Oh, wow. Bruendor, that was a magnificent epilogue!
Search Posts
Things I regret: We never got Bruendor his beard back. We never firebombed Calla's father's house.
@DM Bigrin
@Lefrik
Another unauthorized epilogue: "There it goes!"
Nazdrün the hobgoblin cursed and yelled for the other soldiers to stop shouting at him, they were putting him off his aim. He drew back the bowstring and took aim at the zigging, zagging, screaming little green booger. He let fly the arrow, and thank the barghests, this time it grazed the little vermin's leg...! After four misses, the hobgoblin soldier felt he was more than due, and he muttered a prayer of thanks when the infant goblin fell down, screaming and weeping in agony as it clutched its leg. "Well, you did it -- barely," Old Hagral said, taking the pipe out of his mouth to deliver the backhanded compliment and the ensuing order. "Go kill it off, then." Nazdrün set off with the powerful, loping stride of a trained hobgoblin soldier and muttered another prayer of thanks. Let Old Hagral say that shooting baby goblins on the move was an easy test of his archery, Nazdrün found it a chore. Still, knowing he'd be forced to clean the platoon's latrine again if he didn't kill his target before it made the treeline? That was what he called a powerful motivator. The little green booger was trying to crawl away when he caught up to it, but its leg was a butchered ruin of torn flesh. At the rate the blood was pumping out, Nazdrün could just wait a minute and the wretched thing would be dead of blood loss -- which would never do. Grinning at the ugly little thing, Nazdrün drew his curved dagger and said: "We're going to toss you into the pot and eat you, you little rat-monkey." He bent over to cut the thing's throat, savouring the way its breath died in its throat and the beady little red eyes went wide - killing was always a pleasure, even if it was just killing a goblin slave's brat chosen for target practice - and pain exploded in his right shoulder, pain sufficient to make his hand spasm and the dagger to go flying. Yelling his shock and agony, Nazdrün looked at his shoulder. There was an arrow sticking out of it! Someone in the forest had shot him! Unable to believe this completely unjustified twist, Nazdrün turned to look at the forest ... and saw the bralani eladrin step forward. Of course, Nazdrün was not educated enough to recognize a bralani for what it was; to him, it was some kind of elf. Growling, Nazdrün started to fumble at his sword with the hand that still worked. He heard the yells and approaching footfalls of the other hobgoblins behind him, and they gave him strength, gave him courage! And then he heard the chanting. Felt the rumble, deep underground, followed by the rending of earth and stone. The eerie, shrieking "Teelee? Lee! Tekeli-li!" behind him. The screams of horror and agony of his comrades. The snapping of bones, the last exhalations of breath from broken bodies. Something, something huge, was moving behind him and Nazdrün did not dare turn around. He dared not draw his sword. The elf was watching him, arrow nocked, face utterly, terrifyingly impassive. Nazdrün fancied the arrow was pointed right between his eyes. And then the thing happened, the thing that turned this nightmare from simply nightmarish into nightmarish and shameful. A goblin, a pathetic little greenskin slave with a face ful of brands, tattoos and scars, came scuttling out from behind the elf. Bold as brass, ignoring Nazdrün, it moved towards the infant. It made soothing noises and convinced the weakened whelp to drink something from a metal flask -- a healing potion, judging by the way the cub's leg mended before Nazdrün's eyes.
Nazdrün was alone. Behind him, there was a kind of sighing sound. When he finally dared turn around, all he saw were the crushed bodies of his companions. How was he going to explain this to his commander? Who would ever believe something like this could happen?!
The new place was like a cave, but not a cave. Walls of stone, but straight-straight, made of blocks fitted together with what looked like hard mud. Strange! But dim, cool, peaceful. The baby goblin relaxed a little -- and the adult, the stranger who had saved it, used that moment of relaxation to pluck it off and put it down on ... what? A thing made of trees with a flat top and four legs. Strange! "Can you talk?" the stranger asked, his accent strange, his voice also strange. Not shouting orders, not laughing shrilly, but also not snivelling. (The baby had no experience with people showing patience yet.) Strange! "Can you talk?" the adult repeated. He had the burned face and notched ears of an outcast, but he was the only goblin the baby could see. The baby struggled. The hobgoblins had taken it from the cage before its time had come, had taken the whole cage and the tribe besides. Gone now, all gone. So it struggled for the stranger, and managed to utter a few words in the Goblin tongue. "Talk," it squeaked. "Little." And, with a flash of inspiration: "Boss!" The adult male outcast goblin chuckled. Also strange...! The baby felt that it was not being laughed at, not the way all the adults it had known used to laugh at other goblins (when they suffered pain or humiliation), and the look in his eyes was... it was... "Here," the outcast said, turning to another four-legged thing made out of trees, then returning with a bowl full of something that smelled delicious. "Eat." The baby wolfed down what turned out to be food. (Noodles with a thick, meaty stew on top.) It was ravenously hungry, which was basically the ground state of all baby goblins. What was not the ground state of all baby goblins, was the deep feeling of satisfaction that spread through it when it finished the bowl and realized that its belly was actually full...! "Drink," the outcast said, offering the baby a waterskin and helping it to drink. Milk, the skin was full of milk! Not goblin milk, but still -- milk! Again, the baby goblin was allowed to take as much as it wanted -- as much as it desperately needed -- and the male only chuckled when the baby belched loudly and sagged back against the table. The look in his eyes was... it was... "Come," the outcast said, gently picked the baby up and carried it along to another room. In the other room, there were strange things, things that the outcast taught the baby words for. 'Bath'. 'Shoes'. 'New clothes'. 'Mirror'. Strange! Strange smells! Strange textures! But ... good things. "There," the outcast said as he stood the baby before the 'mirror', having put it in 'new clothes' and 'new shoes' after the 'bath'. "How's that?" The baby understood that the mirror was like a bowl of water, only upright. Looking into the mirror was to see yourself. It saw itself, standing beside the outcast, who was taller than it, and... and it had to admit, they both looked good. 'New clothes' were better than what the goblins in the tribe wore. A 'bath' made their skin look better, brighter green. It struggled to find the words, yelping them at the adult: "Good! Boss!"
