tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-187455822024-03-13T13:29:04.796-05:00LiteratrixBook reviews, art, gaming, Objectivism and thoughts on other topics as they occur.Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.comBlogger705125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-59074816039046263772020-11-11T01:43:00.001-05:002020-11-11T01:43:20.482-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/MlckYmL61C8" width="320" youtube-src-id="MlckYmL61C8"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Psst!” Lucha jumped and looked
around, finally locating the sound in a nearby potted bush. He'd
just stepped out of the Stump Tavern for the morning. “Psst!”
the noise came again, and Lucha spotted a human doing a poor
imitation of a stealthy person among the foliage.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You HAVE to take me with you,” the
human hissed. “I can't stay in this hole any more. I heard you
took a job from that brood. I want to come with. I'm a wizard. I'm
useful. Well, useful-ish.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Er, who ARE you?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“M'name's Daz,” he stuck out a
scrawny, pale hand. “You don't have to pay me or nothin'; I just
want to come along.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“If you're a wizard, I take it you
have a spellbook?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Of course! Well, no, not really.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Um . . .”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I mean, I have it, but I don't
really HAVE it, you know?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You . . . mean you own a spellbook,
but you're not currently in possession of it?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That's what I said.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So, would you be willing to trade
spells with me?” Lucha asked, hanging on tightly to what he saw as
the main point.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Are you going to take me with you?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Lucha hesitated, taking in Daz's filthy
and disreputable clothing. “Just one moment.” He stepped back
into the tavern, where Herald, Elendol, and Listens were finishing
breakfast.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So, I have a question,” Lucha
said. “There's another wizard here in town who wants to join us in
our adventures, and he's willing to share his spellbook if we let him
come along, but he's . . . he seems unreliable.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Elendol shrugged. “Is it that guy
Daz?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Lucha sighed in relief. “You know
him?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No, I just talked to him once. Did
not impress.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Herald Crash frowned. “We could
check up on him, see if he's caused any accidents or other problems,
and if not, I'd like to bring him along. Everyone deserves a
chance.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Honestly, I think we should see
about dealing with Rundell and his buddies first,” Elendol said.
“That elf looks like a ranger. If he wants to take us out, He'll
follow our tracks and set an ambush, and with that bow of his we'll
be dead before we can even get to him.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You think they dislike us that
much?” Herald asked.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Elendol snorted. “See, I pay
attention to what people are saying when they're standing around at a
big festival, and I was not liking what I heard about those three.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Listens to Greenlings looked up.
“Leeta the Barmaid was certainly afraid of them.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So, what do we do?” Lucha asked.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Someone around here has to know
something more about them,” Elendol said.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Lucha stepped back out of the door and
examined the potted plant, which emitted a rustling noise as Daz
peeked around it. “Do you know anything about our competition in
the games yesterday?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Huh?” was Daz's illuminating
response.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“The archer and that wrestler fellow
and his orc friend.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What, them? They suck. If you have
anything, they'll take it off you. Not because they need money, but
just because they get bored. I'm kinda glad the old lady doesn't pay
me in money, because they'd just take it off me. I think there's a
hobo kid that Thaon kicked in the head. He's still unconscious or
something like that.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Where? And when did this happen?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Uh, three days ago or so? Before the
party. I can show you where the family is if you want. Sometimes I
sleep down that way.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Please. But let me get my friends
first,” Lucha said. He peeked back into the tavern, but Herald and
Elendol had left, leaving Listens to Greenlings alone. “Where did
they go?” he asked the druid.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“To fetch Rogus. I'm sure they'll
find their way back.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Herald Crash tapped at the door to
Rogus' office, just outside Melina Binlay's large and pleasant hall.
The Orc stuck his head out the window. “Have a minute?” Crash
asked.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah, what's up?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Rundell and his group seem to be
causing trouble around the place. Inappropriate manhandling of the
ladies and potentially some extortion.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Rogus chuckled, displaying sharp tusks.
“If you have anything solid on them, it'd be a blessing for this
village. I've been trying to nail them for months.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do you currently have any leads?”
the halfling asked. “What would be considered solid?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Just more than one witness actually
willing to talk to me would work. Or someone with actual injuries.
Something I can show the Lady.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Very well. We'll do some checking
around and be back when we know more.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">They returned to the tavern and the
four set out together, following Daz down twisty paths carved in,
over, and under the thick buttress roots of the stump. A
surprisingly large number of people appeared to be living down there
in dark, dank little niches. They peered at the friends, but didn't
seem interested in hindering them.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And, here we are,” Daz announced
as they arrived at a room sandwiched between two protruding roots.
He gestured at a poor, emaciated man in ragged clothes. An exhausted
woman sat nearby tending a motionless boy on a filthy pallet. A girl
who looked to be about three stood in the corner, clutching a
shapeless rag doll. “This is, uh . . .”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Vigen,” said the man, in a tired,
wheezy voice.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Hello, Vigen,” Lucha said. “Can
you tell me what happened to his young lad?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Who are you and why do you want to
know?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“My name is Lucha, and these are some
of my friends. We heard of your plight and want to help right this
wrong.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You want to help? You got any
healing?” Listens stepped forward immediately, bending to look at
the boy. Vigen looked nervous, but did not attempt to stop the druid
from examining his son.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“A head injury with swelling inside
the skull,” Listens murmured. “He will need healing magic to
escape damage to the brain. I can do this immediately.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Not yet,” Herald said. “Sir,
we'd like to heal him, but let us get the guard first. Once they're
here, will you tell them what happened?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Vigen winced, but as Herald held his
gaze he hunched his shoulders. “I . . . all right, if it'll help
my boy.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'll be right back,” the halfling
said, and hurried back the way they had come. Within half an hour,
the halfling reappeared, Rogus in tow. The woman shrank away from
the tall and muscular orc, but Rogus' expression was mild as he
examined the child on the pallet. “All right,” Crash said.
“Heal away.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Listens to Greenlings cast several
spells, chanting, gesturing, and presenting a large snail shell with
an interesting spiral pattern. All at once, the boy began coughing
violently. His mother rushed to him side and helped him turn over,
leaning his head down over the side of the pallet. The coughing soon
subsided and he moaned and opened his eyes.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“He needs water,” Listens said.
“Just a little at first. Do you have a spoon?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The woman nodded and began carefully
ferrying spoonfuls of water to the boy's mouth. He reached for the
cup, but she held it back. Listens knelt and began pinching the
boy's toes one at a time. “Can you feel that?” he asked after
each pinch. The boy nodded. Vigen looked like he wanted to rush
forward, but the presence of the strangers forestalled him. All at
once the woman set the cup down on the floor and began to sob.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Pa?” the boy asked hoarsely.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Rogus frowned. “I hate to interrupt
what is obviously an emotional moment, but I've come here to get a
statement.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Vigen flinched and looked at Herald and
Lucha, hoping for some support.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Vigen, this is Rogus,” Herald said
as gently as he could. “He's the chief of security here in town.
We just need you to tell what happened to your son, that's all.
We're here to help you.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't wanna cause no trouble. I
thank ye folks for your help . . .”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Herald took a step forward and looked
up beseechingly at the much-taller human. “Listen, we don't know
for sure who did this, but we have a hunch. We just need your
information and they can be locked away where they can't hurt you or
your family again. But Rogus can't lock them up without a good
reason.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Vigen looked over at the orc and wrung
his hands. Finally, he sighed. “We came here not long ago, an' I
had a few small bits of jewelry as belonged to my wife hidden away,
but afore I could find anyone as to buy 'em, comes this large fellow
an' his elf an orc friends and shoves me around, makes to search our
belongings. I din't want my family to starve, but what could I do? I
ain't no fighter. But my boy tries to grab one o' them trinkets an'
run away. So the elf one with the braided hair kicks 'im in tha head
an' takes it. He been fadin' since then, couldn't get no food down
'im, nor hardly any water.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Could you describe the gems? We
might be able to find them and return them.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Weren't no gems, just a silver pin
what my wife had from her parents on our weddin', an her silver
mirror.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How's that, Rogus?”<br /><br />“It's
good enough for me. If this fellow and his boy will come upstairs to
talk to Melina, I'll get my boys together and see if we can fetch
those ruffians.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That all right with you, Vigen?”
Herald asked.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't want no trouble . . .” the
man began.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Rogus snorted impatiently. “If you
don't testify, who knows what they'll do next time.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And they'll find out you spoke to us
easily,” Lucha said.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Herald frowned at the elven wizard.
“Please, Vigen. You're among friendly people here. This is your
best chance. Why don't your wife and daughter come too, we can get
some food on the way.” The little girl's head popped up at the
mention of food and she began tugging urgently on the woman's sleeve.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I . . . all right,” Vigen gave in.
They made quite the procession climbing to the top of the stump.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I have an idea,” Listens said, and
abruptly changed into rather a large bear. He began sniffing around.
Rogus jumped and Vigen staggered backwards into the platform
railing. The young girl gave an excited shriek and the woman dove
forward and snatched her before she could try to pet the druid/bear.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What is he doing?” Rogus growled
under his breath, looking down at Herald.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“No idea.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">After casting around on the platform
for a minute or so, Listens became a man again. “I believe our
quarry can be found in yon alchemist's shop.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Rogus frowned yet again. “Let me get
my men.” The friends stood on the platform for several minutes
with Vigen's family while Rogus passed the word, then they gathered
together around the door to Chayo's shop, with Vigen and his family
safely out of the way at a food vendor. “Do you want to do the
honors?” Rogus asked Herald, who shrugged and stepped through the
door. Rundell, Thaon, and Enthir were inside looking through the
tables of small bottles and jars. Over at the counter was Chayo,
deep in conversation with Prandwas the brood adventurer.
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Prandwas looked up and saw the crowd
behind Herald. “Oho, this looks serious!”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sadly, it is. We're here to speak
to Rundell and his friends. Or, at least, the town guard would like
to speak to them.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yeah,” Rogus piped up. “Lady
Binlay wants a word with you three.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Rundell looked them over, clearly
calculating the odds, then glanced at Thaon, who shrugged. All of
them had their weapons peacebound, and there was no other way out
except for going past Chayo, who was gray-haired but still spry and
had both arms covered in the pearly, swollen nodules of a powerful
alchemist. “Lead the way,” Rundell said. The procession
reformed, now somewhat larger and rather better-armed, and proceeded
its way to Lady Binlay's house. The entrance hall of the house was
more than large enough for the group. Rogus flagged down a servant to
fetch Lady Binlay and she appeared without delay, taking a seat on
her carved ironwood chair.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Well, Rogus, what's this about?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ma'am, we're here to present a
complaint. These three men stole from this family and injured one of
the children badly, almost killing him.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“He would have died soon without
magical healing,” Listens said.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Rogus saw the injuries before the
boy was healed,” Herald added.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Oh? What do you say, Rogus.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“The man Vigen identified his
attackers as Rundell, Thaon, and Enthir, ma'am. And the boy was
badly hurt, even I could see as much.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Lady Binlay transferred her gaze to
Vigen. “Do you identify these men?” The man looked overwhelmed,
but his son tugged at him. “C'mon, Pa!”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes, ma'am. Y'honor.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Melina smiled at him briefly. “No
need to concern yourself with titles. Rogus, a word.” The orc
approached and bent his head, they whispered together for several
minutes, then Rogus returned to his position on guard. “Well, my
loyal guardsman would like to see you three hang, but lucky for you I
have no authority to order such a thing and no desire to face an
inquest from the Adventurers' Guild. However, I can order you
confined until the next upriver boat arrives and then throw you out
of my little town, and that's exactly what I intend to do. Rogus,
see to it, please.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“With pleasure, m'Lady.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Well, gents, sounds like our job's
almost over,” Herald said as Rogus and his men divested their
prisoners of weapons and armor and escorted them out. “We should
see if we can find that silver pendant and mirror.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“How long are you going to hold
them?” Elendol asked Lady Binlay.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“The big boats generally come every
two weeks, this time of year.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You may want to keep them
separated,” Lucha said.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">She laughed. “How large of a jail do
you think I have? There's rarely anything but drunks to deal with.
Thank you for your help, though, those three have been a thorn in
Rogus' side for a while now.” She sat back and gave them a
thoughtful look. “If you'd like to stay for tea, I'd like to talk
to you.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Herald shrugged. “Sure.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">A servant, quite possibly the same one,
brought a tea tray heaped high with sandwiches to a comfortable but
by no means overly rich sitting room next to the receiving hall.
Lady Binlay poured neatly and efficiently, and everyone sipped
politely. “You are all strangers to my little village? I expect
I'd have heard of you before if you were all locals. It's not much,
but it's been my home for over thirty years. I do wonder what will
become of it when I die.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's rather a wonder, the stump of
such a huge Ironwood tree,” Lucha said. Listens nodded.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes it is, and all thanks to my
husband, Arcasio. Have you heard the tale?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Can't say that I have,” Elendol
said.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“T<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">his
was, oh, forty years ago, when I was just a girl and new-married. My
parents wouldn't hear of me marrying some wild alchemist of no family
and no fortune, but I knew he was a good man, so I ran away and we
were married in secret. There was nothing here back then, just some
stilt huts in the swamp, but he'd invented a formula for growing
Ironwood trees to sell to Elfhome and Polis. The Mincor family had a
monopoly on the franchise at the time, using a laborious conversion
process on dead wood, so Ironwood was prohibitively expensive. They
claimed if you transmuted the wood in the sapling the tree couldn't
be cut, but Arcasio knew better and started his plantation out here
in the swamp.</span></span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well, the Mincor's got wind of it and sent their bullies to start
sabotaging our plantation. When Arcasio tried to chase them off,
they started bribing the gnomes and kobolds in the swamp to harass
our traders and suppliers.<span style="text-decoration: none;"> Still,
I thought things would come out all right. We were holding on,
barely, and the Elves purchased a large shipment. Mincor sent his
men into Elfhome to burn down the warehouse, can you imagine it?
There was an enormous fight, a large part of the city caught fire,
and the Elves complained to Polis about the disruption.</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
“Surprise, surprise, the Mincors had plenty of friends on the
Patrician Council and my poor husband was ordered to stop production
and turn his plantation over to them. The Mincor's didn't understand
his process for cutting the grown trees, so they couldn't make any
use of his work. The Elves, who were the largest customers, started
to complain again, but Arcasio refused to sell his process. So
Servus Mincor proposed a contest to determine who got the franchise.
Arcasio agreed, and they set out to magically grow the largest
ironwood tree in one year.</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
“I won't bore you with the details, but Arcasio was absolutely
going to win. His alchemy was second to none. You can ask Chayo if
you like, they were great friends, although the two of us have never
gotten along. But right before the contest was about to end,
thousands of giant beavers came out of the swamp and chewed the tree
down, leaving only the stump. Arcasio and his workers tried to fight
them off, but somehow in the fighting Arcasio vanished. Rogus
searched for days, but all he could ever find was two of Mincor's
hirelings, who'd seen Arcasio turned to stone and had rowed him out
into the swamp somewhere and pushed him overboard. They didn't even
know where they were when they did it, they got lost. That was how
we found them at all, they stumbled back into our camp instead of
meeting with their compatriots.</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">So,
he's still alive, just transformed to stone, but we've never been
able to find where they dropped him. He used to wear an amulet that
protected him from locating magic, and it must still be working
because no one can find him. And here I am, an old woman, now,
running this poor village in the middle of nowhere, while the Mincors
are rich from taking away Arcasio's masterwork a bit at a time. I
can't even stop them, or they'd force me out of here.” Melina
sighed. “Oh well, mustn't indulge in self-pity. I appreciate you
taking the time to listen to an old woman. There might be something
to interest you, though. Arcasio knew things might go bad, so he
left a cache of magical items somewhere out in the swamp.
Supposedly, there's a map that'll lead you there, but I've never been
able to figure it out. Ask around, maybe the other people who knew
him can give you some clues.”</span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Listens,
who had gotten up to wander around the room while Lady Binlay spoke,
pointed at a large wooden object hanging over the fireplace. “This
is a curious plaque. What is its origin?”</span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">That?
It belonged to Arcasio. I'm not sure what it is, but I keep it to
remember him by. What's curious about it?”</span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">It's
a trail blaze.”</span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">No
trails here, I'm afraid.”</span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">After
some polite goodbyes, they left Lady Binlay's home and began to
search the vendors around Stump, looking for Vigen's silver pin and
mirror. The mirror they found almost immediately at Factor
Iddelendo's shop. He was reluctant to part with it, but in the face
of several armed strangers he gave up with poor grace.</span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Look
at that,” Elendol said. “It's another plaque.” And it was, on
the Factor's wall.</span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">I
wonder if there are more,” Herald said.</span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">A
thorough search of the public areas of the town turned up the pin as
well as four more of the trail plaques, yielding what seemed like a
series of instructions to . . . somewhere. Intrigued now, they broke
out the canoe and rowed south on the river, into the swamp. There
they found a small streamlet that seemed to match the trail markers,
leading to a hill and a peculiar grove of giant mushrooms. After
some digging, they found a half-rotten crate that did appear to be
Arcasio's cache, with a few useful items inside and one oddity, a
necklace.</span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">What
does it do?” Elendol asked.</span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">It's
an Amulet of Location. They're made in sets. If you wear one, it
hides you from scrying and locating magic unless it's cast by someone
wearing an amulet in the same set.”</span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">You
mean, like the amulet Lady Binlay said her husband had?”</span></span></span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">“<span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Exactly.”<br /><br />“I
bet she'll be interested to hear about this, then.”</span></span></span></p>Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-50622823732904336692020-10-31T19:57:00.007-05:002020-11-01T09:56:22.204-05:00Soulstones Session 1: Anniversary Party<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Bt2q5IyW74s" width="320" youtube-src-id="Bt2q5IyW74s"></iframe></div><br /><p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Howdy, Listener! Good time for you
to come to town!” Caherill the Hunter raised his mug as an eagle
landed only a few feet away and transformed into a tall, gray-haired
and bearded man in dark blue-green robes. In a few years, Caherill
might be just as gray, but for now his short hair and beard were only
flecked with salt and pepper. Above them, the village of Stump
swarmed like an overturned anthill, everyone hard at work with
preparations for the anniversary party. “Are you going to join in
any of the contests this year? There might be one or two to suit
you.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That sounds like fun,” a passing
traveler piped up. “What are these contests.” Caherill gave the
elf a long, leisurely measuring-up. He looked young, but elves
generally did. With blue eyes and light brown hair, he wasn't
particularly distinctive.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You look to be a wizard type, am I
right?” Caherill hazarded.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I am merely an apprentice.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And what might your name be?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Most call me Lucha.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Nice to meet you, fellow. Well, one
of the most popular contests in Chayo the Alchemist's potion testing,
That would probably be right up your alley.” Other
recently-arrived strangers were also stopping to take in the
conversation. Caherill spied another elf, this one with white hair
and wearing a tough's leathers. A small but surprisingly impressive
halfling in a suit of armor completed the ensemble.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Where might I find this Chayo?”
Lucha asked, all elven formality. “Could you describe him to me,
please?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Caherill chuckled. “Chayo's a lady!
If you head on down toward the inn where the food is, you'll see the
big stage she has set up. It's the one with all the potions around
it. Otherwise, if the potion-testing doesn't suit, we've got
musicians, whopper-telling, wrestling, a sawing contest, archery, the
canoe race, and a tree-climbing contest.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Lucha bowed and walked off down the
tunnel, followed by the halfling and, sometime later, the other elf.
Caherill was about to make another effort at talking to the reticent
druid when he, too, followed the other strangers up the main tunnel
and into the stump.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The white-haired elf, whose name was
Elendol, watched the crowd with great interest. He spotted a tall,
skinny human in tattered wizard's robes stuffing his face and,
surreptitiously, his pockets, at one of the tables, and sauntered
over. “Hello, friend,” Elendol purred. “What brings you to
Stump today? The founding party, I'd wager.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The skinny human jumped and looked
around guiltily. “It's free! It's all free! I'm allowed!”
Elendol made a slight face as he realized the human stank of the dung
heap.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Slow down, friend. Just chatting.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So? Whaddaya want?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm just looking to make a friend or
two. I'm Elendol. I've come for the party, myself, and I wonder if
you could tell me more about the town, here.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The human swallowed heavily. “I'm
Daz. I just work here. The old bat pays me to banish the crap around
here so the kobolds don't get angry.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Kobolds! Why are we trying to keep
them happy?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Daz shrugged, stuffing another piece of
fish in his mouth. “Because otherwise they'll ambush our hunters
and stuff? I dunno, I just work here. Ask the old lady.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And where would I find this old
bat?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Daz shrugged again. “She lives in
the nice house at the top of the stump, but you'll probably see her
giving a speech later on in the evening when the contests are over.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Elendol nodded. “Thanks, Daz, I'll
be around. Perhaps we'll meet again.” The elf moved off, but he
was arrested by a loud dinging noise coming from inside the nearest,
well, it wasn't really a building, as it was carved into the giant
ironwood tree stump. It wasn't really a cave. Dwelling? He peeked
inside, to see a wrinkled old human peering around short-sightedly
and a somewhat impatient halfing trying to get the man's attention
from behind an oversized counter. Finally, the halfing gave up on
the bell and slammed his mace down on his shield, producing a
shattering GONG that shook dust out of the rafters. The old man
jumped and looked around the counter.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Oh, THERE you are! You want a room
at the inn? One silver a day.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The halfling frowned. “Too rich for
my blood.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sorry, that's the price!” the old
man insisted. “You don't want it, dozens do!”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Need to find some work,” the
halfling muttered.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Me too,” Elendol said. “What
about all these contests? Shall we go take a look?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sure, why not.” The mismatched
pair wandered up the platform, past the food stalls, to where a
middle-aged woman in a fine, acid-green gown was setting up trays of
potions. Lucha the wizard walked up to her and tugged on the sleeve
of her gown.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Eh, who's that? Newcomer? Are you
here for my little contest? Well the rules are simple. Each tray has
two potions on it. One of them is a minor beneficial potion, the
other has some obnoxious side effect. Your job is to figure out which
is which and drink down the one you think is the good potion. If
it's not, we'll all know about it right away, and you won't advance
to the next round!”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The apprentice wizard frowned. “Can I
smell the contents and so forth?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Certainly. This is a contest of
skill, not blind luck.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“And the cost to enter?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“There's no entrance fee,” Chayo
said. “Or you might complain when you drink the wrong potion and
something amusing happens!”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Lucha nodded. “I will participate.”
He looked around at the crowd, spotting the human druid, the
halfling, and the white-haired elf off to one side, looking out of
place in the crowd. “Are you joining, too?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Just going to watch,” said the
druid. The halfling nodded and the elf grinned.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Cowards the lot of you! Get in and
join the fun!”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Chayo handed Lucha a tray. “Your
turn!”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Lucha unstoppered both bottles
carefully and examined the contents, his nostrils twitching. He
poured out a small sample of the liquid onto his palm and smeared it
around with a fingertip, then gingerly tasted it. Then, decisively,
he picked up the potion on the left side of the tray and downed it
in one gulp. Nothing appeared to happen. The large and rather drunk
human standing next to him wasn't so lucky and rushed to the edge of
the platform, where he began to vomit explosively, to cheers and
catcalls from the crowd. People began calling out bets as Chayo
prepared the next round of potions.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'll bet twelve silver on the elf,”
the druid said, producing the coins. Elendol and the halfling
continued watching, wondering if it was just luck.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Is there a prize?” Lucha asked,
examining the two new mystery potions.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Bet you wish you asked that before
you started!” Chayo cackled. “But yes, there's a prize. There
are three prizes, actually.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">After a thorough testing, Lucha drank
the potion on the right. Again, nothing appeared to happen. A tall,
burly woman began to sweat profusely and water vapor began to jet
from her mouth, nose, and ears. She passed out on the deck amid loud
cheering, and someone tossed a bucket of water over her to cool her
off. The bet-taker waved at the druid, but he indicated that he
wanted to bet again on the apprentice wizard. One of the other
competitors chickened out and withdrew, leaving Lucha alone with a
hefty fisherman. Once again, Lucha carefully tested both potions.
