3. Raconteuse - Caling's tales

Raconteuse - Caling's tales


  • Never send a ghoul to do a man’s job

    ‘So, here I am. A bright afternoon, wandering down through the Nars because it’s good to get out, feel the wind in your hair and all. There’s smoke rising south of Jiyyd. Sky the colour of a fresh bruise hanging over the Windy Plains, it’s brooding oppression increased by the occasional flashes of arcane lightning. No normal lightning, no normal storm works like that for there was no thunder, just faint screams and groans carried northwards on the wind.

    ‘Obviously the smart money would have turned and headed back to Peltarch and a cosy tavern there and then, but I’m not that smart. I just got to get out and see it y’know. So I head onwards towards the sense of grim forboding washing over the small town of Jiyyd.

    ‘People of Jiyyd are a friendly sort for the most part, a bit uncultured compared to you decent city folks. Jiyydians tend to think it’s quite exciting huddling around a small fire on damp wooden benches. They don’t have the vibrant color of the docks, or the glory of our temples and taverns. Even so, they’re honest and proud and not given to buckling or backing down.

    ‘There’s hasty but solid barricades erected, ballistae mounted on the tower and nearby to cover a gate sundered days previously by the oncoming hordes of foulness and dread that imperilled the area. The people are calm, ready to stand and to hold. Great warriors and leaders like Kara and Raryldor, standing easily with more common folk, offering sage wisdom and inspired words.

    ‘The plan is audacious. To enter the vaults of Mintas Rhelgor itself to wrest the Orb of Myrkul from the evil that grasps it in a withered claw. But to do this, the bravest and best must leave the safety of the walls and venture into darkness. It wasn’t my place to go with such exalted and famous warriors, near legends for their deeds and actions defending those less capable from countless evils.

    ‘I had the honor of standing with the common people, the unsung, the ones who remain nameless and unremembered in most of the songs and tales. That’s why I’m here now, to tell a story of normal people, like you, or you. Forced by circumstance to stand and fight to save their livelihood, their families. I don’t think you can measure greatness by who kills the most, or who wears the shiniest armor. We were all great as you were in the Eastlander War, the Civil War before that. We were great because we weren’t naturally inclined to be warriors. We were scared and we stood and we threw ourselves into the teeth of the storm with defiance and resolve.

    ‘There were too few of us. You could see if you were there with me on the tower by the gates. See the rolling, shambling mass of ghouls advancing from the plains. You could smell the putrefaction and old, part-rotted meat on their breath and under their nails before you could actually count them, there were that many. Great ogres and bugbears, smaller ones darting about, directing them. No mindless zombies, these.

    ‘Then they broke on the walls of Jiyyd like a storm from the Icelace. Straight from the Bitch at her most vicious. Ranks and ranks of them, the huge claws of the ogres ripping people from the barricades and tearing their limbs off. Terrible to be above that, up in the tower. To see such horrors and speak of them. We were fortunate though that our lack of skill at archery made little difference, you could loose an arrow without fear of missing a ghoul.

    ‘With a baleful howl, they paused and regrouped. Pulling back over ground now churned up and slick with blood and mud and bits of flesh, both theirs and ours. Looking over the remaining defenders, we seemed so few. Yet there were welcome sights, brave souls who lived by their wits or swords too. That gave us hope, to see Belade directing reinforcements where they were needed. To see the mess that rangers and trappers like Alexi and Gears inflicted with pits and spikes in the gateway.

    ‘They come again, more focussed, driving at the weakest point of the barricades, under the corner of the tower. I couldn’t see to attack them, they were too close. A diversion of bugbear ghouls occupying the warriors at the pinchpoint with stench and combat. There was a lurch and a crash as the broke the barricade, a huge gnoll tearing at Alexi as they broke through. Then the tower twisted and pitched me and the other archers to the ground, in the middle of the gnolls.

    ‘It was mercifully quick, the fall and the overpowering stench of the profane creatures made me so insensible I could barely register what happened. There was a flash of claws and then blackness…

    ‘I was lucky, the ghouls were pushed back and Vroka was able to restore me. When I left the overflowing infirmary, it was to step over the bodies and limbs of those less fortunate than me. General Lyte of the Legion had arrived and was rallying the defence as best she could despite the broken barricades.

    ‘Still they came. Some burned by the lightning and fires of our mages, some by the skil at arms of the legionnaires or our own Black Sails. We fought on, always being pushed a little further back. Ghouls breaking through to terrorize the townsfolk, the defenders having to hunt them between the buildings and the open areas of the centre. Too often we had to turn and flee to the next corner to rally and try to hold again.

    ‘Then bugles sounded and we could hear hoofbeats out along the road. Helmite reinforcements from the garrison at Estria. They charged and they wheeled and they cut. Fresh troops with sharp swords and lances, not the bloody and bedraggled mess of exhaustion that we were inside the town. We were saved, for the moment.

