# Tsunami's Story Hour



## Breakstone (Mar 3, 2002)

After a particularly fun session, I've decided to write up the story hour in hopes of sharing it with folks (or just as a place to look back and say "Oh, man, that was cool"). So, without furthur ado:

*Tsunami's Story Hour* 

	Gar paused for a moment on the long suspension bridge. Heavy fog lay in both directions, so thick that even his orcish eyesight could not pierce its thick white musk and see to either cliffside. But far below him, Gar could see the Dragon Maw River, forked like a reptilian tongue. As the half-orc wizard peered down, two gulls flew below.

_“Long way,”_ a voice croaked in Gar’s mind.

Gar shuddered, imagining a fall that long. 

“That is correct, Het.” Gar placed a reassuring hand on his pet toad, and shuddered again. But he suppressed the thought, and continued his journey.

	Suddenly, Gar spotted something in the distance: a dark, crouched form, huddling on the bridge. Ever hungry for knowledge, the wizard pressed on. Soon enough, he came upon a stocky figure huddled on the bridge, snoring loudly. The man was blocking the entire width of the bridge, and Gar could not risk stepping over him for fear of slipping and falling… and falling… and falling.

	Thus Gar planted a kick in the man’s side.

	“Wha- huh- what the?” the man- no- the dwarf stood, cursing. “Food…” he moaned. “I’m so hungry…”

	Gar shuffled through his pack and handed the dwarf a trail ration. The dwarf gobbled in down rapidly.

_“Waste of food…”_ Het mentally grumbled.

	After licking his fingers, the dwarf introduced himself. “Greetings, and thank you for the food. My name is Falco.”

	“Hello,” Gar shook Falco’s hand. “I’m Gar, nice to meet you. What are you doing all the way out here?”

	“Um… It’s a long story that I don’t really wish to dwell over right now,” Falco grumbled. “How about you?”

	Gar shuffled through his pack and produced a scroll. “I’m following this map.” 







He gestured about. “I’m guessing that this here is the ‘Maw at Dragon Bay.’ I’m traveling north to Kalmet, seen depicted in Draconic in the middle.” Gar considered for a moment, looking Falco over. The dwarf wore chain mail, and carried a mean looking greataxe. “Would you care to come along?”

_“No, no dwarf!”_ cried Het.

	“Um…” considered Falco.

_“No, no smelly dwarf!”_ repeated the toad.

	“Sure!” Falco smiled.

_“Bah humbug…”_

	Gar grinned, half because of the company and half because of the grumpy toad in his hood. A tusk peeked through his smile.

	“To Kalmet!”

	“To Kalmet.”


	Over the next day, Gar told Falco about how he attained the map. Gar had fought through an ancient dungeon in the side of a cliff to return a number of ancient tomes to an old man by the name of Gorgoldand. In return, Gorgoldand gave Gar the map and a magic sword called “Hoardmaster.” Although Falco admitted the dragon-hilted sword was of nice quality, he himself preferred greataxes. Gar shrugged, Het harrumphed, and the group traveled on.


	Days passed, and eventually Gar could spot the village of Kalmet in the distance. “Kalmet is on the horizon,” he announced.

	But that wasn’t the only thing in the distance. Twelve humanoids stood together. Seven were in chains. “Orc slavers,” Gar noted.

	“And their slaves…” Falco grumbled. “Listen, I’ve got a plan…”


	Mako grumbled. He hated it when his companions argued.

	“The slaves are growing tired,” Blip whined. “We should let them rest.”

	“Who cares ‘bout slaves?” Grak snapped. “They’re slaves!”

	“Wazzat?” Podun pointed south. Two humanoids stood. One looked orcish, and a rope bound the other.

	“Send scout,” ordered Tusk. “Mako, you go!”

	Mako grumbled, but was glad to get out of the fray…


 Falco let out a slow breath. ‘Play it cool…’ he thought, keeping his hands still in the loosely bound rope. Gar stood behind him, face cold as stone.

 “Ereh gniod uoy era tahw?” the orc asked, scratching its mangled hair.

 “I don’t speak Orc,” Gar announced.

