Mrs Propamall shook the rain from her umbrella and entered the towers vestibule. Mumbling and grumbling to herself, she
put the brolly in the hat stand and then removed her coat. As she always did when she knew she was alone in the tower
she talked to herself,
'Another cold morning, Prudence, winter is really here at last. This predication is something awful!'
Mrs Propamall was infamous for getting her words mixed up. If someone had been listening to her near endless
monologue they might have worked out the old lady had meant 'precipitation'.
She hung up her coat and ascended the stairs to the kitchen. Everything was exactly as she left it. The kitchen boy
had the day off, and Flora, the dwarven chambermaid would not be in until the afternoon.
The cook had sworn never to come back after an argument with one of the halflings.
With all the usual inhabitants out on wild adventures the place didn't take much looking after, anyway.
'High adventures, my foot' the housekeeper mumbled ,'Gallivanting off with elves and fairies... and worse!'
Mrs Propamall started the ritual of putting on the big copper kettle that would provide tea for her, Flora and the
cantankerous old dwarf who sometimes stopped by to fix things. Supposedly he was the janitor, but he did a lot more
complaining than he did actual work. Mrs Propamall wondered why Baron Battleshield had hired him in the first place.
'Miserable old git.' she muttered.
Prudence Propamall was, in actual fact, a human. Being a shade under five foot tall though, she could pass as a skinny
dwarf. Her and her husband had come all the way from Freeport, to escape the endless feuds and pogroms of the huge city.
Her and her spouse, like so many others, had taken the journey of tears across the ocean, a stream of humanity, driven
ever eastwards in the hope of better things. They had never made it to Faydark though. Here, he had finally died
of influenza, brought on by the inclement weather up in the Butcherblock mountains, and his wife did not take
one single step further east from that very day. Mrs Propamall had suffered a lot of hardship in her long life.
'Bloody weather!', she cursed under her breath.
But maybe things were starting to look up for her she thought. This job was paying her handsomely and she even wondered
what she should do with all the money she was earning. There wasn't much for a septuagenarian to spend money on
here in Stonebridge.
'Nekkid high elves to massage me poor old knees.', she muttered and then cackled to herself.
After a cup of tea, and some time sorting out the orders of food and wine for the next month at the kitchen table, she
went to take and inventory of the larder. This room had slits in the wall, to keep it cool, so she took her shawl from
the rack in the kitchen and wrapped herself up in it to keep herself warm.
'At least Freeport was warm, not like this. A persons extreamlies could freeze off in this weather.'
She was used to some funny goings on in the tower, but she was surprised by what she found unexpectedly in the larder.
On the shelf next to the door were two large bundles wrapped up in black cloths.
'What's this?', she asked herself.
Roztov had just that moment stabled his horse and stepped up into the kitchen when he heard a terrified shriek come
from the larder.
'What in the name of?!', he cried and rushed in.
There was the housekeeper, her back up against the wall, her hands held up to her mouth, aghast. She looked down an object
on the floor. Looking down Roztov saw nothing less than a severed head, its doleful eyes gazing back up at the terrified old
woman.
'Oh for the love of Tunare!', he sighed and quickly covered up the head, 'Why did he put them in here?'
He quickly ushered the old lady out into the kitchen and shut the door behind him.
'I'm sorry Mrs P, that must have been Corius, I will take them upstairs and put them out the way somewhere safe in
a minute. If Xomano finds out he has been storing them with the food she'll kill him.'
'Buh but!, it was a decoration!'
Roztov rolled his eyes to the ceiling before mentally replacing the word decoration for decapitation.
'Yes, I'm sorry, but they were bad dwarves. Traitors to the king in Thurgadin.'
'Traitors or not, there is no need have them in the larder ready to plagiarise old wimmin'
Roztov, trying his best to calm her down, lead her to the old armchair at the back of the kitchen and sat her down,
and made a few soothing noises.
'I will definitely have a word with him about that, Mrs P.'
'It was enough to make me go apologetic.'
'Err.. apoplexic?'
'That as well!'
Later, and four further stories up, Roztov sat at a window by the tower, using the light to write some things down
and to draw up some plans. Flora, who was young and always fascinated by the people who lived in the tower had found
some small task to do in the room. She was keeping so quiet though that he hadn't noticed her.
He hadn't even really noticed that some other people had entered the tower. As he scribbled away, not one, but
two people passed him on there way up to the living area.
One of them even nudged the other and smiled a small silent joke as they passed the scribe.
But just then almost all of the light was blocked from the window, which made Roztov look up. He looked up at what
most people would consider to be a mobile roadblock.
Roztov sighed and said 'What is it Dentist?'
'Hur hur hur, ' laughed the ogre, his deep baritone laughter sounding almost resinous enough to break the windows.
'Wot arr ya doin' Roztov?'
'Just catching up with some things. I am writing about what we did in Velious.'
Dentist removed his helmet and treated Roztov to a huge gap toothed grin,
'Cann I be in yur storee Roztov?'
The druid put down his quill pen and rubbed his temple.
'You were not even there Dentist.'
'But can I be in your storee Roztov?'
Roztov had learned that when it came to beings that stood over ten feet tall, weighed in at over forty stone and carried
a sword that could be used to spit roast an elephant, patience was the key.
However, there was never going to be a clever ogre on the face of Norrath, or a particularly literate one.
Roztov picked up his pen and wrote a few words.
'There look... Dentist the might hero, sliced the nasty giant. Who died. The end.'
'Hur hur.' laughed the ogre then said 'That is a gud storee Roztov. Me like happy endings.'
Roztov rolled his eyes and made motions with his hands to try and move his immense companion from the window.
Dentist nudged the human with his elbow. This was a sign of affection in ogre society, but was like being tackled
by an ulthork to any other smaller race.
'Quit that! Don't make me root you, like last time!'
A voice from upstairs called down, 'You can root me anytime Roztov, m'dear!'
'Bloody Snells here as well. Right, that's it', he grumbled as he gathered up his papers and went downstairs.
As he went down, he met Corius who was coming up.
'And as for you. Your heads are in the living room. Get rid of them before someone's pet eats them or Dentist finds them.'
Corius looked down at his friends back in confusion as Roztov stormed off down into the kitchen.
Later on, Mrs Propamall handed him a cup of tea. Roztov had spent all evening sat in the kitchen armchair, but had
stopped writing now to take a short break.
'Thanks Mrs P.'
'You're welcome, your lordship.', she replied.
People had been coming into the kitchen all day, but a quick warning glance from the housekeeper made whatever greeting
was on their lips die in their throats, and they would remove their wet cloaks in silence and tip toe upstairs.
The Baron was not to be disturbed.
The tower wasn't particularly busy however, most people were still abroad. Some were eating upstairs, but Roztov
was eating in the kitchen when Brond arrived.
'Gnolls blood, what a night!', he exclaimed as he shook the rain off.
'Good evening your grace' mumbled Mrs Propamall as the dwarf entered.
Roztov looked up, and laid down his pen, nodding a greeting to the damp dwarf.
Brond sat down beside his friend and before he was even aware of it, a cup of tea had been placed beside his elbow.
Having done that, Mrs Propamall decided it was time for one last check upstairs before she went home. Usually the kitchen
was entirely her domain, but sometimes their lordships would hold ad-hoc meetings in there and although it had never
been expressly mentioned, she always felt it wasn't her place to listen in their lordships business.
She supposed that she should think of the womenfolk's that came here in a similar vein, but her elderly Freeporter
mind didn't think like that. Ok, so a young halfling wench might be referred to as Baroness in legal documents, but
did it really count in decent human society. But then, she was living in Butcherblock now.
'Bloody ankle biters the lot of em. Or Furtively Challenged I should say, if I wants to be Polecat-edly correct.'
she grumbled as she ascended the stairs.
Mrs Propamall thought that a spade should be called a spade, and a halfling should be called a short-arse. And she
didn't see how it had anything to do with ferrets either.
She would have to go all the way to the very top floor anyway. The room there was used only sometimes, but it would
get warm and stuffy in almost any weather without the window open. And Mrs Propamall could guarantee that whoever
was up there last would leave that blasted thing open. Admittedly it wasn't much of a security risk, being on the
eighth floor, but that wasn't the point.
'Forget there own bloody heads...', then she shuddered, she had had enough of heads for today.
Puffing and panting she finally made it to the attic and waited for a moment to catch her breathe. It was then she
realised she could here someone moving around in the room.
She opened the door and said
'Don't mind me, dearies, I'm only here to shut the windo... aieee!'
There before her stood a ten foot monster, surely a huge greenblood bandit, holding a severed dwarven head in its
hands.
'I woz just...', then he (Dentist of course!) dropped the head guiltily, which bounced on the step,
then right through Mrs Propamalls legs making her cry
'Lawks!'
And off it bounced down the steps, and with exact comedy timing, Snell, startled by the commotion, opened the door
to the upper living room as the head reached the bottom and it bounded through past his shoulder and straight
into the room and down the hatch into the upper ward-room.
This caused a startled shriek to emanate from Taldaajna who had only just arrived.
Without even thinking she pulled back her leg and punted the head through the door. Again it descended, this time
into the ante-chamber (or the auntie-chamber if you were Mrs Propamall) and down two more flights of steps past all
the sleeping chambers and into the lower living room.
This room was on two levels so the head rolled across the balcony a little and finally dropped from there into
Tuppences lap, who had been asleep by the fire.
With a shriek to equal that of Taldaanjas he leapt up, his robe catapulting the head across the room, where it was
nearly snatched up by Surans suddenly very awake tiger.
But the head was destine to be more that a big cats supper and it sailed through the air down the steep steps to land
with a splutch on the kitchen table much to the surprise of those sat around it.
'Him again!', cried Roztov leaping up from his chair, scattering pens and ink everywhere.
A great dollop of ink landed on Bronds breastplate, and he looked down at it, his face going very red behind his
beard.
'Well, you always said you were going to get your armour dyed!', laughed Roztov.
It was three weeks before they could persuade Mrs Propamall to come back to work.
Saturday, 11 May 2013
Thursday, 9 May 2013
EQ2 - 2004 - The Unexpected Guests
Soora woke as she did every morning and walked down to the lake to draw water to boil for her morning wash and to
cook her breakfast. Her ramshackle hut was hidden from all directions by the deep evergreen forests hereabouts
but from the lake she could see all the way down the river to the village. At the head of the village was a tower
that had sat unused, certainly since Soora had started living in the forest, slowly crumbling into ruin, another
relic of ancient times that was no longer needed. The little village of Stonebridge had not had a use for it in
a long time.
But the tower had become a lot busier just recently. Strange flashes at night, even stranger noises would drift
across the lake, sometimes startling her out of her sleep. Since her son had been killed, she was very afraid
of the night.
Soora was tall and dark skinned, certainly not a dwarf, as where the majority of the inhabitants around these parts
of the mountains. The whole area was a pretty much forgotten about set of secluded flat, but tall sided, valleys
that sat between the towering Butcherblock mountains to the west and the vast forests of Greater Faydark to the east.
Nominally these lands were ruled from Kaladim, but the de facto rulers were the town and village councils of
each settlement. Most of the dwarves around here that knew Soora, and not all of them did know that an outlander
lived above the village by the lake, knew her as an Erudite, but that wasn't the full story.
