What a night, where to start.....
After we mended from the warg attack, we came across a clearing with a small orc emcampment, drunken sots. While we were investigating their purpose for being so close to Respite Run nearly two score heavily armed orcs rode in and there seemed to be some heated debate between those camped and the ones that rode in. This big sonofaskiz that was leading the riders looked like he was about to cut another of the orcs in two, but then held back. I'm rather concerned, it is often spoke of that orcs seldom will unite in these kind of numbers unless they have a very strong leader. After a short bit the orc riders went back over the opposing bluff. That's when things got wierd. Some of orcs and a few stray goblins started to approach our position, the lighting wasn't the best but the firelight I saw dancing near one of the tents gave me an idea. Just before I bolted for the tents something startled them so I went running past the pigfaced sots and flared up the fire that was inside one of the wall-less tents. I figured that if I could catch their tent on fire, they'd have more concerns than a perimeter check and it might leave our group, which was well too spread out, a chance to either reassemble or stay hidden. I imagine the rider orc leader would be laughing hard enough to fall off his mount that the drunken sots caught their own damn tent on fire. Well with all the rain most of their gear was soaked, so the tent didn't go up nearly as quickly as I hoped. I no sooner turn around to gain my bearing and that darkness, that black darkness so thick you wonder if you've fallen to the abyss, was back. Well the battle was confusing, but it was just a little different for me this time, I was actually starting to picture the positions of people based upon the sounds of battle, I could hear Lief, I pictured where he was, I heard Bromars axe skitter off a gauntlet or greave and find meat and I could hear Animosus's heavy exhale when he swung. I still don't like that abysmal darkness, but I found I could function fairly well in it.
The drunks fell to blade and Slyl found a backpack, one with the name Ravenhelm stitched to it. Alyona! He had found it and Bromar blurted out that the orcs said they had her tied to some altar to be raped. Seems there was a spire to some church in the treeline and we were off, casting caution aside. Corim was making great ground until he got slammed in the ankles with some kind of swing trap. Damn, them orcs are up to something big, traps now too. We'll I convinced Corim and Slyl to reset the trap so that maybe we could fool the rider orcs into thinking we hadn't been here if they saw the sprung trap. Just as we came to another clearing I could make out the church, a couple of skeletons, big ones were guarding the doors. That was it. I had had enough prancing and posturing, I was tired and I was pissed. I'm still not quite sure what was going on with my sword, but it seemed pissed too. I think that sword would have jumped up out of the sheath and swung itself if it could. Animosus charged in and took a heavy magick blast, others advanced but I was on a steady stride for that door, and Gond himself was not about to stop me. I remember a skeleton approaching me, I remember frantic movements nearby but I for me it was action without thought, I'm not even sure I was breathing until I had cut loose Alyona. I sometimes get focused like that when I'm forging.
I was totally amazed at her reaction, she was no sooner dressed and was goading us to press onward. Why do I always fall for the headstrong ones? I was looking for a nice little corner to cozy up to and someone mentions something about figuring out how to get out of here and something about figuring out inscriptions on the altar. I glance over and the inscriptions are as plain as day, figure it out?, nothing to figure out. No sooner do the words leave my lips and the altar grinds open to reveal stairs, cobweb filled stairs heading down. I remember the words well, it was strange because the phrase was about me, about my being, about my skills and about why I came to Respite Run to see Bromar. We descend the stairs and come to a locked portcullis, Animosus and the others open it and just after make ground to its other side we come to a dead end. Fine, lets rest here, but no we do more poking around and find some weapons and gear that has to be 50 years old, easily. I saw the glint of a broach. What a beautiful piece, the others can have what they want, that broach is too pretty for some man to ding, scratch and muck up. I will not hear of it. No, I will pin it on Alyona. More discussion about the things we find, some of it is making sense much of it does not, but the one idea that hits my ears is to head to a town and get some sleep. We settle on returning to Respite Run, its closer but will mean more travel time morrow if we are to continue on to the hutcluster Manyoak. Closer works for me. More orcs after we ascend but these fall quickly and we get back to the Three Torches and much of the town is still in the main room! Some folks were even sleeping in chairs and on benches, we are welcomed a heros welcome and embellished stories of our actions fill our ears. The offer of a hot bath and a bottle of wine was all I needed and it quickly came. I still can hear Lief running rampant in his song of our deeds as I climbed the stairs. The water was soothing, the wine dizzying, and the only thing that would have made it more comforting would have been a soft pair of hands rubbing out the tightness of battle still in my neck. We avoid the clutches of death just to argue about a name for ourselves in the morning, many of us are glad to enter the debate and tie a memorable name to our deeds, to give the minstrels ideas to amuse the throngs, Animosus was unmoved. I can't believe I offered up his name as leader, now I wonder if we'll be remembered as the Sir Stick-in-the-mud and the Nameless Wonders, Avengers of Old Ladies, Harbingers of Lullabyes and Defenders of the Forgetful, oh that'll make a grand song. I should have elected Skippy, at least the stories would have been fun. I've inspected every inch of my blade, it is in perfect condition, it still is very warm to the touch, and perplexes me as to what exactly happened, but I am almost certain that it was when Bromar and I had that mishap with the fire and the old texts and to when things started acting oddly with it. The more I think about it there had to be magic texts in that fire to make this blade imbued with what it has become.
