Blue Star always brought fear, and fear always brought a tidy increase in his _other _businesses. No one had approached him yet for a ward against evil – but the night was still young. He laughed out loud as he remembered where his foolproof wards had come from. _If only they knew. _

A tall, slender woman stood at one end of the bar, her expression displaying a careful mix of hostility and superiority. A dusty cloak hung across her narrow shoulders, and she clutched one of the dirty wooden mugs between her breasts, almost as if she were afraid of touching anything in the filth-ridden inn. A sword hilt protruded conspicuously from the cloak, probably the primary reason that she had remained unmolested for so long in this wretched hive of scum and villainy.

To her right, a dark slender man laughed as a half-conscious dwarf tried to lower himself from one of the Scabbard’s rickety chairs. He stumbled across the rickety floor as the younger man—a mid-elf—hissed his laughter at the whiskered mercenary’s antics. As the dwarf stumbled into the young warrior at the bar, he managed to mumble a quick “sorry…” before collapsing against the bar, itself. As his compact form slammed into the unstable stack of used deck planking and driftwood, drinks jumped and then spilled, splashing their contents across the pitted surface that the woman had been leaning on. She scowled. He never noticed. There was whiskey to be had, and Cawys was happy to serve him. _Any old port in a storm_, they said. Cawys had an addendum. _Any old coin from a drunk._ Once more, he chuckled to himself. 

Behind the dwarf, a hulking brute of a half-orc shoveled gruel into his toothy, tusked mouth, grinning happily around a stained spoon. A mug of ale had been set before him, but had been ignored in favor of what Cawys knew was a foul and flavorless mush. He was too cheap to buy hog slop, and the gruel was the next cheapest thing. At last count, he had eaten over a dozen bowls of the Scabbard’s maggot-ridden pulp.

Across the floor, a young mid-elf stared intently at the crowd around her. Plainly fascinated by the dizzying array of creatures that crowded into the tavern, she remained blissfully oblivious to her surroundings. Though she did not yet know it, her purse had been stolen hours ago.

Cawys’s small eyes covered the entire tavern, but these were not regulars, nor did they have the swagger of mercenaries. He had no idea why they had chosen his bar, but they reeked of _trouble._ He filled mug after mug with watered ale, and distributed whiskey to the waifs he employed to work the floor, but his eyes never left the newcomers for long. 

Back at the end of the bar, the slender woman with the sword waved her empty mug in his ruddy, well-cushioned face. His lips parted in what he thought would appear to be a sincere smile, a toothy grimace as likely to cause nausea as ease. Seeing that his grin hadn’t warmed the air between them, he thought he’d try a little friendly conversation. 

“What do you want now, lady?” he grunted, as his rheumy eyes wandering down toward her chest in uncontrolled lust. 

She dropped the mug on the uneven bar, crossing her thin arms over her breasts. She cleared her throat, bringing the bartender’s eyes back to her face. “Master Cawys, I would like another ale. This time, please try not to water it down where I can _see _you.” 

Disappointed that the brief conversation had not included an offer for _closer acquaintances, _he grunted an affirmative over the dull roar of the crowd, and took the mug to be refilled.

Lightning flashed in the doorway, screaming daylight breaking through the heavy cover of night, bringing the roar of the bar to a hushed whisper. In the split second of false sun, a single obsidian figure filled the long-empty portal. A man-shaped piece of midnight lurched forward, Shadow itself fighting into the fire glow of the tavern.

Not a man. A woman. Ivory tresses hung limp against her ebon face, a stark contrast to the blood on her arms, and the darkness of her uniform. She took a single, hesitant step forward. Then, eyes rolling back into her head, she collapsed to her knees, as if her bones had suddenly fled. 

At the sight of the uniform, Cawys muttered a foul oath. A Talon! Kingshield, by the look of her. Before he could demand that the bleeding woman be removed from his bar before her obviously imminent death brought him unwanted attention from the city watch or worse, the already tense crowd rushed toward her, shouting among themselves loud enough to drown Cawys’s powerful voice. 

Cursing still louder to himself, Cawys heaved himself over the bar, muscling his way through the crowd of thugs and thieves. As he broke through the throng of unwashed mercenaries, the bar fell into a stunned silence. Thunder rumbled outside, but no one dared utter a word. 

Piercing the fearful hush, the fallen Talon could be heard, muttering. Like a tide of words, her voice grew stronger, washing over the stunned onlookers like the tide. Even as she seemed to wither before their eyes, her voice continued to grow, filling the rough-hewn rafters of the common room.

Rising into a screaming crescendo from some unseen agony, there could be no mistake as to what she bellowed. Her soul seemed to flee with the word, leaving the body lifeless in its fearful wake. They would all remember, for it was this one word that shaped their lives from this point forward.

"_PIRATES_!" the dying woman had screamed. Now, she lay dead. Soon, the world would explode into madness. 

The swordswoman pushed through the mob of onlookers, blue eyes hardening at the sight of death on the tavern floor. 

“What happened to this woman?” she asked, addressing no one in particular. 

The skinny man from the table by the door (The one buying all the whiskey for the dwarf, Cawys thought) spoke up as he knelt beside the black-uniformed corpse. An amused smile played across his dark face, white teeth shining in the darkness of the tavern’s doorway. “I would have thought it was obvious - she died, my friend.”

“I’m not your friend,” the warrior snapped as she pulled a leather gauntlet from her left hand, and then reached down the Alder woman to feel for a pulse.

“I thenk it’s a lost cause, missy…” a voice slurred from behind the smiling man. “Even if sh-sh-she hadn’t ‘a just dropped into our laps, she’s lost more than a wee bit of blood…” it continued, resolving out of the crowd in the form of a red-faced Dwarf. 

Cawys started to speak, ready to demand that she be dumped in the harbor before someone came looking for her, but was interrupted by two familiar faces from across the crowd. “I’ll help,” they said in unison. Both were athletic, and had at least some Human blood running through their veins. But there the similarities ended. One was enormous, a mountain of tightly-corded muscle wrapped in gray-green skin. The hungry half-orc. The other moved like a dancer, but had the face of a horse. Cawys was unaware, up to that point, that there was such a thing as ugly grace. Afterward, he would need no convincing. 

Looking across the body at each other in shock at their unexpected unison, they quickly shrugged before joining the warrior woman around the body. 

Before they could confer further, a voice rang out over the heads of the crowds. Still musical even as it shouted, Cawys winced to himself. The Bard. She had arrived almost a week ago, insisting that she be allowed to perform on the stage. After he had repeatedly told her that he would not pay her, she had simply shrugged and asked if she could perform there, anyway. He had agreed. Now, he imagined, he would pay the price for his magnanimousness. 

“Pirates!?” she said, almost giggling. “Pirates!? There haven’t been pirates on the Placid Sea for two hundred years!” 

Cutting off what was surely intended as a longer tirade, thunder crashed outside the walls of the tavern, bringing with it a momentary blast of light from outside. The crowd gasped as yet another shadow filled the doorway. 

As it stepped rather than stumbled into the torch lit common room, the gasp was released in a low collective sigh. There would be no more death. At least not yet. 

Tall and dark as he moved through the doorway, his hand never strayed far from the long saber at his hip. Though what he wore was no uniform, it was not far from it. Cut in the style of the Talon Shiplords, the man carried himself like a captain. Cawys had the displeasure of knowing the man. “Darkson,” he growled. 

The man let a smile cross his mustachioed face, soon bubbling forth as quiet laughter. He inclined his dark-haired head to the innkeeper, “Master Cawys.” Standing calmly in the flashing doorway, he continued with a voice that commanded attention, if not outright loyalty. 

“You should heed the woman’s warnings,” he said as he motioned calmly toward the corpse they had surrounded. “Though piracy has long been absent from our shores, it appears to have come again. The _Skyracer_ was taken a few nights ago, on the lane between here and Oceanus. Carrying an artifact of some import to the King, I’m led to believe.”

The swordswoman stood from her crouch, squaring herself in front of the smiling, arrogant captain. “Who are you, and how could you know such a thing?” she asked, suspicion evident as she stared at him, her cold blue eyes mirroring his own. 

The man laughed again, walking through the parting crowd. As he pulled a chair from one of the tables and put his shining boots up, he continued. “I’m surprised you’ve never heard of me.”

She grunted. “I’m not.”

Another laugh escaped the man. “It would seem not!” 

Clearing his throat, he continued as all eyes moved from the corpse, to him. “My name is John Darkson. At the moment, I’m captain of but one ship, but there was a time when I commanded hundreds. Tain…er…the King and I have been close for a number of years. I assume by your ignorance, young lady, that you haven’t spent a great deal of time at Court?”

She crossed her arms loosely beneath her breasts, leaving her right hand near the hilt of her sword, but said nothing.

Despite her silence, he continued, “As for how I know what happened, I saw it. The _Skyracer_ was set upon by an enormous ship that seemed to materialize out of a fog bank.” 

His face turned serious, all traces of a smile washed away, “I don’t know what that ship was, but it was large enough that it could have swallowed the Skyracer whole, masts and all. Her hull could have been no more than fog itself, for all I know…but I’ll never forget the flag. Pirates though this woman’s killers may be, their master is what we should truly fear. Flying in the wind above its black sails was the emblem of evil itself, the Eye of the Bluestar!”

The crowd gasped. Cawys’s eyes rolled back into his head with unmitigated annoyance.

Darkson stopped for a split second, what in other circumstances might have been called a theatrical pause. “Be wary, all of you…the Eye could fall upon us at any time!”

Cawys raised an eyebrow at the Captain’s dramatics, but kept his thoughts to himself. Lies ran thick in the air that night, but he was not foolish enough to disabuse anyone of their superstitions. Fear, he assured himself, was big business.

At the conclusion of Darkson’s speech, the newcomers moved. The swordswoman nodded curtly to the captain, her own mouth pressed into a thin line in a parody of his returning grin. “Your warning is appreciated, Captain, but a true servant of the Kingdom would have offered help to the Skyracer if its cargo was as important as you made it seem, no matter the risk. What I cannot do for the lost ship, I will do for this brave woman, who sought to warn us all.”

She turned to look at the crowd. “I’ll need help getting her to the closest temple. I felt no pulse, but there must be something we can do.”

The immense half-orc stood, easily cradling the fallen Talon in his arms. “I help.” He stated. 

The ugly mid-elf stood as well, unlimbering a bow from the bedroll she had worn into the tavern. She simply nodded, trusting action to communicate what words could not. 

The bard came forward as well. As she brushed past Darkson, she let her fingers trace over the captain’s shoulder. Cawys could see something pass between them, some message in the look (and touch) they shared. They knew each other! She came to stand next to the man in the shadows, subtly pushing the dwarf back into the mass of fearful flesh. 

Drink having worn away any restraint, the dwarf pushed back, causing the bard to stumble forward. She whipped around with a fearful snarl across her face. Before she could speak, Darkson nodded almost imperceptibly, and the dwarf’s companion placed a calming hand on her shoulder. His gleaming teeth showed themselves again, and he said, “Sorry m’lady. My friend meant nothing by it. Our work is the lady Talon.” Cawys tried to hide his shock. Something big was happening here. Darkson was playing the crowd like a harp. _Wheels within wheels_, he thought. 

The smiling man looked up at the swordswoman, “Tell us what we can do to help.”

Turning her back to Darkson, she began barking out orders.


----------



## The_Universe (Sep 14, 2004)

*Part 2 - When the Unbreathing Walk*

_Kaereth of One Oak_​ 
The woman was light. Kaereth was sure he could have thrown her across the river, if he had wanted to. She smelled bad, and she was still bleeding, so part of him did want to. But, he had told the tall pretty woman that he would help carry her, and so carry her he would. He just wished he had a free hand so he could plug his nose. 

The pretty woman was talking again. He turned to her, listening closely. 

“Does anyone know where the closest Apectan temple is?” she asked. “I’ve only been in Thanesport a few days…”

Kaereth thought hard, his brow furrowing as he pushed his thoughts through a hazy mind. He hadn’t been in the big city for very many days, either. He couldn’t help her. 

The dark man with the fake smiles spoke up. Kaereth didn’t like him. He was mean to the dwarf, and he never smiled for real. He was a liar, and Kaereth did not like liars. This time, however, it seemed to Kaereth that the man was telling the truth. 

“There’s an Amastacian temple a few thousand yards north of here, just off of the harbor road. Someone’s got to service the sailors in port,” he said, a mocking grin splitting his sallow features. 

The pretty woman’s face fell. “Will they help this woman?”

The singer spoke, her voice musical, even against the thunder of the rainless storm, “We have little choice but to try. If there’s anything to do for her, it needs to be done now.”

The rest of the group nodded their ascent. Nodding as much to herself as any of them, the pretty woman spun on her heels, and then started jogging up the dirt road toward where the smiling man had said the temple was.

Kaereth followed, his strong legs easily keeping pace with the rest of the group, despite his added burden. His eyes locked on the road ahead, he almost didn’t notice it, at first. His burden had moved of its own power. He was sure of it. Kaereth stopped dead in his tracks. 

The pretty woman took a few more steps forward, and then faltered, realizing that she alone continued toward the Amastacian temple. Kaereth didn’t wait for her to voice his concern. “Something…wrong” he said, to no one and everyone at the same time. He looked down at the obsidian skinned alder woman, hoping (and fearing) to see what he had seen before. 

She lay still in his arms, unbreathing. Unmoving. Could it have been his imagination? “She move!” he declared, looking up a the group that now surrounded him. The dwarf approached, reaching up to pat the worried half-orc on the mucular forearm. “It’s a’right, lad. It couldn’a been other than yer mind playing tricks.” 

Kaereth looked down to his auburn-bearded companion. Nodding, he smiled, as two small, boar-like tusks poked out of his thin lips. It must have been a trick of the light. The flashing lightning had confused him, he assured himself. “Y-y-yes,” he assured them. “A trick. We go?”

The pretty woman smiled at him, which made him feel good. Then she spoke, which made him feel even better, “It’s alright. We cannot be too careful. 

“The Blue Star is an ill omen, tonight, and the storm does not mitigate my fear that something is happening out there,” she continued, motioning toward the crashing sea beyond the harbor with her left hand, “that we have absolutely no control over.” 

Her reassuring smile was replaced with grim determination. “We go.”

As she turned to restart their trek, Kaereth felt his burden jerk in his grasp once more. “She move!” he bellowed. 

As the eyes of his new friends turned back toward him, the body shuddered again, this time so violently that it nearly twisted out of his vice-like grasp. Just as suddenly as it began, it stopped, and the corpse fell limp in his arms once more. 

Before he could summon the words to describe what had just happened, the woman’s body jolted once more. Her eyes shot open. The left eye was dry, and bloodshot. But, in the flash of lightning that accompanied the change in the corpse’s demeanor, he could see that the right had collapsed in on itself, an empty hole in a face that Kaereth would have called pretty, had she been alive. He didn’t see her eyes before; they had not been open in the tavern. 

The others started to move toward him, keenly aware that the young half-orc’s burden had begun moving of its own accord. Before they could move even a half-step toward him, the single remaining eye seemed to glow with some inner light, as if a blue flame had been lit in her skull. Kaereth watched as the woman’s face began to peel before his eyes, the skin around her left eye flaying itself, pulling back to reveal blue, bruised muscle. 

Even Kaereth could not mistake the shape. _The Eye of the Bluestar! _

He tried to drop her, doing his best to suppress a scream. Somehow, in her struggles, she had managed to grab hold of him. Ruined arms wrapped around his enormously thick torso, she heaved herself up and bit him. 

Blood spurted from the wound, bathing Kaereth’s shoulder in sudden crimson heat. He jerked back out of her grasp, and he heard her teeth snap as she left them in the wound she had made in his shoulder. _When the unbreathing walk...fear_, Master Ryoko had said. Kaereth was more than afraid. He was terrified. 