He seemed to hesitate, lifting first one, then the other, then
suddenly grabbed up the first potion again and drinking it down with
a slight smirk, a bit of showmanship that the crowd heartily
approved. The last remaining potion-taster drank his choice and
abruptly turned into a frog, emitting a mighty belch.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Oh dear, that's not supposed to
happen!” Chayo yelled. “Stop that frog! I've got to turn him
back!”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The crowd erupted into hysterical
laughter as the middle-aged alchemist flapped after the frog.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“My prize?!” Lucha called after
her. She waved at the table, where a bright green pointed wizard's
hat was sitting.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The druid claimed his winnings and
reached out to touch the apprentice wizard's arm. “Well done.
Take this, you earned it.” He held out a small pile of silver.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Thank you!” Lucha said. “We
should try another contest!”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I believe the tree-climbing is
next,” the druid said. “I am known as Listens to Greenlings.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Pleased to meet you, Listens. I'm
Lucha.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The tree-climbing was some distance
outside of town, so the strangers hopped the ferry. Rogus the orc
was presiding. Some heavy betting was already underway. The druid
handed his silver cheerfully to the nearest bookie, walked up to the
line of tall trees, and turned into a chimpanzee.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Is that cheating?” Rogus asked.
He frowned. “There isn't any rule against it.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I ain't giving you any better odds
than 1:2!” the book-maker yelled.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You should have waited until after
they had the bets finalized,” Elendol said.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That would be cheating,” Listens
declared. The competitors lined up and Rogus beat the starting drum.
Moving with lazy ease, the chimpanzee <span style="color: black;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">nee</span></span></span></span><span style="color: #660099;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
</span></span></span></span>druid sauntered up the tree and reached
the top well ahead of the other laboring competitors. At the top, he
transformed into an eagle and flew down to the ground.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Nice job,” Rogus said, handing the
druid a pair of sturdy boots.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Those are magic,” Lucha said.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Oh, what do they do?” Listens
asked.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“An enchantment of athletic skill.
You'll love them.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">They returned to the village, where the
musicians were setting up a stage for the next context. The halfling
surveyed the instruments and selected a drum, beginning to warm up
enthusiastically.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“He sounds good,” Listens remarked,
trying to evaluate the competition over the increasing din. “I'll
bet eighteen silver on him.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The contest began and the halfling
tossed off a simple rhythm, growing more and more complex, faster and
faster, interweaving complex series of tones. Competitor after
competitor washed out. The betting rose to a fever pitch and then .
. . disaster. The drumstick shot out of the halfling's left hand and
flew across the stage, nailing a flautist square in the nose. Her
off-key wail brought the jam session to an abrupt halt. The halfling
retired in ignominy, having just missed winning a prize.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Lucha and Listens to Greenlings
compared notes. “How much did you lose?” Lucha said, wincing at
the druid's all-or-nothing betting style.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“108 silver.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Ouch. That's a lot.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The druid shrugged. “Easy come, easy
go. Looks like I'll be watching now.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Was that ALL of your money?” Lucha
asked.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yes, but don't concern yourself, I
won't starve.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Still.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The next contest, after the musicians
hand been shooed offstage, was the infamous swamp tradition of
whopper-telling. Elendol stepped forward and bet five silver on . .
. himself.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You're entering?” Lucha asked,
presuming on their mutual elfistry.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sure.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What story are you going to tell?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Watch and find out.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">After considering for a moment, Lucha
ventured 10 silver on the white-haired elf, who spun a fanciful tale
of a one-legged Orc and a dragon-kicking competition that was
well-received by the crowd. “Nice job,” Lucha said as they
collected their winnings.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Competition's heating up,” Elendol
said. “I need a better idea for the next one. Say, what do you
know about this area? Any juicy history? Big rivalries? Maybe they
hate the next town over?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Oh, nothing like that,” Lucha
said. A human who looked to be roughly eight million years old
finished his story of a tornado that drained the swamp and rained
frogs and fishes all over a society wedding. “About the only thing
I can think of is that they really dislike the Mincor family around
here, since the Mincors control the Ironwood franchise in Polis.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Human politics. Still, I can work
with that.” Elendol sauntered forward to take his turn and
produced a raunchy yarn about a Mincor heiress who discovered a
little too late that her new husband was a cannibal kobold with a
ring of shapechanging. The crowd laughed themselves sick, and when
he concluded it took several minutes for them to settle down enough
that the next tale-teller could be heard. Elendol took advantage of
the distraction to canvass the crowd for his most enthusiastic new
supporters and elicit their assistance in padding out his bets. The
disgruntled book-maker wanted to give lower odds, but complaints from
several burly gentlemen and ladies turned the negotiations. With a
sour look, the man accepted Elendol's new bet.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That was quite clever,” Listens
said. Lucha bet twenty silver. It was more than he wanted to lose,
but the odds looked pretty good. Elendol's final tale of the wizard
who drilled himself into the ground trying to chase a magical tower
that kept teleporting behind him received tremendous applause, and he
was declared the winner by acclaim. Iddelendo the Factor handed him
the prize, a fine hat with a showy peacock-blue plume.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“It's magical,” Lucha told him.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I figured,” Elendol said, spinning
the hat once on his fingertip and then donning it with a flourish.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The visitors wandered over to the next
context, which proved to be wrestling. A big burly human who
appeared to be Rundell the popular champion stood on the platform,
naked to the waist and flexing for the crowd. The bets were flying
fast and furious, and they could only shake their heads ruefully over
the odds. The champion was favored at 5:1, practically a sure thing.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm going to enter,” said the
halfling.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“YOU are?” Lucha asked.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sure, why not?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Well, you're . . . you're on the
small size.” The halfling shrugged. “What's your name?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“People call me Herald Crash.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Well, I suppose you know best.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Since I have no coin to bet, I may
as well enter, myself,” Listens the Druid said.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'd bet on you,” Lucha told him.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The druid didn't have long to wait, he
was called first to contest a tall, athletic trapper. It appeared
that the point of the contest was to push your opponent over the side
of the platform, where they'd fall into the swamp water. The trapper
readied for the bell, and Listens transformed into a gorilla.
Moments later, the trapper was in the drink and Lucha was collecting
his winnings. Next up was Herald, who moved quickly and expertly, but
nevertheless managed to get snagged by his opponent and catapulted
into the air. Rundell flipped his opponent effortlessly into the
water, to enthusiastic cheers. Then Listens was up again. After
several moments of intense struggle with neither of them able to gain
an advantage, his opponent tripped over his own feet and went over
the side. A hush fell as Listens squared up against Rundell, who
grinned—or bared his teeth, it was difficult to tell—and lunged
forward, nearly ending the contest in one pass. Then Listens
transformed into a massive bear, grabbed Rundell around the waist,
and gave a mighty heave. The startled fighter yowled as he
plummeted.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The crowd hooted and jeered and the
book-maker cursed as he dug deep to pay off Lucha's substantial bet,
leaving the elf with a respectable chunk of mixed gold and silver.
Elendol shook his head quietly. “Look there, see that elven fellow?
And the orc? They aren't happy with this outcome. Not happy at
all.” The pair that Elendol indicated climbed down to the dock
platform to help Rundell out of the water, and the three of them
conferred, shooting the occasional dark glance in the direction of
the visitors.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Herald Crash dried off and began
looking around for the next context, which proved to be the sawing
competition. The two-man teams were warming up. Herald surveyed the
other visitors. “Anyone want to join me?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Do you think you might actually have
a chance?” Lucha asked. “You're a bit . . . short.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Sure. I just need a partner.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I can do that,” Listens said, and
turned into a baboon, just about the same size as Herald. They had a
few practice swings, getting the rhythm, and then the contest judge
called for the teams to be ready. At the starting whistle, the
little bard and the druid set to with a will, raising a cloud of
sawdust and, as they worked faster and faster, the smell of smoke.
“Careful!” the judge yelled, but Herald refused to stop. “HANG
ON, BABOON!” he shouted. When the whistle blew again, they'd sawed
down the entire length of the log, and were awarded the coveted pair
of magical bracers.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Whew!” Herald said, offering the
bracers to Listens, who declined. “What's next?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Archery, it looks like.” Rundell
and his two friends were lined up, and from the sound of the betting
his elven friend was highly favored to win.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Herald frowned. “There's something
really off about that elf. I'm going to sit this one out. He might
hold a grudge if we won. I'd rather see if one of you want to do the
canoe race. If I can pull a saw, I can pull an oar.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"> Lucha and Elendol placed modest bets
on Thaon the elf, and were rewarded with equally modest winnings as
he made a clean sweep of the archery, winning a handsome ironwood
bow. Lucha approached him and offered part of the winnings as a
reward for his performance. Thaon scowled, but Rundell happily
accepted and gave the apprentice wizard a clout on the shoulder that
nearly knocked him off his feet. “No hard feelings, let's have a
drink later, sport!” The three local friends retired to the drink
and food, leaving the visitors to wander down to the canoe race, the
final event of the night.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Halfling and chimpanzee paddled
furiously, circumnavigating the great ironwood stump, raising an
impressive wake for a canoe. They got so far ahead that they rounded
the curve and came up behind their opponents and passed them before
they reached the finish line, a floating platform.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Oh, well done!” the judge said,
and awarded them the prize—a beautifully crafted ironwood war
canoe, capable of seating six people and a quantity of gear. After
stowing it at the docks, the visitors headed up to the party, where a
vast quantity of food and drink was consumed late into the night.
Stuffed as full as they could hold, they staggered back to the inn
and got a room together to save cash.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The morning dawned bright and sunny,
and the visitors wandered down to the taproom to see Rundell sitting
at a table with his two friends and a tall, richly-dressed stranger
with bright gold skin, hair, and eyes. He grinned at the visitors,
revealing sharp teeth, and gestured for them to come over.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Well, hello there! I hear you all
were big winners in yesterday's festivities.” Rundell also nodded
in greeting, but Thaon and the orc, who was called Enthir, merely
glared.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Yep, got a canoe,” Herald Crash
said.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I cheated a bit, but came away broke
and it was all in good fun,” Listens said.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Elendol nodded. “I'm sure there are
others who did better, you guys have some real skill. We got lucky.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I'm Prandwas, by the way. If you're
broke, it might just be that I can help with that situation, if
you're interested.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I guess a little extra wouldn't
hurt!” Rundell said with forced joviality. Herald Crash regarded
the human silently. He wondered what discussion had already gone on.
Listens nudged the halfling and drew his attention to Leeta the
barmaid, who was serving breakfast while staying as far as physically
possible from Rundell and friends. Rundell seemed inclined to flirt
with her, but she shrank away, avoiding a pinch, and hurried into the
kitchen.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“There are some nasty rumors about
these guys,” Elendol muttered while the visitors were pulling out
chairs and seating themselves. “I heard some of them last night
while everyone was getting boozed up.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So,” Prandwas said, after they
were sitting down, “you folks familiar with the Adventurers'
Guild?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Of course!” Rundell replied
immediately, pushing himself forward. Prandwas eyed him but didn't
seem that interested.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Well, I got a tip that a party from
the Guild came down here to this swamp . . . and they've all gone
missing. The reward for recovering their stones would be . . .
substantial.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Gotcha,” Herald Crash replied.
“So, if we accept whatever you're planning to offer, I assume
you'll tell us what they were sent here after? And are you hiring
both teams or just one team?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I was planning to leave that up to
you. I don't know what they were sent for. I realize this is all a
bit of a long shot, but I think it's worth the risk.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Crash looked at the team of visitors.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I have no pressing plans, just a
princess to save next month, but I might as well fill my time till
then,” Elendol said. The other two nodded.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“So, our team is a go, but we're
going to need some more information.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Thaon leaned over and whispered in
Rundell's ear, and the three of them stood up, looking thunderous.
“I think we've got better things to do,” he said, and they left
the inn.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“All right, spill it,” Lucha said
after they were gone. “What do you want from us, and what killed
everyone else?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Prandwas shrugged eloquently. “As I
said, I purely don't know. Maybe they were stupid. These swamps
have a nasty reputation. All I know is, this is a shot to get in the
Guild's good books, and I want it.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“None of us have soulstones,”
Herald Crash said. “If it's that dangerous, we'd be risking our
lives. Why don't you just run along and fetch them yourself?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Prandwas grinned. “Let's just say
that swamps aren't really my thing, and I wouldn't be adverse to
taking a vacation while you use my tip and we split the proceeds.
From what I know, there were seven in the party that came this way,
so that seems like a nice reward to split. If you're willing to take
the risk, I've got 150 gold I can th row into the pot, and a wand
that will enable you to locate the stones.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I assume that once we return the
stones, the Guild will pay all five of us? So, we can do 80/20 since
we're doing all the hard work.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Prandwas frowned. “I was thinking
more you get the cash for four of the stones—minus what I'd already
paid you--and I'd get the other three. Assuming you recover all of
them, of course.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“What kind of a reward are we talking
about,” Lucha asked.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“I don't know, but the Guild's rich
as dragons.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“That doesn't sound fair to you,
friend,” Herald said. “If we only find four, then you don't
really get a profit. We would have to find at least five.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“You were just complaining the deal
wasn't much in your favor,” Prandwas said. “I'm willing to take
that risk if it doesn't mean ruining my wardrobe in some
mosquito-infested pit. If I guarantee you get the proceeds from the
first four no matter what—assuming you find any, of course—that
sound fair to you?”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Let's say the first five go to our
team. The last two will go to you.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Deal.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Elendol plumped down in his chair and
everyone jumped, having not realized he was gone. He gave everyone a
bland look as Prandwas produced a bag of gold and the promised wand.
“A friend of mine made this for me. She's an artificer at the
Guild, but she's not up to this kind of long journey.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Have you already used a charge to
get a general direction? We have a canoe, but may need more
depending on how far it is.”</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“The range on it isn't THAT big.
You'd need to actually travel into the swamp for it to have a chance
of working. I'm sure you'll figure it out.” Prandwas headed back
to his room. Elendol pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and
flipped it onto the table.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Read that,” he said.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Pran,</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">The Guild is so eager to get those lost
fools back that they're offering to attune a Soulstone to a new
adventurer for each one you can retrieve. Needless to say, we'll all
be extremely disappointed if you don't make this work out for us.
DON'T get distracted this time. The girls in that muddy pit can't be
worth losing this reward.</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Yezmin</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">“Well, that's certainly interesting,”
Crash said after everyone had looked it over.</p>Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-77921460129280877122020-05-25T11:59:00.001-05:002020-05-25T11:59:55.390-05:00The 25% RuleSo, this is just thinking out loud, but maybe it has some potential. There's a problem with platforms like YouTube with big content owners spamming small creators with takedown orders for trivial reasons and the small creators simply don't have any ready means of resisting this abuse. They don't have the resources to fight back effectively.<br />
<br />
So, what if platforms like that instituted what I call "the 25% rule", meaning that to issue a claim against someone, their channel has to be AT LEAST 25% as big as yours. (In terms of subscribers or followers or whatever metric for "bigness" the platform uses.) Because, seriously, that guy with 200 subscribers is no conceivable threat to Sony or Nintendo and a frivolous claim may create a serious injury to the little guy. But, if someone really is stealing a threatening amount of your content and making bank from it, they've GOT to be AT LEAST 25% as big as you are.<br />
<br />
This would secure nobodies from harassment while still giving content creators of any size the freedom to protect themselves from actually damaging theft.<br />
<br />
Now, why do this at all? Because big content producers harassing small fry is actually a BIG PROBLEM. And it's endemic, too. Something like 80% of new patent claims filed are filed by companies that *don't actually make any products*. Their entire business model is just to acquire patents and make claims. This is looting of the productive and creative by the nonproductive and noncreative. Platforms need to stop enabling this crap.Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-14422520815574563492020-02-02T18:00:00.002-05:002020-02-02T18:00:57.404-05:00Taboo: 10 Facts You Can't Talk About<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41VR0k-w-NL._SX327_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="329" height="320" src="https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/41VR0k-w-NL._SX327_BO1,204,203,200_.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
So, Regnery Press sent me a free copy of this book by Wilfred Reilly (don't ask me why, I'm no influencer) for me to read and hopefully review. Overall, I'd say it's worth taking a look at, but it doesn't tread a lot of ground that hasn't been covered by, say, Thomas Sowell or Walter Williams or others. However, it has the advantage of being more up-to-date and giving a lot of interesting statistical information.<br /><br />These ideas are not merely economic in scope, but rather tackle common social narratives from a statistical point of view in an effort to get an accurate overview instead of an emotional one.<br />
<br />
It starts well, introducing its subject:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Tackling taboos is difficult, but necessary. Very often--MOST often--they are used not to shield strong and valid ideas from pointless attacks, but rather to protect weak ones from worthwhile criticism. The censor tends not to be an individual fully confident he is right, but rather one who is terrified to the core that he is wrong. Only by ignoring the censor's taboos and beginning to speak can we challenge bad ideas, overcome them, and replace them with better ones."</blockquote>
<br />
Taboo #1 (I don't intend to list them all) is "The police aren't murdering black people". According to Reilly, "The argument that Blacks are being murdered essentially at will by rogue cops--and white vigilantes, but more about that later--is made astonishingly often by serious people." I have seen this claim, myself, and I have friends who have had regular unpleasant confrontations with cops, but I don't think their anecdotes are any more statistical than mine. The sad truth that Reilly highlights is that criminal behavior really is distributed differently across groups. He cites a particular study by Roland G. Fryer, the youngest African-American ever to receive tenure at Harvard, who found that "there are no racial differences in [rate of] officer-involved shootings." and with the relevant variables controlled for (demographics like age), found that " Blacks were 27.4 percent less likely to be shot at by police relative to non-Black, non-Hispanics".<br />
<br />
The research here really is stellar, and it's good to have a very straightforward look at these hot-button issues that Reilly believes are so buried in the narrative that they have become "taboo". However, Reilly shows an unfortunate lack of a principled approach to applying solutions for issues, which becomes especially apparent in the section on immigration, throwing out, as a sort of climax, this notion: "Nations must have the right to choose who their citizens are". It's not further discussed, as if this was uncontroversial.<br />
<br />
The number of collectivist premises hiding behind that apparently innocuous notion staggered me. Firstly, it outright places the "nation" as the primary actor and decision-maker, as if people exist to serve the nation instead of the nation existing as an organization for the benefit of *people*. What about individual rights? And who decides what "the nation" chooses? You can't walk down to Washington D.C. and talk to "the nation". Are the majority equal to "the nation"? What about the other 49% of the populace, then? And, that aside (as if it's not bad enough), what would this mean in practice? That the nation can toss out citizens at will? Where will they go, then? If the nation can disown you at will, what are you supposed to do? I can't think of anything more guaranteed to create a perpetual extra-legal underclass.<br />
<br />
Statistics are all well and good, but they don't serve you if you forget that people are, first and foremost, individuals.Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-30021532129086536542019-12-07T23:55:00.003-05:002019-12-07T23:55:54.545-05:00Why I'm Tired of Hearing About EmpathyThere are few things more omnipresent in modern culture than calls for empathy. It is everywhere, as if it were the panacea of the modern age. Empathy is held up as a cure for social problems, family problems, health problems, environmental problems, energy problems, the list is virtually endless. Whenever someone does something unspeakable, the cause is always construed as a lack of empathy. Whenever someone does something virtuous, they're praised for their empathy. It's long past the point of bromide and is edging on toward banality.<br />
<br />
And, like all quack nostrums and cure-alls, it doesn't do what is promised. Not even close.<br />
<br />
Before I get in to the reasons why I'm fed up with empathy, I'm going to tell you a little bit about me, but in return I want you to do something. I want you read this and NOT empathize. Don't even try, in fact, try as hard as you can NOT to empathize, just read the words like you're studying some detached facts about a distant stranger. If you prize empathy, you're going to find this difficult, but it's important that you at least try, because while this story is important context it is not the point, and if you can't turn your empathy off for five minutes you're going to miss that point completely. Here we go.<br />
<br />
My entire life has been hideously colored by a bad case of emotions gone wrong, of chronic depression, anxiety, self-loathing, dread, and self-inflicted misery. I consider it to be a very good week, indeed, if I make it through without thinking about the best way to commit suicide, and all the very many ways that I'm constantly letting people down. I struggle to find a reason--not reasons, mind you, a, singular, reason--to care about whether I'm alive tomorrow or not. I'm currently dealing with serious swelling and infection in my leg that I've had now for over a year. Everyone I know yells at me to <i>go see a doctor</i>, but I haven't yet managed to get so far as making an appointment. I've been like this since I was eleven, possibly long before that. I've never been a happy person. Mostly, I'm uncomfortable, frustrated, impatient, incredulous, or downright enraged. I hate how slow, stupid, awkward, and incapable I am at every moment of every day. <br />
<br />
When I was eleven, I saw a movie about the end of the world called <i>The Seventh Sign</i>. It wasn't a particularly memorable movie, but something about that concept of the world ending lodged in my mind. It sat there, a solid mass, like a black hole so dense that not even light could escape. And it proceeded to eat my life. The cobbled-together elements of my identity, my interests, loves, motivation, goals, all vanished, never to be seen again. I became a scavenger picking through wreckage, struggling to hold together against a relentless pull.<br />
<br />
Yeah, it was bad. Still is, in a lot of ways. I learned to cope, but the way I learned to cope involved a lot of bad habits that I now also have to fight. But I also learned something else that's relevant here--I learned that one of the worst things I had to endure wasn't my own personal black hole. It was other people's empathy.<br /><br />Empathy is no panacea. It's not a cure for anything, much less everything. It's just a feeling--the feeling that you're sharing in what I'm feeling. It's an emotional reaction, and like all emotional reactions it can be a terrible, terrible, liar, but because everyone and everything around you is telling you it's a good thing to feel, you don't judge it. You don't think about it. You just wallow in it. Empathy allows people to indulge in the most useless, self-indulgent, and non-productive emotions and feel good about themselves for doing so. It's not helpful; it's self-centered. It doesn't make you more conscious of other people. It makes you oblivious to them, for the simple reason that you CAN'T feel their emotions. The only way to truly understand another person's problems is intellectually, not emotionally--to engage your brain, not your feels. I can sit here and describe my emotional struggles until the end of time, but you will never actually feel what I feel. I don't want you to feel what I feel, heck, I don't want to feel it, myself! It's terrible, it's not productive, it's <i>a black hole</i>. I don't need you in here with me. I need you out there, with some clarity, some perspective, some distance.<br />
<br />
