# [ENWWC] ENWorld Writer's Circle Story Hour!



## Enkhidu (Jul 15, 2002)

Hi all!

For those of you who didn't know, I recently put out a call on the general boards to find out how many authors - Story Hour posters or otherwise - would be interested in a Writer's Circle. The aim was to find a group of like minded people interested in writing "gaming style fiction" and share ideas, perform constructive criticism, etc, as well as hone our skills in general.

At present, "the ENWorld Writer's Circle (ENWWC) is a collection of individuals who have come together for the purposes of learning, honing, and teaching the craft of writing fiction." (From the working guidleines of the ENWWC)

The idea originally came from a friend of mine (posts as dshai527), and I sort of picked up the ball and ran with it. Just as many of the other writers in the circle have run with it, and will continue running with it.

At this point, we have a large number of participants, and we've begun our trial run! 

Now, for those of you who may be curious, this trial run is currently closed (see this thread for more information about how the group came together in the first place).  So, if you'd like to participate in the ENWWC, I'll have to ask that you wait until the trial run is over, at which time we may - key word is may - be accepting new members, or possibly starting more than on circle. All of this, however, is dependent on how this trial run goes.

Over the next few weeks, you'll see short story hour installments from well over a dozen writers, some of which you have never seen post on these boards before. Others have existing story hours. And I think you'll end up pleasantly surprised by both groups. 

So come on by every few days and see what deviltry we've cooked up!

And most of all...

Enjoy

Edited for content


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## Son_of_Thunder (Jul 16, 2002)

(*)


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## eXodus (Jul 16, 2002)

kudos. 

a wonderful way to leave it off. 

now anyone can easily pick it up and run with it.


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## Shadowdancer (Jul 16, 2002)

Huzzah! A good start to the circle. Mysteries abound, and plenty of options left for those who follow.


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## Femerus the Gnecro (Jul 16, 2002)

can anyone continue, or do you have to sign up?

-F


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## uberkitty (Jul 16, 2002)

Femerus the Gnecro said:
			
		

> *can anyone continue, or do you have to sign up?
> 
> -F *




Sorry, Femerus.  The circle closed at 17 people.  I think there was talk of a bench, though.

See this thread.

Edit: Enkhidu, maybe a statement of purpose would be in order here?


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## Tonguez (Jul 16, 2002)

Femerus the Gnecro said:
			
		

> *can anyone continue, or do you have to sign up?
> -F *




Gotta sign up I'm afraid Femerus - and there's already 16 budding authors in the cue (see General Board for details)

and Son of Thunder good start (just be more judicious with your full stops)
Oh and what was that magic ring?


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## Daniel Knight (Jul 16, 2002)

Nice start... very easy to follow on from with plenty of room to muck about.

And now I believe it's darklight's turn


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## Enkhidu (Jul 16, 2002)

Nice thinking, uberkitty!

I've already edited the first post in the thread to clarify a few points about the ENWWC.

And Son of Thunder, good way to get the ball rolling!


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## Tonguez (Jul 17, 2002)

bump ball to stop it from dissapearing...


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## uberkitty (Jul 18, 2002)

ENWWC members: don't forget to e-mail Enkhidu so that he can subscribe you to the e-mail list.


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## Son_of_Thunder (Jul 18, 2002)

*Reply To Tonguez*

The ring was an amalgamation of a couple magic items. One being a Wizards Ring of Healing from the Dragonlance Saga. Basically it worked only for wizards and could cast cure light wounds once per day. Also, it could save the wizards life once and the magic was useless to that wizard afterward. The second magic ring was name something like a cats nine lives. There were nine stones that prevented death, once per stone, and once a stone was used the stone would disintegrate.

Son of Thunder


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## Enkhidu (Jul 18, 2002)

uberkitty said:
			
		

> *ENWWC members: don't forget to e-mail Enkhidu so that he can subscribe you to the e-mail list. *




Yeah!

What uberkitty said.

Try emailing me at enkhidu@hotmail.com and I'll get you added.

By the way, this list is presently only for contributors to the trial run of the ENWWC...

Remember to put ENWWC in the title of your email so I can easily ID it!


We've got about half of the people signed up already, and are waiting for the others.

By the way, darklight is our next writer, and should have his installment up by Monday at latest.

Right darklight?


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## darklight (Jul 19, 2002)

Yep, working on it right now, infact. It should be posted tonight, or tommorow early afternoon, central european time. 

darklight


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## darklight (Jul 19, 2002)

*The Coin, Part II*

The shadowy figure moved quickly and silently, not wanting to be noticed by anyone. As he left Stockrow behind him, he wondered what was in the pouch Touchberry had given him, but he knew his mission was too important to stop and look. He had to reach Her before the Baron discovered the theft. 

After running for a few miles, he heard a noise up ahead. He paused for a moment. The sound grew louder. There was definitely someone, or something moving towards him. As it got closer, he could make out the trampling of hooves, and the creaking of wheels. A wagon was approaching. He felt the tendrils of panic prodding his mind, but experience had tought him how to wash them aside. "Focus", he said to himself, and concentrated. He looked around for a place to hide. There were no trees or bushes nearby, but he spotted a couple of boulders, that might be big enough to hide between. If that wagon was one of the Barons patrols, he knew he had to be completely concealed. Many of the Barons soldiers were orcbloods, and had that blasted darkvision. 

He crept in between the boulders. He had to twist quite a bit, but better to be uncomfortable than dead. The wagon came roaring by. He felt a sharp pain in the back. He had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming. As the wagon passed, he got a quick glimpse of it. It was the Barons personal carriage. Panic crept into his mind again, along with the pain. What was the Baron doing here, and at this time of night? I must hurry, he thought. As he tried to get out of his hiding place, the pain struck again. The mountains were known for the deadly centipedes, and he knew he had been the victim of one. The poison was slowly spreading in his body. Shortly his muscles would begin to go numb. Now, more than ever, he had to hurry. She will help me, he thought. He started running, but it felt awkward, like his muscles would not do what he wanted. 

"I…must…focus", he said to himself, as he staggered on. His eyes began to blur, and he saw little sparks of strange colours. He turned off the road, his blurred mind still remembering the route to the cave where he was to meet Her. After climbing a hill, there should be a small stream, and then a cluster of trees. Stumbling into the water, he could feel his feet get cold, but he was unsure if it was because of the water or the poison. "Then the trees", he whispered. "Yes, those figures are trees", he thought, and moved towards them. The undergrowth made him loose his footing, and he fell. He tried to get up, but the poison had drained away his strength, so he had to crawl on. "I must get to the cave…She will help me…She will help me". He repeated that same sentence over and over, and it gave him the last bit of strength to drag himself further. There it was. The cave where She was waiting for him. He wanted to shout to Her for help, but no sound came over his lips. Just a little further…almost there… finally!

He had reached the entrance to the cave. He pulled himself to a kneeling position, so he could look inside. What he saw in the cave was not what he expected. He prayed it was the poison that made him hallucinate, but deep in his heart he knew that what he saw was real. What little remained of his strenght left him, and he collapsed. The last thing he heard was a voice behind him saying "well, well, what have we here?"


darklight


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## darklight (Jul 20, 2002)

Hmmm...my part of the story is a bit short, about 100 words short of the mentioned limit infact. But this was the story in my mind, and I didn't feel I should elaborate even more on it, so I hope you don't hang me for that 

I can't wait to see what direction dshai527 takes this story.

Good luck

darklight


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## Tonguez (Jul 20, 2002)

Don't worry darklight its a good cliffhanger you've brought us to
and where it goes from here is anybodies guess

Good work (shame about those ruddy centipedes)


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## Shadowdancer (Jul 20, 2002)

I have a question about this. I know we're supposed to use an item -- in this case, the coin -- to connect our stories. But do our stories have to pick up where the last one left off? I was under the assumption that the stories would basically be completely seperate, connected only by the coin.


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## Tonguez (Jul 20, 2002)

Shadowdancer said:
			
		

> *I have a question about this. I know we're supposed to use an item -- in this case, the coin -- to connect our stories. But do our stories have to pick up where the last one left off? I was under the assumption that the stories would basically be completely seperate, connected only by the coin. *




I think we have the option either way Shadowdancer - and thats why I like darklights ending - so far the stories have been linked plotwise, the next writer now has the option to extend that plot or to spinoff on an entirely different tangent.

PS I originally had the same assumption as you but this has given us 'another route' to choose or not...

(any 'official' word?)


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## uberkitty (Jul 20, 2002)

Hey, all:

I think we should keep our meta-story discussion to the e-mail list rather than here.  For one thing, it keeps the thread tidy and makes it easier for readers to get to the meat.  For another, it helps keep possible further developments a secret and thereby maintains suspense.  

My response to Shadowdancer's question, therefore, has been e-mailed to the list.


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## Tonguez (Jul 21, 2002)

just a bump (for front page glory)


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## Enkhidu (Jul 22, 2002)

Hi guys!

I've seen some different interpretations of exactly what a "Pass the Object" shared story is, and thought we should probably go over it.

In all the "Pass the Object" stories I have seen, the individual stories do not have to be interconnected (I.E. there does not have to be a single, unified, plot). What does need to happen is that the object needs to physically pass from one story to the next. 

So far, a single plot line has been developed, and I think that's really cool, but remember that it is OK to leave that plotline at any time, just so long as when you finish your story, you make the object available for the next person in line (so destruction of the coin, permanant loss of the coin, etc, would be out of line). 

By the way, I know that posts like this need to be kept on our closed mailing list, but we haven't had 100% of our writers sign up for the mailing list.

Remember to email me at enkhidu@hotmail.com so that I can add you!


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## Shadowdancer (Jul 23, 2002)

enkhidu: I sent you an e-mail last week to sign up for the mailing list, but haven't received anything from you. Did you get it, or do I need to e-mail again? How do we access the mailing list?


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## Enkhidu (Jul 24, 2002)

Sorry shadowdancer - must have sent the invite to the wrong address!

You should have it momentarily...


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## Altmann (Jul 25, 2002)

Shadowdancer said:
			
		

> *enkhidu: I sent you an e-mail last week to sign up for the mailing list, but haven't received anything from you. Did you get it, or do I need to e-mail again? How do we access the mailing list? *




Same here.


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## Enkhidu (Jul 25, 2002)

Whoops!

I'll be sending you another invite presently, Altmann.

You'll want to make sure that it doesn't automatically get junked by mistake, though, as some filters will catagorize it as junk mail.

Sorry about the wait!


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## dshai527 (Jul 25, 2002)

Hello everyone, 

I just wanted to get on and let everyone know that I will be posting very soon. I have been caught up with Enk on the small beginnings story hour (We had a softball tournament and got behind) and I also welcomed my wife back from her trip from hell. I am in the second rewrite phase so I should be posting by Friday night. So whoever is next in line get the creative juices flowing, you'll be up soon enough. 

I have to say that after writing with Enk so much lately it was hard to find my own voice again, but after a few tossed ideas I got moving. Once both he and I have posted it would be fun to see if you guys can go through our storyhour and seperate the sessions by who was writing and who was adding ideas. (Its usually the first one to the keyboard after work, but I always get the comfy chair because its my house.)

As a writer I will be focusing my story segment on what I view are my worst areas so I welcome lots of feedback to help me improve in these areas. (That's why I write as part of a team, Enk back me up on this one.)


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## dshai527 (Jul 26, 2002)

Well guys, here goes nothing. I hope that you all enjoy this little tale. For those of you counting words I did go over a tad, but if you don't count <i> the, a, an </i> then I am under by a few. 


Have fun!

Coin part III

***************************************************
“Well, Well, What have we here?”

 Scordalon glanced up from the moonlit trail to stare at his new master, Odek. The obese orc had stopped on the dark path near an outcropping of rocks; at his feet was the figure of what appeared to be a small man dressed in a tattered cloak and traveler’s clothes. The figure was still and silent and Scordalon could tell that the shroud of the Death Queen had fallen over this one. 

“Looks like one o’ those blasted rebels tried to get here ‘fore us.” Odek chuckled causing his tusks to jut out toward his slave. Once he had been significantly amused, the fat-bellied orc bent over to examine the body of the fallen stranger. 

“I do believe the bastard has somethin’ inna his hand.” The slave master grunted and pulled until he had worked a small velvet bag from the dead man’s grip.

 Scordalon used this time to gaze up at the moons. It had been a long while since he had felt the soft glow of the twin daughters, and he felt more alive now than he had in the past years that he had toiled below the surface, chipping stones with dwarves. The aging slave allowed a smile to creep across his features as he dreamed of the feelings that would erupt when once again the shimmering circle blazed across the sky to warm his face. 

“Arrrgh,” Odek bellowed. “Taint nuthin but a damn gold piece, and its not even one o’ the kings!”  The merchant scowled, glancing over at his property. “What the blazes are ye smiling about?” Scordalon instinctively looked away and lowered his head, awaiting the crack of the whip that was sure to follow. The only sound that met his ears though, was laughter. 

“Ho Ho, Pit champion indeed.” The Orc was holding his side in mock pain. “Twenty years and never defeated, but look at ya now. Ya ain’t nuthin but a scared old pit slave. I was supposed to offer ya your freedom if ya took a dirt nap in tonight’s fight, but you don’t have it anymore.” The slave master danced around Scordalon taunting him. “I was ascared of you back then. Dwarf fires! We was all scared of you, even the Baron. I mean you beat them all; Battle Lords, Defenders, and even the King’s Champions fell before your fists.” 