"Come," the outcast said, taking the baby by the hand.
"Boss?" the baby squeaked, looking up at the outcast. How could there be an outcast near where there were youngsters? Wouldn't the females run him off, wouldn't the males try to kill him? The thought ... it did not sit well with the baby. "Tribe?" "Maybe," the outcast said, shrugging in an unconcerned sort of way. "Someday. But not now. They're like you; from ruined tribes. I bring them here. Maybe someday, you'll all be my tribe. You can help make the world different." That was too complicated for the baby goblin. It struggled with what it was feeling, what it was thinking. Strange! Everything was so strange! All those young goblins, but none of them screaming, none of them leaping about! An outcast who wasn't an outcast, but Boss! What it wanted to know, what it really wanted to know was...! "Cage?" it squeaked. It felt awfully tired all of a sudden. So much fear. So much food. So much strangeness. Such relief, right down to the bone. Its legs were trembling. "No," Anklebiter said, gently, as he picked the youngster up. "No more cages. Come along; I'll show you the dorm room, my little apprentice."
I loved the special Lefrik epilogue! :D Ohhh boy, that horrible javelin... *laughs* As for the game, more homebrew player races will be incoming; two humanoids, some native outsiders, a half-construct or two and maybe a fey. Stay tuned and be welcome. ^_^
Ahh, a shame. If your schedules open up and my game is still rolling, please keep me in mind. ^_^
Alright, I am opening recruitment for a new game. Not all of the homebrewed player races are up yet, but I need a break from typing. ^_^ I'd like all of you to have first right of refusal before I start looking for any other players.
Eight years...! It honestly didn't feel that long.
Heh... The idea of Anklebiter being on the advisory council of Kyonin makes me chuckle every time. I'll bet he'd push for those statues.
"But before that, we deserve to walk into the common room, give a round to the house and boast our exploits," Anklebiter says, his eyes twinkling and his lips parting in a sharp-toothed grin. "Let the world know what we did, my friends, and let the Bards sing our fame! ... Even if we do have to tip them five gold under the counter and stand them on free beer for the evening." The green-skinned Wizard winks outrageously.
Anklebiter looks to the others. "Riddleport? We can send the Elves a Message. Or a flaming letter. Hang honours. Hang rewards. I want to go home."
"We could, if one of us had Dimensional anchor prepped, perhaps," Anklebiter says. As soon as everyone is linked, he starts the airlift. "I don't. I wanted everything nasty and planar that was there to be gone. Let's swing by the Guardian of Orv first, and tell her what happened. We can rest safely under her roof, then make the trip towards the aiura. Gods and angels, but I'm hungry. And I really do want a beer."
There are many things Anklebiter could have said. Insults he could have made. Prayers he could have spoken. Condemnations to shout. Right here and now, though... "Save it," he firmly tells Calla. To Lefrik: "Keep it in the sheath." Then to Kelendra: "Kel, let's get the airbus moving again. I am tired; I want to go home and have a beer. Everybody link hands, we're off to the elf gate." Extending his hand to Bruendor to start the link, he glances at the demon from the corner of his eye and simply, but firmly, says: "I pass on that offer. One hundred percent. Without any reservation. Goodbye."
Don't worry, our airbus program has very comprehensive coverage. ;)
"Brue, grab Lefrik's hand! Calla, grab the other one and forget the corpse! We need to go!" The idea is for AB and Kel to carry Brue and Calla, and Calla and Brue to hang onto Lefrik. Let's fly!
"... Case in point," Anklebiter says as he starts backing up in a hurry. "I think I've already messed this thing up beyond repair. Hey! Who else wants to get a drink at the Golden Goblin? We might make happy hour if we " Putting action to words, Anklebiter takes flight, grabbing Bruendor on his way towards the door.