Empathy has its place, but that place is at the age of three or so when your mother is trying to get you to stop hitting your sister. Children that age are just starting to understand the difference between themselves and other people, who are not yet fully real to them. Empathy relates the reactions of others back to the child in a way that the child can grasp--by drawing on the self as a model. It is the beginning, not the end, of social development, a starting point where you can gather information that is later used as a foundation for abstraction. Without abstraction, you're stuck with only the concrete of the moment. Only as much information as you can fit into your attention at one time. As Joseph Stalin famously stated it, "A single death is a tragedy, a million deaths are a statistic." No one can deal emotionally, from empathy, with a million deaths, any more than you can mentally picture ten thousand miles or a billion stars. It blows out every human faculty but one--the intellectual faculty.<br /><br />This cultural obsession with empathy is a case of arrested development, where people focus on one concrete after another but are absolutely helpless to deal with complex abstractions. It's a world where virtue (an enormous abstraction) is increasingly being replaced with virtue-signaling (a concrete). It is, weirdly, increasingly a world where people gush about how much they feel for others and care for others while simultaneously being unable to truly grasp how others might truly be completely different. A world that celebrates every kind of "diversity" except one, the one that makes us truly human--diversity of thought.<br /><br />It's time to stop wallowing.Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-6251560816730546852019-11-18T18:49:00.000-05:002019-11-18T18:49:25.441-05:00Anthem Next -- What would get me to give it another go?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://media.contentapi.ea.com/content/dam/eacom/en-us/migrated-images/2017/06/anthem-dylan.jpg.adapt.crop191x100.1200w.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="180" src="https://media.contentapi.ea.com/content/dam/eacom/en-us/migrated-images/2017/06/anthem-dylan.jpg.adapt.crop191x100.1200w.jpg" width="320" /></a>I think I was one of the relatively few people I know who wasn't especially disappointed with Anthem. I went in to it with the expectation that it would be something new to play for a couple of weeks while I got a break from other things, and that's *exactly* what it was.</div>
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The trouble is that from Bioware and EA's perspective, they weren't trying to MAKE a game that'd be an enjoyable distraction for a couple of weeks. The amount of money and time they invested were not appropriate to that type of game. So, now they're talking about a ground-up reboot called "Anthem Next" to try and turn Anthem into the game they wanted it to be.</div>
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So, what would it take to get me, the most benevolent and un-disappointed of players, back to play Anthem again? Here's MY take:</div>
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1. Free-Exploring the map was probably the ONLY part of the experience that was unadulterated fun, however from an exploration perspective the map is TINY. So, step one of this would be to vastly increase the size of the map, making it as much bigger as conceivably possible. Making it much more dynamic would be a big thing, as well. If my beloved Dungeons and Dragons Online on their tiny budget can figure out how to make the PUBLIC AREAS in their MMO have dynamic elements, you can do it. And, this dynamic freeplay environment actually made playing with other people ENJOYABLE, as opposed to the missions, which were a mess every time even if people were making an effort to cooperate (which most simply did not). Also, fill the map with constantly-changing terrain dangers.</div>
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2. The "story" stuff was unbelievably expensive garbage. Considering how immensely expensive all those cut scenes had to be to create, they added nothing to the gameplay experience whatsoever, and actively detracted from it if you wanted to play with other people, because you'd be constantly revisiting missions that had story bits in them, but completely out of any order or context. If you want a game where people actually play together, enable the players to ACTUALLY COMMUNICATE WITH EACH OTHER. The idea of a LINEAR story is COMPLETELY OPPOSED to online multiplayer gaming with strangers and *cannot* be integrated with it. It also has the tremendous fault that you "run out" of content to do because it's all locked behind story that you're not allowed to repeat unless someone in your group is doing it for the first time. It was especially bad because all of the story was written as if your character was a SINGULAR hero, instead of a member of a TEAM. So, step two is to throw out the pretensions to story, de-linearize everything. Ideally, this would integrate with the massive free-roaming map. There are already quasi-dynamic map events and "dungeons" all over the place. Expand these, HUGELY, and add such a high degree of randomness that you can play for a very long time and not see all the possible permutations.</div>
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3. Does this mean dumping all story from the game? No. You just need to make it non-linear and individualized. How do you do that? By turning the story into a COLLECTION, namely, a collection of PEOPLE. They don't SET you on tasks by giving you defined quests. You QUEST, and you do things like rescue people who HAPPEN to be there, and add them to your "stable" of people you know. Then you can bring them things to advance your relationship with them, like weapons, crafting materials, explored map sections, etc. The idea is that the stuff you do anyway to play the game triggers the story on YOUR terms, instead of the STORY advancement LETTING YOU DO GAME STUFF. This format also makes it super-easy to add new people (and thus new storylines). Another big part of this is that every person (and story line) that you can collect HAS to tell you something ABOUT THE WORLD. I don't care about German Accent Guy's love of fashion. I do care about German Accent Guy's love of fashion if fashion has some significance IN THE WORLD. There was so bloody much invested in cosmetics in this game, but they have zero significance other than looking cool. Well, this is a world where thoughts can influence reality! And you're telling me that how you feel about your own appearance doesn't matter?! C'mon! Also, treating characters as a dynamic collection means that you can have opportunities to absolutely blow up your relationships with people, to the point where they become your *enemy*. Some character questlines can be exclusive with other character questlines. You can integrate a choice system with the dynamic world missions where you can complete them in different ways. You can have a system where you can do a bunch of grinding to recover a blown up relationship. But the essential dynamic should be the inverse of what it was in the original game: Instead of people give you mission --> you do stuff, it should be you do stuff --> people react to it. And the reaction doesn't have to be some Shakespearean drama, it can be little stuff like, hey, when you come back they're wearing clean clothes, or they've stopped coughing, or they're eating better, or they've cleared the junk away from their shop location, or they have a neon sign instead of a paper placard, etc. etc. etc.</div>
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3. The tiny number of enemy types was boring in the extreme and the game spams you with absolutely ridiculous numbers of them. Fewer, more diverse enemies make game gooder. Every type of foe should have a huge backstory and unique place in the world that you can gradually uncover.</div>
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4. Fuck loot, leveling, and the game difficulty system. No, I'm serious about this, insane as it sounds. Fuck loot upgrades as a concept and make the game skill-based and option-based, not numbers-based. Bioware is absolutely garbage on the game mechanics side of game design. They will NEVER, EVER, EVER get this system working, particularly with the concept of scaling so that a level 2 person can play with a level 40 person. Just drop the entire idiotic idea. Uniqueness/customization, not power, should be your touchstone in re-designing the "advancement" in this game. Adopt a "one million builds" model where you can put your suit options together in an enormous number of ways that have very complicated dependencies. It isn't about finding some piece of junk with 1% better numbers on it, it's about manipulating your loadout to where it complements your style PERFECTLY and you can do incredible stuff. It's not a race for The Biggest Numbers. It's about playing a beautiful game. Which ties in to:<br /><br />5. Competition. No, not PVP where you just shoot at each other and the winner is whoever lives the longest. Actual competition to complete timed objectives. Races. "Capture the flag"-style events. Turret defense. Navigating randomized mazes. Solving puzzles (just not that godawful hot/cold puzzle every damn time). Be creative. Also, have awards for "feats", like defeating enemies without taking damage, etc. Reward SKILL not mere GRINDING.</div>
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6. Money sinks. (I don't mean cash money, I mean in-game "money" or resources that you earn via gameplay.) This is supposed to be a game about hardscrabble struggle with a hostile, unforgiving, and constantly changing world. Make that a part of the gameplay. Charge people to change their suit loadout. Charge them for repairs. Charge for ammo and health drops instead of having enemies poop them randomly. Charge for short-term consumables. Have suit fuel/power that needs to be recharged. Have the game eat their resources like a teenage athlete eats a pizza. Normally, I wouldn't suggest this as a game mechanic, but Anthem is actually well-suited to this kind of thing, because this IS what the gameplay IS--resource gathering/exploration--and it ties into the meta-story of hanging on the edge of disaster. Not only would this system create a good, solid, rewarding basic gameplay loop, it would actually be INTEGRATED with the story/world. And it would make the competition aspect more important, because that's how you'd "get ahead" resources-wise . . . you'd have to actually go after dangerous sources that other people wanted, and struggle for them, instead of just picking the flowers.<br /><br />Do I expect to get ANY of that? Not really. I'm over Anthem except as an intellectual exercise. From their track record, I'm pretty much expecting that they'll make some modifications that don't address anything truly fundamental, as if you can tune up the engine from a Volkswagon Golf and turn it into a drag racer.</div>
Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-62758239609994164152019-10-13T14:03:00.002-05:002019-10-13T14:03:47.515-05:00Rise of the Rune Lords Session 28: Thunderbolts and Lightning<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Pavander barreled off down the southern
passage, the rest of the party not far behind. The badger was double
his normal size due to a spell Melissah had cast, and was doing a
fine job of clearing the path. He burst into a room full of boiling
cauldrons and assorted muck, all overseen by three enormous
green-skinned hags. Melissah threw a snowball at the first hag,
while Pavander leaped on her, shaking in badger rage and leaving huge
gashes in her rubbery green flesh. The hags surrounded the badger,
clawing him back, but Foss leaped in and the melee was soon far less
one-sided. Two of the hags dropped and the third shrieked and
retreated.</div>
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“Mercy!” she howled. “Mercy, I
beg of you!”</div>
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Jori stepped around the corner and
dropped a flame strike on the hag, scorching her badly.</div>
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“You have two choices,” Foss said,
raising an axe. “Spill your guts, or I can spill them for you.
Where is Lamatar?”</div>
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“In the shrine!” she shrieked,
pointing off to the northwest. “Barl gave him to us when he was
done with him, to reward us for bringing the rains, but we thought he
was spying on us, so he guards the Mother's place!”</div>
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“Does that mean he's dead?” Iozua
asked.</div>
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The hag grinned wickedly. “Not any
more.”</div>
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Melissah jumped as a shadowy human form
shambled up behind her, its hands reaching. It was covered in ice
and hideous in undeath.</div>
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“Gods,” Iozua said. Nevis cast a
hasting spell and the fight was on again, Foss keeping his promise to
the remaining hag and Pavander trying to keep the corpse of Lamatar
from destroying his druid. Iozua cast grease on the stairs and the
wight and badger skidded ungracefully across the floor, winding up at
the bottom with Pavander more or less on top and Lamatar in half.</div>
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“Poor guy, that sucks,” Melissah
remarked, and then kicked Pavander savagely as the badger attempted
to roll in the ick.</div>
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“Can we salvage the body?” Iozua
asked. “Or is this going to be a closed-casket situation?”</div>
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“The ghost nymph said she only needed
a piece of it,” Nevis said.</div>
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“Oh, right, she wanted to reincarnate
him?”</div>
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Melissah nodded. “Now that his
spirit isn't bound to this unholy monstrosity, it should be able to
join with a new body. My preference would be to carry the poor man
out of here and give him a decent burial, taking only a relic back to
the nymph.”</div>
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“First everything else in this place
dies,” Foss said.</div>
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The place pointed to by the hag
contained an altar and shrine carved with the image of a monstrous
pregnant woman with the head of a three-eyed jackal, Lamashtu, Mother
of Monsters. The room was otherwise empty, so the group headed
north, where the cavern opened into a massive chamber, open to the
sky, that sloped upward between two wide ledges. Statues with
angular faces stood above, and the ramp stepped up to the foot of an
immense stone throne, where a stone giant was seated. Another giant
stood beside him, glaring down at the adventurers.</div>
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“So, this does all end in tiers,”
Iozua said, deadpan.</div>
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“Lidiar con estos ácaros. Ya me han
causado suficientes problemas,” the seated giant grated.</div>
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“No hablo Gigante,” Iozua snapped
back.</div>
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“Que lastima! Pendejos Gigantes!”
Nevis yelled.</div>
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“He said 'deal with these mites,
they've caused enough problems for me',” Jori translated. The
second giant lumbered forward, roaring. Behind Foss, Melissah
finished casting a spell and the cavern shook as lightning struck the
attacking giant. The other one stood from the throne and hurled a
fireball, scattering the adventurers as they attempted to take cover.
Iozua beat at his smoking clothes and made an arcane gesture, a wall
of fire blocking the giant wizard's view.</div>
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Nevis began to sing, somewhat oddly.
“Magnificooooo, no no no no no no no!” Foss charged and Jori cast
a ray of searing light at the same moment, dropping the first giant,
leaving only the wizard, who stepped through the wall of fire and
cast another spell. Foss winced, but managed to shake off the
effect. He was not so fortunate as the giant's earthbreaker hammer
struck him in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground.</div>
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“Crap,” Jori said, and raced
forward with a healing spell in her hands, but the giant struck
again, crashing through the arm Foss raised to defend himself and
leaving the fighter unconscious in a pool of blood. The backswing
cracked against Pavander, who yelped but continued to claw and bite
in best badger style. Iozua's force missile struck hard and the
giant staggered, coming into range of Jori's knife. She dropped the
healing spell, and with a look of concentration, she sank the blade
into a stony eye and wrenched. A torrent of dark blood followed and
the monster collapsed at last.</div>
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“Ohthankthegods,” Iozua breathed,
rushing up the steps to see if Foss was still alive. He was, barely,
and Jori frantically healed the damage, restoring him to
consciousness.</div>
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“Hey, look, there's loot!” Nevis
said, pointing to the throne. Indeed, there was, but even more
valuable than trinkets was a rolled mammoth hide with a message
written on it.</div>
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“Barl--</div>
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“Latest contact with Teraktinus
indicates he has narrowed the search—he believes a human town
called Sandpoint could hide what my lord seeks. Teraktinus will lead
several of the people, as well as the dragon, on a raid into the town
soon. When they return, they may be pursued, and I may need your
ogre slaves to aid in Teraktinus' retreat to Jorgenfist. Be ready to
return at my command!<br /><br />“--M”</div>
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“What the hell did Sandpoint ever do
to anyone?” Iozua grumbled, reading the message.</div>
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“And what the hells could be so
important that we don't even know about it?” Jori asked.</div>
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“'M' could be for 'Mokmurian',”
Nevis suggested. “That's who Lucrecia said she was working for.”</div>
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Iozua nodded. Melissa shook her head.
“How big of a dragon are we talking, here?”</div>
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“I can't imagine M would bother to
include it in this message if it was a tiny one,” Nevis said. She
seemed excited at the prospect. Iozua grimaced.</div>
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“Probably not,” the wizard grated.</div>
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“We should get back to Sandpoint
sooner rather than later,” Jori said.</div>
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“We still have those trolls at
Storval Deep to deal with,” Melissah reminded her.</div>
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Iozua shook his head. “I know, but
my parents are at Sandpoint.”</div>
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<br />Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-19578261611519752762019-10-11T22:25:00.000-05:002019-10-11T22:25:07.544-05:00Rise of the Rune Lords Session 27: Hook Mountain<br />
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Hook Mountain, home of the Kreegs, was
a nasty, frozen slab of granite this late in the year. Nearly two
miles from summit to peak, it was a grueling climb. The ogres had
not made much effort to conceal the entrance to the clanhold, a wide
cavern vanishing into the mountainside. Two alert ogre guards stood
at the entrance, shielding their eyes from wind and blowing snow.
Nevis, Jori, and Iozua hung back while Foss led the way, Pavander
tagging at his heels and Melissah not far behind, clutching her
spear.
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The ogres jeered when they spotted the
adventurers, but Pavander was not one to tolerate this disrespect and
charged, biting and clawing at anything he could reach. The badger
dodged nimbly aside as clubs swept down, and Foss stepped up to
engage the second ogre.<br /><br />“Duck!” Iozua called, rushing to
the side of the melee, where he unleashed a lightning bolt that
struck both ogres, crisping one and leaving the second badly wounded.
Foss quickly finished the remaining guard and they moved forward
quickly to the mouth of the cave, not wanting to lose the element of
surprise.</div>
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The cave entrance was lined with
massive bones, but they didn't look like giant bones. Iozua frowned
and identified them as blue dragon bones. “The coolest of
terrible, tyrannical dragonkind,” he said.</div>
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“I'm pretty sure white dragons are
the coolest,” Melissah corrected. “They breathe cold, after
all.”</div>
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Nevis began dancing with excitement.
“Dragons?! Gosh!”</div>
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The entrance hall ended in an alcove
with a statue worthy of a giant fortress, a forty-foot-tall giant
with black skin covered in fissures and cracks, like the bed of a
dried river. He wore majestic armor, gilded and encrusted with gems,
and gripped a towering glaive in his armored fists. His full helm
bore the sneering visage of a fanged devil, and around his neck hung
a familiar seven-pointed star—the Sihedron amulet, mark of the
Runelords.</div>
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“This thing is everywhere we go any
more,” Foss remarked. Melissah grabbed Pavander before he could
pee on the statue, but Nevis raced past and began climbing toward the
armor.</div>
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“I'M GONNA GET MY HANDS ON HIS
JEWELS!” she shrieked, and then almost fell laughing at herself.</div>
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“How are you even going to carry that
armor,” Melissah said. “It's bigger than you are.”</div>
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“Uhh . . . dammit. I'll be back for
you later, big boy,” Nevis said, and patted the statue on the
crotch before sliding back down.</div>
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“Giant-chaser,” Iozua remarked.</div>
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“I prefer size-queen!”</div>
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“Oh, oh, is THAT what people refer to
as a size queen?! Now I know,” the wizard looked sad for a moment.
“And can't un-know.”</div>
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Nevis poked her head around the corner,
seeing a deep pit that emitted rank odors of decay. “Ew,
butthole,” she added.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Fortunately for everyone's sanity, the
next intersection was guarded. “HELP! TROUBLE!” an ogre
bellowed. Melissah conjured fire in her hands and threw it at him
while Pavander harried his shins. A solid blow landed on Nevis, who
squawked, and then the melee was joined, Foss striking with his axes
while Iozua threw a fireball over his shoulder, scorching the room.
A massive creature, larger than an ogre, hurled a boulder at Foss,
who just barely managed to dodge.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The fighting was vicious and bloody.
Iozua cast scorching rays at the hill giant, but it kept on coming,
smashing the wizard aside with its greatclub before Foss finished it
off. Everyone was battered and bleeding, and they could hear the
sound of running feet as more ogres ran toward the intersection from
deeper within the clanhold.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Jori, heal us, quickly,” Iozua
said, and the Harrower rushed to comply. Several ogres appeared in
the eastern passage, and Melissah quickly cast a spell. The ground
beneath their feet cracked and a flume of boiling water erupted,
filling the hall and blasting the ogres aside. Foss attacked while
they were still disoriented, but more ogres continued to spill out of
the cavern, forcing him back. Nevis and Iozua rained down spells
into the struggling crowd.<br /><br />Then Pavander dashed forward and
abruptly doubled in size. On almost equal footing with the ogres, he
clawed and bit while Foss hacked his way forward.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I want to ride him!” Nevis called
as Iozua's spell melted the last ogre's face clean off his skull.
Once again, it was quiet.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Pavander sniffed around for something
to fight, and pointed deeper into the caverns.</div>
<br />Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-13779993605556353452019-09-27T21:42:00.001-05:002019-09-27T21:42:15.386-05:00Rise of the Runelords Session 26: Let Me Sum Up<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Barkley, why is there a huge pile of
dirt in front of my church?” Maelin Shreed asked. When Barkley
looked baffled, the priest pointed helpfully.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Er, adventurers, yer honor.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm fairly certain it's a pile of
dirt, Barkley, not adventurers. Adventurers tend to be pointier.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No, I means the adventurers MADE the
pile o' dirt, yer honor.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“And then they couldn't be bothered
to clear it away? How rude!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well, yer honor, they was protecting
the church, I think . . .”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
With a loud jangle of strings, Nevis
the bard appeared in front of the irritated priest. “I'LL explain
it!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Please do!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
WHANG! The strings resounded. “The
rain fell down from the sky! The water arose from the lake! The
village was doomed to be drowned! And then there was a big snake!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“A . . . snake?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was too late. Nothing could
interrupt now. “The snake had swallowed a child! All was darkness
and dread! But then the Foss-man appeared! He whacked the snake on
the head!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Er . . . good?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“The snake it was now deceased! But
the bad guys weren't ready to quit! From out of the lake came a
monster! A worm with the arms of a squid!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That don't rhyme,” Barkley
observed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yes it does!” WHANG! “The worm
attacked the church! Its fury unlikely to flag, yah! It battered
upon the walls! The worm's name is Black Magga!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Black Magga!? From Storval Deep?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“STOP interrupting. Ahem. I think I
lost my place. Shall I start again?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“NO!” Both men shouted.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well, then, be quiet. Ahem. Where
was I? Oh yes. The wizard hurled a fireball! The worm, it started
to smoke! But still it attacked undeterred! It thought our spells
were a joke!” Nevis eyeballed the men, but they remained silent.
“The worm struck at the Foss-man! His flesh was tattered and torn!
His mighty axes went hacking! A mighty legend was born!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“So he defeated it? And who is
Fossman? Have we met?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm NOT FINISHED!!!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oops, er, sorry. Continue.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“The worm was mightily cleaved! It
turned its tail and fled! The heroes won the day! But sadly the
worm isn't dead!” Nevis ended with a flourish and bowed. The
humans goggled at her. “It's all right, I'm done now, you can
talk.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It . . . sounds like quite an
impressive battle? But what about the pile of dirt?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, that was the druid,” Nevis
replied dismissively.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I . . . see.” Maelin did not see,
but he didn't want to ask for further clarification in case Nevis
actually provided it, and it was even worse than the poetry thus far
forthcoming. “So . . . what happens now?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Now the heroes are traveling to Hook
Mountain to deal with the ogre menace! Should be exciting!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What about Black Magga?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, the villagers told us that maybe
some trolls let her through some kind of gate they have up at Storval
Deep? Something like that? Don't worry, we'll take care of that
next. Busy busy! Can't stop, off to save the world!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well, er, thank you?” Maelin said
as the gnome ran off as quickly as she had appeared.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<br />Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-77150587894163843452019-09-17T15:57:00.000-05:002019-09-17T15:57:20.024-05:00Rise of the Rune Lords Interlude: The Kids are All Right, part 1<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Is that bird trying to get inside
the house?” Teeva asked. Her grandfather, Coralon, squinted, and
Teeva pointed helpfully. The shadow of a small duck was poking at
the wax paper of the window with its bill, and as they watched it
ripped open a substantial hole.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Coralon emitted an enraged old-man
shout. “Here, you, get away!” sounding like all one word:
<i>heerugiway</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. He slapped at
the wooden sill and the duck retreated, producing a very
similar-sounding quack. “Damn birds! Those windows are
expensive!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Teeva
bit back a laugh. “It's not like they're glass. Just paper.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">I'm
not made of money! And winter's coming on, too. The roads will be a
mess!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Teeva
shook her head. “Relax, I'll fix it. Here!” She made a pass
with her hands and the hole vanished. The window paper turned a
brilliant chartreuse. Teeva blinked, then immediately attempted to
pretend that she'd intended this outcome. Coralon was not impressed.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Oh,
girl, now look what you've done! Haven't you been practicing? What
would your mother say?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">I'd
probably be glad she didn't set it on fire. At least I know she's
getting some real lessons from that miserable old coot.” Bethilde,
Teeva's mother, set her packages down on the kitchen table. In
contrast to her tall, somewhat skinny daughter, Bethilde was on the
short side, and very sturdily build, although only someone who had no
further use for their tongue would call her plump. Both women had
unremarkable curly brown hair and deep brown skin, but they shared
unusual electric-blue eyes. Looking at Coralon's unexceptional brown
often left people wondering at their heritage, especially since
Coralon had never given any evidence of possessing a wife. In Nybor,
though, this was not all that uncommon and it passed without remark,
if not entirely without note.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">At
least I fixed the hole,” Teeva said, pointing helpfully in case her
mother had missed this evidence of Teeva's handiwork. Behind her
there was a loud clattering noise and a duck fell down the chimney,
into the thankfully-cold fireplace.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Desna!”
