Friday, May 21st, 2009
The last thing that happened to the group is a building blew up in front of them, and Maxwell the CS Scout saw a juicer on top of the opposite building.
Custer had already flown away from the explosion, grabbing the mercenary next to him. Prior to the explosion, Veras had bolted away from the traveling group.
Maxwell gets on the radio right after he sees the figure on the building. “Juicer, opposite building rooftop!” Custer sets down the merc, and quickly flies up above the roof. When he gets there, he sees the juicer running from the rooftop edge towards the middle of the building, where a large sized jet pack is waiting.
“Juicer Icarus Flight System on the roof, I'm going to take it out.” Custer starts shooting his rail gun at the jet pack, but the juicer was closing quickly, so he fired a mini-missle at the rooftop, essentially vaporizing the roof, and causing the Icarus to drop through to the floor below.
Maxwell, continued to monitor the situation on the ground, while Veras rounded the corner of the block to get a better view of the situation. She starts pulls herself up to a fire escape on an apartment complex and begins climbing the stairs.
The juicer, seeing the explosion and the results, doesn't lose stride and jumps down into the hole at full speed. He quickly hides, and is out of view of Custer is his SAMAS suit. Just as Custer is about to get on the radio, he is blasted by the juicer's signature assassin rifle. He returns fire, and attempts to supress any further attacks, which is successful. The juicer attempts to dodge the laser shots, but is mostly unsuccessful, and loses ground trying to get to the Icarus. Just as he gets a lucky and jumps into the Icarus, he snags his foot and gets his head blasted away Custer.
“Victory to the proletariat, juicer down,” says Custer over the radio.
“Wait there, I'll be right up,” says Maxwell. He enters the building and begins climbing stairs. Inside, he sees that people have taken refuge inside, staying out of the sun. Most seem pale and have gaunt skin, but seem to mostly ignore Maxwell or give him a wide berth.
In the meantime, Veras has climbed to the roof of the building and is surveying the landscape. While she is doing that she gets another message:
“Good to see your alive. Meet at 0050 hours at Riverfront Park Center.”
A map appears along with the message, and shows the location roughly to the west.
“Bring your friends if you'd like.”
Custer begins inspecting the Icarus. It seemed badly damaged, and wouldn't have any specific information, so he begins looking at the juicer. His head was blown clean off by the laser, so his body was mostly intact. He had his laser rifle on him, but otherwise nothing else stood out. Maxwell gets up there fairly quickly, and helps Custer go through the equipment. They take everything of value, and then Maxell gets on the radio “Veras, why don't you get over here and take a look at this.”
Veras looks at the equipment, and makes a guess as to it's value. “I thing I might be able to find a buyer for something like this. Give me a second,” and she leaves the building.
Custer pulls out a portable music player, and pushes the play button on it out of curiosity.
“If everything goes as agreed upon, you'll get your five mil. Just remember, no survivors, and no witnesses. I don't want it traced back to you, or to me,” Custer hears from the small portable device. He pops out the disk, and begins examining it on his computer system. “I don't know where this came from, but it does kind of confirm he's our guy,” indicating the decapitated juicer.
Veras comes back with a guy in a black leather jacket and pants. 'Oh, I see what you mean...,” he trails off. “Well, this looks like juicer equipment to me. Not much demand in that, if you know what I mean. How much you want for it?”
“Two mil,” says Custer immediately, apparently pulling a number from nowhere but delivering it with authority and conviction.
“Two mil? I think half is more than fair. Look, it's got laser marks here, and here, and the generally scorching...”
“Okay, split the difference, one point five.”
“Well, the way I figure it, you can't fly this thing, or otherwise move it, or you would have done it and I wouldn't be here talking to you. What's to say I don't come back and take it when you leave?”
“It won't be here when you come back,” says Maxwell, hoisting his rifle.
“Right then, a mil, that's my final offer.”
“You got it on you?”
The man pulls out a card, about 2 inches by 3 inches, and a quarter inch think, solid black. “Yep.”
Maxwell takes the card and scans it with his computer. “1 million Bandito Arms credits,” his headset relays to him.
“Nice doing business with you,” he says, indicating to the others to make a quick exit. After descending two flights of stairs, they hear another explosion. “Damn juicers,” says Custer.
In other gaming news, I've pre-ordered HackMaster Basic. I'm actually quite excited, as it has a definite old school feel. Thought I've never played AD&D, I probably could have if I wasn't playing Palladium Fantasy instead. So, things that other gamers my age take for granted are in the game. Armor has damage reduction in addition to AC, weapons have speeds, and other awesomeness.
Also, we didn't game on Sunday so the next Kalamar game will be the 31st.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Chapter 2: The Rising Tide Part 1
Passing through the camp of Lord Clynn disgusted Lyle in several ways. The most obvious and striking of these was the incredibly oppressive stench permeating the air. The odor of unwashed bodies, poorly dug latrines, and freshly slaughtered livestock, mixed with the faint taint of sickness emanating from several of the hastily erected tents. Blessedly, pulling the collar of his cloak up over his nose blocked most of the noxious smell, although there was nothing he could do for his poor horse, or the horses of his followers, as they rode down the weaving path to the command tent.
