# [ENWWC] A New Story (Updated: May 5)



## Daniel Knight (Mar 31, 2003)

*To get to the story, skip all the posts untill you get to the longer one by Enkhidu.*

About half a year ago, I participated in a thread that was a heap of fun and helped me learn a load about my writing style.  The basic premise was that we had a story with a central theme (in this case a coin), and each week a writer would pick up from where the last one finished and continue the plot.  You can find our original story here:

http://enworld.cyberstreet.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=17714 

Basically I’d like to resurrect this, as it was such a good experience.  What I’m looking for is ten people to participate.  When we have the people, we’ll shuffle the names and put them in the order they are to post in.  The first person has to post his or her segment of the story within a week, and the next person then has a week to post from where the first person left off – thus continuing the story.  This keeps going until everyone has cycled through, and we have a complete story.

The following are the rules Enkhidu (the original creator) masterminded, and they worked very well:

_1. All posting rules of the message boards hosted by EN World are in effect. Any submission does not meet the posting standards of the EN World Story Hour forum, will not be added to the ongoing story and may result in the participant being removed from the project if problems persist.

2. Constructive criticism of writing styles or techniques is welcomed. Unconstructive criticism ("you suck!") is not welcome.

3. All contributors will follow a predetermined rotation for submissions. The rotation will be posted before the story begins. Any changes to the rotation should be agreed to by all concerned parties and must be posted by the moderator of the story. Contributors have seven (7) days to submit their work from the time they become the active contributor. If they do not submit during that period, the next contributor in rotation will then begin their period of activity. If a contributor misses their submission deadline 3 times, they will be removed from the project. 

4. All participants recognize and agree that this is a shared story; the events and characters are "ours," not "yours" and "mine"._

So the question is, would anyone be interested in participating in something like this?


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## Black Bard (Mar 31, 2003)

Yes, I would...
Do you have any thoughts about this particular central theme?


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## Black Bard (Mar 31, 2003)

And what about the length of the posts?


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## ScyldSceafing (Mar 31, 2003)

I'll do it. Sounds fun.


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## ajanders (Mar 31, 2003)

*Volunteering*

I'll join in here...
Iron Story Hour, perchance?


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## NiTessine (Mar 31, 2003)

Count me in, once more...


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## Lackadaisical (Apr 1, 2003)

It seems like an interesting idea. I'll join.


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## GWolf (Apr 1, 2003)

I'm Still in, so count me in.


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## Chauzu (Apr 1, 2003)

Sounds neat... ...count me in!


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## GWolf (Apr 2, 2003)

So we have 8 people, and you want two more. I think we actually have more then 10 at the time if you count the ones that replied on the mailing list.

So, I assume we are doing this in a similiar fashion as to the last one. The last one was based on a coin, but suppose we kick this up a notch, and make this one based on a specfic region and time, and then we can each write small stories about characters in that region, that may or may not affect another persons story.

Just an Idea and a bump.


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## Daniel Knight (Apr 2, 2003)

Okay... we have ten exactly.  They are as follows, and will be posting in this random order:

1.   GWolf
2.   ajanders
3.   Altman
4.   Black Bard
5.   Daniel Knight
6.   ScyldSceafing
7.   NiTessine
8.   Chauzu
9.   Lackadaisical
10. Enkhidu

I like your idea Gwolf, it kind of reminds me of the Tales of the Mos Eisley Cantina book.  Each story focused on a different character in the tavern at the same time.  We could do something like that.  Tales at the Bloated Goat or something. 

Anyone from the last round remember what the word limits were?  Did you guys think it was enough, or too much?

For those just joining, please check out the last round listed up the top.  It’ll give you a good idea how things kind of flow.


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## Enkhidu (Apr 2, 2003)

Just as an FYI, I am willing to give up my spot if someone else had their hopes up to get in and didn't. Timing is bad for me at this point, because by the time my turn comes around I'll be elbow deep in dirty diapers - my little one is only a few weeks away.


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## GWolf (Apr 2, 2003)

Enk, how come you never go online anymore?

Anyway, I assume I will be starting this up first, but before this, lets decide on the Setting eh? We could do small scale, or a larger scale.

Small Scale would be like a Tavern, or other meeting place
A Medium Scale would be like a Town or City
A large scale would be a country.

My vote is in for a Secluded Town on a small island slightly off the coast of a civilized country.


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## GWolf (Apr 2, 2003)

The word limit was 2000 I believe. I also think this worked nicely.


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## Daniel Knight (Apr 2, 2003)

Enkhidu said:
			
		

> *Just as an FYI, I am willing to give up my spot if someone else had their hopes up to get in and didn't. Timing is bad for me at this point, because by the time my turn comes around I'll be elbow deep in dirty diapers - my little one is only a few weeks away. *




If that's the case Enk, you should go first.  It's seems unfair that you can't participate in something you masterminded due to a random dice roll.  GWolf, you don't mind do you?


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## Enkhidu (Apr 2, 2003)

As long as we get rolling within about a week or so, I'm game.

Once you decide what the parameters will be this time, let me know and I'll get started.

[Clarify]By the way, I wasn't really the "mastermind" behind this one - the original idea was dshai527's, and I owe the rules set to another board member (though for the life of me I can't remember who right now - anyway, they weren't mine). Butthanks for the compliment anyway![/Clarify]


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## GWolf (Apr 3, 2003)

No, not a problem for me. I'll go when ever's best for the group (though) I perfer in the 1st 4.


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## ajanders (Apr 3, 2003)

*Setting Stuff*

If it will help get things started, I have a world map (water and good sized islands) complete with some place names I can donate to the cause.
I have some cultural and political information as well, but that might make things to specific for some people's tastes.
Let me know if it is desired and I'll post it tonight when I get home.
aja


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## Daniel Knight (Apr 5, 2003)

Okay, new order:

1.   Enkhidu
2.   GWolf
3.   ajanders
4.   Altman
5.   Black Bard
6.   Daniel Knight
7.   ScyldSceafing
8.   NiTessine
9.   Chauzu
10. Lackadaisical

Also, the word count for last time was between 750 - 2,000 words.  That worked well, so let's keep it.

aja, thanks for the offer, but I think it may stifle the spontaneity.  Let's make the location a small island with _one_ small town.  As there is no coin going from tale to tale like last time, we'll have to make sure that each new story ads to the information provided by the last one.  It doesn't have to continue the last writers plot (although it could), but it does have to at least mention a location or something.

Did what I just say, make any sense?

There is also a Yahoo group to join so we can share ideas about each others stories without rubbishing up the boards, but we're still working out how to actually work it.

Erm... have I missed anything?  Ideas?


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## GWolf (Apr 5, 2003)

All sounds good.


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## Black Bard (Apr 6, 2003)

Sounds good for me too... 
But I thought we were going to make simultaneous stories occurring in the town...


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## Lela (Apr 6, 2003)

Okay, I'm interested in reading this.  Just make sure someone posts a link here so I don't miss it.


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## Daniel Knight (Apr 8, 2003)

Black Bard said:
			
		

> *Sounds good for me too...
> But I thought we were going to make simultaneous stories occurring in the town... *




Nah... if we did that, we'd end up with a heap of stories that contradicted one another.  One of the objectives we're trying to gain through this little exercise, is to build our team working skills.  Have a look at the original cycle in the link above - it really will give you a good idea of how to approach this.

Enk, it looks like there's nothing left to sort out, if you wanted to get the ball rolling?


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## Black Bard (Apr 8, 2003)

> Have a look at the original cycle in the link above - it really will give you a good idea of how to approach this.



Thanks Daniel...I was a reader of the Circle then, so I have some idea of how it works (and the common delays...  )...



> Each story focused on a different character in the tavern at the same time. We could do something like that.



I thought we were going to follow this approach... But I agree with you, it would become a mess of stories in no time...


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## Daniel Knight (Apr 8, 2003)

Heh... What I ment by that, was that each story should be in the same time period.  Not written at the same time, just set over the same time.   If you get what I mean?


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## GWolf (Apr 8, 2003)

Okay, Enk, get started because I can't Wait for my turn


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## Enkhidu (Apr 8, 2003)

OK - it looks like I'll have the first post up sometime next Monday. Sorry about not getting back to you guys quicker, but I've been out of touch for a few days.

