Waziwig
Seeker/bumbler
Far from finished, and still being mulled over, this is the one and only attempt at humour. As you will see, there is more going on than apparent, though I don't know what yet, and the ... particular way of describing things will no doubt be tweaked ... but is it readable, or too contrived?
Thronogor the Aventar strode down the rough wood palisade, +2 axe in his hand. The wind whipped his crow black hair, as his eyes tried to pierce the gloom. Behind him were the hastily assembled local militia, and a handful of dependable looking hunters. Of all the forces he had led ...
-Curse these Wild elves!
Looming from the shadows, passing a dex roll with a flourish, Threvor Bannak’lakan, scourge of a thousand piggy banks (no seriously), vaulted to Throngor’s side, sipping from a glass of wine as he stared with his old friend into the dark. ‘They don’t have much loot,’ he said, taking another sip.
‘I didn’t think so,’ Throngor said, rubbing his chin. ‘The local colour has made a mess of things. How many are there out there?’ He didn’t expect an answer.
Threvor surprised himself by passing a local history roll, at 5%. ‘Elven war bands roam the western forest sides in numbers ranging from 20 to 40, with 2D12 hangers-on.’
Thronogor sighed. ‘Great. How are we for magic?’
Indoors, Karela ripped more sheets in to bandages. She had taken control of the village kitchen when the headwoman had died, struck by a wild elf bolt before everyone, and had managed to impose some order upon the fearful villagers. She had proxied them all, and not a piece of gold among the lot of them. Thronogor had picked a baddun, hardly worth their time.
Karela rolled back her sleeves and cast another Doompling spell upon the tray before her, transforming 2D4 flour dumplings into magical weapons. Two of the hunters were halfling-saytrs, and had wicked aim with the sling-stick, though Karela doubted it would make much difference in the end.
By dawn the village would be burnt to the ground, she was sure.
She ripped sheets in to bandages. Her mind listed the powers of her rings, charms bracelets and belts. Altogether, they amounted to quite a lot, the loot of a whole campaign of character building. She always angled for the modifier-increasing stuff that no one else wanted. Crap by themselves... but they certainly add up.
And yet, despite the +2 on river rafting, and the +50% on tree climbing, with a war band on the horizon, nothing seemed to offer any way out.
Looking out at Throngor and Threvor posing on the palisade, she giggled to herself, her hand wandering to the single shot of Insta-teleport she carried in a vial at her throat. Her ace in the hole.
‘What’s the name of this village anyway?’ The drums were getting louder.
‘Haunton,’ said Threvor with a wry smile, ‘There’s probably a big
graveyard hereabout, from a big battle or something.’
‘Or ruins, they’re good. Find out.’
‘You don’t think -‘
‘Yes, that might be the angle,’ Throngor murmured, looking up, feeling angry and sick at the same time. ‘He knows our character sheets, knows all our weaknesses. We don’t have our wizard and our priest.’
‘Yes, it is his style. He hates us’ Threvor said, downing the last of the wine. He threw the glass to shatter on the ground, and backflipped into the shadows again.
Throngor growled.
Three hours later, after cold and rain got to the assembled militia, the drums stopped. Dawn was an hour from breaking, and war cries echoed from the woods. There sounded like a lot.
The Doomplings were useless, as were the hunters arrows, one of which fumbled and shot him self in the foot. Silently, the savage elves charged from the forest, wrapped in warping cloaks that obscured them. Karela stood suddenly, dust and chalk in hand. ‘Ha, I’ve got disable illusion check!’ She passed, and then cast the spell.
She rolled good and spotted each blurred shadow with a cross of chalk. Throngor downed two with his short bow, and Doomplings exploded razor sharp suet, cutting the charging elves. Throngor counted, totting the kills, until they made it to the palisade. He threw down the short bow with disgust, pulled out the Scary Horn, and blew.
The elves were in the process of flipping up to the wall, launching knives and arrows into the wood as they approached. The horn’s scary call stopped them in their tracks for a second, but they broke it, and charged on, though their war cries ceased. Throngor started swearing, and unholstered his +2 axe.
Threvor took three out with poison darts, and the Doomplings ripped though a another two, but it was not enough. More than half made it up the palisade, knives drawn. Throngor was in the thick of it form the beginning, and entered that trance where every roll needs to be passed. H fought like a graceful automaton. . Throngor the Aventar faced his own death, and was not found wanting.
Threvor made his appearance, as he would. His long knives out and slashing and blocking with ferocious speed. He backstabbed one then planted his knives into another’s eyes. He failed a roll and missed the next one, but flipped out of the way and ended back to back with Throngor, as they always did. Karela had moved back, and flung acidsnot into the elves. ‘I’m running low!’ she called.
Pirelthor and Benelthrin appeared from behind her, casting furiously as they advanced . ‘Where have you been?’ Throngor snapped as he took a graze to the ribs.
Pirelthor and Benelthrin, matching twin priest and wizard, scattered the advancing savages. They drove them back, with wind and lightning, and blew them off the palisade. Pirelthor laughed. ‘Yay, I saved the day again.’ They walked up the palisade and began to blast down towards the savages, who were looking confused and broken. Throngor wiped blood from his eyes and blew the Scary Horn again. Its scream echoed through the forests, and hit the elves from two directions at once. At half strength, the war band remaining turned and ran.
Throngor laughed. ‘Ha-ha, I get the points for vanquishing the lot!’
Pireltho laughed. ‘Sorry, I had to finish my homework. Why did you start without me?’