“It’s terrible to see soldiers wasted so, M’lord,” Nimbus remarked, looking around at the men, most in various states of undress, and few looking well fed. He gestured to one such example of a soldier, who was wearing half of a rusted suit of armor and passed out drunk in the muddy pathway, as they edged their horses by. “They should be drilling, or at least building a proper camp. We are only a half days ride from the ‘official’ border of the Empire, and in truth are well into enemy territory.”
“That we are. But it is not our concern at the moment. Our own scouts are patrolling the area well enough for the moment. And besides, I will not be counting on this rabble for much longer. As long as their lax behavior doesn’t infect our troops, we will ignore it. By the way, from the smell of it, plague will soon spread through their ranks. We must make sure that they do not infect us in this way as well. Remind me to have Doreen and Ophelia lead the prayer against sickness for the men when we return to our camp.”
“Yes, Lord,” Nimbus replied as they reach the large, opulent tent, if such a massive structure can be fully encompassed by the word “tent.” Nearly thirty feet in height, and easily three times that in width, it was the largest structure for two days ride in any direction. Its enormous size was only matched by the wildly varying hues of the materials from which it was constructed. From deep blues, to blazing crimsons, every shade of the rainbow seemed to have its place in the patchwork design.
With a practiced eye, Lyle recognized the fabric as the exorbitantly expensive silk that could only come from the Land of the South Winds. Every season when the winds are right, dozens of daring ships tried this dangerous passage along the coast of the Yin Sloth Jungles far to the south of most civilized kingdoms. Riches came to the crews of the few ships that do manage to return with a full load of the silks, having evaded pirates, disease, and the occasional attack by man-eating monsters. For Lord Clynn to have so much of it for such a wasteful purpose as this opulent monstrosity of a tent offended Lyle's sense of military discipline.
Tossing his reins to the waiting pageboy as they dismount, Lyle turned to his company of soldiers. “Wait here for me, men. We shan’t be long. A warning though, any man who shares a drink with the pack of mongrels in this camp will be left here. I will not have our discipline deteriorate to the level of these degenerate House Clynn dogs.”
With that, he turned and opened the entry flap to the tent, stepping inside, and is once again nearly overcome by the smell of the place. A stifling mixture of expensive spices and perfumes flood Lyle’s senses. The arrhythmic twinkling music of chimes and strumming of lyres emanate softly from behind the expensive curtains that serve as walls for the massive chamber, reminding Lyle of the ancient foreignness of the Empire to which he is now tied. The tent, although lit by glowing globes floating overhead, still brought visions of a dark, dank cave to his mind. And across this cave sat someone who fit the role of a particularly offensive cave-troll perfectly, Lord Clynn.
Ensconced in fine silks on his throne, the imbedded jewels of which would pay to mount a brigade of cavalry with fine steeds, sat the petulant lord. Grease ran down his chin from the lamb shank, which he was currently using to extravagantly gesture towards one of his nobles.
“Hwe-ku na gaush,” Lord Clynn proclaimed in the native tongue of the Empire. “Na-ke chqu bosh nada, na seech maga. Kush Clynn gaushee bosh te kalen, nok tuu verash.”
Nimbus’ hand lowers to his sword belt, but a gesture from Lyle stopped him. "Tell me what he said."
Nimbus leaned towards Lyle, angrily whispering a translation in his ear. “He says ‘It was an excellent slaughter, for barbarian mercenaries from the east anyway. Soon we will find an enemy worthy for our own House Clynn soldier’s to fight.’”
Chuckling under his breath, Lyle whispered back to Nimbus, “There is no need to be insulted, Nimbus. This one is not fit to judge his betters. And even my lowliest soldier is his better. Now let us make a good show of this. We will show this rabble why we are the beloved of the goddess of victory.”
With that, Lyle squared his shoulders, and strode forward confidently, almost disdainfully, not waiting for his presence to be announced. “Lord Clynn, you summoned me away from the campaign front. Why have you done this?”
The nobles who understood his eastern tongue bristled dangerously, while most, and Lord Clynn himself, waited for a translation from the half-naked slave standing beside the throne. His face turning red and twisting into a grimace of hate, the now furiously offended lord rose to his feet. “Ya veknu ka chqu noshee! Seech Clynn na poslin kedawa nok su! Ashin tor mak su nawa kegin mak tekal.”
Once again Nimbus quietly translated for Lyle through tightly clenched teeth, “He wishes to remind you that you are a guest soldier in his land by Imperial order, but that House Clynn is under no obligation to make sure you remain a live guest. He also suggests that you beg for your life, Lord.”
The laugh that escaped Lyle this time is no quiet chuckle, but a cold laugh. He bowed deeply to Lord Clynn and his entourage. "Pardon me, lords of House Clynn. Perhaps I have forgotten my place among such prestigious persons."
Lord Clynn's translator whispered into his ear as Lyle continues. "After all, I am merely a prince from a minor kingdom in a backwater part of the Eastern Territories. How could I know the proper etiquette to deal with such illustriousness? I freely admit I am not on the same level as my host here." This brought a smug grin to the face of the man Lyle will always think of as "the troll."