The orc merchant paused for a moment lost in thought. “But then they ripped out your tongue and murdered your wife, all because we told the King you wus talking about a revolution.” The orc once again began his prancing around the grim faced slave. “You know, even when you were in the underground, them other slaves talked about you like a hero. They shouted your name before they died under the Baron’s blades. Look. Look and come see.” Odek leapt away and motioned for the fighter to join him at the overhanging rocks. 

Scordalon walked toward his master and realized that the rocks were not just an outcropping, but were instead a well-hidden cave entrance. It took a moment under the moonlight for the warrior’s eyes to adjust, and when they did, the scene inside struck him as if he had just been hit by a lucky haymaker. Blood coated the walls and floor of the cavern, dripping into small pools around a makeshift throne of rocks. Atop the stone chair were the remains of the elf maiden Laurellyle, mistress of the revolution. Her eyes stared ahead and seemed to speak to the fighter of the pain and torture that her soul must have endured before she expired. Images invaded his own mind of the night he had begged and pleaded as they tortured his wife and son before his own eyes, and of the pain he endured as they folded a searing knife across his tongue. The memories clawed at the warriors mind until he dropped to his knees, tears rolling down his cheeks. 

“No ya don’t!” Odek yelled as he yanked Scordalon to his feet before despair could overtake him. “The Baron pays me ta have ya fight tonite and fight you will. The king’s champion is here just to meet you. When the rebels see ya bloody and beaten before the might of the Orc Empire their spirits will be crushed and then we’ll stake their heads! A whole line of them heads leading to the capitol. I wuz supposed to offer you your freedom to lose tonite, but now I think I’ll just give ya this gold piece instead.” The orc flipped the golden coin at his slave while pulling down on the chains to keep him from catching it. The yellow missile struck the warrior in the temple and then fell onto the body of its former owner. 

Scordalon watched as his master laughed and danced down the path back toward the city. Before the chain could tighten and become taut between slave and master, the pit warrior retrieved his golden payment and offered a silent apology to the fallen figure. 

The trip through town blurred in the old warriors eyes as his mind whirled with memories and emotions of past events. Odek led his slave through a back door into a small, candlelit room that held only a trunk and a bench. Once inside, the obese master snarled at Scordalon to remind the slave of what pain awaited him if he made any attempts on his master. Scordalon once again bowed his head and his master began unlocking his chains. As he worked on the locks, Odek spoke at the slave-warrior. 

“The King’s champion is a fierce combatant whose blood flows with the strength of an ogre. He, like ya, has never been beaten in combat, and he has also been on the battlefield, not just inna the ring.” The orcs eyes glowed with sheer admiration as he finished the last lock. “Kzard is a true warrior, and he will taste your blood afore the night is done. If ya has any wits about ya, give a show and eat the wood.”

With a hearty laugh the orc merchant left the room through the arena exit. Once the door slammed shut, Scordalon was left to his own thoughts and the sounds of booted feet as the great hall filled to capacity. He imagined the wooden stands overflowing with orcs and half-breeds while the area underneath them filled with their slaves of all races. He sensed the air growing stale as a result of the multitude of creatures all breathing and sweating around the gambling tables that enclosed the fighting circle. The Baron would be sitting at the end waving toward the crown and offering promises of an epic duel between the might of the Orc Empire and the remnants of a past civilization. 

Scordalon let the images play in his head for a moment before he opened his eyes and focused on the chest. It had been ages since he had seen that weathered trunk. The carvings that had once covered its polished surface were now worn down and unrecognizable, and the hinges that held the lid were rusted and cracked. Inside the box lay the only two pieces of equipment that the slave-warrior had ever owned, a chain skirt and a silver piece. The silver battle skirt shimmered in the candlelight as the aged warrior lifted it up and buckled it around his waist. The skirt flowed out, covering his sensitive area and upper legs, all the way to his knees. 

The ritual had always brought him peace before a fight, but now in the solace of the room, the slave knew only fear of the upcoming fight. It seemed to the warrior that summers had passed since he had last thrown a jab or rolled with a blow. His body was now trained to swing a miner’s ax not uppercuts. His once ridged belly now bulged with malnutrition, and his legs bent with aches instead of speed. Scordalon sighed knowing that he was not in fighting shape, much less fighting against a champion. 

Scordalon realized that through his musings he was twirling the golden coin that Odek had given him for payment in tonight’s match. He usually twirled a coin before a match but before it had always been his lucky silver piece. It was just as well, for the warrior had never lost a contest with the silver and it was appropriate to keep it that way.

A loud gong sounded and the fighter rose to his feet. With a heavy heart and loud sigh the venerable warrior marched toward the awaiting masses. The heavy door opened as he stepped forward and the stale air blasted his lungs, but the lone warrior kept his eyes forward and proceeded toward the fighting circle. Figures rose on either side of the slave, grunting and shouting curses as he entered the chalk drawn ring. Scordalon’s eyes scanned the crowd dodging the gaze of anyone hidden beneath the stands, but he could still feel their penetrating stares judging him. 

Shame almost overwhelmed the noble fighter, but he spared his emotions further scrutiny as his opponent entered the ring amidst a huge round of cheering and stamping of feet. The latter was done more to annoy the throngs of beings below the stands than to cheer for the champion. 

Scordalon’s heart raced as he sized up his adversary. The creature stood nearly a head taller than himself and he had muscles that made the warrior believe the story that ogre blood ran in the creature’s veins. The creature’s head resembled a boulder with a knot of horsehair stuck atop it, except for the tusks that jutted from the lower jaw. His arms were like tree trunks that had dwarven anvils attached as fists. This was truly a fighter that would have tested even a younger Scordalon. 

A short, dog faced creature limped between the two combatants and whistled for the crowd to cease their noise. When all the grunts ceased and silence settled, the dog creature shouted with his whiny voice. 

“We have a Coin Fight between the King’s Champion of the great and powerful Empire, accepting the challenge of the slave nation’s champion; both warriors are unbeaten. Should either foe die, fail to rise, or drop their coin from their chosen hand so that it hits the ground, then the other shall be victorious. Only one will retain the title and represent his people.” 

Once the last line was spoken, the crowd once again erupted into a howling frenzy of grunts and curses. Betting coins were thrown toward table workers and agile hands snatched them before they could hit a mark. While all of this side action was going on, both of the warriors showed that they possessed a coin and which hand they would be placing it in for the fight. Kzard chose his left hand, while Scordalon had always favored his power arm.  With the coins shown, the dog creature lowered his arms and chaos began.   

Scordalon never saw the first blow, his head was pitched sideways and his eyes lost focus. It was only his instincts that kept the second war hammer blow from landing. Pulling his elbows in tight and raising his fists, the veteran fighter was able to withstand the onslaught of punches that flew at him from unbelievable angles. The warrior weathered blow after blow until his addled thoughts started to come together. 

The orc champion backed away from Scordalon to regain his composure, and in that instance the slave-champion mounted his own attack. He was sure that his opponent was ready for a straight-ahead series of blows, so he tried a different tactic and flew in, but cut low and staggered his jab with a burning uppercut to the midsection. 

The ploy worked, but hitting the orc’s chest was like punching a cavern wall. The blow sent tingles up Scordalon’s arm and paused his attack just enough for the orc to thunder home a giant overhead slam that knocked the slave to his knees. A wave of cheers assaulted Scordalon’s ears as the orc champion assaulted his body. Hit after hit smacked into his pain ridden body, and the warrior knew that his time was limited if this barrage continued. Rolling backwards, Scordlaon pulled his body into a ball and when he felt the floor bend from his rumbling opponent, he launched out feet first to meet the charging orc. His body was pushed backwards, but his feet planted firmly into the orc’s belly and blasted the wind from his adversary.  Rolling to his side, Scordalon rose to continue his surprise advantage, but when he turned, he was met by a waiting jab that snapped his head back and sent blood spraying onto the gambling tables. Once again the warrior was forced to pull his elbows in and hide behind his fists to protect his face from further damage. His hips moved and swayed, and his feet danced, keeping the giant moving and chasing its prey. Suddenly the fighter’s foot became pinned by the orc’s and all movement stopped. Scordalon fell backwards avoiding a solid blow that would have taken his head off. At the same time, his legs pulled apart yanking the chain skirt taut around his waist, catching the orc’s knee before it found his groin. His luck ended there; with his foot pinned the warrior again suffered a beating that even a dwarf would not stand up from. 

“them other slaves talked about you like a hero. They shouted your name before they died under the Baron’s blades.”

The world was spinning while the hammering fists were pummeling him, but the words would not leave his head. A reaction kick to the knee sent the giant champion scurrying away for a moment and Scordalon tried to focus his eyes. A golden gleam from his right hand pulled at him and his vision cleared, but the voices remained in his head. It spoke over and over like it was pumping his heart. The warrior rose to his feet as blood dripped into his eyes and onto the floor where he had just been laying, but he locked stares with his foe rather than wipe it away. 

The voices grew loader and his heart pumped faster, causing a tingling in his left arm, followed by numbness. A strange peace settled over the pit-warrior like he had never felt before, and that caused a smile to creep onto his beaten features. Scordalon saw rage play across the orc’s face, like he had just insulted his foe, and then the giant roared and charged. 

When the orc reached within several steps of the aging warrior, Scordalon opened his hand and flipped the golden coin straight into the air. End over end the coin turned and all eyes watched as it rose toward the rafters, except those of the slave-warrior and he focused on the orc champion’s chin. At the apex of the golden disk’s flight, Scordalon swung his empty fist at the confused orc’s chin. With a resounding crack, years of pent up rage exploded into the giant’s face.

Kzard’s body swung completely around and Scordalon caught his coin on its return trip downward. With the disk nestled again within his hand, he began swinging again and again at the dazed orc’s jaw. It took several swings before the slave realized that his blows were matching his heartbeat and that his left arm was no longer swinging; but instead hung helpless at his side. 

The crowd was quiet as the orc champion’s body fell to the floor. The stunned silence was followed only by the sound of a single coin striking the floor and rolling along the groves. Scordalon’s eyes followed his coin as it slipped into a crack in the floorboards, and then the world started to spin again. The echoing voices and thundering heartbeat were replaced by shouts of revolution and weapons clashing, steel on steel. The lone warrior slipped to the ground as feeling left his right arm, but a smile still played on his lips as his heart pumped one last time, for the warrior knew that Odek was wrong, he did find his freedom.


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## Shadowdancer (Jul 27, 2002)

Wow.

That was awesome.

Good job.


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## GWolf (Jul 28, 2002)

*The Coin Part IV*

The pit that Scordalon’s life ended in had seen many deaths, and many victories. The pit itself could not tell either apart, and to the pit it didn’t matter. To Korvis it mattered though, it mattered a whole lot.

The large Human stood looking down at the pit, his black cloak slightly concealing his black and silver armor. Damn, Korvis cursed to himself. Duke Elward had demanded that Korvis return to Orlorn with the coin. Not that mattered; Elward was an old fool and wouldn’t live much longer if Korvis managed to get his way. 

The only thing that could stop Korvis now was the coin. He had tracked it all the way to this pit, but time was growing short and if he were to get the coin and get back he would have to get it now. That meant only two things; they would give him the coin, or he would take the coin. He didn’t mind either. He quickly walked down towards the pit itself his black boots smashing into the stone stairs, and his short dark hair prickling with sweat.

As Korvis reached the bottom of the stands he spotted Odek, the former owner of the dead pit champion. He walked over to him casually. When he arrived he spoke. “Quite a fight eh Odek?” He said slyly in orcish. No need in coming right out and asking for, or threatening for the coin yet.

The Orc turned his head at the human and spit. Korvis stood still with no change in expression. Then Odek spoke. “Filthy human, what is it that you want?” Odek commanded back at Korvis. Korvis grinned.

“Well, since you put it that way, I want the coin Scordalon is still holding” Korvis said flatly. He could already tell the old bastard wasn’t going to comply. This didn’t matter to Korvis though; his hand was already hovering near the dagger hidden on his shoulder.

Odek looked at Korvis and laughed. The coin was nothing to the Orc merchant, just another of many gold coins he had seen. This didn’t mean Odek would give it to him, for this was a human, and there was no reason for him to have it. “No. The coin is not yours, it is mine and I will keep it” Odek said as he spit directly next to Korvis’ left boot.

That was enough for Korvis; in an instant his small, but deadly, dagger was in his hand and at Odek’s throat. He whispered into Odek’s ear his voice ringing in the Orc’s ear violently. “You will give me the coin, or I shall take both your life and the coin”

Korvis then removed the dagger, pricking Odek slightly in the process. He sheathed it, but in case thing got out of hand, he kept his other hand next to his large broad sword.  He watched as Odek called a servant over and sent him to fetch the coin. The sickly looking gnome left and was back in a second with the coin and handed it to his master. 

Odek looked at Korvis a sadistic grin on his face, and a line of blood rolling down his throat. “You will regret this human,” he said as he slapped the coin into Korvis’ hand and turned away.