Although Soora's worst fears were that a necromancer had moved into the tower, she just couldn't bring herself
to believe that the Sheriff would allow it, or the magistrates come to that.
Putting the bucket down for a second, she pushed back her hood and looked across the valley to the village, the
whole settlement laid out in front of her like a model. And just to confirm her suspicions of strange goings on
she spotted a rider coming from the west, at full gallop, towards the tower. At the river trees grew so for
a moment the rider was lost from view, but was soon flying across the next field and up the steep path that lead
to the towers door. Soora new that the ferry took ten minutes to cross the river but the rider had just continued
on his way as if no river was there at all. This wasn't the first time she had seen this happen.
As she watched some strange blue glow lit up the top windows of the tower, then another and another, pulsing
in the dawn light. Soora new magic when she saw it and it didn't make her happy at all. She had hoped she
would never see anything arcane ever again.
Presently another rider appeared from the west, heading at high speed towards the tower, then another two close
behind the first. It was going to be a busy day down at the village evidently.
Shaking her head, Soora carried the heavy bucket back up to her cottage, a walk that would take her twenty minutes
following a deer path up and old dried up gully until it levelled out into a flat hollow that may have been a
quarry at one time. It was hemmed in on all sides by large pine trees and was very difficult to spot if you
didn't know it was there. Soora's lazy dog, Toresian, would just be about getting out of his bed, she reflected.
But Tor wasn't in his kennel as she approached her door and that was enough to set her nerves on edge. Every day
for the last three years he had sat at the entrance step waiting for his breakfast. With great trepidation she
slowly pushed open her front door. With a creak it opened and inch by inch revealed the first of her only two
rooms.
Muddy foot prints, not hers, lead into the bedroom.
Where is that cursed creature?, she thought, I need him to deal with situations like this. But the hound was nowhere
to be seen. Carefully, as silently as she could, she pulled a log from the woodpile by the stove. With fear leaping
up into her throat she carefully edged towards the bedroom door.
Pushing this door slowly open she first saw the bottom of her bed, then as she looked throw the narrow crack
she had created she saw a pair of boots, as if someone were lying there. Suddenly something leapt out at her
and she nearly swung at it before she realised it was Toresian. He greeted her with a slobbery lick on the face
and just as she got her bearing back a man stepped out from behind the door and said
'I'm sorry to scare you! Is this your house? I am sorry to intrude by my friend is in great need.'
It took her a moment to take it all in, on the bed was what at first looked like a bundle of bloody rags, but after
a moments thought, slowly formed into the broken body of a man dressed in robes. Covered in dried blood and dirt
the human form was barely recognisable. His face had three huge gashes across it as if he had been mauled by some
fearsome creature.
The man that had addressed her seemed in little better shape. The chainmail that he wore was tattered and ripped.
Blood had dried out all across his chest and arms and had matted his beard. Her traitorous dog nuzzled at the mans
hand.
'I need to help my friend you see', repeated the man.
'But', she blurted, 'He still lives?'
'Tunare no! Look at him, he's as dead as last weeks leftovers!', and to her astonishment the man laughed a little.
'But he is not beyond help if we are quick.'
'Where have you come from?'
'I have walked from the druid ring, maybe three days. I am so exhausted, and yet my friends are so near. I just
had to stop and rest for a little while.'
'The druid ring? But that is leagues away!'
'Yes.', the man said, 'I must rest, just for a second, please...'
He sat down on the only chair in the room and shut his eyes.
'There magic did something to me I think, ' he mumbled, ' I feel, .... most strange..'
For a moment Soora was dumbfounded, but after a minute she realised that she had two corpses in her bedroom, not one.
After a second of complete blankness she sprang into action, throwing on a shawl she called her dog and headed into
the village. Her first visit on over nine months. She wasn't stupid and guessed that this had something to do with
the people at the tower. She would just have to throw aside her night time fears of what may be going on inside
its stone walls.
Later that day, Soora's cottage was more crowded that it had been in years. She had left word at the tower and a small
female halfling at the door and tutted and fussed in dismay at the news Soora had given her, and replied that she was
really too busy at the moment attending to the injured in the tower, but that she would send help as soon as some
became available.
Soora was a little perplexed by this attitude but trudged back up to her cottage, a walk of several hours.
She was just considering whether to get the shovel out to bury the bodies, after all they couldn't stay in her
bedroom, when she heard a knock at her door.
There stood what she would have considered a half elf, bald of head and wearing the most fantastic of waxed moustaches.
He wore a green chainmail shirt and carried a sword at his hip and a bow over his shoulder.
'Hello, m'dear, I believe you have two of my friends here?'
'Well yes, I expect ... that is.. they are through here.'
'How lovely, what a quaint little dwelling you have here, although I would have never have found the place unless
I followed your tracks ... ah yes, ' he said as he was shown the bodies,
'The poor things! And Assynt must have died in his arms! How romantic, but tragic .. but romantic! If only.. ah
well, we will have these two right as nine pence as soon as Corius arrives.'
'Corius .. is he a cleric? There is no one with such power in the village' stumbled Soora, confused at the halfelvens
talk.
'A paladin, m'dear, a paladin', he replied as he looked out of the bedroom window.
'Ah, here he comes now, what a dashing figure he cuts in his shiny armour, yes?'
Soora ducked to look out the window also and saw a slim figure, dressed head to foot in dark plate mail, coming up
the path towards the cottage. By the time he had reached the front door, she had it open and beckoned him inside.
He removed his helmet to reveal his handsome elven features and bowed gracefully,
'Sir Corius, ma'am, at your service.'
Soora was a little overcome and fought the urge to giggle like a school girl.
'In here, Corius you scoundrel!', called the other elf from the bedroom
'Aye, Snell, I am ready to perform the service, just show me their remains.'
As he entered the bedroom, Soora looked down at her dog and whispered,
'Two elves in one day! Fancy that eh Tor?'
Toresian thumped his tail against the floor in reply.
Soora watched as the paladin performed the ceremony. She had seen a resurrection once before in Erudin, but that had
been at the temple. This was taking place in her very bedroom!
Snell handed his friend some green jewels, and with a solemn nod stepped back to give Corius more room to perform
his art.
The fair elf paladin began to chant scriptures in a language Soora had no hope of recognising, and very quickly the
room began to pulse in a strange blue light. She could suddenly smell lilies, so powerfully she felt as if she was
in a field of them. She could here the faint chiming of bells.
The light built up until if focused onto the paladin and the body on the bed. The next moment there was a blinding flash
and as if waking from a nightmare the body sat bolt upright and gasped. Soora shrieked in horror which made the dog
start barking. Before her eyes she could see the mans wounds heal. He held up his hands before his face in astonishment
as the blood trickled away.
'Shh! Tor be quiet!' she grabbed the dog to her leg.
Snell leant towards her ear and whispered, 'Every time he has a look of amazement on his face. The amount of times
this has happened you would think he would be used to it. I hear Rodcet Nife has a room permanently set aside for him.'
This statement made no sense to her, but the ceremony was about to begin again so she had no chance to ponder it.
Corius started to chant again and light began to form around the body on the chair. As before, there was a flash and the
man in the chair jumped up and cried 'Mother Tunare! not the lizards!... oh, I'm alive'
Snell laughed and clapped his newly resurrected friend on the shoulder,
'Welcome back to the land of the living!'
So, she had had a busy house that night. The newly risen men had both declared that they were starving so she was
happy to feed them from her kitchen. The table had only two chairs, so the still somewhat feeble Roztov and Assynt
had them and were fed cheese, ham, bread and preserved fruits. They ate and ate like men possessed and almost finished
all of last summers jam. The two elves stood by the fire place while the others ate, and they all talked of what
had happened.
Most of it went over her head, but it seemed that they had been to the continent of Kunark, had been to a place called
Burning Wood and had then assaulted a fortress inhabited by strange tall lizard men. Soora sat with the dog on her
lap, trying to take it all in.
And so, they had left, each of them pressing silver coins in to her hand, despite her protests.
'Courtesy of the Sarnak royal family!' they had laughed.
'Still,' she remarked to her hound, once they had the cottage to themselves again,
'A silver piece is a silver piece, and with all these, I won't need to work in
the village at all this winter, and nice Mr Strongforge can make me a new griddle for the fire.'
Tor thumped is tail and licked her hand, which was pretty much his reply to anything.
'Hey! watch the silver!', she cried , then tutted as she wiped the dog drool from the coins.
'Just a second', she mused as she looked at the ugly lizard heads on the strange foreign currency.
'It's not silver Tor, its platinum!'
She had to sit down and have a cup of tea to calm herself after that. She was now probably the richest woman in
Stonebridge!
cook her breakfast. Her ramshackle hut was hidden from all directions by the deep evergreen forests hereabouts
but from the lake she could see all the way down the river to the village. At the head of the village was a tower
that had sat unused, certainly since Soora had started living in the forest, slowly crumbling into ruin, another
relic of ancient times that was no longer needed. The little village of Stonebridge had not had a use for it in
a long time.
But the tower had become a lot busier just recently. Strange flashes at night, even stranger noises would drift
across the lake, sometimes startling her out of her sleep. Since her son had been killed, she was very afraid
of the night.
Soora was tall and dark skinned, certainly not a dwarf, as where the majority of the inhabitants around these parts
of the mountains. The whole area was a pretty much forgotten about set of secluded flat, but tall sided, valleys
that sat between the towering Butcherblock mountains to the west and the vast forests of Greater Faydark to the east.
Nominally these lands were ruled from Kaladim, but the de facto rulers were the town and village councils of
each settlement. Most of the dwarves around here that knew Soora, and not all of them did know that an outlander
lived above the village by the lake, knew her as an Erudite, but that wasn't the full story.
Although Soora's worst fears were that a necromancer had moved into the tower, she just couldn't bring herself
to believe that the Sheriff would allow it, or the magistrates come to that.
Putting the bucket down for a second, she pushed back her hood and looked across the valley to the village, the
whole settlement laid out in front of her like a model. And just to confirm her suspicions of strange goings on
she spotted a rider coming from the west, at full gallop, towards the tower. At the river trees grew so for
a moment the rider was lost from view, but was soon flying across the next field and up the steep path that lead
to the towers door. Soora new that the ferry took ten minutes to cross the river but the rider had just continued
on his way as if no river was there at all. This wasn't the first time she had seen this happen.
As she watched some strange blue glow lit up the top windows of the tower, then another and another, pulsing
in the dawn light. Soora new magic when she saw it and it didn't make her happy at all. She had hoped she
would never see anything arcane ever again.
Presently another rider appeared from the west, heading at high speed towards the tower, then another two close
behind the first. It was going to be a busy day down at the village evidently.
Shaking her head, Soora carried the heavy bucket back up to her cottage, a walk that would take her twenty minutes
following a deer path up and old dried up gully until it levelled out into a flat hollow that may have been a
quarry at one time. It was hemmed in on all sides by large pine trees and was very difficult to spot if you
didn't know it was there. Soora's lazy dog, Toresian, would just be about getting out of his bed, she reflected.
But Tor wasn't in his kennel as she approached her door and that was enough to set her nerves on edge. Every day
for the last three years he had sat at the entrance step waiting for his breakfast. With great trepidation she
slowly pushed open her front door. With a creak it opened and inch by inch revealed the first of her only two
rooms.