 The orc struggled a bit, but eventually let out, “Why here you?”

 Gar gestured towards Falco. “I’m taking my slave up to a dealer in the city of Kalmet. What business is it of yours?”

 The orc squinted, attempting to translate, but eventually shrugged and gave up.

_“Lummox…”_ Het sighed.

 “Give slave me,” the orc ordered.

 “Sure…” Gar began to walk casually behind the orc. “Let me just walk over here for a moment… and… NOW!”

 Falco broke free of his bonds and swung his greataxe in one fluid motion, slicing across the orc’s chest. An arc of blood sprayed through the air. The orc’s eyes widened as he stared at his wound. “Hey!” Promptly, he fell to the ground. Falco kicked the orc into the bushes asking, “Anyone else want some?”

_“Dwarf stay!”_ Het cried, crawling back into Gar’s hood.

 Gar half-smirked, but his mouth straightened immediately. “Three others are coming. One, however, is staying with the slaves.”

 A trio of orcs trotted up to the adventurers, eyes showing suspicion. “Where Mako?” one inquired.

 “Mako?” Gar began. “Mako… uh… Mako’s…”

_“Taking a leak!”_

 “…taking a leak,” the wizard finished, promptly slapping his forehead.

 The orcs glanced about the meadow, searching for their orc companion. One suddenly cried, “They lie! Kill him!” With that, he charged Falco.


 Grak saw it all in slow motion. He charged the dwarf, footsteps pounding into the road. Dust rose in puffs. A spot of red- blood?- spotted the dirt. As Grak slowly raised his axe for a swing, he saw the dwarf smirk. “Doog ton…” he grimly though. The dwarf smoothly pulled out a greataxe of his own, and swung in low. Grak could feel the cold steel slice through his chain mail and into his belly, catching on his rib cage. The momentum transferred into Grak, and suddenly he saw sky. Then ground. Then sky again. Sky- ground- sky- ground. Grak was flipping through the air. Grak’s last word was an “Ugg!” as he spattered on the road.

 Gar pulled out a quarterstaff as he witnessed an orc flipping through the air, spraying blood and gore everywhere. An orc suddenly advanced on him. The wizard thrust his staff into the orc’s belly. The savage suddenly swung his axe, clipping Gar in the chin. Blood dribbled down Gar’s neck.

 The third orc surveyed the scene, eyes widening. He began to run, but Falco was on him immediately, axe carving into the orc’s back.  Gar swung his quarterstaff at the orc’s head, an audible crack following. The orc slumped to the ground, head twisted at an odd angle. Falco picked himself up, his armor coated in blood. “Let’s see how those slaves are doing.”

 The slaves had been abandoned by the last orc. Most were human, one an elf. They moaned for food, and Gar supplied them with trail rations.

_“Why waste food so much?”_ Het wondered.

 The elf slave strutted over to Falco, still retaining his dignity despite the chains. “I know our kind does not have a peaceful past,” the elf intoned, “but I would like to thank you, dwarf, for saving me today.”

 Falco nodded. “We’ve still got a day’s journey to Kalmet ahead of us. There you can probably find shelter in the church.

 Gar interrupted. “We should get going before that last orc returns…”


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## Breakstone (Mar 4, 2002)

By the way, here are the characters:

Gar: Half-Orc Wizard

Falco: Dwarf Fighter

Het: Toad Familiar


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## Breakstone (Mar 4, 2002)

Kalmet was larger than a town, but smaller than a city, centered around a huge stone slab sticking out of the ground in the middle with the word KALMET etched in it. Streets stretched out from the stone, like spokes of a giant wheel. Gar and Falco, followed closely by the slaves, entered the town, glancing about in awe. The group walked towards the center of town and finally stood in front of a shining Temple of Pelor. The church was constructed from radiant metals, and shone like a beacon of hope. Falco turned to the slaves and spoke. “You folk can probably get healed here, and then find jobs in the city. Good luck.”

 As the slaves departed, Gar stared at the sky. “There will be a full moon tomorrow. We should probably rest tonight, though.”