Korvis laughed to himself at his success, he was sure one damn good madman. He enjoyed the way he had angered the fat man. He now held the coin, his ticket to Orlorn’s deepest darkest secrets. He dropped it into his pocket. Only a few more people to manipulate and he would have everything he needed for his revenge. He would kill. None of them would be left alive.

As Korvis exited the pit he let out a particularly insane laugh, drawing the attention of a few Orcs saddling their horses. He looked at them and gave another laugh, causing them to turn away half afraid. Headed towards his own horse and slung his muscled body over it quickly even in the heavy breastplate he was wearing. He kicked off and headed for Orlorn.

						***

Korvis had been on his Journey for three days, and now he was certain there was a band of Orcs following him. And he had no doubt who had sent them. Odek. Korvis sighed, turned around and dismounted his horse.  He thirst for blood, and today he would have it, either theirs or his it mattered not to him. He always loved a fight.

As he a stood waiting for his pursuers he strapped his dull black and silver buckler to his arm, and drew his mammoth broad sword and gripped it easily. He also took the time to tie his horse to a tree slightly off the road. It was mere minutes before he heard the hooves…three Korvis guessed from the sound of them, should be easy enough he told himself, as he felt the icy ball erupt through out his body as his adrenaline began pumping.

Korvis greeted Odek and the two Orcish warriors with a grin…he was correct, there were three of them. In orc he called to them. “So, you found me…what a shame I was going to let you live” Odek snapped his fingers and his horsemen moved up slightly. 

Odek snapped again. “Wait, let’s see how good this smart mouthed fool really is…dismount.” The bodyguards obeyed obediently and dismounted their black horses. Once they hit the ground they each drew Maces and small metal shields growling at Korvis.

Korvis couldn’t believe his luck; they had even dismounted to fight him. When he was done with these two he would torture odek, cripple him and send him back home never to mess with him again. 

The first Orc charged at him failing his mace wildly, Korvis side stepped the attack and brought his giant sword into the back of the beastly man. The Orcs tough hide armor snapped, and the orc went sprawling forward from the force of the blow. The second orc now had his Mace raised high above his head and was about to bring it down onto Korvis’ unprotected head. Korvis’ raised his buckler to block the blow. The mace bounced off the shield with a heavy thud as Korvis drove his boot into the beast’s chest knocking him over.

Korvis swung his sword down at the bodyguard’s neck severing the man’s head from his body. Odek gave a slightly frightened look as the man died.  Korvis then felt the mace smack into his back with amazing force sending him forward, but Korvis managed to keep his footing. He thanked god for his armor as he spun around his blade whizzing through the air. With a loud bash the Orcs shield flew from his hand and onto the grassy earth. The Orc was stunned. Korvis used this as and opportunity to ram his blade through the creatures chest. As he pulled his sword from the monsters chest, the beast let out a mouth full of blood collapsing to the blood stained earth.

Odek cursed as he spun his horse away and started to gallop away. “Not yet you bastard!” Korvis called after him sheathing his sword and running toward his horse. He flung himself over the horse and sent it into a mad dash after Odek. As he began closing the gap he called to him. “You wasted my time, and now you don’t want to play anymore?” Korvis laughed as his deep brown horse pulled right next to Odek’s ebony one.  

“So, thought you could beat me?” Korvis said as he grabbed Odek by the collar of his vest and flung the Orc violently off his horse and into the clearing they were now in.
The black horse kept running, confused at the whole situation, as Odek tried to get up and out of the grass to confront the monster who had just slain his two body guards.

Korvis dismounted his horse, and raced over towards the old orc just in time to land a kick in his chest, sending him back ground to the floor wheezing. “Come get up! Fight me!” Korvis shouted taunting the old man. The Orc rose clutching his chest in agony.  He went to draw his short sword, but met a gauntleted fist in his jaw on the way. “This is my game, and you’ll play how I want!”  Korvis commanded sending his elbow into the Orcs nose snapping it. Odek screamed in pain, but was cut short as another fist met his chest and knocked the scream out of him sending him to the ground wheezing. “I’m not finished yet!” Korvis screamed at the defeated merchant with a sick violence in his voice. He picked the fat beast up and hurled him into a tree. 

That was enough Korvis though walking towards his horse. “Put your hands behind your head!” He heard a familiar voice call. He looked around to see Orlorn crossbow men surrounding him holding their crossbows pinned at his chest. Duke Elward walked into the circle and looked at Korvis with disgust. “Foolish boy, hand me the coin and you live, disobey, and you die” Korvis reached into his pocket and retrieved the coin, and handed it to Elward with a muttered curse. Elward looked to his men their black and silver armor shining in the afternoon sun. “See he get the best cell in the whole dungeon!” The man in charge nodded as Elward laughed fingering his new coin.


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## NoOneofConsequence (Jul 29, 2002)

Well, I'm up. 

I hope it's not too rough, I kind of dashed it off. 
-----

_He is coming._ said the raven.

“I know.” replied the necromancer, as hoofbeats echoed through the pre-dawn mist.

_Will you do it?_ 

“Of course! The Axe is for the Hero Who Will Save Us. Elward is not the One, coin or no coin!”

_But the curse?_

“If I feared curses, I would not have sought the necromancers’ path.”

The horses emerged from the mist, riders dressed in livery of black and silver. At their head, with his hair falling lank against his collar, was Duke Elward. In his eyes was a look of triumph, the look of a man on the threshold of his destiny. “I see you have my boat ready, dark wizard.”

The necromancer nodded. “Will you travel to the island now? Dawn is upon us.”

“Of course, I fear nothing from the lake, with you at the helm.” Elward and his men dismounted. His many retainers were each armed with a crossbow and the young Duke himself carried his family’s longsword. There was no sound as he crossed the sodden grass to where the cloaked necromancer stood at the water’s edge. When the Duke reached the wooden longboat the necromancer held up his hand.

“Have you the coin?”

The Duke held forth the gold coin. The necromancer needed no magic to recognize the accursed thing. There was a moment’s silence, as the two men regarded each other across the simple gold disc. Grey light filtered through the bitter morning air and the breaths of the two mingled in misty clouds. On his shoulder, the necromancer’s familiar shook its wings and settled its feathers.

“Well necromancer,” said the Duke finally. “Shall we go to meet the new day of my greatness?”

“Pay me the coin,” said the necromancer, his voice slightly hesitant upon the words. “And I will protect you on the journey.”

“Ho no, wizard.” the Duke shook his head. “I’ll keep the coin for the tomb, thank you. Besides, the journey is not far, my men will protect me.” He nodded over his shoulder to where the soldiers stood, crossbows in the crook of their arms. Loyal men, every one, they watched attentively as their master negotiated with the master of black arts.

Together the necromancer and the Duke stepped into the boat. Seating himself in the prow, the Duke looked across the lake to the island, while the necromancer poled the boat away from the shore. As his gaze swept the lakes surface, the water black like night sky, polished like glass, the Duke called to his men, “Keep watch men, for when I return it shall be with the power to slay the orc, and to rout his brutal empire from our lands.”

The misty air swallowed the cheers of his men, and soon the boat was in a sea of grey.

“Brave words, lord Duke.” said the necromancer. “What if you are wrong? What if you are not the man of prophecy?”

“What do I care for prophecy, wizard? On the island is a weapon of power that has waited only for one with the courage to wield it! Bugger prophecy! That’s for old women and clerics. All I care about is power!”

“But does power care for you?”

The Duke did not answer the necromancer’s question, but only snorted in reply. It was only a short while before they reached the island in the middle of the lake, but already, the sun was burning off the mist. They were still just within bow shot of the shore. The Duke leapt from the prow and waded up to the island’s edge, pushing his way through sedge grasses. The mud at the bottom sucked at his feet, though he did not care.

The island was no more than a hummock of land, barely rising above the lake’s surface. There were no trees or bushes upon it, only long swamp grasses. In the middle was a squat, grey stone tomb, with walls unadorned by any markings. From the lake’s shore it looked like an irregular rock. Standing before the tomb, the Duke turned to wave to his men, who were now visible through the clearing mist. The necromancer climbed from the boat, his raven familiar squawking once, loudly, as it was dislodged from his shoulder. The bird’s cry echoed eerily across the waters.

“Well necromancer,” said the Duke. “How do we enter?”

“Give me the coin,” said the necromancer. “I will use it to open the way.”

The duke handed the wizard the golden coin. “I pay to open the way.” he said, turning back to face the tomb, eyes searching its surfaces intently.

Holding the coin in his hand, the necromancer reached into his robes and drew forth a garrote. Before the Duke knew what was happening, the thin wire was about his throat, choking the life from his body. Desperate for air, he thrashed about, driving up sodden grass and sprays of mud and water. From the lakeside, cries went up from the Duke’s men. There was the thrum of crossbow strings, the whistle of quarrels flying through the air and the splash of bolts striking the water.

In spite of the Duke’s struggles, the necromancers grip was resolute and soon his victims strength began to wane. At last, the body went limp, but before he could release the dead man, he herd a dreadful, wet thunk and his head was filled with blinding pain as a crossbow quarrel buried itself in his skull. He slumped forward, over the dead Duke, knowing that this was how it should be, for only one could ever handle the coin and live. The necromancer and the Duke slid into the black waters of the lake, entwined like lovers, though they felt nothing for each other in life.

Before his hand finally slipped below the water, the necromancer’s familiar performed its last service to its master. With its long beak it plucked the gold coin from his hand and took flight across the water. Whether it was the sound of its wings that drew their ears, or the glint of the gold in its mouth that drew their eyes, the raven could never know. A crossbowman on the shore took the bird in the breast as it flew overhead and the accursed coin fell from its beak to the forest below.


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## GWolf (Jul 31, 2002)

*Cool*

Very good, we have lots of setting being worked in, I like it !


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## fett527 (Aug 2, 2002)

*B*unnies *U*nder *M*y *P*orch


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## Spider_Jerusalem (Aug 4, 2002)

Hey everyone, I’d just like to take this opportunity to say that, in my opinion, this story hour project is turning out pretty well so far, due in no small part to the writers who have already posted, the organisers (cheers Enkhidu) and all you glorious, glorious readers. And I reckon this coin story could just keep on rolling. It has a guaranteed update (more or less) every week, so could become huge.

Just as a minor thing, the reason this is verging near the deadline is because I decided to rewrite it with past tense - _I wasn’t happy with some of the present tense in my usual story hour, so thought I’d try my hand at past tense here… I need to sort this stuff out, so if you do criticise, please be without mercy (if you strike me down Uberkitty, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine)_ – so it took a little more time than usual. Sorry to keep you all waiting.

Anyway, I’ll shut up so you can read what you came here for:

*The Coin: Part VI*

Rallanth lowered the crossbow as the bird began to plummet downwards, its dead wings caught the rising wind as it fell, gliding it southwards for a moment as if it were still alive. Sliding a greasy strand of hair behind his ear, Rallanth sneered in victory. The first pools of morning light began to melt across the forest canopy; yellow shards highlighted the familiar’s spiralling descent into the awaiting sea of trees below.

Three of the crossbowmen plunged into the water, their cries of “Elward!” carried slowly to the drifting body of the duke, his face staring unseeing into the clear sky above. 
“You fools,” cursed Rallanth as he glared at the wading men with his only remaining eye, “Elward isn’t important, it’s what he was carrying. Swim if you wish, but the lake is not kind to men such as he”.

The crossbowmen faltered, their hopes for Elward’s life savaged by the truth of Rallanth’s words. They all knew that the waters of Scales End were swarming with creatures more than capable of dragging a man under. Rallanth knew all too well that this was the truth, for his own right eye had been lost near the waters not more than a mile westwards. A creature neither man nor fish had stricken it from his body while he had slept. However, the creature did not last long under Rallanth’s awoken fury, and the fish man was broken and dead as Rallanth took his bloodied eye from its waning grip. Yet the eye was crushed and would not heal, so a substitute had been found.

“Ser. We can’t just leave him,” said a young crossbowman stood on the pebbled shore, his eyes cast out across the shimmering waters to the bodies of the duke and necromancer, “he might be alive”.
“Don’t be a damned idiot!” snarled back Rallanth, not caring to hide his contempt, “the Rillfins will already be cutting him to shreds”.
The men stood uneasy under the roving gaze of Rallanth, the ioun stone set into the trackers empty socket turned slowly with a wet grating sound as it mimicked the movements of his remaining eye. 

“Follow me then. The duke is dead, but your duty is not ended. The coin must be retrieved and returned to Elward’s father at all costs,” grimaced Rallanth as he turned to the yellowing tree line, “he is not a patient man”.

Rallanth gauged the final trajectory of the skewered bird, his honed intuition estimated not more then three miles inward of where they now stood. Confident in his calculations, Rallanth mounted up and not even looking to see if the men followed, began to pick his way towards the heart of the forest.

- - - - - - - - - -

The iron tipped taste of a humans lifeblood attracted many creatures in Scales End, and the entwined bodies of the necromancer and the duke were no different. 

A small red bird circled impatiently on the floating duke’s chest, its head darting precisely at each splash of the feasting Rillfins that occasionally brushed the surface of the murky water that surrounded the bodies. Old wives tales were told of how children playing in the waters of Scales End would have their ankles sliced open by the trailing razor tails of the tiny silver-scaled Rillfins, only noticing the deep cuts once the water clouded red. 