"Hold up," Anklebiter says as he digs a bottle out of his pack and gulps the contents. "Everybody drink your potions of Heroism. I intended them for the big fight, but ... you never know. And I think we should all be here. You never know which skillset we might need. Besides... if we mess it up, the blast zone is likely to be on the large side."
"Very good, then we have a majority consensus," Anklebiter says. "Everybody ready? Magic -- ON!" After putting himself some ten feet away from the glyph, Anklebiter dismisses the Antimagic field -- and starts rapid-casting his remaining Communal protection from energy spells on the party and unleashes a pulse of protective energy before he casts Read magic on the master glyph.
Heh! ^_^ Thank you. Mind you, I was in a brilliant Ruby Phoenix-game that featured a highly potent Goblin Witch...!
Yeah, I figured casting at her directly would be a waste of time, and my big summonses were spent, so ... it was time to take things to another level. ;)
Now THAT was a boss battle. Haven't played in a fight that tense since that Ravenloft game a while back, when my old group wound up facing Adramalech the Scholar-Fiend...!
"... Well, dang," Anklebiter says as Allevrah passes to her just deserts -- or, more likely, punishments. "I actually called that one." The little Goblin clambers off the glyph and blinks at the others.
Anklebiter rises to his full height (such as it is), his completely non-magical quarterstaff in hand.
"I am a Goblin.
I am the one who will not move from here unless you yield or die, Allevrah who betrayed her people.
Our greatest enemy has been with us from the beginning...
"Then surrender!" Anklebiter shouts back at Allevrah. "Surrender right the blazes NOW or I stick to this damned thing like a toad to a log and you will have to tell your demons you died by a Goblin's hand! You are alone, and I will not move until you have surrendered or you are DEAD, you evil hag! CHOOSE!"
Balderdash. It's teamwork, and always has been. ^_^
"Foolish hag," Anklebiter chides Allevrah as the fire does absolutely nothing to him. "Your flames are weak."
The Goblin rises and swoops towards the last remaining glyph; the master glyph. As he arrives above it, Anklebiter glances at Kelendra. "Step clear, my friend. It's about to get ... twisted." And then the Abjurer chants four Words of Power.
"Kill her!" Anklebiter screams. "Kill her!"
Oh, you're probably right. That's clever. I'm going to have to remember that if I play some higher-level 1st Edition again. I was thinking the same thing. ^_^ Also, I was reminded of a scene in the Order of the Stick, when Vaarsuvius is dueling Xykon... and Xykon just sets off a point-blank Meteor Swarm on both of them. Loose quote: "Pro tip: if you're going to use area spells, craft yourself a wondrous item that makes you immune to that type of damage."
Anklebiter's chant ends in a squeak as his muscles seize up and he just stands there, transfixed for the round. However, the chant had been completed, and as always the air swirls and darkens, then brightens ... in places! Two Lantern Archons appear; one by Bruendor's side, the other by Lefrik's side. Upon arrival, both chime, glow brightly, and bestow their celestial magic on the two brave warriors!
Dammit! Can someone un-freeze me? Unless I'm going to be free again next round, in which case, just focus on keeping Allevrah away from that glyph.
She used that casting of Spell immunity to protect herself from her traps.
The triceratops does its best to gore Allevrah when she makes a break for it!
The forest of tentacles sinks into the ground at a curt gesture from Anklebiter.
For a moment, the little Wizard hesitates. Then he hisses a whisper: "I'm calling up more help. Then I'm heading over to the glyph. Antimagic area should suppress it." With that said, the Goblin sets up another droning chant...
The triceratops bellows at the fleeing Allevrah and charges her, its lumbering gait turning into a thunderous gallop.
I hope you guys had fun.
The triceratops bellows when Allevrah sets off her spell and charges her at full throttle!
Anklebiter's blood runs cold at the sight of Lefrik's wounds -- and suddenly his hands are under Calla's arms. With a grunt and a heave, the Goblin takes off, hauling the Inquisitor over the Blade Barrier and back to the ground.
I'm glad I took the opportunity to cast it! ^^;
Anklebiter manages to shake off the command. The triceratops ... not so much. Snorting angrily, then bellowing, the triceratops plows through the blade barrier ... and into the field of black tentacles!
But nothing, NOTHING seems capable of halting the scaly behemoth as it barrels forward, red eyes fixed on Allevrah.
Anklebiter takes flight, landing between Calla and Lefrik , and pits his magic against Allevrah's as he tries to unravel the barrier!
Anklebiter decides that it is time and more than time to take the fight to the really dangerous enemy -- and hopefully disrupt whatever Allevrah is doing with the master glyph. The Goblin digs a little gobbet of rubbery material out of his spell component pouch and utters a chant of eight words. Beyond the Blade Barrier, the earth trembles -- and breaks, as giant tentacles rise gibbering from unknown depths to clutch at the priestesses!
Meanwhile, the triceratops focuses its piggy gaze on the last remaining drow soldier -- and goes for the gore.
|