Coralon yelped.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Oh,
for pity's sake, Teeva, did you enchant that fool bird?!” Bethilde
demanded, stomping over to the hearth and fishing the bewildered duck
out of a heap of ashes.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Not
me, mother, but look at it! I bet someone did!” The duck was,
indeed, strangely docile. Bethilde gave it a shake and it stuck its
foot out, revealing a roll of paper tied to its leg. Bethilde
snapped the bindings and broke open the protective coating of wax.
When she saw the direction on the letter her lips thinned to a white,
hard line.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">What?”
Teeva demanded. </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Bethilde
held the paper out to her father. “It's for you.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Coralon
took the paper and blinked at it for several moments, moving it
forwards and back in front of his eyes in the hopes of getting the
blurred letters to focus. Finally, it did, and he smiled. “Oh, I
see. Here, Teeva, read it to me, or I'll be all day about it.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Bethilde
snatched the paper back before her daughter could take it. “Teeva,
you go outside. I'll read it to you, Father.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Teeva
thought better of protesting. She knew that iron look on her
mother's face. This situation called for expert strategy—a
diversion, and then a flanking attack. “Yes'm,” she said, and
scurried out of the kitchen. Once outside, though, she took a lesson
from their visitor and ducked down beside the window to listen.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">It's
from Melissah,” Bethilde was saying.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Don't
call your mother that, Tildy, it's disrespectful.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Teeva
could imagine her mother's expression. “She says she's stopping at
Fort Rannick . . .”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">And
don't summarize, dear, read it out.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">There
was a longish pause while Bethilde no doubt skewered her father with
a displeased glare, but this was not effective against the patriarch
of the family, who was too old, secure, and short-sighted to care.
Finally, Bethilde loudly cleared her throat and began to read.
“'Dear Coralon, it's been some time since we last communicated, so
I hope this missive finds you well.' Hmmph, some time! At your age
she's lucky you aren't dead!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Thank
you, daughter,” Coralon said dryly.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Ahem.
'My travels have brought me south of the mountains of late, and I
came across ill news of animal attacks, floods, the fatal sinking of
a pleasure barge, and the disappearance of messages sent to Fort
Rannick requesting aid from the Black Arrows. As the townsfolk had
no one else to send, I journeyed to Magnimar to ask for aid in
approaching these concerns. The Lord-Mayor sent me back with several
adventurers and we discovered that Fort Rannick had been captured by
Kreeg ogres, the largest portion of the Black Arrows slain.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">'The
adventurers were able to oust the ogres with some small aid from
myself, but the fort is now all-but-empty. I know that much of our
family resides near you in Nybor, and it is my hope that some of the
younger generation may have an interest in such an opportunity for
travel and work and would be willing to join me at Fort Rannick. If
there are any other young persons you would vouch for, they can
certainly expect to find a situation here as well. Thank you kindly,
and all my love to you and Bethilde, who must be well grown by now
and a lady in her own right. Melissah.'” Bethilde choked on the
last part. “Well-grown! I'm an old goodwife with eight children!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Your
mother reckons time differently than we poor humans,” Coralon said,
fondly.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">If
you mean she can't keep a thought in her head for two seasons
together, yes.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Now,
Tildy--” the old man started.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Don't
'now, Tildy' me. And don't even think of showing this to Teeva.
She's half-trained at best and not ready to go out on her own,
whatever she thinks. One look at this and I'll never hear the end of
it. 'Mama PLEASE let me go! You never let me go anywhere!” Teeva
scowled. She did NOT sound like that. She was an expert
maternal-handling strategist, and never resorted to whining. “She's
going to stay here and finish her training where it's safe!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Teeva
huffed, indignant. They'd see about that!</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">XX</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">So,
what are you doing in the stable at this hour?” Dashell asked.
Teeva nearly jumped out of her skin, startling the sleepy pony.
Sibling alert!</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">SHHHH!”
she hissed at her older brother, who stood with his hands on his
hips. Dashell grinned, thinking he now held all the cards. “If you
must know,” Teeva told him, “I'm going to see cousin Storrik.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">In
the middle of the night? With full saddlebags and a pack half as big
as you are? Are you running away finally? Can I have your books?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">No.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">No
which?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">No,
you cannot have my books.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">So
you ARE running away?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Teeva
gave him a thoughtful look. He hadn't threatened to tell on her yet,
so he was angling for something. Annoying as he was, Dashell was a
useful sort of fellow, but he needed handling. “Well, kinda,”
she allowed.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Izzat
so?” Dashell produced an apple from somewhere and began chewing.
He was a picture of a big, healthy farmboy, and was always eating.
The only problem was that his family was all tradespeople: Grandpa
Cor owned the general store, his mother owned the inn with her
husband, and Dashell didn't have much to do other than spend his time
hunting and fishing. He had no interest in taking over a business,
and with five brothers in need of situations no one considered it
worthwhile to argue with him.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Nanny
Bee sent Grandpa Cor a duck--”</span><br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">A
duck?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Yes,
with a message!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">And
you know about this how?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">I
was there when it showed up. Anyway, Nanny Bee says that ogres
attacked Fort Rannick!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Sounds
dreadful.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">And
exciting!” Most of the Rangers were killed, so Nanny Bee wanted to
know if any of us Meadhouse cousins would like to come help out!
Talk about opportunity!” Was that too much? You had to be careful
selling things to Dashell, if he started to think you were
sugarcoating work he'd get stubborn.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Opportunity
to get killed, maybe,” he grunted. “Have you ever SEEN an ogre?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Well
. . . no. Not as such. But one of the regulars at the inn is a
half-ogre, and he's not so bad.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Mm,”
Dashell replied, chewing thoughtfully. “And you asked Mother if
you could go?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Well
. . . not as such.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">So
that's why you're overloading that poor pony in the middle of the
night. What I still don't understand is what poor cousin Storrik has
to do with all of this.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Well,
I've never been down that way, but everyone knows cousin Storrik is
the best woodsman in these parts. If anyone could guide me, he
could.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Dashell
rubbed his fuzzy chin, nodding slowly. “I think that about covers
everything, then. I can't let you do it.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">What?
C'mon!” Here came the sibling blackmail. Carefully-tuned
disappointment was paramount.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">No,
it's completely out of the question. Unless.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Unless
what?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">You
take me with you.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Teeva
weighed her options, and went with enthusiastic. Dashell loved to
feel older and wiser, even though he was mostly just older.
“Really!? You're the best!” She lunged at him for a hug, and he
held her off with one hand.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">You
also have to follow my instructions, starting with leaving that poor
pony alone. You're going to go to bed and get some sleep, and we'll
leave in the morning. I'll write a note for Mother that I'm taking
you with me to go fishing. She won't expect us back for a couple
days at least. Then we can go get Storrik and leave a note with one
of his buddies about where we've really gone.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Okay,
okay! I'm doing it, I'm doing it!” Teeva griped, heading back
toward the house. Plan stage one, the unobtrusive exit, was nearly
complete.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">XX</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">The
Elder Brother Takeover resumed promptly the following morning, and
Teeva did her best to keep up the litany of complaints so Dashell
didn't get suspicious.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">You
can't bring all this,” he lectured. “No, we're not taking the
pony. Mother needs him to pull the cart. IF you want to go
adventuring, you have to carry your gear. We're not going to
Magnimar for the Season. You can't bring all these clothes.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Oh,
why don't you go do your own packing and leave me in peace!” Teeva
declaimed tragically.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">I'm
already packed, thanks. I've been on plenty of trips.” Meaning
two, that she knew of. Dashell reached under his bunk and produced a
surprisingly ancient and battered-loking satchel, which he slung over
one shoulder. “Did you eat a good breakfast?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Yes.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Did
you use the privy?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Yes!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Did
you pack, you know, girlie stuff?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">DASHELL!!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Right,
off we go, then.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">It was
a pleasant morning walk downriver to where Storrik had his shack.
The weather was chilly but not frigid, and the sun was more-or-less
out. The woodsman was sitting outside by the fire, fletching a stack
of arrows. One of the eponymous buddies stretched out nearby smoking
a pipe. Unlike the brown-skinned, brown-haired siblings, Storrik was
very pale, with ashy gray-blond hair. Their only evidence of
relation was identical shocking blue eyes.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Cousin
and cousin, greetings,” he said mildly. He also had peculiar,
not-quite-human mannerisms—a placid refusal to be hurried. “Share
my fire. This is Hogarth.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Hogarth
nodded gravely to them. He was a big fellow, with a broad, heavy
skull and an outslung jaw. That, alongside his projecting brow and
squashed, upturned nose screamed 'orc'. Half-breeds were quite
common in Nybor, which prided itself on toleration.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Are
you out for a jaunt, Dashell? The giant minks are starting to turn
their coats. Should be a fine season this year,” Storrik
continued.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">We're
not out for the hunting, thanks. In fact, we have an exceptional
favor to ask.” Ugh, Dashell always got weird and formal when
asking people for things.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Of
course.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">We
want you to take us to Fort Rannick!” Teeva burst in before Dashell
could take another twenty minutes explaining. Storrik's eyebrows
rose.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Fort
Rannick?” he repeated. “That's a goodly way. Why this sudden
interest?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Dashell
started to say something but Teeva hurriedly cut him off. “Grandpa
Cor got a letter from Nanny Bee saying the Fort needed recruits and
asking if we could come!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Storrik's
eyebrows climbed further. “You specifically? That doesn't sound
much like Grandmother.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Why
not? She travels all over the place by herself.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Yes,
but she's a druid and has more experience with travel than all of our
cousins put together. It's a poor time of year to travel, too.
Maybe in the spring, but I wouldn't risk such a long road I know
nothing about at this time of year.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">This
was a problem. Storrik was far too level-headed and practical to be
badgered into something he thought was unwise.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Pardon
me if I intrude . . .” the half-orc rumbled.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Not
at all, friend Hogarth.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">I've
visited Fort Rannick on several occasions. It's not the easiest
road, but not that bad, either. I have friends who would gladly
undertake the journey just for your Grandmother's good opinion.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Great!”
Teeva called out before Dashell or Storrik could protest. “Let's
go!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Not
just yet, if you please,” said Hogarth. “While I appreciate your
enthusiasm, I have a favor to ask.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Sure!
I mean, we'd owe you one!” This better not be anything weird.
Dashell was looking concerned, and Storrik had on a bemused
expression that Teeva couldn't read.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Hogarth
turned his pipe over in his hands, considering. “I know a cousin
of yours, Polette. We've met only a few times, briefly, but I . . .
sensed her mother disapproved. I wonder if you would be willing to
carry her a message, from me.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Against
Aunt Zulah's wishes?” Dashell asked, dryly.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Yes.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Dashell
drew himself up and crossed his arms over his chest. “And what if
we don't approve, either?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Then
you can run along home, boy, because you'll never make it to Fort
Rannick without my help.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Dashell,
don't be a prig,” Teeva whispered.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Why
not?” he replied aloud. “I don't know him, and I'm not sure I
trust him, especially not with my virgin sister.” Teeva kicked
him. There was no other response to an older-brother emission like
that. “Hey!” Dashell protested. “I'm trying to look after
you, here!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Virgin
sister indeed!” Teeva leaned over to address Hogarth directly.
“I'll have you know that Old Man Dash here turns purple and
stutters if a pretty girl so much as looks at him. If I'm a virgin,
then he's a . . . double virgin!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">TEEVA!!!”
Dashell bellowed, trying to grab her to stifle the stream of
embarrassing revelations. Teeva danced out of reach with the skill
of long practice, and Dashell almost fell into the fire.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">I
assure you, Hogarth's intentions are honorable,” Storrik said when
everyone had regained their balance and dusted themselves off. The
half-orc looked astonished at this encomium, and Teeva could have
sworn he actually blushed.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Thank
you,” he said hoarsely, and then coughed to clear his throat.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Well
. . . if you vouch for him . . .” Dashell slowly allowed.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">I
do. Absolutely.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Well
. . . all right then.” It wasn't graceful, but Teeva would take
it.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">If
it makes you feel any better,” Hogarth said, “I believe Madame
Meadhouse's objections are rooted less in my appearance than in the
state of my purse, something this journey may bring opportunities to
improve.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">You're
awfully prosy for a half-orc,” Teeva said. “Er, no offense
meant.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Hogarth
hazarded a small smile. “None taken. In fact, my friends are a
small company of strolling players, well used to the road. They have
helped me refine my speech considerably. Let me just write my note.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">The
fancy talk explains Polette, anyway,” Teeva mused while the
half-orc busied himself with scribbling. “Dames love it.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Dames
like yourself?” Storrik asked, amused.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Nah,
I've got six brothers. I'm, whazzit, in, innik . . .?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Innoculated?”
Dashell finished for her.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Yeah,
that.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">XX</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">In the
end, Teeva went into town by herself to find Polette, since she was
the least likely to arouse suspicion by trying to get in to see her
cousin alone. For a little good luck, said cousin was at home
studying, and Aunt Zulah was in the market tending her stall. Teeva
went around the farmhouse and threw some gravel in her cousin's
window.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">What
the . . .what are you doing down there?” Polette demanded, sticking
her head outside. “You made a mess all over the floor! Wait,
Teeva?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">I
got a note from your swain,” Teeva said.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">My
. . . what?” That wasn't quite the reaction she'd been expecting.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Your
lovesick swain. Hogarth. He of the gray skin and smushed nose. His
heart burns with eternal passion for one touch of your fair hand, et
cetera.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Desna
preserve us, just be quiet and give me the note, thank you very
much.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Teeva
wrapped the flimsy paper around a stone and tossed it up. Polette
read for some time, then she stepped away from the window. Teeva
heard rustling noises, and in a surprisingly short time Polette
reappeared dressed in warm, sensible traveling clothes. She tossed a
pack out the window and then followed it, hanging from the windowsill
before dropping and landing neatly beside Teeva.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Let's
go,” she said, reclaiming her pack. Polette was several years
older than Teeva and the acknowledged beauty of the Meadhouse
extended clan. She had warm golden skin, long golden hair, and the
family crystal-blue eyes. And here she was, running off after a
half-orc! It boggled the imagination.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Hey,
where are YOU going!” a painfully-young voice shrilled as they
hurried down the lane, and here came Polette's younger brother Kedry.
“You're not supposed to be out!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Kedry,
go inside!” Polette snapped.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Nuh-uh!
You're running away! Mama told you spiffacly not to run away!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">I'm
not doing any such thing! Now go inside before I paddle you!”
Teeva shook her head sadly. Polette clearly needed some tutoring on
handling younger brothers.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">If
you paddle me, I'll scream, and Mama will hear!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">The
whole town would probably hear,” Teeva muttered. “Kedry, if you
go away and don't tell Aunt Zulah, I'll give you a silver piece.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">So
Mama can grill me on where I got it? Nuh-uh!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Ooh.
This case of little-brother-itis was clearly far advanced. Teeva
hated to do it, because letting them set the terms was always more
trouble than it was worth, but someone else could show up at any
moment. “What'll it take for you to forget you ever saw us?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">I
want to come, too!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Absolutely
not!” Polette snapped. “You're far too young. Mama would kill
me!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">She'll
kill you anyway, for sneaking off,” Kedry observed accurately.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">You
don't have a pack!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Yes
I do! I hid it down by the pond! I promise I'll be good!
PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">He's
not THAT young,” Teeva wavered. “Do you want to go or not?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">All
right! But you have to keep up, and if we tell you to do something,
you do it! This is a real journey we're going on, not some day trip,
understand!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">I
understand!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">They
stopped at the pond to retrieve Kedry's pack. Polette made him turn
it out to see that he'd actually brought something useful, which he
mostly had. While annoying, Kedry was actually quite sensible for
his age. Why he'd decided to stash travel kit he refused to explain,
but Teeva had a sneaking suspicion he'd been waiting for one of his
cousins to run away so that he could follow along. He was quite good
at keeping his own counsel and firmly believed that asking
forgiveness was superior to obtaining permission.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">XX</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Storrik
looked rather surprised to see the three of them, or as surprised as
he ever got at anything, which wasn't much. “Greetings, cousin,
cousin, and cousin. Are you all coming?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Yes,”
said Teeva firmly, hoping to stave off any more arguments.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">It
would be best to stay here tonight and start tomorrow,” the
woodsman suggested. “You can practice setting up camp in the
clearing, there.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Right,”
Teeva said, and started unpacking. The day, it seemed, had one final
surprise still in store. Teeva watched Polette collar Hogarth and
draw him aside, so she handed her bag to a protesting Kedry and crept
along the bushes until she could hear. She didn't want any secrets
on this very important journey.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">I'm
glad you came,” the half-orc was saying. “I'll do everything in
my power to make sure you don't regret it.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Er,
did you tell Teeva you were my . . . well, my lover?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">What?!
No, no, I never . . . I would never presume! You have my word!”
How very odd, Hogarth sounded just like a certain priggish older
brother Teeva could name.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Oh,”
Polette said faintly. Did she sound . . . disappointed? Couldn't
be. No way.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">Not
that you aren't, I mean, that I'm not . . .”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Fortunately,
Teeva had extensive experience with these sad cases. She peeked out
from behind the bush. Hogarth had his back to her, good, and anyway
he was trying to figure out if he could sink into the ground and
disappear without the aid of magic. Teeva waved to her cousin to get
her attention, then dramatically made the kissy-face. Polette
glared. Oh, well, there was no helping some people.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">Hogarth's
wounded peroration finally stumbled to a halt. Polette reached up
and brushed her fingertips against the side of his face. He flinched
slightly, but he pressed his face into her palm.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">I .
. . I promised your cousin . . .”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-style: normal;">I
didn't,” Polette said firmly. She shot one last glare at Teeva,
then stood on tiptoe and kissed him. Teeva nodded in satisfaction at
a job well done, then shook her head again as Hogarth tried to figure
out how to hold Polette without, you know, actually touching her in
any way that could possibly be construed as taking liberties.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">All in
all, it was a good start to their adventure. All the elements were
in place. The fearless leader (Teeva of course), the dumb but strong
backup (Dashell), the knowledgeable guide (Storrik), the romance
(Hogarth and Polette), and the obnoxious sidekick nevertheless
capable of saving the day in a pinch (Kedry).</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-style: normal;">This
was gonna be GOOD.</span></div>
<br />Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-21636551609453261492019-09-15T17:17:00.002-05:002019-09-15T17:17:54.419-05:00Rise of the Rune Lords Interlude: Hurry Up and Wait<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jakandros watched the Magnimar
adventurers ride off into the early-morning mud. The Black Arrows
were staying behind to watch Fort Rannick. They didn't have horses
and wouldn't reach Turtleback Ferry in time to help with the
evacuation.<br /><br />“All right, Sovark, I've been patient long
enough! The interlopers are busy, it's time for some explanations!”
It was impressive just how much bellow a motivated halfling could
produce. Jakandros took the full brunt of it at close range and
nearly fell off the wall. “You always were a moper!” Niwen Merce
concluded, glaring up at him. Arrayed behind the halfling were the
two other reincarnated Black Arrows along with Vale and Shalelu.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm not moping,” Jakandros
retorted from reflex. Arguing with Niwen was always a struggle.
She, um, he? was, er, had been? Whatever. HE had a forceful
personality developed from decades of training new Black Arrows.
Even when he agreed with you, he had a tendency to dominate. The
transition from gray-haired, leather-faced woman to short
black-haired halfling only seemed to have a concentrating effect,
making the steely glare more penetrating.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Brooding, then. Whatever you call
it, it's time to stop. You're in command here, so command. At least
tell us what HAPPENED.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Look, Niwen, there just isn't that
much to tell. The Kreeg attacked. I was out on patrol, Lamatar was
. . . away. You fought. They won. Magnimar sent out some
adventurers, they saved our lives and re-took the fort. When they
get back from helping the Ferry, they're going to see if they can
find Lamatar.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“And we just sit on our hands while
your precious adventurers pull our ass out of the fire? We're Black
Arrows!” Niwen sniffed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“If you hadn't noticed, there's
plenty to do here.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Scrubbing floors and mending!
Anyone can manage that. I'm asking about the FUTURE, Sovark! What
are we going to DO?! Six rangers can't hold Fort Rannick through the
winter. Five, if you don't count that squirrely git you locked in
the dungeon. If we're leaving, we should be packing up and making
plans. If not, we need to get more people in here, fast. There's
always more Kreeg, you know that.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Lamatar--”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Is dead!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jakandros finally let his simmering
irritation boil to the surface. “So were you, not long ago! Just
give it a few more days, Niwen! If we don't have better news by
then, we can ALL decide what to do.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Vale growled. “Like what to do with
Kaven? He told them how to get in here. He practically admitted it.
We don't need to wait--”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What's this?!” Niwen demanded.
“Is that why you've got him locked up?! I figured it was
cowardice, or--”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No, he went out whoring and told
some spy bitch how to take us out,” Vale snapped.<br />“Watch your
language, boy!” Niwen bellowed. There was abrupt silence in the
rank, Vale glaring at the halfling and flexing his hands. Jakandros
rubbed his neck, trying to think of how he could regain control of
this situation. He felt very tired. Niwen turned to look at him.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“This is what comes of treating the
Black Arrows like a rehabilitation house for thieves,” he spat.
“I'll gut him myself.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You'll have to wait in line after
me!” Vale snarled.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No,” Jakandros announced, keeping
his voice level. “Things are bad enough without turning on each
other.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“He's not one of US! He's a coward
and a thief and a traitor. It's time for you to do something, not
just follow along waiting for someone else to fix all our problems!
Or did the Grauls cut your balls off while I wasn't looking?!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Vale, that's enough! You're not
helping!” Bindra, the elven woman standing beside Shalelu, said.
She hadn't spoken before, in fact, she rarely spoke at all. Her main
interest, even before when she was a human, was in herbalism.
Jakandros wondered briefly why such a retiring person would have the
willpower to return from the dead. Apparently, there were hidden
depths to Bindra.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I think we should put it to a vote,”
the man beside Bindra drawled slowly. His name was Prandag, an
expert spelunker and mountaineer, which was only to be expected
before he died, when he was a dwarf. Now he was human, and looked
somewhat awkward with his new height.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Niwen nodded sharply at the suggestion.
“Fair enough. I vote for--”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No,” Jakandros announced again,
fighting to keep his voice under control. Vale, Niwen, and Prandag
were all exactly the type of people who would flay you alive at the
slightest sign of weakness. Yet, they were some of the best Rangers
he'd ever worked with, as well. Was there some correlation between
being excellent and being impossible? “There will be no voting.