Anyway, it seems to me that a good round robin tale telling should begin with a central theme - so unless there's any objection, the first tale will revolve around the proprieter of the Bloated Goat public house, Lorh.

Look for it in a week.


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## Black Bard (Apr 9, 2003)

Daniel Knight said:
			
		

> *Heh... What I ment by that, was that each story should be in the same time period.  Not written at the same time, just set over the same time.   If you get what I mean? *



It seems like we are having some misunderstanding here... I know that we are posting in _turns_ , respecting an already established order... 
At the time, I was wondering if our stories would be simultaneous, all different stories occurring at the same time, but with a different perspective with each writer (i.e. a tavern where various characters experience different stories, not necessarily in touch with the other stories, but having as a central theme the tavern at the appointed time) or we were going to follow a more flexible story timeline, as you guys used in the first circle...

Thanks...


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## Daniel Knight (Apr 11, 2003)

Black Bard said:
			
		

> *
> At the time, I was wondering if our stories would be simultaneous, all different stories occurring at the same time, but with a different perspective with each writer (i.e. a tavern where various characters experience different stories, not necessarily in touch with the other stories, but having as a central theme the tavern at the appointed time) or we were going to follow a more flexible story timeline, as you guys used in the first circle...
> 
> Thanks... *




Oh dear... it appears we are arguing for the same thing.  I have no idea now.  I would have said, all at the same time.  Just say (for example) that Enk writes about the bar tender having a really good night until he finds his prize winning bull nailed to the ceiling of his bedroom.  GWolf, might come in and write about how the bull got nailed to the ceiling in the first place.  Then ajanders might come in and talk about one of the background characters Enk or GWolf had mentioned, and describe the journey he had to the island, and why he's currently staying at the inn, and have utterly nothing to do with ceiling hammered bovine.

Does that make it clear, or have I just made things worse?


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## Chauzu (Apr 11, 2003)

Uhh... I'm glad I'm towards the end...  

Wait... I think I get it now... I think...


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## Black Bard (Apr 11, 2003)

Daniel Knight said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Oh dear... it appears we are arguing for the same thing.  I have no idea now.  I would have said, all at the same time.  Just say (for example) that Enk writes about the bar tender having a really good night until he finds his prize winning bull nailed to the ceiling of his bedroom.  GWolf, might come in and write about how the bull got nailed to the ceiling in the first place.  Then ajanders might come in and talk about one of the background characters Enk or GWolf had mentioned, and describe the journey he had to the island, and why he's currently staying at the inn, and have utterly nothing to do with ceiling hammered bovine.
> 
> Does that make it clear, or have I just made things worse? *



Yeah, I think we are going nowhere with this discussion... I've got the point, although I think I had it already.... 
Anyway, I think we can settle down this discussion... And sit down and wait for Enk's post....


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## Enkhidu (Apr 13, 2003)

Sorry this couldn't be longer, but I've been sort of swamped for time. Between hospital visits, putting together the baby's room, and updating the Small Beginnings story hour, the ideas for this circle just festered without me being able to really get a handle on them.

Anyway, I set this up not truly as a story in and of itself, but more as a stepping stone for the other writers. I hope that what I've got for you here gives you some ideas for the goings on at the Bloated Goat public house.

Hope you all have fun!

*****

Kedrin sat at the counter, sipping his nut-brown ale, when the stranger came through front entrance. The old door creaked loudly on its hinges, but the noise elicited no response from the thick crowd: not even from the dog that dozed contently at Kedrin’s feet. 

The stranger wore a plain brown cloak that effectively concealed his body, making Kedrin wonder if it was actually a “him” at all. Likewise, the cloak’s hood had been pulled so far over the stranger’s face that it hid whatever telltale features the stranger possessed. Admittedly the weather outside – both chill and rainy – warranted a good covering, but when the stranger didn’t immediately doff his overcloak, Kedrin began to take notice._ Interesting… I wonder what he, or she, has to hide?_

The cloaked figure stepped quickly over to a stool next to the bar counter, just a few seats away from Kedrin’s own grey clad form. Corh, the draughtkeeper, simply poured a small cup of his Winter Vintage and sat it in front of the stranger. “This one is on the house, because I’ve never seen you before.” _Not as if you can see him now either, Corh. What was it you told me last week? ‘I never remember a face – that way I’m not called on to identify it later, either by the Watch, or by the Undertaker.’ At least this one is making it easy on you…_ “From now on you pay. In advance. Rooms are available at the Goat’s Rest, behind the public house. Prices are on the board behind you. They double after sunset. Understand?” Corh didn’t wait for the stranger to even nod before turning away and busying himself with other tasks.

Kedrin studied the stranger out of the corner of his eye: average height, average build, just… average. _Almost too average. Maybe I should…_

“Hi stranger!” A second draughtkeeper appeared from below the bar as if out of nowhere. “Lorh’s the name. Welcome to the Bloated Goat Public House! How long you plan on staying here with us?” The stranger didn’t answer, didn’t even acknowledge Lorh’s presence._ Good choice. If he actually thinks you’re paying attention, he’ll never stop._

“Not a talkative type, eh? Well, that’s fine enough I suppose. At least you’ll be better company than this one,” Lorh said, jerking a thumb toward Kedrin. “I’ll have Corh make up a room for you. Corh’s my son, by the way. He got my face, but his mother’s disposition – poor boy. One day he’s got to learn to appreciate the family business for more than the food it puts on the table. Running a public house isn’t about the money – it’s about the people. Take that pair in the corner,” Kedrin stopped himself from turning to follow Lorh’s finger, it would simply encourage him. “They came in here three days ago and bought the whole house not one but two rounds of drink! Said something about their fortune changing, and paid their bill in a clear ruby.”

Lorh paused, as if waiting for the stranger to say something in return. When it became apparent that he wouldn’t, the draughtkeeper continued anyway. “Or how about that young couple over there by the window: said they were newlyweds, but they don’t look it to me. Too jumpy, like they keep expecting the other shoe to drop. Then there’s those three at the back table, all peery at everyone who comes in the door. You too, stranger – don’t think they didn’t mark you as well as any.”

“Oh, and I haven’t even told you about the ship that set in last week!  Looked like the whole crew made its way inward. Took over the whole place for two days! Made my boy happy – they spent good gold here, foreign stuff too. Then some of them headed up toward the hills.” Lorh leaned in conspiratorially to the stranger. “I think saw map. You know what that means: treasure!”

Kedrin snickered, and tried to cover it by turning it into a coughing fit. Lorh looked at him and then back to the stranger, “And don’t get me started on this one,” Lorh pointed toward, “he’s more than a bit off.” He whispered, “Sees things, like ghosts and such.” He tapped his finger against his temple and whistled. “Probably dropped on his head as a babe. Sad really.”

Lorh stopped for a moment and looked around the common room. “Well, I can see you’re more than a bit busy. I suppose I should get back to work myself. Drinks won’t pour themselves!” With that. Lorh ducked back underneath the bar.

Kedrin waited a few moments and slid over one stool toward the stranger. “Nice to see a new face around here. In fact, if you’re looking for work, I might have just the thing for you.”

Kedrin drained his glass. Through the bottom of it, he saw the familiar plaque:

_In memory of our Husband and Father,
Lorh Vanders_


*****

And on with the show!


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## Daniel Knight (Apr 14, 2003)

Brilliant!  Very good start, with heaps of ways to go!


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## Black Bard (Apr 14, 2003)

What a _Small Beginning_ , Enk!!
I mean, just as wonderful as your storyhour ( and dshai's too!!)...

I think Gwolf will get a plenty of ideas blossoming in his head....


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## GWolf (Apr 15, 2003)

Ok, I got a decent Idea, a bit strange, but I think I can make it work. I should be able to post it up Thrusday, Friday, or Saturday.


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## Lela (Apr 16, 2003)

GWolf said:
			
		

> *Ok, I got a decent Idea, a bit strange, but I think I can make it work. I should be able to post it up Thrusday, Friday, or Saturday. *




Don't forget that your soon-to-be fans are waiting.