    ‘Then word came back that Kara and the others had failed. Resistance in the tunnels was too great and they hadn’t reached the Orb.

    Caling smiles at her audience and pauses for a drink before continuing.


  • 'So, here I am admiring the wreckage of Astolfo's love life and the plates he's set himself to spin of who and what he cares about. When suddenly the Alarum is sounded!

    'Foullest murder! And at the Dolvaks, which is no surprise at all to anyone over a hundred years old. Guards everywhere, holding the crowd back, rumour rife! What has happened? Yours truly wanders out and around pst the Edge to climb the battlements and go overlook the Alley.

    'Horrible. I shan't go into detail as some of you are eating, but the guards are right to hold people back. This is a Crime Scene, and I've been at a fair few of those. Fortunately, that Iron-jawed champion of Justice Sir Shannon Magistrate Sir D'Arneau appears to render order to the City. The crowd are appeased when he names his favourite Elf as his new Inquisitor!

    'Nay, Sir. Not I! I am but a humble recounter of tales, and drinker of ales, and with my fine inventory of goods, a broker of sales. The new Inquisitor is the pink-haired darling of the Bardic College, Syltria.

    'Diligent examination of the crime scene occurs, and it would be most remiss for me to comment on an ongoing investigation, but...

    'We know who did it.

    'We know what they look like.

    'Their days of freedom are numbered. I can say no more on that subject!


  • 'So, here I am. Paladin - the shining example of probity you know and love, Sune's blessings on all here - thanks! yes! Another wine!

    'And I love her, this dippy half-elf… almost a child.. ugh - more on that later... and she's in Clink. Accused of Murder. Of a bloody Cerulean Knight, as well.

    'And She's Confessed. I ask you... that's not an easy thing to wrangle, but I do love her, and love sees all things right, in the end.

    'It gets worse! The Magistrates and the City are wondering if Lady Shae's holy Knights are all some pack of idiot murderers with a guilty conscience! So she's looking maybe to shut us down, ban us from the City. What would I do without you fine Companions of the Chalice, or the Bath House?

    'No, it doesn't bear thinking about. Something must be done. And when there's a tough job, and minds need to be changed. You need a Paladin.

    'Magistrate Borodin is a sight, if you like humans, curvy, dark and lingering of eye, and Clever. You can see it in her eye. And she's setting out her case like this is a done deal. Silly half-elf girl poisons City Defender.

    Caling mimes a finger across her throat

    'Schrrk! Don't get much deader than that. And a Confession.

    'I pray for guidance. How can love and truth win out on such an unfair lanceboard? My Queen, pinned, and only this humble knight left to act.

    'So, Magistrate! says our hero, myself, but you knew that ... This poison thing... what poison was it? They don't know. Not seen it's like before.

    'Mhmm, so what are the chances that this accused half-elf dancer, no herbalist, she - would know it's a poison or even harmful, if the City's finest aren't sure? Oh. BAM - It's not premeditated, if she doesn't know it's harmful.

    'So, Magistrate! says our hero, myself... This stuff, that we can't reasonably call poison. Did the Accused force it into their mouths? No? Did she beat them unconscious (for she's a mean left hook, has Laerune) and stuff it up their noses? No?

    'Mhmm - so they ate it themselves, of their own natural will, just fancying a random herb to chew on, of an evening? Oh. BAM - It's not Laerune's fault that these two poor souls chose to eat the stuff.

    'So, Magistrate - If it's not premeditated like a murder, or assault... and these two ate it themselves... why's she even in clink at all? Seems like her confession is just an expression of guilt at having been near the tragic loss of one of the City's servants.

    'Gasps in the Courtroom. Whispers from the gallery benches. A nod of admiration from the Clerk to yours truly.

    'A final statement, if I may - that the Noble Order of Knights Requietum should not be judged harshly for this tragic accident? For ignorance can wreak as great a tragedy as malice, when Tymora's dice run cold for a spell.

    'The Magistrate nods sagely, and departs to consider. Her verdict on returning is but an additional month in jail, because the City does frown on even accidental demise of the Ceruleans - Valiant defenders of our Fair City of Peltarch.

    'And Love? Perhaps Love does see some things right, in the darkest of circumstance.

    'Another round, good Companions!


  • 'Yeah! I finally quit the room service life! Got a small apartment in the docks… It's got the smell of the Icelace, even if it's not got much of a view. You have to hang out the window, defying the ground, to catch an actual glimpse.

    'Well, I thought it was time... Getting to think I liked the place, might stick around a while. Especially with the good the Knights Req. could be doing in the area.

    'I mean. You know me, right? I'm not one to preach but sometimes when you change things, things change you as well. Perhaps I should quit the Order... be a bard Knight instead. I think Sune would forgive me, and she'll always be close to my heart.