Muddy foot prints, not hers, lead into the bedroom.
Where is that cursed creature?, she thought, I need him to deal with situations like this. But the hound was nowhere
to be seen. Carefully, as silently as she could, she pulled a log from the woodpile by the stove. With fear leaping
up into her throat she carefully edged towards the bedroom door.
Pushing this door slowly open she first saw the bottom of her bed, then as she looked throw the narrow crack
she had created she saw a pair of boots, as if someone were lying there. Suddenly something leapt out at her
and she nearly swung at it before she realised it was Toresian. He greeted her with a slobbery lick on the face
and just as she got her bearing back a man stepped out from behind the door and said
'I'm sorry to scare you! Is this your house? I am sorry to intrude by my friend is in great need.'
It took her a moment to take it all in, on the bed was what at first looked like a bundle of bloody rags, but after
a moments thought, slowly formed into the broken body of a man dressed in robes. Covered in dried blood and dirt
the human form was barely recognisable. His face had three huge gashes across it as if he had been mauled by some
fearsome creature.
The man that had addressed her seemed in little better shape. The chainmail that he wore was tattered and ripped.
Blood had dried out all across his chest and arms and had matted his beard. Her traitorous dog nuzzled at the mans
hand.
'I need to help my friend you see', repeated the man.
'But', she blurted, 'He still lives?'
'Tunare no! Look at him, he's as dead as last weeks leftovers!', and to her astonishment the man laughed a little.
'But he is not beyond help if we are quick.'
'Where have you come from?'
'I have walked from the druid ring, maybe three days. I am so exhausted, and yet my friends are so near. I just
had to stop and rest for a little while.'
'The druid ring? But that is leagues away!'
'Yes.', the man said, 'I must rest, just for a second, please...'
He sat down on the only chair in the room and shut his eyes.
'There magic did something to me I think, ' he mumbled, ' I feel, .... most strange..'
For a moment Soora was dumbfounded, but after a minute she realised that she had two corpses in her bedroom, not one.
After a second of complete blankness she sprang into action, throwing on a shawl she called her dog and headed into
the village. Her first visit on over nine months. She wasn't stupid and guessed that this had something to do with
the people at the tower. She would just have to throw aside her night time fears of what may be going on inside
its stone walls.
Later that day, Soora's cottage was more crowded that it had been in years. She had left word at the tower and a small
female halfling at the door and tutted and fussed in dismay at the news Soora had given her, and replied that she was
really too busy at the moment attending to the injured in the tower, but that she would send help as soon as some
became available.
Soora was a little perplexed by this attitude but trudged back up to her cottage, a walk of several hours.
She was just considering whether to get the shovel out to bury the bodies, after all they couldn't stay in her
bedroom, when she heard a knock at her door.
There stood what she would have considered a half elf, bald of head and wearing the most fantastic of waxed moustaches.
He wore a green chainmail shirt and carried a sword at his hip and a bow over his shoulder.
'Hello, m'dear, I believe you have two of my friends here?'
'Well yes, I expect ... that is.. they are through here.'
'How lovely, what a quaint little dwelling you have here, although I would have never have found the place unless
I followed your tracks ... ah yes, ' he said as he was shown the bodies,
'The poor things! And Assynt must have died in his arms! How romantic, but tragic .. but romantic! If only.. ah
well, we will have these two right as nine pence as soon as Corius arrives.'
'Corius .. is he a cleric? There is no one with such power in the village' stumbled Soora, confused at the halfelvens
talk.
'A paladin, m'dear, a paladin', he replied as he looked out of the bedroom window.
'Ah, here he comes now, what a dashing figure he cuts in his shiny armour, yes?'
Soora ducked to look out the window also and saw a slim figure, dressed head to foot in dark plate mail, coming up
the path towards the cottage. By the time he had reached the front door, she had it open and beckoned him inside.
He removed his helmet to reveal his handsome elven features and bowed gracefully,
'Sir Corius, ma'am, at your service.'
Soora was a little overcome and fought the urge to giggle like a school girl.
'In here, Corius you scoundrel!', called the other elf from the bedroom
'Aye, Snell, I am ready to perform the service, just show me their remains.'
As he entered the bedroom, Soora looked down at her dog and whispered,
'Two elves in one day! Fancy that eh Tor?'
Toresian thumped his tail against the floor in reply.
Soora watched as the paladin performed the ceremony. She had seen a resurrection once before in Erudin, but that had
been at the temple. This was taking place in her very bedroom!
Snell handed his friend some green jewels, and with a solemn nod stepped back to give Corius more room to perform
his art.
The fair elf paladin began to chant scriptures in a language Soora had no hope of recognising, and very quickly the
room began to pulse in a strange blue light. She could suddenly smell lilies, so powerfully she felt as if she was
in a field of them. She could here the faint chiming of bells.
The light built up until if focused onto the paladin and the body on the bed. The next moment there was a blinding flash
and as if waking from a nightmare the body sat bolt upright and gasped. Soora shrieked in horror which made the dog
start barking. Before her eyes she could see the mans wounds heal. He held up his hands before his face in astonishment
as the blood trickled away.
'Shh! Tor be quiet!' she grabbed the dog to her leg.
Snell leant towards her ear and whispered, 'Every time he has a look of amazement on his face. The amount of times
this has happened you would think he would be used to it. I hear Rodcet Nife has a room permanently set aside for him.'
This statement made no sense to her, but the ceremony was about to begin again so she had no chance to ponder it.
Corius started to chant again and light began to form around the body on the chair. As before, there was a flash and the
man in the chair jumped up and cried 'Mother Tunare! not the lizards!... oh, I'm alive'
Snell laughed and clapped his newly resurrected friend on the shoulder,
'Welcome back to the land of the living!'
So, she had had a busy house that night. The newly risen men had both declared that they were starving so she was
happy to feed them from her kitchen. The table had only two chairs, so the still somewhat feeble Roztov and Assynt
had them and were fed cheese, ham, bread and preserved fruits. They ate and ate like men possessed and almost finished
all of last summers jam. The two elves stood by the fire place while the others ate, and they all talked of what
had happened.
Most of it went over her head, but it seemed that they had been to the continent of Kunark, had been to a place called
Burning Wood and had then assaulted a fortress inhabited by strange tall lizard men. Soora sat with the dog on her
lap, trying to take it all in.
And so, they had left, each of them pressing silver coins in to her hand, despite her protests.
'Courtesy of the Sarnak royal family!' they had laughed.
'Still,' she remarked to her hound, once they had the cottage to themselves again,
'A silver piece is a silver piece, and with all these, I won't need to work in
the village at all this winter, and nice Mr Strongforge can make me a new griddle for the fire.'
Tor thumped is tail and licked her hand, which was pretty much his reply to anything.
'Hey! watch the silver!', she cried , then tutted as she wiped the dog drool from the coins.
'Just a second', she mused as she looked at the ugly lizard heads on the strange foreign currency.
'It's not silver Tor, its platinum!'
She had to sit down and have a cup of tea to calm herself after that. She was now probably the richest woman in
Stonebridge!
Wednesday, 8 May 2013
EQ 1 - The Heros of Kaladim
Here is the first EQ story from 2003
A dizzily rain started to fall across the fields. The man at the window shuddered and pulled his
cloak tighter across his shoulders.
"This is worse than the Karana's" he mumbled to himself.
"Stop complaining Roztov! Dis wuld be summr weather in Halas!' came an accented voice from further
in the room.
The rain soaked fields that could be seen through the gloomy weather still had people working in them.
Roztov thanked providence for small mercies, at least he was dry.
His vantage point was quite high, a window in a squat dwarven tower deep in the heart of the Butcherblock Mountains
giving a birds eye few of the surrounding farmlands.
'I never realised Butcherblock could be so flat.'
A chuckle came from the darker recesses of the room, this time another voice spoke,
'Parts of my lands are, I am a lowlander myself.'
Roztov looked further out, the line of mountains in the distance were nothing but a feint purple smear
hidden by the rain.
'Aye, you are never far from the mountains but it still feels strange.'
'You have come back from fighting undead frogs, giant mushrooms and huge rampaging golems and you think that
a dwarf living on flat land is strange?'
Roztov laughed, 'You got me there, Brond!'
The shorter figure of a stocky dwarf raised itself up from a chair at the back of the room, and smoothing
down his long white beard joined the taller man at the window. There was still another figure back there,
but had so far only commented on the weather and seemingly happy with that remained where it was.
If one of the toiling figures had happened to glance up they would have seen the two friends gazing out
across the fields. One tall, marking him out as a foreigner, but bearded so not completely untrustworthy, his
long hair tied back and falling across the back of the travelling cloak that he wore. The dwarf had a martial
air about him and certain way of standing that would have marked him out as a soldier to any of the farmers
around here, and maybe a particularly intelligent peasant may have judged him to be a paladin. A dwarf
sworn to the protection of the people and the doctrines of the mother church.
'No serfs or thrall here, these are all free men,' declared Brond after they had stood for a while.
'There ar no slaves in my lnds ither!' came the indignant reply from the third person in the room.
'Please don't start that again!' cried Roztov rubbing his temples, then gazing out into the murk said,
'Look, this must be one of ours now!'
The two at the window laughed in genuine mirth.
'What does she look like?' said Roztov slapping his shorter friend on the back.
'That pony is no more than the size of a mist wolf!' agreed Brond.
This was enough to galvanise the last man in the room out of his chair and to his friends by the window.
He lurched his massive frame to beside his companions and bellowed
'XOMMMYY!!' making all the nearby field workers look up.
'For Tunares sake, my ears!' complained Roztov as both he and Brond waggled fingers in their ears in
discomfort at the big barbarians shout.
'Do that again, Jalamu, and I will cut you down to size!', said the dwarf.
But even from this distance, the figure on horse back had heard the call and waved up to them as she jounced
around on her speedy little pony. Her short halfling legs were barely long enough to reach the stirrups of
her saddle. All of three feet tall and plump in the way that her people were, she did not make an ideal
horse woman. At any moment she looked like she might be flung to the road side, even the act at waving
towards the tower had seriously unbalanced her.
'Ten plat says she falls off before she reaches the river' said Roztov uncharitably.
'Hah!', laughed Brond, 'She'll make it. But she won't be able to cross the river tonight, its swollen so
much the ferryman will never risk it.'
As the horsewoman reached the ferry she drew her mount to a halt and half dismounted, half fell from her
steed, which caused more argument between Roztov and Jalamu.
'She fell!'
'She did nto! And she is reaching the rivre!'
As they talked they watched as Xomano had a conversation with the ferryman. Brond hushed them but even
with the men silenced the halfling and the dwarven ferry keeper were too far away to overhear.
Finally the halfling threw up here arms in despair, sat down and seemed to draw something from her bag.
'She decids to eat a pei, vry wise, what I wold do.', whispered Jalamu to his friends.
'No, Jal, she is consulting her spell book.', returned Roztov.
And sure enough, Xomano appeared to cast a spell, the glimmer of magical aura twinkling in the murky
rain for a few seconds. Promptly she mounted her steed again and with no more care than if she was on the
kings highway urged her horse to trot over the river. The ferry keeper watched in amazement as she
rode across the water as if it were an open plain!
'Hah! That foxed old Jerris!' laughed Brond as the ferryman scratched his dumbfounded head and looked on.