 Falco grumbled something in reply, but was distracted by the joyous sounds emanating from a large building decorated with the title, “Hungry Harry’s Happy Hangout.” Gar turned and sighed, but followed the dwarf inside.

 Soon enough, Gar and Falco sat at a table bustling with steaming food. Stew, Ale, and a Hungry Harry Happy Meal sat in front of the grinning Falco, while a simple mug dawdled in front of Gar. _“Hungry. Feed now,”_ Het commanded. Gar rolled his eyes and ignored the toad, for his attention was captivated by the guitarist on stage. The man was large, to say the least, and featured a curly beard and a rimmed hat. The man lazily strummed his guitar, and spoke in a guttural voice. “Tomorrow the full moon shall rise above the whispering mist.” He plucked a few notes while bellowing on. “But not only is tomorrow the night of a full moon, but ‘tis the same day that Obyn Orewell vanished in this very tavern-“ -The man stuck a cord that echoed through the tavern and pointed at Gar- “-IN THAT VERY SEAT!”

 Gar could feel Het burrow deeper into his hood.

 “It was a night much like this one when Obyn stepped into the bar. His clothes were torn, his face a mess, but he was happy all the same. He sat down and watched the show for hours on end, eating like he hadn’t eaten in months. The fire began to dim and just as it struck midnight…” the guitarist’s voice lowered to a whisper, “he VANISHED! And yet, they say, when a full moon hovers above our town of Kalmet, you can see Obyn, sitting in this very tavern, in that very chair, watching.”

 The tavern was silent. Falco had stopped eating, a strand of chicken hanging from his beard. Gar felt a shuddering in his hood. _“Hungry no more. Bed now.”_

The next day, a full moon peered down from a blue sky. Falco and Gar had slept in after their long journey, and it was noon by the time they awoke. While Gar spent time preparing for the day, Falco stepped out to get some air. A full moon stared down at him, floating in the blue sky. Falco glanced towards the west. The dark forest stared back. “I’m coming, and nothing’s going to stop me…”  he growled. Despite his threats, a bad feeling still sat in his stomach.

Soon enough, Gar and Falco hacked their way through the forest, following a very light trail. Both the sun and the moon could be viewed through the tops of the trees, like two eyes watching their travels.

_”Creepy…”_ Het grumbled.

Gar and Falco traveled on through the Forest of the Elders. The trail was light, the sun hot, and the insects dense. As things have it, by mid-afternoon the duo was lost.

Falco harrumphed. “Well, we haven’t found this damned ‘Thrice-Pierced Tree’ of yours, Gar. And now we’re lost. This is just great…”

Gar shrugged and kept walking.

“Wizards…” Falco mumbled.


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## StellarKid (Mar 8, 2002)

*More!*

Tsunami, post more! You're something like 4 sessions behind where we are now. To all you readers out there: it gets very good! We just ended the last campaign at a very dark, exciting conclusion! Keep reading!

Good job, by the way, Tsunami!


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## StellarKid (Mar 18, 2002)

*Kevin...*

WE WANT MORE STORY HOUR! Post more!


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## jonrog1 (Mar 18, 2002)

Just a quick note -- do so love Het.  More Het!


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## Ziona (Mar 18, 2002)

_WHOA..._  

Sorry, just had to do that, Tsunami.   
Keep up the good work!


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## Breakstone (Mar 18, 2002)

Woah... people read it...

I've been extremely busy lately.

However, I shall try to update as soon as possible!


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## Breakstone (Apr 4, 2002)

Update coming tonight!


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## Breakstone (Apr 4, 2002)

_Fast-forward a month or two..._

Rykken almost knew the caravan was coming. Born in a village far away, Rykken had been a fighter, a merc-for-higher, and, mostly, a wanderer. Born with powers that granted him great strength of speed and mind, the human warrior was always restless. But he had heard a calling, and that calling was along this road…

 Karak had conflicted feelings. He’d joined this caravan a month ago, when he stumbled upon it bleeding and defeated in a fight against orcs that took his temple to Moradin. So far five of the men he’d met had died. Three were blue-coats, caravaners who were quiet and nonchalant. Karak supposed they were in a better place now. The other two were different. One was an elf, and a wizard. Karak’s dwarven instincts immediately marked this fellow, who’s name happened to be Gar, as a possible enemy. The last man was a fellow dwarf named Falco of the Stonedragon Clan. Falco was a good man, and a great fighter. Moradin’s strength had flowed into Falco through Karak’s guiding hands many a time in battle. Karak’s suspicions for the elf had grown and grown until finally Gar saved Falco from a fate worse than death.