The fish had made short work of the duke’s back. A matrix of thin red gashes chequered his black doublet and a dozen or so Rillfins thrashed wildly as they burrowed into the openings. The necromancer’s body, strangely avoided by the Rillfins, gently broke away from the embrace of the duke and glided out into the deeps of Scales End. The mage’s punctured skull trailed a soft red cloud, which the current whipped and curled as the body drifted, colouring the surrounding water into a red, misted haze.

Abruptly, the necromancer’s eyes snapped open. Unable to move his body, his eyes stared upwards through vein-streaked eyes at the dappled gold radiance above him, and the gliding body of the duke being kissed by so many spiralling lines of silver. He knew then that he had returned, yet only one thought echoed through his broken skull. 
_The coin_
An aching darkness swept forth then, and once more, the necromancer plunged into a shadowed slumber. With a final push of the current, the necromancer came to a rest on the soft sediment of Scales End. His dreams were afire with thoughts of the coin, and his body began to ache with the dark energies that now bound and constricted his life into a new death.

- - - - - - - - - -

The kobold watched the human disarm yet another of his traps, wondering if the stone-eyed man would ever make a mistake. He had been told to not raise the alarm unless a trap was sprung, and Kattak was beginning to get nervous, as the humans were getting closer with each step. They wanted to kill Tussakak no doubt, probably for his stealing of that baby child. 

The stone-eye snapped his head up as Kattak’s tail scraped lightly against a tree. Kattak clenched his spindly fingers around his spear and froze just like he was told to do. The other humans halted, little furry heads and bodies of metal creaking as they looked around. But Kattak was the best at hiding, and that was why he was a trapper.

Kattak watched with a pounding heart as the stone-eye and his friends turned back to the path and kept walking, stepping past his best ever traps as if they weren’t even hidden. The disparaged trapper stepped out of the trees cautiously, his snout flared as the scent of the sweaty metal men faded and his eyes squinted as the last of the armoured glimmers disappeared further into the forest. 

Another tracker would probably tell Tussakak to run away anyway. It would be better if he stayed here and reset the traps, decided Kattak with a nod. An hour later the sun was trailing through the thin clouds above and Kattak had reset most of the traps. He only had two or three more left to check. 

He shoved the first panel of the bear trap forwards again with a bark of exertion, jamming the board in far enough to stop the rusted teeth springing together. Kattak sat back in the muddied track and threw a few broken branches on top of the metal jaws, hoping the bears hadn’t learnt any of stone-eye’s tricks. His hand touched something hard as he leant back, and squatting in the middle of the path, he looked cautiously at the pack of mud sitting in his hand. 

Scratching away a crumpled leaf, Kattak clawed free a dirty yellow coin encrusted with mud. He licked away the clumps of mud and proudly sat the gold coin on his palm for all the forest to see. Kattak jumped to his feet, and he couldn’t help but think of what Tussakak would say when he showed him the gold. He would be angry he did not find it himself! Kattak clasped the coin tightly and yipped eagerly as he scampered forwards. Straight onto his newly laid bear trap.


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## NoOneofConsequence (Aug 4, 2002)

> Kattak clasped the coin tightly and yipped eagerly as he scampered forwards. Straight onto his newly laid bear trap.




LOL!! Damn, this coin gets everyone!

Nice piece - I liked it a lot.


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## Daniel Knight (Aug 4, 2002)

Wow… it seems with each post the storytelling just gets better and better.  What a challenge for each poster who follows!  Well done Spider, love your style.


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## Ashy (Aug 4, 2002)

Very nice, indeed, Spider....


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## Enkhidu (Aug 8, 2002)

_Bumpity Bump, Bump, 
Bumpity Bump, Bump!
Look at Spider go!_

And NiTessine should have the next installment up by 8/10, right?


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## NiTessine (Aug 9, 2002)

Here is my installment, then.

*The Coin: Part VII*

The dwarf whirled around as he heard the shrill cry cut the air, silencing the forest. For a long while, he stayed still as a statue, his eyes scanning the forest for movement. None presented itself, save for the branches of trees swaying gently in the breeze. Slinging his ancestral blade from his back, he went to investigate, moving slowly through the underbrush, sacrificing celerity in favor of silence.

He came upon a scene that almost made him laugh. A kobold was crushed in a rusty bear trap, its small body almost cut in half by the great iron jaws. The dwarf slung his weapon over his shoulder as he surveyed the corpse. Then, the glint of metal caught his eye. He knelt to investigate. There, in the debris of the forest floor, lay a golden coin. He picked it up, and peered at it. Though he had travelled the world for a good seventy years, and crossed the length and breadth of Malaeth while doing so, he had never seen a coin of such make. Shrugging, he put it in his pouch. Gold was gold, and if nothing else, it could always be smelted down and used to make real currency. He allowed him a quiet chuckle over the stupid kobold's fate. Probably set the trap itself, too.

He turned to return where he left, but was alerted by another loud sound, this time the snap of a twig under a boot, accompanied by human voices. He turned to look, and saw them, down in the valley, perhaps a hundred feet from him. They numbered seven, wearing studded leather armour, emblazoned with the heraldry of one local noble or another. All were on horseback. The dwarf did not care. The humans were all greedy, grasping fools, with no respect for the other peoples of Malaeth. The present route of the humans would bring them to his location, he realized, and he knew his steel boots left tracks that would be obvious to a blind man. Muttering under his breath, he hastily made his way back to his original track, and set upon his journey northwards. He knew the humans would catch up with him easily, and being dwarf in the middle of human lands was not going to help him. The short warrior knew he could defeat the men-at-arms without breaking a sweat, but butchering them would not be a diplomatically sound decision. He wished it would not come to that.

Half an hour later, they found him. He was climbing a low hillock, when he heard the call:
"You, dwarf! Halt!"
Cursing softly, he finished his climb, and turned to look at his pursuers. Seven faces stared up at him from behind seven crossbows. Coldly, he peered back at them from behind the face-concealing visor in his helm. He was confident that no man-made bolt could pierce the fine mithral plates that shielded his body.
"What do you want of me? Have the local soldiers nothing better to do than to harass travellers?" the dwarf replied in heavily accented Common.
The leader stepped forward, saying:
"We ask the questions here. Now, what would a dwarf do here in the south, in Duke Elward's lands?"
The dwarf peered down at the man, noticing his eye had been replaced with a gemstone of some sort.
"I am passing through, on my way back to Anvilhome."
"Back from where?"
"Journeying these lands for longer than you've lived, human."
"I am Rallanth, captain of Duke Elward's guard. Show some respect, runt."
"Well, I am Argus Calharn, Moradin's Blessed, Defender of Dwarvenkin, son of King Argald Calharn of Clan Silverpick, first of the Clans of Anvilhome. Now show some respect, _captain_."
Though some of his men took an involuntary step backwards, their faces betraying apprehension, Rallanth stood fast, glaring up at the grinning Argus.
"We seek a coin. A very special coin that we know is in this forest. If you know where it is, tell us. It'll save a lot of trouble."
Well, why not, Argus thought. A coin of no value, for avoiding offending the human kingdoms?
"In fact, yes, I do have such a coin," the dwarf replied. "I'll strike you a deal. You let me go free, I give you the coin."
"Yes, yes. Now give it here," the captain said, extending his hand.
Shrugging, Argus dug up the coin from his pouch, and threw it down in the man's feet.
The man scooped it up, peered at it closely for a moment, and pocketed it, seemingly satisfied. Then, he turned to one of the soldiers, and briefly spoke to him, quietly. Argus, from his lofty position atop the hill, could not hear what was said, but caught snippets of it. "Duke Elward's father…orders…from behind." Then, the man turned back to look at the dwarf.
"We are very grateful of your help. As a token, my men will escort you out of this kobold-infested forest."
Argus, seeing no point in arguing, nodded.

An hour afterwards, the dwarf was trudging along with the six riders. Rallanth had set off galloping to another direction, presumably to take the coin whoever wanted it. Must've been a very important coin, Argus thought, teasing a burr out of his bushy black beard.

They were walking through a large clearing, when that which Argus had been suspecting for a while happened. The horseman behind him struck down with his spear, sinking the tip in the crack between his helmet and the steel collar his backplate. The short blade met only more steel. Dwarven platemail was not so easily bypassed.
"Treachery!" Argus roared, whirling around to face the rider while slinging his ancestral weapon from his back. It was an urgrosh, a unique combination of axe and spear, a weapon only give to the chosen few Defenders of Dwarvenkin.
The rider spurred his horse into gallop, as three more spears struck Argus from behind. None of them even scratched the mithral. One of the men in front of Argus reared his horse, raising his spear for a throw. The dwarf swung his weapon in a large arc, letting the shaft slide in his hands for the optimum reach. The finely honed axe blade, veteran of a thousand battles, neatly severed the horse's both forelegs below the knee. Both horse and rider fell down heavily, the steed on top of the man. A downward chop with the axe ended the horse's suffering.

The five remaining riders were galloping around Argus, trying to get a spear past his defence. As soon as Argus turned to face one charger, another would come from behind and strike him from behind with a spear. One of them kicked him in the head, and was rewarded with an axe blade in his thigh, cutting through leather, flesh and bone with ease. The horse ran past Argus, leaving its wounded rider lying on the ground with the destroyed saddle.

A quartet of crossbow bolts clattered off his breastplate. After seeing the fate of their two companions, the surviving four riders took a more careful stance. Argus grinned wildly, the fires of battle burning deep in his heart. They were not the only ones who could attack from a range. He fidgeted a while with his armoured glove, and then shook out three small throwing axes from their sheath in his sleeve. The next rider raised his crossbow, aiming at the dwarf, only to fall back with an axe handle sprouting from his forehead, and a shattered crossbow falling from his limp hands.

"Who's next!?" Argus shouted at the three riders, now keeping a respectable distance from the dwarf and his lethal weapons, and aiming at him with their bows. The dwarven warrior walked over to the nearest slain soldier, and picked up his crossbow, still loaded and carrying a bolt. Seeing this, the riders bolted to the forest. The dwarf aimed and fired, dropping one last man from his saddle.

Good, he thought. Horses leave tracks even I can follow. And those horses go where that treacherous bastard Rallanth must be.

Argus reclaimed his throwing axe, and set out after the fleeing pair of soldiers. All thoughts of diplomacy forgotten, the dwarven warrior was going to show the cowards a taste of dwarven vengeance.
"Fear me, Rallanth, for I am coming for your head!"


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## Spider_Jerusalem (Aug 9, 2002)

Good update!  

We're really picking up a sense of a cohesive world now. Combined with a few continuing characters, the stories are flowing well.

By the way, I really liked the casual handing over over the coin by Argus. Great stuff.

ENWWC Mailing List:
I'll be posting up my thoughts either today or tomorrow in the yahoogroup.

Spider.


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## Shadowdancer (Aug 13, 2002)

Bump!


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## Daniel Knight (Aug 13, 2002)

Just posting the posting list so we don't have to keep going back to the original page.

Son of Thunder
darklight
dshai527
GWolf
NoOneofConsequence
Spider_Jeruselam
NiTessine
Enkhidu
Shadowdancer
eXodus
Daniel Knight
Aeolius
Tonguez
uberkitty
Delemental
Altmann
fett527


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## Enkhidu (Aug 15, 2002)

I guess its finally my turn...

Warning - this will be a departure from much of what you have seen before! But hopefully you will like it anyway.



*****



Chitter bounced from one branch to another, covering ground – or rather, tree - as quickly as his red furred legs would carry him. _A man is in the wood! Men are in the wood_, he chattered as he passed by his neighbors. His warning was spread in chirps, grunts, barks, and hoots as others picked up his call and spread the word. Soon, all the creatures near his tree-hole den had either fled or gone into hiding in their own homes, whether nests or burrows or dens.

As he crawled through the knot hole that served as a doorway to his humble home, Chitter caught a glimpse of himself in the shiny surface he had found on the outskirts of the wood. He paused to admire his physique – red fur covered sinewy muscles, his white teeth – still sharp from gnawing on nuts – sparked below two large black eyes, and his red tail, streaked with black and grey, was the bushiest he had ever seen it this during time of year. _Chitter; you are one handsome, very handsome, squirrel._ Turning his head to the side, he ran a paw over his scalp, itching at a scar under his fur.

The squirrel darted around his hole, tidying a bit: the moss, leaves, and feather down he had gathered for his bedding was threatening to spill over into the rest of his living space, and he quickly packed it more tightly against the inner wall of the tree. _Just about enough room for two, yes two, though it seemed bigger when I moved in…_

As he efficiently cleaned his tree-hole nook, Chitter chanced upon a small silvery vine made of metal hanging from a tough twig he had worked into a crack in the wall of the tree-hole: on the chain hung a hard green clover. It didn’t feel like a clover, though. It wasn’t at all soft to the touch, and the squirrel had learned the hard way that it wasn’t edible; Chitter still had problems breaking open particularly hard nuts with his sore tooth. _This will do nicely, I think, yes I do. If this doesn’t catch her eye, I’m not sure what will. I hope that Green-Cow-Skin-Man doesn’t mind I’m regifting his gift._

The red-furred squirrel tucked the chain and strange, rock-like clover into a small pouch he had lying on the ground underneath it. The pouch was made of cow skin, just like the coverings worn by Green-Cow-Skin-Man, and in fact was the wrapping the man had used when he gave Chitter the present in the first place. The pouch had several flaps and thinner sections coming from it, and when Chitter attached them all together just right, they allowed him to carry the pouch on his belly, with the flap covering the opening. It also left his arms free to pick up nuts when he wanted: he had already been gathering with it several times, and already had enough nuts to last a full winter – carrying food in a pouch was certainly better than carrying it in the mouth!