'She will be here in an hour or so now.' remarked Roztov as they sat down again by the fire.
Suddenly there was a commotion from below them. Sounds that put them in mind of a very big bag of cats being
roasted alive while a hundred lizards were beaten with sticks.
'What in the name of!' cried Jalamu as a trap door right beside his feet burst open and a green streak raced
past him and hid behind a chair.
The green streak poked its blunt head around one of the overstuffed armchairs. A large river crocodile from the
boondocks of Innuthule Swamp eyed them with primeval distain.
'Chomper!' rumbled a deep voice from bellow.
As the fellows in the room looked down a huge tiger muscled up the ladder below and squeezed itself into the
room. Without a care in the world it strolled over to the armchair and flopped down beside it.
The crocodile hissed, a sound like the boiling of the kettle of Cazic-Thule himself and
slinked off into the shadows.
'The circus is back in town' remarked Roztov dryly.
'Yes. Although the cat doesn't always win, Chomper had it up a tree yesterday.' agreed Brond.
The big barbarian playfully tugged on the tigers ears and stroked back its fur, something that it seemed
to tolerate.
'What do you feed dis thng Suran, I swear it gets biggr evry day!', Jalamu called down in his strong accent.
'You don't want to know!' came a voice from below.
It had never been established where Jalamus accent was from precisely, but whatever language his parents
had spoken didn't seem to go in for grammar all that much. Or vowels, when it came to it.
After the animals had been shooed away to their respective owners the three friends had some food sent up
from the kitchen below. Xomano had made it to the tower at last and was busy at work getting everyone fed.
As Roztov finished off his last mouthful he looked up to see two men clattering up the ladder into the
towers top room.
'Greetings all!', cried the first as he ascended, a huge bearded man, that even made Jalamu look small.
'Hello Beolvaar!' exclaimed Brond as they shook hands.
The barbarian stepped aside to the window to let the next man enter, the room starting to get crowded now.
The smaller man that entered smiled at those inside and removed his cape to shake the rain from it.
He had shoulder length black hair and wore the robes of someone who dabbled in the magical arts bellow
his travelling clothes.
'How on earth did you cross the river?' asked Brond as he rose from his chair to greet the new arrivals.
'We didn't, we got the coach from Kaladim. We just came up though the village now.'
'But the coach doesn't come anywhere near here!', replied the dwarf in genuine confusion.
'I persuaded the driver to make a small detour', came the dead pan reply.
'Turned on the charm did you?' Roztov asked innocently.
The two barbarians laughed together as they got the joke, together sharing the last of the pie Jalamu had been
eating, their mouths full of crust.
As the mirth died down, Brond asked,
'Hmm, who are we missing now then?'
Roztov looked up at the ceiling as if counting off a mental check list.
'Ellerina isn't here, but she will be late as always. Tuppence will be along later, I left him, fishing rod
in hand beside the weir in the village this morning. And Kindariel, well, if you don't know where your wife
is then I can't help you!'
Later that evening, they all gathered in the upper chambers of the tower, the animals had been put to bed
and the horses had been fed and watered. No agenda had been set, as yet, and they told stories and
reminisced about times passed, while drinking stout dwarven ale and smoking from long clay pipes.
Tuppence had arrived, soaked to the skin after falling in the weir. He claimed to have caught a huge
cichlid that had broken his line. The others all agreed that it was much more likely he had nodded off
and fallen in the river.
Kindariel had arrived, having walked all the way from the old druid ring, saying that she had enjoyed the
leisurely pace despite the weather.
As the clock slowly turned to midnight, Brond sent a boy into town to look for anyone that looked out of
place. He came back with a tall elven woman dressed in black holding his hand in no small confusion.
'She was in the Old Goat Inn, I think she was lost!', cried the young dwarven boy as he handed over his
charge.
The women in the room all jumped up to greet Ellerina as she entered and to take her wet cloak from her.
The men folk smiled into their beer steins at each other knowingly.
Once everyone had settle back donw into there seats, Mr and Mr Battleshield together on a sagging sofa.
Xomano and Assynt in a dark corner, Ellerina getting warm at the fire, and Suran with his tiger asleep with
his head in his masters lap, Roztov got up and brought out a large scroll of papers.
'Here is something that has been in my head for a bit chaps. As you know, I'm not getting any younger...'
General disagreements and sympathetic noises came from the group, and a single soggy hiccup from Tuppence
who was already quite drunk from the brandy Xomano had ladled into him after his dip.
(Chomper had been severely question by his master, Spiney, about his whereabouts when Tuppence was dunked.
He denied everything in angry silence, as he always did. But then, Chomper would deny raiding the pantry,
in stark defiance of all evidence to the contrary, such as cream all around his jaws and crocodile
claw marks in the butter.)
'No its true,' continued Roztov, 'We humans age quickly, and I am no longer the same man who sought
adventure in the ruins of Kunark or hunted the wilds of Velious. I know I don't look it but I reach the age of 65,
by the old calendar anyway, in a few weeks.'
Roztov cleared his throat and took another swig of ale, 'And our company has grown more mature as well,
we are at the gates of the gods now. Anyway, I won't beat about the bush, at my age I can feel a certain
lust for glory coming to me. I'm not talking about the desire for greater glory that has come over so
many of our old friends, who left our circle in search of adventure within the ranks of more powerful
factions and god-botherers. No.'
Roztov paused and scratched his beard. 'I want to see how far we can get together, and these documents
are the start of my plans to attempt to further the glory of our band of heroes, as well as doing the
good work of Mother Tunare. It be hoofs me, as it does us all sometimes in our life, to do the work of our
masters and mistresses and I can think of no better way than bringing honour to our name, as the values we
hold are so close to the values of my Goddess. Anyway ..'
And Roztov ahemed in his throat a little at this point, obviously anxious.
'I know I am know great leader, we all look to Brond for that, but I have been thinking my thoughts and
here they are.'
Roztov laid out his scrolls on the table as the others grouped round, glasses and flagons in hand to look
at his plans.
/ooc Anyway, so the idea is that I will attempt to lead a raid every Wednesday at 7 pm. Starting at the
top of the list and working my way down. It will just be for the guild to measure how tough we are.
If we get stuck at a certain point we can work round it and go back or whatever.
The list is far from complete! I need people to help me out with things like what are considered 'key'
targets that are like benchmarks that other guilds recognise as turning points for a guild.
I have put question marks beside mobs that I don't know the proper names of!
Also, I have added in a few things that we have already done, but if people want to add in things then
just left me know in this thread and they can be added.
I think Diaside started a list of guild achievements at some point but I don't know what happened to it.
I will keep this list on my website - I wanted to just put it in a thread but as the forum has a non-
proportional font the formatting went haywire!
Anyhoo, so I am going to attempt a to RL a raid every Wednesday if that's ok with everyone else,
let me know what you all think!
A dizzily rain started to fall across the fields. The man at the window shuddered and pulled his
cloak tighter across his shoulders.
"This is worse than the Karana's" he mumbled to himself.
"Stop complaining Roztov! Dis wuld be summr weather in Halas!' came an accented voice from further
in the room.
The rain soaked fields that could be seen through the gloomy weather still had people working in them.
Roztov thanked providence for small mercies, at least he was dry.
His vantage point was quite high, a window in a squat dwarven tower deep in the heart of the Butcherblock Mountains
giving a birds eye few of the surrounding farmlands.
'I never realised Butcherblock could be so flat.'
A chuckle came from the darker recesses of the room, this time another voice spoke,
'Parts of my lands are, I am a lowlander myself.'
Roztov looked further out, the line of mountains in the distance were nothing but a feint purple smear
hidden by the rain.
'Aye, you are never far from the mountains but it still feels strange.'
'You have come back from fighting undead frogs, giant mushrooms and huge rampaging golems and you think that
a dwarf living on flat land is strange?'
Roztov laughed, 'You got me there, Brond!'
The shorter figure of a stocky dwarf raised itself up from a chair at the back of the room, and smoothing
down his long white beard joined the taller man at the window. There was still another figure back there,
but had so far only commented on the weather and seemingly happy with that remained where it was.
If one of the toiling figures had happened to glance up they would have seen the two friends gazing out
across the fields. One tall, marking him out as a foreigner, but bearded so not completely untrustworthy, his
long hair tied back and falling across the back of the travelling cloak that he wore. The dwarf had a martial
air about him and certain way of standing that would have marked him out as a soldier to any of the farmers
around here, and maybe a particularly intelligent peasant may have judged him to be a paladin. A dwarf
sworn to the protection of the people and the doctrines of the mother church.
'No serfs or thrall here, these are all free men,' declared Brond after they had stood for a while.
'There ar no slaves in my lnds ither!' came the indignant reply from the third person in the room.
'Please don't start that again!' cried Roztov rubbing his temples, then gazing out into the murk said,
'Look, this must be one of ours now!'
The two at the window laughed in genuine mirth.
'What does she look like?' said Roztov slapping his shorter friend on the back.
'That pony is no more than the size of a mist wolf!' agreed Brond.
This was enough to galvanise the last man in the room out of his chair and to his friends by the window.
He lurched his massive frame to beside his companions and bellowed
'XOMMMYY!!' making all the nearby field workers look up.
'For Tunares sake, my ears!' complained Roztov as both he and Brond waggled fingers in their ears in
discomfort at the big barbarians shout.
'Do that again, Jalamu, and I will cut you down to size!', said the dwarf.
But even from this distance, the figure on horse back had heard the call and waved up to them as she jounced
around on her speedy little pony. Her short halfling legs were barely long enough to reach the stirrups of
her saddle. All of three feet tall and plump in the way that her people were, she did not make an ideal
horse woman. At any moment she looked like she might be flung to the road side, even the act at waving
towards the tower had seriously unbalanced her.
'Ten plat says she falls off before she reaches the river' said Roztov uncharitably.
'Hah!', laughed Brond, 'She'll make it. But she won't be able to cross the river tonight, its swollen so
much the ferryman will never risk it.'
As the horsewoman reached the ferry she drew her mount to a halt and half dismounted, half fell from her
steed, which caused more argument between Roztov and Jalamu.
'She fell!'
'She did nto! And she is reaching the rivre!'
As they talked they watched as Xomano had a conversation with the ferryman. Brond hushed them but even
with the men silenced the halfling and the dwarven ferry keeper were too far away to overhear.
Finally the halfling threw up here arms in despair, sat down and seemed to draw something from her bag.
'She decids to eat a pei, vry wise, what I wold do.', whispered Jalamu to his friends.
'No, Jal, she is consulting her spell book.', returned Roztov.
And sure enough, Xomano appeared to cast a spell, the glimmer of magical aura twinkling in the murky
rain for a few seconds. Promptly she mounted her steed again and with no more care than if she was on the
kings highway urged her horse to trot over the river. The ferry keeper watched in amazement as she
rode across the water as if it were an open plain!
'Hah! That foxed old Jerris!' laughed Brond as the ferryman scratched his dumbfounded head and looked on.
'She will be here in an hour or so now.' remarked Roztov as they sat down again by the fire.
Suddenly there was a commotion from below them. Sounds that put them in mind of a very big bag of cats being
roasted alive while a hundred lizards were beaten with sticks.
'What in the name of!' cried Jalamu as a trap door right beside his feet burst open and a green streak raced
past him and hid behind a chair.