 However, the sacrifice wasn’t enough. Falco and Gar had planned to meet up with the caravan in at least three days after escaping from the blue dragon Skyla. The caravan had waited five days. Then eight. Then ten. Finally, they had to move on.

 Karak was thinking these things when Jake Dragon, the caravan leader, called his attention. “Karak! I’d like you to meet Rykken. He’s agreed to help protect our cargo.” Rykken’s black hair blew silently in the breeze. The two adventurers met eyes and silently nodded to each other. “Karak’s skilled in the arts of healing and battling.” Jake continued. “And you?”

“…I’ve got a sword,” Rykken spoke in a deep voice, “and I can run.”

 “…okay…” Jake coughed politely. “Let’s keep moving! We’ve got to reach Venix by Windsday!”

 The caravans creaked forward.


   Scav-Nur hated humans. No, hated wasn’t the word. Loathed was more like it. They deserved worse than slavery, but enslaving them was what he was hired to do. Scav-Nur adjusted the red skull mask that covered his orcish face and silently patted his viper’s huge, scaled head. It hissed up at him, tasting humans on the wind…

   Rykken breezed through 40 feet and swung his bastard sword overhead and into the side of an orc, spraying blood into the dusty road. The orc bent over, clutching the wound, red skull mask dropping. “Nmad namuhs!”

  With that, Rykken twirled his sword once again and sliced clean through the orc’s neck. Suddenly, a 30-foot-long viper, hood blazing out behind its hissing, deadly mouth, struck in. Its fangs pierced Rykken’s shoulder, drawing blood.

  From behind a rock, Karak barrel-rolled, crossbow _TWANG_-ing as a bolt flew through the air and _CLANGED_ into one of the orcs. The orc barely flinched as he pulled out a longspear and advanced Rykken. A second orc suddenly flanked Rykken with a longspear of his own, pinning the warrior. ‘Trapped!’ Rykken thought, doom looming over him in the form of a viper and two orcs. Suddenly a glaive sliced into the back of one of the orc slavers. Locke, a ranger traveling with the caravan, appeared, brandishing the long weapon and a fiery snarl. He and the orc were engaged in ranged combat with melee weapons.

  Rykken spun and swung low, bastard sword biting into the knee of an orc. The orc cried out and fell to the ground in a spurt of crimson blood. The viper launched itself again, biting deep into Rykken’s arm. Rykken suddenly felt faint, perspiration showing on his now pale skin.

  Karak rolled from behind his rock and fired another bolt that struck an orc in the head, flipping it back. Jake Dragon rose from his hiding place and began sneaking behind the snake. The orcs continued to fight, one striking Rykken in the kidney. Rykken cried out, the world swimming about his head. He had to get out of here…

  One of the orcs grinned through its white skull mask and advanced Rykken, raising its mace for the final blow. The grin left its face with cry cut off and it fell forward. Jake Dragon stood behind it, wielding a bloody sword.

  Soon the orcs were cut down and the viper scared off. Karak healed the wounded through Moradin’s might, and Jake cut free a trail of slaves who were following the orcs. He waved his sword high above his head like a banner and announced, “Venix by tomorrow!” Cheers rose amongst the caravaners…

_Still more to come!_


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## Breakstone (Apr 4, 2002)

By Windsday afternoon, the caravan had reached Venix. The gates slowly opened, revealing a busy merchant town- and a dwarf with an axe.

	“Falco!” Karak cried, almost hugging the dwarf if he weren’t so paranoid. “How did you get here? Where’s Gar?”