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## fett527 (Apr 18, 2003)

Black Bard said:
			
		

> *What a Small Beginning , Enk!!
> I mean, just as wonderful as your storyhour ( and dshai's too!!)...
> 
> I think Gwolf will get a plenty of ideas blossoming in his head.... *




geez, you just have to keep making enk's and dshai's heads bigger!  You don't have to deal with them on a daily basis you know!


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## GWolf (Apr 18, 2003)

Its a bit strange, and my first writing in a long time, hope it isn't too bad....

***************************



Rusty pulled the damp hood of brown cloak off the top of his head exposing his neatly cut dark-brown hair. _ I’ve made it back…finally…_ He sipped on his offered drink, thinking quietly to himself, _ It’s been how many…ten years? _.  

Looking around the room Rusty spotted the usually mix of farmers, drunks, and mercenaries. Well, they may have been mercenaries, or the town guard or militia, Rusty couldn’t be sure, they may have even been thugs. Eyeing them up, he spotted 4-foot long swords on each of their persons as well as a layer of chain mail hidden beneath their vests. 

“Another Ale” Rusty said laying down some money. The barkeep quickly filled his mug and continued working. _ Swords, I remember when I thought those were powerful, almost so as magic…. that was a long time ago… _ Chugging down half his glass, Rusty took some time to listen in on some farmer’s conversation next to him.

“Yew, been a really probably lately Ben, damn kobolds eating all ma damn apples, they come at….” 

Rusty sighed, _ Monsters, those were scary once… the only monsters I dealt with for the last two years were men in gray uniforms…_ Putting his hand on his chin, Rusty continued to think. _ I don’t fit in here anymore, did I ever? After being there, I may never fit in anywhere…_.

“By the gods, is that Rusty Wilon?” A slightly large man in his late 20’s said slapping Rusty on the back and sitting on the stool next to him.

Rusty smiled at his old friend Paul, always the loud and friendly type. “Paul! How you been?” It had been 10 long years since Rusty left the island, and 10 years since he’d seen anyone he knew, it was a miracle, after all that happened, that he made it back, alive.

“I’ve been fine, I opened a carpentry business, making quite a profit.”  Paul said taking another slug of his brew, “Damn, I haven’t seen you since I helped you stow away on that ship to the mainland so you could become an apprentice mage.” Paul scratched his head, “Did that ever work out?”

_ If only I could explain…_ Rusty looked at the floor for a moment in deep thought, _ Maybe I should tell him…_ “No, it didn’t,” Rusty dropped his voice to a whisper, and leaned in towards Paul. “The mage who took me in was a psychotic. During some strange spell he was casting, he killed himself, and sent me…I _ know _ it sounds crazy…. to another world.”

Paul placed his glass the counter carefully and rubbed his chin, in thought. “Continue, please.” Rusty couldn’t tell if his friend believed him or not, but he knew he was amazed. 


Raising his voice a little, Rusty continued “Well, this world, was large, very large, I only saw a small piece of it myself, a desert region known as _ North Africa _. He paused for a moment remembering the sand, and the hot sun. “There were no monsters, or magic. Men who looked just like you and me, who spoke a language similar to Common, known as English, found me in the middle of the desert. They asked me who I was and were I was from, they never heard of this place. They handed me a metal pipe with a handle, and told me I was to help them fight the _ Germans _ and _ Italians _.” 

Rusty took a slug and finished off his winter, bitter tasting ale. He looked, around, and saw that about half the people in the pub were looking and listening to him. He gulped, and began to sweat. _ This was a mistake…I never should’ve come back here…_

“And, a lot of stuff happened…. and I made it back here by a freak miracle…” Rusty said pulling up his hood and heading for the door, at a rapidly increasing pace. _ They’d never understand, the * guns, tanks, planes * any of it…hell I barely do _. He burst out the door, and into the cold and frosty stone streets of the town. 

“Hey! You in the brown cloak!”  Someone behind him called in a menacing voice.

Rusty turned, and gulped behind him were the trio of ‘mercenaries’ from the pub, long swords drawn. Rusty realized it now…they looked familiar… _ It couldn’t be…how could they have traced me back here… _

“So it looks like the old man’s spell worked…do you have it?” The leader of the group asked. He was a big man, with long black hair, and wicked scar running down his left eye.

_ They must mean the scroll…I don’t have it…this could be bad _. “I’m sorry, I don’t have it, why don’t you leave me and go back to your ale.” Rusty said fingering something in his cloak.

“Liar!” The leader shouted and started running towards Rusty.

Rusty’s cloak was gone in a second, thrown aside, in his hands, a short, metal and wood weapon… 

_ Phsst!  Boom!  Clack!_

The man fell to the ground, three nearly half-inch holes in his torso, spilling blood onto the icy streets…his sword spun, and fell beside him. 

His cronies gulped, turn and ran. Rusty slung the weapon back over his shoulder, put on his brown, damp, and dirty cloak, and continued down the street…


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## Lela (Apr 19, 2003)

Okay, WWII, guns, mystery, and magi.  Got it.

I'm still enjoying this immensly, thanks guys.


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## Black Bard (Apr 19, 2003)

fett527 said:
			
		

> *
> 
> geez, you just have to keep making enk's and dshai's heads bigger!  You don't have to deal with them on a daily basis you know! *



I'm sorry, fett...
But I've got an idea!! Tell them to write no more!!!
Simple and efficient....


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## Black Bard (Apr 19, 2003)

Congratulations, GWolf...
Besides the fact that I'm not really a "Modern Era" fan, your idea was certainly interesting... And neatly written...


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## GWolf (Apr 19, 2003)

Thanks, I tried to convey the idea in the best fantasy terms possible, and also to keep the characters part of the fantasy world, as well as to amtemp to entertain those, who are not fans of the modern era, I hope I did well enough.

Thanks for the compliment.


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## Wyn A'rienh (Apr 19, 2003)

Alright, you primitive screwheads, listen up: THIS... is my BOOM STICK! 



Sorry, I had to....


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## ajanders (Apr 21, 2003)

*Hummm*

Okay...I'm going to have to run with this for a little bit.  I'll try to get my submission in by the end of the week.


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## Black Bard (Apr 26, 2003)

*Going up!!!*



			
				ajanders said:
			
		

> *Okay...I'm going to have to run with this for a little bit.  I'll try to get my submission in by the end of the week. *



We are patiently waiting for you, ajanders...
But not on page two!!!!


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## ajanders (Apr 29, 2003)

*A small apology*

For my delay...an explanation is in order.

In the course of one's life, one may have the opportunity to acquire a used clothes washer.  This is a good thing, as it enables me to go about the community without smelling of old sweat socks and soy sauce.
One may further decide to save money that could be used to purchase gaming materials by installing the washer yourself.  This is also a good thing, because it is important for people to know how to accomplish these basic survivals tasks.
One may discover that one's hot water feed valve is stuck shut too tightly to close by turning it with one's hands.  This is not a good thing, but may be regarded as an opportunity to Triumph Over Adversity And Do The Right Thing.
One may listen to the voice in one's head that says: "Don't worry!  Spritz it with some WD-40, put the pipe wrench on it, and turn with all the power in your body...you will succeed."

Five seconds later, one will discover three things:
1.  The voice in your head lied.
2.  You really are strong enough to break a copper hot-water feed line.
3.  The water heater you had previously regarded as a weak and anemic thing barely capable of defrosting hamburger is, in fact, a potent engine of raging thermal devastation.  Note to self and other males: NEVER take your shirt off to do plumbing work.  EVER.

I will strive to get this story in before deadline.
I would invite those of you in the Philadelphia area over to see my new in-ground swimming pool formerly known as "My basement", but it's mostly drained and dried at this point.


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## ajanders (May 1, 2003)

*Story Post*

Only a week past where it should be, too!
Thank you all for your patience.  Enjoy!