I forged this blade with the metals laced in as close to the descriptions of the myths as I could, I expected that if the myths were correct that the process would have been much more....controlled. I now have a new source of information about combined metals in weaponsmithing and hopefully Bromar will help me in understanding some of the old and supposedly forgotten dwarven weaponmaking skills. Weapons with the powers that myths speak of have claimed me a witness twice in as many days. I recall a passage in my schoolage studies from the Counselors of Prophecy about "..... items of great magicks pick their allies and foes; they only stay long in the grasp of heros..." I can't recall the rest of the passage but do I remember it was used as a lesson on tolerance. Time to mount up and ride to Manyoaks.
After we mended from the warg attack, we came across a clearing with a small orc emcampment, drunken sots. While we were investigating their purpose for being so close to Respite Run nearly two score heavily armed orcs rode in and there seemed to be some heated debate between those camped and the ones that rode in. This big sonofaskiz that was leading the riders looked like he was about to cut another of the orcs in two, but then held back. I'm rather concerned, it is often spoke of that orcs seldom will unite in these kind of numbers unless they have a very strong leader. After a short bit the orc riders went back over the opposing bluff. That's when things got wierd. Some of orcs and a few stray goblins started to approach our position, the lighting wasn't the best but the firelight I saw dancing near one of the tents gave me an idea. Just before I bolted for the tents something startled them so I went running past the pigfaced sots and flared up the fire that was inside one of the wall-less tents. I figured that if I could catch their tent on fire, they'd have more concerns than a perimeter check and it might leave our group, which was well too spread out, a chance to either reassemble or stay hidden. I imagine the rider orc leader would be laughing hard enough to fall off his mount that the drunken sots caught their own damn tent on fire. Well with all the rain most of their gear was soaked, so the tent didn't go up nearly as quickly as I hoped. I no sooner turn around to gain my bearing and that darkness, that black darkness so thick you wonder if you've fallen to the abyss, was back. Well the battle was confusing, but it was just a little different for me this time, I was actually starting to picture the positions of people based upon the sounds of battle, I could hear Lief, I pictured where he was, I heard Bromars axe skitter off a gauntlet or greave and find meat and I could hear Animosus's heavy exhale when he swung. I still don't like that abysmal darkness, but I found I could function fairly well in it.
The drunks fell to blade and Slyl found a backpack, one with the name Ravenhelm stitched to it. Alyona! He had found it and Bromar blurted out that the orcs said they had her tied to some altar to be raped. Seems there was a spire to some church in the treeline and we were off, casting caution aside. Corim was making great ground until he got slammed in the ankles with some kind of swing trap. Damn, them orcs are up to something big, traps now too. We'll I convinced Corim and Slyl to reset the trap so that maybe we could fool the rider orcs into thinking we hadn't been here if they saw the sprung trap. Just as we came to another clearing I could make out the church, a couple of skeletons, big ones were guarding the doors. That was it. I had had enough prancing and posturing, I was tired and I was pissed. I'm still not quite sure what was going on with my sword, but it seemed pissed too. I think that sword would have jumped up out of the sheath and swung itself if it could. Animosus charged in and took a heavy magick blast, others advanced but I was on a steady stride for that door, and Gond himself was not about to stop me. I remember a skeleton approaching me, I remember frantic movements nearby but I for me it was action without thought, I'm not even sure I was breathing until I had cut loose Alyona. I sometimes get focused like that when I'm forging.