You're all still Black Arrows. You swore an oath to this order, and
until such time as Lamatar returns, I'm in command. If you want to
be forsworn and leave, I won't stop you, but then you have no place
calling Kaven a coward.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Vale's nostrils flared and he almost
took a step forward, but visibly controlled himself. Prandag nodded
briefly. Dwarves—even former dwarves—took oaths seriously. But
Niwen sniffed again.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You want to command? Then command!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jakandros faced him squarely. “You
want orders, then? Here are my orders: we're going to wait. Are you
forgetting already that all of us would be dead now if it weren't for
those adventurers? Are you going to spit on that the minute they
walk out the door? I expected more from you.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, you expected more? How much
have I given, training recruits for three decades, then watching
ogres torture them to death and waking up in a body that isn't my
own!” He slapped his chest for emphasis. Then, just when
Jakandros thought he was going to follow up with a devastating
accusation, blaming Jakandros for being absent, the halfling stuck
both arms out in front of him, stretched, and chuckled.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What?” Jakandros asked,
nonplussed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You know . . . it's really not so
bad. Fifty years seem to have gone mysteriously missing, and good
riddance. I had a terrible rheumatism in that shoulder, and it's
completely gone.” He shook his head. “I shouldn't be yelling at
you. I trained most of 'em, you know. Sent 'em to their deaths.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Don't start blaming yourself,
Niwen,” Vale said. “That's Jak's thing. He'll be annoyed if you
start horning in.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Bah, he's an amateur. He just
mopes.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I do NOT mope!” How had they come
around back to this? Were they going to have the entire argument
again, now?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“While we're on the subject of
balls,” Niwen continued, waggling his eyebrows outrageously, “How
DO you fellows keep yours from getting pinched by your armor? If
we're going to wait, I might as well get ready to fight.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jakandros rubbed his face with both
hands. Niwen had apparently decided to concede, and, as usual, was
going to do so by making everyone in the vicinity as uncomfortable as
possible. “I'm going to delegate Vale to answer that one, thank
you.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Niwen's eyebrows waggled again. “Come,
Vale, we have much to discuss.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yes, ma'am. I mean, sir.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I may have to learn how to shave,”
Prandag rumbled. “This peach fuzz is a disgrace.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, I think you look rather
dashing,” Bindra said. She took Prandag's arm and the two of them
also left.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well done,” Shalelu said, the
first time she'd spoken.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No, it was very poorly done. I just
tried to think, what would Lamatar say? And there was nothing. So I
said that instead.” Jakandros shook his head. “I'm a leader,
not a commander. I know how to get people to follow me, but that's
different from getting them to obey your orders, especially when
they're well out of sight.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You could have let them vote.
Walked away.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Like I did at Crying Leaf?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yes.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I . . . I wanted to. I won't
pretend I didn't. I'm sorry. I still want to. I'm tired of all
this death.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Humans. You're still a child. Wait
until you've been around a few hundred years.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No, thank you. One is plenty for
me.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That's very human as well,”
Shalelu said. “You sink so much into that one that when it's gone,
there's nothing left. So you throw away what might have given you
comfort along the way.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I wish I'd never left Crying Leaf.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Regrets are also very human. Look .
. . the sun is up. Whatever happens, we'll still need to eat. Take
your bow and go hunting for a while. I'll stay here and keep an eye
on things. If you're not here, they can't argue with you, and they
won't do anything today.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“All right. I'll go. But I will be
back.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Good. Don't forget.”</div>
<br />Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-5362626609333209922019-09-10T16:19:00.003-05:002019-09-10T16:19:39.165-05:00Rise of the Runelords Session 25: No Fury Like<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That is A LOT of mud,” Nevis
declared, looking out over the Shimmerglens. It was a fact that
couldn't really be disputed. The trackless swamp was said to lie
very close to the First World. The inhabitants of Bitter Hollow had
shared stories of nixies laying traps, the seduction of nymphs, and
sprites stealing just about anything. It didn't sound hospitable at
all, especially with winter's chill fast oncoming.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We do have a boat,” Melissah said,
plonking what looked like a plain wooden box down at the water's edge
and releasing a catch. It unfolded, then unfolded some more, in a
way that didn't seem quite possible. In moments, the box had turned
into a sturdy rowboat with oars.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That's going to be crowded with all
of us in it,” Iozua said, giving the side of the folding boat a
kick.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I could stay behind,” Jori
offered.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nevis surveyed the swamp again. “No,
I'll stay behind. This may be a hamlet, but they have a tavern.
Haven't been to a decent tavern in days! Plus, I get
seasick!”<br /><br />“There aren't any waves, so how are you going to
get seasick?” Foss asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm a gnome,” Nevis declared, like
that was any answer to the question. “No, you folks run along.
Or, er, row along. However that works.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Don't come crying to us if we
discover a lost civilization while you're getting boozed up,” Iozua
said, stepping into the stern of the rowboat. Jori jumped in and sat
next to him on the bench. After some struggling that ended with
Melissah dumping a haunch of goat into the bottom of the boat,
Pavander climbed inside and began chewing. The druid then stepped
into the bow and sat down. Everyone turned to look expectantly at
Foss, who sighed and picked up the oars, settling himself on the
bench.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“So, where exactly are we going?”
he asked, using the oars to shove the boat loose. Melissah pulled
out the packet of Lamatar's love-poems.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I don't know,” she said, “but
I'm hoping Pavander can help us out.” She waved the bundle of
parchment in front of the badger's nose. He looked up, snorted, and
rotated in the bottom of the boat so that he was firmly facing away
from the druid. “Come on, you, I feed you enough, it's time you
did something useful.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Snorfle,” was the badger's sole
opinion on the matter.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Foss sighed, reached down one-handed,
and picked Pavander up by the scruff of his neck. The badger whined
and scrabbled furiously. “You listen to the lady, now, or I'm
throwing you in the drink. And you know I can.” After a moment's
consideration and Foss's sharp motion toward the side of the boat,
Pavander whuffled and stretched his nose out toward the poems,
sniffing theatrically. Foss let him down and picked up the oars
again. At first, Pavander seemed unsure, and Foss simply rowed down
the channel steadily, leaving the edge of the marsh and crossing
under the branches of twisted black trees. A cold, dark mist rose
from the water, bringing with it the sound of evil murmurs and weird,
dancing shadows.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I think, more that way,” Melissah
said, pointing to Pavander, who had stuck his nose over the bow,
sniffing urgently. Foss corrected course, and the trees seemed to
close in as they entered a narrower channel. The murmurs gave way to
a faint buzzing sound, rapidly growing louder, and a bright shape
emerged suddenly from the fog. It skirted around them and squeaked,
“Humans!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Mostly,” Foss grunted.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Hail, friend,” Melissah called to
the pixie. “Approach without fear.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Greetings and felicitations!” the
sprite shrilled. “My name is Yap! Have you come to help? Oh, I
hope you've come to help!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, I like him,” Foss said. “What
help is needed, little man?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The sprite took a very deep breath,
inflating his tiny chest to a startling degree. “My mistress is
ill! Very ill indeed! Oh, death instead would have been a kindness!
The land sickens with her heart, and it cannot be cleansed until her
misery is purged! I cannot do this myself! Please, you must help
her! You are friends with her human lover, yes? He wouldn't want
her left like this! I'll take you right to her, and you'll help her!
I've tried everything to cure her forlorn heart, but to no avail,
she wails and moans in Whitewillow, and the trees and plants and
nixies and frogs and everything are dying or worse! I'll take you
right now! Please!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Iozua blinked at the torrent. “Did
you . . . catch that?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“His mistress is ill and he wants us
to fix her,” Melissah summarized. Yap bounced up and down in
approval. “Has the human been this way recently?” Melissah
asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Er, no? No! He was here, but now
he . . . isn't.” The sprite brightened as an idea occurred to him.
“Oh, but if you help the mistress I'm sure she'll know where he's
gone!” he announced with a child's transparent guile.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah smiled, glancing at Foss and
Iozua. “I'm certain we'd be delighted to visit your mistress and
see what we can do to help.” Iozua nodded agreeably.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Sounds good,” Foss said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, wonderful!
ThankyouthankyouTHANKyou!” The sprite circled the rowboat.
“Humans like payment, right? I don't have much but I can give you
some pixie dust!” Yap dashed off, then circled back again,
squeaking, and resumed an pace more suited to the rowboat's progress.
Jori shook her head and leaned back.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The obvious corruption grew as they
followed Yap, shadows playing tricks on the eyes. Great spiders hung
from the drooping branches overhead, their webs twitching with dying
birds. Slithering things with too many eyes squirted away through
the murky water.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Heyyyy, don't they say that sprites
and pixies will lead you into the middle of danger and ditch you
there?” Foss commented, looking around.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“The only thing I know is that you
shouldn't eat or drink anything they offer you,” Jori said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah shrugged. “A pixie might
lead you into danger accidentally from not understanding what would
be dangerous to you, but they likely wouldn't do it out of malice.”
She gave a brief chuckle. “Although, when your bones are lying at
the bottom of the swamp, the difference between malice and mischief
can be hard to discern.” Jori almost sprained an eyebrow. “Yap
isn't likely to remember that we can't just fly away, for instance.
Well, I say we, I really mean you. Don't worry, if you die I can
always bring you back as a goblin or a squirrel or something. You
won't even notice the difference.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the bottom of the boat, Pavander let
loose an approving evil snorfle.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm sure I'll be fine,” Foss said.
“I mean, I have no skill at surviving the swamp. And this plate
armor will be extremely useful. What could go wrong?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
From the stern, Iozua offered the
world's most sarcastic thumbs-up.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Does my spirit have to agree to
become a goblin or a squirrel?” Foss asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yes.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Okay, good, 'cause I'm pretty sure
it'll be too busy making your life miserable.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah laughed outright. Iozua
chuckled. “The real question should be, can goblins or squirrels
surf?” he asked. The sound of his voice faded quickly, leaving a
deadly silence. Ghostly, translucent forms emerged from the
fog—spectral satyrs, ghostly grigs, phantom nixies, and shadowy
sprites floated gently from the swamp, followed by a parade of
phantom animals. The fey cavorted and frolicked as they passed,
eventually washing over the rowboat and its occupants. Everyone
winced and recoiled from the terrible, burning chill.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We're here!” Yap shrilled from the
shore. Foss heaved at the oars and the boat slid up onto the bank,
everyone scrambling out almost before it had stopped moving. The
swamp gave way to a large clearing surrounded by willow trees that
were now drooping and twisted with decay. Yap hugged a tree at the
edge of the clearing, cowering. “My lady waits for you within. I
dare not go any closer . . .”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Why . . . why dare you not, Yap?”
Iozua asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You'll see.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The trees shook as they stepped into
the clearing, and a foul wind arose. A pale form rushed at them,
raising skeletal hands. The rotting wreck of a nymph stood before
them, bloodless flesh hanging from blackened bones. The sight
assaulted them, an obliterating agony.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“YOU LET THEM TAKE HIM!!” she
howled. Iozua hunched, rubbing at his eyes.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You have mistaken us for someone
else!” the wizard yelled back.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The nymph hissed. “WHY have you come
to Myriana's court, mortals?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We freed Fort Rannick from the
Kreeg, and now we seek to discover Lamatar's fate and aid him if he
is in distress,” Melissah said formally, her voice quavering.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“They took him. I couldn't save him.
I know in my heart that he is now dead, but when I try to reincarnate
him foul magic prevents his soul from entering his new body.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No body, no death,” Iozua said,
facing the wrong direction. “Those are the rules.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“NO!” the nypmh roared. “Were he
still alive, he surely would have returned to my side by now!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah could see the wizard chewing
the inside of his cheek, struggling to control himself. Jori
huddled, blinded by the nymph's aura. Foss seemed at a loss for
words. “The Kreeg do not easily let their prisoners go, lady.
Tell us where they took him, so we can recover him.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Myriana's rage subsided a bit. “Their
lair is high upon Hook Mountain. Their blundering trail will be easy
to follow, and your masked friend can follow my beloved's scent, as
he has led you to me.” She reached out toward Melissah, who tried
not to flinch away. “Child of nature, find his remains and return
them to me. I do not need his entire body. A lock of hair, a finger
bone will do.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Pavander snorted, shoving his face
against Melissah's leg, startling her into activity. “N-never
fear, lady. We will accomplish this task.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“All's well, then, yes?” Foss
said, grabbing the druid's arm and backing toward the boat. He
reached out to gather Iozua and Jori as well. “We're going to help
you out, and you are going to get prettied up for the return of your
love. We're all on the same side.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Good. Return my commander to my
heart.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“See you soon, Lady.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The nymph sank into the ground, and the
faint light of the sun reappeared, restoring some warmth to the
clearing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I can't see a thing,” Jori said.
“Is anyone else blind?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yes'm,” Iozua said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Anyone else?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Not I,” said Foss. “And it
looks like Melissah is all right, too.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah took a deep breath. “If
Pavander starts trying to steer you around, whatever you do, don't
follow him.” She reached out and gripped Iozua's hand, although
for whose comfort it wasn't immediately clear. “This blindness
will not pass on its own; it will require magic to remove.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh,” Iozua said. “Oh, good.
And . . . we can do that, right?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I can,” Jori said. “Only, you
know, tomorrow.” She shook her head. “Note to self: when we
come back here, don't look at her.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Really?” Iozua snapped. “My
note was a bit broader: maybe don't come back.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Until then, we make do,” Foss
said. “The boat's here, climb in.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yap reappeared, babbling excitedly, and
led the way back out of the swamp, presenting them with a small bag
of pixie dust. They collected a happily drunk Nevis and returned to
Fort Rannick well after dark. Jakardros was waiting for them and
helped open the gates.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Hook Mountain?” he said when they
explained what happened while digging in to bowls of stew, everyone
helping the still-blind Iozua and Jori. “That sounds bad. It's
not a difficult climb, but it will be cold with the snow coming on.
That, and the ogres, of course.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Why would the ogres bother with that
swamp? Does anyone else feel like they were targeting Lamatar
specifically?” Foss asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“They would have known from Kaven
that he'd be out there on his 'nature walk', so probably,” Jori
said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We need to talk to Kaven to confirm
that, then. And why would it matter, anyhow? They wanted the fort,
right? They didn't need to go after Lamatar to get that.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“He could rally support to take it
back,” Iozua said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Or Lucrecia, or this 'Mokmurian',
might have had some other reason, too,” Jori said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That's what I was thinking,” said
Foss. “They need him specifically for something. Or want him, at
least.” He finished his stew and went down to the dungeons to talk
to Kaven, returning after only a very short time. “He says that
somebody up the mountain had plans for Lamatar.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It sounds like he might be alive,
then,” Melissah said. “I could try to scry him.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Depends on how long they needed him
for, I guess,” Foss said. “It wouldn't hurt to try?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, you know about scrying?” Iozua
demanded, grinning.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Of course,” Foss said with great
confidence. “Doesn't everyone?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Sure, sure,” the wizard allowed,
chuckling.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
All plans had to be set aside in the
morning, though, as a hammering at the gates before dawn brought
everyone awake to see a hunter from Turtleback Ferry sitting on top
of an exhausted draft horse. “Anyone there?!” he shouted. “The
Ferry is flooded! We need help!”</div>
<br />Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-70361012320281167032019-09-01T16:19:00.000-05:002019-09-01T16:19:13.396-05:00Maybe I Was Bitten by a Radioactive DMSo, I had a fun night.<br />
<br />
I had parsnips with cheese for dinner because it kinda approximates macaroni and cheese. I just quit taking some supplements I've been using to help sort out a persistent Candida infection and my stomach was a little tender because it cleared up the Candida and everything else along with it.<br />
<br />
So, I'm messing around waiting to get tired enough to fall asleep. 3 am rolls around and I climb in bed and turn the light out and figure that I'm going to fall asleep any moment. What actually happens is that I start to feel really cold. My entire body starts tingling. My heart starts pounding. I start shivering uncontrollably. I'm thinking, what the heck? It feels like what happens when my blood sugar drops, so I decide to get up and get another blanket because that should help me warm up and get to sleep.<br />
<br />
So I stand up. My stomach immediately twinges.<br />
<br />
We're not talking about a pain twinge here. My stomach is saying loud and clear "I'm going to get rid of my contents in about ten seconds". I try to swallow it down. I drink some tea. I hate throwing up. It doesn't help. So I sidle into the bathroom, lift up the toilet seat, and surrender to the inevitable. And dry-heave. Nothing comes up. I'm just starting to think, oh, okay, false alarm, when I throw up. And throw up. And throw up. It's gross. Finally I wash my mouth out and flush the toilet and I feel better. I figure the worst is over. I climb into bed and pile the blankets high.<br />
<br />
And I start shivering again. I'm not cold, in fact, I'm in danger of baking. I'm not sweating, though, instead I keep shivering. Every muscle in my body is getting in on the act. My skin feels like someone scrubbed it with sandpaper and then poured vinegar on it. I simultaneously can't stand to touch anything and want to put pressure on my body. I'm compulsively rubbing my right foot with my left foot because it feels good. I try switching feet to give my left leg a break but no, that feels terrible, so I go back to the other way.<br />
<br />
I could just fall asleep and wait this out, but no, my mind is racing. I'm wired. I could just watch TV or something but the thought of the noise and light is revolting. So, okay, brain, what are we going to do, then?<br />
<br />
Here we go . . .<br />
<br />
The Miracle spell is a bunch of B.S.! No, seriously, all that nonsense about duplicating other spells and effects, so boring. You know what a non-boring Miracle would be? Simple. You can go back through 1 round per level and undo the effects of any one dice roll. Anything. Party member swallowed by a dragon? Undo it. Failed a save against disintegration? Undo it. Missed your attack and the big bad teleported away? Undo it. It doesn't send people back in time to reinact the events, instead it pulls them from that moment into the present moment with the effects of whatever-it-was removed. So, if someone died from damage or a spell or something, they just appear without that damage. And then the caster immediately and irrevocably loses a level. No, not a negative level. Not something that can be removed. They revert to the previous level with zero experience points toward their next level.<br />
<br />
Much more interesting and, you know, an actual miracle.<br />
<br />
It's now 7am. The shivering is starting to pass off. I still have vinegar skin, but it's not so bad. I'm not feeling so cold, in fact, I'm actually starting to sweat a little bit, so I tug off one of the blankets and that feels better. I have to get up to pee. I'm a zombie, staggering through the house to the bathroom. I just want to pass out and be unconscious for a while.<br />
<br />
But wait, no . . .<br />
<br />
You know what'd be a really cool character concept? It's a dwarven cleric with an adamantine hammer. And they really, really hate illusionary walls, so when they think there's an illusionary wall around they start hitting walls with their hammer and screaming, only since it's adamantine, it ignores hardness, so what they actually end up doing is destroying REAL walls.<br /><br />See, when they were a kid, they lived in this underground dwarven city where they used to put up illusionary walls to confuse invaders, and he was kind of a geeky kid so the other kids always picked on him and would take him out in the tunnels and get him lost on purpose. So, one day they bring him in to the main temple and everyone's being nice to him and they're having some kind of big ceremony for him only he's like, "I don't believe it!" so he grabs this adamantine hammer off the altar and smashes it and just boom he rolls a 20 and confirms the crit and it's like some sort of magical keystone keeping the entire temple together so the roof falls in and just kills everyone and the kid is like traumatized he goes crazy.<br /><br />But, the hammer is actually a sentient artifact Hammer of the Giants or some such and it makes a deal with the god of the dwarves that it'll take this kid out adventuring and turn him into a high-level cleric who can come back and raise everyone, so the god puts the temple into a stasis field and they set off adventuring but this is a really geeky dwarf kid so he's terrible at it and the hammer has to keep saving his bacon plus he's got the persistent underlying trauma of having killed his entire dwarf clan going on so occasionally he just goes nuts and starts yelling "I don't believe it!" and whacking things with the hammer.<br />
<br />
You could even do it as a secret backstory as the DM where you tell your dwarf cleric "okay, I have a cool plan for your character and you'll get to start with this badass adamantine hammer but when I give you a note you just have to do what the note says" and it's like he suppressed the memory of blowing up the temple so when he gets to the level where he can raise people from the dead his god appears to him in a dream and sets a gaes on him and they go on this whole adventure to go back to the dwarven temple which is this ruin now.<br /><br />You could even make it more interesting like it's not even a good dwarven temple they're actually duergar so he has to raise all these powerful evil clerics and stuff.<br /><br />ZZZZzzzzz . . .Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-75690150545514606472019-08-30T15:21:00.002-05:002019-08-30T15:21:53.231-05:00Rise of the Runelords Interlude: Oh Deer<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The ogres were defeated. Fort Rannick
was saved. But now Nevis had an even bigger problem.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
She was getting bored.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was probably only temporary, because
these bgi people were usually very interesting, but at the moment
they were all doing extremely boring, non-heroic things like cleaning
and setting dead bodies on fire and there was nothing at all for a
gnome to do.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, she went for a walk.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The forest around Fort Rannick was
amazing, a deep untouched wilderness of huge, hoary trees.
Supposedly, the First World was like this, which would make sense if
there was a portal around here somewhere. Nevis found a clearing
full of wildflowers and a sparkling spring that fed a small crystal
brook. It would be an ideal place for a picnic if she'd only
remembered to bring one.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then she saw the deer. Three graceful
does the size of draft horses and an enormous stag that must have
been eleven feet tall. His spreading crown of antlers could have
held up quite a large tent if he were so inclined.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yo, Staggy!” Nevis yelled. “You
know where a gnome can get something to eat around here?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Their ears shot up, but the giant deer
didn't seem alarmed. The stag stepped slowly across the clearing and
lowered his head to examine Nevis closely. “There's plenty of
grass and flowers,” hes aid, exhaling a cloud of deer-breath.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“But I don't eat grass and flowers.
Got anything tastier?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“There are some bushes.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“They got berries?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It's too late in the year for
berries.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well, that's no good.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“There is this house.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“And they have food? Sounds good.
Where is it?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It's a long walk for a little
creature. Climb on and I'll take you,” said the stag.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nevis liked this adventure already.
“Ride a giant stag? COOOOOOOOLLLLL.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The stag lowered its head all the way
to the ground and Nevis grabbed an antler. He then raised his head
and turned his neck so that the dangling gnome was over his back.
Nevis let go and landed in the stag's fur ruff, which was almost
thick enough to swallow her whole.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The does abruptly looked up and then
sprang into a run, scattering toward the trees. The stag tensed and
Nevis saw an enormous wolf, black of fur, yellow of tooth, red of
eye. It snarled and the stag bolted, the wolf only seconds behind.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“COOOOOOOOOLLLLLLL!!!” Nevis
shrieked, clinging to the stag's fur. Still, things weren't looking
so hot for the stag. The trees slowed it, and the wolf was rapidly
catching up. “Help!” Nevis yelled. “Wolf!” She heard an
enraged squeal and the wolf suddenly yelped and reversed direction.