	“I… don’t know how I got here…” Falco sighed. “And Gar… Gar didn’t make it…” Memories of Skyla slowly eating Gar plagued Falco’s mind, but he brushed them away like so many flies.

	Jake and Karak quickly introduced Rykken to Falco. The two nodded at each other, a mutual greeting of warriors. The guard at the gate squinted at the dwarf and asked, “Excuse me, sir, are you Falco? I received this message from a carrier falcon to give to you.”

	Falco quickly unraveled the scroll. It read:

*“Dear Falco,
	Please come to Grizzly City at the top of Bear Mountain immediately.
	Dire events are taking place, and we need all the help we can get.

		-Galapas”*

	When Karak asked about Galapas, Falco explained the dwarf cleric of the Bear Clan he had met in Alobar’s Adventuring Guild in Kalmet. “That right,” Falco remembered, “I’m now an official member!”

	Jake Dragon patted Falco on the back. “Well, folks, I’m glad we’re still alive. Meet me at sundown at the Fox Den Tavern, and I’ll give you your shares of the loot.”

	As Jake walked away, Karak leaned over and uncovered a scroll which displayed a number of sketches. “Falco, on the way over here, I was thinking: We need a battle wagon!”

	Falco’s eyes gleamed over with dreams of battle. “Yeah…”


	The next week and a half were spent in Venix. Falco and Karak poured over plans, making many visits to the lumber mill and smithy. Rykken had decided to travel with them to Bear Mountain. Being a restless man, he looked forward to the adventuring. Meanwhile he was stuck in Venix. Rykken frequented the Fox Den Tavern, in which he, Karak, and Falco had only received 20 gold. “Sorry!” Jake had apologized, “With all the goods that were stolen, this is all I can afford!”

	In that very tavern Rykken met some strange folks. First there was Betty, the tender at the bar. She was an eyeful, but Rykken could see there was not much between her ears. Next was Barthuk, the retired adventurer. Whenever Rykken came near, Barthuk would start rambling about one of his old quests for glory. However, at the mention of orc slavers with skull masks, Rykken learned to listen and pick out facts. It turned out that long ago there was an inflation of orc slavers. They wore different color skull masks, each color standing for a different status. When Rykken inquired about the specific statuses, Barthus rambled off about an enemy priest he once fought.

	But Rykken wasn’t through. He questioned the tavern’s bard (who then sang a song about Rykken fighting orc slavers), he asked the guards, and he prodded the traveling merchants. Soon he had found that most of the orc slavers (now nicknamed the Skull Slavers) wore White or Gray masks, leaders of small troupes wore Red masks, and high priests wore Purple masks. The great leaders were rumored to wear Midnight-Black skulls. As Rykken passed from the Fox Den Tavern to the Old Oak Lumber Mill, he noted Falco and Karak toting a huge crossbow, known as a ballista, over to a completed, two-story wagon.

	“Is the aim correct?” Falco asked.

	“Oh yeah!” Karak chuckled. “The Smithy and I tested it ourselves!”

	Falco nodded and noticed Rykken. “Say, Rykken, we’ll be moving out by tonight. Hm… we need some horses, don’t we? Karak?”

	Karak grimaced as he emptied his coin sack. A single gold piece fell out into the dust. “Don’t worry,” Rykken spoke, “Barthuk at the Fox Den Tavern used to have a steed who had a whole bunch of colts that are now all grown so he can get us two for free at a stable where the bard at the Tavern also happens to work (who knows me well).”

	Stunned at the warrior’s bounty of knowledge, the two dwarves could only nod wordlessly. “Well… then…” Falco coughed. “Let’s do this!”

	Before the townsfolk of Venix could say their town’s name ten times fast, a huge wagon led by two dark brown steeds was racing down the road up north towards Bear Mountain…


_And yet another battle scene awaits..._


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## Breakstone (Apr 4, 2002)

By the way, here's an old picture of Gar and Falco. God bless Heromachine and Freezope for image hosting!

By the way, this was before Gar died (the first time) and was reincarnated as an Elf.


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## Breakstone (Apr 4, 2002)

Just a quick explanation of why I fast-forwarded the story hour:

I was lagging behind. A lot. And I figured: I'm never going to catch up, so why not just skip ahead?

