# Temple of Perpetual Pain



## Whitey (Mar 2, 2004)

Four days journey due west of Hnaerud, the ruts worn by farmer's carts and oxen begin to taper away, the meandering cartpath further overgrown with gorse and burrs.  Here the ambling hills and terraced fields give way to the foothills of the Brass Mountains.  Though unmarked by any formal boundary or estate, this is where one of Wolt's wild lands begins.  This is where adventure begins.
Summer was just unfurling across the land, and with the occasional shortcut through short shocks of wheat and fording pebble-lined brooks, the three travelers where making superb time.  In fact, Cole could make out the distant peaks of the mountains through the sunset haze, striking striations of tawny yellow and red that gave the range its name.
"Press on another hour, and then stop for the night?" 
This was addressed to Evander, the tracker who had steered them on thus far.  Evander did little more than bat his fingers westward to express his agreement.  While his expert guidance had helped the three immensely, the unnerving intensity of the tracker's gaze spurred them even further, distant silver beneath his mottled brown hooded cloak.  Cole considered himself fortunate to be spared that haunting, far-too-distant gaze.  Hunter's eyes.

Hardly had the sentence left Cole's lips before Norece, their third companion, was gently nodding assent.  Of course, it may well be just nodding to the meter of his devotions, recited silently as the group rode along, the silver symbol of Yrah cradled gently in his left hand.  Norece held his piebald plowhorse's reigns even more casually, and his eyes would flicker open only briefly, raising some doubt in Cole's mind as to how the contemplative kept his mount on course.  Surely the workings of Great Mystery weren't used to such jejune ends?  One touched by Yrah, enlightened as they called themselves, were seldom the type to take up wandering.  Yet his presence was altogether welcome.  It would be night soon, and a night in the wilds of Wolt was no trifling matter.
Neither was their quest.
The three had decided to journey west, past the mountains and then the harsh desert, to pay homage to the heroes that had come before, and to seek inspiration and resolve at the toppled remains of Wolt's most profane places.  They were headed much further west.  To the temple.


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## Whitey (Mar 8, 2004)

The sun was setting quickly, shafts of amber threaded between the mountain peaks, and the three travelers needed to make haste.  Evander had chosen a semicircular thicket to stable the horses, and had swabbed Cole's brand new tent with mud and set dried branches through the ropes to better conceal it.
"Tell us of the .."  Here Norece paused, looking up from his labors setting tent-pegs, his braided hair also flecked with leaves.  ".. the wisdom of setting camp so far from the road.  The rest of our group may well press ahead, and pass us in the night."
Evander pursed his lips, and glanced down to consult the tattoo on the inside of his right forearm.  Though few others could make sense of it, the series of black bars and circles made a remarkably accurate calender and map.  As soon as Norece rose up for a look as well, Evander's archery guard slipped back into place.
"They'll take the road.  So will the manbeasts.  If they press on, like you say, the manbeasts will take them."
Cole returned then with a sparse handful of dry bark, useful in starting their fire.  He'd used his dagger conspicuously in hewing at the fallen tree, expert sweeps and elaborate changes of grip. The woodsman hadn't seemed suitably impressed.
Cole continued the argument.  "As it stands, we can't even *see* the road, or anything taking it. If these bugbears would steal up on us from the dark, as you say, wouldn't we be better off seeing them coming?"
Evander snorted.  _Bugbears_.  Only old wives or cheeky children called them that.  Neither old wives nor children would make it through the wilds.
"If they do come, you won't see them coming."