With the stony clover tucked securely in his belly pouch, Chitter slipped out of his hole and onto the tree branch. He sniffed the air for signs of predators, more out of habit than anything else: nothing much had bothered him for a while now, and even on the rare occasions that they managed to see the squirrel, they seemed uninterested in chasing him down.

He sprang from his branch to another, climbing ever higher to the top of the tree. When the branches began to bow under his weight, he settled for lower and thicker ones. _This stony clover thing must be heavy, oh so heavy: I used to be able to get much higher than that._ Then he began bounding from tree to tree, chattering to himself as his excitement mounted. When he reached a clearing in the tree, he looked up at the open sky. The sun was beginning to set. _Got to hurry, hurry, hurry if I want to see her today!_ Then, with a flick of his bushy tail, he scampered around the clearing and off toward the stream.


A few minutes later, Chitter smelled Man. It was the same scent he had sniffed before when he had scurried all over the wood warning his neighbors: the odor of Man mixed with a horse’s smell. There was something else too, but nothing he had ever scented before. He paused for a moment, listening for movement, and heard nothing. Then with a squirrelly shrug he started off again, almost unconsciously angling his jumps toward the source of the scent. _It’s on the way, yes, on the way, and the sun’s not yet set today. I can do both!_ As his curiosity pulled him toward the place the smells emanated from, he picked up his pace, and arrived in a tree directly over a smelly and awful scene.

A horse gnawed at a stand of tall weeds at the base of the tree, while two Men lay still nearby. Each had open wounds on them, as if some great hawk or falcon had swooped down and raked them with long talons. One of them was shorter and broader than the other, and had long fur coming out of his head, especially from around his mouth. Around his body, he had a shiny skin that looked more a beetle’s shell than fur. He was still slowly leaking blood. Next to his paw lay a sharp looking tool, like the ones that tree-cutters use to fell trees, though Beetle-Skin-Tree-Cutter-Man didn’t look like any of the other tree cutters he had seen, for that matter, he didn’t smell like a tree-cutter either – he was the one who smelled like sweaty dirt. _I wonder if Green-Cow-Skin-Man knows he was here. I know he doesn’t like tree-cutters._

Next to Beetle-Skin-Tree-Cutter-Man lay another Man. This one was longer and thinner than the other, and he did not have the fur that the tree-cutter did. His mouth was hairless, and the only fur he seemed to have sprouted from the top of his head. Strangely enough, though he only had one eye, the other eye socket was filled with a rock of some sort –_why would a hawk leave a rock in the eye hole it tore out, I wonder, yes I wonder?_  He also had a long metal stick in his hand, and it was covered with blood. Long-Hair-Rock-Eye-Man was definitely the one he had smelled earlier. 

Chitter scurried down the tree truck and onto the ground, making sure that he stayed out of what he thought was arms reach for them both: _they might be playing dead, like a nasty snake!_ When they did not move, he crept closer to the bodies, until he finally found himself next to Long-Hair-Rock-Eye-Man, or more specifically, next to one of Long-Hair-Rock-Eye-Man’s many pouches.

They weren’t pouches like Chitter’s pouch, as they weren’t made of cow skin and they didn’t have straps. Instead, his pouches seemed to be part of his silky skin. In one of them, he saw a large bulge, and his curiosity got the better of him as he burrowed into the pocket. He dragged out a large, flat, round, leaf-in-fall colored, shiny piece of metal. On one side, he saw a big lizard with wings like a bat, and on the other, it had lots of scratches that made it look like something had bitten it. _Maybe they thought it tastes good, maybe so?_  Chitter was still wary of biting anything that he didn’t know was food, and so did not immediately put his teeth into it. He did, however, turn it back around to look at the lizard again.

The lizard was easily the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, _well, at least more beautiful than anything not a squirrel, I think. Maybe I should give this to her instead – she’ll like it, it’s shiny!_ He quickly tucked the metal piece away in his pouch and sprang back into the trees, racing for the stream.

Wind whipped by him as he streaked from branch to branch. _Hurry! Hurry! I hope she is still there, yes I do! I haven’t been back to see her since I met Green-Cow-Skin-Man! I hope she likes her present!_ 

Chitter finally heard the babbling of the brook in the distance. After a few moments more, he finally leaped in the tree he had been searching for – her tree. He cast about looking all over for her, and finally spied her next to the stream, her delicate paw in the water. She was magnificent: full haunched and red furred. Her tail arched elegantly over her back, and the setting sun set off the highlights in her rusty red fur. She was every bit as beautiful as she was the last time she had seen here, though this time he found himself noticing even more of the wonderful things she did: the way she moved, the way she brushed her tail with her tiny paws. It was as if he saw her through new eyes.

Before he knew it, he had scampered down to sit next to her. _My, has she shrunk? I remember her being bigger than that, yes I do._ However, as he rushed toward her side and she turned to face him a look of terror passed over her face, and she chattered in fear. By the time he had reached her spot, she had bolted around to another tree and scurried up the trunk, angling for her own tree. 

Chitter gave chase, assuming that she wanted to play like they had done in the past, but the pace she set was blistering, and, tired as he was from his long trip to the stream’s side, he could not keep up. Eventually, she darted in her tree-hole.

The chase over, Chitter ambled up to the hole and peeked inside. She jabbered back incoherently, chattering and barking. _Why are you so afraid of me? Why oh why?_ But she would not, or could not answer. She babbled and chattered, and all Chitter could make out was “big” and “don’t hurt me.” He attempted to come into the hole, but found he could not get his head through the opening, for some reason, it was too small. _No,_ he suddenly realized, _it’s not small. I’m too big, yes far too big._  He looked again at the other squirrel, and realized that she hadn’t shrunk at all, but that he had somehow become monstrously huge.

Chitter slumped away from the hole. _No wonder she’s afraid of me – not even hawks and owls want me any more, I’m so big, oh so big._ He trudged slowly over to the bank. _I bet this is all Green-Cow-Skin-Man’s fault. None of this happened until I met him…_

Chitter grabbed out the stony clover from his pouch and clutched it fiercely, wrapping the steely vine around it in a ball. _Well this is what I think of you, Green-Cow-Skin-Man!_ With a heave, he hurled the stony clover out into the stream. With a plunk and a splash, it disappeared beneath the water. Still angry, he yanked out the flat lizard and reared back to toss it, too. As he did, he glanced back up toward the tree-hole his erstwhile lady lived in and faltered. He let out a sigh and let the weight of the metal drag his arms down. He looking down at the lizard, he noticed that a drop of water had fallen on it. As he watched, another hit it as well. Reaching up to his face, he felt his eye leaking and wiped the water away, clearing his vision. Then, with a squirrelly sniffle, he tossed the lizard into the stream, where it was swallowed by the quickly moving flow.


*****


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## Daniel Knight (Aug 15, 2002)

That is by far the most beautiful and elegant installation so far.  No wonder you wanted to start this writers circle – it was just to show off how talented you are.

Bugger the coin – I want to know what happens to the squirrel next!


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## Tonguez (Aug 15, 2002)

A D20 Furry Tale! 

Enkhidu you are a Writing-god


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## Shadowdancer (Aug 15, 2002)

Why is the song "Muskrat Love" running through my mind?  

Seriously, that story was very well done. I enjoyed it immensely.


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## fett527 (Aug 16, 2002)

If you liked that you'll love the Small Beginnings Story hour (link in my sig).  Brought to you by Enkhidu, dshai527 and a little bit o' me.  A very little bit, but hey how can I compare with someone who has given the most PERFECT Q-ZAR brief ever.  So stated by the hot Q-ZAR corporate trainers circa 1994.  That's Enkhidu, PERFECT!

Heh, heh!


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## Shadowdancer (Aug 17, 2002)

I'm sorry about the length of my story. Hope everyone enjoys it.

*The Ring: Part IX — A Song of Other Times and Places*

The elf crested a small rise and reigned his horse to a stop. The dirt road before him continued on a gentle downward slop to a stream, across a shallow ford, and into a small hamlet nestled along the far shore.

“Good,” the elf thought as he kicked his mount into a slow walk, “Dead Orc Creek is still running low. I can cross here, and not lose any time. And I can leave this accursed forest behind. A forest is no place for a burglar, even if he _is_ an elf.”

When the horse reached the edge of the stream, the elf dismounted and led the beast into the swift yet shallow water. He ran a hand along the horse’s wet flank as the animal dipped its head to drink from the crystal–clear water. “Poor creature,” the elf thought. “I’ve ridden her hard, mayhap too hard. She’s tired; I doubt she’d make it all the way to the coast and Portabello.” He scanned the hamlet ahead. “There should be a stable here in Brin’s Crossing. I’ll get a new horse, pick up the Old Emperor’s Highway west of here, and still make Portabello before the new moon five days hence.”

The elf stopped halfway across the stream, dipping his cupped hands into the cold water to taste it himself. As he drank, he looked at his reflection in the water: straight black hair hanging to his shoul-ders, violet eyes, tanned skin streaked with dirt from the road, the hilts of his longsword and shorts-word visable sticking up above his shoulders. He scooped up some more water to wash his face.

Looking down again, he saw something sparkling in the gravel of the ford, something golden. He picked it up. It was a gold coin. On one side was a stylized picture of a dragon, on the other was what looked like writing, though he could not read it.

“The Trickster smiles!” the elf thought, slipping the coin inside a near empty belt pouch. “I can use it, too. My money is almost gone. I sure hope Tezla and Dirk were able to sell the gems. I told them we should take only coins as payment from the Baron.

“Now, where in Portabello did they say to meet them? At that tavern in the Dock Quarter they like. What was the name? Ah yes, the Stone Pony.”

*—————*

The Stone Pony was crowded for a midweek night, thought Arianna Flamelocks as she stepped upon the small wooden stage in one corner of the smoky, dimly–lit tavern. Most of the customers — steve-dores and teamsters, by the look of them — were crowded around the bar, but many of the tables were occupied as well. A raucous cacophony of boisterous voices assaulted Arianna’s ears while a malodor-ous mixture of burning codfish oil, spilled ale, sweat, and urine assailed her nostrils. “How am I ever to compete with all this noise?” she thought. “Or keep my supper down — what is that accursed smell? It’s enough to ruin a maggot’s appetite.”

As she seated herself upon a tall wooden stool, Arianna surveyed the crowd before her. Gustin Long-pike, the tavern’s massive owner, was busy behind the oaken plank bar. Arianna knew that Gertrude, Gustin’s plump wife, was in the kitchen sweating over a cauldron of stew and baking trencher loaves in the brick oven. The couple’s two daughters, Mae and Ginny, were threading their way through the unwashed masses, bustling from table to bar and kitchen, and back again, dodging the groping hands of drunken dockworkers. Hardly anyone in the place noticed the young bard on the stage preparing to perform. There was one man — an attractive elf with long black hair and violet eyes sitting by himself at a small table along one wall — who made eye contact when she looked his way, but his gaze quickly returned to the tavern door as he sipped from a pewter mug.

“He’s a handsome one,” Arianna thought, a wry smile dancing across her lips, a smile reflected by her twinkling emerald eyes. “How’d he ever wander into this jakes pit? Not that I mind. I would be very happy waking up tomorrow morning to see that face in bed beside me. He seems to be waiting for someone. I hope it’s not his sweetheart. Of course, no respectable man would bring his beloved to a place like this. But then, since he _is_ in this place, who’s to say he’s respectable?”

Possessing long, muscular legs and a lithe body, Arianna usually attracted her share of men’s atten-tion. Her red hair was cut short, spiky on top. Tonight her green eyes and milky skin were set off by her all–black outfit: a strapless leather bustier, tight–fitting leggings, and soft leather boots cut to come just above the knee. Hanging from each slightly–pointed ear — an inheritance from her elven sire — was a silver chain ending in a small emerald. Fingerless black silk opera gloves stretched the length of her arms. While her swordbelt and rapier hung in a kitchen alcove along with her hooded cloak, a dagger with a hilt of malachite scales was tucked away in the top of her right boot, in case the audience got too rowdy.

Arianna pulled her masterwork lute, an instrument she had lovingly crafted with her own hands, into her lap and began to tune it, her long, dexterous fingers caressing the catgut strings, ivory frets, and smooth mahogany pegs. After she finished, she ran her right hand through her close–cropped hair and considered her opening number. Then another smile crept across her face as she decided how she would catch the crowd’s attention. She started to pluck and strum the lute’s strings. Four glowing spheres of light swept out through the tavern, barely missing the heads of several patrons. After reaching the back of the room, the spheres reversed course and arced back to the stage, drawing the attention of almost everyone in the room to Arianna. She began to sing in a strong, confident contralto that pierced the tavern’s quickly diminishing din.

“I’m a traveling troubadour,
Selling my songs from door to door,
As I journey down the long, dusty roads.

“I sing in the bars,
And sleep beneath the stars,
And please the ostlers when their wives are asleep.”