*******
Sir Kenton Martens lay on his back twitching as he tasted his own blood in the back of his throat.
He saw the light go from the sky, felt the warmth go from his skin, and heard his final death rattle echo in his ears as he fell into the darkness of the grave.
There came a shout in his ear.
"Be thou healed!"
Where there was darkness, there came a blaze of light.
Where there was cold, there came a wave of heat.
Kenton Marten's eyes spasmed open and he looked up, wild-eyed and unseeing.
"Just lay still a moment, Sir Kenton.  Breathe a little."
His chest heaved as he fought to speak.
"I was dead!  I died!"
"Not quite.  Close enough to shave with, mind you, but not quite.  You'll live to see your wife again, I think.  Don't try to talk for a moment, though.  Consider spending the next minute making a silent prayer to Pelor.  If you are honored in his sight, he'll restore you the rest of the way to health.  If you aren't, you'll need the minute to get your legs under you."
Murmurs surged around him
"A miracle!"  "See the holy father heal!"  "...fiend, right here in our marketplace..."  "Gods above and below, what is that foul stench?"
His eyes were starting to clear now.  Father Hearn was leaning over him, examining his wounds.
"I'm afraid the church will be owing you a new breastplate, Sir Kenton.  I would say the stomacher on this one is ruined beyond repair."
Father Hearn turned to the raven-haired woman next to him.  "Sister Mirine, would you and Squire Merres disperse this crowd, please?  There's no need to make this a public spectacle.  The man lives because of Pelor's will, nothing more nor less, just as they've been told at morning services for a hundred years and more."
The woman turned, gesturing to a man out of Sir Kenton's view, and moved into the crowd, speaking in tones too low to be heard.
"Now then, Sir Kenton, let's get you sat up and make sure Pelor's mercy plugged up both holes in your hide."
The stick and peel of blood-soaked gambeson to stomach muscle made Sir Kenton wince, but there was no actual pain.  He felt a finger poke him in the small of the back and grunted.
"That may have stung a little, but it didn't break open, which is the important thing.  Yes, I'd say you may well be borrowing some spare armor from someone tomorrow:  there's holes in the breast and back of yours both as big as the first joint of my thumb.  You can talk now if you like, but don't shout."
Kenton closed his eyes and rasped through a dry throat "Thank you, Father Hearn.  I am in your debt."
"Piffle!  Pelor healed you.  I am the bottle, not the wine.  You should have learned that in your studies of theology, young man."
"I never really --" ,a cough, "studied theology, Father.  I slipped away from my tutors to hunt and fish and learn woodslore."
Father Hearn glared down at him sternly.
"That may well be why Pelor seems to have slated you for a period of convalescence, then.  While I confine you to bed for the good of your body, you can read theology for the good of your soul.  That's divine efficiency for you."
Kenton looked up at Father Hearn.
"Father, is this really the time for reading theology?"
"Especially now, Sir Kenton, it is vitally important that all of us know how to distinguish right from wrong.  I have the first three volumes of the Sathescine illuminations in my cabin.  You may expect an examination the day after tomorrow."
Sir Kenton Martens considered this uneasily as Sister Mirine helped him back to the ship, Father Hearn and Squire Merres leading the way.  Two days confined to bed with nothing to do but read theology.
Perhaps he had sinned badly after all and was now in the Abyss.
**
The ship Bringer of Dawn lay at anchor in the harbor.  Neatly dressed sailor-marines moved quickly about their duties at the bow and midships.  The stern they left strictly alone, for that was where Father Hearn had convened his inquisition.
He began with the after-action report Kenton delivered from his pallet.
“So you charged him?”
“Yes.” Kenton replied.
Father Hearn sighed.  “And then what happened?”
“He used the weapon on me.”
“With consequences I am perfectly aware of.  And the rest of you?”
“Getting you was our first priority, Father.” Merres responded.  “Sir Kenton’s wounds were beyond our power to heal.  We did not follow because you bid us not seek this man alone.”
“Very well, Squire Merres.  Sister Mirrine, have you anything to add?”
“The report is correct and complete, Father.  As we surmised, his power and danger lies in the weapon.  He himself is a good man – but he’s very much afraid.  I don’t think he was an acolyte of the Wallbreaker.”
Father Hearn nodded.  “This is his greatest evil: not merely that he worked woe himself, but that we must turn from our tasks to harry an innocent caught up in his evils.”
He pondered for a moment.
“Very well.  If he himself is not evil, we will encourage him to come to us himself – no more disguises.  Merres, Mirine, change into formal vestments.  We go ashore in three hours to make an address to the people of the town.”
Father Hearn gestured for the officer of the day.
“Mr. Tristard, send my compliments ashore to the priest of the temple of Pelor.  I will be formally entering the town in three hours with my entourage and immediately address such members of the town as care to be present at his temple.  We’ll otherwise remain aboard the Bringer of Dawn: he need not provide us quarters.  Have any reply brought to me directly.”
Tristard saluted and returned amidships.
“That concludes the meeting, then.  Merres and Mirine are with me, ready to step off the boat three hours.  Sir Kenton, you will remain aboard and study Sathescine:  Chapters one and three on the signs of evil seem particularly apropos, then skip to chapter twelve, his meditations on patience and restraint.  Read chapter twelve at least twice.”
**
Three hours later, Lorh and Corh grumbled in their empty bar.  Out on the porch, their former customers gaped at the procession wending it’s way from the Bringer of Dawn.
Two white-clad marines bearing trumpets, which they sounded every fifty yards,
A column of three more white-clad marines, the first bearing the Solar standard of the Pelorian church, the second bearing the gold-on-black Sun Banner of the Church Militant, and the third bearing a banner azure, a Pegasus argent, with a Pelorian sun.
Behind them came an old man in full plate, leaning on a white staff, wearing the black war-cloak of a Pelorian paladin and the golden stole of a Pelorian priest.  Next to him was a serious-looking young woman dressed in a white tunic and trousers with a golden yellow sash and armbands.  Behind these two came yet another man in banded mail, carefully carrying a great double-handed flail on a velvet cushion, sword by his side, white shield on his back.
By the time this spectacle reached the temple of Pelor, only the dead were unaware something exciting was happening.  Most of the living were either coming to see what was happening or getting ready to run away.
Father Hearn addressed the crowd in measured tones.
He knew already there was no evil in the town: he and his companions had not come to seek out any sort of evil or heresy.  No one in the town needed have any fear.
But it was vitally important that he speak with a young man named Rusty Wilon regarding his association with the wizard who called himself Koreas of the Nine Wands.  No harm would come to this young man; he would be allowed to depart whenever he desired.  A reception was prepared with all courtesy aboard the ship Bringer of Dawn at whatever hour of the day or night he desired to come aboard.
Any assistance the people of the town could provide would be greatly appreciated.
His assistant Mirine, an abbess of the Sun Dancer monastery, would remain at the temple until dark to provide spiritual counseling and guidance to any who desired it.
With that, Father Hearn left the temple more or less as he had come.  Sister Mirine remained at the temple, talking to the priests in low tones and keeping one eye out for a man in a long brown cloak.


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## Lela (May 1, 2003)

Wow, way to make the plot thicken ajanders.  The characters are detailed and I love the subtlty of Pelor.  It's something not seen often.

Who's next?  Something's gotta happen here. . .

Edit: Okay Altman, whadda ya got for us?


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## Chauzu (May 2, 2003)

This story is getting great and very interesting right off the bat. Keep it going guys while I impatiently wait near the end of the initiative list.


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## GWolf (May 3, 2003)

Amazing. Plainly amazing. I love what you did with it, and the character you jumped to, as well as how much the plot is shaping. 

I hope the long curve I threw hasnt altered what you guys wanted to badly.

Also AJ, loved your basement story. We can call it intermission .


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## ajanders (May 7, 2003)

*Woosh*

Gwolf, Lela, et Chauzu:
Thanks for your kind words.
I was looking for some kind of twist on the standard "D&D character with only gun in the world" routine.
So I checked out Harry Turtledove's alternate histories and got all kinds of interesting ideas.
Wait 'till mindflayers discover the combination of Dominate Person and explosives laden vests.  That'll convince a fantasy world to leave gunpowder alone...
aja


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## ajanders (May 23, 2003)

*Checking in*

Should I be writing more for this?


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## Black Bard (May 23, 2003)

I wonder where's Altman...

Should I post instead?


