Post by Admin on Sept 12, 2013 18:59:47 GMT -6
Captain’s Story
Call me Captain. I’ve been doing the soldier thing so long I’ve forgotten my name. And friend it’s easy to leave a name behind when you’re running fast and packing light.
I used to travel with Night Fell. Vulcan’s Nipples we were a ragtag collection of thugs, black hearts and deviants selling our talents to the heaviest purse. Morales be damned, money talks.
The cornered rat pleads to the cat – let me be ! I have a right to live .. The cat says back – My kittens are starving in the den. I have a right to feed them. Whose need is greater?
Let me tell you straight and true comrade when the sands of time run out and Grim Jack the Collector comes knock knockin’ for the Soul Harvest - well – the one still suckin’ sweet breath played it right.
So we were busy changing history again. When it’s your bar tab ask me why there aren’t more pyramids. This was supposed to be a simple slash ‘n dash. Make sure the current ruler encountered something bad for his health. Put the new guy in. Make sure any objectors figure out keeping quiet ensures a longer and happier life than their boss. Collect the money and go console some Widows.
Right out of the gate this one didn’t feel quite right. Couldn’t put my finger on it, but I felt the crow walkin’ over my grave. Hecate’s Girdle we were the Masters of Deception and we done our share of shady deals. Double crossin’ and triple crossin’ so bad you needed a score card to keep the players right.
That’s why I can’t believe we didn’t see it coming, getting caught stupid and wide eyed like a one legged man in an ass kicking contest.
One minute the plan was working, then the bottom dropped right out. Death came for us from all sides, even from within. Someone sold us out. Pure and simple. The hissing of arrows and swords striking meat pounded out a symphony of slaughter. As my cohorts dropped around me I grabbed what I could and triggered my Gateway Stone.
Desperately screaming the trigger words I was torn off the battlefield in a blinding concussion before I could even utter a destination. I left something behind in that mad chaotic exodus. There’s a hole in my spirit and trust is just a word I used to know.
I crash landed in a desolate wasteland. All I had was the gear on my back and my 2 weapons, the sentient Mabion blade I now call Void, because it is strangely silent. Like a mad child or a jilted lover. The other weapon I scavenged from a fallen comrade his Soul Reaver blade named Angel.
Hiding by day and travelling at night I tried to take stock of where I was while my scarred body and fractured mind tried to heal. It took a while until I could pass for normal in the small towns I was brave enough to enter.
I arrived in Wildgard needing a rest after the long haul. Along the way I listened and watched and I’m forced to admit that not only am I not sure “where” I am I’m also not sure WHEN I am.
I can’t find any mention of Night Fell anyplace I’ve looked. Not in new history, not in dusty old tomes. It’s like the slate was wiped clean. We stole a Star Chart for a client once and took a sneak at it. Didn’t look like nothing I’d ever seen. One of our members who knew Astrology and such tried to explain parallel universes and time theory but he was talkin’ Carpentry to a cat.
Now on dark clear nights I lay out and look at the Stars hoping for a sign. Hoping and praying that someone else , anyone else made it out. It’s all that keeps me going.
CONTINUATION:
The Splintering Mind
Captain reeled in the saddle, catching himself just short of pitching off into the burning sand. Cursing softly to himself he scanned the horizon. How much farther ?? Soon. Soon he would be back in Wildgard. The place he’d started to mentally equate with home.
He’d been traveling again, chasing down rumors. If a map was a body he swore he’d taken the wrong entrance and was halfway to Colon.
Sounded like NightFell. Hopeful. Always hopeful, maybe THIS time …. Maybe this would be the time he found a familiar face, someone from before. Like all the other times it didn’t pan out. Misinformation, missing information and plain old bad information.
This time they reported a hulking beast and a silent shrouded figure hanging out together.