The green streak poked its blunt head around one of the overstuffed armchairs. A large river crocodile from the
boondocks of Innuthule Swamp eyed them with primeval distain.
'Chomper!' rumbled a deep voice from bellow.
As the fellows in the room looked down a huge tiger muscled up the ladder below and squeezed itself into the
room. Without a care in the world it strolled over to the armchair and flopped down beside it.
The crocodile hissed, a sound like the boiling of the kettle of Cazic-Thule himself and
slinked off into the shadows.
'The circus is back in town' remarked Roztov dryly.
'Yes. Although the cat doesn't always win, Chomper had it up a tree yesterday.' agreed Brond.
The big barbarian playfully tugged on the tigers ears and stroked back its fur, something that it seemed
to tolerate.
'What do you feed dis thng Suran, I swear it gets biggr evry day!', Jalamu called down in his strong accent.
'You don't want to know!' came a voice from below.
It had never been established where Jalamus accent was from precisely, but whatever language his parents
had spoken didn't seem to go in for grammar all that much. Or vowels, when it came to it.
After the animals had been shooed away to their respective owners the three friends had some food sent up
from the kitchen below. Xomano had made it to the tower at last and was busy at work getting everyone fed.
As Roztov finished off his last mouthful he looked up to see two men clattering up the ladder into the
towers top room.
'Greetings all!', cried the first as he ascended, a huge bearded man, that even made Jalamu look small.
'Hello Beolvaar!' exclaimed Brond as they shook hands.
The barbarian stepped aside to the window to let the next man enter, the room starting to get crowded now.
The smaller man that entered smiled at those inside and removed his cape to shake the rain from it.
He had shoulder length black hair and wore the robes of someone who dabbled in the magical arts bellow
his travelling clothes.
'How on earth did you cross the river?' asked Brond as he rose from his chair to greet the new arrivals.
'We didn't, we got the coach from Kaladim. We just came up though the village now.'
'But the coach doesn't come anywhere near here!', replied the dwarf in genuine confusion.
'I persuaded the driver to make a small detour', came the dead pan reply.
'Turned on the charm did you?' Roztov asked innocently.
The two barbarians laughed together as they got the joke, together sharing the last of the pie Jalamu had been
eating, their mouths full of crust.
As the mirth died down, Brond asked,
'Hmm, who are we missing now then?'
Roztov looked up at the ceiling as if counting off a mental check list.
'Ellerina isn't here, but she will be late as always. Tuppence will be along later, I left him, fishing rod
in hand beside the weir in the village this morning. And Kindariel, well, if you don't know where your wife
is then I can't help you!'
Later that evening, they all gathered in the upper chambers of the tower, the animals had been put to bed
and the horses had been fed and watered. No agenda had been set, as yet, and they told stories and
reminisced about times passed, while drinking stout dwarven ale and smoking from long clay pipes.
Tuppence had arrived, soaked to the skin after falling in the weir. He claimed to have caught a huge
cichlid that had broken his line. The others all agreed that it was much more likely he had nodded off
and fallen in the river.
Kindariel had arrived, having walked all the way from the old druid ring, saying that she had enjoyed the
leisurely pace despite the weather.
As the clock slowly turned to midnight, Brond sent a boy into town to look for anyone that looked out of
place. He came back with a tall elven woman dressed in black holding his hand in no small confusion.
'She was in the Old Goat Inn, I think she was lost!', cried the young dwarven boy as he handed over his
charge.
The women in the room all jumped up to greet Ellerina as she entered and to take her wet cloak from her.
The men folk smiled into their beer steins at each other knowingly.
Once everyone had settle back donw into there seats, Mr and Mr Battleshield together on a sagging sofa.
Xomano and Assynt in a dark corner, Ellerina getting warm at the fire, and Suran with his tiger asleep with
his head in his masters lap, Roztov got up and brought out a large scroll of papers.
'Here is something that has been in my head for a bit chaps. As you know, I'm not getting any younger...'
General disagreements and sympathetic noises came from the group, and a single soggy hiccup from Tuppence
who was already quite drunk from the brandy Xomano had ladled into him after his dip.
(Chomper had been severely question by his master, Spiney, about his whereabouts when Tuppence was dunked.
He denied everything in angry silence, as he always did. But then, Chomper would deny raiding the pantry,
in stark defiance of all evidence to the contrary, such as cream all around his jaws and crocodile
claw marks in the butter.)
'No its true,' continued Roztov, 'We humans age quickly, and I am no longer the same man who sought
adventure in the ruins of Kunark or hunted the wilds of Velious. I know I don't look it but I reach the age of 65,
by the old calendar anyway, in a few weeks.'
Roztov cleared his throat and took another swig of ale, 'And our company has grown more mature as well,
we are at the gates of the gods now. Anyway, I won't beat about the bush, at my age I can feel a certain
lust for glory coming to me. I'm not talking about the desire for greater glory that has come over so
many of our old friends, who left our circle in search of adventure within the ranks of more powerful
factions and god-botherers. No.'
Roztov paused and scratched his beard. 'I want to see how far we can get together, and these documents
are the start of my plans to attempt to further the glory of our band of heroes, as well as doing the
good work of Mother Tunare. It be hoofs me, as it does us all sometimes in our life, to do the work of our
masters and mistresses and I can think of no better way than bringing honour to our name, as the values we
hold are so close to the values of my Goddess. Anyway ..'
And Roztov ahemed in his throat a little at this point, obviously anxious.
'I know I am know great leader, we all look to Brond for that, but I have been thinking my thoughts and
here they are.'
Roztov laid out his scrolls on the table as the others grouped round, glasses and flagons in hand to look
at his plans.
/ooc Anyway, so the idea is that I will attempt to lead a raid every Wednesday at 7 pm. Starting at the
top of the list and working my way down. It will just be for the guild to measure how tough we are.
If we get stuck at a certain point we can work round it and go back or whatever.
The list is far from complete! I need people to help me out with things like what are considered 'key'
targets that are like benchmarks that other guilds recognise as turning points for a guild.
I have put question marks beside mobs that I don't know the proper names of!
Also, I have added in a few things that we have already done, but if people want to add in things then
just left me know in this thread and they can be added.
I think Diaside started a list of guild achievements at some point but I don't know what happened to it.
I will keep this list on my website - I wanted to just put it in a thread but as the forum has a non-
proportional font the formatting went haywire!
Anyhoo, so I am going to attempt a to RL a raid every Wednesday if that's ok with everyone else,
let me know what you all think!
Sunday, 28 April 2013
Forgotten Realms 164
Sad nerd that I am I do a write up for our on-going D+D game. It's a vast document now. I'll post the latest installment here and a link to the whole thing :
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8641303/1/Forgotten-Realms
(G164 12/04/2013 Fri via Roll20 - JF(GM) , AP)
DAY 198 (26 Eleint)(September)
To start with Veddic then. He spend the first part of the night peaceably enough stood
on the east facing wall of North Ward along with Corum, a Civilar and two Watchmen as well
as two volunteers, Cavu and a ranger who did not introduce himself.
Veddic found that Corum was willing to expound on the latest business of the Dungsweeper's
Guild at great length and in great detail.
Apparently a dwarf called John Snow of the Church of Sharindlar had proved beyond doubt the link
between dirt and disease and that the Blue Death is spread via dirty water.
This was wonderful news for the people of Waterdeep who had been blaming it on miasma up until now
and also for the DSG as this would require more hygiene in the city and this more business for the
DSG.
Corum had about his person a handbill that would soon be posted all around the city.
It read :
'By Order of the Open Lord of Waterdeep and the Council of Hidden Lords;
No person shall urinate or defecate in or upon any public street, sidewalk, alley, plaza, beach, park,
public building or other publicly maintained facility or place, or in any place open to the public or
exposed to public view, except when using a urinal, cesspit, closet or midden, or when using a portable or
temporary closet or other facility designed for the sanitary disposal of human waste and which is enclosed
from public view.'
Corum went on to explain that the 'Pale Closets' as the portable toilets were known as were making the
DSG more money now than everything else put together. He was now in the process of negotiating the siting
and building of permanent 'public conveniences' that would be funded by the city. It was a long term
goal though as there were many more pressing matters, but it would ultimately lead to less disease and
allow the refugee's in Hova Farm to eventually come back.
Veddic was almost relieved when the attack on the wall came. Not long after the clocks had rung out two
in the morning several volleys of flaming arrows were fired at the wall. Next came a force of orcs carrying
five ladders.
Veddic cast a 'Briar' spell that entangled them and killed a couple. This really held them back, but more
came and managed to get a ladder up onto the wall. Cavu started singing a battle song and the others started
sniping at the forces below them with arrows.
Javelins hurled from further back kept their heads down and they were all hit glancing blows from incoming
missiles.
Corum fired and killed an orc but ducked down as a hail of arrows was fired at him. Then something in the
darkness started to hurl rocks and one bounced off his head.
Under the covering fire two orcs managed to make it up a ladder, followed by more eager to take the wall.
The Civilar managed to throw one back over the battlements, but more came up the ladder to take its place.
Next a squad of four tough barbarians made for the ladder and a hill giant loomed into view. Corum killed
an orc with one mighty blow and the Civilar another.
Corum then traded blows with a barbarian and killed him, but poor Veddic was pushed off the wall! The watchman
in charge of the warning horn blew three blasts which meant 'We need help!'.
A pushing fight broke out on the wall now and both Corum and the Civilar were pushed off. The Hill Giant managed
to climb the wall and just as his club was coming down on Cavu's head the bard went 'Poof!' and disappeared in
a flash.
A barbarian on the battlements blew a long low blast on his horn. He then jumped down into the city and the
others and the hill giant followed him.
By now though Veddic, Corum and the Civilar were back on the wall and the Gryphon Cavalry swooped in to drive
the orcs back. Inside the city the watch had to take care of the giant, but back on the wall Corum and Veddic
took no further part in the battle as the breach was closed.
At nine in the morning they trudged back to the OJB.
At ten they were summoned to Aerie Peak where Corum was given charge of Fenrir. Veddic was their too and he
eyed the warlock with initial suspicion.
Back at the OJB the three men talked for a while, then Corum went to bed and left Fenrir and Veddic to talk
privately in Nestoone's room.
After a while they'd worked out that they had similar missions, both of them were currently against the
demons and the devils and Fenrir was happy to help Veddic with whatever plans he had.
So, they agreed to work together, for the time being at least.
Veddic slept in the OJB. Meanwhile Fenrir went to talk to Nestoone who told him that Giselle had turned
up there the day before but she had been pretty angry. She'd borrowed some money from him and then left
not saying where she had gone.
Fenrir discussed the Hallistar Blatt situation with Nes who offered this advice,
'Killing him would seem like a good plan but... he killed you and then what happened? Now you are back.
He surely would be resurrected if you killed him. You need to neutralise him, take him out of the game.
That's more than just killing someone.'
At six in the evening Veddic and Corum woke up. Corum had a night off so he told Fenrir he could do what
he liked.
At seven they went all together to Horizon's Sails. While walking their Fenrir asked Veddic,
'Does Skrye work on someone after they are dead? Would a lock of hair still work?'
Veddic didn't know though.
'If I was in Gaseous Form and went inside someone's lungs and then dispelled it and appeared
inside them. Would they explode?'