    'Besides, the City's a great place to take an apprentice. Any of you lot fancy being a Knight?

    _Later, returning home from the Tavern, Caling creeps up to the apartments, disables the trap she left on the door, and lets herself into her rooms. Their apartment, really.

    She sighs, and dumps an overfull pack in the storage room. After so many years on the road she still distrusts leaving things she'd care about in unattended places.

    She returns to the table and sits to pray briefly, like a good paladin would.

    She sharpens her blades and sorts gear to be sold, from gear that could be useful.

    She sits, and looks at the empty chair at the head of the table._


  • 'So, here I am, lying on the top of a hill, cuddling up to someone special and watching the stars.

    'Jiyyd, to the East, is calm. The rumblings of demons and foulness quelled by many adventurers and many years work. So I don't feel guilty to take a moment, and think about stuff.

    'What's important? Hold down a job, spend time with people you love. Yeah, sorry, - Of course I'm talking about love. What would you expect, eh? And not the … several minutes of frenzied passion and sweatiness love... I mean love love.

    'Why do anything? I'd bet the price of next round of drinks that something else is around the corner, waiting to bite you - but we press on. True Love wins, every time. That's why I follow Sune.

    'Sure, it can be a rocky road, and we've all got tales of having an eye for someone and it not working out, but no path is easy, and we usually come to a good end, if you do something with love.

    'So, be you, and be your most beautiful. Be you, and be the best, for those you love.

    'And remember to tip bards... especially if you think they could do with more practice. Hunger makes it hard to hold the high notes.


  • Caling sits in a library, making notes. Sifting through the mad scratchings of Infernal jotted by the crazy devil-worshippers of the past. There are no windows, because outside is darkness. There's no-one else around, and so maybe she's talking to herself

    Well. This has certainly been a week. A proper kick up the arse. Makes me wonder if being a paladin is the right way to serve, any more. It's far too close that Keerla nearly went for Sune as well. But that's in hand, hopefully, she's working it out. And Lae's still Lae. Which is to say needing a lot of work still, but there's progress. And then all of this, now. I mean… throwing me one person to care for would be interesting, but Caling? She's something special snorts Obviously.

    Thing is, if she's one of yours, like me, because of how she's created... maybe that's not her path going forwards? She should be free to choose, to be Caling, whatever that means for her. Pff. That can be between you and her. I'll get her little problem straightened out, and then she can be free and clear.

    Nothing worthwhile is easy, right? All we can do is make it look easy.

    Share the love.


  • 'And then Rhevonius the Shining kissed me and bid me fly well, until I return to him. You know how romantic these dragons can be. Calls me a moon to his sun, he does. But he's understanding and knows that I have to travel, things to do in the Lady's name. I guess I was just lucky that the life-charm he'd slipped into my clothes was good enough for him to find me and haul the box out of the sea.

    'No, no. I don't think I'll head back to Chessenta anytime soon. Not for twenty years or so. It might be nice to drop in on that Chancellor's son when he's gone to fat and has some harpy of a society wife nagging at him for his roving eyes and wayward offspring. Spoiled children make such unreliable parents, I've noticed.

    'Yes, for sure. Another mead if you'd be so kind. Mm. very good. I might keep you for a while, after all. Tell me again about this Sharran hiring mercenaries.

    'Tell me again about the prize.


  • Easy in, easy out

    Caling drooled around the rancid gag in her mouth. Certainly she’d been in some tight scrapes before, but bound and gagged in a box was a new and rather unwelcome one. Muffled voices and the sense of the box dragging over wood drifted to her keen senses and … Was that a splash?

    Crap.

    Doublecrap.

    The scam had been a simple classic. Boy meets girl, girl needs money, girl offers boy her fathers gyrelute as collateral for a loan – more a show of faith than anything, I mean, she’s good for it, isn’t she? Just to tide her over until she can get a decent gig or a patron for her bardic talents. She remembered fondly the rolling, mellow chords she’d practiced hours over to sound professional in this. A little spending money is sorted but that’s not the juice, though.

    In passing society the Boy meets a collector of rare instruments. As conversation would go, Boy mentions the gyrelute he’s holding for a good friend and collector is obviously keen to see it. Shock. Amazement swiftly follows as this seems to be one of Mirimbavani’s gyrelutes, quite a famous crafter of such things and rare to find his works in good condition. Worth easily tens of thousands, to a collector. Smiles exchanged, perhaps an understanding struck.

    Once the Alter Self wears off later, a handsome gnomish collector of music with a distinctive, but not too ostentatious, moustache is once again restored to the glamour and ease of our heroine, Caling. Scene set. Will the Boy succumb to temptation and greed? Is he honest and loyal, or some unprincipled chancer? Well, you have to pick these nobles carefully.