This last line drew a menagerie of catcalls and wolf whistles from the crowd. Arianna just smiled wickedly, gave them a wink and continued with the song.

“In exchange for food,
I give them my youth,
And a song to remember me by.

“I’ll sing you a song of other times and places,
And sights you may never see.
I’ll sing you a song of other times and places,
And things you may never,
That you may never hear of again.

“For the food I can’t pay,
And I really can’t stay
Because your wife will be waking up soon.

“But before I go,
I really must show
How much I appreciate your kindness.

“So I’ll make love to you,
And when we’re through,
You can lay back and I’ll sing you a song.

“I’ll sing you a song of other times and places,
And sights you may never see.
I’ll sing you a song of other times and places,
And things you may never,
That you may never hear of again.”

Arianna began the instrumental bridge, deftly plucking the lute’s strings with the fingers of her right hand as those on the left slid up and down the neck of the instrument. She chanced a quick look at the audience; everyone seemed to be watching her intently, many nodding along to the melody. Pleased, she resumed singing.

“But before I can go,
I really must show
How much I appreciate all you’ve done.

“And for the food I will pay
If you’ll only come lay,
If you’ll come lay down with me.

“And I’ll make love to you,
And when we’re through
I’ll sing you a traveling song.

“I’ll sing you a song of other times and places,
And sights you may never see.
I’ll sing you a song of other times and places,
And things you may never,
That you may never hear of again.”

As Arianna strummed the song’s last chords, the taproom erupted in applause and cheering. She smiled again and acknowledged the crowd with a small nod of her head. As the sound began to dimin-ish, a booming voice came from behind the bar.

“Arianna, after my Gertie goes to bed I need to talk to you about settling your tab,” Gustin said. The people standing nearest to him began to laugh.

Arianna waited for the laughter to subside, then cocked her head to one side, smiled, and said, “Don’t worry, Gustin, we’ll settle up proper later tonight. I’m dying to know why they call you Longpike.”

The crowd exploded in hoots and hollers again as Gustin’s face turned bright red. Arianna gave the crowd another dazzling smile, winked again, then started to finger the opening chords of the haunting “Circle of Stones.”

*—————*

Arianna exited the Stone Pony’s side entrance, pulling up the hood of her cloak as protection against the cool, damp night. Her emotions were still running high from the recently completed performance. She had thirty silver pieces in tips in her belt pouch, she had a belly full of good food and passable ale, and she had an invitation to perform at the Dock Quarter tavern again next week. And, despite the innuendo of their banter, Gustin Longpike had sealed their transaction with only a chaste hug and a fatherly kiss on the forehead. The only damper on her mood was the elven stranger with the piercing violet eyes; Arianna had wanted to speak with him, but he had disappeared from the tavern shortly after she finished performing. “Oh well, I guess I wasn’t his type,” she thought as she headed for the dark alley between the Stone Pony and the stables of the neighboring Eagle Nest Inn.

As she rounded the corner into a small courtyard behind the stables, she heard low voices and the sound of steel striking steel. She saw a lone figure backed into a corner with several other figures arrayed before him, cutting off all routes of escape. She recognized the lone figure immediately — it was the elf from the tavern. He was fending off his attackers with a longsword in his right hand and a shortsword in his left, but he seemed barely able to hold his blades upright. A quarrel stuck out of his right thigh and another from his chest. Arianna could see that two of the attackers were armed with hand crossbows.

“Six against one doesn’t seem like a fair fight,” she thought. “Let’s see about evening the odds a bit.” She swung her lute around from off her back and began to strum the chords of an old lullaby. Four of the men attacking the elf immediately collapsed to the ground, fast asleep.

One of the remaining attackers whirled to face Arianna, raising his small crossbow in her direction. She drew her dagger from her boot top, then dropped to one knee as a bolt whizzed past her head. In one fluid motion, she cocked her arm and let fly. The blade struck the man in the throat and he went sprawling backward. Drowning in his own blood, the man gasped for air like a newly–landed flounder on the deck of a fishing boat. The dagger suddenly disappeared from his throat, instantly reappearing in Arianna’s hand.

The other man lunged at the elf with his rapier. The elf parried the thrust with his shortsword and brought his other blade down on the attacker’s arm, severing it cleanly just above the elbow. The elf allowed the momentum of his attack to spin him around, and he cut off the head of his surprised assailant with his longsword. But the effort drained the last of his strength, and he collapsed into a heap.

Arianna rushed to the elf and knelt beside him. He was still breathing, and his pulse was strong. “Mayhap he’s been poisoned,” she thought. She slapped his cheek; his eyes flickered open.

“Can you stand?” she asked him. “We need to leave before the others awaken.”

“I, I believe so, if you help me,” he replied, his voice soft and gentle, like worn leather. “My blades, where are they?”

“Here.” Arianna retrieved his two swords and placed them in the scabbards criss–crossing his back. She then placed his right arm across her shoulders and helped him stand. The elf was able to place weight on his left leg, but the right was almost useless, dragging between them as they started down the alley.

“Where are you taking me?” the elf asked.

“To my room. It’s not far,” Arianna replied. “My name is Arianna. What’s yours?”

“Elrytch,” he said. “Elrytch Chaminade.”

“Well, Elrytch Chaminade, why were those men trying to kill you?”

“I’m not sure. I believe they were just brigands. I was supposed to meet some friends at the tavern tonight, but when they didn’t show I thought they might have taken rooms at the inn next door. I was on my way there to check when those men attacked me. I believe their quarrels were tipped in poison — most likely giant wasp venom. I began to feel very weak after I was struck. I doubt I could have held them off if you hadn’t come along when you did. I am very grateful that you did.”

“Well, you just save your strength. We’re almost there.”

*—————*

Arianna helped Elrytch across her cramped room and onto the bed. She pulled out the quarrels and dressed his wounds as best she could. She assisted him in removing his swords and his boots. As he lay back on the bed, she walked over to a small table and returned with her lute.

“Are you going to sing me a lullaby like the one you sang back in the alley?” Elrytch asked, a slight smile forming on his lips, his violet eyes sparkling in the lantern light.

“No, but I do know a song that might help your wounds heal more quickly,” Arianna said as she sat on a corner of the bed. She plucked a few notes on the lute’s strings, humming along as she played. Then, as she kept humming the soothing tune, she laid one hand on each wound. Elrytch felt a gentle warmth soaking into his body; the weakness from the poison ebbed away, replaced by renewed strength.

Arianna propped her lute against the wall, then turned back to Elrytch. “How do you feel now?” she asked.

“Much better. Thank you,” he said, looking up into her emerald eyes.

Arianna returned his gaze, looking deeply into his violet eyes. “They’re like bottomless pools,” she thought to herself. “I could get lost in those eyes.” She felt herself being drawn into his eyes, as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice. She was starting to lose her balance, to plummet over the edge into a depthless space. Vertigo was taking hold. She was falling, falling, falling . . . 

Her lips met his. There was eagerness there, hunger, desire, warmth. Arianna felt it through her entire body. Now his arms were around her, holding her, coaxing her down onto the bed beside him. She went willingly, happily, passionately.

*—————*

The next morning Arianna awoke first. She looked at Elrytch lying next to her and smiled. She slipped out of bed quietly and pulled on a robe which had been hanging from a peg next to the bed. Next she went behind a screen in the corner and relieved herself in the chamber pot there. She then retrieved her money pouch and poured its contents onto the table. Hearing a noise from the bed, she looked in that direction. Elrytch was sitting up, looking at her. “What are you doing?” he asked.

“Good morning,” she said, then walked over to the bed and kissed him. “I was about to buy some food so we could break our fast.”

“Great,” he said. “I’m starved.” He started to look around the room.

“Your clothes are there,” she said, gesturing toward a chest at the foot of the bed. Elrytch’s shirt, pants, and belt lay in a heap on top of it. “And there’s a chamber pot behind the screen in the corner.”

Elrytch retrieved his belt and pulled a coin from his belt pouch. “Here,” he said, holding the coin out toward Arianna. “Let me pay for the food.”

“I have plenty of money,” she said.

“I’m sure you do. But you’ve already done so much for me. Let me at least do this.”

Arianna took the coin from him and examined it. On one side there was the worn image of a dragon; on the other there was some strange writing, maybe Old Loreeni, though she couldn’t be sure. “Odd little fellow. Don’t believe I’ve ever seen a coin like this before. Where did you get it?”

“I don’t remember exactly,” Elrytch said distractedly as he stood up and headed for the screen, trying to cover himself with his wadded–up clothing. Arianna smiled at his awkwardness. “I think I was in Portabello.”

“This is Portabello.”

“Oh, sorry. Then it must have been Brin’s Crossing.”

“Well, gold is gold. I’m sure it will still spend.”

Arianna walked over to the window and opened the shutters. Warm sunlight caressed her face, and the smell of fresh bread from the bakery downstairs made her mouth begin to water and her stomach begin to growl. She spotted a group of young boys in the street three stories below. “Kursk!” she called down to the guttersnipes. One boy broke away from the others and came over to stand below her window. Barely ten years old, Kursk was one of several urchins who earned money by running errands for residents in the neighborhood.

“Be a good lad and go to the bakery for me. Ask Mrs. Hulsey for a box of sticky buns and a bottle of winter wine. Fetch it up to my room. Here’s a gold piece. You can keep the change.”

Kursk caught the gold coin and stared at it, his eyes going wide. “You bet, Arianna, right away.” He dashed off towards the bakery.

Arianna turned back to the room. Elrytch emerged from behind the screen, wearing his clothes. “Breakfast is on the way,” she said as he crossed the room and sat down at her small table. She joined him there.

“Last night, you said you were looking for some friends,” she said. “Who are they, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“Well, one is a wizard, Tezla the Unlikely. The other is his swordarm, Dirk Stryker.”

“Don’t believe I’ve heard of either one.”

“Tezla also is known as the Purple Mage. I understand they frequent the Stone Pony when they are in town.”

“The Purple Mage. Yes, I’ve heard of him, he dresses all in purple, right?” Elrytch nodded. “In fact, I’ve seen him on a couple of occasions, over in the Artisans Quarter. There’s a small shop there that makes excellent bound volumes of vellum. Many wizards go there for their spellbooks. I’ve bought a few sheets of vellum there myself, for composing songs.

“Don’t worry,” Arianna said. “We’ll find your friends. After breakfast, we’ll go back to the Stone Pony and the Eagle Nest Inn to inquire about them. Do you have a room at the Eagle Nest?”

“No. My horse is stabled there, but I didn’t have enough money for a room. In fact, that’s why I was trying to find my friends. They’re holding some money for me. That gold coin I gave you was the last bit I had.”

“Then you should have kept it,” Arianna said, reaching across the table to take his hand in hers. “I could have bought our breakfast.”

“I couldn’t impose on you like that.”

“Nonsense. It’s no imposition at all.”

“Besides, I’ve had nothing but bad luck since that coin came into my possession,” Elrytch said.

“So meeting me was bad luck?” Arianna asked, feigning anger.

Elrytch lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. Then he smiled at her. “No, I believe my luck has changed.”


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## Conan the Mime (Aug 20, 2002)




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## Ashy (Aug 20, 2002)

WOW - that was truly magnificient...  Excellent writing and description.  The details were stellar, perfect, in fact...  And the whole bard bit was *perfect*!!!!  Keep it up!!!!


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## Daniel Knight (Aug 27, 2002)

Okay.  Here we go for the next installment...

*Part X*

The necromancer looked over the child at his feet.  No more than ten years old, the boys sandy hair was plastered in a mat of blood to the side of his skull.  Prodding the child with his boot, the boy did not move.  The child was evidently dead.

The necromancer sighed and leaned a heavy plank of wood - smeared in blood - against the alley wall.  The necromancer’s name was Shrass Icebreeze and he was not having a good day.  In fact, he hadn’t been having a good day since the day he was shot dead, but that certainly didn’t make _this_ day any better.  A beam of warm sunlight shone between the buildings of the messy and crowded alley onto a cat curled up on a box.  Shrass scowled at the cat for obviously mocking him by enjoying the day in all its sun-blessed splendour.  Although the cat had no concept of the expression sourly nailed to the wizard’s face, it still made him feel a little better.

Three days of constant tracking to arrive in this dead end alley, with an equally dead child.  He hadn’t meant to hit the child as hard as he had.  Just a casual tap on the side of the head to convince the boy to tell him where the coin was, nothing more.  Shrass blamed the arrow head still lodged in the back of his brain for his poor judgement in strength.  The damn thing was probably giving him lead poisoning too.

He looked at the crumpled child, surrounded in a halo of blood and sticky buns.  _Never-mind,_ he thought, _a dead child could yield answers as much as a live one._  The cat yawned, stretched its paws, and fell asleep.  The kind of sleep only dead men and cats know of.

*   *   *   *   *

Griffbramble boarded the boat with an armload of freshly purchased food.  It was the first time he had ever been on a boat and he was a little more then exited.  Making sure to avoid the many sailors preparing for the launch, he sat his rather large form on a bench, grabbed a muffin from a bag, and sank his teeth into it.

He was a tombstone carver by trade, and he had finally earned enough money to leave the large island of the Dominion to supposedly: _better horizons_.  He had heard about these _better horizons_ as a child from his mother.  He wasn’t sure where they were exactly – no one in his family did -  but he was certain they would be as far away as possible from this point.  The proverbial dead centre of his universe.