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## ajanders (May 25, 2003)

*Posting*

Yep.
Black Bard, I don't know when you were supposed to go, but now sounds peachy to me.
No opposition having been registered, I think it's official.
Post away.


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## Lela (May 25, 2003)

Though I am mearly a reader here, I'm still looking forward to more story.  Whomever goes, please let it be soon.


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## Black Bard (May 27, 2003)

I was supposed to post after Altman's turn...
But now....

I will come up with something until the weekend...


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## Lela (May 27, 2003)

*Re: Posting*



			
				ajanders said:
			
		

> *Yep.
> Black Bard, I don't know when you were supposed to go, but now sounds peachy to me.
> No opposition having been registered, I think it's official.
> Post away. *





1. Enkhidu (done)
2. GWolf (done)
3. ajanders (done)
*4. Altman (????)
5. Black Bard*
6. Daniel Knight
7. ScyldSceafing
8. NiTessine
9. Chauzu
10. Lackadaisical


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## Black Bard (May 31, 2003)

I think that the members of the circle that are still alive should present themselves (i.e. _post_), if not to criticize the texts (one of our purposes here, I think...), to at least affirm the will to keep on with our little game.

Hope you enjoy!!!!  

*****

The dying rays of light brought by the sunset gently formed a golden path along the altar room’s floor, giving the old temple’s double doors an aspect of some divine gate, an entrance to the realm of Pelor, the setting sun. Sister Mirine smiled at her thought. As always, the sunset would bring this vision to her, as if Pelor were inviting her to enter his blessed domain. “If you remain true to his teachings”, Father Hearn would say. 

Mirine’s smile slowly faded as she remembered the times prior to her entrance to the Sun Dancer monastery twelve years ago. At that time, dusk was full of anxiety and expectancy. She would sit with _him_, discuss the last points in their plans for the night, reveling in their common feeling for the world that never accepted them. Hatred, that was the feeling that guided them through every night. The dark blood that flowed in Mirine’s veins would give her no other  way, she believed. Or that was what _he_ made her believe.

They’ve met in a tragical moment in her life, she was just a eight years girl, but if weren’t for his intervention she wouldn’t live much longer. At that day, her birthday, Mirine was going to experience the fire destined for the witches. The whole village claiming for the death of devilish girl that _burned things_. It was the time to make justice, fire would be fought with fire.

Justice never came. Instead of it, _he_ flew over the pyre, an angel with bat wings, and, catching the crying child in his arms, traveled miles and miles, singing soothing songs in her ear. That kind gesture would never repeat in the years that followed, but it became branded in Mirine’s heart, forever. 

Fighting back the tears, Mirine tried to focus on his mission here. So far, no word of Rusty  Wilon reached her. Only a young soldier sought her today, apparently seeking guidance in spiritual matters, but his nervous demeanor made Mirine suspicious. He wasn’t able to tell her anything, but she would not press him, not yet. But he left her with a feeling that he would know something.

Mirine’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted as she noted that someone was standing by the temple’s entrance. Wearing a cloak.

*****

Ellon weren’t given to drinking, but after all the agitation brought to town by Rusty’s return, he couldn’t resist. Afterall, he needed to calm down a little. It is true that the young soldier was now lost in pleasant thoughts, far from all the problems brought by Rusty’s return that Paul was now enumerating to him. Love. Of course, he would never tell Paul the real reason for him to be drinking. Paul was a good friend, but gossip is his vice. And what would Paul think if he knew that he was drinking to gain some courage. He would laugh. And there’s few things more annoying than Paul’s laugh. Very few.

There was another problem too: the object of his affection. Doubt was eating his soul, as he pondered if his feelings were a sin. He has fallen in love at the very moment he put his eyes on her, the raven-haired beauty from afar, brought to him by the gentle sails of the Bringer of Dawn.

Seeking counsel, he went to Pelor’s temple, only to confront Mirine. His heart stopped at her sight. It was with cold sweat running down his brow and shaking hands that he talked to her, coming up with some stupid question over spiritual matters. Kindly, Mirine answered his questions, in a way that made his ridiculous question sound like a issue debated on the highest ranks of Pelor’s order. When she finished, he just walked away hastily. 

But now it was different. Encouraged by the divine properties of alcohol he left the Goat’s Rest and, with the peculiar gait of those who drank a bit too much, headed for Pelor’s temple.

*****

Mirine couldn’t believe her eyes. In front of her a familiar face grinned to her, delighting in her surprise. 
“Koreas?” Asked the astonished priestess.
“It’s been a long time, dear Mirine.” The hissing voice of the cloaked figure echoed in a strange way over the chamber. “You still can call me Master.”
Mirine tried to recompose, and spoke firmly.”I’ve changed, Koreas. I’m a servant of the Gods now. Pelor is my guide.”
Koreas let loose a sinister laugh, and walked towards Mirine. “You know that life is a contest for power, Mirine. The Gods are the real players of this game, where the reward is kept out of our reach. We’re pawns, Mirine. Toys for the Gods’ amusement.”
Stopping face to face with Mirine, he added. “We always fought for a chance to undo the Gods’ will, subvert it. Now, my dear, we have a chance to wield the true power.”
Mirine remained still, trying to control herself as a torrent of memories washed over her as he continued to speak.
“I’ve found a world where the Gods play no part in the game of life. Strength and might make the keys to power, war is the path that leads to godhood. With our sorcerous abilities we could have this whole world in our hands!!!”
The priestess shook her head and staring at the warlock’s eyes said.”You’re crazy, Koreas. I no longer seek power, I’ve expurged the hatred of my heart. Instead of  revenge, punishment, I give people assistance, comprehension. I will take no part in your plan.”
In quick response to her words, Koreas put his hands over Mirine’s face, slowly passing his claw-like thumb over her lips.
“Who said you have any choice?”


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## ScyldSceafing (Jun 1, 2003)

I'm still here and awaiting my turn.


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## ajanders (Jun 2, 2003)

*Writer Roll Call!*

Sounding off!


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## ajanders (Jun 6, 2003)

*New post time*

Scyld, consider your turn to have come.
If anybody feels unjustly skipped, they can complain in this thread.
At least this way it'll get some posts.


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## Black Bard (Jun 6, 2003)

I think we should respect the one week term we stipulated. After that, the next one in the list is free to procede. 
Of course, delays are expected always, but I think they should be posted here.


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## Black Bard (Jun 12, 2003)

Is there anybody out there???


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## ajanders (Jun 12, 2003)

*Raises Eyebrow*

I told you we should have let Scyld post
I'm still here...anybody else?


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## Black Bard (Jun 13, 2003)

Yep, we are a circle of two now...


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## ajanders (Jun 13, 2003)

*Will the Circle Be Unbroken*

By and by, by and by...
Sounds like I'd better make a post here...best not to expect it until Monday night at the earliest.


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## ajanders (Jun 16, 2003)