    Boy and girl reunited happily, with the seed money she’d borrowed and some canny investment at the gaming tables, she can repay that honest loan, and with a little interest. She’s so grateful to him for helping her. Not –that- grateful obviously, why would she sully herself with some hairy human ape-beast? But pretty grateful, nevertheless.

    What can be afoot though, the Boy, always so solicitous of her wishes and keen to help has a ‘plan’. He knows she’s finding it hard to make her way as a bard, she’s told him often enough. Certainly the performance he saw her give was pretty dire. No, the Boy has a plan… He thinks that maybe he could give her more money, help her on her way in the world, let her be independent, maybe get some decent clothes. Inwardly she balks at the idea that even the tawdry outfit she is using as a prop for the nearly-made-it bard is unflattering, but he is a noble and thus given to passing judgement.

    And what a plan it is! The girl’s pretty almond-shaped eyes go wide at the audacity. Her father’s instrument? To leave it behind, to … sell it? She gasps when he mentions the figure he might broker it for… Four thousand coin? That’s a fortune. That’s a house, albeit one in a place you wouldn’t want to live. Boy frowns and sighs, he suggests maybe being able to get Five thousand, but he’d have to work hard to do so. Anything is worth it for His Girl, though… He’d even advance it, so she could look into property in the city. Such a sweet boy.

    Panic. Indescribable, vile grossness. Good news and bad news time! Bad news is, the rocking motion on the water has made Caling puke. Ships always do that, and what’s a box if not a very, very small ship. Good news?

    Oh.

    Well. She hasn’t eaten recently so it’s just slime and nothing substantial. Desperation makes her blow gunk from her nose and snatch small quick breaths of the acrid, stale air.

    At least the box hasn’t sunk yet.

    Caling finds it hard to stop grinning, watching the City Guard check over the lines of people waiting to leave the city. The Boy would doubtless get over her lack of attendance at dinner to celebrate his cunning dealings. He’d been good enough to pay her the value of the gyrelute so she could put a deposit on that small house on Overlasten Street.

    The line gets shorter, inching her towards the gates, towards freedom and outside. Her horse, sleek and fast, could be useful if anyone’s coming after her. But no one would be. The clueless brat is probably still crying over his loss. Her grey eyes watch one of the commissary officers wander over to the guards, talking quietly. Their eyes scan the line and they nod before the officer departs. 2 more people in front of her.

    They can’t know. That’d be paranoid to think it was anything to do with her. The clueless boy was a wastrel, a gambler. No pull with the Commissary at all. The line advances. Too close now to break out, go back to the city. Too suspicious. Should have paid for another scroll of Alter Self. The line advances and she’s at the gate.

    She affects a haughty enough tone, well in keeping with the fine clothes she wears as a travelling elven noble, touring the lands overseeing her family’s interest. Yes, fine horse. Out for a morning ride. Yes, will be returning before nightfall. Yes, booked rooms at the 'Golden Stallion' lodging house. No, that wasn’t as bad as some people said, very comfortable accommodation. Yes, things seemed to be in order. No, she didn’t think the city compared unfavourably with Evermeet or Neverwinter.

    Caling smiled to the guards, well aware that these went beyond usual formalities. She readied her transition into indignation and honest innocence, shortly to be followed by acknowledgement of the privations of guard duty and the need for officers to secure a little separate pension of their own whilst working. Still time, it was going to work out.

    ‘Yes! That’s her, the dark-haired elf-slut!’

    Crap.

    Doublecrap.

    The oft-remembered oppression of society, marched along corridors. Still, what’s the worst that can happen? Brief time in jail maybe? Could get off if can bat eyelids at another gullible human. Surely they couldn’t pin fraud on her, it was a fair transaction. If anything, she was a victim!

    What were the chances, eh? Caling looked over the vast inlaid rosewood desk at the Head of Treasury, Imperial Chessentan Commissary (Dimin Marglos district). Uncanny physical resemblance to his son, still watching her with undisguised malice. She shrugged, smiled prettily at the pair of them.

    ‘I don’t suppose you’d sell me the lute back for five thousand and call it even?’

    Not good. Rather than the pleasantly body-warmed, near dry puddle of vomit, Caling can feel fresh dampness. Cold dampness. Surely a sea chest was supposed to be watertight. I mean, what was the point otherwise? She tried shifting slightly against her bonds, trying to correct the list that the added water seepage had encouraged in her enforced vessel. The thoughtful air holes in the top of the chest still let occasional salty cold spray inside.

    Not even like prayer would help. Sune? Ha! Umberlee! Crap. Come back to her later, maybe. Erevan likely still thought this was great, hardly worthy of intervention. Corellon?

    She felt sick, hungry, light-headed. Probably dehydration. Probably only another day or so. If the box doesn’t sink.

    Crap.

    Doublecrap.