"After all, how could I be compared to one such as you? My family has not degenerated into incestuous, self-serving aristocrats, who allow their people to fall into such despair. My family does not spend its days in a drunken stupor, beating our servants to convince themselves how brave we are while a worthy opponent stands against us. Now, if you will excuse me, I have real business to attend to concerning the frontier. Goodbye, Lord Clynn. I know we will not meet again."
Without waiting for the translation to be complete, Lyle turned and walked back out the entrance of the tent. Nimbus waited a moment longer, bowing mockingly towards the nobles, and then hurries after his lord.
"Was that wise, M’lord?" Nimbus asked, as both men quickly mount their waiting horses.
"No, Nimbus it was not wise. But honestly, I could not help myself. It was worth it though, just to see his smug expression deflate. His kind is anathema to everything lordship should stand for."
Lyle looked back over his shoulder as they reach their escorts. "He will be seething in there for a few more moments before he starts calling for my head on a stake. Take it up to a trot, men. Once we reach the gates, we must run, no matter how much it may damage our pride."
“It’s terrible to see soldiers wasted so, M’lord,” Nimbus remarked, looking around at the men, most in various states of undress, and few looking well fed. He gestured to one such example of a soldier, who was wearing half of a rusted suit of armor and passed out drunk in the muddy pathway, as they edged their horses by. “They should be drilling, or at least building a proper camp. We are only a half days ride from the ‘official’ border of the Empire, and in truth are well into enemy territory.”
“That we are. But it is not our concern at the moment. Our own scouts are patrolling the area well enough for the moment. And besides, I will not be counting on this rabble for much longer. As long as their lax behavior doesn’t infect our troops, we will ignore it. By the way, from the smell of it, plague will soon spread through their ranks. We must make sure that they do not infect us in this way as well. Remind me to have Doreen and Ophelia lead the prayer against sickness for the men when we return to our camp.”
“Yes, Lord,” Nimbus replied as they reach the large, opulent tent, if such a massive structure can be fully encompassed by the word “tent.” Nearly thirty feet in height, and easily three times that in width, it was the largest structure for two days ride in any direction. Its enormous size was only matched by the wildly varying hues of the materials from which it was constructed. From deep blues, to blazing crimsons, every shade of the rainbow seemed to have its place in the patchwork design.
With a practiced eye, Lyle recognized the fabric as the exorbitantly expensive silk that could only come from the Land of the South Winds. Every season when the winds are right, dozens of daring ships tried this dangerous passage along the coast of the Yin Sloth Jungles far to the south of most civilized kingdoms. Riches came to the crews of the few ships that do manage to return with a full load of the silks, having evaded pirates, disease, and the occasional attack by man-eating monsters. For Lord Clynn to have so much of it for such a wasteful purpose as this opulent monstrosity of a tent offended Lyle's sense of military discipline.
Tossing his reins to the waiting pageboy as they dismount, Lyle turned to his company of soldiers. “Wait here for me, men. We shan’t be long. A warning though, any man who shares a drink with the pack of mongrels in this camp will be left here. I will not have our discipline deteriorate to the level of these degenerate House Clynn dogs.”
With that, he turned and opened the entry flap to the tent, stepping inside, and is once again nearly overcome by the smell of the place. A stifling mixture of expensive spices and perfumes flood Lyle’s senses. The arrhythmic twinkling music of chimes and strumming of lyres emanate softly from behind the expensive curtains that serve as walls for the massive chamber, reminding Lyle of the ancient foreignness of the Empire to which he is now tied. The tent, although lit by glowing globes floating overhead, still brought visions of a dark, dank cave to his mind. And across this cave sat someone who fit the role of a particularly offensive cave-troll perfectly, Lord Clynn.
Ensconced in fine silks on his throne, the imbedded jewels of which would pay to mount a brigade of cavalry with fine steeds, sat the petulant lord. Grease ran down his chin from the lamb shank, which he was currently using to extravagantly gesture towards one of his nobles.
“Hwe-ku na gaush,” Lord Clynn proclaimed in the native tongue of the Empire. “Na-ke chqu bosh nada, na seech maga. Kush Clynn gaushee bosh te kalen, nok tuu verash.”
Nimbus’ hand lowers to his sword belt, but a gesture from Lyle stopped him. "Tell me what he said."
Nimbus leaned towards Lyle, angrily whispering a translation in his ear. “He says ‘It was an excellent slaughter, for barbarian mercenaries from the east anyway. Soon we will find an enemy worthy for our own House Clynn soldier’s to fight.’”
Chuckling under his breath, Lyle whispered back to Nimbus, “There is no need to be insulted, Nimbus. This one is not fit to judge his betters. And even my lowliest soldier is his better. Now let us make a good show of this. We will show this rabble why we are the beloved of the goddess of victory.”
With that, Lyle squared his shoulders, and strode forward confidently, almost disdainfully, not waiting for his presence to be announced. “Lord Clynn, you summoned me away from the campaign front. Why have you done this?”
The nobles who understood his eastern tongue bristled dangerously, while most, and Lord Clynn himself, waited for a translation from the half-naked slave standing beside the throne. His face turning red and twisting into a grimace of hate, the now furiously offended lord rose to his feet. “Ya veknu ka chqu noshee! Seech Clynn na poslin kedawa nok su! Ashin tor mak su nawa kegin mak tekal.”