Veddic thought that it might work, but wasn't sure. The fact that it wasn't used as a common assassination
method was not in its favour though.
At the shop Fenrir picked up his magic map and the three of them went on to where they knew Vinet The Bloody's
hideout was. An initial poke about in the ruined inn (by an invisible Fenrir) revealed that there was only
one intact room in its centre with a closed door.
They all went in and listened at it, but heard nothing. It was locked so Corum popped it open with his
crowbar. When the door opened it pulled on a string that disappeared into a crack in the hole.
After a long time spent bungling about in the room Corum said,
'We need a rogue.'
Fenrir eventually nodded agreement and they wall went back to the OJB.
DAY 199 (27 Eleint)(September)
In the morning Raya turned up and handed Veddic a letter that had been waiting for him back
at Warm Beds. It read :
V,
We were broken into on DAY 196 (24 Eleint) at three in the morning. It must have been a
master thief to get through our defences. He got into my private quarters and I assume
read several documents that were in a locked chest.
It can be assumed this villain now knows of our intentions.
Take extra care on your mission, there is an expert rogue on your trail now I expect,
D.
She also told Veddic,
'The girl that came out of the hide out. Her name is Etrude Vumplump. She's eighteen
and a member of the Blood Drinkers. From a good family. Can I get 10 gold for expenses
please?'
Fenrir and Veddic, who seemed to now share a common purpose and generally agreed with each other
in all regards persuaded Corum and Raya to go with them once more to the Blood Drinker's hide out.
Raya, her eyes ever open, noticed that they were being followed and she told the others,
'This guy is good'.
The played cat and mouse with him in the streets around the hide out but could not quite
get their hands on him.
Eventually the gave up and headed to the ruined inn. When they were there Raya also noticed
a woman watching them from a doorway down the street, but when the others turned to look the
woman ducked out of view.
It was then decided, watchers or not, to enter the hideout. Raya saw that the door and the
room was an decoy and alarm. The actual way in was a trapdoor hidden under a pile of burnt
floorboards.
As they decended into the gloom a nearby clock chimed ten in the morning.
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8641303/1/Forgotten-Realms
(G164 12/04/2013 Fri via Roll20 - JF(GM) , AP)
DAY 198 (26 Eleint)(September)
To start with Veddic then. He spend the first part of the night peaceably enough stood
on the east facing wall of North Ward along with Corum, a Civilar and two Watchmen as well
as two volunteers, Cavu and a ranger who did not introduce himself.
Veddic found that Corum was willing to expound on the latest business of the Dungsweeper's
Guild at great length and in great detail.
Apparently a dwarf called John Snow of the Church of Sharindlar had proved beyond doubt the link
between dirt and disease and that the Blue Death is spread via dirty water.
This was wonderful news for the people of Waterdeep who had been blaming it on miasma up until now
and also for the DSG as this would require more hygiene in the city and this more business for the
DSG.
Corum had about his person a handbill that would soon be posted all around the city.
It read :
'By Order of the Open Lord of Waterdeep and the Council of Hidden Lords;
No person shall urinate or defecate in or upon any public street, sidewalk, alley, plaza, beach, park,
public building or other publicly maintained facility or place, or in any place open to the public or
exposed to public view, except when using a urinal, cesspit, closet or midden, or when using a portable or
temporary closet or other facility designed for the sanitary disposal of human waste and which is enclosed
from public view.'
Corum went on to explain that the 'Pale Closets' as the portable toilets were known as were making the
DSG more money now than everything else put together. He was now in the process of negotiating the siting
and building of permanent 'public conveniences' that would be funded by the city. It was a long term
goal though as there were many more pressing matters, but it would ultimately lead to less disease and
allow the refugee's in Hova Farm to eventually come back.
Veddic was almost relieved when the attack on the wall came. Not long after the clocks had rung out two
in the morning several volleys of flaming arrows were fired at the wall. Next came a force of orcs carrying
five ladders.
Veddic cast a 'Briar' spell that entangled them and killed a couple. This really held them back, but more
came and managed to get a ladder up onto the wall. Cavu started singing a battle song and the others started
sniping at the forces below them with arrows.
Javelins hurled from further back kept their heads down and they were all hit glancing blows from incoming
missiles.
Corum fired and killed an orc but ducked down as a hail of arrows was fired at him. Then something in the
darkness started to hurl rocks and one bounced off his head.
Under the covering fire two orcs managed to make it up a ladder, followed by more eager to take the wall.
The Civilar managed to throw one back over the battlements, but more came up the ladder to take its place.
Next a squad of four tough barbarians made for the ladder and a hill giant loomed into view. Corum killed
an orc with one mighty blow and the Civilar another.
Corum then traded blows with a barbarian and killed him, but poor Veddic was pushed off the wall! The watchman
in charge of the warning horn blew three blasts which meant 'We need help!'.
A pushing fight broke out on the wall now and both Corum and the Civilar were pushed off. The Hill Giant managed
to climb the wall and just as his club was coming down on Cavu's head the bard went 'Poof!' and disappeared in
a flash.
A barbarian on the battlements blew a long low blast on his horn. He then jumped down into the city and the
others and the hill giant followed him.
By now though Veddic, Corum and the Civilar were back on the wall and the Gryphon Cavalry swooped in to drive
the orcs back. Inside the city the watch had to take care of the giant, but back on the wall Corum and Veddic
took no further part in the battle as the breach was closed.
At nine in the morning they trudged back to the OJB.
At ten they were summoned to Aerie Peak where Corum was given charge of Fenrir. Veddic was their too and he
eyed the warlock with initial suspicion.
Back at the OJB the three men talked for a while, then Corum went to bed and left Fenrir and Veddic to talk
privately in Nestoone's room.
After a while they'd worked out that they had similar missions, both of them were currently against the
demons and the devils and Fenrir was happy to help Veddic with whatever plans he had.
So, they agreed to work together, for the time being at least.
Veddic slept in the OJB. Meanwhile Fenrir went to talk to Nestoone who told him that Giselle had turned
up there the day before but she had been pretty angry. She'd borrowed some money from him and then left
not saying where she had gone.
Fenrir discussed the Hallistar Blatt situation with Nes who offered this advice,
'Killing him would seem like a good plan but... he killed you and then what happened? Now you are back.
He surely would be resurrected if you killed him. You need to neutralise him, take him out of the game.
That's more than just killing someone.'
At six in the evening Veddic and Corum woke up. Corum had a night off so he told Fenrir he could do what
he liked.
At seven they went all together to Horizon's Sails. While walking their Fenrir asked Veddic,
'Does Skrye work on someone after they are dead? Would a lock of hair still work?'
Veddic didn't know though.
'If I was in Gaseous Form and went inside someone's lungs and then dispelled it and appeared
inside them. Would they explode?'
Veddic thought that it might work, but wasn't sure. The fact that it wasn't used as a common assassination
method was not in its favour though.
At the shop Fenrir picked up his magic map and the three of them went on to where they knew Vinet The Bloody's
hideout was. An initial poke about in the ruined inn (by an invisible Fenrir) revealed that there was only
one intact room in its centre with a closed door.
They all went in and listened at it, but heard nothing. It was locked so Corum popped it open with his
crowbar. When the door opened it pulled on a string that disappeared into a crack in the hole.
After a long time spent bungling about in the room Corum said,
'We need a rogue.'
Fenrir eventually nodded agreement and they wall went back to the OJB.
DAY 199 (27 Eleint)(September)
In the morning Raya turned up and handed Veddic a letter that had been waiting for him back
at Warm Beds. It read :
V,
We were broken into on DAY 196 (24 Eleint) at three in the morning. It must have been a
master thief to get through our defences. He got into my private quarters and I assume
read several documents that were in a locked chest.
It can be assumed this villain now knows of our intentions.
Take extra care on your mission, there is an expert rogue on your trail now I expect,
D.
She also told Veddic,
'The girl that came out of the hide out. Her name is Etrude Vumplump. She's eighteen
and a member of the Blood Drinkers. From a good family. Can I get 10 gold for expenses
please?'
Fenrir and Veddic, who seemed to now share a common purpose and generally agreed with each other
in all regards persuaded Corum and Raya to go with them once more to the Blood Drinker's hide out.
Raya, her eyes ever open, noticed that they were being followed and she told the others,
'This guy is good'.
The played cat and mouse with him in the streets around the hide out but could not quite
get their hands on him.
Eventually the gave up and headed to the ruined inn. When they were there Raya also noticed
a woman watching them from a doorway down the street, but when the others turned to look the
woman ducked out of view.
It was then decided, watchers or not, to enter the hideout. Raya saw that the door and the
room was an decoy and alarm. The actual way in was a trapdoor hidden under a pile of burnt
floorboards.
As they decended into the gloom a nearby clock chimed ten in the morning.
Saturday, 27 April 2013
Mission Banana : Destination Schiehallion : Captains Log 04/08/07
Just found out that I'm probably off to Schiehallion for a wee while. Should be interesting since the old girl is about to be towed away.
I wrote a blog entry on Bebo back around the time of my first trip, here it is :
http://www.bebo.com/BlogView.jsp?MemberId=1786766001&BlogId=4514766503
Mission Banana : Destination Schiehallion : Captains Log 04/08/07
So, got up at 8 am, skipped breakfast and took a taxi to 'Bond' heliport. I needed to get a 'Vantage' card before I went anywhere. I sort of forgot I was going to get my picture taken for it so hadn't shaved or combed my hair. 'Look into the webcam Mr Foss'. Great I looked like a car thief.
Anyway, as I'd arrived way too early I had a long wait in the small departures lounge. I had decided to not eat or drink until I arrived as I had no real clue as to how long the journey was going to be and I knew I was going to be in a survival suit the entire time! But arround 10am I gave in and had a coffee and a Twix and prayed to God that I wouldn't get caught short. My bladder and stomach are pretty unpredictable at the best of times.
Anyway, through we went to get our survival suits. 'What size Mr Foss?' I have no idea but opted for large. Ah! The survival suit - how I hate thee! At least (hopefully) I wouldn't be getting it wet as the last time I wore one was last year on the RGIT course. I was then provided with a chunky wrist watch thing which is a locater beacon (don't get it wet!) and a green arm band to show that I am a newbie. The terror started to set in.
There are bottles of water available for the trip but I avoid them as I know I will drink a whole bottle out of boredom in the first hour and then be bursting for the toilet for the rest of the trip. See? Forward planning, that's why I get paid the *ahem* big bucks.
Safety video, then the pilot comes and chats to us. Seems like a nice guy, not the sort of chap that crashes alot. I feel a bit less terrified. He then tells us that Schiehallion is 'off station' and we probably won't get on it today. Oops.
We go out, we climb into the helicopter. I get a seat at the rear facing backwards.
We take off. Hey this is fun! Unlike a commerical jet we never get very high or go very fast. It is very leasurely infact and the fields of Aberdeenshire rolled gently past until we get to Banff. I recognised the bridge so I knew where we were at that point. We then got out to sea for a short while until we reached more land. At this point I thought it was an island but checking the map back on shore now I can see it must have been Wick, John O' Groats etc. Then it was wee islands and impressive cliffs.
The cliffs were worth the entrance fee alone, the pilots must follow the coast line all along Orkney I think and I have never seen such a rugged landscape. The theme tune to Father Ted kept playing in my head.