  • Very well written, indeed.

  • D

    ((Near? 😉 But well written and an enjoyable read, regardless. 🙂 ))


  • Love in the darkness, part II

    'Something passes her from the passage above. Faster than thought, its passing. Her eyes well up with unwept tears from the emotion that fleeting brush provides. The fishmen are nearly upon her when it reaches them. Horror, consternation. Spears dropped and pale scaled hands quiver with emotion. A piteous wailing rises from them all as if with one throat raised in discordant grief.

    'She wipes her own eyes and turns from the suffering to return up the passageway. It gives her no pleasure to see those creatures assailed such, even as she is grateful for her life. For it is our compassion that makes us better than the monsters that seek to prey on us.

    'Walking back, returning with the light she sees an archway unnoticed in a corner. The passageway winds and twists and ultimately ends at a wall. Old manacles are still stoutly attached but whatever body was imprisoned there has long decayed. A chest, surprisingly well preserved, sits just out of reach.

    'She watches in the flickering glow of her light. That flash of sadness again, and a voice sounds in her head. Redolent with sadness and pain and old beyond imagining.

    "My love, you return… knew it could not keep you from me... Could not keep you... Knew you would return... No! No! Be wary, it fears the l."

    'The voice cut off suddenly, not choked but smothered by the weight of something implacable, uncaring and old. The weight of time, of age, of darkness at the end of all things. She turns, sensing something sweeping up the narrow passage towards her. She sees nothing and then…

    'Her torch goes out.

    'Blackness around her like a fog, a shroud - the way that rain seeps under your clothes and into your joints. Cold inside the soul. Not pain, not suffering but numbness. The absence of feeling surrounds her like drowning in deep water. Nothing to touch, to hold, to breathe. No place for the living, down here in the darkness.

    'But we are not creatures of darkness. We are warm and of the world, of the light. That spark of creation at the beginning of all things burns still within all of us. We just need to choose to let it shine. And so she did, for her faith was strong and the light that is Selune's legacy to us all flared up within her and then outward. Healing, warmth, caring, every mother's love for their child, rolling outwards in magnificent pure, holy light.

    'Silence. When she could see again, it was by the light of the walls, softly glowing. The faintest whisper of relief in her head from that old, old voice tired but now joyful, relaxed, leaving. "Knew it could not keep you from me… Kept it safe... for your return... my love..." And the voice was gone.

    'The chest too was glowing, brighter light coming from within the crack of its slightly open lid. She lifted it to see 2 things, an old key, made to fit the manacles left as a bitter reminder of how close our freedom is. The other thing, a robe exquisitely embroidered on finest silks. Its fabric spun from thread so fine that sound itself would not sully its perfection.

    'She gathered up this gift from time, for love, for a rescuer and champion and turned, heading upward, outward and into the Light.

    ((Caling's mauled embellishment of the adventures of Yu Shei in a crypt with DM Marshmallow. Serves her right for saying I could re-tell it any way I liked! Apologies for making it near unrecognizable 🙂 ))


  • Love in the Darkness, part I

    'Who she was is not important. She stood where others fled. She called light to banish the darkness. She fought versus enemies uncountable. Behind it all, the mournful longing of a spirit shackled to our world, a world dashed into cold and confusion by Great Evil.

    'Who she was is not important. What's important is that we know what was done. What's important is that we learn that one can stand against many and prevail.

    'She was not unattractive or lacking in prospects, but she had a fondness for exploration and time away from her other duties. Who can say what drew her there that day? The mists of morning fading over the grey stones of the cemetary.

    'Something called to her, some yearning to find togetherness, some desire to get away, some need to see what lay beneath the tranquil grasses. The old grate of the ancestral crypts squealed as it moved aside. No travellers had trod the dank stairs of the passageway. Her footfalls silent on the moss as she walked onward, downward, deeper.

    'This was not a normal trip, over the snowy hills of the Nars, or the dappled glades of the woodlands. That day, she could feel it. Something below was wrong. Silence reigned in the antechamber, the old construction sound enough that water doesn't drip within. The traditional torches kept alight as respect for the ancestor should be kept, even after death.

    'There! A flicker!

    'Just the wind? Just the drifting air from the darkness beyond? She pressed onward, downward, deeper. Drawing her robes around her against the chill of the stones. Holding her torch high to light her way. Drier now the floor, her boots scuffing lightly in the old dust and webs left by tiny spiders.

    'Another chamber and she paused. Setting her torch in a sconce she waited, sipping from her waterskin and eating sparingly of the sweetbread she brought habitually on these expeditions. Was that a sound in the darkness? A moan that disturbed her? Hard to say, for all of us know the tricks that darkness can play on the senses.