Once again Nimbus quietly translated for Lyle through tightly clenched teeth, “He wishes to remind you that you are a guest soldier in his land by Imperial order, but that House Clynn is under no obligation to make sure you remain a live guest. He also suggests that you beg for your life, Lord.”
The laugh that escaped Lyle this time is no quiet chuckle, but a cold laugh. He bowed deeply to Lord Clynn and his entourage. "Pardon me, lords of House Clynn. Perhaps I have forgotten my place among such prestigious persons."
Lord Clynn's translator whispered into his ear as Lyle continues. "After all, I am merely a prince from a minor kingdom in a backwater part of the Eastern Territories. How could I know the proper etiquette to deal with such illustriousness? I freely admit I am not on the same level as my host here." This brought a smug grin to the face of the man Lyle will always think of as "the troll."
"After all, how could I be compared to one such as you? My family has not degenerated into incestuous, self-serving aristocrats, who allow their people to fall into such despair. My family does not spend its days in a drunken stupor, beating our servants to convince themselves how brave we are while a worthy opponent stands against us. Now, if you will excuse me, I have real business to attend to concerning the frontier. Goodbye, Lord Clynn. I know we will not meet again."
Without waiting for the translation to be complete, Lyle turned and walked back out the entrance of the tent. Nimbus waited a moment longer, bowing mockingly towards the nobles, and then hurries after his lord.
"Was that wise, M’lord?" Nimbus asked, as both men quickly mount their waiting horses.
"No, Nimbus it was not wise. But honestly, I could not help myself. It was worth it though, just to see his smug expression deflate. His kind is anathema to everything lordship should stand for."
Lyle looked back over his shoulder as they reach their escorts. "He will be seething in there for a few more moments before he starts calling for my head on a stake. Take it up to a trot, men. Once we reach the gates, we must run, no matter how much it may damage our pride."
Monday, May 11, 2009
Chapter 1: The Lowest Ebb Part 3
“AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!” The mailed warrior stood over the battered body of the huge troll he had just slain, pulling his war hammer from the crushed remains of its skull. Pulling the scarf from around his neck, he proceeded to wipe the gore-encrusted head of the hammer. With a sigh, he tossed the now bloody cloth to the dust of the now silent battlefield. Taking off his helm, the man revealed a pair of piercing blue eyes in a tanned face, under a sweaty mop of blond hair.
Turning to the man next to him, handing him the hammer, he rasped out in a dry croak, “How many did we lose, Nimbus?”
The slight, dark man next to him looked down for a moment before speaking. “Two, M'lord. Acrison, son of Amoss, and trooper Narshe.”
Slamming his fist into his metal covered thigh, the blond man’s eyes turned flinty for a moment. “Damn them! Two is two too many. It doesn’t matter if we slaughter dozens of them, we weren’t supposed to get bogged down fighting these inhuman savages out here in the wastelands.” But a crooked smile crept into his dark expression, brightening it almost entirely in moments. “Of course, I suppose we are blooding the men. Not to mention earning the Emperor’s gratitude at the same time.”
“Lord, I’m not sure that the Emperor Itomas’ gratitude is something you should seek. People say that he is a strange man, and will be as likely to see you as a threat as he is to see you as a friend. For that matter, all these Westerners are strange. I do not mean to question your plan, M’lord, only say words of caution. Besides, the local nobility’s attention is bad enough. The House Clynn continues to get in your way. They are the lords of the entire border of the Empire. That does give them some clout within the Imperial court, does it not? I would suggest you be polite when that messenger gets here.” With a point of his arm, he called the blond man’s attention to the rider quickly approaching his small army of soldiers.
Watching the messenger ride towards them, he replied, “House Clynn is nothing, Nimbus. Their blood has been tainted with degeneracy for generations. They are inbred curs compared to my family, and insects compared to the family of the Emperor.” Another crooked half-smile.
“Besides, I’ve heard rumors that the noble members of Regional House Clynn might soon lose their House status, along with their heads. They are as incompetent as they are rude. If there is one thing the Emperor is consistent on, it is punishing incompetence.”
The two men standing silently, waiting for the horseman to ride over to them, shared the remains of a canteen. Towering over the men he rode up to, the rider looked down at the pair, sneering out his words, “Which one of you is Lord Lyle, Prince of the Kingdom of Grelz?”
“I am he,” the blond man replied calmly.
“The great and powerful Lord Clynn has summoned you to his temporary court at Shinkasa. This summons is immediate. His Lordship will take any delay on your part as a personal insult which will incur the wrath of House Clynn.” Without another word, the courier wheeled his horse around, and haughtily trotted off in the direction he came.
Once the rider is out of earshot, Lyle let out a hearty laugh. “Now it seems the little dog wants the pleasure of my company. I’ll let him bark all he wants. The little dog will soon find that he is in fact barking in the company of wolves.” This time, there was nothing brightening about the smile on his face. A nearby soldier searching the bodies of the troll raiders glanced up, and quickly looked away from the expression on his lord’s face.
“Have Doreen round up some of the men, we will see to the proper burial of our dead, Nimbus. But we’ll have to be quick about it. After all, we wouldn’t want to ‘incur the wrath of House Clynn.’ And while you are at it, take a few men with you and drag the bodies of the trolls into a pile and burn them.”