*New story post*

There are three lessons every wizard learns before they begin with the slightest cantrip: when to surrender to opponents, when to stand before them, and when to flee them.
Rusty Wilon knew it was time to flee fast and far when the black banner came over the horizon.
The first thing he did was whisper a word older than speech of man to make his cloak a deep leafy green.  After that, he went out to forage supplies from the houses on the outskirts of the village.
The foraging --more like stealing, actually-- went surprisingly well.  The unexpected presence of the Pelorian Inquisition had drawn all eyes and most people to the church.  Rusty slipped into the back door of the first farmhouse, pulled three loaves of bread out of the oven before they burned, and then took one for himself as payment.
The wainright next door had a new smokehouse: Rusty took down a ham and then added fuel to the fire to assuage his conscience.  
The orchards behind the wainright's added a dozen windfall pears to his pack as he headed north, confident that if he could just get to the other side of the island, he could sign on as a supercargo on a trader and put this whole miserable part of his life behind him.
He might even find a deep part of the ocean and drop the damned gun into it one night.  It'd be a relief to be rid of the thing. 
He put his eyes ahead of him and pumped his legs hard to cover distance, looking neither to the right or the left, nor wasting any energy in looking behind him.
Of course, that meant he leapt about a foot in the air when he heard a familiar voice behind him.
"Koreas!  M-master Koreas!  You're supposed to be dead! or lost!...sir..."
Amusement shone in Koreas' violet eyes.
"Or mad!  Or consigned to eternal torment in the Abyss!  Or taking a vacation on the Island of the Moon, yess?"
Rusty stood silent, unfamiliar with the concept of his master being amused.  Or making a joke.
Koreas swept on, looking ...cheerful?
"Russty, apprentice mine, I think it'ss time I explained to you jusst a little bit of my long-term plans.  Ssit down and make yourself comfortable.
Rusty obeyed with alacrity and without discussion.  Best not to disturb the only cheerful mood he'd seen Koreas in.  Ever.
"Russty, this world is under the control of certain entities generally called gods.  For the purposes of this discussion, we will also call them gods."
Rusty nodded slowly and in a manner calculated not to upset Koreas.
Koreas actually grinned.
"You, of coursse, are perfectly aware of this, and doubtless wonder why I'm treating you like an addled toddler.  Bear with me, please.  We have to lay all the premises out before we reach the conclusion, true?"
Rusty nodded again.
"Now I know, from my ressearch, and you know, from your experience, that other worlds exist, where there are no gods...at least not in the sense that we have gods.  Do I missstate myself?"
Rusty found himself slipping back into the rhythm of academic debate despite his growing sense of unease.  Koreas actually appeared happy, which should be a good thing.
Why then was the hair on the back of his neck rising?
"You are entirely correct, Master Koreas."
"Then Russty, what does this suggest to you?"
"The conclusion, then, is that there must be forces or entities different than those things we call gods that sustain those godless worlds?"
"Yess indeed, Rusty Wilon.  Congratulationss.  You have just passed your apprenticeship.  I ssalute you."
Rusty blinked.
"And I ssee you've learned the value of silence as well."
Rusty leapt to fill whatever conversational void Koreas felt there to be.  "This just seems very sudden, s- Magister Koreas."
Koreas reached into his belt purse and drew out a worked silver ring.
"Nonssense, Magus Wilon.  Anyone who can state a rule of reality in one simple sentence like that has moved past the apprentice stage."
He handed Rusty the ring.  "Take thiss as a little souvenir of all the fine work you've done.  Blessings on your journeys."
He stood and stretched for a moment, then turned around.
"That ssaid, Magus Wilon, I could use your help in a few projects of mine...if you have the time."
Rusty bit his lip.  "I had planned, Magister, to leave the island as quickly as I could.  There's an Inquisitor here, and I'd very much-"
"Like to be elssewhere?"  Koreas interrupted brightly.  "That would explain the squashy pears dropping out of that pack, then.  Provisions for the journey?"
Rusty nodded.  Nods seemed to keep Koreas in his happy mood, which Rusty felt was a good thing.
Koreas tutted as he examined Rusty's dingy clothes and battered pack.
"Rusty, my boy, I blame mysself for this.  Now that you're a magus, you'll need to look like a credit to the Art, not some refugee from an otherworldly war.  Even if you are one, you shouldn't look like it."
Rusty nodded again.
"Though I do like what you've done with the cloak."
Koreas turned to look him fully in the eyes.
"Permit me, Magus Wilon, to try another set or two of premises and conclusions."
(Will finish post tomorrow, need to do other things now.  Sorry.)


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## Lela (Jun 16, 2003)

I'm still here, watching and waiting.

Really cool ajanders.  I'll reserve detailed comments until after you get a chance to finish it though.


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## ajanders (Jun 17, 2003)

Thank you, Lela.
Glad to see we managed to maintain an audience, right BB?

Koreas stretched out.
"Now, Magus Wilon, I am tainted with the influence of the Abyss.  My fingers and toes are tipped with hooked claws the color of blood.  I bear great batwings upon my shoulders.  I should be irredeemably evil.  Instead of having a pleasant conversation with you, I should be flinging you on the ground and devouring your soft flesh."
Rusty decided to attempt his own joke.
"But you have decided I would taste terrible?"
Koreas threw his head back and laughed until the hillside rang.
"My boy, the title of Magus suits you!"  Koreas eyes streamed with tears of merriment which he wiped away with the back of his hands.  Rusty laughed along with him, thrilled at his amusement.
Suddenly Koreas fixed him with a steely glare and a predatory smile.
"No."
Rusty's laugh died in his throat.
"No."
Koreas tone chilled.
"Consider this, my boy.  Premise the first: the gods of this world have declared me a creature of evil.  Premise the second: I wish not to be evil.  Conclusion?"
Rusty gulped.  "You must oppose the gods of this world?"
"Indeed.  Further consider this.  Premise the first: I oppose the gods of this world.  Premise the second: a power can only be overcome by a greater power.  Conclusion?"
Rusty could feel his throat beginning to dry.  "You must find a power greater than the gods of this world?"
"Very much indeed.  Would it surprise you to know I have found such powers?  That I have offered them the sacrifices they love best?  That they begin to look upon me with favor?"
Rusty gaped at him.
"I see it does."
"There are things bigger than gods?"
"Oh yes, Rusty.  There are things bigger than all the gods.  They dreamed the gods and all the worlds they live in and rule over.  They imagined good and evil, and don't particularly care about who or what either one is.  Even me, Rusty."
Rusty reeled under the impact of this completely unexpected cosmic revelation.
"And so you can be redeemed?"
"Yes, Rusty.  I can indeed be redeemed."
Rusty smiled and extended his hands to his old master.
"Congratulations, Koreas."
Koreas caught him in a friendly hug.
"Thank you.  You can't understand what this means to me."
He released Rusty and smiled joyously.
"But in the process, Rusty, I've put you in grave danger.  The gods of this world prefer not to be reminded they are only very big fish in a very small pond.  They will send their churches and followers to silence those of us who know the truth.  They have come for me and now they will come for you.  So we must stand together or we will hang separately."
Koreas shrugged.
"Unless, of course, they behead us, burn us at the stake, draw and quarter us, poison us, or crush us with huge weights."
Rusty gulped again.  The old saying about ignorance being bliss had never been made more real.
"So we need to deal with the Pelorian Inquisition in a very final fashion, Rusty.  Even if it pains us.  Here is how we do it..."
Koreas drew Rusty close and began to whisper softly.


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## Lela (Jun 17, 2003)

Whoa, that was creepy.  Cool use of logic ajanders.  Having only recently studied argument in any detail, I'm always fascinated to see it in action.  Even cooler, you mixed in the human tendency to leave out some options.

We're running into a very interesting and harsh world here.  Not quite the definition of High Fantasy, it adds a hard lined lawful edge to most things.

I'd be interested in knowing more about every character we've covered so far.  Very nicely done.


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## Black Bard (Jun 17, 2003)

ajanders said:
			
		

> *Thank you, Lela.
> Glad to see we managed to maintain an audience, right BB?
> *



Of course, ajanders...
Now I will strive to complete a new post till' next Monday...
If I'm lucky I can even receive a comment from our writing muse Lela...


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## ajanders (Jun 18, 2003)

*Pondered thought*

Black Bard, is it helpful to add a thread somewhere for plot notes, character sketches, and so on so we can stay coherent in our work?
Let me know your thoughts...


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## ajanders (Jun 23, 2003)

*Pelorian Bump!*

Just a bump and some running setting notes (so as not to make this an empty bump)

The Pelorian Inquisition is almost a contradiction in terms: he is the least dogmatic of the good gods, caring more that good is done than for the means by which it is done.  He is served equally by Law and Chaos alike.
The Pelorian Inquisition thus serves as the investigatory arm of the Pelorian church militant, a task somewhat hindered by the fact they generally have no (or minimal) secular authority.
Fortunately, the Pelorian Inquisition focuses on things so gruesomely evil secular authority generally raises no commentary.  It is, after all, considered bad form to prosecute the paladin who just slew the vampire cabal who was slowly devouring the entire town.


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## Black Bard (Jun 25, 2003)

*Delay...*

I'm with some problems that have been delaying my post, but I think that by the weekend I'll come up with something...

Aj, I liked your idea of another thread, especially now being the circle so tight...


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## Black Bard (Jun 30, 2003)

*New post*

Here we go....with some delay.... 