At some places it felt as of we were virtually at the same height as the cliffs, following them along at our steady pace.
Anyway open sea again, then we landed at 'Paul B Lloyd' which appear to be a rusting hunk of scap metal plonked into the Atlantic. We had to get off while the helicopter refueled. There are no signs on the steps leading down off the helideck telling you to 'Hold the Hand Rail' (unlike Craigievar main reception!). There doesn't need to be as instinct makes you clutch on in a white-knuckle kung-fu grip until you are indoors as the rig sways and the wind blows and the roiling sea beneath lash at the rigs sides. I don't know whether the Paul B Lloyd was a rig or a platform but it fairly moved around.
We were herded into the Rec Room. It was decorated in origional '70's style and smelled of ash-trays. A film about Genghis Khan was on the TV. We hung about for about 10 minutes then we were off again!
As we took off I got a glimpse of a hulking brute of a vessel lurking in the mist, a flare glimmering off the top of it. Could this be the ellusive Schiehallion?
We then landed on the Fionhaven (or something like that). It looked as rusty as the place we had just left, but it was a ship.
I asked the man sat opposite, 'This isn't Schiehallion is it?'. He shrugged, he didn't care.
Most people got off and a bunch of new people got on. It take the opertunity to shift to a foward facing seat.
We had a new pilot now and he informed us that we would fly over Shiehallion and see what it was like, if it wasn't suitable we would fly on back to Aberdeen.
We did indeed fly over Schiehallion. I gave it a wave as we flew past it. I recognised it from the splash screen on the SMACS5 software I was supposed to be going to sort out.
Ah well, that was that, another 2 hour journey to get home, and we passed all the impressive cliffs, coast lines and other land marks I had spotted on the outward leg.
It was prudent of me not to eat or drink anything as I was four hours plus stuck in that dam survival suit. As I took it off, back at the heliport, a 'Bond' lady informed me and the other two guys who had been bound for Schiehallion that we would try again - 6am Monday!
It was 4:30pm when I got home and I was starving!
I wrote a blog entry on Bebo back around the time of my first trip, here it is :
http://www.bebo.com/BlogView.jsp?MemberId=1786766001&BlogId=4514766503
Mission Banana : Destination Schiehallion : Captains Log 04/08/07
So, got up at 8 am, skipped breakfast and took a taxi to 'Bond' heliport. I needed to get a 'Vantage' card before I went anywhere. I sort of forgot I was going to get my picture taken for it so hadn't shaved or combed my hair. 'Look into the webcam Mr Foss'. Great I looked like a car thief.
Anyway, as I'd arrived way too early I had a long wait in the small departures lounge. I had decided to not eat or drink until I arrived as I had no real clue as to how long the journey was going to be and I knew I was going to be in a survival suit the entire time! But arround 10am I gave in and had a coffee and a Twix and prayed to God that I wouldn't get caught short. My bladder and stomach are pretty unpredictable at the best of times.
Anyway, through we went to get our survival suits. 'What size Mr Foss?' I have no idea but opted for large. Ah! The survival suit - how I hate thee! At least (hopefully) I wouldn't be getting it wet as the last time I wore one was last year on the RGIT course. I was then provided with a chunky wrist watch thing which is a locater beacon (don't get it wet!) and a green arm band to show that I am a newbie. The terror started to set in.
There are bottles of water available for the trip but I avoid them as I know I will drink a whole bottle out of boredom in the first hour and then be bursting for the toilet for the rest of the trip. See? Forward planning, that's why I get paid the *ahem* big bucks.
Safety video, then the pilot comes and chats to us. Seems like a nice guy, not the sort of chap that crashes alot. I feel a bit less terrified. He then tells us that Schiehallion is 'off station' and we probably won't get on it today. Oops.
We go out, we climb into the helicopter. I get a seat at the rear facing backwards.
We take off. Hey this is fun! Unlike a commerical jet we never get very high or go very fast. It is very leasurely infact and the fields of Aberdeenshire rolled gently past until we get to Banff. I recognised the bridge so I knew where we were at that point. We then got out to sea for a short while until we reached more land. At this point I thought it was an island but checking the map back on shore now I can see it must have been Wick, John O' Groats etc. Then it was wee islands and impressive cliffs.
The cliffs were worth the entrance fee alone, the pilots must follow the coast line all along Orkney I think and I have never seen such a rugged landscape. The theme tune to Father Ted kept playing in my head.
At some places it felt as of we were virtually at the same height as the cliffs, following them along at our steady pace.
Anyway open sea again, then we landed at 'Paul B Lloyd' which appear to be a rusting hunk of scap metal plonked into the Atlantic. We had to get off while the helicopter refueled. There are no signs on the steps leading down off the helideck telling you to 'Hold the Hand Rail' (unlike Craigievar main reception!). There doesn't need to be as instinct makes you clutch on in a white-knuckle kung-fu grip until you are indoors as the rig sways and the wind blows and the roiling sea beneath lash at the rigs sides. I don't know whether the Paul B Lloyd was a rig or a platform but it fairly moved around.
We were herded into the Rec Room. It was decorated in origional '70's style and smelled of ash-trays. A film about Genghis Khan was on the TV. We hung about for about 10 minutes then we were off again!
As we took off I got a glimpse of a hulking brute of a vessel lurking in the mist, a flare glimmering off the top of it. Could this be the ellusive Schiehallion?
We then landed on the Fionhaven (or something like that). It looked as rusty as the place we had just left, but it was a ship.
I asked the man sat opposite, 'This isn't Schiehallion is it?'. He shrugged, he didn't care.
Most people got off and a bunch of new people got on. It take the opertunity to shift to a foward facing seat.
We had a new pilot now and he informed us that we would fly over Shiehallion and see what it was like, if it wasn't suitable we would fly on back to Aberdeen.
We did indeed fly over Schiehallion. I gave it a wave as we flew past it. I recognised it from the splash screen on the SMACS5 software I was supposed to be going to sort out.
Ah well, that was that, another 2 hour journey to get home, and we passed all the impressive cliffs, coast lines and other land marks I had spotted on the outward leg.
It was prudent of me not to eat or drink anything as I was four hours plus stuck in that dam survival suit. As I took it off, back at the heliport, a 'Bond' lady informed me and the other two guys who had been bound for Schiehallion that we would try again - 6am Monday!
It was 4:30pm when I got home and I was starving!
Thursday, 25 April 2013
Sweet
That appeared to work.
Flexi Time is also here :
http://www.fictionpress.com/s/3068597/1/Flexi-Time
It is around in other places in the internet I think. Bebo and possibly elsewhere.
Flexi Time is also here :
http://www.fictionpress.com/s/3068597/1/Flexi-Time
It is around in other places in the internet I think. Bebo and possibly elsewhere.
Flexi Time
This is going to be a test of how much can be posted at any one time. The first short story I ever wrote was 'Flexi Time'. I'd already churned out a 'novel' if you could call it that. The idea came to me while driving (waiting to turn left on Bedford Road mainly) and I felt like fleshing it out into a short story.
Flexi Time (26/09/2004)
It was a cool and bright May morning,
and the cemetery was empty of anyone living except for one young man
who was kneeling down at a brand new looking headstone. He was
changing the flowers on the grave of his mother. It was just barely a
year since she had died and like his grief the headstone was still
freshly carved. She had died in a car accident, her small hatchback
slamming into the back of a jack-knifed lorry only to be hit by
another truck as it came up from behind. Amazingly she had not died
immediately but had survived for three days, clinging onto life
tenaciously. But on the third day she had died, in the intensive care
ward at Dumfries General Hospital and Martin Myle’s life had
changed forever.
‘In living memory of Agnes Myle, born
1964, taken tragically from us’ read the new headstone in sharp
gold-leafed gothic lettering. She had been only twenty when Martin
was born, he had never known his father and Agnes hadn’t talked
about him much. He had been much older than his mother and had died
of cancer when he was two. Martin didn’t remember him. So when he
went to University in Aberdeen, he had left his mother, living alone
but still young, in Dumfries. She had died on the bypass, coming up
the A74 to see her son.
The guilt had never left him and each
day on waking, the world that he lived in would come crashing in and
he would have to face up to his infinite loneliness again. Whenever
he came down to visit his mothers grave, (he took the train) he would
bring fresh flowers and remove the old ones. There was a compost heap
across the graveyard where the old flowers could be thrown, beside
the grave-diggers corrugated iron hut.
As always he talked to her. ‘Well,
mum, third year is going fine. I have part time job on the student
newspaper as well. I am going to interview a woman who was also in a
car crash a couple of years ago.’
Martin was dark haired and wore it
slicked back with hair gel. His fashion sense was way beyond help, as
many of his friends were fond of pointing out. He wore a green anorak
and national health spectacles. He wasn’t quiet at the tank top
wearing stage, he wore a blue jumper underneath his anorak, but he
still managed to look like someone from the 1950’s.
‘My councillor thought it would be a
good idea. Cathartic maybe. I don’t know. Sometimes I think the
pain is lessening, then I feel guilty all over again because I think
that might be me forgetting you. Elaine says I need a girl friend,
but how can I go with a girl when I am this .. this .. broken.’
Martin didn’t often smile, but he did
now, sometime he liked to pretend that she could still hear him.
The next day he was back in Aberdeen
and as he had already said at his mothers grave he was in the office
of Dr Stephanie Imell, PHD, Lecturer in Advanced Physics. She was a
dark skinned Caribbean lady, in her late forties. She was very
beautiful, to Martins eyes, and she had an easy elegance about her
that made even the brewing of a pot of tea look like ballet. She had
a scar on her forehead that disappeared into her scalp. Where the
scar was had turned the hair white in a long lightning bolt.
She handed him a cup of tea and sat
down beside him at her desk. Her office was in a port-o-cabin behind
one of the older buildings of the University Campus in Old Aberdeen.
Locked in on old sides by ancient sandstone buildings that looked
down on it in stern disapproval, the small grey huts of the extension
huddled together on a muddy patch of grass like sheep sheltering
beside a wall. It was raining outside, quiet heavily, and Martin had
removed his anorak and hung it up as soon as he had arrived in the
small cluttered office. Loose papers and folders threatened to topple
off the filing cabinets all around him and crush them both, but there
was enough space, just, on the desk to brew and serve tea.
Martin noticed that much of the
paperwork was in brail. That was odd he thought, he had never been
told she was blind, and she could quiet clearly see well enough to
get round her office.
Taking a sip of tea, Stephanie broke
the silence and said, ‘So, your from the Voice, is this about my
course? I don’t think anyone will be very excited about it – it’s
pretty dry!’, and she laughed musically.
‘No in actual fact,’, he said and
cleared his throat, ‘Actually it’s about your accident. My.. ah..
my mother died in a car crash last year and I thought I could write
something about your crash. You know, human interest .. um..’
Dr Imell gave him a queer look and
touched her hair just where the scar was and then pulled her hand up
to smooth back the streak of white in her otherwise raven black
curls.
‘Oh no, I could never have anything
about that published.’
In utter embarrassment Martin made to
stand up and leave, but she took his wrist and said,
‘But I can tell you about it if you
like? Off the record as it were.’
‘Yes, I would, very much’, and he
sat back down again and smiled gratefully.