She heaved herself up from the ground, her blood and his mixing in her ruined, feral mouth. Her still-bleeding hands grasped for him, but she made no sound as she lurched toward her attempted rescuer. Kaereth _pushed_ back his terror. Clenching his hands into fists, he breathed deep, and _smashed_. He felt her cheekbone give way, and felt her skeleton shudder as bones snapped throughout her body from the force of his blow. Kaereth smash. Kaereth did not smile. 

Before he could strike the creature again, he heard a twang from behind him, and the air above his left ear whistled as something raced through it. A wet crunch signaled that the missile had reached his target, and the next flash of lightning revealed a quivering crossbow blot transfixing the center of the flayed-skin sigil of the Death Lord. The creature fell, this time truly dead. 

He looked over his bleeding shoulder. The smiling man. He had not expected that. Apparently, neither had the smiling man. A scowl was painted across his face. Seeing that Kaereth was looking at him, his lying smile returned. “Sorry about that, my friend. I wanted to make sure I hit her – you nearly put yourself into the path of my crossbow.” Of course, it sounded like a lie. 

Kaereth wanted to scream. Kaereth wanted to cry. Kaereth wanted to run away. But Kaereth would do none of those things. Before he could share his terror with someone he trusted, the shorter woman, the one who had come to the body with him in the inn, spoke. 

Quietly, but assuredly, she informed the others of what she saw, “You’ll want to reload that crossbow.” Pointing a notched arrow at the now twice-dead Talon, she continued, “She might have been the first, but she’s hardly the last. There’s more out there, in the water.”

She also told them that they were coming this way. No one could hear her over the moans of the dead.


----------



## AIM-54 (Sep 14, 2004)

Whoo!  Looks good, there Kennon!

Only I remember that zombie taking a lot longer to kill...  

Kaereth couldn't hit the broadside of a barn that day.


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Sep 14, 2004)

It just keeps getting better... and you make it seem a lot smoother than it actually was!!



Keep up the good work!


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## The_Universe (Sep 14, 2004)

Thanks to the both of you for the encouragement.  Flattery, as I have said elsewhere, gets you everywhere with me.  

Obviously, the events in the story hour are for the most part too far gone for me to recall the specifics - Kat's campaign journal was written as we were playing through this stuff, and so she's probably more accurate to how the game went.  

I'm just trying to recreate the story from the outside looking in.  Honestly, it's not hard to lend you a little more nobility and purpose than you all thought you had. It's always been there, but sometimes I see the good parts a little more clearly than you all do.  

As for the zombie specifically, she may have been a several-rounder (I honestly don't remember) but she can't compare to the several hours of game time you all spent trying to get rid of the dreaded _Iron_ _Cobra_.  That, I assure you, will eventually be recreated in all of its ridiculous glory.


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## AIM-54 (Sep 14, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> As for the zombie specifically, she may have been a several-rounder (I honestly don't remember) but she can't compare to the several hours of game time you all spent trying to get rid of the dreaded _Iron_ _Cobra_.  That, I assure you, will eventually be recreated in all of its ridiculous glory.




As it should, as it should.   

Look forward to the next update whenever it should appear.    

I'm enjoying it muchly, no matter the accuracy compared to my own feeble memory of the events.    

Again, great job!


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## Xath (Sep 14, 2004)

Whooooooooooooooooooo!  

Finally an update, and a long one.  I can't wait to see more!


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## threshel (Sep 14, 2004)

I was so excited at the prospect of an update, that I reread the whole thing.  Well, excitement, and the fact that it _has_ been a while...

Great stuff, The Universe!  You've introduced each character so well that nearly anything could have happened and I would've been at rapt attention.  As it is, you've given us "PIRATES!" and the undead.  Had this zombie been just a moving corpse, the plot events would've had much less impact, but you personalized Jeranna, and that made every difference.

Ok, enough with the sucking up.  More story!

J
PS If you ever have an open seat...


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Sep 16, 2004)

threshel said:
			
		

> I was so excited at the prospect of an update, that I reread the whole thing.  Well, excitement, and the fact that it _has_ been a while...
> 
> Great stuff, The Universe!  You've introduced each character so well that nearly anything could have happened and I would've been at rapt attention.  As it is, you've given us "PIRATES!" and the undead.  Had this zombie been just a moving corpse, the plot events would've had much less impact, but you personalized Jeranna, and that made every difference.
> 
> ...



 Hey, 

We really appreciate your support... the more readers the better... I'm sure it makes the author feel fabulous to hear the props... but, as a player, it makes me feel really good, too.

... and, I really the plug in your sig-- and not just because I play Justice!   

The Universe is doing an incredible job... now get to work on the next update!!!

Additionally, once we get a little further into the story, I will link everyone to Justice's Journals... if there is interest in such a thing...


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## AIM-54 (Sep 16, 2004)

threshel said:
			
		

> Had this zombie been just a moving corpse, the plot events would've had much less impact, but you personalized Jeranna, and that made every difference.




Less impact on you, maybe, you weren't carrying the moving corpse.   

We had no idea the background.  I was just being a good samaritan.  For all the good it did me...damn zombie...


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Sep 17, 2004)

AIM-54 said:
			
		

> Less impact on you, maybe, you weren't carrying the moving corpse.
> 
> We had no idea the background.  I was just being a good samaritan.  For all the good it did me...damn zombie...




Just for the record....

I loathe the undead.


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## AIM-54 (Sep 17, 2004)

Queen_Dopplepopolis said:
			
		

> Just for the record....
> 
> I loathe the undead.




Seconded.

Only I don't have mad undead whomping powers, like you do.

Nope, gotta do it the ol' fashioned way, with fists and stomping.

You can never get the smell out either...


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## threshel (Sep 17, 2004)

AIM-54 said:
			
		

> Nope, gotta do it the ol' fashioned way, with fists and stomping.
> 
> You can never get the smell out either...





"Kaereth smash.  Kaereth smile."

 
J


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## Parlan (Sep 19, 2004)

Queen_Dopplepopolis said:
			
		

> It just keeps getting better... and you make it seem a lot smoother than it actually was!!




Accurate or not, the pacing worked great for this reader! Keep 'em coming. Cause the only thing better than pirates is undead-worshipping-pirates 

(and drow-ninja-pirates, but that goes without saying  ) 


Parlan


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## Laurel (Sep 21, 2004)

and the plot thickens.... hehehehe... can't wait for the next one!


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## Laurel (Sep 21, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> As for the zombie specifically, she may have been a several-rounder (I honestly don't remember) but she can't compare to the several hours of game time you all spent trying to get rid of the dreaded _Iron_ _Cobra_. That, I assure you, will eventually be recreated in all of its ridiculous glory.



Hey at least it only took us only one game session to get rid of it. Some were starting to think it was going to go into another day! I am sure you will represent it perfectly and eloquently in all it's glory 

The bard was evil!!! She knew them!!!!  Too many shocks and revelations.... but oh what fun twists you weave


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## Xath (Sep 21, 2004)

Heh, because of the story hour, everything happening now in the game makes much more sense.  My advice to those not in the campaign:  Pay attention to even the most insignifigant character being introduced right now.  Not even the smallest NPC escapes the Universe's weaving plot.


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## Laurel (Sep 21, 2004)

Xath said:
			
		

> Heh, because of the story hour, everything happening now in the game makes much more sense. My advice to those not in the campaign: Pay attention to even the most insignifigant character being introduced right now. Not even the smallest NPC escapes the Universe's weaving plot.



Beware oh readers take the advise above very carefully....

Too True dear Xath, Though in a few cases it just adds to current confusion! AHHHHHH!!!! but a happy AHHHHHHHH!!!!


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## The_Universe (Sep 21, 2004)

Laurel said:
			
		

> Hey at least it only took us only one game session to get rid of it. Some were starting to think it was going to go into another day! I am sure you will represent it perfectly and eloquently in all it's glory
> 
> The bard was evil!!! She knew them!!!!  Too many shocks and revelations.... but oh what fun twists you weave



 Such is the price we pay for having the story make sense from start to finish.  I had to deal with some of the early (often crazily nonsensical) character upheavels somehow, and this seemed as good a way to do it, as any.  

Under no circumstance do I plan to change well-known events, but I may lend several of them a slightly different cast, based on what you're now learning....


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## The_Universe (Sep 22, 2004)

_
double post​​_​


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## The_Universe (Sep 22, 2004)

_Justice Fairweather_​ 

Justice muttered curses that would have made the sailor blush, had blood been flowing to his face. Pale and drawn, Justice guessed that he’d been dead for at least a week, and had spent a good deal of that time underwater. He smelled of salt water and decay, a perfect companion to the dark miasma of evil that seemed to surround and penetrate the thing that had once been a man. 

They had come up from the water with blinding speed. They must have been waiting for a signal that Justice had neither seen nor heard, because when they pulled themselves up on to the harbor road, they had done so with a simultaneity the books did not regularly associate with the walking dead. This was not coincidence. Was there such thing as coincidence? Justice was no longer sure. 

The zombie-sailor emitted an inarticulate gurgle as he swiped his nerveless arms at the young warrior, hands hardened into rotting talons. Justice sidestepped, bringing her body alongside his as she raised her sword over head. Off balance, reaching, it did not cry out as her blade sliced down through its arms. It didn’t stop it, either. Turning to face the paladin once more, it swung with the remnants of its arms, driving Justice back toward her erstwhile companions. 

She stepped back, and was rewarded with another swipe from the creature’s shortened limbs; its rotten, dripping eyes filled with a ravenous, supernatural light. Grimly, she put up her sword to parry the blow, feeling the blade cut into muscle and bone as it drove its own arm deeper onto the sword’s razor edge. Spinning, she pulled the blade from the thing’s torn flesh, turning the blade enough to slice through it’s neck. 

Decapitated, it slumped to the ground with a wet _thwack_, even as its hands still grasped at the cobblestones beneath her feat, still animated by whatever foul magic drove the zombies around her. 

She continued backward, stopping suddenly as she bumped into another body. Fearing the worst, she whipped around with her blade at the ready, steel hungry for another taste of flesh. Soft green eyes and a fierce grin looked back at her, limp matted hair shining with sweat in the sudden flashes of light from the storm around them. Justice couldn’t help herself. _The horse-faced Mid-elf. _Shaking her head, she thought, _I really need to learn these people’s names._

But there was no time. Nodding as she lowered her sword, she followed the other woman to a tight circle where the rest of those who had left the tavern had gathered, defending themselves from the waves of animated flesh that flowed around them. 

Arrows flew and blades flashed, separating flesh from flesh and bone from bone as they moved, the eye of a storm of undead flesh. “How many?” Justice shouted, stabbing outward as one of the creatures grabbed at the person beside her. Feeling her blade strike true, she risked a glance to her side. _The bard – another Mid-elf. _

The shorter woman looked up at Justice, smiling as she brought a crimson, dripping dagger to her face in mock salute, momentarily free of attackers. _Thank you, _she mouthed, before turning back to the advancing horde. 

Not all of the creatures that pulled themselves from the harbor that night were marked with the Eye of the Bluestar. But more than a few were. There was no doubt in Justice’s mind just who the culprit was. _The Bluestar has broken free of his prison, and this is merely the first of what will be many assaults. _Grand quest, indeed. 

Finally, an answer came to her shouted question, “Dozens! At least a score, lass!” She guessed it was the Dwarf, violence having sobered him more quickly than she would have thought possible. Her flawless face dour and blood-splattered, she shouted back, “Hold then, Sir Dwarf! For it appears we have bigger problems than these.”

She heard an interrogative grunt from the archer, somewhere behind her. “What in the Amastacia’s name is a bigger problem…than…this…??” the voice continued, interrupted by the flights of three arrows, each knocking one of the animated corpses off of its feet. 

Pulling her sword free from the torso of one of the creatures, she pointed out to the horizon, where Aon appeared to be rising back out of the sea. “That,” she said simply, before driving her sword through yet another of the approaching things. 

The orange glow quickly proved to be something other than a new sun. In the end, Justice wasn’t sure that she was glad that it wasn’t. If it had been, it might have saved her a lot of later suffering. But at that moment, Justice merely cursed the prophecy that brought her to Thanesport.

Flames licked upward into roiling black clouds of smoke, themselves swallowed by the storm clouds that hung low over Thanesport. Sails, somehow not consumed by the fire that covered the vessel’s hull billowed from an unseen wind as the fireship cut through the waters of the harbor towards the forest of mast and sail that surrounded them. 

Justice looked up and down the rows of wooden docks, horrified at what the ship represented. They had no time to spare. _Someone has to stop that ship! _

From behind her, a voice cursed with a finality she could appreciate. She assumed it was the dwarf, but later she would think that it might have been the half-orc – the curse had been almost perfect in its descriptive simplicity. 

“Oh sh…”


----------



## Xath (Sep 22, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> Soft brown eyes and a fierce grin looked back at her, limp matted hair shining with sweat in the sudden flashes of light from the storm around them. Justice couldn’t help herself. _The horse-faced Mid-elf. _Shaking her head, she thought, _I really need to learn these people’s names._





Brilliant.  Yet another excellent update.


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Sep 22, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> _The Bluestar has broken free of his prison, and this is merely the first of what will be many assaults. _Grand quest, indeed.




Gotta love it!  Looks great!


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## Laurel (Sep 22, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> Soft brown eyes and a fierce grin looked back at her, limp matted hair shining with sweat in the sudden flashes of light from the storm around them. Justice couldn’t help herself. _The horse-faced Mid-elf. _Shaking her head, she thought, _I really need to learn these people’s names._



At the moment she may be ugly as a horse, but it is a green eyes horse  
And, Nah, names are useless--
But most importantly: 
*Great Job Universe!!!!*


----------



## AIM-54 (Sep 22, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> From behind her, a voice cursed with a finality she could appreciate. She assumed it was the dwarf, but later she would think that it might have been the half-orc – the curse had been almost perfect in its descriptive simplicity.
> 
> “Oh sh…”




It _is_ the simple things, isn't it? 

Great update!

Looking forward to the chaos yet to come.


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## The_Universe (Sep 22, 2004)

So noted. Check it again.  

I guess she just has brown eyes in my head...yargh.

Thanks for all of the compliments...now if only we had more readers...


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## Lefferts (Sep 23, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> So noted. Check it again.
> 
> I guess she just has brown eyes in my head...yargh.
> 
> Thanks for all of the compliments...now if only we had more readers...




There be lurkers around.


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Sep 23, 2004)

Lefferts said:
			
		

> There be lurkers around.



 Lurk! Lurk!  And bring your friends!


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## ledded (Sep 23, 2004)

Well, I finally stopped by because I told myself I was going to read this one a while back when you popped into my Story Hour, and finally remembered to come take a look.

Holy.  Freakin'.  Frijoles.

This is good, nay, *great* story hour reading.

I usually shy away from D&D stories a bit; yours not only makes me want to read more but to play in it too.  There's not a whit of that formulaic ho-hum-ness that I've come to dread from a lot of D&D these days, and the world you've created is very interesting to say the least.  Very good work so far, and I've only just finished the first couple pages of posts.  

Consider me subscribed my good man, and keep the good stuff coming.  Now I'm going to shut up and get back to reading.


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Sep 24, 2004)

Hehehehe.... I'm so flattered that you're reading, ledded... you're like a Story Hour celebrity!

Yay!


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## The_Universe (Sep 24, 2004)

I aim to please.   Glad to have you, Ledded.  

Any time you're in the DC Metro area, you've got a spot at the table - A Kingdom of Ashes has had its share of cameos, and one more won't hurt. 

Now I need to finish the _next _update...


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Sep 24, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> Now I need to finish the _next _update...




Indeed, you do!  I command it!


----------



## ledded (Sep 24, 2004)

Queen_Dopplepopolis said:
			
		

> Hehehehe.... I'm so flattered that you're reading, ledded...



Well I'm flattered that you're flattered... of the many things I've done in my life, making an impression on a _Queen_ has not been one until now 

<runs off to check that one off the list of things to do>



			
				Queen_Dopplepopolis said:
			
		

> you're like a Story Hour celebrity!
> 
> Yay!