A satisfied grunting followed and an enormous boar stepped out of the
bushes and trotted over to where the stag stood panting with Nevis on
its back.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Cool!” Nevis said as the boar's
snout whuffled at her. “Who are you?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm the first little pig,” the
boar grunted. “And that's my wife, the second little pig, and my
other wife the third little pig.” Two equally enormous sows joined
the boar, followed by a squalling mob of piglets.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Er, little?” Nevis asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You got a problem with that?” the
boar snuffled.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Nope, no problem at all.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Good. So what are you doing in our
forest?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“YOUR forest?” the stag demanded.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“The forest,” the boar replied
without hesitation. He was very diplomatic for a pig.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We're going to find something to
eat,” Nevis explained.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The boar grunted. “There are plenty
of acorns, but not much people food.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“The stag said there was a house.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, yes, that might work. Come this
way.” The boar casually leered a fallen trunk out of the path and
the stag followed him, piglets running around under his hooves and
making a terrific racket.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Still, they hadn't gone far when Nevis
began to hear barking, and sure enough, here was a large floppy-eared
dog bellowing away at three small black bears in a tree, all peering
down with worried expressions.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What's all that noise?” Nevis
asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Those bears hurt my friend!”
barked the hound.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What friend?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The hound pointed, and Nevis spotted a
large red fox lying on the ground, licking its paw. It held the
wounded limb up hopefully, and Nevis cast a healing spell. “There,
all better. Now let those bears alone.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The hound whined but stepped aside, and
the three little bears slowly and cautiously descended the tree. The
boar eyed them suspiciously and snorted. “They better not eat any
of my piglets.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Nobody is eating anybody,” Nevis
said. “We're going to find the house and have lunch.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Hey, we're hungry, can we come,
too?” the fox asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Sure!” Nevis said, and the stag,
three pigs, fox, hound, and three little bears all set off. It
wasn't long before they found a path through the forest, and Nevis
caught a whiff of something delicious.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Wow, quite a parade you've got
there,” a high-pitched voice cried, and Nevis looked own to see a
small golden-haired child in a red cloak.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We're looking for a house that has
some lunch,” Nevis explained while the bears eyed the child's hair
askance.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The child pointed. “It's just over
there, by the mossy old tower. Say, have you seen any wolves around
here?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Just one, but the pigs scared it
off.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, good, then I'd better head off
to grandmother with these goodies. Bye!” The child skipped off
down the path.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Only a few moments later, Nevis
discovered where the goodies came from. It was, indeed, a house, but
it didn't contain food. It WAS food. Or, more specifically, it was
constructed of turkey logs with mashed potatoes for mortar, cranberry
jelly for window glass, flower beds full of green beans, a bacon door
and shutters, and a small fountain that appeared to be full of gravy.
The roof was an enormous slab of gingerbread with cream cheese
icing. It was all fresh and even seemed to be piping hot and
steaming slightly.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, wow!” Nevis said. This
adventure kept getting better and better. The animals sprang forward
and began eating. Nevis took out her sword and sliced herself an
excellent lunch.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A human woman with short brown hair
came around the side of the house and surveyed the scene, looking
quite astonished. Nevis swallowed some gravy and said, “Hey,
sorry, is this your house?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No,” the woman said. “It
belongs to the witch, but she doesn't come here any more now that
she's all busy at the castle. I live over there, in the tower.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm Nevis.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Nice to meet you. I'm called
Rapunzel. I'm afraid you might be in trouble, Nevis.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Adventure! “What trouble?” Nevis
asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“The evil witch rules this forest,
and she doesn't let anyone leave. People come here from outside and
she enchants them or curses them or turns them into animals.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Why would she do that?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You did hear me say she's evil,
right? She turned my boyfriend into a monster. I haven't seen him
in weeks. I'm worried he might get hurt.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yeah,” the stag said. “She shot
my mother.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Her wolf wrecked our house,” the
pigs said. “Three times!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“The little child with the red cloak
works for her,” said the bears. “She's always coming around and
taking our things.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well, that all sounds dreadful. We
should do something about it.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You can't,” said Rapunzel. “She's
a powerful witch.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well, I'm not scared of witches. I
know a trick or two myself. I fought this evil snake-lady just the
other day.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Rapunzel sighed. “Well, if you're
determined, you can always follow the road to the castle. I won't try
to stop you. In fact, take this.” She reached into the pocket of
her apron and held out what looked like three shiny round pebbles.
Nevis took them.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Stones?” she asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“They're magic beans. They might be
useful.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh. Um, okay, thanks.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Just be careful and don't get
killed.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
XX</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The animals and Nevis ate until they
almost couldn't move, but there didn't seem to be any less food house
left than when they started. Nevis filled her backpack with seconds
for later, took a big drink from the stream, and the parade of
animals set off down the road toward the castle, moving slowly and
burping occasionally. They hadn't gone far when Nevis spotted a dark
shape in the trees, creeping along parallel to the road. “Hey, is
that the wolf?” she shouted.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'll get it!” the first little pig
grunted, and he charged. The creature screamed in a surprisingly
high-pitched, girly voice and ran out of the trees. It looked like
some sort of wolf-man, b ut it had short horns like a goat and a
thick mane like a lion. And, most improbably, it was wearing pants.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No, don't hurt me!” it squeaked.
“I didn't mean any harm!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Are you an animal or a person?”
Nevis demanded.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well, neither, since the witch
turned me into a monster. Everyone just calls me Beast.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You must be Rapunzel's boyfriend.
She's worried about you.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I can't go back, I mean, look at me.
I used to be a prince!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well, you can come with us if you
want. We're going to sort out this whole witch business.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Really? I'll come along then. Got
anything to eat?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
XX</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The castle turned out to be a bit of an
anticlimax. Nevis was expecting something tall and soaring with
pointy towers and flags flying bravely in the wind, but it was just a
crumbling heap of gray stone buried in a tangle of rosebushes with
thorns like daggers. A single crooked stone tower rose inside the
walls, with a faint glow shining from its lone window.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Okay,” Nevis said. “Where's the
witch?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“She must be inside,” said Beast.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“So how do WE get inside? Those
rosebushes don't look very friendly to me. I wish Melissah was
here.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What's a Melissah?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Never mind. Have you got any
ideas?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well, you have a sword, you could
cut your way through.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That would take forever. Let me see
what I have in my pockets.” Nevis began rooting around, but
nothing looked very helpful.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What's this?” Beast asked,
pointing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, those are some magic beans
Rapunzel gave me.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Why don't you try those?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, well, fine,” Nevis said, and
climbed off the stag's back. She dug a small hole in the dirt,
dropped in the beans, and patted the dirt back over them. A
beanstalk immediately shot out of the ground and almost took out her
eye. “Wow, look at it go!” she crowed. The beanstalk grew and
grew and grew and then fell over on the castle because nobody had
staked it to anything to hold it up. “Er, that wasn't quite what I
was expecting, to be honest,” Nevis said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No, look,” said Beast, “We can
climb it to get in. It's almost like a bridge.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, right on.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The castle courtyard was empty except
for a big chunk of rock with a glowy sword handle sticking out of it.
Nevis gave it an experimental tug, but it was wedged in good and
tight. Then there was a loud bang and a fireball and a hideous
green-skinned hag wearing a black cloak and black pointy hat
appeared. She coughed and waved away a cloud of sulfur.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What are you doing in my castle?!”
she rasped.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm here to defeat you!” Nevis
yelled.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The witch screamed and threw a
fireball. Nevis ducked behind the beanstalk, but she was still badly
singed. Things didn't look good. Then Nevis spotted a large bean
hanging just over her head. This wouldn't normally be noteworthy,
but it had the words “eat me” written on the side. So, Nevis
grabbed it and took a bite. Immediately, she swelled up into a giant
almost as tall as the castle tower. Nevis whooped and punted the
astonished witch right over the wall.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then the witch turned into a
dragon. Nevis ducked again as it breathed fire, burning away the
thorny rosebushes. “Help!” Nevis yelled. Beast ran forward,
snatched the sword from the stone, and stabbed the dragon.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Woo!” Nevis cheered. “Right in
the biscuits!” And that was the end of the evil witch. Nevis
surveyed the battlefield in satisfaction. “Hey, look at that!
You're a prince again!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The restored prince waved his new sword
happily. “I can marry Rapunzel now!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nevis ate another bean and shrank back
to normal size. She went up to the tower and climbed the stairs. In
the room at the top were seven dwarves sitting around a very
beautiful lady dwarf who was lying in a crystal casket asleep.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Um, hello?” said Nevis.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Who are you?” asked the oldest
dwarf, who had an extremely white beard and bushy eyebrows.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I defeated the witch and now you're
all saved! Well, I suppose it was really more of a team effort.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We're not saved. My wife still
hasn't woken up.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh yeah? Why not?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“The witch cursed her. She won't
wake up until a prince kisses her, and where are you going to find
one of those in this enchanted realm?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Wait here just a second,” Nevis
said, and went back downstairs. The prince was in the courtyard with
Rapunzel, who was now wearing a pretty white dress and a gold crown.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“How can we ever thank you?”
Rapunzel asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You can let me borrow your boyfriend
for a minute.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, all in all, it was an extremely
heroic day. The dwarf-lady woke up and slapped the former Beast
right in the mush. The dwarves were happy, the Prince was happy (if
a bit sore), Rapunzel was happy, the animals were happy, and Nevis
was happy. The stag offered to carry Nevis back to Fort Rannick, and
she was so worn out that she slept almost the entire way.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Vale sounded the alarm when the giant
stag vaulted the wall and landed in the courtyard of the fort. Nevis
waved as everyone came running. “No, no, relax guys, everything's
fine!” she yelled.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Nevis,” said Iozua. “What the
buck?!”</div>
<br />Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-15471316223046419262019-08-30T01:39:00.002-05:002019-08-30T01:39:45.091-05:00World of Prime and Pathfinder 2nd EditionSo, I've made no secret of the fact that I'm really not a fan of the new 2nd edition of Pathfinder. I think they made some really questionable design choices with the apparent goal of "balancing" and "streamlining" the game. What they've actually done, in my opinion, is turn a robust (if complex) roleplaying game into a stupid video game.<br />
<br />
There are a lot of things Paizo has done to strip options out of their new system. (It's really a completely new system, not an upgrade or continuation of the old system.) For one thing, it's now basically impossible to play a race that isn't in the released materials without having a knock-down drag-out fight with your GM, because your race isn't just a couple of stat bonuses/penalties and a couple of abilities and attributes. Now you have to have a whole list of balanced and tuned ANCESTRY FEATS that you get access to at specific levels. Talk about headache.<br />
<br />
And it's the same with classes. You can't throw down a few class-specific abilities and call it a day, no, now you need a massive list of class feats and what level you get access to them all. So, pretty much the only way to play this system is to play STRAIGHT OUTTA THE BOOK. Considering only the most basic of basic material is released thus far, this is kinda rude. Creativity? What creativity? Doing anything outside the cookie-cutter basics means committing to an enormous amount of tedious busy-work that all has to be approved by the GM. You can't mix and match any more.<br />
<br />
Also out the window is multi-classing, replaced by the lame system of squandering your feats to get crappier feats from a different class. Woo.<br />
<br />
Druid absolutely got reamed. Instead of getting an animal companion AND wild shape that level up on their own and remain relevant throughout the game, now you can pick ONE and spend tons of feats to make it relevant. Oh, and the ability you pick locks you in to a pre-set ethos. Creativity? What creativity?<br />
<br />
You don't make YOUR character in this system. You pick which one of PAIZO's characters you feel like playing.<br />
<br />
So what the heck does this have to do with World of Prime, you may ask. Assuming you read the post title, that is. In fact, what the heck IS World of Prime?<br /><br />World of Prime is a book series by M.C. Planck.<br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It's that rare and wonderful beast, a COMPLETED series. It's a pretty interesting and reasonably well-written series, so I'd say check it out. The important part, though, is that the premise of this series is a world where Dungeons and Dragons rules form the "physics" of the world. Experience points, levels, classes, races, memorizing spells, gods, domains, raising the dead, alignments, it all has an analog. For being based on a game system that has only a sketchy connection with any concepts that apply in reality, it does a good job of examining what all of these rules would actually mean in a world where they really did all apply.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The main character HATES it. He's an "all men are created equal" American and despises the built-in aristocracy that comes with experience points and levels (here called <i>tael</i> and ranks). So he sets out to change it with (surprise) guns that can make an ordinary man able to stand up to a fifth-level fighter or wizard or cleric.<br /><br />It all works surprisingly well until book 4, <u>Verdict on Crimson Fields</u>. Then Christopher (the protagonist) gets his first taste of what the levels system really means when he takes his New Model Army to face off against a dragon . . . and dragon fear, which none of them can resist simply because they're not high enough level. All the technology in the world won't help you if you can't keep your men around to operate it, and they're simply helpless in the face of high-level magic. And Christopher is forced to confront this fact.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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This is a problem that D&D and all of its bastard child systems have had since forever--once you pass a certain threshold, because of the <i>way the system is designed, </i>nothing can fight magic <i>except magic.</i> So the non-casting or semi-casting classes are left without a damn thing to do with themselves while the casters run the entire show.<br /><br />What boggles me is that the solution is incredibly simple and yet we keep getting utter monstrosities like this Pathfinder 2nd Edition fiasco where they completely castrate the casting classes and make them boring and stupid in order to "balance" them with the non-casting or semi-casting classes. NO. This is a fantasy game. The fantastic elements are the fun part. If you take out all the stuff that MAKES it D&D, guess what, it's NOT D&D ANY MORE.<br /><br />(I'm not going to get into the fact that spellcasting itself has a weird cycle to it where, due to monster stat inflation and the weird availability of certain types of effects, sometimes your wizard is throwing fireballs, sometimes they're buffing themselves and going toe-to-toe with monsters like a fighter only <i>more effectively</i>, and sometimes they're just opening holes in the planes and yanking stuff out or throwing stuff in like the most insane stage magician ever.)<br /><br />Put away the damn butcher knife and listen up. The way you fix this problem is not to cut stuff, weaken stuff, or turn every class into a list of a billion special abilities where swinging the weapon in your off hand is some kind of specialized damn effect.<br /><br />The way you do it, is you take the spell list and the monster manual (ESPECIALLY the monster manual) and you say "for every magic that exists, there must be a NON-MAGICAL COUNTER". You learn from the lesson of Christopher vs. the Dragon and get rid of all the stupid rules that say "this can only be fixed or opposed with magic". Here's a short, NON-COMPREHENSIVE list of things that can ONLY be fixed or opposed with magic in D&D:</div>
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Stat drain</div>
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Negative Levels</div>
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Curses</div>
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Teleportation</div>
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Scrying</div>
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Identifying Magic Items</div>
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Detecting the presence of magic</div>
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Petrification</div>
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Mind control</div>
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Magical diseases</div>
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Magical Poisons</div>
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Damage Reduction</div>
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Just all kinds of crap that comes up ALL. THE. TIME. in any adventure, and if you don't have access to magic, oh well, you can't do crap about it! Many times it's a "game over, make a new character" kind of event.</div>
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Pathfinder 2nd edition (and every other crappy bastard version of D&D that's come out, like, say, 4th edition) wants to solve this problem by getting rid of all of that stuff or making it effectively pointless. All you really have to do is to go back through the effect descriptions and everywhere it says "you need a <i>Wish </i>or a <i>Miracle </i>to remove this" or "a <i>remove curse </i>spell is the only cure" you CUT THAT OUT and replace it with something that DOESN'T USE MAGIC and is AVAILABLE TO NON-CASTING CLASSES and DOESN'T COST THE ENTIRE EARNINGS OF TWENTY THOUSAND PEASANTS FOR ONE YEAR.<br /><br />Freakishly, there's a great video game version of this that does exactly that and it works amazingly well and non-casters are just as badass as casters. No, not kidding, it's called Dungeons and Dragons Online. Here's how it works:</div>
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Stat Drain--rest and get rid of it. Or drink a potion to get rid of it immediately. And <i>not a magical potion that can only be created by a caster with the spell and is super-expensive and super-rare</i>. We're talking a potion that's as ubiquitous and affordable as Red Bull.<br /><br />Negative Levels--rest and get rid of them. No, they don't stick around forever and ever and ever and require a relatively high-level spell with extreme restrictions to remove.<br /><br />Curses--wait and they expire, except for one or two that require you to drink a Red Bull.</div>
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Teleportation--this one is a special case in Dungeons and Dragons Online because while it exists it has no tactical usefulness. However, I've seen all sorts of books and so forth deal with it by, say, locating buildings underground or criss-crossing a room with wires or even just the way furniture is designed and positioned. Add a caveat that unless there's X number of squares of open space in an area you can't teleport there and voila, it's trivial to defend against it. And as for the recurring villain always teleporting away . . . spell affects an area around you, and you take everyone in it with you whether you like it or not. They all get saving throws, and if even one of them makes the save, guess what, the ENTIRE SPELL fails.<br /><br />Scrying--the scrying sensor is visible WITHOUT a spell to detect it, and it can't see through fog/darkness/etc., or hear over loud ambient noise.<br /><br />Identifying Items--why is this even a thing. I haven't played with a DM in ages who was willing to sit through that nonsense, they just tell us what the damn items are. Because people putting on cursed items is fun? Whatever. Heck, even video games realized this was B.S. and dropped the concept ages ago.<br /><br />Detecting the presence of magic--basically all magic should be bloody obvious to anyone with half a brain. Even high-quality, well-crafted illusions should only work briefly and only on the unsuspecting or on those (like a scrying sensor) who have no ability to verify what they're observing. Yeah, okay, that momentary advantage may be all you need. It should also be all you GET.</div>
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Petrification--should be either temporary, or have the good old smooch loophole or something like that.</div>
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Mind control--should be friggin obvious and wear off quite quickly.</div>
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Magical Diseases/poisons--Maybe if you made actual diseases and poisons as nasty as they really are you wouldn't have to invent this B.S.</div>
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Damage Reduction--if you want the monster to be tougher but have a weird vulnerability, just give it more hit points and lower saving throws, sheesh.</div>
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Get creative. Then go back and review the non-casting classes and give them whatever they need to have access to all the non-magical solutions to stuff. Here's some GREAT stuff:<br /><br />Non-casters get higher saving throws than casters and don't fail on a roll of 1 if they'd otherwise make the save.</div>
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<br />The least-skilled non-caster class gets more skill points than the MOST-skilled caster class. Like, TWICE as many. And they ALL get a huge number of class skills and bonuses to skills.</div>
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<br />Special materials and crafting methods are WAY better than magical enchantments on weapons and armor. Armor doesn't cease being relevant after level 5 because IT HAS ZERO SCALING. In DDO, they have this thing called +[w]. Periodically you get weapon upgrades that simply do more damage because they get more dice of damage. So that bow that was doing 1d8 damage now does 2[1d8] or 3[1d8] or more. Spells often add dice of damage with levels, why don't weapon attacks?! And not your special attacks, your BASIC attack, the one you use every time you roll!</div>
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Some moron at WotC once said about third edition D&D that getting a feat was considered equivalent to getting a new level of spells. Okay, no, getting the ability to SOMETIMES swing your weapon an extra time (like, say, cleave) is NOT THE SAME as getting access to a dozen new spells that can drop an entire ROOM full of enemies IN ONE GO. Hand these suckers out to the non-casters. Hand them out to the semi-casters! Instead, who gets more bonus feats than they know what to do with? FRIGGIN WIZARDS. Meanwhile the poor paladin is looking at their 3 smite evils per day and crying into their beer.<br /><br />Quit over-rewarding specializing in one weapon style. You use the right damn tool for the job.<br /><br />Get rid of the silly notion of weapons being "bludgeoning", "slashing", or "piercing" weapons. Ain't you ever seen a movie where someone got clubbed with the butt of a gun? Ever see someone get cut in a boxing match? The WHOLE THING is a weapon, not just two inches at the very tip, dammit. Do you not think that in a world where people EXPECT to go from fighting zombies to fighting skeletons at a moment's notice they'd put a damn heavy pommel on that sword?! Or just use the flat?!<br /><br />Let the wizards be wizards. And let the rogue sneak in, disarm all the alarms, blind the magical eyeball, and throttle that sucker in his sleep.</div>
Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-64791425146470262772019-08-29T23:06:00.002-05:002019-08-29T23:06:27.639-05:00Rise of the Runelords Interlude: Raising Spirits<br />
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“Tell it to me straight, no messing
around,” Vale said. “Do you really think the Commander is
alive?”</div>
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“I . . . I don't know,” Jakandros
answered, well aware of how feeble that sounded. “I have hope,
which is more than I've had in a while. It's a small thing. It's .
. .” he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. At his feet, Kibb
purr-growled and thrust his head under Jakandros' free hand,
demanding scratchies.</div>
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“What?” Vale asked, after watching
in silence for several moments.</div>
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“It's in my head to think that Old
Deadeye wouldn't take such a small hope from me, after he's let them
take everything else.”</div>
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“You know better than to say things
like that, Jak. The gods really are that cruel.”</div>
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“I know, Vale. No one knows that
better than I do by now. But-”<br /><br />“Some of us might.”
Vale's tone was bitterly hard, the anger that was never far away
these days breaking through. Jakandros tried not to wince. The
worst part was that a piece of him relished that anger and wanted to
meet it with anger of his own, to shout, you stupid kid, you think
you know what loss is, you think you have any idea . . .</div>
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It would feel very good indeed to let
himself get angry, but he feared very much what would happen if he
did. Kaven likely wouldn't live out the night. Hell, burn the whole
fort down, let that be a last funeral pyre for his Black Arrows, and
walk into the woods to kill and kill until he was killed in his turn.
It would be so easy, much easier than looking at Vale's fury and
hurt and saying yet again that he had no answers.</div>
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“It's late, Vale. We have a lot of
work tomorrow,” he said, finally.</div>
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“Like running off to the swamp after
some love-poems? Are you gonna leave me here with the mess because
you're desperate for someone who ain't you to take over? Is that the
work you're talking about?”</div>
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“Should I just abandon Lamatar
without knowing? Vale, he could be alive and in who knows what kind
of trouble, like we were before those kids showed up.”</div>
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Vale frowned as Jakandros' face took on
the thousand-yard stare that was becoming increasingly common and
worrisome. Having the girls around seemed to help, as Vale thought of
Jori, Shalelu, Melissah, and Nevis. It was small comfort, anyway, as
it left open the question of what would happen to Jakandros when they
inevitably left. “So why not let the kids take care of it?” he
said, trying to break in on that stare. “They're more than
capable. Maybe they got another miracle up their sleeves.”</div>
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“Maybe. At this point, I wouldn't
put it past them.”</div>
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Brilliant white light flashed through
the arrow slits and both men jumped as thunder boomed, followed by an
intense rattling that turned into a sustained roar.</div>
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“From the sound of that, nobody's
going anywhere much tomorrow,” Vale said. “Oh, well, plenty to
do around here.”</div>
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If Jakandros had any experience with
the weather, Vale was absolutely right. And, sadly, he did. Quite a
lot.</div>
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XX</div>
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In the morning, Jakandros' worst
estimates proved conservative. The courtyard was reduced to a sea of
muck. An enormous tree had broken loose somewhere upstream and
hurtled the waterfall, smashing a section of the palisade and then
helpfully blocking the stream so that he water had nowhere to go but
into the courtyard. Everything was a mess. One of the outbuildings
had even collapsed. The ogres hadn't trashed the place so
effectively. Jakandros waded out to survey the damage, shaking his
head and swearing under his breath.</div>
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Kibb stood in the doorway, his massive
cougar paws crammed as tightly together as possible while he glared
at the mud, trying in vain to locate somewhere non-sticky to put a
paw down. A black-and-white nose emerged next to him and the cougar
yowled angrily.</div>
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“Down, Kibb,” Jakandros called.