    'The flicker again, as torches guttered. The ancestral light nearest the deeper passage went out, silently. Shadows deepening behind it, a cold wind rising from the depths. She swallowed, the bread drier in her mouth than she'd like. The next torch failed. The icy touch of fear at her back, chilling her, telling her that now was the time to run. That the dark was no place for her, no place for anything living.

    'The last ancestral light gutters and is dark, smoke wisping in the stillness. What could she do, but flee? What would any of us do, alone, in the darkness? A shadow seeped over the wall, blacker than darkness, slower than honey. Why hurry, when there is always enough time, down there. It is always the time of Darkness, down there…

    'She swept up her torch, the last light in the chamber and held it aloft! Shadow and form flicker at the edges of her vision where the light falls. Then they rise up, shape from darkness. Shapes of Darkness, their dragging fingers long and grasping. Slithering, silent cold and clasping. Death of life, death of hope. Shadowed claws to rend and grope.

    'She stands, her torch blazing as they watch her without eyes, without faces. These no creatures to reason with. Faceless hatred, cold and bleak. She swings her light and in a flash the shadows shift and leap and ...

    'And they're gone. The torch we carry with us in our hearts is greater than one merely held. She relights the ancestral torches and prays quietly for their safety. And as she does, she can feel it tugging at her. Not the hatred anc cold of the Shadows, something else. Something lost, trapped and sad. Something else alone in the dark.

    'She strides onward, downward, deeper until once more the passage opens into the caves. Eyes reflect the light of her Torch. Hundreds, unblinking luminous eyes. Spearpoints glint from the dreaded cave dwellers, the cold cold fishmen. She watches them. They watch her. They all watch her. Warm flesh is rare, down there. They like it with their big eys and sharp fishy teeth. Ripping, bloody gobbets of flesh from their still-live victims.

    'They hiss and advance, spears lowered. Again, she stands. Running would not help against so many. In such times may we all draw the resolve to fight, fight more and finally accept that we have done all that we could. She can see the slick sheen of their scales, damp from some fetid underground pool. She can hear the slap of their flat, fishy feet on the stones as cold as their blood.

    Caling pauses for effect, sipping from her wineglass before continuing.


  • The Cave, The Hin, The Inn and the Cave-in

    ‘So we’re out trudging through the swamps just south of Jiyyd. We’d noticed that the caves near there had been overrun with critters, so we’d killed them. Now we were going back to that cave to check on the deeper passages. Interesting bit of tunnels there, worked stone, traces of old habitation and trap-laying. This is why we’ve got a team of dwarves. None better underground than a dwarf, and we’ve got about four of them. Oh, and me n’the lady Sara. We’re just along for the scenery though.

    ‘Scene set, we trudge through the swamps and see this shape appear out of the mists. A wounded dwarf who tells us of how he got beaten by some Stone Giant and how his kin died fighting it. This is Very Important to the dwarves and they’re keen to drop everything and go and avenge or bury or ideally both the fallen kin, and their killer. Then this dwarf mentions the treasure, and I start paying a bit more attention.

    ‘It seems that some mad wizard sent these three dwarves to go get a torch and some treasure. Immeasurable Treasure. Now, if you know me, you know I have a great imagination. I can also count pretty high -and- I’ve got a good idea of wagon-loading and how many horses you need to shift gold-laden chests. Basically, what I’m saying is that I could measure an awful lot of treasure. The idea that there could be treasure immeasurable is … well … I was pretty sceptical. But the beaten dwarf is convincing and he points us towards the mad wizard, as fortune would have it, currently laired in our cave! Maybe he’s been setting traps, must find a good way to ask him, when I see him next.

    ‘So we’re off and questing. Restoring the honor and sacred burial rites of the fallen kin. Purely as an aside, provided it doesn’t belong to anyone, we could maybe liberate and redistribute some immeasurable treasure. We slop through the swamp and enter the caves.

    ‘Mineral deposits in the outer East Nars Ridge cave systems record a phase of hydrothermal activity within a pre-existing karstic groundwater conduit system. Hydrothermal fluids obviously entered the caves through fault zones and deposited sulphate, sulphide and carbonate minerals under phreatic conditions. Locally, intense alteration of limestone wall rocks also occurred at this stage in fissure development. Elsewhere in the region, similar faults contain economic quantities of galena and elemental sulphur mineralization as well as well-defined helcitite deposits. The predominance of sulphate mineralization in these outer ENR caves implies that the fluids were more oxidized in the higher permeability zone associated with the karst aquifer. Most interestingly, the intrusion of a granite batholith into the rear sections has likely restricted much of the civilized working of the cave area, as well as channelling the habituation of local cave fauna.

    ‘Still paying attention? Well, yeah. That’s what going into caves with a party of dwarves is like. Geological interest aside, we head down through the tunnels and then we see this huge silhouette thrown up against the walls, lumpen and taloned, it sways around. Its huge head turns, casting about for scent of fresh dwarf or delicate elf-meat. Slowly, very slowly, we creep onwards, readying weapons silently until we peek around the final corner and behold this Nemesis, this adversary.