As Lyle and his small army marched northwards across the lonely wasteland back to Imperial-held lands, they left behind them two graves, and a dark pillar of smoke rising up into the evening sky.
Turning to the man next to him, handing him the hammer, he rasped out in a dry croak, “How many did we lose, Nimbus?”
The slight, dark man next to him looked down for a moment before speaking. “Two, M'lord. Acrison, son of Amoss, and trooper Narshe.”
Slamming his fist into his metal covered thigh, the blond man’s eyes turned flinty for a moment. “Damn them! Two is two too many. It doesn’t matter if we slaughter dozens of them, we weren’t supposed to get bogged down fighting these inhuman savages out here in the wastelands.” But a crooked smile crept into his dark expression, brightening it almost entirely in moments. “Of course, I suppose we are blooding the men. Not to mention earning the Emperor’s gratitude at the same time.”
“Lord, I’m not sure that the Emperor Itomas’ gratitude is something you should seek. People say that he is a strange man, and will be as likely to see you as a threat as he is to see you as a friend. For that matter, all these Westerners are strange. I do not mean to question your plan, M’lord, only say words of caution. Besides, the local nobility’s attention is bad enough. The House Clynn continues to get in your way. They are the lords of the entire border of the Empire. That does give them some clout within the Imperial court, does it not? I would suggest you be polite when that messenger gets here.” With a point of his arm, he called the blond man’s attention to the rider quickly approaching his small army of soldiers.
Watching the messenger ride towards them, he replied, “House Clynn is nothing, Nimbus. Their blood has been tainted with degeneracy for generations. They are inbred curs compared to my family, and insects compared to the family of the Emperor.” Another crooked half-smile.
“Besides, I’ve heard rumors that the noble members of Regional House Clynn might soon lose their House status, along with their heads. They are as incompetent as they are rude. If there is one thing the Emperor is consistent on, it is punishing incompetence.”
The two men standing silently, waiting for the horseman to ride over to them, shared the remains of a canteen. Towering over the men he rode up to, the rider looked down at the pair, sneering out his words, “Which one of you is Lord Lyle, Prince of the Kingdom of Grelz?”
“I am he,” the blond man replied calmly.
“The great and powerful Lord Clynn has summoned you to his temporary court at Shinkasa. This summons is immediate. His Lordship will take any delay on your part as a personal insult which will incur the wrath of House Clynn.” Without another word, the courier wheeled his horse around, and haughtily trotted off in the direction he came.
Once the rider is out of earshot, Lyle let out a hearty laugh. “Now it seems the little dog wants the pleasure of my company. I’ll let him bark all he wants. The little dog will soon find that he is in fact barking in the company of wolves.” This time, there was nothing brightening about the smile on his face. A nearby soldier searching the bodies of the troll raiders glanced up, and quickly looked away from the expression on his lord’s face.
“Have Doreen round up some of the men, we will see to the proper burial of our dead, Nimbus. But we’ll have to be quick about it. After all, we wouldn’t want to ‘incur the wrath of House Clynn.’ And while you are at it, take a few men with you and drag the bodies of the trolls into a pile and burn them.”
As Lyle and his small army marched northwards across the lonely wasteland back to Imperial-held lands, they left behind them two graves, and a dark pillar of smoke rising up into the evening sky.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Chapter 1: The Lowest Ebb Part 2
Crack! The wooden swords collided again and again. With each swing, Arcturus beat down the defenses of the elven boy. The two fighters circled each other on horseback, sword in one hand, and reins in the other. With a wild swing, the young dark-haired boy attacked the battle-scarred man. With a casual grace, Arcturus promptly knocked the blow away, and delivered one of his own. The now dented helm flew from the head of his overzealous opponent as he toppled from his horse to the hard ground.
Arcturus dismounted, and stands over the body of the bruised and slightly dazed boy. The blunted tip of his practice sword comes down to tap a particularly large lump on the boys head. The boy winced, looking up with one swollen eye. “Well, young master, you held onto your sword this time. That’s a definite improvement. Do you think you can stand up?”
The boy croaked an affirmative, and struggled to his feet, still clutching his sword. “Good to see you’re showing spirit, Melkior,” Arcturus saidlowly to the bleary-eyed boy. “You may soon need it. After all, you’re approaching manhood, and have duties as part of your noble house. The Whiteblade clan has been protecting the peasantry of this region for hundreds of years. You may not be the heir, but the duties fall to you until your cousin Casperian’s return. You must be prepared, in case the worst should happen. Now, are you ready? Hold your sword higher, young master!”
And with that, another flurry of sword strokes ensued. Taking hit after hit, Melkior managed to stay on his feet. His own strokes becoming more and more ragged and desperate, he lunged at his trainer, finally landing a single blow. Although managing to connect with his opponent at all was quite a feat, naturally the blow did not land on the intended target of Arcturus’ chest, but instead hit the warrior’s blade just above the hilt, sending it spinning to the ground nearby. With a cry of victory, he swung again at his now unarmed opponent.
Without knowing how it happened, he woke a few moments later on the ground, once again looking up at Arcturus, utterly defeated. His ears ringing, he began to make out most of the words being spoken to him.