Wiping away the crumbs from his olive green tunic, he looked towards the city of Portabelo.  It was a rather impressive sight.  Beyond it rose the mighty pine shrouded Mountains of Glore, studded with hundreds of little hamlets and towns growing over the land like a fungus.  He grabbed another muffin and bit into it thoughtfully.  The politics of the land was as messy as its geography, and he was very glad to be leaving it all behind.  The orcs, the corrupt government, the sanctioned fighting, and the dangerous beasts roaming the countryside could all shove it as far as he was concerned.  He had, had enough.
And with that thought, he finished off his muffin.

*   *   *   *   *

Griffbramble awoke with the ship lurching back and forth.  He had only been on the ship for three hours, and had been confined to the cabin within the first ten minutes of sail.  He looked greenly across from his bunk to the bag of food leaning against the wall.  He was almost sick again.  The overweight man sat well with ship-life, it’s just that ship-life didn’t sit well with him.

_Fresh air_, he thought.  His mind numbly locked onto the idea of engulfing lung loads of sweet and pure air as he stumbled out of his bunk.  _Yes.  Need fresh air!_  Nothing could distract his mind now, he thought.  The ship lurched to the side.  _Okay - well nothing except for this friendly and lovely bucket which can come accompany me on the journey._  Man and bucket, hand in handle, staggered up the steps towards the land of promised air.

Unlatching the topmost door, Griffbramble did not expect to see what he did when he pushed through into the forgotten world above.  Sickly, he stared as sailers frantically ran about the deck sealing boxes and tying things down.  Above the ship, dark and black clouds massed about the ship.  Lightning crackled from cloud to cloud across the sky.  _As far as omens go,_ he thought, _this one is a pretty bad one._

He quickly staggered to the railing and looked over the side into the grey turbulent waves.  Griffbramble felt very, very sick again as he watched as a massively large shadow moved beneath the boat.  It had little blue lights running along it.

“Excuse me,” the obese man said drawing the attention of a sailer near him.  “A fish that size would be a bad sign, wouldn’t it?”

The sailor looked over the edge and swore.  “Leviathan!  It’s the damn Leviathan!”

“Oh.  Good.”  Griffbramble had heard stories about the big friendly whale as a child, and was pleased to have seen one and that one was following the boat.

The sailor ignored him and ran up to the captain.  “Sir!  It’s the Leviathan!”

The captain stopped in mid tying and looked up at the sailer.  He nodded grimly.  “Slaughter the livestock and liberate the treasure.  You know what to do.”  He turned around and shouted to the men who could hear.  “As I suspected, we have the accompaniment of the Leviathan, men!  I want to see everything under control!”

Thunder echoed overhead as a massive light studded tentacle slapped into the side of the ship testing the wood.  Griffbramble griped the railing in terror.  “I thought the Leviathan was good?”

A passing sailer overheard this as he dragged a petrified goat to the railing.  “Only in children’s stories, sir.  Only in children’s stories.”  The sailor then proceeded to cut the creatures throat and spill the blood into the murky water.

Griffbramble was sick again.

He looked around the deck and saw that that’s what most of the sailors where doing.  Throwing the onboard animals overboard.  The other sailers appeared to be throwing treasure over.  Coins, cases of jewellery, and spice were all sacrificed to the icy cold waves.

Another tentacle slapped into the side of the ship, sending sailors and animals to the deck alike.  The sound of splintering wood could be heard far below.

Thunder rolled.  It rolled a 20.

Lightning jagged down escorted by a wave of rain into the ship.  The crows nest exploded in a shower of sparks as the untamed electricity crawled over the main mast, setting fire to the ropes and sails.  Another jolt sent men flying as they continued to scramble to get anything of worth overboard and into broiling ocean – but nothing seemed to be appeasing the nightmare creature below.

A wave of water washed Griffbramble off his feet, and sent him sliding along the deck.  He sluggishly crawled back to the railing and started to lash himself to it, the wet rope cutting into his palms.  He sat there, leaning against the wood with all thought of being sick now fled from his brain.  He watched as the last of the livestock was sacrificed (a pig), and the last of the goods (two crates of statuettes) were thrown overboard.  The world span about him as another wave crashed into the shivering bulk of his battered body.  By now, the decks were completely flooded with water and a rhythmic sound of crunching wood could be heard far, far below.

“She’s eating through the bottom of the hull!”  The scream was softly carried on the wind under the cacophony of the storm.  The sailors were now empting the personal belongings of their pockets and backpacks into the deep water – they’d be happy enough with their lives, and even that didn’t look very promising.  Griffbramble numbly untied his coin pouch following suit.  It had taken him years to save enough for this trip.  He dropped it all over the side of the boat.

A thunderous crack was heard overhead as the main mast split in two.  Splinters flew in all directions as the boat tipped to the side, sending the top half of the massive pole into the savage water.

With a scream of anger and resentment, Griffbramble rose and strained against the ropes.  He reached into his pocket and grabbed all he had left, a handful of change from the supply shopping, and threw his fist forward over the crashing ocean sending coins glittering through the downpour.  He watched with clenched teeth as they spun through the air towards the awaiting hunger of the sea.

… 

_Plop._

*   *   *   *   *

No one was certain what had happened that day.  One minute doom was inevitable, the next a ray of sunlight had parted the clouds, and the sky had simply cleared.  The sailors never heard nor saw of the Leviathan again that day or any other, but you can still hear the tale told on windy nights if you find the right dock side tavern.

As for Griffbramble?  Well, after the events he simply untied himself and looked out into the smooth flat ocean, both hands resting calmly on the railing.  The boat was utterly shattered, but at least, he was told, it could be repaired enough to limp into the next dock.

Griffbramble smiled, looking at the ocean surrounding him.  He’d never been surrounded by water before as far as the eye could see.  These certainly weren’t _better horizons_.

But it was a start.


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## Spider_Jerusalem (Aug 27, 2002)

Nice one Mr. Knight, superb addition to the hour. I'd even take the plunge and say the best one so far (in my opinion).

But woe betide you Aeolius, it's a hell of a job to get that coin.

Spider.


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## Tonguez (Aug 27, 2002)

Daniel Knight said:
			
		

> *Thunder rolled.  It rolled a 20. *




 very good I like story fine




> i]Originally posted by Spider [/i]
> *But woe betide you Aeolius, it's a hell of a job to get that coin.*




Remember Spider that Aeolius is the Master of Underwater adventures so a pesky little leviathan shouldn't pose too great a challenge


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## Tonguez (Sep 3, 2002)

Hi where are we up to on the rotation?


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## Enkhidu (Sep 4, 2002)

Tonguez said:
			
		

> *Hi where are we up to on the rotation? *




Here's the updated rotation list (including changes due to our shrinking membership):

Son of Thunder
darklight
dshai527
GWolf
NoOneofConsequence
Spider_Jeruselam
NiTessine
Enkhidu
Shadowdancer
Daniel Knight
Aeolius
Tonguez
Altmann
fett527

By the way, Tonguez, I know that you're having problems connecting. Please let me know what alternate email address you would like to use so that I can get you information in a more timely fashion.


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## Enkhidu (Sep 11, 2002)

A not so subtle BUMP to get this on the first page for a while...


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## Spider_Jerusalem (Sep 11, 2002)

Here here!

BUMP. 

Where has the next leg of the story got to?


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## Tonguez (Sep 12, 2002)

So do I wait for Aeolius or should I post my instalment now?


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## dshai527 (Sep 12, 2002)

If you have it completed, post it now. Aeolius can always be fit in later.


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## Altmann (Sep 13, 2002)

Send it.

Too bad, I will have to remove my paragraph about the grumpy Leviathan


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## Enkhidu (Sep 13, 2002)

Yes, post it up, the sooner the better.


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## Shadowdancer (Sep 19, 2002)

Hello,(hello, hello)
Is there anybody in there?
Just nod if you can hear me.
Is there anyone at home?


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## Altmann (Sep 19, 2002)

Nodding

Waiting for m'turn, m'lords.


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## Enkhidu (Sep 19, 2002)

Arrr! Ahoy there Altmann, post yer story, ye scalawag, and we'll fit that scurvy dog Tonguez in otherwise!

And now, a quick translation to English for those who don't speak Pirate on Talk Like a Pirate Day.

"I hate having to do this, but Altmann, go ahead and post it if you got it. 

Tonguez, we'll end up having to fit you end at the end of the cycle."


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## Tonguez (Sep 20, 2002)

aaarggh A man can't be turnin his back a second and ye scurvy dogs be taking over his post at t'wheel
Well I'll not be complainin' t yer faces since I b'n a bit too slow f'r things
So up t' you Altman but I'll be seein' ya all in Davy Jones Locker in the end of it...

(OOC ok I'll step aside for now - but I'll be back

PS what the heck is Talk Like A Pirate Day?)


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## Altmann (Sep 23, 2002)

*Coming...*

The first version of my chapter has been written. I should post later today or tomorrow.

Be reading you,
 YA


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## Altmann (Sep 23, 2002)

*The might of Orcs*

Here it is.

Sorry if it seems patched up but, well, it is. Once again, a change in style. And no pirate talk 

=====

For a long time, the coin had vanished.

However, the coin was an object of prophecy and a valuable toy for Fate.

As such, its vanishment could not last forever.


-----
 ``Pray tell, Baron, how long has it been? Two years? Three? More? Could it have been more?

-It has been seventeen years, m'liege.

-Seventeen years? Already? Time flows, as they say. Well, well, well. You may give it to me, now.

-I have it not, m'liege. We are getting closer on the track, but...

-I take your word on this, Baron. Because I know you are a faithful servant. Because you know my caves already. May I also take your word that you are going to bring in the very near future?

-Yes, m'lord, I will.

-Seventeen years, you said. You were supposed to bring it seventeen years ago. Almost eighteen years without our friend and its support. Doesn't it sound like quite a long time?

-Yes, my...

-I trust you do know the importance of the Mark of the Dragon, though.

-Yes, m'liege.

-Go, then. Fetch the Mark for me. Crush or bribe whoever you need to. Including Necromancers. If they find it before we do...Well, as you know, our little deadly trick is merely annoying to them. And we do not want to return to the previous situation, do we?

-No, Emp'ror.

-Guards, you may set his Lordship free. Baron, you are dismissed. Oh, and call me not Emperor. People might overhear you and misunderstand your words.''

-----

He knew his life was coming to an end. He did not feel sad or sorry. He had lived longer than many. He had done more things and learnt more than most. In the end, he even had started to like the puny creatures on the shore. His only regret was that he had no children to pass his observations to. No children he knew, that is. Perhaps he should have sought his descendance, instead of watching these creatures.

They do many things, mind you. They fight, and hunt, and fish. They love and they hate, they breed, they die. Their favorite activity, however, seems to be their strange habit of, well, speaking. From dawn till night and from birth to death, they mumble and discuss and chat and gossip and theorize and reproach and complain and congratulate and...

Take the robed and bearded ones, for example. How often do they bicker about the meaning of their texts? How often do they tell that story about this frightful End of the World, with him coming out to bring terror? They should know better. Well, maybe they couldn't, with the sailors being superstitious and all that. Strangely, from what he had heard, only children knew him as he was: a very old, very intelligent and rather nice fish-like being who liked to be carressed under the fins.

He, the Leviathan. Friends called him Raul. He was dying. Eventually, old age had got the best of him. And some kind of disease or poisoning had taken its toll, having made his sight unclear and his digestion painful. At this very moment, he was waiting on the shore for daylight. The water wouldn't claim it back. Not alive. And he was dying, thinking of the days he had seen...Yes, master Shallow, he had heard the chimes of midnight.

-----

One month later, an army was marching east. Thirteen-hundred Orcs and a thousand Gobelins, some of them mounted on wolves. Three hundred Humans, half of them horse riders, and a dozen Elf scouts. Some said that Dwarven mercenaries would have been too slow, cumbersome, and too much trouble altogether. Some said that Dwarves were on to be crushed on the way. Some said they would just have been too expensive. None spoke of the objectives of this army. Some did not care. Most did not dare.

The army was led by eight High Orcs, all of them Daughters of the Jade.

There was no subtelty in this show of brute strengh: it was an orc army, after all. But it was also an army of the Baron and those who knew his ways could guess there had to be a second group. Much smaller. Much stealthier. And just as deadly.

Among the thirteen-hundred Orcs was G'rodush, daughter of Garark, daughter of V'rirt, founder of her line. She would walk and not ride. She would fight and not command. She was tall, taller than most of the she-Orcs in the army. Her flat face and thin nose would have made her acceptable by Human standards, but she was among Orcs, and she was not beautiful to them. Her relatively thin body also meant that she could carry no children, found no line, and have no he-Orcs fight for her. And her greyish hair meant that she belonged to the past.

It was just as good that most did not look at her, for her deep, dark eyes opened on a fast mind. These eyes could not belong to a simple linewoman. She did know the Baron's ways for she used to be of the Baron's second groups, until, one day, seventeen years ago, she lost a coin she had been entrusted with. She was intelligent enough to know she was lucky just to be alive. She just did not know how lucky she was, for she had touched the coin several times.