    ‘A circle is set out, bounded by candles and sigils in a dark red that looks uncomfortably slick in the guttering light. Before it the thing sits, its shadow thrown by the glow from the circle against the walls… It’s our wizard. Robed and asleep. Snoring. The swaying monster an unfortunate trick of the light caused by the hin and his staff. We announce ourselves and the hin wakes, his shock of white hair in disarray.

    ‘He rises and capers over to us, bounding about like a hin half his age. He seems so frail and thin that you could snap him, yet he near turns cartwheels to see us. “The Torch!” he cries. Our dwarves begin dourly pointing out the need for the correct rituals to be performed over the fallen kin. “The Treasure!” the hin cries, prompting an entirely unnecessary debate about the legitimacy of wealth redistribution. Obviously treasure isn’t owned, so it’s claimable.

    ‘It turns out this hin has found a great artifact of power, The Torch of Knowledge. It resides in an Inn, lost to time and normal pathways. He must end us by means of the circle, to confront the Guardian that vanquished the other dwarves and claim it. And of course, the other immeasurable wealth – which he’s happy for us to share as we see fit. So, some of us agree to go forward through, leaving the more doubtful behind.

    ‘How could we have known the fearful Trials that awaited us? Are you willing to hear more of what happens when dwarves run free in an abandoned Inn? Would you marvel at the dangers inherent when bringing those dwarves close to Strong Spirits. There will be Slaughter, Lies, and Avarice beyond that contained in any tale of this world.

    ‘Who then would hear of the time beyond the portal?

    ((Part 1 of DM Lazarus' epic morality tale featuring Sara the Silent Traveller, Caling the supremely pretty and some dwarves who receive honorable mention in the latter parts of the tale))


  • As long as you’ve got your elf…

    ‘Of course, things weren’t all bad. The orcs to the south of Jiyyd weren’t too keen on the ghoul presence outside their doors either. It was quite nice to watch them tear each other apart for a while. Then it all got even better as some sort of ghoul schism erupted and what seemed to be two factions emerged.

    ‘So, everyone’s ripping the hells out of each other, orc and ghoul and ghoul. After a while the reduced ghoul forces retreat to Mintas and the Orcs choose to accept that as victory enough for one day. Pretty smart for greenskins, no offence to any here of Orc blood of course. So we rally ourselves with Kara and the newly restored Tolin and we roll out.

    ‘Of course, I say we but I wasn’t in the front of this force. I was definitely there though. Planted an arrow squarely in Dark Mingal’s forehead. Bounced off, but I blame the arrows for that. The ghoul retreat is very slick. Good order at all times, even a couple of knights veer off to pick up their downed leader as they go. Assuming Mingal is their leader. He definitely seemed important, and he was tough as anything.

    ‘We barrel forward into Mintas and it’s miserable. Bodies everywhere, loose skirmishing amongst the ruins. Kind of fight I like, to be honest. No, hang on. I don’t like fighting at all it’s nasty, messy, painful stuff. But, loose skirmishing is the stuff I dislike least. Lot of room for a good arrow to make a difference in that sorta fight. And this one is grim. Odd ghoul knights flinging death magic around. People just dropping for no reason.

    ‘It was terrible. Screaming, the people trying to enter the tower blown back by –such- a fireball. It came out of the doors at least 20 feet. Gods know what it was like inside. They were yelling and running and Grag fell, Penny fell. Most of the serious heroes had run into the tower leaving me with a bunch of corpses for company. No way I was going down there with all the rest of the ghoul army. I mean, if they can kill people like Grag with no trouble, I’d be no more’n an appetizer.

    ‘So, I start to gather up Penny’s gear. We go back a ways and I’m sure that if she wasn’t coming back, she wouldn’t mind. And, if she was coming back she wouldn’t want her best gear lying around where thieves or other lowlives might snag it. No problem, except that the daft woman is lugging a tower shield and several suits of armor around with her. I’m built for speed and general loveliness, not humping sacks of gear all over the countryside so I can barely move. I have a quick sneaky peek over the hill onto the plains and now the orcs are back; a couple of crossbowmen and a mean bastard with one blind eye and a greatsword.

    ‘Crap.

    ‘Doublecrap.

    ‘Nothing for it, have to pick and choose. None of the bodies have any invisibility potions, none of them even have a bulls strength to help me move above a crawl. Fortunately there’s some other walking wounded about now, straggling out of the tower, or getting up from their injuries. I can grab some sort of healing belt off a fallen scout and patch a couple of them up as best I can, then we’re ready to move.