***************

It was already night when Ellon finally opened his eyes. Rain was falling outside the building, as if the Gods were trying to wash the land of the malison that blighted it now. As Ellon eyed the ceiling’s intricate patterns, a stern looking bearded man leaned over him, shooting a inquisitive gaze, as if he were trying to scan his very soul.

At this moment Ellon recognized the old man as the leader of the Pelorian Inquisition, and that fact alone brought painful recent memories to his mind, and  tears descended his face like the rain outside. He remembered the fateful moment that he entered the House of MorningGlory and fell across a grotesque scene.  Laughter, as well as the smell of brimstone and burnt flesh, filled the room. Standing there was Sister Mirine, smoke rising from her hands, as well as from the dozen corpses that once were the temple’s clerics. Her icy eyes turned to meet him, but Mirine showed no other reaction. 

By her side, the laughing figure stood. It was tall, yet spotting a distinct hunching back, and had his body all clad in a cloak black as the night. Even more distinct than his hump was the sinister gaze that he shot at Ellon, and with a slow gesture of his hand, a sickly green ray erupted from his pointed finger. The eldritch ray stroke Ellon in his chest, instantly draining his strength, making even his leather coat a overwhelming burden, and unable to stand his feet, he fell limply to the ground. 

The dark figure simply walked through the lying form of Ellon, and with a simple gesture ordered Mirine to follow him. As she walked Ellon didn’t strayed his eyes from her, trying to catch a glimpse of the good hearted that so much captivated him earlier that day. But all he saw was the stony, fixed stare present in her beautiful face, oblivious to all the pain and suffering present in the room. Finally, as the result of smoke inhaling or  an effect of the dread spell, Ellon’s eyes began to feel heavy,  and when he simply could not hold on any longer Mirine looked down at him, her cold eyes now offering a pledging gaze, silently shouting for help. And then, he fainted.

***********

Squire Merres quickly halted his work as he saw Father Hearn descending the stairs. Being the clerics’ remains already gathered and blessed in preparation for the morning funeral ceremony, Merres and the Bringer of Dawn’s crew were trying to clean up the soot , ash and blood staining the sacred temple floor. It was really a miracle that the boy had survived the fire, a fact imparted to Pelor’s will by Father Hearn.

Hearn approached Merres, and before adressing the young man, scanned the room in order to see if the work was being well done. After nodding to himself, Hearn spoke in a low voice. “The boy could do much beside mumbling, Squire Merres, but I’m pretty sure that the devilish Koreas was here. I could sense it by the sheer terror present in the boy’s eyes.”

With that, Hearn motioned his head towards the temple entrance, and Merres followed him this way. As the Holy Father watched the rain, the young lad noted his concentrated look, fixed on a distant point. Suddenly, Hearn emerged from his momentary trance, adressing the squire. “Sir Kenton is still pretty weak, and besides that, never had the the steely will nedded to hunt warlocks.”

With his gaze still locked he proceeded. “Only Sir Erion has any experience in dealing with those magus, Merres. You must find Sir Erion and communicate him of his mission, and all the information we gathered so far. Is he still onboard?”

“No, he is...” Merres paused for a while, obviously embarassed. “He’s probably interacting with the ladies in town...”

“ Interacting?” Hearn looked at Merres, a discontent expression in his face. “Oh, mighty Pelor, I don’t know why you keep this unfortunate soul as a Holy Paladin of Dawn... But what I could know then, Merres?” he inquired. ”I’m _still_ just a humble servant of the Sun Lord...”

****************

The Goat’s Rest wasn’t spotting much movement this night, of course that was a direct consequence of the fiery tragedy that befallen the town. But still, some poor souls whose felt that their lives were even worse than this puny event had gathered in the tavern, seeking forgetfulness, a comforting sensation brought by the numbing of conscience. Tonight, as any other night, the harbinger of relief would be alcohol for some, yet some sought it in the artificial company of the ladies of the evening.

Among those brightless souls was someone of note. A foreigner that only recently arrived, that despite some age, beared a imposing figure, a presence that instilled awe in the hearts of any who looked at him. This glorious man was Sir Erion, a Holy Paladin of Dawn, a warrior well-known for his battle prowess and courage, as well as for the righteous conduct he always carried on in his victories. The great majority of his success derived from the relentless hunt that was his life, more especifically, a Witch-Hunt.

But Erion’s confidence was shattered by some events of late. Even being these happenings five years old, the memories always surface fresh and lively as if it had just occurred. The screams, the tears, the blood in the Fields of Azanir haunted every moment of his life, but, it was the dire consequence of his actions that burned his heart. At that night, in the Fields of Azanir, he fell of grace with Pelor, his warming presence gone from his being, leaving only a deep void in place. Guilty.

Yet, he could not tell anyone of his fault, not because of his pride, because he never gave it much worth, but because of the feelings of someone that meant everything to him. His little son, Beorn, was a delicate child, born with a defective leg that made walking a almost impossible task. Erion and his wife, Ariela, had always tried to pass only good things to the child, raising an ambient where Beorn could grow in his parent’s love, becoming a happy person despite his deficiency. Nothing could make the boy more happier than hear his father’s exploits, and with time he became extremely proud of his father, the Paladin, and his deeds. Erion simply couldn’t disappoint his son, and never told anyone of his dreadful state, nor had the courage to return home and face his son, accepting mission after mission from the church, hoping one day to regain his lost status. 

So far, Erion’s will only deteriorated, and he passed all his time feasting with women and drinking, trying to forget the pain and the sadness. Inebriated by alcohol, excited by the women, Erion experienced the wildest dreams. Dreams where he always ended full of glory, finally reddeming. But, inexorably, morning comes, destroying his illusions, shattering his dreams, as Pelor reminds him of his faults.

Erion was already drooping over a tankard of ale when Squire Merres entered the tavern. The two young girls that were in his company displayed great smiles, as they won a purse of gold only for accompanying a distinct knight in a descent on a intoxicated sleep. The two beautiful sirens sprang quickly from the bench, laughing as Merres approached their table. The squire requested Cohr’s assistance, and together they managed to carry the paladin up to a room. And there, this time with a splash of cold water, Erion was abruptly taken off from dreams of glorious deeds, only to land in the desert of hope that is reality.


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## ajanders (Jul 1, 2003)

*Interesting*

Note to self...be very wary in your games.
I was just going to give Mirrine a nasty charred death.  BlackBard, you're apparently thinking of something infinitely worse.
I'll have to chew on this a bit...but it's only going to get worse for a while, I'm afraid.
My update will not be before Friday, I'm pretty sure.
aja


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## Black Bard (Jul 1, 2003)

Thanks, aj...
I'm glad that we are teaming up in such a good fashion, with surprises on both sides...  

The only thing we simply can't agree upon is our lady sorceror name: "Mirine" or "Mirrine"??


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## Lela (Jul 1, 2003)

I should start writing down a list of characters I want to play.  That Fallen Paladin who no one knows about idea is a good one and I can see myself keeping that secret at the table.  Nicely done.


The only problem I see with this method is that I seem to get lost easily.  I doubt that's your fault, I often can't remember what was going on in the book I last read 24 hours before but is there any chance of some type of outline?


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## Black Bard (Jul 3, 2003)

Lela said:
			
		

> *I should start writing down a list of characters I want to play.  That Fallen Paladin who no one knows about idea is a good one and I can see myself keeping that secret at the table.  Nicely done.*



Thanks, Lela... I'm glad that our sole reader (besides me and ajanders...  ) is enjoying the story... 
I never enjoyed playing the typical "shining - armored - paladin"... I always tried to spice it in some way...The most memorable paladin I've played was the self-styled "Paladin of Love and Justice"... in fact a cleric of good, roaming Ravenloft with flair... Unfortunately, his life was short....  