Cole's ire continued to mount as evening wore on into night.  Luckily it was clear, well lit by Wolt's great moon and two lesser moons.  Cole wondered what they signified to the mystic and the dour tracker - to him, they provided welcome light to complement the pitiful fire Evander had raised.  Light but little warmth, he thought, as the breeze began to pick up.  According to their guide, too large a campfire would only attract attention, and using the larger logs Cole had found in abundance would make smoke and cracklings that would make keeping watch impossible.  Over Cole's strenuous objections they'd disassembled Norece's crossbow in order to use the fine metal cable in making a bow drill - this while the cleric had flint and steel in hand!
Evander again consulted his extensive tattoos, his inscrutable grey eyes turned to the stars, his thumb and fingers tapping together keeping tally.
"We're a full day ahead of those others now. Another day will bring us to Enley, where we can meet up with 'em.  Rest up tonight.  Norece says he wants first watch, so he's south by that crooked maple tree."
Cole already had his bedroll and pack in hand.  "Thank you so much.  After a day on the trail, there's nothing more refreshing than a night on the trail.  Followed, of course, by a day on the trail."
Before the tracker could make any retort, Cole had pushed past the thicket heading northwest.  He was sore of riding cross country, sore of pushing through briars and bugs, and mostly sore of that ranger's grim prattle. All those orchestrated pluckings at leaves and peering at mud - especially those times when Evander would order the group to halt and suddenly knock an arrow, were just for show.  Cole was not suitably impressed.
"Wouldn't do that if I was you."
Here Cole turned abruptly.  Somehow Evander had moved past the horses, through the brambles, and beside Cole with hardly a sound.  Cole stemmed his  urge to draw the heirloom short sword kept secreted in his pack.  That would not be used for hewing firewood, though it certainly could hew this woodsman.  "Your bugbears.  They can see you well past the firelight.  Smell you, too.  They come with longspears first, so your sword's no good."
Cole purposefully set down his pack, scowling up at Evander.  Had his pack been rummaged through?  Had this ranger been eyeing his possessions the whole time?  Here in the wilds, only Norece would know if Cole ended up buried under a pile of branches - and Norece would only know what Evander chose to tell.
"I'll take my chances. At least I'll know who I'm taking my chances with."
Evander simply took a handful of arrows from his horse's saddlebag.
"We move out at dawn, if you're still alive.  Try and keep an eye on the horses.  We *need* them."
His blanket draped over his arm, concealing his sword in hand, Cole made himself comfortable - if not entirely at ease.  He well understood the effectiveness of a stab in the back, and so had seated himself against the nearby rise with his pack across his knees.  The curious dried vines around would have to rustle when disturbed, and he could just make out Norece's spindly figure by that tree.  Or was that the right tree?  Cole's attention was focused more on spotting Evander, who had apparently taken to the tent.  The tent he'd commandeered, Cole thought. The tent would billow in the breeze, and the flickering fire made it hard to discern any shadows within.  If he was to call out, Norece could hear, and would come right away.  Or he could dash to his horse and make for the trail - It was southwest, right?  It was getting too dark, too quickly, to be entirely sure.  But Cole felt ready for any attack that would come.

Sure enough, the attack came.


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## DMO (Mar 9, 2004)

Hi Whitey,

I'm not any kind of authority on how to accumulate a large story hour readership, but I think folks will be more inclined to stick around and give it a try if it's easy on their eyes.  You might want to think about adding some space between paragraphs so it's more visually digestible.

Oh, and "Meanest DM of all", huh?  Mean is all well and good, but may I suggest you take a look into the Rat Bastardly school of DMing.  (You can find the primer in PirateCat's story hour.)  Your players' nightmares will never be the same.

Best!

Matt


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## (contact) (Mar 18, 2004)

Whitey's so mean he frightened his first-person away.


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## Stone Angel (Mar 18, 2004)

Dude this story hour rocks. I am totally infatuated with it. Hell I'd sit down next to it and by it drinks all night long! You can write brah. Lurke mode: On!
Can't wait for more.

The Seraph of Earth and Stone.