I was totally amazed at her reaction, she was no sooner dressed and was goading us to press onward. Why do I always fall for the headstrong ones? I was looking for a nice little corner to cozy up to and someone mentions something about figuring out how to get out of here and something about figuring out inscriptions on the altar. I glance over and the inscriptions are as plain as day, figure it out?, nothing to figure out. No sooner do the words leave my lips and the altar grinds open to reveal stairs, cobweb filled stairs heading down. I remember the words well, it was strange because the phrase was about me, about my being, about my skills and about why I came to Respite Run to see Bromar. We descend the stairs and come to a locked portcullis, Animosus and the others open it and just after make ground to its other side we come to a dead end. Fine, lets rest here, but no we do more poking around and find some weapons and gear that has to be 50 years old, easily. I saw the glint of a broach. What a beautiful piece, the others can have what they want, that broach is too pretty for some man to ding, scratch and muck up. I will not hear of it. No, I will pin it on Alyona. More discussion about the things we find, some of it is making sense much of it does not, but the one idea that hits my ears is to head to a town and get some sleep. We settle on returning to Respite Run, its closer but will mean more travel time morrow if we are to continue on to the hutcluster Manyoak. Closer works for me. More orcs after we ascend but these fall quickly and we get back to the Three Torches and much of the town is still in the main room! Some folks were even sleeping in chairs and on benches, we are welcomed a heros welcome and embellished stories of our actions fill our ears. The offer of a hot bath and a bottle of wine was all I needed and it quickly came. I still can hear Lief running rampant in his song of our deeds as I climbed the stairs. The water was soothing, the wine dizzying, and the only thing that would have made it more comforting would have been a soft pair of hands rubbing out the tightness of battle still in my neck. We avoid the clutches of death just to argue about a name for ourselves in the morning, many of us are glad to enter the debate and tie a memorable name to our deeds, to give the minstrels ideas to amuse the throngs, Animosus was unmoved. I can't believe I offered up his name as leader, now I wonder if we'll be remembered as the Sir Stick-in-the-mud and the Nameless Wonders, Avengers of Old Ladies, Harbingers of Lullabyes and Defenders of the Forgetful, oh that'll make a grand song. I should have elected Skippy, at least the stories would have been fun. I've inspected every inch of my blade, it is in perfect condition, it still is very warm to the touch, and perplexes me as to what exactly happened, but I am almost certain that it was when Bromar and I had that mishap with the fire and the old texts and to when things started acting oddly with it. The more I think about it there had to be magic texts in that fire to make this blade imbued with what it has become.
I forged this blade with the metals laced in as close to the descriptions of the myths as I could, I expected that if the myths were correct that the process would have been much more....controlled. I now have a new source of information about combined metals in weaponsmithing and hopefully Bromar will help me in understanding some of the old and supposedly forgotten dwarven weaponmaking skills. Weapons with the powers that myths speak of have claimed me a witness twice in as many days. I recall a passage in my schoolage studies from the Counselors of Prophecy about "..... items of great magicks pick their allies and foes; they only stay long in the grasp of heros..." I can't recall the rest of the passage but do I remember it was used as a lesson on tolerance. Time to mount up and ride to Manyoaks.
posted by Kelestri | 9:43 AM
2 Comments:
Outstanding post! Top-shelf reflection on the events as seen through Kelestri's eyes. ...er, as seen through Kelestri's occularly-flaring eyes.
Also—Premium in-game role-playing, Kelestri!
I can appreciate your in-character concept to write only when Kelestri has time to write. That said, feel free to bend the rules a bit—I so look forward to reading another Kelestri post.
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