I don't know about _that_, but I appreciate the sentiment anyway. I do like me a good Story Hour though, so I'll be around here from time to time to annoy ya'll .



			
				The Universe said:
			
		

> I aim to please.  Glad to have you, Ledded.
> 
> Any time you're in the DC Metro area, you've got a spot at the table - A Kingdom of Ashes has had its share of cameos, and one more won't hurt.



Thanks, I may take you up on that if I'm ever in the area. Keep up the good work, and since I just updated mine it's high time you update yours before I finish reading to the end only to realize I have to sit and wait like everyone else 

You really need to pimp this SH more, it's quite good;  better than some that get a lot more attention.


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## Angcuru (Sep 29, 2004)

Oy!  Another story hour gem!      This ranks up there with Medallions, We Were Gods Once, Welcome to the Halmae, and Drunk Southern Girls with Guns, even!!    

MORE!  

Once I find me a really good line, I'm gonna stick this one in my sig.


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## The_Universe (Sep 29, 2004)

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Oy!  Another story hour gem!      This ranks up there with Medallions, We Were Gods Once, Welcome to the Halmae, and Drunk Southern Girls with Guns, even!!
> 
> MORE!
> 
> Once I find me a really good line, I'm gonna stick this one in my sig.



 Heh - now I feel obligated to come up with a really good line...

Update coming soon, I hope...


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## ledded (Sep 29, 2004)

oops.


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## ledded (Sep 29, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> A sword hilt protruded conspicuously from the cloak, probably the primary reason that she had remained unmolested for so long in this _wretched hive of scum and villainy_.




Oh, I love it.  You just couldnt *help* yourself with that one, huh?  



Finally got the last few pages in, and I'm quite impressed.  The story flows very well, and by the comments of your players, it seems like ya'll are having a good ol' time with it.  Kudos, to the author and the players.



And I have to say, Kaereth is my favorite so far, but only just so;  I played a half-orc monk in a short campaign a year ago that was so similar to him that it is frightening, except that my Brother Mar talked and had mannerisms just like Billy Bob Thornton in Slingblade, much to the annoyance of the first-time GM who ran the sessions .  He was one of the most fun characters I've ever roleplayed.  Justice has to run a very close second, only because I adore the noble, strong, self-assured and watch-out-for-that-sword female archtype she seems to embody so far.  I'm eager to see where you all go from here.


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## Xath (Sep 29, 2004)

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Oy!  Another story hour gem!      This ranks up there with Medallions, We Were Gods Once, Welcome to the Halmae, and Drunk Southern Girls with Guns, even!!
> 
> MORE!
> 
> Once I find me a really good line, I'm gonna stick this one in my sig.





Look at you, TheUniverse.  Getting on up there with the big boys.


----------



## The_Universe (Sep 29, 2004)

ledded said:
			
		

> Oh, I love it. You just couldnt *help* yourself with that one, huh?



 Indeed, you might say I failed my will save vs. star wars.


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## ledded (Sep 29, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> Indeed, you might say I failed my will save vs. star wars.



Ah, just as I failed the much more obscure will save vs. The Tick in my own story hour .

there was some kind of circumstance penalty in there I'm sure...


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## AIM-54 (Sep 29, 2004)

ledded said:
			
		

> Oh, I love it.  You just couldnt *help* yourself with that one, huh?
> 
> 
> 
> ...




I'm flattered.  Coming from an author/participant in some of my favorite story hours, this is high praise indeed.

I don't think Kaereth changes too much over time, but I have become increasingly comfortable with the character, which helps.  And thus far no one's managed to get their hands on a Headband of Intellect, like they have often threatened.   

Anyway, thanks for reading!

<obligatory whine for an update>


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## Archon (Sep 30, 2004)

*Props to my bro*

Mr. Universe and Company, just wanted to let you know, i dig the story hour, mostly because it fills me in on all the stuff i missed before i joined up. 
also, i'm looking forward to the next update and the eventual inrtoduction of a rogue Talon Justice. or should i say a rogue/fighter/ranger/martyr/shadow champion, Talon Justice.

peice
mik aka "Slayer of the Phoenix Goblin"


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## Xath (Oct 5, 2004)

Bum, ba dum *bump*

Hey The Universe,  when's the next update?


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## The_Universe (Oct 5, 2004)

Soon, I hope.  My muse is lazy - I'm working on it.


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## Angcuru (Oct 5, 2004)

Have some booze, muse.


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## ledded (Oct 7, 2004)

AIM-54 said:
			
		

> I'm flattered. Coming from an author/participant in some of my favorite story hours, this is high praise indeed.



 



			
				AIM-54 said:
			
		

> I don't think Kaereth changes too much over time, but I have become increasingly comfortable with the character, which helps. And thus far no one's managed to get their hands on a Headband of Intellect, like they have often threatened.



Yeah, that kind of character can be a lot of fun to play. You get to say perceptive things like "I dunno whut dat word wuz dat you jus' sed, but I don't think you do neither..." and complain often over the lack of fresh biscuits.

/boring anecdote

My favorite scene with my Slingblade-talking half-orc Monk, who was quite young and naive, was during an encounter with Centaurs who leapt out onto the road to challenge us all bristling with menace and bows and whatnot, my monk wins initiative...

"Waaagghhh! We gots da help dat man mmm-hmmm cuz dat horse done half-ate 'im!". I then proceeded to take the centaur gently by the wrist and try to pull him out of the horse-beast, the whole time the (1st time) GM is sitting there dumbfounded as my character made soothing noises and promises of imminent release. Yes, stupid I know, but it was fun. As the centaur (and the GM) recovered from his initial shock and started berating me to let him go (I think he was trying to intimidate us and press the importance of the events we were stumbling into, or sell us Amway. My character couldnt tell), I just kept patting him on the head and saying things like "Don' worry sir, I'd be all upset if dat horse beast done half-swallered me too, mmm-hmm", and trying to pull them apart. Also, the joy of improved grapple in 3.5 D&D made it so that he could literally wrestle a horse and unless the horse knew what it was doing, it might just get hog-tied 

/boring anecdote off



			
				AIM-54 said:
			
		

> Anyway, thanks for reading!
> 
> <obligatory whine for an update>



Hear hear! I second that! 

I'd read _more_ if only the Universe would _write_ it mumble mumble grumble whine


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## The_Universe (Oct 7, 2004)

ledded said:
			
		

> I'd read _more_ if only the Universe would _write_ it mumble mumble grumble whine



The Universe has the disadvantage of being forced to do most of his writing at work (SHHHHHHHH!!!!).  The compounding difficulty is that sometimes he is actually required to work at work!  

Now if only they'd pay me to write, I'd be a happy camper.


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## Celahir (Oct 8, 2004)

Hey Universe, I was wondering if you have written any world prologues.  I'm going to be writing one soon, and I can't get a good start going.  I know everything about my world, but I just can't get one sentence that starts it off nicely.

http://lonations.thefreebizhost.com/xerin.jpg

Thats the map I drew of the world.

I was just hoping to read something of yours because your writing is amazing.  I've got an amazing storyline set up for this campaign, so when its finish I'll post it for you


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## The_Universe (Oct 8, 2004)

I'll have to dig around on the PC at home - I've written something so similar to what you're asking about (I think) for another game world, but Aeres doesn't have that, at least as of so far. 

I've used the world in various time periods for a couple of games now, and both its past and future present the potential for other campaigns - I've tried to resist committing the past to paper completely, if only because doing so would prevent me from gaming there (then?) later. 

Your continent looks good, and geologically plausible, at least.

As for writing stuff for your players to read, I generally think it's best to pick a person's perspective, and use that. It doesn't have to be an NPC, or anyone that they would or will know. But, filtering the information that you know through the perspective of another mortal (albeit one in a different time period) is a good way to help your readers identify with the history of the world. Hence, rather than a omniscient report of everything that was happening (as you can see in the character prologues) I tried to limit the perspective of the reader to that which could have been seen heard and felt by the character. So, you might start with the tale of a farmer or herdsman, talking about how he or she encountered the important elements of the world. 

"The Sun beat down on Steve Johnson, pulling sweat from every pore. He stumbled behind the plow, absently cracking his whip to drive the _quornak _that pulled it. As the iron blade turned the red earth ahead of him, he risked a wary glance to the east. The _bandar _would be coming soon. Steve silently prayed to _Lemenor, _beggingthe Hearthlord for mercy, for him to drive the _bandar _past his mud-packed hovel. Steve had no sacrifice for them, save his daughter, and he would die before he let them have her."

In just a couple of sentences, you've told the players that 1) the sun is referred to as the Sun, people have names like "Steve Johnson," and that farmers use relatively primitive implements. Additionally, you've told them that there's a beast of burden (of some sort) in the world called a quornak. The bandar are obviously bad guys of a sort that want sacrifices and come from the east, and Lemenor is a deity or concept that can be prayed to, and is believed to grant boons and favors. In the example, you've already told your characters a bunch about the world, and you haven't let it become a book report. Does that help? 

Alternatively, you can just throw your players in to the world, and slowly introduce them to the unique elements. Sometimes, it's nice to let them discover the world slowly...

Anyway, I hope that helps. 

For the campaign being written here, I gave the players a basic idea about how the world differed from a standard D&D world (not much), and then gave them a timeline for the important events of known history. That seemed to work pretty well, and I've largely let the players' questions let me know where the gaps needed to be filled.

Once you get your stuff written, start a story hour! This is a great place to find feedback and appreciation for your hard work.


----------



## Celahir (Oct 8, 2004)

This is what I have so far.  How does it sound? Mind you, there is a lot that needs to be filled in.

The world of Xerin is a wondrous land split into many different islands.  One of these Islands is called Tanos.  Tanos holds many kingdoms such as Maltica, Terris, Levira, and Cytolis.  It is ruled by the high council.  It is the main island of the world and because of this; it is the home to many races.

The kingdom of Cytolis gets its name from a legend in the first days of the world known to the elders as the “Land of the Cyclops.”  Cytolis was the name of the first Cyclops lord and overseer of the kingdom.  He was a mighty warrior.  Cytolis was the best in the eastern lands and many feared him.  Even though he lived some 4000 years ago, his legend still stands.  Cytolis and his famous golden hammer of destruction is a story told where Cytolis single handedly killed 50 elven warriors.  The legend has made Cytolis more vicious than he actually was and has struck fear into the hearts of almost every Elf.  To this day, elves stay away from the mountains where many Cyclopes still inhabit the mountains.  Up in the mountains there are several statues of Cytolis with his golden hammer and dead elves at his feet.  Cytolis today is ruled by Barbarians that came in and overthrew a cyclops ruler some 200 years ago.

The kingdom Maltica is named after the word malice meaning a desire to harm others or to see others suffer.  The name came about because every leader that Matica has had has been an evil tyrant.  The leaders do what they must to make their people listen.  Whether it is torture, or death as an example to the rest of the people, the leaders have stricken fear into their followers.  Because of this treatment many rebel groups have developed.  Some make themselves known by sabotaging some of the king’s belongings.  Some actually kill soldiers in the king’s army.  And some just lay dormant waiting for their opportunity to strike.  These rebel groups are spread all about Maltica.  They are in the mountains, underground, and even in the grassy hills.

King Malon is the current king of Maltica.  He is the worst of all the kings Maltica has had in nearly 2500 years.  He may be a tyrant, but he isn’t an unintelligent one.  He is a genius in military tactics.  He has 100 specially trained warriors that are his very own personal guards.  They are trained to duel wield weapons like axes and long swords.  They do not use shields because it is a sign of weakness.  Once, he had a parade and the village was late in making it ready, and in order to show he was unpleased he ordered his army to slay 1000 villagers.  Because of this, the rebels have really started to show themselves as malicious warriors that won’t stop fighting until the king is overthrown.  King Malon in response has started slaying 100 people a day until the rebel groups turn themselves in.  The towns throughout Maltica can’t handle seeing 100 people killed everyday so they made laws to prevent rebellions from happening.  The only way to protect oneself from the king’s malicious ways is to join the king’s army.  Therefore everyone wants to join the army.  Not necessarily to fight, but to survive.  Because of this, the king’s army is vast and large.
To the southwest there is a smaller island called Renos, “the land of the dammed.”  This is where all of the outcasts from Tanos are sent.  Whether they be a prisoner, a scoundrel, a murderer, or just unwanted, they are sent to this small island.  It is a cursed place to live.  The strongest live and the others don’t.  Watch your back is a common saying on this island.  No kingdoms rule here but local warlords and the sword.  In order to survive on this island one has to make friends quickly.  Friends that will help you survive in return for you helping them survive.  If you don’t, you are sure to be killed or merely die of starvation or cold.


----------



## ledded (Oct 8, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> I'll have to dig around on the PC at home - I've written something so similar to what you're asking about (I think) for another game world, but Aeres doesn't have that, at least as of so far.
> <snip>



I just wanted to pop in here again and say 'great advice' to The_Universe.  Very well said and a nice example to boot.  Follow that advice, Celahir, and it will work wonders for you.

One other short thing I'd like to add is a quote from another ENWorlder who was paraphrashing a quote from Mark Twain about writing.  It went something like this:

"Never say 'the grandmother screamed'.  Bring her on, and let her _scream_."

Basically, try not to describe things as 'wonderful' or 'jaded' or whatever before the reader has a chance to draw that conclusion, _make_ them that way and let them draw that conclusion themself.  One trick I used once when doing a very similar world introduction was to write a one-way first-person conversation from an old, irascible sage instructing a hesitant student.  I was able to give the information I wanted to, shrouded in the old man's assumptions and life experiences, while tossing in colorful coloquialisms and insults.


----------



## The_Universe (Oct 8, 2004)

ledded said:
			
		

> I just wanted to pop in here again and say 'great advice' to The_Universe.  Very well said and a nice example to boot.  Follow that advice, Celahir, and it will work wonders for you.
> 
> One other short thing I'd like to add is a quote from another ENWorlder who was paraphrashing a quote from Mark Twain about writing.  It went something like this:
> 
> ...



 Precisely!  

The last thing I'll say on this particular subject is this: read.  The more you expose yourself to how others write, the better your own writing will become.  Don't copy, but allow yourself to be *inspired.*

Celahir - I think we could have a long conversation about how to shape up the details of your world.  It's a great start, though!  

Maybe cut the meat of your post and start a new thread on the general board?  I'll keep an eye out for it, and I'll comment there (and invite others to do so).   

Thanks!


----------



## threshel (Oct 13, 2004)

Hey all, I wanted to invite you to my SH.  Fledgling though it is, I think you may like it.
Link's in my sig.

J


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## Angcuru (Oct 13, 2004)

MORE!


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Oct 14, 2004)

So... about that update...


----------



## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Oct 19, 2004)

ahem...

*BUMP*

More, please.


----------



## Laurel (Oct 19, 2004)

Oh great Muse please hit him over the head..... There is only so much actual work I can handle!


----------



## Laurel (Oct 19, 2004)

Oh great Muse please hit him over the head..... There is only so much actual work I can handle!  

Update!


----------



## The_Universe (Oct 19, 2004)

Another long update proceeds at a decent pace.  Maybe something by the end of the week?  

I do have a general question for you posters, and any of you lurkers out there...would you prefer more frequent (much) shorter updates, or the longer updates I've been providing, spaced in time about like they are now?


----------



## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Oct 20, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> Another long update proceeds at a decent pace.  Maybe something by the end of the week?
> 
> I do have a general question for you posters, and any of you lurkers out there...would you prefer more frequent (much) shorter updates, or the longer updates I've been providing, spaced in time about like they are now?



 I think that shorter updates draw more readers-- especially at first.  But, I could be completely wrong.