‘So’, she began, and they both
settled back into their seats as the rain came down by the window, ‘I
was driving back from a party. I had had nothing to drink, was just
on my way home on a Saturday night. Just at the Bridge of Don, were
the beach road joins on, a car came flying up to the lights. He shot
straight through them, the crash investigators said he must have been
doing eighty. He hit me side on and we both went over onto the river
bank. We took the Donmouth nature reserve sign with us!’, she
exclaimed and laughed her musical laugh again.
‘Well, I don’t really remember any
of that. And I don’t want to either.’, she said this very
finally.
‘But I do remember waking up in the
hospital, all bandaged up like the invisible man. The other driver
had died. I think he had drowned in the river, his car was upside
down. But I survived. With brain damage.’
And she touched her head again,
pointing to the white streak in her hair.
‘I could hardly speak. My vision was
all wrong and I hallucinated for a long time. It took months with the
speech and language therapist at the hospital before I learned to
speak again.’
She looked down into her tea at this
point in reflection.
‘Well, sometimes very strange thing
happen to people with brain damage. Sometimes their short term memory
goes and they can’t remember things that happened even five minutes
ago. Or maybe they can’t walk, or ride a bike anymore, all the
stuff they learned as a child is lost to them. With some people, they
loose the ability to see three dimensional objects. They might look
at a chair,’ and she nodded at chair in the corner of the room with
a stack of papers on it, ‘and not be able to tell you which of its
four legs was nearest to us and which was furthest away. They have no
idea of how to process three dimensional imagery.’
Martin was nodding and listening to her
musical, beautiful voice, enraptured, his tea growing cold in his
hands.
She sighed and continued, ‘Well,
that’s sort of what happened to me. I will never get it back, I
don’t think so, but after all these years, I still cannot read. I
just cannot process two dimensional images in my head. The eyes see
it, but the more I look at a page of text, the more I just get sucked
into a tiny infinite point. As for the television, the same, it’s
like looking down into a black hole. I can’t read at all, but I can
write, if I keep my eyes closed. My lecture notes are in brail.’
Martin was having trouble visualising
this but nodded for her to continue.
‘And three dimensional images are
like 2D to me. The whole world is like a slide show. I can’t drive
any more, I would be a danger to everyone. I have no idea at all
about distances. I even had trouble moving around a room for a long
time. But if I get familiar with a place, then I remember for
instance that it is three steps to the kettle and four to the door. I
can see it, but it’s like a picture in a magazine.’
There was silence and Martin felt he
had to say something, ‘That’s incredible’, was all he could
manage. He was enjoying listening to her melodic voice and was happy
just as long as she was talking.
A wicked grin came of Stephanie’s
face and she said,
‘Well now, here is a puzzle for you
then Martin. If 2D becomes 1D and 3D becomes 2D, then what?’
Martin had no idea what she was talking
about and shrugged his shoulders.
‘You’re an intelligent young man,
you should come to some of my lectures. But think. Two becomes one,
three becomes two, what becomes three?’
‘Four?’
‘Exactly!’, she clapped her hands
and laughed her musical laugh.
‘But the fourth dimension, that’s
time isn’t it? That’s …’, he mumbled.
‘Ridiculous? I quiet agree and that’s
what I thought at first! But think of it. Think of time as a three
dimensional landscape. You can get in your car and drive to
Edinburgh, from one point in three dimensional space to another one.
Now when you feel like it, you could get back in your car and drive
back. Both places still exist as points in space. Now imagine the
same in a four dimensional landscape. What if someone was able to
travel back and forth in four dimensions as easily as we all can do
in three?’
Martin was smiling now, he new she was
joking with him, but it was a very interesting joke.
‘Well they would be a time traveller
for sure!’ he laughed.
‘That’s right! If you ever get the
chance Martin, read Slaughterhouse 5, because for the first relative
year after my accident, and I stress the word relative here, I
was like Billy Pilgrim in that book. I was a spastic in time. Just as
someone in just three dimensions might loose control of themselves,
unable to control their limbs, I had lost control of myself in time,
and I flitted back and forth from my very first moment when I was
born to my last dying breath. I die in bed by the way, at the ripe
old age of ninety-three. At first I thought it was all part of the
hallucinating but it was all so real, I decided to take everything I
experienced on face value and to hell with the consequences. Anyway,
I am here and not in a looney bin. Whether that says more about me or
Aberdeen University I don’t know.’
‘You are still like this? That would
be incredible! How long have you been ‘here’? I mean you could
have just zapped in five minutes ago!’
‘That’s how I was like’, she
explained, ‘But gradually I learned how to control myself again. I
managed to get my life flowing in a more or less constantly linear
direction, from start to finish.’
Martin nodded and she began again,
‘So, to continue, imagine you wanted
to sit on that chair over there, what would you do? You would pick up
the papers and move them. You would manipulate your three dimensional
space. Or say you wanted to get a good view, you would go to the top
of a tower or something. Time is just the same, it can be
manipulated. One person could never move a mountain, but maybe at the
right spot they could set one stone moving that would then hit
another, then another, until they had caused an avalanche. And time
his high ground as well. Sometimes I have no more idea of what will
happen next than most people, like driving through a tunnel. And in
some places you can stand on a tall mountain and see everything laid
out around you for a hundred miles.’
Martin was enjoying her wild imagines
and was leaning forward, his tea put down on the desk and long
forgotten.
‘I can’t move mountains anyway,’
she said, ‘But just as we can move small things around in three
dimensions I can move small amounts of time around. Just as you can
build things in space I have learned how to build things in time.’
‘How? By reliving the same bits of
time again and again?’
‘More or less. Although the span of
my years is ninety-three I have lived, in relative terms over three
hundred. So far I have not been able to go back further than my birth
or beyond my death. But I am building a temporal machine that
hopefully I will be able to use to travel beyond these boundaries’
‘Wow’, gasped Martin, ‘You have a
time machine? Can I see it?’
‘You not keeping up young man!’,
she laughed and shook her head, ‘The machine isn’t built out of
three dimensional objects. What good would that be? It’s built out
of four dimensional objects of course!’
Martin sat back and looked up at the
ceiling for a second in bemusement. Looking back down at her, he
said,
‘What does a four dimensional object
look like?’
She laughed again, finding his
confusion highly amusing
‘Well in a sense we are all four
dimensional objects. Everything travels in time, although usually
only in one direction. But it goes a little deeper than that. If you
can encourage something to exist simultaneously in more than one
point in time then you are halfway there. Yet you cannot see or even
conceptualise such an object in just three dimensions. It is outside
of human experience. And even the building blocks are hard enough to
make though. Even the tools that make the building blocks are hard to
make. It’s like starting again from the beginning trying to make
something incredibly complex. Imagine if you, and you alone, wanted
to get to the moon. By yourself you would have to build a rocket ship
wouldn’t you?’
‘Yes, that would be difficult.’
‘Yes, but building a temporal device
out of four dimensional objects makes building a rocket ship look
like making sandcastles. First you would have to try and understand
the physics of space travel. Then you would have to figure out what
materials you would need to make our rocket. Then you would have to
build the tools that you would use to do it. And a million other
complex issues would come into play. Impossible, utterly impossible
for one person to do such a thing alone, no one lives long enough.
Luckily I have plenty of time.’
‘And then what? When you have built
your rocket?’
‘I don’t know. I can only guess
what will be there when I get there. Maybe others like me. Maybe I
will be the worlds best historian, in that I will be able to go and
see events in history as they actually happened.’
‘Gosh! But what about cause and
effect? You could alter the course of history?’
With that she sat back and smiled
silently for a moment then finally said,
‘Who is to say I haven’t already?’
‘Right’, Martin felt obliged to
remove his spectacles and clean them.
Dr Imell clapped her hands together and
giggled girlishly.
Martin shook his head, ‘Amazing. I
can’t even begin to think of all the things you could do. Stop
wars, or start them? If you didn’t like someone, you could just …
rub them out. You would never be late for anything, you would get as
many practice attempts as you liked at anything you ever did. It
would be very confusing.’
‘Yes, very confusing, but immense
fun. Not being able to watch TV looks like a small sacrifice eh?’
Martin stood up and looked out the
window at the rain.
‘There is so much you could change,
so much you could do.’
‘Yes, but remember what I said.
Nobody could move mountains. All I can do is tinker with cause and
effect. I can’t cure the world of AIDS for instance, but perhaps if
I could get back that far I could arrange that Mr and Mrs Hitler
never met for instance? Thinks like that happen by such complete
chance. Turn down one street instead of another and the world splits
in two.’
‘But you would alter the course of
history completely!’
‘Oh yes!’, she said gleefully,
‘Believe me, when I go hiking over the mountains of time, I am very
very careful about not causing avalanches!’
Martin turned to looked at her blankly.
Suddenly she waved her hands in the air
and started to laugh shaking her head in unbridled amusement. Finally
she managed to gasp out,
‘Dear dear me! What a face. What a
picture you are! I have talked you into a right old knot haven’t I?
Please don’t worry about it! I just like to play jokes on people.
I’m afraid all my accident did was leave me disabled and I like to
make stories up to appear more interesting than I am.’
Martin replaced his glasses and looked
at her. Her dark skin and white smile, her white streak of hair
making her look like the west indian version of the Bride of
Frankenstein, her young face, but with a mature knowing quality.
Martin thought she was much more than merely interesting.
She broke the silence by saying,
‘Tell me about your.. mother was it,
that died? What was she like?’
And Martin told Stephanie about his
mother. How it had always been them together and how they had never
needed anyone else. How young she had been and how guilty he had felt
about leaving her when he came to University. About the day of the
crash and how his every waking moment, and most of his sleeping ones
had been a torment of guilt, rage and dread every since.
Dr Imell listened silently through it
all and nodded gravely when he had finished. Then it was time for him
to leave, she had a class to teach and Martin would have to go over
to see his editor, Elaine, and tell her that he had no story for the
newspaper after all.
Much to his amazement and delight
Stephanie gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek just before he left
and he was still blushing as red a beetroot when he crossed the
cobbled road on his way to the small officer from which the Voice was
run.
A car beeped its horn angrily at him
and he leapt back onto the pavement. He had not even seen it and it
quickly whipped past him and sped up dangerously to get round the
junction ahead before the lights changed.
Shaking his head he again crossed the
street and continued on his way. Just then his mobile phone started
ringing and he plucked it from his pocket. It was his mother.
‘Hi mum’, he said to her. He had
just left her yesterday but he was always happy to hear from her.
‘Martin, you know you left some of
your notes down here?’
It took him a second or two to figure
out what she was talking about. Notes? Why would he leave notes at
the .. wait .. at their house in Dumfries. Why did he think for a
second it had been sold? Were else could he have been when he was
down there?
‘Ah yes! My notes!’, he said and
laughed with such delight that it stunned his mother at the other end
of the line.
‘Sorry mum! Don’t worry, I don’t
need them urgently. I have plenty of time!’
‘OK, well just so you know. I can’t
talk though. The dogs want out. I will call you tonight!’
‘OK mum, speak to you later!’
He hung up his phone and put it back in
his pocket. Why did he feel as if a massive weight had lifted from
his shoulders? He hadn’t even realised he was missing any notes. I
should send Dr Imell some chocolates or something he thought, talking
to her today has really cheered me up!
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