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## Whitey (Mar 23, 2004)

The most unnerving thing about it was the silence.
Cole had just begun to settle into the brush, gathered into an ersatz pillow, his cloak bundled up by his throat for protection - against the rising wind, if nothing else.  
Even the tepid orange glow of their dismal fire was beginning to look more inviting.  Instead, Cole tucked his knees in closer and drew in on his pack.  He wasn't about to give Evander the satisfaction of slinking back into camp, nor was he entirely willing to make concessions to the ranger.  Not until he changed those backward, backwoods ways.  Perhaps he could rely on the placid demeanor of Norece?  After all, the contemplative seemed willing to brook many indignities during their journey without a word of complaint - and after all, Norece seemed so completely engrossed in otherworldly matters that a spat between two mere mortals would hardly disturb him.  Cole began to rise, and began to raise his voice for the cleric, when the words rattled breathless in his throat.  Some great weight drew around his chest, and his breath tumbled out without words.  Suddenly he clutched at it, only to have his fingers slide away without gaining purchase, with his sword-arm now bound against his ribs. He kicked reflexively, his legs now tangled in his pack's harness, its weight holding him fast as well, thoroughly entangled.  The well-honed edge of his sword rasped against his bonds but his strength was fast fading - across the backdrop of stars he saw flecks of gray, his life swimming away from him into blackness.

Cole tumbled backward to the hillock, fumbling with his free hand for the dagger by his belt, when two lustrous silver motes sprang into his view and joined the dappled stars.  Evander's eyes. The ranger had his hand on Cole's shoulder - the tracker had flung him back, hard to the soil, with a handaxe raised overhead.  Cole saw it there, silver poised among the moons, waiting to drop.  It struck.  The blade coursed by, just past Cole's left arm, tossing up dried leaves and telling true against the bound strangling him.  Norece was soon by Cole's side as well - with a crossbow bolt in hand the cleric struck haphazardly, rooting through the brush.  The horrible pressure around Cole's chest laxed, and Evander pulled him aside by the tunic.
Only then could they all see it - glints here and there in the firelight.  The monstrous snake that had captured Cole lay twined through the branches, its tail vanishing from view. Norece was still jabbing at it with the bolt, wrestling the beast's body away.  Cole pitched foreward with his hands on his knees just as Evander thrust some rank-smelling weed under his nose, and Cole took a sharp breath instinctively.  Whatever Norece had to say while he stooped before Cole was lost in the rising rush of blood in the rogue's ears - not that Cole could muster much of a response.  Instead, he slapped indignantly at the crushed seed-pod by his nose.
"Corbus weed.  And it saved your life."

Cole bent down to recover his short sword and instantly began hacking and coughing again.  Evander was now looking back to their camp, where the fire was smoldering out.  "Let's be on the move.  They were bound to hear that, and they'll be coming.  Soon."
Norece was standing over the serpent's body.  "This. . this _thing_ was called here.  Someone cast for it to kill us!"
Evander was already gathering their gear and saddling their horses.  By the time Cole stumbled the short way back to the tent, the tracker was staring at him with obvious impatience.  The fire was doused as soon as Cole stepped into its light, and since his pack felt too heavy to carry he slung it on his horse as well.
"Quiet!" the tracker barked.
Norece helped Cole into the saddle, the cleric's sandy hair hiding most of his face.  "Back to the road then?  Or bear north for the open fields?"
The ranger had his bow in hand, holding it toward the moon, divining along its length.  "The road.  Take our chances there.  We must be swift.  Five hours until dawn."
What Cole remembered of their ride was nightmarish - he could hardly keep his eyes open from exhaustion.  Branches would hit him in the face to jar him awake.  The echoing hoofbeats around put him on edge.  Bugbears ate horses rather then ride them, right?  Exactly when the world went from sullen gray to dawn he couldn't say, and when the party stopped at a muddy stream he nearly pitched off his mount. Lifting up the heavy hauberk of his armor, Cole found symmetrical rows of bruises where the iron disks had bitten into his flesh.
"We'll take care of those.  Evander and I."  Norece had cupped some water in his palms and raised it to the rogue.  "Here.  Not much, but it's a start."  Cole drank, awkward from the saddle.  The Chosen of Yrah favored him with a smile - just gentle creases around the ancient eyes set in his young face.
Cole examined the blotches of serpent blood on his clothes.  "Some start.  What quest is this?  We face death to honor dead men?  They are great heroes to be sure, but is it worth the cost of our lives?"

Norece's expression was at once as human and as distant as ever.  "For such a cause, could you do any less?"


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## Stone Angel (Apr 1, 2004)

Update!! More! More!

The Seraph of Earth and Stone


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