“…told you before. A sword is a tool, not a weapon. Only a person is a weapon. The mind matters more than any hunk of wood or metal you carry around. I may be a Swordmaster of Lopan, young master, but that doesn’t mean I can’t fight without one. Maybe we should move on to hand-to-hand combat. It looks like you could use some training in that area. Maybe it would help you focus a little.”
Arcturus bent down and snapped his fingers in front of Melkior’s face, bringing the boy's still muddled mind fully back to reality. He grabbed the boy by the sleeves of his padded leather tunic and pulled him back to his feet, unsteady though me may be on them. The two spent the next hour going through fighting techniques, until Melkior had finally reached the limits of his endurance and ended up on the ground once again, exhausted. Sitting by his side on the ground, Arcturus continued to lecture the boy about a variety of topics ranging from choice of fighting tools, to battlefield tactics, to the rules of honorable duels.
“Are you following all this, young master, or are you just watching the clouds go by?” he asked of the sky-gazing youth.
“Oh, I learned early on not to ignore you, Arcturus. After all, if I did you would be likely to attack me to teach me some sort of obscure lesson. Don’t try to deny it.”
“Why deny it? If you aren’t aware of your surroundings, you would deserve to have a few more sets of bruises. Now, if you are strong enough to try and make fun of me, you are strong enough to fight. I’ll even be nice, you have one minute to get back on your feet and ready.” With that, Arcturus hopped to his feet, watching his still sluggish charge once again rise to face him.
“Ready?” He lunged at the boy. “AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!”
Arcturus dismounted, and stands over the body of the bruised and slightly dazed boy. The blunted tip of his practice sword comes down to tap a particularly large lump on the boys head. The boy winced, looking up with one swollen eye. “Well, young master, you held onto your sword this time. That’s a definite improvement. Do you think you can stand up?”
The boy croaked an affirmative, and struggled to his feet, still clutching his sword. “Good to see you’re showing spirit, Melkior,” Arcturus saidlowly to the bleary-eyed boy. “You may soon need it. After all, you’re approaching manhood, and have duties as part of your noble house. The Whiteblade clan has been protecting the peasantry of this region for hundreds of years. You may not be the heir, but the duties fall to you until your cousin Casperian’s return. You must be prepared, in case the worst should happen. Now, are you ready? Hold your sword higher, young master!”
And with that, another flurry of sword strokes ensued. Taking hit after hit, Melkior managed to stay on his feet. His own strokes becoming more and more ragged and desperate, he lunged at his trainer, finally landing a single blow. Although managing to connect with his opponent at all was quite a feat, naturally the blow did not land on the intended target of Arcturus’ chest, but instead hit the warrior’s blade just above the hilt, sending it spinning to the ground nearby. With a cry of victory, he swung again at his now unarmed opponent.
Without knowing how it happened, he woke a few moments later on the ground, once again looking up at Arcturus, utterly defeated. His ears ringing, he began to make out most of the words being spoken to him.
“…told you before. A sword is a tool, not a weapon. Only a person is a weapon. The mind matters more than any hunk of wood or metal you carry around. I may be a Swordmaster of Lopan, young master, but that doesn’t mean I can’t fight without one. Maybe we should move on to hand-to-hand combat. It looks like you could use some training in that area. Maybe it would help you focus a little.”
Arcturus bent down and snapped his fingers in front of Melkior’s face, bringing the boy's still muddled mind fully back to reality. He grabbed the boy by the sleeves of his padded leather tunic and pulled him back to his feet, unsteady though me may be on them. The two spent the next hour going through fighting techniques, until Melkior had finally reached the limits of his endurance and ended up on the ground once again, exhausted. Sitting by his side on the ground, Arcturus continued to lecture the boy about a variety of topics ranging from choice of fighting tools, to battlefield tactics, to the rules of honorable duels.
“Are you following all this, young master, or are you just watching the clouds go by?” he asked of the sky-gazing youth.
“Oh, I learned early on not to ignore you, Arcturus. After all, if I did you would be likely to attack me to teach me some sort of obscure lesson. Don’t try to deny it.”
“Why deny it? If you aren’t aware of your surroundings, you would deserve to have a few more sets of bruises. Now, if you are strong enough to try and make fun of me, you are strong enough to fight. I’ll even be nice, you have one minute to get back on your feet and ready.” With that, Arcturus hopped to his feet, watching his still sluggish charge once again rise to face him.
“Ready?” He lunged at the boy. “AAAAAAAAAAAHHH!”
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Chapter 1: The Lowest Ebb Part 1
This is the first of several posts detailing the origins of Melkior, Terra, and Lyle in our ongoing Palladium Fantasy Campaign. These were written by the GM several years ago but are an interesting read for anyone interested in Palladium Fantasy, RPGs, or fantasy in general.
“So in essence, the two basic principles of magic are those of similarity and contagion. The first refers to the fact that the properties of an object, symbol, or words, are reflected through a similar effect of magical… energy. The second …of these ………principles, that of …………contagion…” The girl’s head slowly drooped. The cat lying on the bed eyed her as she oddly slept with her nose buried in a large leather tome. Sliding down off his perch, the cat slowly walked over to her, watching her, and becomes tantalized by her long hair hanging off the edge of the table. As the midnight colored strands swayed fitfully in the cool draft of the night, almost shimmering in the pale candlelight, and even paler moonlight, the urge to bat at it became nearly uncontrollable. But the cat knew better.