----------



## Angcuru (Oct 20, 2004)

While I prefer to write my story hour in long, weekly updates, I like to read them either way.  But I hate when a SH I'm reading doesn't get an update in a long time and drops off the radar.  So shoot for bi-weekly maybe.  Heck, I DON'T KNOW!!!  >_<

Just do what feels best to you.  But do it sooooon.


----------



## The_Universe (Oct 21, 2004)

_Edriss Kiva_​ 

It was all going according to plan. Edriss couldn’t help but smile through the darkness as he fired his crossbow, unaiming, into the crowd of the dead that surrounded him. The key was simply to look like he was trying. The darkness helped, and what aid the shadow couldn’t lend him was made up by the fact that everyone had other concerns at the moment. Zombies, it seemed, made an excellent distraction. Mistress Blackadder would be pleased. 

Beside him, Arfin’s arms swung back and forth mechanically as he pulled his heavy axeblade through body after body, hacking through the approaching horde like so much fleshy lumber. The dwarf’s grim expression was almost too much to bear. He had to _try_, in order to keep from laughing. It seemed that the dwarven mercenary had been totally taken in by the ruse. 

It was perfect. Darkson would be pleased. As long as Darkson was pleased, his master was pleased. As long as Darkson’s master was pleased, Edriss would be rewarded. He risked a smile at Selura. She smiled, raising a jeweled dagger to her forehead in a mock salute. She kept her eyes on the swordswoman – Edriss had already guessed she was a paladin – but the salute was clearly meant for him. She mouthed the words, “Thank you” to the paladin even as she risked a direct look at Edriss. 

For a moment, her blade and eyes flashed orange in the darkness, turned to catch what at first appeared to be the dying light of Aon. The sun had set hours ago. This was something different. The ship, as Darkson had promised. Edriss smiled, and the shadows deepened around him. 

The burning vessel soon came into view, parting a cloud of mist and smoke as it barreled toward the unprotected Thanesport docks. Risking a look into the harbor even as he loosed another bolt over the dwarf’s head, he was able to make out the letters painted onto the vessel’s enflamed hull. _HMS Skyracer. _

Before he could say as much, the flaming ship managed to capture the attention of the rest of his desperately huddled circle. To his left, someone cursed. He hid another smile. Fear always seemed to darken the night, and if there was one thing that Edriss Kiva liked (and indeed, there may have been only one thing), it was darkness. 

Selura spoke, echoing the sentiment he would have felt, had he not known all that was happening in Thanesport this night. “That ship will burn down the docks, and everything near it! We have to get out of here, _now_!” 

He nodded his approval of her words. They would flee, deeper into the city, carrying tales of the pirates, the walking dead and—of course—the Bluestar. As Thanesport burned, its citizens would flee, carrying the tale further. He was nearly feverish with anticipation, already able to _taste_ the dread on the air around him. Thanesport would be the first, but not the last. 

He turned to run then, slamming another bolt down into its home atop his crossbow. As he jerked the string back that would allow him to fire the bolt, he grasped at the dwarf’s shoulder, ready to pull him away from what would shortly be nothing but smoldering ash. He had no love for the foolish drunk, but he knew that there had to be someone to tell the story of _how_ it had happened. Arfin was as good a choice as any. 

“Let’s go!” Edriss cried, tugging on the Dwarf’s tunic. “That ship’s not going to slow down!”

He took a few steps, ready to weave between the shambling corpses that even now pressed toward them. He smiled wryly. The dead made excellent, if unsubtle, servants. 

He got only a few feet before another voice stopped him dead in his tracks. Sliding to a halt on the blood-spattered cobblestones, he asked for clarification. 

“What?!” he shouted, ducking under the windmilling arms of another zombie – absurdly, this one appeared to be dressed as a cook, swinging at Edriss with what appeared to be the remains of a wooden cook-spoon. Edriss did not smile, the half-heard statement having driven all capacity for mirth from him. 

The voice, as it turned out, had belonged to the other mid-elf: an ugly young woman with decidedly equine features. “I said, ‘we have to stop that ship!’ If we let it get much closer, the docks and every ship in the harbor will be nothing more than cinders by this time, tomorrow.”

The paladin broke in, wiping gore off of her curved blade as she spoke. Smearing red across the green leather she wore, she said, “If the Light is with us, then it’s possible that Thanesport won’t follow the ships into ash. But I wouldn’t count on it.”

“The archer,” she continued, motioning toward the mid-elf, “is right. _We _must stop that ship. Now.”

Edriss wanted to scream. This was no longer going according to plan. These people weren’t brave, they were _idiots._ Before he could open his mouth to berate the swordswoman for her foolishness, Selura spoke. “Of course, you’re right!” she said, her eyes sparkling with the oncoming flames’ light, “we will do our part to save this city!” 

Momentarily shocked, Edriss stood dumbfounded, his jaw open in disbelief. Selura could have stopped the ship with little more than a snap of her slender fingers. Edriss knew from painful experience that with a thought, she could have sent the burning hulk of the _Skyracer_ to the bottom of the river that formed Thanesport harbor. _What, _he thought (indeed – almost screamed), _was she doing?_

Before he could ask her, she pressed on, deftly avoiding the grasp of yet another zombie that she had helped create during the voyage to Thanesport. “You,” she said, pointing to the paladin, “and I will need to warn whatever watchmen remain. There was a watch-house back the other way, beyond the Rusty Scabbard.” 

Widening her steely gaze to the rest of the group, she continued, “The rest of you – stop that ship. No matter the cost.” At that, she let her gaze rest fully on Edriss. As she did, a single word echoed in his mind. A thought—not his own—roared across his consciousness. He knew, once the intrusion had ended, that it had been Selura. At last, Edriss knew what Selura planned. His smile returned, this time even wider. 

Another bolt sailed outward from his reloaded crossbow, knocking one of the shambling dead off of its feet. “Arfin, lead on. We need to stop that ship.” Inside, Edriss was laughing. Irony, it seemed, could be just as comforting as shadow.



* * *​ 

_Daniel Kairn_​ 
Corporal Daniel Kairn couldn’t be blamed for failing to see the _Skyracer_. After all, he was asleep. As his men played dice in the cargo hold of the _Exeter_, he had just taken a moment to close his eyes. That moment had turned into several minutes, and then an hour. 

In his years in the King’s army, Daniel had learned how to sleep through anything. As his men shouted and howled at their dice below him, he snored happily, feet splayed out in front of him, head resting against the hilt of his sword. He wasn’t normally so careless. But he was in Thanesport. What could happen in Thanesport? 

And so it came to pass that while Corporal Daniel Kairn dreamed of an encounter with a mistress he did not have, four sets of feet passed by him, unnoticed, and then dropped down into the upper hold. 

Daniel did wake, at least for a moment, as his men’s shouting suddenly quieted. They had been surprised by the sudden entrance of what appeared to be four armed civilians onto one of the vessels of the King’s Navy, but Daniel didn’t know that. Such things tended to carry heavy legal consequences, and so guarding vessels like the _Exeter_ was usually nothing less than an excuse to engage in any one of the number of vices that most soldiers share. But Daniel was not one to let silence infringe upon his well-deserved rest. He yawned, stretched, and closed his eyes once more, oblivious to the incursion. 

His men resumed yelling immediately. Daniel was able to put his mind, as well as his eyes, back at ease. 

* * *​ 
_Kaereth of One Oak_​ 

There were eight of them, and they seemed surprised. One of them managed to speak. He sounded angry. That was probably not good for Kaereth, or his new friends. 

“Drop your weapons,” he howled, “Now!”

Kaereth didn’t know why the soldier was yelling. Kaereth didn’t have any weapons. The liar (Edriss, he thought he had heard the dwarf call him) spoke for them. “You don’t understand! There’s a ship outside! On fire! You have to stop it!” He didn’t sound very convincing to Kaereth. 

As it happened, he didn’t sound very convincing to the soldiers, either. “A likely story,” another called out, suspicion evident in his squeaking voice. “What did you do to Corporal Kairn!?” the same one continued, his voice cracking wildly.

A third soldier shouted, “He never would have let them pass, alive!”

A fourth cried, “They killed the Corporal!”

A fifth bellowed, “They must be pirates!”

A sixth grunted, “Pirates!?”

A seventh screamed, “_Pirates_! You _bastards_!”

An eighth roared, “_Get them!_” and then pointed an accusing finger in Kaereth’s direction, scrambling across the crudely drawn chalk circle they had been using for their game. Gold and silver clattered and flashed in the darkness as they lurched to their feet, no longer interested in conversation. 

They hauled weapons to the ready in the cramped upper hold of the ship, tensed, and charged Kaereth, his two friends, and the liar.

The ugly girl took two steps back, yanking an arrow from her scabbard and placing it along her bow in a single, smooth motion. Kaereth hoped she wouldn’t hurt them too badly. They weren’t _bad_ people. They were just stupid. He would smash lightly. But Kaereth was going to _smash_. Kaereth smiled.

Two of the soldiers came at Kaereth, swinging their swords as best they could in the low-ceilinged hold. Kaereth ducked under the first blow easily; steel slicing the air just above his right shoulder. The second blow was faster, harder. As the sharp blade swung toward his face, he threw up an arm, hoping to soften the blow on one of the bracers his master had given him. 

The blade bit deeply into the leather, and then past it into the young half-orcs forearm. Kaereth roared in pain, instantly ashamed of his lack of discipline. Pain was power, and power was good for smashing. He snapped his jaw shut, funneling his momentary rage into a blinding, savage kick. His foot _thudded _into the man’s torso, throwing the surprised swordsman onto his back, gasping for air. Kaereth was sorry. Kaereth had struck too hard – he thought he had felt ribs snap with the blow. Next time, Kaereth would try to play nicer with the stupid men. 

Beside him, the liar moved, as well. Edriss left his crossbow dangling from his belt, instead sliding knives from the inside of his sleeves. Two of the other men dove at him, swords swinging toward the liar in low, flat arcs. Edriss caught a blade on each of his knives, twisting his hands, pulling the over-extended soldiers toward him. Pivoting quickly on his left foot, he drove a suddenly-freed dagger into one of the soldier’s throats, silvery steel suddenly bright, sickly red in his hand. The soldier gagged once, lifeblood running over the pale mid-elf’s gloved hand, and then fell limp, dead. 

If Kaereth knew that these men weren’t bad, he knew the liar should be at least as smart. Kaereth was angry. Kaereth wanted to talk to the Liar. But Kaereth had other concerns. There was still the other man with the sword. 

The dwarf was less successful. Unable to react quickly to the charging warriors, he put up his axe, spinning the haft in his hands. Using the massive blade as a makeshift shield, he backpedaled. The clang of steel against steel rang through the ship, but none of the soldiers’ strikes touched him. 

For a moment, Kaereth was glad to see his new friend unhurt. But he had his own assailant to deal with. The soldier lunged forward, his blade singing as it darted toward Kaereth’s ribs. As his foot came forward, it hit the flailing arms of his still-gasping friend, stumbling forward. Kaereth saw his opening. His left hand snapped outward, grasping the thrashing soldier by his uniform’s stiff collar. Kaereth sidestepped, jerking back on the collar as his right fist hurtled toward the warrior’s face. The blow easily connected, and the already unbalanced warrior flopped, unconscious, over his wheezing prostrate companion.

Meanwhile, Edriss had dealt with the last of his own opponents. Heaving his bloodstained blade away from the first soldier’s throat, he continued his spin. He smiled, suddenly inside the reach of the guardsman’s sword. The clean dagger punched through the man’s ribs along his side. His lung punctured, he gurgled as his eyes rolled back into his head, and collapsed toward mid-elf in a dying embrace.

The dwarf dug in his heels, halting his short retreat. His height not presenting a problem in the restricted space of the hold, the mercenary swung the flat of his blade forward, his opponents’ blades ringing against his own as the force of his blow gave him an opening. Raising the massive axe over his head, he drew the flat down, hard, metal whistling through the air. It stopped, suddenly, on the head of one of the closest warrior. The man crumpled to his knees, unconscious.

Before he could move to strike the other, an arrow sailed over his head, thudding into the remaining combatant’s shoulder. He grunted as his hand went limp, his sword clanging on the hard wood of the lower deck. Unarmed, the axe-wielding warrior made short work of him, a blow to the head sending him to join his companion in painful slumber on the floor. 

Behind him, a surprisingly feminine yelp rang out as the two remaining soldier’s attacked, unaware that they were the only two conscious guards remaining. Kaereth turned to see her drop her bow, drawing a short, curved dagger just fast enough to parry away another blow. Blood ran down her jerkin, over her ribs – she was already paling. 

While the liar relaxingly crouched to clean blood off his daggers, slowly sliding the stained blades across the uniforms of the guards he had killed, Kaereth and the dwarf rushed to aid the injured woman. 

They ducked and weaved around their blades, parrying what she could not dodge in a flurry of flashing metal. Her eyes widened as she saw the half-orc and the dwarf rushing to help her, but the soldiers didn’t seem to notice – they continued to slice in at her, seemingly unaware that their companions had already fallen. They grunted, nearly in unison, as fist and axe slammed down onto their skulls. Falling into a haphazard pile of limbs, the ugly bleeding girl smiled weakly to Kaereth, and the dwarf.

“You okay?” Kaereth asked, concern evident on his guileless face. 

“I’m fine,” she replied, grimacing as she gingerly ran her fingers over the wound in her side. 

The dwarf spoke, then, his gruff voice matter-of-fact, no longer slurred. “I’ve no bandages lass, but I can surely make somethin’ to stem the bleedin’.”

Her lips spread into a reassuring, if weak, smile. “It’s really alright,” she continued, her strangely soft voice still managing to fill the hold. “The wound is shallow. It won’t heal tonight, but I’ll live. Regardless, we have more important things to attend to, I think.” 

The dwarf’s eyes widened, as if he had forgotten the fireship that had brought them aboard the _Exeter_ in the first place. “The ship!” he exclaimed, turning back to the liar—Edriss. 

“How close is it, lad?” he continued, urgency driving the rough concern from his voice.

“Too close,” he muttered, pocketing a small sack of coins from one of the fallen soldiers. “These boys won’t be interfering any time soon. Lead on, Master Arfin!” he called to the dwarf, mockingly, motioning toward the ladder that led down deeper into the _Exeter__, _to the gunnery hold. “We have a felony to commit,” he finished, grinning. Kaereth wanted to smash the smile off of his face. He took a deep breath. There would be more time for smashing later. Kaereth would _smash_. Kaereth smiled.


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Oct 21, 2004)

It really looks great, Universe!  YAY!!!!!


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## Xath (Oct 21, 2004)

Fantastic...but now I demand MORE!!


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## The_Universe (Oct 21, 2004)

And more you shall have...soon.  Shower me with accolades (and money!) and the story shall reveal itself!


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## AIM-54 (Oct 21, 2004)

Looking good, there, Kennon!

I especially like Kaereth's "knew" friends.


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## Laurel (Oct 21, 2004)

*"We are so smart- s-m-r-t!!"*



			
				The_Universe said:
			
		

> And more you shall have...soon. Shower me with accolades (and money!) and the story shall reveal itself!



OHHHHHHHHH!!!! Adventure, truths, secrets, blood, and- small brains! Hey while reading this understand the monk is actually the one with the low int., yet aptly and truthfully he is the one getting the most  Oh how true it is... and what greatness is found in Wisdom 

NOW MORE!!!!!! we cry for those unfinished pages!

And as for money how about 500 dollars? I know I have a monopoly game box around somewhere.....


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## The_Universe (Oct 21, 2004)

Angcuru said:
			
		

> While I prefer to write my story hour in long, weekly updates, I like to read them either way.  But I hate when a SH I'm reading doesn't get an update in a long time and drops off the radar.  So shoot for bi-weekly maybe.  Heck, I DON'T KNOW!!!  >_<
> 
> Just do what feels best to you.  But do it sooooon.



 I have updated...now if only I could find a place in Angcuru's auspicious signature...


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## The_Universe (Oct 21, 2004)

AIM-54 said:
			
		

> I especially like Kaereth's "knew" friends.