			
				Lela said:
			
		

> *The only problem I see with this method is that I seem to get lost easily.  I doubt that's your fault, I often can't remember what was going on in the book I last read 24 hours before but is there any chance of some type of outline? *



When I'm not writing I'm as much a reader as you, so I can tell it can be very confusing indeed... As I see it:
_Post one - Enkhidu_  He depicted the Goat's Rest tavern in order to provide a point from where the stories shoud sprout...
_Post two - GWolf_  Introduced Rusty and narrated his fight, when he shot Sir Kenton, fleeing after that...
_Post three - ajanders_  Described the Pelorian Inquisition, the healing of Kenton by Father Hearn at the same morning, and the glorious official arrival of the Church entourage, with Sister Mirine staying at the town's temple...
_Post four - Black Bard_  Still the same day. Ellon goes at the temple by noon, and talks to Mirine. At sunset, she is visited by Koreas, as Ellon leaves the Goat's Rest.
_Post five - ajanders_   I understand this post as being out of this timeline, as Rusty's encounter with Koreas occurs between the official arrival of the Pelorian Inquisition in town (as Rusty noted the black flag) and the meeting of Koreas with Mirine in the temple. It happens in the same day, between noon and sunset.
_Post six - Black Bard_  Describes the consequences of Mirine's encounter with Koreas, the killing of the priests and the attack suffered by Ellon as he arrived at the temple. Besides that, Erion, the Paladin, is presented. This post encompasses facts occurred at night, on this same day( except Ellon's memories of the facts passed at sunset).

I hope it can shed some light in your understanding...That's the way I see it, I hope(!!) ajanders see it the same way....


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## megamania (Jul 4, 2003)

Curious-  I hadn't seen this before but I had tried to start something somewhat like this on the General D.  area.

Neat to see others thinking this way.


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## Lela (Jul 4, 2003)

Thanks Black Bard, it does help.  I'll likely reread it before I read the next update.


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## Black Bard (Jul 4, 2003)

megamania said:
			
		

> *Curious-  I hadn't seen this before but I had tried to start something somewhat like this on the General D.  area.
> 
> Neat to see others thinking this way. *




I hope you are liking the result...


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## Black Bard (Jul 4, 2003)

Lela said:
			
		

> *Thanks Black Bard, it does help.  I'll likely reread it before I read the next update. *



Feel free to make any question, Lela... 

Meanwhile, we wait for ajanders' post...


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## ajanders (Jul 7, 2003)

*Story update*

My, there's a lot of it.
I think I'll need at least one more long post: if it doesn't show up in a week, Black Bard, go ahead and write on anyway.
Can't think of a catchy title, unfortunately.

Here Goes!...

Merres eyed Erion's prostrate form dubiously, then folded his hands in prayer.
"Almighty Pelor, please forgive me for what I am about to do."
Then he drove his fist under Erion's ribs.  The knight grunted.
"Whassis...lemme 'lone, 'snot morning yet."
"Wake up, Sir Erion!"
"Donwanna wakeup, wanna shleep...'shnice to shleep."
Merres took a deep breath and recited four verses of a Pelorian hymn to calm his nerves.
"Almighty Pelor, please forgive me again, even more, for what I am now about to do.  And please grant me your strength, because Sir Erion is a very heavy man."
Merres dragged Erion's legs off the edge of the bed and let them drop to the ground, then hoisted Erion up until he sat on 
the edge of the bed.  He hauled the washstand over, then hoisted Erion back into his sitting position.  Merres looked unhappily at Erion's drunken form again and sighed.
"Here we go.."
He seized the back of Erion's head and thrust it into the washbasin.  A stream of bubbles rose to the surface.
"One...two...three."
He lifted Erion's head out of the basin.  Coughs indicated Erion was returning to his duty.
"One, two, three!"
Merres immersed him again.  More bubbles arose, and Erion began to flail his arms and legs.
"One, two, three!"
Merres pulled his head out again.
"I'm up, dammit, I'm up!"
Merres did not count this time, but retained a firm grip on Erion's head in case further immersion was necessary.
"Sir Erion, Inquisitor Hearn sends his compliments and requests your attendance aboard the Bringer of Dawn immediately.  Your 
skills are urgently needed."
Erion shook his head free from Merres grasp.
"Really?  Usually the sanctimonious old bastard likes me not to use my skills.  What's changed his mind?"
Merres bit his lip and took a deep breath.  "Inquisitor Hearn did not give me that information, sir."
"Well that's interesting, then.  He's finally found a witch he didn't like.  Or a warlock."
He stood up and stretched luxuriantly.
"I suppose I'd better get myself equipped, then.  Run along, youngster.  This is man's work here.  I'll be along once my gear's in shape."
Merres left without a word.
A set of bagpipes was walking down the hall.  Merres blinked in astonishment, then realized the bagpipes were being carried 
by a very little girl.  She smiled at him and offered them up.
"Do you need these?"
Merres blinked again.  "No, I don't think so."
The little girl nodded solemnly.  "I'll put them back then."
"That's probably best."
The little girl turned around and staggered back down the hall under the bagpipes.  Merres stood for a moment, then caught up 
with her.
"Why would I need bagpipes?"
"That man was very sleepy.  I thought those might wake him up.  Uncle Corh says those darned screechers are loud enough to 
raise the dead from heck."
"He does, does he?"  
"Well, those aren't the real words he uses.  Mommy won't let me say the real words.  You have blood on your face."
"That's probably good."  Merres responded, touching his lip.  "About the words, I mean."  He studied the blood on his finger.
"Did you get hurt when the bad lady set the temple on fire?  Is that what made your face bleed?"
"No.  I wasn't there."
"You should wash your face."
"Yes I should.  And you should go to sleep."
"You have to tuck me in first."
"Shouldn't your daddy be tucking you in?"
"Daddy's busy downstairs.  But you can do it, because you work for Pelor."
"I guess that's a good reason."
Merres picked the girl up and tucked her under his arm.
"How did you know I worked for Pelor?"
"I saw you carry his flail in the parade."
Merres mind reeled at the upcoming thelogical pitfall.
"That was just a priest, little girl.  Pelor himself is not here.  He sends his servants instead."
The little girl nodded with satisfaction.  "I thought Pelor would be taller.  My bedroom has the red door."
Merres nodded, not trusting himself to open his mouth, and pushed the door ajar with his foot.  The bed was against the far 
wall.  He dropped her in it and turned on his heel.
"Wait!"
There was real panic in the voice.  "Can you look to see if there are any monsters under the bed?"
Merres sighed... she was only five years old, and already she was ordering men around.  It could be a long night.

***

Rusty Whelon whispered the words of his invisibility spell and crept quietly up the gangplank.  The marine standing guard 
remained firmly at attention, watching over the side of the ship for thieves or enemies.  Rusty admired that kind of soldierly discipline: he'd learned the hard way how painfully dull sentry duty could be in the world of Libya.  He was especially impressed at the orderly way the sentry collapsed when struck vigorously with an axe handle.
Rusty gently set his improvised club down and catfooted towards the stern of the boat, gun drawn.  Father Hearn was sitting out on the deck, hands folded in his lap, a heavy comforter wrapped around his shoulders.  Rusty breathed a sigh of relief:  this could have been much harder.
He brought the gun up and took a deep breath, held it, and was just about to release it when the wrath of Pelor dropped out 
of the masts and landed on his head.
The wrath of Pelor was represented that night by Sir Kenton, a man of nearly 250 pounds in his court clothes, more when 
armored for battle.  Rusty crumpled to the deck under his weight.  He was just beginning to get his wind back when Sir Kenton 
smashed him twice in the face with a gauntleted fist, knocking him unconscious.
Sir Kenton hit him once more in the jaw for good measure, then stood up, holding his side. Father Hearn stood, the comforter 
falling to his feet to reveal the chain mail he was wearing.
"Has your wound broken open, Sir Kenton?"


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## Lela (Jul 7, 2003)

Wow, Sir Kenton kicks trash.

I still think Dartan could take 'em though.


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## Black Bard (Jul 10, 2003)

I'll read it again, but it seems very interesting... I especially liked the bagpipes...hehehe.... 

BTW, Aj, are you going to complete your post or should I begin working on it?


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## ajanders (Jul 10, 2003)

*Post surrender*

You'd better...I had an idea for a vault with a handle covered with sharp blades, used to store the things the Pelorian inquisition knows they need, but don't want people to get at casually.
That said, I can't quite make it work yet.
If you can, go ahead and use it.
If not, I'll keep it tucked away for my own purposes...
aja


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