This was no ordinary cat. This cat was one of the privileged of its kind. This was a cat of the Timiro College Arcanum. Imbued with a minimal intelligence and self-awareness, he knew he should let the student sleep. Out of frustration of a thwarted instinct, he inspected the small chamber for some other target for his fascination. The cold stony walls, the rich wood of the floorboards, and the neat and orderly piles of books on the shelves held little interest to his feline mind. The sleeping form of the girl is what the eyes of the cat came back to.
If she were human, she would be considered tall and comely. But of course, even with the small intellect that he possessed, the cat could tell that she was not human, but an elf. The long, pointed ears, the pale skin, the youthful features for one who, although she looked to be in her late teens, in fact had to be nearly forty years of age, all identified her as one of the magical and ancient race of elves. He had been staying in this student’s room with her for the last five years. The cat vaguely remembered the other elf-girl who lived in the room, but she had left so long ago.
Sitting up, the elf rubbed her nose, fighting back a yawn, and told herself that she can’t sleep until she read the rest of the assignment. As she flipped through the rest of the chapter, she groaned, “Come on, Terra, only thirty seven pages to go until you can quit.”
Staring back down at the grimoire she had trouble concentrating on the words. Her tired mind continued to turn to Kayla. Kayla, her best friend. Kayla, the only true friend she had managed to make in the years she had attended the magical academy. Terra glanced over at Kayla’s still empty old bed. No new roommate had been assigned to her room yet. Noticing the movement on the floor, she spies Artemis, one of the school cats, and leaned down to pick him up and placed him on her lap, gently stroking his soft fur as she looked blankly back at the book.
It had been five months now since Kayla had left the school. Just months short of completing her training, she had received a troubling letter from home. Terra knew her friend lived far to the north, near the edge of the domain of civilized races, in the small backwater kingdom of Grelz. Not even a member of the Charter of the League of Kingdoms in that piece of land called the Eastern Territories, it had to defend itself. And apparently defend itself it would. Several of its neighboring countries were preparing for war. When Kayla showed the letter to Terra, at first she did not understand the consequences it would have for her. Her friend then explained that she must go home, even without having become a full member of the magic guild of Timiro, and help her family.
Many tears were shed, at both Kayla’s leaving and for many nights thereafter. But life did go on, even in its more lonely state. Eye’s blurred with tears once again, tears of both sadness and exhaustion. Terra wiped them away, telling herself that as soon as she finished her schooling, she would go to see her friend. “Only thirty seven pages to go tonight, and then forty two days to go until I join the guild,” she whispered to herself, still gently stroking the fur of Artemis. Although it would take two more hours, and the lighting of another candle, Terra did manage to finish her reading, barely, before once again falling asleep, face down in her book.
“So in essence, the two basic principles of magic are those of similarity and contagion. The first refers to the fact that the properties of an object, symbol, or words, are reflected through a similar effect of magical… energy. The second …of these ………principles, that of …………contagion…” The girl’s head slowly drooped. The cat lying on the bed eyed her as she oddly slept with her nose buried in a large leather tome. Sliding down off his perch, the cat slowly walked over to her, watching her, and becomes tantalized by her long hair hanging off the edge of the table. As the midnight colored strands swayed fitfully in the cool draft of the night, almost shimmering in the pale candlelight, and even paler moonlight, the urge to bat at it became nearly uncontrollable. But the cat knew better.
This was no ordinary cat. This cat was one of the privileged of its kind. This was a cat of the Timiro College Arcanum. Imbued with a minimal intelligence and self-awareness, he knew he should let the student sleep. Out of frustration of a thwarted instinct, he inspected the small chamber for some other target for his fascination. The cold stony walls, the rich wood of the floorboards, and the neat and orderly piles of books on the shelves held little interest to his feline mind. The sleeping form of the girl is what the eyes of the cat came back to.
If she were human, she would be considered tall and comely. But of course, even with the small intellect that he possessed, the cat could tell that she was not human, but an elf. The long, pointed ears, the pale skin, the youthful features for one who, although she looked to be in her late teens, in fact had to be nearly forty years of age, all identified her as one of the magical and ancient race of elves. He had been staying in this student’s room with her for the last five years. The cat vaguely remembered the other elf-girl who lived in the room, but she had left so long ago.
Sitting up, the elf rubbed her nose, fighting back a yawn, and told herself that she can’t sleep until she read the rest of the assignment. As she flipped through the rest of the chapter, she groaned, “Come on, Terra, only thirty seven pages to go until you can quit.”
Staring back down at the grimoire she had trouble concentrating on the words. Her tired mind continued to turn to Kayla. Kayla, her best friend. Kayla, the only true friend she had managed to make in the years she had attended the magical academy. Terra glanced over at Kayla’s still empty old bed. No new roommate had been assigned to her room yet. Noticing the movement on the floor, she spies Artemis, one of the school cats, and leaned down to pick him up and placed him on her lap, gently stroking his soft fur as she looked blankly back at the book.