*curses loudly* blame my non-existent editor! I'll see if I can track down the offending error.

EDIT:  they're no longer his knew friends.  Now, they're his new friends.  You know - the new friends he now knows he then knew.


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## threshel (Oct 21, 2004)

You have an excellent sense of character, The Universe.  It makes this story very rich.

Rock on.

J


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## The_Universe (Oct 21, 2004)

threshel said:
			
		

> You have an excellent sense of character, The Universe.  It makes this story very rich.
> 
> Rock on.
> 
> J



 Well, for the most part, it's just trying to percieve and repeat how the players see their chracters...

But all the bad guys are all mine.  

Thanks for reading, Threshel.  Every time somebody posts, it warms my little heart!  *you* rock!


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## AIM-54 (Oct 21, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> *curses loudly* blame my non-existent editor! I'll see if I can track down the offending error.
> 
> EDIT:  they're no longer his knew friends.  Now, they're his new friends.  You know - the new friends he now knows he then knew.




Heh heh.  It was nothing major, but I thought I'd point it out.


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## Angcuru (Oct 21, 2004)

Nice.  I was a bit confused at first, but then I was like.  "Oh, yeah, those guys.  GET 'EM!" 



			
				The_Universe said:
			
		

> I have updated...now if only I could find a place in Angcuru's auspicious signature...



Oh, don't worry, it'll show up there ventually.  It'll take a while for me to find one that fits the spirit of the story right to be used as a sort of headline.  But until that time, you may content yourself with my own story hour.    To be updated expediently.


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## The_Universe (Oct 22, 2004)

I will, of course, give it a peruse.  I hope you find a good line, soon, though!


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## ledded (Oct 22, 2004)

Nice updates, very good character work. 

Much rocking is going on, and I shower upon you and your players...

Accolades
   Accolades
      Accolades
          Accolades

Money, not so much.

Keep it up, one and all.


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## The_Universe (Oct 26, 2004)

You have my word that there shall be an update this week!  Huzzah!


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## The_Universe (Oct 28, 2004)

_Kharak of the Blackmarsh Isle_​ 

Kharak kicked his legs, pushing himself upward toward the air that waited for him, above. It had been a long swim from the ship’s hiding place outside the harbor to here, but Kharak knew that the reward would be worth the effort. 

He spread his long, scaled arms to slow his ascent, ensuring that only his eyes and nostrils would crest the surface of the black river water. He made no sound as he turned his yellow, reptilian eyes toward the harbor. He did not smile, for Kharak’s people were incapable of such expression. His scaled lips unmoving, Kharak parted his jaws, allowing the stagnant water of the harbor to rush past dagger-like teeth; flowing over his long, forked tongue. He was pleased. They had arrived as they intended. 

He looked to his left, and saw two of his brethren – Ghornek and Bharok – cresting the water just behind him. Their eyes slowly turned to his, hardly disturbing the water of the harbor. He could not see it, but their jaws opened in chorus with his. Tonight, they would taste blood. 

Kharak dove back below the water, sliding forward toward a low, torchlit building. A tiny silhouette against the hulking city it protected, light burned through the windows of the guard post. Kharak could hear voices speaking the heathen language of the Forsaken. They would soon be silenced. Kharak had never failed the _Mordredeen_. He would not begin tonight. 

* * *​ 
_Arfin Kegsplitter_​ 

Arfin stood, staring down at the black iron of the steeldrake cannon. This was a bad idea. He knew it was a bad idea. He needed a drink. He needed a drink _right now. _

It had seemed like such a _good_ idea at first, but now he was unsure. Using a steeldrake was highly illegal. Even standing this close to a steeldrake was highly illegal, south of the Wall. But he wasn’t going to swim out and tell the thing to stop. They needed to sink it, and nobody had a better idea. 

The others stood behind him, the big half-orc staring with wide-eyed wonder around the gunnery hold. Moments before, as they climbed up the ramp to the main deck, he had happily informed them that he had never been on a ship before, at all. _Perfect, _Arfin thought. _This is exactly the kind of help I need. _

He had been ready to run at Edriss’s suggestion – he had learned how to pick his battles after less than a year above the Wall, and experience had refined the instinct. But the fey lass was as right as she was ugly – if they didn’t put that hulk of timber at the bottom of the river, he was going to have to find a new place to drink. The thought was not a pleasant one.

Edriss jogged forward, poking his head through the hull where the cannon would fire. “It’s getting closer…” he said, ominously, his quiet voice echoing across the hold as it crept back into the hull from outside. Crazily, for a moment, Arfin thought he was laughing. Yet, when the sallow mid-elf turned back to face them, his face was serious, and Arfin dispelled the idea. “Somebody needs to load that thing, and fire it. I don’t want to be sitting on this much drakespowder when that ship gets here!”

It was now or never. Sighing, Arfin heaved himself to action, dropping his axe at his feet. He stepped forward, short fingers wrapping around the loops of bent steel at the back of the cannon. Grunting with effort, he pulled back on the metallic tube, hoping to slide it back toward the center of the hold. It didn’t budge. 

Gray-green hands closed over his own. Without making a noise, the half-orc heaved back, sliding the cannon’s rust locked wheels back toward him. “There!” the jovial hulk announced, grinning broadly. 

Arfin scrambled back onto his feet, lurching toward the end of the metal barrel. “Edriss! Hand me a charge!”

Gingerly, the mid-elf picked up a burlap-wrapped charge from the neatly stacked pile near the cannon, passing it to Arfin; it was a drakespowder infant, being passed to its father. “Do you know how to fire it?” Edriss asked, worry painted over his normal sardonic smile. 

“I’ve seen it done,” Arfin muttered as he slid the charge into the barrel. “Lad,” he called to the half-orc, “get me a ball! Like lightning!”

Arfin turned back to the cannon, tamping the powder down with a long padded shaft that Edriss had handed him, stuffing rags into the cavernous steeldrake after that.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning to face it, he watched as the half-orc tossed one of the balls toward him as if no more than a toy. He threw his hands up, catching the shot mere inches from his face. The weight of the ball knocked him back, slamming his compact form against the inner hull of the vessel, leaving an indentation in the shape of the royal crest standing out on the palms of his hands. “What in the name of yer father were you doin’, ya fool!?” he sputtered, heaving the ball off of his chest and scrambling back to his feet. “Not everyone is as strong as you!” 

He grunted with effort, straining against the weight of the ball. He got it off of the floor, then to his chest, and then rolled into the cannon’s maw. He heard the scrape of metal upon metal as it slid home, followed by a muffled _thump _as it reached the packed charge. 

“Now,” he puffed, stepping back from the cannon to catch his breath, “We need to slide 'er back to the wall, and aim 'er true.” 

Without waiting for further instruction, the half-orc stepped up to the cannon, pushing the heavy wood and metal monster back to its home. He smiled uneasily, shrugging at Arfin and Edriss’s stares. “I strong,” he said, uneasily rubbing his monstrous arms. “It not _that_ heavy,” he weakly assured his stunned audience. 

Arfin shook himself out of his stunned revelry. There was still a job to do. “Missy,” he shouted, urgency once more entering his gruff voice. “Help me aim this thing! I think ya’ need to sight it along the barrel!” 

As the unsightly mid-elf moved back along the cannon’s length, Arfin risked a look outside the hold, stepping forward to stand next to Edriss. The _Skyracer_ cut through the water like a knife, flames trailing behind it as it hurtled toward them. It was much closer than he thought it would be. And closer yet than he would have wished. They were going to have to make this shot count. It might be the only shot they had. 

Arfin Kegsplitter needed a drink. He needed a drink _right now. _

* * *​ 
_Kharak of the Blackmarsh Isle_​ 

He had stayed close to the shadows, compressing his massive body into the shadows the forsaken’s torchlight had provided. He slid slowly around the building’s corner, keeping one clawed hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of his dagger. His tongue flicked out of his jaws. He could smell no fear – not yet. They had not seen the fireship, even now heralding the end of this place. Kharak’s jaw waggled in ecstasy. He would taste blood; his ancestors would find greater places in the Shadowhome for his deeds, this day. 

The door was closed, and Kharak could hear two voices inside, arguing in their heathen language. He glanced over his scaled shoulder, signaling to Ghornek and Bharok. _Now_. 

Kharak took a single step back. Momentarily illuminated by the torchlight, free of the comfort of the night’s shadows, he suppressed a triumphant roar – subtlety was required. He reversed direction, great legs driving his massive shoulders forward toward the solid portal. He hit the door as hard as he could, smashing it from its hinges, showering the guards inside with splinters. 

Their eyes opened in shock. They had never seen the glory of the _Dahaka_ in bloodfury. Kharak knew it would be the last thing they saw. 

There were three of them, crouched over a crudely drawn chalk circle. Coins lay scattered across the floor, and Kharak could hear the sound of bones (they called them dice, he would later learn) clicking against the small building’s wooden floor. None of them moved, their jaws slack. A puddle of foul smelling liquid appeared beneath the knees of the one closest to Dahaka warleader. Kharak had been warned that such weakness would be common. It was as he had feared: they were unworthy of the Shadowpath.

Kharak’s senses absorbed all of this in the fraction of a second after his entry. He didn’t slow as he burst through the doorway, his dagger seeking the closest target. He stayed low, charging the urine-soaked guard first. His right hand flew toward the stunned guardsman, separating skin and bone as if the man were nothing more than hot butter. 

The force of the blow lifting the man off of his soaking knees, his dying weight rested easily on the crude crosspiece of the Dahaka’s dagger. Kharak’s slitted eyes met his as the last light of life fled them. _Let him look upon the face of his conquerors_, Kharak thought.

“_You are honored_,” Kharak said to the corpse in his own pure language, while its feet dangled high above the blood that now pooled with its urine on the guardpost’s floor, “_to be the first to fall on this heathen shore!_” 

“_Who wishes to be honored next?”_ he continued, as Ghornek and Bharok burst out of the shadows behind him, hurtling toward the two remaining guards. 

They were honored within seconds of each other. No alarm was sounded. The _Skyracer_ loomed closer. 

_* * *_​ 
_L’Aurel of Greenwood_​ 

She had never even seen a steeldrake before. Now, she was crouched behind its cold black barrel, helping three people she had never met try to sink a burning ship that hurtled through the harbor toward a town she was _just_ _visiting_. This was not how she had anticipated spending her evening. She supposed it could have been worse. At least she wasn’t dead. 

“Will we hit it, lass?” the dwarf asked, desperation evident in his gruff voice. His cheeks were flushed, probably from a combination of effort, stress, and drink. If L’Aurel had to guess, she would have given drink most of the credit.

She grimaced, “I think so…” she began. 

The other mid-elf whirled around, suddenly furious, “Will we, or won’t we!?” he shouted. “We need more than, ‘I think so’!”

“I’ve never fired a steeldrake before,” she answered, anger creeping into her voice. “Let alone a cannon! If you think you can hit it, you fire it,” she said, half-standing from behind the weapon. “Whether this works or not,” she continued, rising all the way to her feet, “we’re taking our lives in our hands just by touching it. None of us are Talons, and I don’t think any of you three are Apectan Priests. They hang people like us just for carrying steeldrake pistols, and we’ve just commandeered a _cannon_. If we don’t burn to death tonight, we’ll probably hang tomorrow.”

“So please,” she said with finality, gesturing toward the steeldrake, “fire it yourself.”

“You act like this,” Edriss retorted while leering at the offending cannon, “is going to make a difference in our collective fates. We’ve already assaulted and killed members of the King’s Army. This is just the icing on the cake!” he shouted. 

The massive half-orc – she still didn’t know his name – spoke quietly then, as if afraid to interrupt a man less than half his size. “_You_ kill men, not us," he clarified, his grey-green features downcast. "We just…salt.” 

She thought he meant ‘assault,’ but there was really no way to be sure. 

He held up his hands, his brow furrowing as he stared at them, continued to speak. “Six men breathe, two don’t,” he said, his gray-green hands triumphantly showing only six fingers. 

Edriss scowled at him, anger flushing his normally pale skin. Before he could start to harangue the simplistic half-orc, the dwarf – Arfin – interrupted. 

“We don’t have time fer this! Aim an’ fire, now! We may not have a second chance!” Looking down, he muttered, “Let it hit…” pleading as much with the Light, as with them. 

She sighed, crouching back behind the cannon, wishing that she had chosen somewhere other than the Rusty Scabbard to begin her evening. “As I said before,” she continued, ignoring Edriss’s angrily twisted lips, “I think so. When no one is standing in my way, all I see is flames. We’ve got to hit, don’t we?” she asked no one in particular. 

Arfin nodded, the half-orc shrugged, and Edriss’s expression didn’t change. She waited only a split second, knowing that with time so short, their silence would be the closest to assent she would receive. Not waiting for them to cover their ears, she yanked back on the pull, igniting the drakespowder they had hurriedly packed into the weapon’s barrel. 

In the fraction of a second it took for the spark from her pull to ignite the drakespowder, the _Exeter_ bucked as the first wave of water pushed ahead of the _Skyracer_ rushed toward the docks. She watched in horror as Edriss lost his balance on the no-longer stable deck, his hands reaching forward toward the steeldrake, as he unconsciously tried to keep his face from smashing into the floor that was unexpectedly leaping beneath his feet.

It boomed, almost deafening her. Smoke and iron spewed from the barrel as the cannon slid toward her on its locked wheels, almost crushing the surprised young woman as it did. She stumbled back, soot staining her already painfully unpretty features.

She heard the ball whistle through the air, and then heard it stop, momentarily replaced by a loud crack, as it plowed through a ship’s deck. They cheered, almost in unison. She’d hit it!

The dwarf moved back to the cannon’s opening in the hull. When he turned back, his face had fallen, paling to a deathly, ashen hue. Now she was worried. “We hit it, didn’t we?” she asked, suddenly afraid of the answer.

“Aye lass,” he answered, hurriedly, “We hit a ship. One across the harbor!" he continued, now shouting. "She’s sinkin’ even now. But the flame ship’s still a’ comin’! We need to fire again, or we’re all dead.”

L’Aurel wanted to cry - or at least to scream. Instead, she said, “Then load it! _Now_!”

She wanted to know how close it was – how much time they had left. She shook her head. She knew enough. It was too close. This would be their last chance, if it was a chance at all.

_* * *_​ 
_Justice Fairweather_​ 

Her heart pounded in her ears, her breath roaring in and out of her mouth and nose. The bard – Selura, she had learned – was fast. It seemed like they’d been running forever. 

An indistinguishable mass of mast and hull rushed by to her left, as brick, tile, and timber hurtled by on her right. They had to be getting close. She couldn’t run like this much longer.

Without warning, Selura skidded to a stop while holding up her hand, signaling a halt. It was a single story stone building, whitewashed and lonely, an outpost of earth in a jungle of rope and sail. The guardpost. Finally. They could warn the guards – stop the fire. Justice smiled, silently congratulating herself on reaching the post so quickly. Confidently, she stepped past the bard, gulping air as she tried to catch her laboring breath. 

Light shined from the windows, flickering orange pushing back the inky darkness around the building. She breathed a sigh of relief, her breath finally quieting enough to allow her to think. “Is this…the…place….?” she gasped to the bard, standing behind her slender shoulder.

Selura nodded eagerly. “We must warn them,” she piped, melodically. “But I think a Paladin of the Apectan Order would be far more convincing than a simple performer such as myself,” she continued, smiling shyly, her white teeth a stark – almost disturbing – contrast to the thick shadows that hung around them. 

But Justice needed little convincing. The other woman was right – these un-called fools couldn’t be expected to haul themselves from their loathsomely lazy behinds to even realize the existence of a flaming ship that threatened their very lives. A curvy harlot with a pretty voice would be unlikely to move them anywhere but to the closest mattress. Justice would have to take care of this herself.