In the future, I'll probably type and post the missing texts.


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## Breakstone (Apr 5, 2002)

In two days, the trio and their wagon (pulled by the horses Saturn and Neptune) reached the first signs of civilization in the forest they’d been traveling through. A wooden sign swung by the side of the road. The word *Knox* was carved into the front. Rykken, who’d been walking the whole time, announced, “Knox is a gnome village. They’re friendly guys. Descendants of metallic dragons, you know.”

	Karak harrumphed, “Gnomes… they’re just beardless dwarves with bigger noses…” and urged the horses on.

	Soon they were stopped by two tall men in dark robes. They were hunched over, yet at least 7 feet tall. One raised a hand in greeting, its face hidden by an overhanging hood. “No passing through Knox,” the figure hissed.

	“What?” Rykken asked. “Why not?”

	“Ragnor commands…” the figure announced. “Knox… is no more.”

	The second figure let out a high-pitched laughter. Rykken recognized that laughter. Gnolls. Silently drawing his bastard sword, Rykken stepped closer to the hyena-man. “Who is this Ragnor?”

	“Ragnor is master!”

	“…not for long.” Rykken sliced up with his sword, catching the gnoll in the chin. The beastman flew back with a guttural scream. The other gnoll stopped laughing as Falco’s axe chopped into its face.

	Rykken kicked the gnolls into the bushes and the trio continued on, ready for anything. Finally they reached the village of Knox. It was a sight that would haunt their dreams for years to come.

	The village may once have been a colorful, lively place, but now it was all in gray. Gnomes, metallic skin dulled by layers of dust, were forced into lines by whip-wielding gnolls. The gnomes drudged back and forth from the gaping mouth of a mine, each carrying a huge chunk of rock or- “Bone…” Rykken whispered. A hill towered over the town, and on top of the hill sat a black carriage.

	Falco growled. He *HATED* slavery. “Gnomes!” he yelled, “We are your saviors! Revolution!” The gnomes looked up with silver eyes, and Falco shuddered. They looked… broken.

	However, the dwarf had no time to dwell on it. His shouting had called the attention of the gnoll slavers, who had replaced their whips with bows and arrows. Saturn whinnied as three arrows sunk into her flank. The black carriage on the hill began to roll down.

	Falco urged the horses on, turning them towards one of the gnolls. As they closed in the gnoll leapt the the side, only to meet face-to-face with Karak’s warhammer. The black carriage stopped at the bottom of the hill. Out stepped six gnolls and one old man, spectacles placed on the bridge of his axe-beaked nose. One of the gnolls shouted, “Slaves- bow to your master Ragnor!”

	Rykken summoned a burst of speed, charging 100 feet in but a moment. He swung in at Ragnor, who simply dodged with agility not usually possessed by such old men. Ragnor pushed up his glasses and clicked his tongue. “You shouldn’t have done that.” The old man swung in with a backhand, but Rykken was able to flip away. After all, this _was_ just an old man, right?

	More arrowed buried themselves in Saturn’s hide. Karak leaned over and used Moradin’s eternal health to close the wounds. Falco urged the horses on in a gallop, mowing over a gnoll and heading straight for the slave master himself. Three gnolls closed in on Rykken, brandishing battle axes. The warrior was able to slice a gash across one of the gnolls, who fell to the dull grassy ground in a pool of blood. Rykken turned back to Ragnor, ready to deal damage.

	But Ragnor was more than he seemed. His hands began to swell, and, with a sickening _rip_ huge claws burst out from under his skin. He raked twice, once gashing deep into Rykken’s chest and then slicing across his face. The two gnolls, flanking the warrior, chopped in, one sinking his axe into Rykken’s shoulder.

	Falco ran over another gnoll and adjusted to make a bee line towards Ragnor. Karak reached down and took out one of the guards with his bloody hammer. Ragnor’s head suddenly sprung forward on a neck too long for any human, and great teeth sprouted from bleeding gums. The “old man” sunk his maw into Rykken’s shoulder, raking claws into the warrior’s throat and finally tearing out a great chunk of flesh. Rykken collapsed to the ground, soaked in his own blood. Ragnor looked up just in time to see the horses coming for him. But the slave master stood his ground. The horse connected, and the whole wagon buckled _and came to a stop!_ Ragnor’s skin was now bulging as if something was trying to push its way out.

