Turn the page and look upon a new chapter of the Gypsy Camp!
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_Gypsy- A member of a people that arrived in Europe in migrations from northern India around the 14th century, now also living in North America and Australia. Many Gypsy groups have preserved elements of their traditional culture, including an itinerant existence and the Romany language. See Romany.
**Gypsy-**gypsy One inclined to a nomadic, unconventional way of life. A person who moves from place to place as required for employment, especially: A part-time or temporary member of a college faculty. A member of the chorus line in a theater production.
**Romany-**adj : of or relating to the Gypsies or their language or culture; "Romani nomads"; "Romany folk songs"; "a Gypsy fortune-teller" [syn: Romany, Romani] n 1: a member of a nomadic people originating in northern India and now living on all continents [syn: Gypsy, Gipsy, Romany, Rommany, Roma, Bohemian] 2: the Indic language of the Gypsies [syn: Romany, Gypsy]_
Turn the page and look upon a new chapter of the Gypsy Camp!
_As you near the Gypsy Camp, unsettling sounds are carried along the wind. Through the scarred trees you look upon a sea of gnolls. Growling, drooling and marking their territory by clawing the trees, they howl their god's name to the stars. In the distance, rancid creatures push through splinters of light as they claw through reality into this world.
Maggot ridden flesh drips off the gnoll-like form, wriggling on the land. Its yellow fangs reflect in the moonlight as it shrieks like a freshly born demon. Standing over eight feet tall, it stretches from its hunched position, jagged black claws slicing through the air, bones popping. The ground trembles in fear and the grass curls in on itself as all life essences are drained.
The Rom are now long gone. They escaped or were slain. No survivors are seen. Few gnolls chew on unidentified human remains snapping at one another for the spoils. Remnants of what used to be; tattered tents, broken trees, smoldering fires and gypsy clothing, are scattered about. A time filled with joy and sorrow, now, only a memory._
((Thanks to everyone who helped shape the camp into an interesting place to create stories. Please feel free to post your favorite memories of the Gypsy Camp to share with others. Stay tuned for the exciting new chapter of the Gypsy Camp!))
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Howls of horror let loose in wild corruption as Klaz rages into the fury of the gnolls. One by one he lets loose runes, wards and spells of engulfment at the gnolls, one by one the axes smash towards his shield, his armour and body.
"What the freakings hell?!", he scowls fleeing for his life in pools of his blood.
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Erok can be seen on distant hills sharpening the blade of his greataxe with a look in his eye so very cold and so very unlike him - the kind of look that only those of Orcblood, particularly his dead half-brother have ever seen. A feeling of reminiscence wells up from deep within his soul of storytime spent by the campfires with Lilith and Terrick, but little more.
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. . . Somewhere now buried under layers of dirt, leaves, blood and dust, in the midst of the demons and gnolls infesting the once-Gypsy Pass, a playing card—the Joker—is trampled and torn, separated from its companions in a deck of fine, gold-etched playing cards; the white of the card is stained with traces of dried fluids: browns, yellows, and reds. The edges are bent, singed, and ragged, the material is thinning with wear, and a hard rain will wash it away, in time, to be forgotten. Barely discernable only if one is to clean and examine the card carefully, lettering in a faded ink can be read, printed tinily and hastily on the backside: "The Lady Doth Smile?"
. . . Somewhere, a gambler's mind is broken and lost . . .
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_The stench of death and decay permeates the once fresh, forest air in the Romani Camp, carried along by a strong wind, howling through the canyon and trees… The communal fires, once bright and lively, full of laughter, a gathering place for old and new friends alike... Sharing wine, song, and story... No more than a smoldering pit... This once peaceful place all but overrun by the demon god Yeenoghu's minions.
The dog men... Flea bag Gnolls... Too long overlooked by the Rom as a mere thorn in their side... Scattered and posing little threat they said, but they were wrong. And they paid for this mistake dearly...
A tall, broad-shouldered, raven-haired man stands at the edge of the canyon passage, the path leading through the Nars and into the Camp. His cloak is heavy and earthen-colored, a leaflike feathering about the shoulders. His face is sad and stern because of the doom come to the camp, but hope dwells within him that he will one day return... He will not fail his people, as his father had... And his father before him... He refused to let that be his fate... His curse...
Taking a moment to look out over the smoldering ruins that he had for so many years called 'home'... Allowing his mind to be flooded by memory after memory. The good times and the bad, the friends he'd made as well as the enemies... But most of all, the family he raised and became a part of... Tala and his daughters, Sarah'linae and Star, his sisters Cotton and Kaona, all the Romani Elders... Each memory signifigant in their own fashion. He draws up his hood, pulling it low over his eyes as if it would shield the pain of seeing his home as it was... Speaking something softly to himself before turning to make his way back out through the Canyon pass, not turning to look back...
He will return one day... And this time it would be the Gnolls who paid dearly.._
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Those who still visit the Dryad Tree often find there food, a rose or occassionally a gnomish lollipop.
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A small tear runs down Penny's cheek as she watches from the shadows near the treeline at the edge of the gypsy pass. Memories of many years flood through her mind as she watches her home ravaged by the gnolls: Baba Katya, nights drinking and dancing by the fires, the Gypsy Carnival, cowpie fights with Cotton, Klaz, and Kaona, and the many people who served as inspiration for her and her songs. Creeping out into the Nars once again, she slinks out of the shade of the trees and begins to sing softly a song that she wrote for her sing-a-long the first night of the Gypsy Carnival, becoming choked up with tears but nevertheless continuing to the end.
Do You Hear What I hear?
Said the night wind to the gypsy girl.
Do you see what I see?
Tucked just off the Pass, gypsy girl,Do you see what I see?
A home, a home, nestled in the trees,
With a people akin to you. With a people akin to you.Said the gypsy girl to the Romani king,
Do you hear what I hear?
Resounding through the night, gypsy king,Do you hear what I hear?
Laughter, joy 'bounding by the fires,
With a sound that welcomes me. With a sound that welcomes me.Said the Romani king to the gypsy girl,
Do you know what I know?
In this peaceful camp, dear gypsy girl,Do you know what I know?
We welcome you, join us and rejoice.
Let us live here peaceful and free. Let us live here peaceful and free.Said the king to the Romani people there,
Listen to what I say.
Welcome this gypsy girl with a cheer.
Listen to what I say.
Welcome, gypsy girl, with us here.
We will give your heart a true home. We will give your heart a true home.As her voice trails off into a few choked sobs, she ducks into the shadows once again and slinks toward Peltarch and the Bard College to avoid the notice of an Eastlander Infantryman who makes his rounds patrolling the Nars…
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Alvar Blackwood, while in a group of survivors looking for other survivors, pauses for a brief moment to light two small campfires where the great fires once stood. He takes a last sigh while looking at the scattered ruins before heading out of the gypsy pass and into the future.