The badger sauntered past the angry cat and plopped full-length into
the mud, crossing the courtyard in a series of disgusting splashes
until it reached Jakandros and thrust its nose into his groin. “I
take it your mistress sent you out here?”</div>
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The badger simply looked innocent, then
turned and flopped its way back to the fort doors, where it stopped
and very deliberately shook itself off right next to the furious
cougar.</div>
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“Pavander!” Melissah shouted from
inside. “Don't you DARE track that mud in here!” The badger
started to scamper off and a sphere of water formed, turning
instantly brown as it swept up the black-and-white animal and whirled
across the floor, depositing Pavander in an unhappy but no longer
muddy heap in the hallway. Completely unabashed, Pavander sat up,
shook his fur into place, and trotted off.</div>
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Jakandros, having reached the doors
himself, met Jori's eyes over Melissah's shoulder, surprised to find
himself fighting a smile. “Rather a harsh way to treat your
companion, madam,” he said, and was rewarded as Jori burst into
giggles.</div>
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“Have you ever lived with a honey
badger, sir?” Melissah asked, tartly.</div>
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“Can't say as I have.”</div>
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“Then I suggest you try it and get
back to me.”</div>
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“Thanks, but I have enough to worry
me.” Melissah's face fell and Jakandros abruptly felt like an ass.
“I . . . have to report that we're not going much of anywhere
until the water goes down, sorry.”</div>
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“That may not be a bad thing,”
Melissah started.</div>
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“Yeah!” Jori burst in. “It turns
out the Kreegs kept a few of your people alive for a few weeks to
torture them!”</div>
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Jakandros felt his stomach wrench.
Melissah clapped both hands over her face as he swayed on his feet.
Kibb's weight pressed against the back of his legs, steadying him.
“Why . . . are you telling me this . . .” he rasped.</div>
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“Oh, that's, I meant . . .” Jori
floundered. Melissah reached out slowly and without thinking he
grasped her hand.</div>
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“We were laying out the dead for
burial,” she said gently,” and I noticed that a very few looked
only recently dead. I think we might be able to revive them. We
were just discussing it.”</div>
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“Revive?” His head seemed likely
to float away. “You can do that? Isn't it fearsomely expensive?”</div>
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“We wouldn't be able to do it at all
if they'd died in the initial attack,” Jori explained. “And,
yeah, it's expensive.”</div>
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“Whatever it costs, I'll pay it.”
The sinking sensation in his stomach came again. “Somehow.
There's almost nothing left . . .”</div>
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Melissah squeezed his hand. “Don't
even think about it. I can manage the cost.”</div>
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“Yeah, I said we but with the
condition of the bodies it's really going to be all Melissah's
doing,” Jori added.</div>
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“I'm not sure he wants to hear the
details right now,” Melissah said.</div>
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“No,” Jakandros said, forcing
himself to take a deep breath and stand up straight. “Tell me.”</div>
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Melissah nodded. “They were . . .
dismembered, so Jori can't raise them. But I can offer
reincarnation.”</div>
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“You mean, they come back in
different bodies?”</div>
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“Yes, exactly. I can't force them to
return if they don't wish to, but I can give them the opportunity. I
wish I could do more.”</div>
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“No, that's . . . that's amazing.
Please. And I'll find the money to pay you.”</div>
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Melissah and Jori shared a look.</div>
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“Heck, if money is a problem, I'll
pay for it,” Jori said.</div>
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“No,” Melissah insisted. “I can
make most of what I need in my wagon. I'll cover the rest.”</div>
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Jakandros shook his head. “I can't
let you . . .”</div>
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“Oh, stop it!” Melissah snapped,
the tartness returning. “I'm a druid, what do I need a lot of
money for? Besides, it's my magic and if I want to pay for it
myself, I will.”</div>
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“So there!” Jori announced,
grinning. “You see? It really was good news.”</div>
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“I suppose so, although your delivery
could use a little work.”</div>
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“Yeah, sorry 'bout that. I got so
excited I wasn't thinking.”</div>
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Jakandros grabbed Jori's shoulders and
kissed her on the cheek. He then leaned over and did the same to
Melissah, which felt much more daring somehow. “I'm going to tell
Vale the good news. If you'll excuse me, ladies.”</div>
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Melissah blushed and scrubbed vainly at
her face while Jori grinned even more. “I have a wagon to fetch,”
the druid said.</div>
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“Why so flustered?” Jori demanded.</div>
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“I'm not flustered, it's just that I
have children almost as old as he is,” Melissah muttered.</div>
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“Wait, WHAT?!” Jori yelled as
Melissah scurried away.</div>
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XX</div>
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Two very muddy and exhausted mules
stopped outside the fort that night, and an equally muddy
druid/cleric team climbed down from the wagon, followed by a pristine
and weirdly-smug badger. Vale and Jakandros went out and relieved
them of the mules.</div>
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“Get inside,” Jakandros told them
when they started to protest. “We'll take it from here. There's
hot water.”</div>
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“Desna bless you,” Jori said
fervently, stumping her way across the still-soggy courtyard toward
the doors.</div>
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“Turtleback Ferry is half
underwater,” Melissah said. “If I couldn't turn into an
elephant, we'd never have gotten out.”</div>
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Jakandros nodded solemnly. “One
problem at a time. We'll get to them all.”</div>
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“Yes.” She smiled. “First, the
hot water.”</div>
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“That isn't a problem.”</div>
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“Have you ever live with a honey
badger, sir?”</div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh. Oh, dear.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Indeed.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
XX</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah started work in the morning
with Jakandros watching from what he hoped was a courteous distance.
The process was surprisingly interesting to watch, and even a little
alarming when she stripped down to a knee-length tunic and opened all
four of her beehives without bothering to smoke them first. Bees
landed all over her, but they didn't seem to be stinging. Pavander
took the opportunity to snatch a particularly juicy bit of honeycomb,
which he brought over to Jakandros and ate very slowly with extreme
relish.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You're a bit of a jackass, aren't
you?” Jakandros told the badger. It sniffed, fluffed itself, and
marched off.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Eventually, after much melting,
scraping, burning, and brewing (and once almost setting her hair on
fire, which Jakandros politely pretended not to notice) Melissah had
three wax effigies floating in barrels of honey-scented oil. She
closed them up and began her spell, raising the primeval spirits to
draw the souls of the departed into new bodies. The barrels began to
shake and steam hissed around the lids. An hour later, the druid
unceremoniously decanted an elven female, a halfling male, and a
human male onto the ground.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Jakandros?!” the woman squawked,
then went cross-eyed in horror at the sound of her own voice.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm sorry, have we met?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I should think we've met! What in
hells happened?!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I swear I've never seen you before
in my life.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“They receive new forms, remember,”
Melissah explained.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'll say!” the halfling exclaimed.
“I've grown a penis! And when did you turn into a giant!?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That . . . will take some getting
used to,” Jakandros said weakly.</div>
<br />Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-35825419225703593852019-08-27T15:35:00.003-05:002019-08-27T15:35:57.692-05:00Rise of the Runelords Session 24: Big Boss<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The ground floor of Fort Rannick was
empty of foes, but the ogres on this floor, fierce as they were, did
not match the descriptions Jakandros had given for the ogre
leadership.<br /><br />“They must be upstairs,” he said when the
party consulted him. Vale had put Kaven in one of the jail cells and
was sitting on a table, sharpening one of his axes and scowling.
Jakandros shot the big man a worried look. “It might be best if I
stay here. For safety.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nevis tugged on Melissah's tunic. “I'm
getting a fox, goat, and cabbage vibe here,” the gnome
stage-whispered.<br /><br />“What?” Jakandros asked, baffled.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Huh?” was Nevis' eloquent
response.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Fortunately, we have a boat large
enough for all three of them,” Melissah said, patting her
satchel.<br /><br />“What are you talking about? What boat?” They
might be on solid ground, but Jakandros was definitely lost at sea.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Iozua gave the druid and bard comedy
team a sour look. “Never mind them. We'll take care of things
from here.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh. Good. Um, thank you.” the
ranger captain said, glancing at Vale, who shrugged.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The top floor of the keep had a single
hallway shaped like a backwards L, with three sets of doors opening
off it. Foss trotted forward and kicked in the first door, revealing
what had been, and in a sense still was, the fort's chapel to
Erastil. The furniture had been thrown aside in a splintered mass
and the walls were now mounted with dozens of trophy antlers, some
taken from stags that must have stood as tall as a dire bear. Most
of the antlers were draped with bits of rotten flesh, strips of skin,
or coils of viscera. The marble altar was now heaped with the
mangled remains of at least a half-dozen dead men and women. A crude
image of what might be a three-eyed jackal was painted on the wall
above the altar.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The massive ogre standing before the
altar looked up. He was at least fourteen feet tall, almost the size
of a true giant. “Guess m'brood din't take care o' you,” he
grunted. “Reckon I gotta, now.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Lamashtu,” Jori whispered,
shuddering. Iozua stepped into the doorway and threw a fireball
while Shalelu fired over his shoulder. Explosion and arrows struck
at almost the same moment. The beast grunted, but raised his hook to
meet Foss' charge while Nevis sang mightily. Even the half-elf's axe
blows made little impression on the massive ogre. It eyed Jori, who
stepped up to assist Foss, and changed its direction mid-strike,
slamming the cleric to the floor with one blow.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A flaming pillar struck the ogre as
Melissah finished her spell, but it was still standing. Iozua
flinched as the door further down the hall opened and two
normal-sized ogres burst out, swinging at him. He stumbled back into
Nevis with a shout of pain as a club struck his hip and another
barely missed his head. The wizard made frantic arcane gestures and
summoned a protective shield, while Shalelu fired more arrows at the
flankers, trying to drive them back.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jori struggled to regain her feet, and
Foss stepped in front of her, ducking another feriocious swing and
burying both axes in the ogre's gut. It wheezed and staggered, and
Foss hacked away until it finally lay still. Jori scooted along the
floor and channeled healing power, catching the party in a burst of
warmth that eliminated most of their wounds.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nevis briefly stopped singing and threw
up her hands, shattering the air with a violent burst of sound that
left the flanking ogres stunned. Shalelu's arrows and Iozua's
burning ray finished them off, and it was quiet for a moment as Foss
jumped into the hall, determined to get between his compatriots and
any more attackers.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then, the third door burst open and two
more ogres appeared, one wearing a strange, serrated metal jaw on its
face, the other making mystical signs with her hands. Foss engaged
them without hesitating, but staggered when a hook gouged through his
armor, nearly sending him to his knees. Melissah threw magical ice
over his head and the metal jaw gaped open as the ogre shrieked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nevis scooted forward, touching Foss
with magical healing that might enable him to survive another blow,
but the female ogre finished her spell and strange visions clouded
their sight. The gnome watched in horror as Foss hacked at his own
leg with his axe, moving slowly and with dream-like intent.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Shalelu continued to fire, dropping the
metal-jawed ogre with two arrows in his skull. Then she staggered as
Melissah clubbed her from behind. The elven language performed
admirably as a canvas for the archer's swearing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It's a confusion spell!” Iozua
yelled, summoning a wall of elemental acid and forcing the ogre
spellcaster back. “Got a dispel handy?!” he shouted at Nevis.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I don't do that one!” the gnome
squeaked, trying to stop Foss from further injuring himself.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Hoo, boy . . .” Iozua muttered,
rooting through his own spell components. Nevis ducked under Foss's
arms and made a shushing gesture at the room, and all sound in that
room ceased.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Got it,” Iozua said, activating a
ring on his hand. Foss and Melissah shook themselves as the
confusion dissipated. Foss glanced at the acid wall, and Iozua
gestured to dismiss it.<br /><br />The ogre sorcerer screamed as Foss
bore down on her, then fell, Shalelu's arrows feathering her face and
throat. Silence fell again.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“WOOOOO!” Nevis shrieked, making
everyone jump. She began jumping around excitedly. “DID YOU SEE
THAT?! HOLY CRAP THOSE OGRES HAD SPELLS AND THAT ALMOST WENT SOOOO
BAD AND NOW IT'S GREAT AND WE'RE AWESOME AND WE WON! WE LIVED! WE
FREAKING LIVED! HOLY NINE HELLS WE COULD HAVE DIED!! WHAT A FUCKING
RUSH!!!”<br /><br />Iozua offered a tepid thumbs-up to the hyperactive
gnome. “Are they all dead now?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah looked around. “All the
ones in the keep, anyway. There were some more in the courtyard.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Foss hacked off the heads of the ogre
leaders and carried them up the tower, hurling them into the
courtyard. Shalelu followed him, fingering her bow. The ogre below
looked up, blinked, and started yelling. The outbuildings disgorged
a few more ordinary grunt ogres, who looked cautiously at the heads,
looked at Foss and Shalelu glaring down at them, and began edging
toward the gate. They heaved it open and fled into the forest.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“FOSS!!” Nevis bellowed. “I'm
totally going to tell stories of Foss the Axe-ecutioner!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Look at this,” Jori said. She was
examining a smashed wine cabinet, which had revealed a hidden
compartment. Pulling it open, she found a flat wooden coffer, a pair
of soft green boots, and a tiny jewelry box. The coffer was crammed
full of parchment. “They're . . . poems,” Jori said, opening one
and reading a few lines. “To someone called Myriana.” She
opened a locket, which held a curl of luxuriant hair.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That must belong to Lamatar,”
Jakandros said. He smiled sadly. “We decided to come check on you
after all that noise. Everyone all right?” Vale nodded over his
shoulder.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“More or less,” Shalelu said. “Who
is Lamatar?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“The commander. I didn't realize he
was a poet.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“He used to leave the fort for a
couple of days every month, remember?” Vale said, turning a poem
over in his hands. “He called them his 'communion' walks.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jakandros' face suddenly went white.
“He was out on just such a walk when the attack came,” he
whispered. “He might be alive.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Then we should see if we can locate
him,” Melissah said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“He mentions Whitewillow in this
poetry. That's a part of the Shimmerglens said to be near one of the
portals to the First World.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nevis perked up. “Ooh, I know what
that is!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“If he is alive, Lamatar should
decide what to do with Kaven.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Sounds like a plan,” Melissah
said.</div>
<br />Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-43978729535228262342019-08-19T23:14:00.003-05:002019-08-19T23:14:45.996-05:00Rise of the Runelords Session 23: Lovers' Reunion<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jakardros gestured north, up the
tunnel. “Past here, there are stairs up through the jailer's
quarters.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Iozua looked at the walls. “I don't
suppose we'll have to worry much about ogres in these tight
quarters.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The ranger nodded. “Likely not, but
there will be more shocker lizards down here. This is their home
territory, so they won't be as ornery as the ones up above, but maybe
Melissah should go first.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah looked alarmed, and bit her
lip. “If you think that's best, I will.” She had been in more
battles in the past few days than over the past few decades.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'll be right behind ya,” Foss
said, encouraging.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“All right,” the druid allowed.
“Not that I thought you would abandon me or anything.” She eased
her way down the tunnel, followed closely by the fighter.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I hear them up ahead,” Foss said,
squinting into the darkness. Melissah did not seem impaired, but
Iozua cast a light spell and edged up so that the fighter could also
see. A loud hiss greeted the light, and some crackling noises as
startled lizards crouched down, preparing to fight.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah approached slowly, making a
soft humming sound in her throat and looking away from the lizards.
They backed away, cautiously, but seemed less alarmed, tasting the
air with their flicking tongues. Still moving slowly, the druid
reached into her bag and produced some ration bars, tossing them
lightly to the ground. The lizards flinched back from the movement,
but then slowly returned to investigate the food, which they grabbed,
scooting away to a branch of the tunnel.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We can move around to the south, I
think, but don't make sudden or threatening moves, and try to avoid
making eye contact. That's usually seen as hostile,” Melissah said
in a low, almost sing-song voice. She glanced at the three rangers.
“Goodness, some pets they have here,” she muttered.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Vale half-smiled. “They eat the
roaches and centipedes down here, so we don't get vermin up in the
keep. So we leave 'em be.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Don't forget the grubs,” Kaven
whispered.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Iozua nodded. “Practical.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“So would spiders, I'm just saying,”
Melissah insisted.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Spiders? Ick, no thank you,”
Nevis stage-whispered.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Hey, that was a damn fine
arthropod,” Iozua said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“BIG spiders are fine. I won't
accidentally swallow them in my sleep!” the gnome announced,
becoming agitated.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Not with that attitude,” Iozua
told her.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Hush,” Foss told them, glancing at
the lizards, which had finished their rations and were looking
curiously up the tunnel at them again. “It's a fine way to keep
out unwanted guests.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Including, at the moment, us,”
Melissah said. She edged past the lizards, tossing out a few more
rations. Several more lizard heads poked out of side tunnels, but
they were definitely more interested in the food than in the
adventurers. Within a few moments, everyone had passed the cavern
and found the door that led into the keep.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You know,” Melissah added,
glancing back into the cave. “You could probably train them to
recognize friendlies if you fed them regularly.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jakardros shrugged and pulled the cord
that opened the door. Bright light streamed out of a room that he
had earlier described as a jailer's guardroom, possibly once a
torture chamber, but someone had recently gone to great pains to
re-purpose it. The air was filled with the scent of sweet incense,
and veils of multicolored silk draped the walls from floor to
ceiling. The floor was strewn with thick red rugs and cushions,
giving the entire room the aspect of a whorehouse boudoir.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, good, you're finally here,” a
soft, feminine voice called. “Do come in.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Foss blinked, stepping in to the room,
his boots leaving impressions in the thick rugs. “Not exactly what
I expected. Hello, milady.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Kaven flinched, his face a study of
mixed emotions, guilt and shock foremost. “Lucrecia?” he forced
out.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Hello, Kaven,” the woman said.
She was tall and elegant, with a rich gown, pale skin, and artfully
arranged crimson hair. She gestured with a crystal glass held idly
between two fingers. “Congratulations on a job well done.” Her
eyes looked out from under heavily-made-up lids at Jakardros while
she apparently spoke to Kaven. “These oafish Kreegs would have had
quite a lot of trouble taking Rannick without the lovely details you
provided us. Excellent work, my love!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jakardros looked as though he'd been
stabbed. Vale drew his axes, roaring, “You son of a bitch!”
while Kaven shrank back. Lucrecia smiled. Melissah stared at her,
gripping her staff tightly. She noticed that the red-haired woman
was wearing an amulet around her neck, similar to one that Iozua and
Foss both had—a Sihedron amulet. An artifact of ancient Thassilon.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh. Oh no,” Iozua whispered.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I . . . think she's telling the
truth . . .” Melissah said in horror.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Lucrecia kept speaking, still staring
at Jakardros, who was visibly shaking. “He used to visit me at the
Paradise, you know.” Everyone recognized the name of the pleasure
barge that sank some weeks before. “He gave me everything we
needed about the patrols and defenses to ensure our victory. Then he
volunteered for the patrol that kept him out of the fort when the
assault came.” She smiled. “You even arranged some delays so
you wouldn't make it back in time to help, didn't you,
darling?”<br /><br />Vale growled. “You didn't count on running into
the Grauls, though, DID you?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Kaven was standing utterly still, the
quietest he'd been in the entire time they'd known him. Possibly the
quietest he'd been in his entire life.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Vale flexed his hands, swinging the
axes with a terrible noise. “Give the order, Jak, and let me
dispatch this traitor.” Jakardros, looking lost, met Foss's eyes
helplessly, then looked to each of the others, hoping for some kind
of answer or reprieve. Lucrecia steepled her fingers in front of her
chin, looking like she was contemplating some fantastic dessert.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Kaven, drop your weapons and back
away,” Melissah spoke urgently. “We can sort this out later.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Surrender may be your only way out,”
Iozua agreed. Foss stepped closer to Lucrezia, gripping the hafts of
his axes.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jori pointed to Lucrecia's amulet. “We
already failed once to save someone who was under their control,”
she said. “We can't fail again.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Kaven's face bloomed with relief. He
jabbed an accusing finger at Lucrecia. “That's right! She
bewitched me!”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Vile temptress!” Iozua snapped.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jori's eyebrows climbed. “I don't
think that's the WHOLE story, though, is it?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It would really be best if you put
your weapons down,” Melissah repeated. Kaven nodded slowly and
unbuckled his sword belt.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah jerked her chin toward the
fighter, who was standing closest, still watching Lucrecia's every
move. “Foss . . .”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Melissah . . .” he replied. Then
he saw Kaven. “Oh, oh yeah, sure.” He took the weapons belt
from the young ranger and tossed it into the corner, well out of
reach.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Lucrecia smiled again. “I know
you've come to do me harm, as you killed my poor, foolish sister,
Xanesha. But I wanted to give you the option to join my masters
before I send you to your graves. Mokmurian would just LOVE to meet
you.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Foss glanced across the room at Iozua,
shrugged, and then swung both axes directly at Lucretia's head. She
hissed and jumped backward, transforming in mid-air into a strange
shape, a woman from the waist up and a long, sinuous snake below.
She drew two daggers and stabbed Foss, making him stagger backwards.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Iozua cast a spell and a flaming ball
appeared, but the snake-woman avoided it adroitly. Nevis began to
sing and play her lute, while Jori hurtled forward to bestow a
blessing on Foss. Jakardros fired his bow, but his hands were
shaking and the arrows went wide. Vale charged forward, swinging his
axes, and Lucretia snarled and batted the weapons away. She was too
slow to dodge Foss's renewed attacks, and his axes bit into her
serpent's body.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah chanted and a massive
orange-and-black body burst out of the air, landing with paws
extended on Lucretia and raking her with vicious claws. One of
Shalelu's arrows also found its mark, and Lucretia screamed, casting
a spell so quickly it was almost invisible. Vale, Foss, and the
tiger recoiled from a hideous oppression and the snake-woman opened
the door behind her and sprinted up the stairs to the keep.<br /><br />“Damn!”
Nevis yelled, and cast a spell to add haste to everyone's movements.
“Get her!”<br /><br />Jori didn't need to be told twice, she sprinted
up the stairs, but the same oppression struck her and she found
herself curiously unable to attack. Foss followed, still not able to
attack, but attempting to block the hallway.<br /><br />Melissah dodged
up the stairs and chanted another spell, and two pillars of ice burst
from the floor to block the passage, one smashing Lucretia aside as
it passed. The snake-woman dodged around the ice pillars and Foss
and continued down the hall, opening another set of doors and
disappearing into a room. Iozua squeezed between the pillars and
chased after her, skidding to a halt in front of the doors. He
blinked, seeing four massive ogres in the room, and instantly hurled
a fireball.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Lucretia and three of the ogres burned
like torches and fell, while the fourth ogre bellowed in agony and
staggered back, almost into Jori's arms. She stabbed the ogre in its
tubby guts and it tumbled to the ground, shaking the floor as it
landed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Shalelu moved forward to where the hall
split just as another set of doors opened and an even larger and more
terrible Kreeg ogre burst out, swinging its ogre hook wildly at her
head. Two more of the beasts came running down the side hallway
toward her. Iozua waved his hands in a horizontal line and a roiling
wall of flame ran along the hall, catching all three ogres.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Foss! Foss! More ogres!” the
wizard yelled. Foss looked, saw that the hall was blocked, and ran
through the room Lucretia had opened. It came out on another hall,
and Foss ran around the corner and found himself behind the ogres.