The young paladin squared her shoulders, checking her saber in its scabbard. It was clear. _If these arrogantly lethargic slugs will not raise the alarm at my verbal prompting, they will do so at sword-point_, she promised herself. 

Justice marched toward the small post, unaware if her guide was following her, working herself into a rage at the incompetence of these foolish, slothful men. Once the alarm was raised, they would get a piece of her mind, and that piece would not be kind. She allowed herself a smile as she imagined her righteous testimony at their court martial.

Her now-puritanical fury driving her at a frenzied pace, she did not notice that the door to the post hung loose, its lock shattered: its hinges ruined. As she kicked in the door, speech died in her throat, replaced by something that, had she not been a paladin, would have suspiciously resembled fear. 

Three hideously reptilian creatures stood tall in the low-ceilinged hut, emerald scales and ivory claws glistening with water – and blood. Three broken, bleeding corpses had been carelessly piled in one corner of the hut, limbs bent in unnatural angles, eyes glazed and staring. Elongated, emotionless faces swung her way, unblinking slitted eyes and absently flickering tongues centering on the young swordswoman. The strange, yellow eyes narrowed; the largest of them half-hissed, half-barked to the other two, alien sounds abusing her ears from behind long, dagger-like teeth. 

Justice had no idea what was said, but her hands and jaw went slack from shock and horror. Had they attacked at that moment, her tale would have been short, indeed – struck down unarmed, unprepared. Her mind had seized upon the thought, and would not abandon it. Monsters! her thoughts screamed. Grand quest, indeed! 

* * *​ 
Fortuitously, at that moment, man-made thunder crashed in the darkness outside the post, from the _Exeter_, its lightning an iron ball. It shattered sail, mast and hull as it fell (after rising, of course) from its sulfur-stinking cloud, finally smashing through one last layer of cured and tarred timber. The harbor rushed in; the _Mourning Dew_ began to sink below the misleadingly calm waters of the Thanesport harbor. To the port side of the suddenly scuttled vessel, the _Skyracer_ hurtled onward, undamaged.

* * *​ 
Justice shook off her shock. She slipped her sword from its scabbard, unaware of what had transpired across the harbor, save that it had saved her life. Suddenly, a lifetime of training rushed back into her mind. She watched their alien muscles bunch; she could almost hear the silent count echoing between their minds. _They were going to charge_. She knew it. She could feel it. In her mind's eye, she watched the scene unfold. Two would rush to her sides, pinning in her peripheral vision, while another went straight toward her. If she let them act, one of them _would _get her_. _In that fraction of a second, as the world slowed around her, she imagined their claws tearing through her flesh. 

Not tonight. She had been _called_. For the first time, she truly answered it. 

Her voice less steady than she would have hoped, she screamed, “For the Light!” and hurled herself toward them. Justice Fairweather found herself in mortal combat against a living thing for the first time.


----------



## Xath (Oct 28, 2004)

Once again.  Brilliant.


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## Laurel (Oct 28, 2004)

Oh to miss out on Brad sending it across the harbor with his radiating ego of perfection.... then making it sound alright when he missed.... oh the days....

Sounds much better your way 

Kareth once again portrayed great!!!!! even though we were apart of it, it's great to hear it from the many sides, and get to see what Kareth may have been thinking


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Oct 28, 2004)

Looks great, Kennon.  It just keeps getting better.


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## The_Universe (Oct 30, 2004)

Laurel said:
			
		

> Oh to miss out on Brad sending it across the harbor with his radiating ego of perfection.... then making it sound alright when he missed.... oh the days....
> 
> Sounds much better your way
> 
> Kareth once again portrayed great!!!!! even though we were apart of it, it's great to hear it from the many sides, and get to see what Kareth may have been thinking



 The "Brad" that L'Aurel was referring to is actually one of the player characters that did not make it into the Story Hour, as of yet.  They were all played by the same guy - whose first name is Brad.  While in-game events pretty much followed the happenings of the SH, a couple of the PCs proved....problematic, not least because in the space of approximately 6 sessions, he had 5 PCs.  As such, much of his actions have been lumped in with other characters, so that for the sake of the story, he doesn't just have to "disappear" when the indecisive player in question's personal life finally got the best of him, and required him to quit the game.  

However, dear readers, I promise you'll see one of the infamous () Brad's characters.  

Just a small explanation for those not in the know - I hope it may also clear some of the discrepancies between the main SH here, and the Journals/SH's of some of my players.

But happy reading to all of you. I hope to have yet another update soon.


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## Laurel (Oct 31, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> But happy reading to all of you. I hope to have yet another update soon.



THIS IS THE BEST!
but I must ask when will soon be now?!


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## The_Universe (Nov 1, 2004)

Angcuru said:
			
		

> Story Hours too good to miss!
> *Acrozatarim: Fire and Ice*****Welcome to the Halmae*****Medallions*****Drunk Southern Girls with Guns*****We Were Like Gods Once...*
> *Avarimorion Maronwen'tyene*****A Kingdom of Ashes*****The Dread Legion Advances*****Of Sound Mind the Halfling Way*



Angcuru, you have my sincere gratitude for helping to pimp my tale.    Just wanted you to know how much I appreciate the press.


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## Angcuru (Nov 5, 2004)

You're welcome.  I'd like to have put quotes in to reflect story hour content, but then I couldn't have as many links.


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## The_Universe (Nov 9, 2004)

I changed the ending of the last post...because I like this better, and because I could.  :/  I hope the change meets with approval.  

Meanwhile, an update grows...


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## Laurel (Nov 16, 2004)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> Meanwhile, an update grows...



update... did someone say update?


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Nov 16, 2004)

Laurel said:
			
		

> update... did someone say update?



 Hey-- The_Universe is busy writting articles for Dungeon, right now! *beams proudly at her husband*  YAY!

Give him some props for that... and a little lee-way on the Story Hour.


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## Xath (Nov 22, 2004)

Come on...leeway is cool and all, but it's coming close to a month since the last update.

Oh, and ***BUMP***


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## The_Universe (Nov 22, 2004)

I'm working on it.  Read the updated ending of the last post.


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## Laurel (Dec 6, 2004)

*bump* so people can read and re-read this awesome story hour!


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## The_Universe (Dec 6, 2004)

Ah yes - I suppose I need to update this somewhat urgently.  

We'll see what time allows...


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## Xath (Dec 13, 2004)

bumpity bump bump bump


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## Laurel (Dec 23, 2004)

*Bump* for the holidays.

A gift for all


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## Donnaf (Jan 2, 2005)

*new person reading*

Hello "The Universe"  

I am a new person reading the story hour stories, and I think for the most part your "story hour" is pretty good, although I was disappointed (although it was somewhat obviously set-up that Johanna was going to become a member of the unliving -- the zombee bad guys)... your exerpts seem to read more like a play though then a story... I know so much about the characters from your exerpts -- most likely because these characters are already made-up because you roll play out these stories before you write them (I am assuming... just from what the posts inbetween the exerpts say)... so you delve entirely into the characters, but I have yet to know what the background of the world looks like, smells like... ya  de ya de ya 

So, I hate to say this, especially because this seems to be the only "not extatically positive" feedback you have gotten ever from these posts, but it kinda reads like a teenage goth romance novel... with dramatics and broad heaving chests and power plays, with all the emphasis on those things that you already know from your roll playing, and no "creative indulgences" on things that I am assuming do not show up on roll playing... I would like a little more creativity -- not just repeats of what happened in the last roll playing game... at least in my reading of your exerpt, there is a very short influence on what surroundings are... because it is all about the characters.... and their heaving chests and sexual tension (see prologue 1 between Johanna and KB)

oh, and the character KB seems entirely too egotistical to be a good hero -- he seems really full of himself -- and this is a character I wouldn't want to hang out with in real life, and I certainly don't want to read about him...


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## The_Universe (Jan 3, 2005)

Donnaf said:
			
		

> Hello "The Universe"
> 
> I am a new person reading the story hour stories, and I think for the most part your "story hour" is pretty good, although I was disappointed (although it was somewhat obviously set-up that Johanna was going to become a member of the unliving -- the zombee bad guys)... your exerpts seem to read more like a play though then a story... I know so much about the characters from your exerpts -- most likely because these characters are already made-up because you roll play out these stories before you write them (I am assuming... just from what the posts inbetween the exerpts say)... so you delve entirely into the characters, but I have yet to know what the background of the world looks like, smells like... ya de ya de ya
> 
> ...



Donnaf, 

Not all of the characters who are given "perspective" in the Story Hour are PCs - only the characters who recieved specific attention in the prologue (except Jeranna, who is/was a special case) were actually played. The rest are NPCs, some of whom may appear in the story only once or twice. 

I use the multiple perspective model because I don't really like writing in the third person omniscient, but there's generally enough happening at any given time that a single perspective is not sufficient to communicate everything that I'd like to. So, I use the "camera shift" model to try to fill you in on what's happening without resorting to a book-report kind of style. 

As to the lack of exposition...sorry.  I could launch a long tirade about the world around the characters at any given time (I think Xath has posted a link toward the beginning of the thread that has some more information about the world) but I prefer not to. Information dump almost guarantees that the details will be lost in the shuffle...and as the players can tell you - this story is all about the details. 

But what (really) do we know so far? 

The world is called Aeres, and the sun is called Aon. There are two moons - Homaenes and Tamaeres. 

There's at least one major body of water - The Placid Sea. It's salty, which we know from the first couple of paragraphs.

The adventure is happening in a place called "The Kingdom of the Falcon" or, alternatively, "The Falcon Kingdom" which is ruled (conveniently) by a King. 

The Falcon Kingdom has a navy, as well as a military organization of some sort called the Talons - probably elite soldiers of one kind or another. 

There is a bad guy known as the Bluestar who - though defeated in the past - is still feared in the present. Necromancy is clearly part of his portfolio. 

Monsters, of any sort, are not commonly encountered. 

There are guns and cannon, called Steeldrakes - and they are highly regulated by both a church (The Apectan Order) and the government. 

There are at least two major faiths - the Fellowship of the Amastacia (a temple to this being is mentioned in one of the more recent entries) and the Apectan Order (probably founded by the Apecto mentioned in the Chapter 1 Header). 

There's a lot more hidden in between the chest heaving, but those are the things that should be obvious (so far).

Nonetheless, I don't want to seem like I'm arguing with a critic - there is a value in exposition, and as the tale unfurls, I'll do my best to tell you more about the places our intrepid band encounters. 

Above all, welcome to the story hour, and welcome to Enworld - it's a great community, and we're glad to have you in it!


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Jan 3, 2005)

Donnaf said:
			
		

> oh, and the character KB seems entirely too egotistical to be a good hero -- he seems really full of himself -- and this is a character I wouldn't want to hang out with in real life, and I certainly don't want to read about him...




Donnaf, not sure who you're talking about in this post... KB?  Which character are you talking about?


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## Donnaf (Jan 3, 2005)

*reply*



			
				Queen_Dopplepopolis said:
			
		

> Donnaf, not sure who you're talking about in this post... KB?  Which character are you talking about?





Korin Bahn


----------



## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Jan 3, 2005)

Donnaf said:
			
		

> oh, and the character KB seems entirely too egotistical to be a good hero -- he seems really full of himself -- and this is a character I wouldn't want to hang out with in real life, and I certainly don't want to read about him...




That may be because he is _not_ a good hero.  He is a character that appears a single time in the first post - and never beyond that... he's not a PC at all.  

Seems to me that he was _supposed_ to come across as egotistical.  He was a supporting character in the story - a tool to create a situation the opening sequence.  Not every extra in a film or story is likeable, afterall.

It seems, Donnaf, that you have not ready beyond the first page or two of the story.  If you had, I think you would know that Korin Bahn is not a recurring character.

So, horay for you, you don't have to read about him.


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## Donnaf (Jan 3, 2005)

*stuff*



			
				The_Universe said:
			
		

> Donnaf,
> 
> I use the multiple perspective model because I don't really like writing in the third person omniscient, but there's generally enough happening at any given time that a single perspective is not sufficient to communicate everything that I'd like to. So, I use the "camera shift" model to try to fill you in on what's happening without resorting to a book-report kind of style.
> 
> ...




Thanks for your warm welcome.  I also really appreciate that you are able to take criticism so constructively and not get all defensive.  I don't want to seem rude -- I guess I am just a blunt girl.  I think I will stay reading your story for now -- ENworld seems overwhelming -- so many stories to read... and yours was the first I clicked on (lucky you!)

As for your "camara shift model" -- I really do think that is an excellent way to write -- third person perspective is a great tool for many writers.  However, the characters are not the only main focus of many third person perspective stories.  Characters must interact with their environment so as for "information dumping" -- I guess I don't agree that telling an exposition is really "information dumping" -- it is just exploring the surroundings of the world as well as exploring the characters and their reaction to the world... I guess I am a girl who likes details, not just thought and action... 

What I am trying to say is that a good writer must evaluate their audience... are you writing this story just as a summary of what occurred in your RPG?  Then, it is all good if you want to ignore the surroundings, because the people reading it will already know.  
Or are you writing this story with the intent of some day possibly publishing it for the entire world (or your select audience) to read?  You, in your head, already know what the surroundings look like, but you need to take a step back when you are writing to view what people who don't have a clue will want to know, and will want to read.
When writing, you must evaluate what your audience wants -- this is why I posted at the end of my prior post that Korin Bahn seems like an egotistical character -- and it is not enjoyable to read about heros with big egos.


----------



## Donnaf (Jan 3, 2005)

Queen_Dopplepopolis said:
			
		

> That may be because he is _not_ a good hero.  He is a character that appears a single time in the first post - and never beyond that... he's not a PC at all.
> 
> Seems to me that he was _supposed_ to come across as egotistical.  He was a supporting character in the story - a tool to create a situation the opening sequence.  Not every extra in a film or story is likeable, afterall.
> 
> ...




I am happy I don't have to read about an egotisitcal character.  I must have been mixing up characters... I don't know them as well as you, because I don't roll play in your group, and the characters in the story are not too different.  Sorry I offended you -- it's just criticism.


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Jan 3, 2005)

Donnaf said:
			
		

> I am happy I don't have to read about an egotisitcal character.  I must have been mixing up characters... I don't know them as well as you, because I don't roll play in your group, and the characters in the story are not too different.  Sorry I offended you -- it's just criticism.



 Not offended, just confused as to where you were coming from with your criticism.  Attempting to understand what the reasoning behind your criticism *was* so that, in this case, it could be debunked.


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Jan 3, 2005)

Queen_Dopplepopolis said:
			
		

> Not offended, just confused as to where you were coming from with your criticism.  Attempting to understand what the reasoning behind your criticism *was* so that, in this case, it could be debunked.



 I understand that creative criticism is something that can be constructive.  However, the way that you have done it is not only a bit off-putting (and a wee offensive) to the author, but the players, as well.  We put a lot of work into developing characters that are realistic... and sometimes, that translates to not-so appealing.  However, there are people like that throughout the real world and fiction.

I'm sorry for coming across as a bit bitchy - however, responding a tone that I felt matched your own.

I am quite glad that you plan to continue reading.  I hope that you enjoy reading the story as much as the players and the DM have enjoyed crafting it.


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## Xath (Jan 3, 2005)

I think the best way to settle this would be to update the story hour.


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## Xath (Jan 3, 2005)

Oh by the way, if you want to know more about Aeres, check out the link to KoA the Website in my signature.  But be warned, there will be spoilers.


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## Donnaf (Jan 7, 2005)

*goobyebye*



			
				Xath said:
			
		

> Oh by the way, if you want to know more about Aeres, check out the link to KoA the Website in my signature.  But be warned, there will be spoilers.



I guess I am beginning to think that this story is only written for its rpg players, so goodbye, good luck, happy writing (by the way, if you only write for your rpg players, they will always know the ending...)


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## The_Universe (Jan 7, 2005)

Hey hey Donnaf - I think you misunderstand my purpose.  The world is unfolded bit by bit, just as it was for the players as they played it.  But, to each his (her?) own.  Happy searching for the world that catches your fancy.  