-----

The village was starving. They ate some of the Leviathan. Then more of it. Then, although it was little more than a rotten body, they continued eating it. When there was nothing more to eat, they did not quit scraping the remains for food. They were all sick or dying. The coin could have spelled fortune for the young fisherman who found it, for there was no gold in the village. It did not, for what the village lacked in gold, it lacked neither in hunger nor in greed. It brought mischief, plotting and murder. The village was dying.

Eventually, young Lintra left by night, her newborn child on her breast and the coin clasped in her hand. She would walk to the city. There, she would buy food. She was dead before she even reached the paved way. The five thugs who had ended her life had never seen a gold coin. They could not agree on its sharing. By the end of the day, only one of them was still alive. His name was Daryl, and he had been wounded by his brother.

------
``Maybe ya wan'me to speak louder, pointy ears? Maybe ya did not get da question?

-Of course, I understood your question, you green-skinned excu...''

Elrytch was interrupted by the metallic fist of the one-eyed gobelin sitting on the table. Three other gobelins were sacking the room while an Orc was holding him. The twin girls who led them had left before the start of the violence. The one-eyed gobelin was smoking from an old-looking pipe and grinning at him.

``Or meybe we should b'lieve ya dunno no answer?

 -I told more times than you can count that I have never heard about your penteityforsaken coin!''

The window was near. With the help of the Trickster, he could jump through the window and into the street. Erlytch was fast, and good at escaping. If he was fast enough, and if they had left no guards, or if Arianna had had time to call in friends...

``Ya lucky my big friend here speaks no Common. 'cause if he did, he woulda ripped your head already.

-Rip, twist, do whatever you wish, since you seem not to be able to think clearly!''

As the gobelin was about to answer, the slow, deep and thoughtful voice of another Orc came through the window. Unfortunately, this group spoke in a language Elrytch did not know. It seemed he could not make it through the window at that point. He would have to wait. As he started looking for another escape route, he met the gaze of the gobelins. They had ceased searching the room and all looked at him. They seemed to be sharing a joke at his expense.

All of a sudden, the window started to look quite far away.

-----

The town of Lankhor is fabled for its bridge-streets, its aerial gardens and its fountains. Its university welcomed student wizards from both continents and its officials were helped by translators for seven languages. Its biggest streets were paved and its sewer system had been extended five times to adapt to the size of the city.

Daryl had travelled eight days to Lankhor. During the night, he had passed the first line of watchtowers, without seeing them, and probably unseen as well. These days had been harsh to him, for he was wounded, and wolves has sought to make him a prey. Under the light of the rising sun, Daryl passed the second line of watchtowers. This is where he died of wounds and exhaustion, mere feet away from the soldiers camp of the occupying army.

There had been no fight. Marquis Launoy of Lankhor had willingly sworn himself vassal to the Baron. In a tower of the university, eleven wizards had been invited to join the Daughter of the Jade. Ten of the wizards were Orcs and one was Elf. The ritual would last one day and one night. In several classrooms of the same building, wizards and students were pondering rebellion. Most groups decided to wait. Some decided to leave. Two groups decided to rebel. Both groups would be caught by the end of the week.

Fate, it seems, did not want G'rodush to find the coin at that point. This does not mean that Fate intended to stop playing, however. In a dark tavern where both had friends, G'rodush met Shrass Icebreeze.


-----

Ariana's broken body was still breathing and suffering. Elrytch, bound near her, was crying tears and blood. She was still beautiful. Maybe she could live. Maybe she could accept what had happened. But there was no way the child she was carrying would survive. Elrytch could not speak anymore, or he would have cursed the Orcs once again. But Elrytch did not have much of a tongue anymore. Neither did he have the will to think about revenge or escape. At that point, if the Penteity had had any fairness, he would have either died a quick death, or a stroke of lightning would have killed all of _them_ and granted him revenge.

`` Whadowedo wi'dem pointy ears ?
 -Burn dem both. After all, dere is a prophecy at work. If we don't carry it, who will?''

The Penteity has never been known for its fairness. 

=====

Who's next ?

Be reading you,
 YA


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## Altmann (Sep 25, 2002)

*Er... anybody alive ?*

I would have expected at least one comment. 

Does this mean that everybody is dead ?


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## fett527 (Sep 25, 2002)

*Nope not dead, just busy.*

I think everyone's still alive, I plan on completing my part and posting after the weekend.  I won't have time until then.  I do have a week from 9/23 to post though so I should make the time frame.


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## Altmann (Sep 26, 2002)

What about Tonguez ?


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## Tonguez (Sep 26, 2002)

I'm still here and will post after  Fett527

I almost had my post-Leiathan tale ready too 

Oh well I'll just have to adapt it to fit whatever Fett throws in...


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## fett527 (Sep 26, 2002)

Enkhidu said:
			
		

> *"I hate having to do this, but Altmann, go ahead and post it if you got it.
> 
> Tonguez, we'll end up having to fit you end at the end of the cycle." *




This is what I was going from, but I don't need to go now.  If you've got stuff ready Tonguez then go ahead and post.  I can't believe Enkhidu would have a problem with that.  It will give me more time anyway.  Let me know what you want to do.


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## Altmann (Sep 26, 2002)

Want me to flip a coin ? 
Dragon for Fett 527, marks for Tonguez.

Here it is : dragon. 
Fett527, the Trickster chose you.


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## fett527 (Sep 30, 2002)

“You must be there by midnight,” the hushsed voice whispered.

“I know what I need to do,” Grel snapped back.  The hooded figure stepped back, a hand darted underneath a cloak.

Grel shook his head and clasped his hands in the rebel’s sign.  “Please, I am sorry to be on edge.  I risk much of myself.”  Grel’s thoughts drifted again to how much the hand symbol resembled Grommsh’s, his own deity, greeting.

“The risk is understood and appreciated,” the hand eased, but stayed concealed within the cloak as the unnamed messenger faded back into the shadows.

	Grel felt the bite of the cold and began to pick his way back to the camp.  He had been with the gods-forsaken army since the beginning of its arduous march East.  The journey had been quite uneventful to the orcish acolyte.  His shaman teacher was a harsh taskmaster and did not allow his student much free time.  It was only by luck that the old bastard had found an orc bitch crazy enough to bed him and allow Grel to sneak out from under his all-knowing gaze.  Grel certainly considered the repulsive G’rodush insane enough to make love to his _master_, but the thought of them together…Grel shook the image from his mind again and tried to focus on his steps.  

The smallish orc had never understood the conquering ways of his people and he longed to be free from their constant savagery.  Grel kept his true feelings hidden deep and had at least manipulated himself into being apprenticed to the shaman, Reklamash, so he would not have to engage in battle.  His _master_, the almighty, powerful Reklamash, though always reminded him that he was a pitiful, wretched life form.  A meaningless student barely worth more than the spittle Reklamash spewed forth during his daily beratings.  Grel never forgot how useless he was as Reklamash never let him forget it.  The acolyte, however, was more intelligent than his _master_ and he knew it.  His _master_ would pay for the humiliation he constantly endured at his filthy hands.

The army had occupied Lankhor now for only a couple of weeks, but it was enough time for Grel to befriend some of the human students at the university and to quickly be taken into their confidence.  These rebels had recognized his obvious intelligence and given him not only the opportunity to be free from his vulgar existence but also the chance to exact revenge on his _master_.  All he had to do was prick the High Orc, Kelgreshpah, with the poisonous dart and with his death the occupying force would be thrown into chaos.  This would be an easy task since Reklamash was personal advisor to the High One and Grel, being his apprentice, is required to aid his _all-seeing master_ in all things (except, thank Grommsh, with G’rodush).  Blood feuds would erupt as the clans would each scramble for the mantle of leadership and the power that accompanied it.  At that point the rebel mages would strike, taking advantage of the confusion and disorder.  Before he made his way to the rendevous, Grel would sate his hunger for vengeance by quietly slicing open his _master’s_ throat during the turmoil.  

Again, Grel made a concerted effort to keep his mind on his footsteps as he trudged through the snow-packed streets.  “I must get back without incident,” he thought to himself.  “Nothing will hinder my path, now.”  As this thought crossed his mind, Grel caught the flash of something in the torchlight fall and roll from one of the human corpses being tossed into one of a myriad of pyres.  He stomped on it just before it was to fall into the sewers and scooped it out of the muck.  Rubbing it clean he saw a dragon’s maw staring at him from the face of a gold coin.  As he rotated it he noticed markings in the ancient orc tongue on the opposite side.  Grel couldn’t read it of course, something else Reklamash admonished him for-not studying the old ways.  Pocketing the coin, the young acolyte returned to his focus and pushed on toward the camp and his _master’s_ tent.

	“Where you be, slime?” Reklamash exclaimed as he grabbed Grel by the topknot and threw him to the dirt floor.

	Grel rocked to his knees quickly and groveled as he replied, “Only fetching you water, oh great and wise master.”

	“You know we see Kelgreshpah, yes?” the shaman spat.

	“Yes, wise and all-powerful one,” the apprentice whimpered.

	“Go, now wretch,” Reklamash ordered.

	Grel grabbed his _master’s_ bag of bones as he knew he must and followed.  Reklamash always looked for omens in the presence of the High One and the young apprentice felt the scars on his back as he thought of the last time he made the mistake of forgetting the sack.  As he thought of the lashings, he began to shake with anticipation of his revenge.  Soon.  He would loose himself from his shackles this night.

	The stench of the High Orc’s tent grabbed at the acolyte well before they were inside.  Kelgreshpah reveled in the fact that he did not bathe and it took all of Grel’s willpower to keep from revealing his disgust every time he entered the powerful orc warrior’s tent.  The High Orc was physically impressive, but to Grel everything about him was repulsive.  From the garish hole in his cheek to the spiked boots he never seemed to remove.  The orc leader showed none of his possessions respect save for the waraxe, Headtaker, and his armor which both laid next to his throne.

	“What omens show tonight shaman?” rumbled the High Orc.

	“Patience,” Reklamash retorted.  “Bones, wretch,” the spellweaver waved at Grel to put the bags on the table next to the imposing orc leader.

	As he placed the bags on the table, Grel discreetly removed the deadly dart form the folds of his robe.  He palmed the tiny, but deadly weapon carefully and backed away from the table, bowing.  The young orc knew once the shaman splayed the bones across the slab they would forget he existed.

	The bones clinked and clattered as Reklamash scattered them about and Kelgreshpah looked on intently.  Slowly, Grel slid his dagger from its sheath and stealthily made his way behind the bulk of the High Orc and the scrawny figure of his _master_.  Summoning the courage from deep within the acolyte plunged the dart in to the back of the orc warrior and lunged at his _all-powerful master_ releasing all of his pent up rage.  As the dagger sliced into the wretch’s throat Grel almost exclaimed aloud as the ecstasy of his release was overwhelming.  Overcome by the years of torture and humiliation he could not stop himself.  He lashed out time and again in a mad frenzy with the black-bladed dagger.  Finally, he was broken from his revelry as he realized his hands were getting cold instead of warm with his _master’s_ blood.  Horror and dread crept across his being as realization dawned.  Reklamash had turned into a wet pile of snow and was melting before him.   

The cackle from behind the pile of rotting garbage invoked a vomiting spell from the young acolyte.  The shaman’s gleaming visage shambled from behind the refuse and smiled at Grel.

“You thought you smart, yes?”

“Because you talk good, you think you smart, you think humans better than orcs,” Reklamash screeched.

Grel thought quickly and began to intone the spell of darkness.  He grabbed quickly into his pocket for an item to cast the enchantment on to.  He released the magic and tossed the item out to make his escape.

Nothing.

“Wretch think Grommsh will help him?  Think Grommsh will let him use his power against his children?” Reklamash’s grating laughter increased with volume as a large figure rose from behind Grel.

As Grel felt the huge hands close around his head the maw of the golden dragon seemed to mock him from the dirt floor.  "At least the shackles will be gone," was his last thought as Kelgreshpah twisted his powerful arms.


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## Shadowdancer (Oct 8, 2002)

About time for another chapter.


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## Tonguez (Oct 15, 2002)

My chapter is finished - just going through spell checks etc

However

My grandmothers died so I'll be away till this weekend dealing with that...

See u then


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## Daniel Knight (Nov 11, 2002)

Well this was a waste of time then, wasn't it.


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## NoOneofConsequence (Nov 12, 2002)

Daniel Knight said:
			
		

> *Well this was a waste of time then, wasn't it.  *




Actually, it had a longer life than I expected. I've been pleased. The last time I was involved in this sort of thing it was on a fanfic board where people submitted daily and that one petered out in about six weeks.

Maybe it would work better if there was a closer level of collaboration. Who knows? 

Let's try again with a different concept maybe?


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## NiTessine (Nov 12, 2002)

NoOneofConsequence said:
			
		

> *Let's try again with a different concept maybe? *




Count me in... This one yielded many great stories that were a joy to read (and, in one case, write). I'd be quite interested in participating on the second round.


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## Sniktch (Nov 12, 2002)

Wow, this thread had a great run, some really nice work here from all of you.  I'm glad it got bumped up or I may have never found it.

I'd be interested in joining a reincarnation, if it happens.


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## Altmann (Nov 12, 2002)

Yep, count me in, too.

After all, this was just a test run, wasnt'it ?


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## fett527 (Nov 12, 2002)

I'll make sure Enkhidu takes note.


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