    ‘I tell them the plan is to run like hell, but I still reckon I’d make a better show of it on my own, so I give them a couple minutes head start and then creep out onto the twilight of the plains. Sure enough, there’s a hue and cry. Orcs chasing after the other survivors all over the place. Chaos. Beautiful.

    ‘We even all made it back! Old one-eye didn’t notice me creep past his blind side not 50 feet from the Jiyyd gates. The girl called Shay and my hero Arsmyth – wonderful distractions. And Jiyyd is calm. The helmites stand fast at the westgate, southgate only has a couple orcs to contend with. That nice bard Mr Zyphlin even shows up so’s I can give Pen’s stuff back to someone more trustworthy.

    ‘But it’s never easy. The big swingers come back –again- with their tales of failure and mess and being beaten off by ghouls in the darkness. Sounds too grim for my liking, just hearing about it. What could make it all better? What could be the sunbeam that lances through our particular cloud? None other than Mingal, turning up at the South gate with a mind to slaughter people and eat them. In that order, if we’re lucky.

    ‘Tactically, turning up alone to the town where the surviving, and thus hardiest, of heroes are debating their next move is pretty bold. Very courageous. Innovative, even. It could have worked. Maybe he could have taken us all, but… nah. He couldn’t. Everyone piled on him like hins on a sweetcake and some vicious thumping later – the boy is down. They even start cutting bits off for good measure, like his head.

    ‘Victory is ours. Our scourge is No More. Only problem is his staff of Evil. Wrought from the skull and spine of something that probably didn’t volunteer for that job, it was black, twisted and knobbly. Waves of darkness pulsating from it, enveloping the town. Obviously our heroes have been taking notes from Mingal’s grasp of tactics. We have a sickeningly evil artifact. We have a bunch of stout heroes, all skilled at arms and magic along with a few normal folks like you and me.

    ‘The grass withers and putrefies beneath the stick. This is obviously not good. I ask you, what would you do? Have someone wrap it up in something? Maybe hit it with a hammer? Or would you get one of the greatest and most dangerous warriors, freshly healed after their battles to hold it? Well, yeah. That’s what I thought. Anyway, Kara grabs the stick.

    ‘This is obviously a Really Bad Thing, Kara starts withering, turning grey, looking pretty bad. People are screaming and yelling to put it down, but she can’t. Tendrils of nasty wriggly blackness start seeping from the staff up her arm, and you can see in her eyes that she’s putting all of herself into not cackling Evilly and slaying us all.

    ‘Then it all goes black.

    ‘There’s sounds of struggle and blades and generally bad things. Some warping red-black explosions of energy rip through the space next to the lake and then… silence. The darkness lifts and it’s over – again. People all over Kara like gnomes on a wrench. Her hand, still clutching the staff. Hedia, swinging that giant cleaver of hers and… Splatch. A farewell to arms. The hand won’t come off the staff and sits there like some giant raptor’s withered talons.

    ‘The grass withering still spreads outwards from the staff on the ground. Some of them pry the skulls mouth open and tip the orb out onto the grass. Uh oh. Withering speeds up. My guess is the raw magic of the orb was too destructive even for a dead thing to hold, so they mount it in a staff, for safety. Kind of lucky that Mingal didn’t drop it down the well when he knew his time was up.

    ‘And there’s screaming and palaver and Kara’s not wanting to go to Vroka’s without her hand. Hedia’s wondering if she can hit something with a sword, because that’s always fun, right? And it’s so obvious what’s going on with the Orb. It’s just doing what it’s supposed to, and not even the real scary nutters make something like that without a way of stopping it.

    ‘So, up steps yours truly. Any of you could’ve done this, though I wouldn’t recommend it unless you’re really sure. And you’ve spent several years studying mechanition, arcane devices and other sorts of things. Don’’t try it at home. Unless some evil orb is about to destroy your town, and likely turn it into a slavering pit of undead monstrosity.

    ‘I step up and approach the Orb. It’s black, shot through with flecks of red that’re just sickly somehow. You can feel its nastiness. My skin just seems to feel tighter, drier as I get near. I whisper the words as I get close and pick the orb up.

    ‘BANG! My eyes roll up in my head and I start to speak some dark imprecation against these pitiful mortal fools who DARE to think they could confront me! Oh you should have seen their faces, the suckers. I toss the orb from hand to hand and grin, but they just didn’t see the funny side. You’d think they’d be relieved. Maybe a “Thanks, Caling! Thanks for saving our asses!” but no. They moan and grumble and say how inappropriate it is. Then they argue over who gets to destroy or keep the Orb. Like any of them knew how to turn it off. Before they can even sort themselves out though, before they can agree - like the attention span of puppies, they leap on Mingal’s gear to see if he’s got anything worth nicking.

    ‘Of course he hasn’t. Not any more.

    Caling shows a smooth dark orb, shot through with sickly seams of red to an enraptured audience.

    ‘Here, catch!