	Karak shouted, “We must save Rykken!” He grabbed onto Falco’s arm, and, calling upon the strength of Moradin, casted _Bull’s Strength_. Falco’s magical armor squealed as the dwarf’s muscles grew. Falco leapt off the wagon, planting two feet into Ragnor’s chest. But Ragnor stood his ground, and Falco didn’t make a mark. The dwarf swung his greataxe into- and through- the chest of a gnoll, continuing with the momentum to slice into Ragnor’s arm. He cut the fabric but not the flesh. Ragnor hissed and sliced across Falco’s face as two gnoll axes buried themselves in the dwarf’s back. Saturn and Neptune began to panic and galloped off, pulling the war wagon with them. Karak pulled the reigns and managed to stop the wagon forty feet away, then pulled open a hatch and leapt inside.

	Falco cried out, pain etching through every muscle. He grasped Rykken by the foot, spun, and threw him to where the wagon lie. Ragnor and the gnolls closed in, weapons hacking.

	One of the gnolls curiously opened a shutter on the wagon, only to be met by a loaded crossbow. The bolt buried itself in the gnoll’s shoulder, and the hyena-man closed the shutter and ran away, arm bleeding fiercely. Karak leapt out of the top of the wagon and called upon Moradin to save Rykken’s life. The great wound on Rykken’s shoulder closed up, bone setting in his arm. The warrior gasped and opened his eyes. “Falco!” he cried.

	Karak glanced back to the mob of gnolls, axes flinging blood into the air as they chopped away. It didn’t look like Falco was going to make it-

	Suddenly the gnolls were thrown apart as a bloody Falco, barely alive, threw a gnoll over his head and sprinted towards the wagon. “Go!” Falco yelled.

	Karak and Rykken climbed onto the wagon, whipping to horses into a mad sprint when Falco grasped onto the back, swung on, and passed out. As they rode off towards the forest, Ragnor cried, “Ha ha ha! No one defeats Ragnor!” The trio could hear the sad groans of the gnomes as they were whipped back into work.



	Late that night, Rykken was on guard duty. His mind was plagued with theories of what Ragnor could be. “Werewolf? Doppleganger? Devil?” Rykken had fought many a monster in his mercenary career, but he’d never encountered anything like this.

	A rabbit suddenly appeared from under the brushes. White with black spots, the rabbit hopped about by Rykken’s feet. Perplexed by the animal for a while, Rykken finally stepped towards it. The rabbit backed away and started moving down a deer trail, then stopped. Rykken shrugged and continued to follow the rabbit.

	It was a long walk over a nearly invisible trail, but finally the rabbit sprinted inside an old hut. Rykken hesitantly followed. The inside of the hut was pitch black, lit only by a single candle on a small, round table. Seated near the table was an ancient gnome woman, the candlelight casting shadows over her wrinkly silver skin. She spoke in a voice like crumpled leaves.

	“I’ve been expecting you.”

	Before Rykken could say anything more, the gnome began to chant:

	“Ragnor the Sorcerer, not what he seems
	Not harmed by weapons, no matter how keen.
	Sold his soul to the devil, now feels no pain,
	However St Cuthbert has Ragnor’s Bane.
	Under the temple, through Green Death’s Door
	Through test after test one must explore
	To a guarded pond- that’s the location
	For a blessing of a day’s duration.

*RAGNOR MUST DIE!*”


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## Breakstone (Apr 6, 2002)

Today a player couldn't make it, so instead I taught (and ran) Feng Shui to the two others. Depsite only knowing half-the rules (probably even less) and pulling together a half-assed plot, we had a load of fun.

I'll probably write it up tonight.


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## Breakstone (Apr 10, 2002)

Well, I hate to do this, but here's a self bump.

No game this weekend, but I'll give ya something to read.


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