Karela was already searching the bodies, totting up the total for the uneven split.. ‘Hey, maybe this wasn’t such a bad village to rip off after all!’
Thronogor the Aventar strode down the rough wood palisade, +2 axe in his hand. The wind whipped his crow black hair, as his eyes tried to pierce the gloom. Behind him were the hastily assembled local militia, and a handful of dependable looking hunters. Of all the forces he had led ...
-Curse these Wild elves!
Looming from the shadows, passing a dex roll with a flourish, Threvor Bannak’lakan, scourge of a thousand piggy banks (no seriously), vaulted to Throngor’s side, sipping from a glass of wine as he stared with his old friend into the dark. ‘They don’t have much loot,’ he said, taking another sip.
‘I didn’t think so,’ Throngor said, rubbing his chin. ‘The local colour has made a mess of things. How many are there out there?’ He didn’t expect an answer.
Threvor surprised himself by passing a local history roll, at 5%. ‘Elven war bands roam the western forest sides in numbers ranging from 20 to 40, with 2D12 hangers-on.’
Thronogor sighed. ‘Great. How are we for magic?’
Indoors, Karela ripped more sheets in to bandages. She had taken control of the village kitchen when the headwoman had died, struck by a wild elf bolt before everyone, and had managed to impose some order upon the fearful villagers. She had proxied them all, and not a piece of gold among the lot of them. Thronogor had picked a baddun, hardly worth their time.
Karela rolled back her sleeves and cast another Doompling spell upon the tray before her, transforming 2D4 flour dumplings into magical weapons. Two of the hunters were halfling-saytrs, and had wicked aim with the sling-stick, though Karela doubted it would make much difference in the end.
By dawn the village would be burnt to the ground, she was sure.
She ripped sheets in to bandages. Her mind listed the powers of her rings, charms bracelets and belts. Altogether, they amounted to quite a lot, the loot of a whole campaign of character building. She always angled for the modifier-increasing stuff that no one else wanted. Crap by themselves... but they certainly add up.
And yet, despite the +2 on river rafting, and the +50% on tree climbing, with a war band on the horizon, nothing seemed to offer any way out.
Looking out at Throngor and Threvor posing on the palisade, she giggled to herself, her hand wandering to the single shot of Insta-teleport she carried in a vial at her throat. Her ace in the hole.
‘What’s the name of this village anyway?’ The drums were getting louder.
‘Haunton,’ said Threvor with a wry smile, ‘There’s probably a big
graveyard hereabout, from a big battle or something.’
‘Or ruins, they’re good. Find out.’
‘You don’t think -‘
‘Yes, that might be the angle,’ Throngor murmured, looking up, feeling angry and sick at the same time. ‘He knows our character sheets, knows all our weaknesses. We don’t have our wizard and our priest.’
‘Yes, it is his style. He hates us’ Threvor said, downing the last of the wine. He threw the glass to shatter on the ground, and backflipped into the shadows again.
Throngor growled.
Three hours later, after cold and rain got to the assembled militia, the drums stopped. Dawn was an hour from breaking, and war cries echoed from the woods. There sounded like a lot.
The Doomplings were useless, as were the hunters arrows, one of which fumbled and shot him self in the foot. Silently, the savage elves charged from the forest, wrapped in warping cloaks that obscured them. Karela stood suddenly, dust and chalk in hand. ‘Ha, I’ve got disable illusion check!’ She passed, and then cast the spell.
She rolled good and spotted each blurred shadow with a cross of chalk. Throngor downed two with his short bow, and Doomplings exploded razor sharp suet, cutting the charging elves. Throngor counted, totting the kills, until they made it to the palisade. He threw down the short bow with disgust, pulled out the Scary Horn, and blew.
The elves were in the process of flipping up to the wall, launching knives and arrows into the wood as they approached. The horn’s scary call stopped them in their tracks for a second, but they broke it, and charged on, though their war cries ceased. Throngor started swearing, and unholstered his +2 axe.
Threvor took three out with poison darts, and the Doomplings ripped though a another two, but it was not enough. More than half made it up the palisade, knives drawn. Throngor was in the thick of it form the beginning, and entered that trance where every roll needs to be passed. H fought like a graceful automaton. . Throngor the Aventar faced his own death, and was not found wanting.
Threvor made his appearance, as he would. His long knives out and slashing and blocking with ferocious speed. He backstabbed one then planted his knives into another’s eyes. He failed a roll and missed the next one, but flipped out of the way and ended back to back with Throngor, as they always did. Karela had moved back, and flung acidsnot into the elves. ‘I’m running low!’ she called.
Pirelthor and Benelthrin appeared from behind her, casting furiously as they advanced . ‘Where have you been?’ Throngor snapped as he took a graze to the ribs.
Pirelthor and Benelthrin, matching twin priest and wizard, scattered the advancing savages. They drove them back, with wind and lightning, and blew them off the palisade. Pirelthor laughed. ‘Yay, I saved the day again.’ They walked up the palisade and began to blast down towards the savages, who were looking confused and broken. Throngor wiped blood from his eyes and blew the Scary Horn again. Its scream echoed through the forests, and hit the elves from two directions at once. At half strength, the war band remaining turned and ran.
Throngor laughed. ‘Ha-ha, I get the points for vanquishing the lot!’
Pireltho laughed. ‘Sorry, I had to finish my homework. Why did you start without me?’
Karela was already searching the bodies, totting up the total for the uneven split.. ‘Hey, maybe this wasn’t such a bad village to rip off after all!’