An update grows, however slowly for those who wish to know more of the tale.


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## The_Universe (Feb 10, 2005)

The update, like Trogdor, comes in the niiiiiiiiiight!


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Feb 10, 2005)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> The update, like Trogdor, comes in the niiiiiiiiiight!




You should be excited!  I've read it... and it's GOOOOOD!    (ahhh the perks of being married to The_Universe - they're never ending!)


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## The_Universe (Feb 10, 2005)

_Kaereth of One Oak_​ 

There had been a flurry of motion in the cramped gunnery hold of the _Exeter_, reloading the unfamiliar weapon for a second try at sinking the floating inferno that crashed through the harbor toward them. The second try was more efficient than the first, but even Kaereth knew that his companions’ skills were hardly up to the task before them. They had failed once. They would probably fail again. 

Breathlessly, the ugly girl with the pointy ears gasped, “We’re ready.” As she made ready to fire the metallic sulfur-stinking tube, Kaereth clamped his fists over his own tiny ears, shielding them from the inevitable thunderclap that accompanied the last blast.

She looked tired, weak – her face stained with soot and powder from the first blast, she could barely speak as her chest heaved with the effort of remaining standing. Kaereth watched as she risked a glance over her shoulder, toward the floating inferno that pressed over closer to the ship that held them. Even as he watched the Skyracer approach, he idly wondered how the pretty woman was faring. It couldn’t be much worse than this. All this trouble, and he still hadn’t smashed anything but what the others had called _zombies_. 

The mid-elf drew him back out of his thoughts, to the situation at hand. She took her position behind the cannon, squinted her eyes closed, and flinched as she pulled back against the cannon’s mechanized action. 

Beneath his fists, the metallic crash was transformed into a muffled _whump_ as smoke and dust filled the crowded deck, stinging the monstrous green half-orc’s eyes. The ball whistled through the air for a fraction of a second, before the sound of splintering timber forced its way into Kaereth’s hearing. Another hit! 

But where? 

Kaereth darted forward, pressing his face into the empty porthole, heedless of the fact that if they had failed, he was about to look directly into the approaching inferno. 

The hit had been solid. 

The ball had crushed the hull of the _Skyracer _inward, and water flooded into the ships empty decks as the burning vessel’s hull began to descend into the water. Even as it continued its rush toward them, fair hands pulled at his shoulders. It would never reach them. It was sinking – and fast. It was almost as if whatever had kept the burning ship together as it hurtled toward the Thanesport docks had completely deserted it once the steeldrake shot connected. 


He gave way to the mid-elf who had aimed the shot, resisting the urge to hug the soot-stained, ugly young woman. Kaereth knew he had to be careful when he hugged. Hugging too hard could hurt. He had learned that from Mother. 


Her face replaced his own in the small porthole, and his silent rejoice was soon overpowered by her joyful whooping. “We did it!” she shouted! “It’s going down! It’s going to sink!” she continued, clumsily dancing through the crowded hold, stopping only long enough to embrace the startled dwarf. 
The other mid-elf – the liar – did not look so pleased. As she moved to fold him into her celebratory embrace, his forbidding expression stopped her dead in her tracks. “Congratulations. You’ve done a…great…thing,” he managed to force out, his features twisted into a smile that lacked even the barest appearance of sincerity. For the first time, the girl seemed to notice what Kaereth already had – there was something _wrong_ about the dwarf’s sallow companion.


* * *​ 

_Kharak of the Blackmarsh Isle_​ 

A second blast echoed somewhere behind him, but Kharak paid it little heed. Prey stood before him, curiously defiant after he has so quickly dispatched the honored dead that lay piled at his feet. Had his lips been capable of it, he would have smiled. It was a female – soft. Some fool had even given her a sword, a morbid joke like none Kharak had even seen. 


But he could not indulge his curiosity. He had been given a mission, been told to ensure that no alarm sounded on the Thanesport harbor, as a ship of flames crashed into its crowded docks. There would be blood and ash tonight, as long as he did his part. But, before he could move forward to dispatch the female, his eyes slid around her trembling shoulders to the figure behind her. A pale face and dark eyes were framed by midnight hair, the swing of her arms and her hips as she walked the tell-tale sign of her origin. A Mordredin! Here! 


Shock lit in Kharak’s narrow eyes, his fanged maw opened to call out to the mordredin before him – why had she come to him in the company of an un-chosen female who looked so young she could not have been long hatched from her egg? His question remained unanswered, for the absurd parody of a warrior chose that moment to strike. 

Her muscles tensed as she hurtled toward him, her shoulder lowering to take the brunt of the impact, even as she raised her sword to strike. His eyes widened as she came on, barely able to raise his massive clawed hands before she arrived: a screaming ball of flesh, leather, and steel. Impact was harder than he would have expected. 

He felt the air rush out of his own lungs—he could only imagine that she was similarly breathless as the force of the blow carried the human hatchling and the _dahaka_ warrior to the dusty floorboards. Though well armed and armored, she was still far too light to keep one of the Emperor’s greatest warriors pinned to the earth for long. Before he could claw her insolent eyes from her soft scaleless face, she was off him, rolling to her feet just to his right. 


Her curved sword pivoted in her grip, driving down toward him. Steel parted the wooden floor as he rolled toward her, sweeping at her still unstable feet with his long, muscular arms. The hatchling proved faster than he had expected, bounding back and over the clumsy but powerful sweep. His warriors stood back, well aware that their leaders prowess could not – would not – be challenged by the forsaken female. But why was the Mordredin hanging back, as well? Unless she was of the priesthood (and indeed, he had not seen the marks of Mother Shadow upon her), she should have been willing to sacrifice herself for his wellbeing – he was _dahaka_, and she was _mordredin_. Ending the life of this pitiful excuse for a human warrior would be little sacrifice for the woman, indeed.

He put the confusing mordredin from his thoughts – he would deal with her once he had put an end to the threat before him. Her sword flashed toward the soft scales of his throat as he rolled to his own clawed feet. He felt the cold metal dig into his naturally tough hide. Black blood trickled from the shallow wound. He brought his hand to the gash in shock, startled to see his own blood upon the taloned tips of his fingers. She had cut him! The hatchling would _pay_. 

He pressed forward, his powerful hands grasping for a hint of soft flesh, ready to tear her limb from limb. But her sword was quick, darting in to protect her body from his every murderous advance. Heedless of the flashing steel, he waited for her strike back, and then grabbed at the bloody blade with his hand, roaring in triumph as cut deeply into his palm, caught in his powerful grip. The false talon of a soft people could no longer protect this weakling. Had his lips been capable of it, he would have smiled. As it was, his forked tongue could taste the victory in the air. 

Her weapon trapped and useless, he drew the back of his fist across face, splitting her unprotected cheek. He was pleased – she still held the blade. He struck her again, this time with his clawed hand open, rending the flesh of her face. 


Her head snapped back from the second impact, and as it returned forward, a new kind of fire burned in the hatchlings eyes, her flawed face twisting into something that, had Kharak been a student of his enemy, he could have easily identified as zealous rage. 

The curved sword jerked suddenly in his grip and was suddenly free, taking flesh and bone (and most of his hand, unbeknownst to Kharak) with it. Words rushed from the hatchling’s mouth, invoking a warrior’s creed that Kharak could not understand, let alone appreciate. The blade flashed, suddenly illuminated from within, as if the sun itself had become a sword in the inky darkness of midnight. It flashed, and struck forth, hunting Kharak’s heart. 


Kharak felt heat searing through him as the blade pierced his armored chest, and then cold – very cold. The pain departed with the heat – Kharak needed to close his eyes. To sleep. 

And then, with more of his black blood welling out of the hole in his chest, Kharak died. 

* * *​ 
_Justice Fairweather_​ 

The light from her sword died, the power of her smite fading – its energy spent on the dead creature before her. But she was not alone. 

She turned her feral smile to the two others, bringing her sword to the ready, preparing to meet the next alien creature that dared challenge a Paladin of the Apectan Order. She had brought the Light itself to bear against the greatest of these twisted beings, and she would not spare the others from the wrath that their crimes had wrought. For this moment, she was not merely Justice, but _justice_ for the fallen men who lay at the arrogant beasts’ feet. 

But none of them came – turning quickly on their strange three-toed (and seemingly heelless) feet, they darted toward the door, the larger of the two slowing only long enough to stoop and sweep up his fallen companion. Justice nearly dropped her sword. They were _running_? What in the name of the Light was going on? 

She quickly regained her nerves and then started out after them, hopeful but not confident that the bard would slow their escape. They had much to answer for, and if her blade could not be the instrument of the Light’s vengeance, than she at least prayed that they would not escape punishment entirely.

As she ran out the door, she allowed the power that the Light had given her to flow through her once more – though this time not to destroy its enemies. She had been badly hurt, and if she did not soon give attention to her wounds, she would have scars that an Aesirinn barbarian would have been proud to call his own. She concentrated, feeling the wounds close, a momentary burning sting replaced by a soothing absence of pain. She turned her eyes to the heavens for a moment, thanking the Light for its many gifts to her. Then, she smirked. For all the bard would know, Justice might have taken the monstrous lizard-creature without a single injury to herself. The priests had always told her that pride was a sin - but Justice allowed herself to wallow in it, just this once. She had been tested, and she had done well. 


The bard stood outside, still brandishing a bloodied dagger as Justice trotted back out into the moonlight. The creatures – whatever they had been – had disappeared back into the night from whence they had came. “Where did they go?” Justice asked of the other woman, disappointment at their absence bleeding into her tone. 

The darker woman motioned out at the harbor with the dagger. “There,” she said, “out into the harbor somewhere. I think I got one as they ran by me, but they must not have thought me a threat…they splashed into the water behind me, but I can’t see where they went.” 

For a moment, the bard looked frightened, but shook her long black hair, as if to dispel the dread had suddenly overcome her. Looking back to Justice, she said, “They can’t have swam all that way, can they? I mean – I didn’t see a boat, or anything. They disappeared…disappeared as if…”


Justice prodded, “As if…?”

“As if they had never been – like they were nothing more than a nightmare. A shadow given form.”

Justice snorted derisively, grabbing the other woman’s arms to draw her into the watch post, sliding her saber back into its long sheath. The bard paled as she saw the carnage the creatures had left behind. “Nightmares can’t do _that_…uh…?” she continued, fishing for the bard’s name. 


“Selura,” the bard answered absently, obviously fighting a rising sense of nausea at the site of the fallen guard. 


“Selura,” Justice continued with finality, committing the bard’s name to her memory. Kneeling where the body of the creature she had fought had fallen; she ran her gloved fingers through the thickening black blood that the monster had left behind. “Most importantly, Selura, nightmares don’t bleed. This thing did.” 


“How many more could there be?” Selura asked, her shallow breath deepening as she won out over her rising bile. 


Justice grimaced. “I don’t know. We need to get out a warning. Ring the bell – Thanesport is under attack.” 

Justice turned back toward the night, satisfied that help would soon be on its way. With her back to the bard, Justice never saw her smile as she rang the alarm – never saw her soft brown eyes flash a sickly yellow in the faded starlight. 


“_Panic_…” Selura breathed, too low for the Paladin to hear. And then the bells rang, and the panic began.


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## Xath (Feb 11, 2005)

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!  About time!  Another great update, The Universe.


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## The_Universe (Feb 11, 2005)

Glad you enjoyed it.


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## Laurel (Feb 11, 2005)

Yeah!!! The Harbor has been saved or has it 

Another great addition


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Feb 16, 2005)

*does the 'hey everyone come read this story hour!!' dance*


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## ledded (Feb 17, 2005)

SWEET.  Very nice update my man.


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## nakia (Feb 18, 2005)

*New Convert!*

WOW!  This is good stuff!  Very well written, with interesting characters.  Normally, I am not too sure about guns in my D&D, but this setting seems way cool.

nakia = fan


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## The_Universe (Feb 18, 2005)

nakia said:
			
		

> WOW!  This is good stuff!  Very well written, with interesting characters.  Normally, I am not too sure about guns in my D&D, but this setting seems way cool.
> 
> nakia = fan



 Thanks!


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## Xath (Mar 25, 2005)

*cough* bump *cough*


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## Funeris (Apr 18, 2005)

great storyhour, The_Universe.  Nice to look out my office window and see the talent sprawling across my backyard.  Consider me hooked.

Um...now update already


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## The_Universe (Apr 18, 2005)

Yeah - two months is a long time. I really should update this.  

In due time!


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit (Apr 21, 2005)

The_Universe said:
			
		

> Yeah - two months is a long time. I really should update this.




You certainly should   

I came across this tale when you were still doing the prologues and I meant to keep looking in, but somehow it fell off my radar. Having found it again, I must say that you've kept up a very high quality so far, and I've enjoyed it all   .

But having caught up, I now find that you haven't updated for two months!!!   

Still at least it's more recently than Sepulchrave ...


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## The_Universe (Apr 21, 2005)

HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> You certainly should
> 
> I came across this tale when you were still doing the prologues and I meant to keep looking in, but somehow it fell off my radar. Having found it again, I must say that you've kept up a very high quality so far, and I've enjoyed it all   .
> 
> ...



 Yeah - I totally suck at regular updates.  

But the posting has, at least, renewed my interest...hopefully I can crank something out before it's three months...


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## Xath (May 5, 2005)

You have 5 days to post before it becomes 3 months....

*bump*


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## Bryon_Soulweaver (Jun 28, 2005)

Is is three months yet?























PS: Dont be like PirateCat and not let us enjoy these great adventures.


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## Thundering_Dragon (Jun 29, 2005)

A very well written and enjoyable Story Hour.  What level were the characters when they went through this scenario, by the way?  I really enjoy the villians so far, very subtle and devious.


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Jun 29, 2005)

It's from the very beginning!  So, first level.  

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: The Universe does an excellent job of making it _seem_ like we knew what we were doing.


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## The_Universe (Jun 29, 2005)

Queen_Dopplepopolis said:
			
		

> It's from the very beginning!  So, first level.
> 
> I've said it before, and I'll say it again: The Universe does an excellent job of making it _seem_ like we knew what we were doing.



 Yes well, I wasn't trying to write comedic fantasy.  

Writing for this has (obviously) been on a sort of hiatus, but it's nice to know that people enjoyed the beginning.


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## Thundering_Dragon (Jun 30, 2005)

Well, as I said, this is very well written.  I look forward to seeing more.  It's good to see lower level PCs being given worthwhile challenges and interesting encounters.


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## The_Universe (Jun 30, 2005)

Thundering_Dragon said:
			
		

> Well, as I said, this is very well written.  I look forward to seeing more.  It's good to see lower level PCs being given worthwhile challenges and interesting encounters.



 Well, thank you for stopping by. It's possible that an update will be forthcoming sometime before the end of the current century. 

But time will tell...


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## Xath (Jun 30, 2005)

I know the campaign is on "hiatus,"  but I think if you're going to write it, you should do it sooner rather than later.  That way you won't forget what happened.

....also...I'd like to see my character at least enter the story...


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## The_Universe (Jun 30, 2005)

I'll get to it when I'm damned good and ready!  

And think of it this way - I remember intimate details of campaigns I ran when I was still in high school. There's no chance I'd forget the important events of this one.


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## AIM-54 (Jun 30, 2005)

Thundering_Dragon said:
			
		

> Well, as I said, this is very well written.  I look forward to seeing more.  It's good to see lower level PCs being given worthwhile challenges and interesting encounters.




HA!    For some reason this amused me.  I think our biggest challenge was ourselves.


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## The_Universe (Jul 1, 2005)

*Interlude I*​*Punishment*​ 


His eyes burst open as the voice smashed through his dreams, driving his own thoughts from his sleeping mind. “I will arrive soon, my friend. Yet, the docks are practically unharmed.”