He immediately began hacking, dropping one.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah squeezed past the ice pillars
and cast another spell, her hands filling with fire. She threw a
handful of fire at the largest ogre, singing it further, and then
almost went to her knees as another ogre appeared behind her,
roaring, and cut her with its ogre hook, almost taking her arm off.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Iozua cast another spell, filling the
hall behind Melissah with thick strands of sticky webbing, which
clung to the ogre and arrested its attack. Between the flaming wall,
Jori, Shalelu, and Foss, their battle ended quickly, and Foss charged
up the hallway, intercepting the last ogre as it ripped free from the
web. The blow meant for Melissah clanged brutally off Foss's armor
as Melissah hurled handful after handful of flame, turning the web
into a mass of fire while Foss hacked at it savagely. With a last
groan, it fell, and the field was theirs.</div>
<br />Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-64050407063779174292019-08-12T22:36:00.001-05:002019-08-12T22:36:05.638-05:00Rise of the Runelords Session 22: Gnome Heaven<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When night fell, Melissah transformed
herself into a massive owl, and with a great deal of scuffling and
rope the adventurers secured themselves to her legs and back. No one
was really comfortable, but the flight to Fort Rannick was brief.
The lowering clouds filled the air with unpleasant drizzle, and the
night was about as black as it was possible to get, but Nevis still
took the precaution of casting invisibility over the group as they
passed almost soundlessly over the stockade and landed with a painful
but muffled thump on the lip of the aerie.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The knots had managed to work their way
around and become soaked with water, so after some straining and
cursing the adventurers and Black Arrows cut themselves free and
scrambled away from the ledge, allowing Melissah to transform again.
She shook herself violently and patted her damp hair away from her
face.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well, that was an . . . experience,”
Iozua said from somewhere in the invisibility spell. “Thank you,
Melissah.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You could have cleaned your boots,”
the druid remarked somewhat crossly.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP HOLY CRAP THAT
WAS AMAZING!” Nevis announced in a stage whisper that could
probably be heard back in Turtleback Ferry. “First we went swoosh
then swoosh!” The gnome was invisible, but the flapping noises of
rapid hand movements and dancing footsteps across the ledge were
clearly audible. Iozua grunted as one of Nevis' flailing fists
nailed him in a sensitive spot.<br /><br />“I cannot keep up with your
technical terminology,” the wizard snapped, trying to detach the
still-flailing gnome from his groin.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah bit her lip to avoid laughing
out loud. “Er, I'm glad you approve, but if you keep making so much
noise the ogres will hear us.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The path descended the cliffside and
then ran into a tunnel which ended, unexpectedly, in a large pile of
rubble that even Nevis probably could not squeeze through.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Was this here before?” Shalelu
hissed.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There was a moment of silence as
Jakandros shook his head, then remembered no one could see. “No,
the ogres must have collapsed it somehow.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Clearing this rubble will be noisy,”
Foss said. Everyone listened hard, but no one could make out any
sounds of activity on the far side of the rubble. There didn't seem
to be any help for it, so they started to dig.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After almost a quarter of an hour,
they'd cleared enough of the rocks and dirt to look out at the
courtyard of Fort Rannick. Melissah peeped out cautiously. There
were two outbuildings to the east of the tunnel, on her left, and far
across the courtyard an ogre stood by the gate, industriously
polishing what appeared to be a skull to a mirror finish.<br /><br />“This
way,” Jakandros whispered, quietly kicking up some dust to indicate
the wall just to the right of the tunnel. A concealed door in the
wall slid open, and the group jostled through into the narrow tunnel.
Jakandros closed the door behind them, and with no enemies in sight,
Nevis let the invisibility spell lapse.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A side tunnel opened ahead, while the
main tunnel turned south. Vale gestured at the side room while Foss
glanced inside, seeing numerous niches in the walls and ancient,
dessicated bodies scattered carelessly on the ground.<br /><br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We used to bury our brothers and
sisters in here,” Vale said quietly. “Until we ran out of
room.”<br /><br />Jakandros nodded. “Rather than expand the crypt,
we started sending off our fallen kin in pyres and scattering the
ashes.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well, that answered my first
question,” Nevis said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It sounds like nothing we need to
disturb, then,” Melissah added.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Foss shook his head and moved forward,
looking at the scattered and wrecked bodies. “These should be put
in their proper resting places.” Nevis gave him a vigorous
thumbs-up, and the rangers moved to help him, spreading out over the
room.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A chill filled the air and a dark
figure erupted from the ground, lashing out at Foss, its spectral
hands passing through his armor and flesh. He shivered and gasped
and retaliated with both axes, viciously, before anyone else could
even move. The weapons found something in the ghostly form that they
could harm, and with a hideous wail the specter vanished.<br /><br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What was that?” Melissah asked.
“Foss, are you all right?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I don't know,” Foss hissed, “but
I think it cursed me. I don't feel so good.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It must have been a specter,” Jori
said, hurrying forward. “Usually it's a human who was murdered.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We may need a new policy of staying
out of crypts,” Iozua said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It's okay, buddy, you still look
decidedly super-awesome!” Nevis announced. Jori cast a spell that
eased some of whatever was afflicting Foss. The color came back to
his skin and he breathed a little easier. He then stomped back into
the cave and began hauling the bodies back into their slots. Looking
a bit embarrassed, the rangers hurried to help him. When they were
finished, they followed the tunnel south, to where a small chasm
split the ground. The walls were studded with flashy but worthless
rock crystal. A narrow, creaking rope-and-plank bridge crossed the
gap.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“This won't hold more than one person
at a time,” Jakandros warned.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It'll hold me!” Nevis announced
and trotted forward across the planks. Halfway across, she stopped
abruptly and peered over the edge, completely oblivious to the drop.
“GUYS! GUYS! THERE'S A BODY WITH STUFF DOWN THERE!” The gnome
began to hop up and down, causing the bridge to shake and the entire
cavern to shower down dust.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Great!” Iozua said. “LATER.
It's not, you know, going anywhere.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nevis was not to be deterred. She
scampered across the bridge and leaned over the edge. “I have
rope! Foss, c'mere and lower me down!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Please, let's not do that,” Iozua
said as the half-elf fighter edged across the bridge.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“But . . . treasure?” Nevis pouted,
bottom lip quivering.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah sighed and leaned over to the
wizard. “If you really want me to, I can fly down there and get
whatever it is to keep Nevis happy.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nevis was now dancing rapidly from foot
to foot. “I mean, we say wait for later, but what if we have to
have a HUGE battle with some ogre mage who has bound his unholy evil
soul to the keep! Then upon his death the place begins to collapse!
Then when is our 'later'? We'll be lucky to escape with our lives
intact! I mean, I know hat is the real treasure but still, gold is
the only gold that's gold!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Kaven looked at Jakandros. “She has
got a point. This IS currently a villain lair. And those DO blow
up.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jakandros shook his head. “You've
been reading too many of those torrid copper tales.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Don't encourage her,” Vale
grunted.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Iozua threw up his hands at Nevis's
continued antics and gestured to Melissah, who shook her head and
slowly rolled her eyes. She then transformed herself into a whirling
cloud and flew into the chasm, where she retrieved a small pack.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“OOOO lookit that!” Nevis squeaked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Returning to the cavern above, Melissah
made a small bow and handed Nevis a brilliant silvery short sword and
a bag containing, yes, some gold and a few garnets.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH YOU ARE THE
BEST!!!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Your approval brings great joy to my
declining years,” Melissah said. “Now can we move on?”
Without waiting for an answer, she headed south while the rest of the
group finished crossing the bridge one at a time.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The next opening in the cavern
contained, to no great surprise, a couple of large, striped lizards
that looked up and hissed angrily. Pavander the badger snapped at
one and Melissah rushed forward to hit it with her staff. Two solid
whacks finished it, and Foss casually sliced the other lizard into
three pieces.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jakandros shook his head. “I see why
you didn't have much trouble with the Grauls. These two must have
gotten separated from the colony under the keep.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It's a shame, but ferocity is their
nature,” Melissah said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nevis was prancing around waving the
mithril sword. “Guys, you think it's like detection magic? Like
it might glow when goblins or orcs are nearby?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm sure you'll find out if you take
it to Sandpoint,” Jori said dryly.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, I'm gonna, Jori! You better
believe it!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<br />Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-41395089262255073062019-08-02T15:22:00.002-05:002019-08-02T15:22:52.474-05:00Day 11<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CutKLlOe0tw/XUSa0sNq7dI/AAAAAAAAATE/Lk06nezAGQEJMFe4FZNPhynIDjzPhFv6gCLcBGAs/s1600/Dancers-Sketch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1020" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CutKLlOe0tw/XUSa0sNq7dI/AAAAAAAAATE/Lk06nezAGQEJMFe4FZNPhynIDjzPhFv6gCLcBGAs/s640/Dancers-Sketch.jpg" width="408" /></a> I am floored by how quickly and ACCURATELY I was able to block in the shapes on this sketch simply starting from the top of the man's head, going down his body, then starting the woman from the feet and working my way back up to her head.</div>
<br />
If I'd tried something like this years ago, there would be HUGE distortions and it would be basically impossible for me to get the two sides of the image to meet up without repeatedly erasing everything and starting over, but on this one I did virtually no erasing and everything lined up almost perfectly at the end.<br />
<br />
Somehow my brain and hand have gotten lined up to the point where I can actually reproduce what I'm looking at fairly quickly.<br />
<br />Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-70573440217825396602019-08-02T15:15:00.002-05:002019-08-02T15:15:43.961-05:00Day 10Sick in bed.Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-50360363775507153042019-07-31T19:34:00.001-05:002019-07-31T19:34:17.988-05:00Day 9<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QD6VQHkaNpo/XUIzWySXXBI/AAAAAAAAAS4/LzBbPvaVCNkcbaclO5-XSdd7cpvge--1ACLcBGAs/s1600/Coneflowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1064" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QD6VQHkaNpo/XUIzWySXXBI/AAAAAAAAAS4/LzBbPvaVCNkcbaclO5-XSdd7cpvge--1ACLcBGAs/s400/Coneflowers.jpg" width="265" /></a> Still life of purple coneflowers in colored pencils.</div>
<br />Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-46337014885915704192019-07-30T18:47:00.005-05:002019-07-30T18:48:08.332-05:00Day 7 and 8<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<img border="0" data-original-height="1276" data-original-width="993" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EhKN3LVJkag/XUDW2Jd1TFI/AAAAAAAAASg/ay4wjV60mJ4SOpjaTRAcCYXymnl6WNFIQCLcBGAs/s640/Melissah-Vector.jpg" width="498" />It took me more than one day to finish a vector portrait for Melissah, but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out.</div>
Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-592575763281001172019-07-29T22:32:00.002-05:002019-07-29T22:32:59.873-05:00Rise of the Runelords Session 21: A Night at the Inn<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The smoke of the burning Graul
farmstead dwindled in the distance as the night came down. By the
time the adventurers reached Turtleback Ferry the night was well
advanced and the tavern was beginning to empty. Melissah conjured
water rather than disturb the innkeeper, and after a hasty but
thorough scrubbing and a fresh set of clothes, she joined the others
in the tavern where a sleepy girl was setting out tankards. Nevis
was already standing on a table, strumming furiously at her lute and
singing at the top of her surprisingly powerful voice.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Shalelu came in, scraping mud from her
boots and hanging her cloak by the door. “It seems you were
successful, then?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah gestured to the three Black
Arrows hunched around a table near the fire. “Well, we found these
three alive, at least. And the Grauls shouldn't be causing any more
trouble.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well, that's a mercy,” the elf
woman said. Her eyes widened as she recognized Jakandros among the
survivors.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jori peeked over Jakandros's shoulder
at the map he was drawing. “Do you know how many ogres are in the
fort?” she asked. All three rangers spoke at once.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No.” “A lot.” “Too many.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jakandros shrugged. “BUT, we know
the fort better than they do. There's no way they've found the
secret caverns or explored the tunnels underneath.” He made a
finishing touch to the sketch and turned it around so that everyone
could see. Nevis jumped from her table to this one to have a look.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Those sound like adventurin' words!”
the gnome announced. “What better a tale than one that starts with
sneaking into a keep through secret means and climaxes with thrilling
heroics!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Uh, yes,” Foss said, looking
somewhat overwhelmed by Nevis' enthusiasm. “Solid plan.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Can any of you fly?” Vale asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“If you throw me, I can try!” Nevis
declared.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I could do that,” Foss said.
Nevis gave him an exaggerated wink.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“In short, no,” Iozua concluded,
shaking his head.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No, you can't fly, or no, I can't
throw Nevis?” Foss asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Either,” Iozua replied. “Both.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Vale pursed his lips and pointed to the
crude map. “This aerie was where our giant eagle allies nested.
They were killed by the ogres, but there's a tunnel leading from the
aerie down into the fort.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“If necessary, I can fly and carry
others as well,” Melissah said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Kaven blinked. “Well, we could
always try the drainage ditch,” he said, not sure if she was
serious. He pointed. “There's a sluice gate there that we use to
dump stuff downhill into the creek.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jakandros frowned. “I don't know.
That's pretty close to the south gate.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I think I've had enough vile waste
for a while, thank you,” Melissah said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Iozua shrugged. “Drainage ditch is a
step up from what we just dealt with,” he muttered.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“To be honest,” Kaven said. “I
was hoping to be talked out of the idea. But it's an option.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jakandros took his turn to do the
pointing. “There's a secret tunnel behind this waterfall, but
there could be shocker lizards back there.”
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“They keep to themselves, mostly, but
during mating season they can be aggressive. We smoke 'em out with
bitterbark then,” Kaven added.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“IS it mating season?” Iozua asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No,” Melissah said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“We should just have Melissah do her
thing and send the lot of them stampeding into the fort,” Foss
announced with a grin, apparently finding the idea amusing. Iozua put
a finger to the side of his nose and pointed at Foss, but Melissah
shook her head and Foss immediately attempted to pretend that he was
serious.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'd just as soon fly in to the
aerie. I can prepare spells that will be good from above that way.
Shocker lizards are magical and are highly resistant to druidic
influence.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“So you're saying there's a chance,”
Iozua insisted.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Ooh, I like those odds,” Nevis
said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It might make a lot of noise if
things go poorly.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Iozua shook his head. “So you'd fly
up and pelt them from above while the rest of us entered the gates?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah smiled. “No, I can carry
the entire party up to the aerie.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You don't think they'd notice that?”
the wizard protested.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I could go in at night, as something
silent like an owl. Ogres can see in the dark, but their range is
limited.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“If the moon is hidden or dark I
suppose that could work,” Iozua allowed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Wait, we could RIDE you?” Nevis
said, suddenly realizing the point. “I could make us all invisible
for the flight in!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah smiled at the enthusiasm. “Or
that,” she said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Foss leaned over to Iozua and Jori.
“These new recruits are kinda useful,” he said in an undertone.
Iozua nodded. Foss raised his voice, a little embarrassed. “For a
defensive structure, there sure are a lot of ways in that aren't the
front gates,” he said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“How did the ogres get in, do you
know?” Melissah asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Vale snorted. “That's the real
question, isn't it? I mean, we weren't there, but...”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Vale thinks they had help from the
inside,” Kaven said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No, I'm SURE they did.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Why?” Iozua asked. “Perhaps
they relied on numbers?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Just a gut feeling, is all,” the
massive Ranger said, somewhat defensive.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It IS a bold move, for them,”
Jakandros allowed. “I can't rule out that they're working on
someone else's behalf. That's just another reason I want to get in
there.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“So, now we just need an owl
harness,” Iozua said, looking thoughtful.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
"WE'RE GOING TO RIDE A GIANT
OWL!!!" Nevis squealed. “More drinks!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Are you going to make us push on and
try this tonight?” Jori demanded as the barmaid fetched alcohol.
“I burned through a lot of spells back there.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Tomorrow, certainly,” Iozua said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, praise Desna,” the cleric
replied, relieved.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jakandros seemed about to protest, but
Foss laid a hand on his shoulder. “We'll avenge your comrades soon
enough.” The older ranger sighed and sat down, staring into his
mug. Shalelu sat down next to him, and their eyes met warily. Kaven
and Vale left the table, joining the rest of the party where Nevis
had resumed singing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Foss took a drink and directed a
bemused look at Iozua. “Whoah. When did I become such a crusader?
This time last year my biggest worry was getting to the next beach
while the waves were good.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“That's how the good fight works,
Foss,” Jori told him.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“This time last year I was singing
and drinking!” Nevis said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“You like the sea?” Melissah asked,
pleased to hear her usually taciturn companion in an expansive mood.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I do. It calls me regularly. But
it's been a while.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah nodded. “Oddly, I've never
spent much time at the seashore. My people all live in the swamps
further inland.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Your people?” Foss asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well, the druids who raised me,
anyway. My mother wasn't married so I didn't have a family.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jori raised her mug. “Hey, my mother
wasn't married either! Bastards unite!” She grinned. “My
father's people are pretty powerful and famous in Varisia. But, since
he didn't marry my mother, I don't really call myself one of them. I
follow the Harrow.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I grew up in Sandpoint,” Iozua
said softly. “This is the first time I've really left. I try not
to think too hard about it, because if I do, it's pretty
overwhelming. After the Late Unpleasantness at home, I really began
to question if I would find a use for the art I'd spent so many years
learning. Fire was . . . not popular.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I've been all over the place,”
Foss said. “For five years now I've done nothing but wanter. It's
amazing what you see out there when you cut your ties with home.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah nodded. “I've been
wandering between villages in this area for a while now.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Foss looked at her. “So, you were
raised by druids, but your people come from the swamps? Sounds like
you've had an interesting life, Melissah.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It suits me. I've never felt much
desire to stay in one place for very long. My teacher would have
called me flighty, but he was a bit of a crotchety old fart, if you
ask me.” Iozua snorted a laugh.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Well, sometime, when this is all
over with, we'll have to find the best beach around. Surf all day,
drink all night. That's the life,” Foss said.<br /><br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“What's surfing?” Nevis asked,
looking up from her playing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Riding the waves on a wooden plank.
It's more about the experience than anything.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Don't you have wider ambitions?”
Melissah asked. “Most of the people I meet are ambitious. Myself,
I like to watch the towns and villages grow. I try to use what I
know to help them when I can.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Foss shook his head. “No, not in the
least. Jori and Iozua here are destined for greatness, count on it.
But I peaked already and I'm glad for it.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Iozua twitched. “Eh, Jori, sure.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jori stuck out her tongue and made a
dismissive raspberry. “I'm not cut out to be a great Deverin. If
I can be a great wandering Harrower . . . that, maybe, I could do.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“The cards again?” Iozua asked.
“Didn't that . . . not work out so well the last time you listened
to them?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“The cards speak the truth. The
least I can do is listen to them.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“And Nualia?” the wizard asked
softly. Jori winced.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“She . . . I've done everything I can
for her. It's up to her to find the path now.” Her cheeks turned
red and Iozua patted her hand awkwardly.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Perhaps you're right,” he said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah smiled at the awkward silence
that followed. “You may always find a purpose if you keep
looking,” she offered. “It's a big world.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Foss raised his mug. “I find that if
you spend your life looking for one important thing, you may find it.
But you also miss all the other stuff along the way that you
ignored. So, I just take life as it comes, and tonight I'm here.
Getting drunk with all of you. And then we go kill ogres.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Jori raised her mug in answer. “Hear,
hear!”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I think I would go mad if I waited
for life to come to me,” Melissah said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Iozua took a long drink from his mug.
“It has hardly slowed down since the goblins attacked Sandpoint.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“No kidding,” Foss said. “One
crazy event after another.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I hope the ogres are less disgusting
than the Grauls,” Iozua grumbled. “Why can't we have a pleasant
crazy event for once?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“They could hardly be MORE
disgusting,” Jori said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Not all adventures are fun, but they
are adventures all the same,” Nevis murmured, the drink catching up
with her.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh, you can have pleasant crazy
events along the way, Iozua,” Foss said with a grin. “It just
involves talking to more women and having fewer morals.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh. Well. Ahem.” the wizard
coughed artlessly.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Is he blushing?” Melissah asked,
grinning as well. The wizard seemed to have found something terribly
interesting in the bottom of his mug.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I think Iozua wants to talk to ONE
woman,” Jori said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Oh? Do tell.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“NO,” the wizard snapped.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“As you wish,” Jori replied. “But
the cards don't lie.” Iozua shook his head, his mouth a thin line.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah glanced over at Jakardos, who
had finished speaking to Shalelu and was now sitting with Vale and
Kaven again. “I do have one question for you three, though,” she
said, pitching her voice toward their table. “What are you
planning to do after we retake the fort? Stay there, just the three
of you?”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Ask Magnimar's Lord-Mayor for
reinforcements, to start.” Jakardos said. He ducked his head and
yawned. “I'm afraid that's as far as I've gotten.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I don't want you throwing your lives
away trying to hold a fort by yourselves, not when we went to so much
effort to rescue you.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“It was a moderate effort, really,”
Iozua said, recovering from his embarrassment. “But she's right.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Yeah, I don't want that either,”
Kaven said. “See, Jak? She's pretty AND smart.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Melissah shook her head, smiling
faintly.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Outside, it began to rain. Hard. The
roof drummed overhead. The innkeeper cursed from behind the bar.
“Last time it rained this early, this much, we got floods. That
were, what, forty-some years ago? Turned out there was a witch
behind it all. She were tryin' to turn us all int' frogs or
somethin' with all that rain!” Everyone blinked at him. That
seemed to be the signal to break up the drinking and head to the inn
to sleep.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Shalelu joined the adventurers for
breakfast in the morning, before the Black Arrows arrived. “I
should thank you for saving them,” she mentioned as the innkeeper
brought out a platter of sausages and bacon and a crock of eggs.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I'm glad we were in time,”
Melissah said.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“Me, too. We were able to . .
.reconcile.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“So you know why he left, then?”
Iozua asked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Shalelu nodded. She spotted Kaven
coming down the stairs. “I'll tell you later.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Foss lowered his voice and leaned in
close to her. “Stick by Jakardos during the action tonight. I can
tell he's a strong man, but he's shaken up. I've seen it before when
I was enlisted, and it's not good for combat.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nevis hurtled down the stairs after the
rangers. “What'd I miss you guys?” she slurred, burping and
looking disturbed by the taste. She grabbed a bottle. “Hair of the
dog that bit'cha!” she declared, and upended it into her mouth.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“I hope she doesn't throw up when we
start flying,” Melissah muttered.
</div>
<br />Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18745582.post-90780034556920251382019-07-28T15:54:00.004-05:002019-07-28T15:54:49.091-05:00Day 6<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DwVC3erckfw/XT4LdYq3VuI/AAAAAAAAAR4/z0zjK8nL028ne9YeQBUV0gjeeVT9vAZOgCLcBGAs/s1600/PC-Case.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1372" data-original-width="1600" height="274" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DwVC3erckfw/XT4LdYq3VuI/AAAAAAAAAR4/z0zjK8nL028ne9YeQBUV0gjeeVT9vAZOgCLcBGAs/s320/PC-Case.jpg" width="320" /></a> This drawing is entitled "Jen got mad at PC cases being a flaming pile of bad design again".</div>
<br />Jennifer Snowhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00039865566870992465noreply@blogger.com0