It had been five months now since Kayla had left the school. Just months short of completing her training, she had received a troubling letter from home. Terra knew her friend lived far to the north, near the edge of the domain of civilized races, in the small backwater kingdom of Grelz. Not even a member of the Charter of the League of Kingdoms in that piece of land called the Eastern Territories, it had to defend itself. And apparently defend itself it would. Several of its neighboring countries were preparing for war. When Kayla showed the letter to Terra, at first she did not understand the consequences it would have for her. Her friend then explained that she must go home, even without having become a full member of the magic guild of Timiro, and help her family.
Many tears were shed, at both Kayla’s leaving and for many nights thereafter. But life did go on, even in its more lonely state. Eye’s blurred with tears once again, tears of both sadness and exhaustion. Terra wiped them away, telling herself that as soon as she finished her schooling, she would go to see her friend. “Only thirty seven pages to go tonight, and then forty two days to go until I join the guild,” she whispered to herself, still gently stroking the fur of Artemis. Although it would take two more hours, and the lighting of another candle, Terra did manage to finish her reading, barely, before once again falling asleep, face down in her book.
Monday, May 4, 2009
Coin Trilogy 04 - Sunday, May 4th
This session was a little late due to birthdays and scheduling conflicts.
The group did find the mithril that they had been after, after some searching around.
They found a mithril meteorite in the dark hills to the north, and found two interesting things. The first was a cave that had been tunneled out on the side of the crater, and a shack built about the crater. They saw goblins coming in and out of the cave, and mining the meteor. They decided to investigate the shack first.
Inside, they saw someone working at a forge with a large assortment of alchemical mixtures and chemicals, who was chained to the forge. Seeing he was obviously captive, they tried to free him. They spent some time, and Ember opened the lock with her lock picking tools.
After being freed, the man identified himself as Arowain, the alchemist, and told how he was making a coin of power for the wizard Daresh under duress. Just then, Daresh, a human female wizard, enters the shack, and is enraged. She pulls the coin of power, unfinished, from the forge, where it hits her hand. Still molten hot, it grafts itself to her palm. She cries out in pain, and turns towards Ember. A bolt of electricity erupts from Daresh's hand, and before it hits Ember, Arowain jumps in front of her.
Daresh then stumbles out into the darkness. Arowain's dying words to the group are to warn of the new power of the coin of power now grafted to Daresh. The last ingredient for the coin of power is blood, and since it is grafted directly to Daresh, it's power could be unlimited. The coin normally destroys it wielder in a short matter of time, but since it relies on her to survive, they pose a significant threat to the region and the world. He also tells them to seek Halaan, the other person who knows the secret to making a coin of power, safely, and that Veoden can assist them.
The group then leaves the shack, and decide to search the caves for mithril, which Veoden agreed to pay for, and any other information that may help them. So far, they have encountered several goblins which they have dispatched.
XP was a little slim, but they have two pounds of mithril so far.
The group did find the mithril that they had been after, after some searching around.
They found a mithril meteorite in the dark hills to the north, and found two interesting things. The first was a cave that had been tunneled out on the side of the crater, and a shack built about the crater. They saw goblins coming in and out of the cave, and mining the meteor. They decided to investigate the shack first.
Inside, they saw someone working at a forge with a large assortment of alchemical mixtures and chemicals, who was chained to the forge. Seeing he was obviously captive, they tried to free him. They spent some time, and Ember opened the lock with her lock picking tools.
After being freed, the man identified himself as Arowain, the alchemist, and told how he was making a coin of power for the wizard Daresh under duress. Just then, Daresh, a human female wizard, enters the shack, and is enraged. She pulls the coin of power, unfinished, from the forge, where it hits her hand. Still molten hot, it grafts itself to her palm. She cries out in pain, and turns towards Ember. A bolt of electricity erupts from Daresh's hand, and before it hits Ember, Arowain jumps in front of her.
Daresh then stumbles out into the darkness. Arowain's dying words to the group are to warn of the new power of the coin of power now grafted to Daresh. The last ingredient for the coin of power is blood, and since it is grafted directly to Daresh, it's power could be unlimited. The coin normally destroys it wielder in a short matter of time, but since it relies on her to survive, they pose a significant threat to the region and the world. He also tells them to seek Halaan, the other person who knows the secret to making a coin of power, safely, and that Veoden can assist them.
The group then leaves the shack, and decide to search the caves for mithril, which Veoden agreed to pay for, and any other information that may help them. So far, they have encountered several goblins which they have dispatched.
XP was a little slim, but they have two pounds of mithril so far.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Final Fantasy IX
I've been playing Final Fantasy IX recently for the second time. I've actually been trying to play all the Final Fantasy games in order that I hadn't finished before, so I've played II, V, VIII, and now IX in order.
I had a brief period where I wasn't playing because I had lost disk 2 around Christmas time. A friend let me borrow disk 2 so I could through it, and now I'm on disk 3. I only slightly remember this part of the game, but the FMVs are incredible.
With the power of YouTube, I can share that with you right now, in case you don't remember this part of the game or haven't seem it before.
What do you think of the Final Fantasy series?
I had a brief period where I wasn't playing because I had lost disk 2 around Christmas time. A friend let me borrow disk 2 so I could through it, and now I'm on disk 3. I only slightly remember this part of the game, but the FMVs are incredible.
With the power of YouTube, I can share that with you right now, in case you don't remember this part of the game or haven't seem it before.
What do you think of the Final Fantasy series?
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