He was honored and terrified at once – he knew that few would be gifted with such direct contact with his Master, though no creature could resist the pull of the Master’s words. His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness of his quarters, reading the darkness as readily as light. He had not always been able to do so. He had his Master, and the shadow path to thank for that. His breath slowed. The message must have been no more than that.

He was wrong. 

The voice came again, ringing inside his skull, racing over and through his every thought and memory. It was unavoidable, irresistible. But it had been worth it. He knew that it had been worth it, and he thanked the Lady of Shadow every day for the opportunity to be so close to the Master’s will. 

“You assured me that you had sufficient resources to complete your tasks. What went wrong?” his Master continued. 

He whispered his answer into the empty darkness. “I don’t know, my Lord.”

Silence, though he thought he could feel his Master’s displeasure through the link of their thoughts. Stuttering, he continued, afraid that disappointment would result in his dismissal. “Some-some-someone sank the _Skyracer_ before it could reach the docks. I know those ships were un-crewed, or nearly so – but someone sank her! I swear, my Lord – it should not have been possible!”

Silence. 

“Do any suspect the truth?” the voice inquired dispassionately.

“Of course not, my Lord. None could. No bodies were left in the harbor, and my own agents have remained silent as to their actual purpose. All of the harbor guards were killed – no alarm should have been sounded!”

A moment stretched for an eternity, as he felt his Master clawing through his naked thoughts. It was a strange ecstasy, to feel him so close; a violation of his mind that left him nauseous but strangely sated. 

The voice answered, “Find those who delayed us. I would observe their movements. Even if they know nothing, something more than luck must have drawn them into our path.”

“Yes Master,” he sobbed, thankful for the unrelenting pain of his Master’s presence in his mind. 

Somewhere deep within himself, in a place walled away years ago, a man remembered that things had not always been this way. That man clawed at a prison of his own making, pounding on the walls of madness, his screams echoing through what remained of a human soul. Darkson turned a deaf ear to his ever-fading cries, breathing a sigh that was both relief and terror as his Master’s touch relented.

He would find them. Then, he would watch, and they would lead him to whatever light had guided them against his Master. He would find that light, and extinguish it.

John Darkson smiled, and the smile grew to laughter. Whatever was left of his soul screamed.


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Jul 1, 2005)

The Universe said:
			
		

> Somewhere deep within himself, in a place walled away years ago, a man remembered that things had not always been this way. That man clawed at a prison of his own making, pounding on the walls of madness, his screams echoing through what remained of a human soul. Darkson turned a deaf ear to his ever-fading cries, breathing a sigh that was both relief and terror as his Master’s touch relented.
> 
> 
> 
> ...





I hate him more with every word I read.  *shudder*


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## Xath (Jul 1, 2005)

Yay!

and creepy...

and Yay!


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit (Jul 1, 2005)

Xath said:
			
		

> Yay!
> 
> and creepy...
> 
> and Yay!




Let me second those "yay"s and that "creepy". Nice to see a new update on this thread (hint, hint ...)


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## The_Universe (Jul 1, 2005)

*Chapter 2 - Salvation* 
_L’Aurel of Greenwood_





They’d spent the better part of two days languishing in the dirty cell beneath Thanesport’s City Watch. They’d had a few itinerant companions – mostly thieves and drunks, but by and large they’d had only themselves (and the rats) to dull the monotonous boredom of the cramped, barred room. 

She had expected a warmer reception when the alarm bells brought the city watch to the docks that night, but that had proven extraordinarily naïve. Thanesport’s harbor may have been assaulted by the living dead, and the members assigned to no less than a dozen of its watchposts may have been slaughtered. There may have been multiple sightings of bizarre lizardmen throughout the city that night, and there may have been panic and riots in the streets that still had not completely abated. 

There may have been any and all of those things. But there was also a fired steeldrake cannon, two sunken ships, and uncounted dead bodies along the harbor. Unfortunately, all were in close proximity to a half-dozen armed and armored civilians when the city watch arrived. Efforts to explain the situation had been less than successful thus far; their heroism eclipsed by the uncaring law. She hated cities. This would never have happened in Greenwood. 

And so for two days they had subsisted on gruel and water, regaling each other with tales of each other’s pasts—discussion eventually devolving into ever more elaborate games of “scissors, rock, paper.” Kaereth had stopped playing with an angry cry almost three hours before, furious that the others could not admit that _rock _was clearly superior (“better for smashing,” she believed he had said) to _scissors_ or _paper_ in any concievable situation_._

An Apectan priest had stopped by the cell the night before, clucking in disapproval at finding a warrior dedicated to his order locked away. He had emphatically denied that anyone so dedicated to the Light could have had anything to do with the “false alarms” that had echoed through the city. L’Aurel thought he was going to vomit when she learned that the alarm bells had been rung at the young paladin’s request. After a heated discussion in which Justice had threatened to unman the arrogant priest, he had left in a huff, his paling features clearly relieved that iron bars separated the beautiful warrior from her blades and him.  


And so it was – a seeming eternity of waiting, locked away from the wind and sun that had been L’Aurel’s most constant companions. This was not how she had anticipated ending her journey of discovery – she just prayed that when they finally decided to execute them, they’d do it outside. 

A metallic clang against the bars shook her free of her gloomy thoughts, and it took only a moment for her eyes to adjust to the almost-absent light below the city watch. Behind her, Justice squinted into the darkness, her own eyes unable to pierce the shadows. “Who’s there?” the paladin called, pulling her long legs out from under her, bracing against the bars to stand.

“Big noise for a rat,” Edriss muttered darkly. He and Selura had traded words the night before, as privately as the cell had allowed. The others had tried to give the two as much seclusion as their cramped quarters permitted, and had actively attempted to ignore whatever words passed between the two, who were obviously well acquainted with each other. The dwarf, the oldest of them, had simply shrugged as the argument ended. _Lovers spat?_ he had mouthed hours before, speculating at the cause of the anger that crossed between them.

They had remained quiet, though their anger had been almost palpable. Whatever the argument, Selura seemed to have won, and Edriss’s comments had become increasingly sullen as time had passed. 

A deep voice emanated from beyond the cell’s bars, the hint of a smile evident in the man’s clipped, professional tone. “I must take issue with your characterization, young man. This _rat _may well have saved your life – all of your lives, in fact.” 

The smile was contagious. L’Aurel could see the tall, aging man standing before her, hands clasped behind his back in what almost seemed a parody of military discipline, her clear vision even in this low and dying light part of her mother’s heritage. Dark eyebrows stood out beneath a thinning, gray mop of hair, and the rumpled blue and gold uniform of the Thanesport City Watch hung loosely on his broad shoulders, tightening around a slightly paunched middle. He squinted into the darkness of the cell just as Justice squinted out. Human. 

“Now,” he continued, the quirk in his lips disappearing as if it had never existed, “I’d like to go over the events of a few nights ago _one last time…_If you don’t mind, of course.”

Stunned, they answered him only with silence.  They'd already been questioned a dozen times - what mroe could he want?

He frowned. “I can return tomorrow if you have a pressing appointment…” he finished, turning as if to tread back up the distant narrow stairway that separated this hole from the rest of the Watch headquarters.  


“No!” they called in unison, desperate to keep whatever contact with the outside would that this man would allow. 

“Very well,” he answered, once more clasping his hands behind his back. Unlike the others, he had no parchment. This was not a routine set of questioning. 

He began without preamble, heaving his slight frame onto an unlit desk near the bars, “You are of course aware that no ‘large, man-shape reptiles’ have been found in or near the harbor?”

“So we’ve been told,” Justice growled from behind her, her lack of patience bleeding into her voice. 

Ignoring her comment, the man pressed on, “and you are aware that even touching a steeldrake, cannon or otherwise, without leave from the Crown is a capital offense?”

None of them answered. Their next words would likely seal their deaths. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Of course you are. Everyone is,” he said, pausing to draw a pipe from somewhere in his rumpled jacket. “Now, ah…Mistress Fairweather?” he said, his voice only slightly muffled by the pipe hanging casually from his lips, “You’re a member of the Apectan Order, I’ve been told. That’s correct?”

She grunted an affirmative, sliding down onto her haunches. “What of it?”

“Simply that your order _does_ have a charter to train and employ draconeteers. I don’t believe that you personally possess a related dispensation, but that may have been merely an error in paperwork, or perhaps due to the action of one of our unfortunately numerous cutpurses?” he said, light flaring from a drakestwig cupped in the palm of one his hands, rising just enough to illuminate his face before settling into carved wood of the pipe. 

They answered him with silence, and he continued unabated, “So, of course, it may have been that the use of a steeldrake cannon was not as damningly illegal as it would have immediately appeared to this particular arm of His Majesty’s Watch,” he paused, finally, allowing the significance of his words to reach them. L’Aurel sighed quietly – freedom waved in front of their faces by this undoubtedly cruel man, a phantom chance at release dancing before her eyes. She knew, _knew_ that he’d soon reveal that sentence had already been passed on them. She expected the hangman to come measure them for nooses before another day had passed. 


“Unfortunately, I have several reports from other officers at this station that report that the steeldrake was not fired by you, Mistress Fairweather, though you _were_ incarcerated at the scene.” He was still going. She prayed to her ancestors that this mockery would end soon. “Could it have been that they misheard your statements? Mightn’t it?” 

Justice stood, smiling, as L’Aurel buried her long, unpretty face in her hands. The fool girl was providing even more entertainment for this unfeeling bastard. “It might have been. Things were happening so quickly, there were so many people around, so many creatures. _I_ fired the steeldrake.”

“You’ll swear to that?” the older man asked from across the iron bars. “If you’re lying to me, I’m sure your order will be less than pleased – even _less_ less-than-pleased than they are now, having one of their recent devotees languishing in a lightless cell.” 

She grimaced, but continued, “If I’m lying to you now, may the Light strike me down by His own hand!” she called, slowly squaring her slender shoulders to face the flickering light of the officer’s pipe. 


As her words echoed through the largely empty jail, they were answered by a sudden crack of sound, as if the thunder of the heavens had all crashed into the wretched dampness beneath the streets of Thanesport. Justice fell to her knees, her arms covering her head and neck at the first hint of sound. L’Aurel was ashamed to find that she, too had dived for cover. She returned a furtive gaze to the officer, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that he had not been replaced by some avenging angel. 

Acrid smoke from a half-concealed steeldrake mingled with the grandfatherly aroma of the pipe, and the old man chuckled mildly to himself as he reholstered the pistol. Justice slowly rose, shocked and relieved to find that the Light had not chosen to fulfill the terms of her oath. “You’re going to have to get a lot better at lying than _that_ if you’re going to survive what I have planned for you,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement in the pipe’s light. “Anyway, you’re free to go.”

Standing, he fumbled at his belt for a set of keys, his fingers settling quickly on one that seemed indistinguishable to L’Aurel from the rest on the ring. It slid easily into the lock that held their cell door closed, and the door swung outward noisily on ungreased and rusted hinges.

Stunned, they remained within the bounds of the cell. L’Aurel spoke, echoing the sentiment she imagined the rest of them were feeling, “What!?”

“You’re free,” he answered simply, motioning them out of the cell. “Well,” he amended, “not precisely, entirely free – but free of this cell at least. Come on. Get out of there – I’ll get you food, water, and then I’ll give you the terms of your release.”

Arfin spoke this time, “But why?”


A deep, resonant basso echoed from the shadow of the earthen stairwell. “Because I vouched for you.” 


The voice was familiar, and soon its bearer stepped into the glow of the officer’s pipe. A long mustache curved around smiling lips; a humorless laugh (_tinged with madness_, L’Aurel would later conclude) spilled from his narrow mouth. John Darkson – the captain from the Rusty Scabbard. The one who’d told them about pirates. “Good luck to all of you. _All_ of you,” he continued, his pale gaze settling first on Edriss, and then Selura. “The Captain and I have been friends for some time, and I thought he might have a use for a few people condemned to die. You live by his whim, and incidentally by mine.”


“You should thank me,” he said, his tone suddenly serious, all traces of a smile gone from his lips as if it had never been. “I’ve done you a great service, though you’ve done a great service for Thanesport, and the Falcon Kingdom, the law leaves us unable to recognize it. I have little doubt that without you sinking that ship and raising the alarm, this city would nothing but cinders and refugees. Had either one failed…” he mused, his lips twisting into an angry grimace. 


It disappeared as quickly as the smile had; the gravity his voice had gathered reforming itself into whatever passed for levity with the man. “But I have little doubt that the dangers to Thanesport, and the rest of the kingdom, have only just begun to show themselves. Even now, the enemies of the Crown are altering their plans, preparing new ways to attack.”


The watch officer cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to him, apparently less than comfortable with Darkson’s dire tidings. “Yes, well – that’s precisely why we’ve freed you. This attack may not be an isolated event, and I can’t spare the manpower to investigate all that I would. Since your lives depend on Captain Darkson’s willingness to align his own testimony with your own perjury, and upon my own readiness to lie on your collective behalf, you work for me, now.” 


The old man’s soft, kind features hardened into something that was almost threatening as they treaded up the stairs, back into the light of the day. “And the moment I suspect any of you of doing _anything_ other than what you’re told, I’ll have you on the gallows before you can blink. Understood?”


He didn’t wait for their assent. L’Aurel mused, just for a moment, that he didn’t have to. 

This was not what she had expected.


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## HalfOrc HalfBiscuit (Jul 1, 2005)

Well I didn't really expect another update that quickly!!   

Very good stuff, Universe. And if I read this correctly, the party were effectively shafted right from Day One ... [Mr Burns voice] Excellent! [/Mr Burns]


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## The_Universe (Jul 1, 2005)

HalfOrc HalfBiscuit said:
			
		

> Well I didn't really expect another update that quickly!!
> 
> Very good stuff, Universe. And if I read this correctly, the party were effectively shafted right from Day One ... [Mr Burns voice] Excellent! [/Mr Burns]



 Pretty much. 

Some of the characters motivations have been retconned a bit because the *players* left the game (and left the characters in my care) - for instance, to be fair to the players, Edriss *might* not have been evil the whole time in the game. But, for the sake of the story, he was, because many of his actions would hint that that is the case.


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## Thundering_Dragon (Jul 2, 2005)

Interesting.  Having the PCs work for the villians at first is an intriguing touch.


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## Thundering_Dragon (Aug 5, 2005)

Was this the campaign that you were describing in the "Worst Campaign Meltdown" thread?


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## The_Universe (Aug 5, 2005)

Thundering_Dragon said:
			
		

> Was this the campaign that you were describing in the "Worst Campaign Meltdown" thread?



 Oh yeah, baby - it melted down like a piece of tupperware in a Volcano. Nonetheless, I still know what happened, and I plan to continue reporting the events of the campaign as time allows. After all, some gripey players aside - it was a good story.


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## brellin (Sep 19, 2005)

Hello I'm finly done reading all the updates and the voices in my head demand another one.
Ps. if my spelling is so bad to the point you don't know what I'm saying just tell me
  -brellin


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## Funeris (Sep 19, 2005)

And hopefully, The Universe will get around to updating! 

Of course I know he's busy at the moment, preparing for the MD-VA-DC gameday (in which I hope to be playing the part of one B.A. Baracus a.k.a Mr. T)  Hehe.

~Fune


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## brellin (Sep 28, 2005)

It has been many days since the last update I think it is time For Another


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## The_Universe (Sep 28, 2005)

Yes - I am pitifully slow with this. So sad. Perhaps this week - but I make no guarantees.


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## brellin (Oct 13, 2005)

it is time for an update


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## The_Universe (Oct 14, 2005)

Very true. I'll start really working on an update.


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## Xath (Nov 11, 2005)

They worked for Darkson?!  How did I miss that for 2 years?


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## Queen_Dopplepopolis (Nov 11, 2005)

Xath said:
			
		

> They worked for Darkson?!  How did I miss that for 2 years?



 *laughs*

Justice hated Darkson from the first adventure... he just gave her a creepy vibe... and that's why.

How you missed it is a complete mystery to me.


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