Could it be? The group had a lot of survivors and those two would rank high. Mongrel, the mixed race half breed, slow witted but a willing front line fighter. Loyal as anything. The kind of loyalty like that Tavern owner’s dog you have to shake off your left leg sometimes. A survivor though, after the fire fight and the losses were counted and the thought that this one was too much he’d come wandering from the opposite side of the battlefield. Shaking the gore off his weapons he’d shrug and slowly growl “Got lost again” and wander off. The shrouded figure – sounded like the Scout Two Shadow. She took that name because while she had her own shadow, she always seemed to be standing in yours. When she did that to a new recruit if he didn’t faint when he turned around and saw her standing there you knew he might live ‘til the end of the day.
The parade of names and faces seemed to be getting shorter as the memories faded. Old friends like Centurion the Winged Avenger, Witch Hazel, and Markku the Shield Breaker. Newer comrades like Nimbus the Elemental Mage and the thief twins Nimble and Gone. Lastly the faces that came with no name, that swarthy guy with the bracer of knives on each forearm or that tall amazon that could thread the needle with a javelin as thick as a man’s wrist.
And finally Taliesin, dear sweet Taliesin. The night before it went bad she’d given me the warp stone trying to impress on me its importance, insisting I remember the trigger words. But all I could dwell on was the sad look in her eyes when they gazed into mine. Now I know why. What if you could see the future, or more accurately “a future” maybe one where a loved one is killed violently? What if you saw a future where you could save that loved one, but would never be able to see them again? Would you let them die and say nature took its course? Or would you save them but send them away forever? Which decision would be easier to live with?
I curse myself for making you do it Taliesin. It’s so hot and dry.
My head is aching. Shimmering lights dance before my eyes. What’s that noise? Like the rustling of wings? Lo – Centurion beckons. Are we going home? Darkness awaits.
A DECISION IS MADE:
Captain awoke, or more accurately Captain regained his senses feeling like a Military band used his skull for a drum charge. Powered by instinct he rolled to his feet grasping for Angel or Void, puzzled when neither seemed within reach.
“Easy friend you’re with friendlies.” Came a deep soothing voice. Then a chuckle.
“Was the damnedest thing I’ve seen though. We were cresting a rise and the men came back excited. There was a collection of vultures circling something out on the plain. We drew closer and there you were. Up to your waist in dead birds, on your knees watching the sky with those 2 eerie swords moving like they were alive and you chanting. Calmly smiling and chanting what sounded like a death dirge.”
It started to come back. Yes, the wings weren’t Centurion come to carry him home. He’d pitched off the horse into the sand. The fool animal it appeared had the sense to run. He couldn’t. Yet he’d still clutched the 2 swords, Void the Silent Blade and Angel the Soul Reaver. The vultures spotted him and began the vigil. He knew he couldn’t out run them so he picked a spot and began the Amchadii Death chant.
It is a good day to die. It is a good day to die.
My sword hilt is notched with death strikes.
My ancestors wait in the great hall.
Come enemies, I need bones to build my funeral pyre.
It is a good day to die. It is a good day to die.
He’d remembered seeing the group of strangers approaching which frightened the vultures off. Though half out of mind with heat stroke he still saw the fear in their eyes as they seemed to be discussing what to do with him. When he saw none were drawing blades he finally allowed himself to relax. In this case it meant falling slowly on his face into the burning sand.
“We’re dropping off supplies at the Fort in Wildgard.” That was a familiar name. “You’re welcome to come along. We parlay with the Fort Master Gavin. That sounded like a good idea.
Through some lucky stroke he’d avoided Grim Jack’s last dance again. Maybe Taliesin saw something he was missing. He’d always watched for the bad things to happen. The shadow in the doorway. The knife in the back. The hair standing up on the back of your neck. Maybe he should watch for a few good things.
A talk with this Gavin didn’t seem like a bad idea. The trip would give him some time to soul search. He hoped he could stand what he might find.
Call me Captain. I’ve been doing the soldier thing so long I’ve forgotten my name. And friend it’s easy to leave a name behind when you’re running fast and packing light.
I used to travel with Night Fell. Vulcan’s Nipples we were a ragtag collection of thugs, black hearts and deviants selling our talents to the heaviest purse. Morales be damned, money talks.
The cornered rat pleads to the cat – let me be ! I have a right to live .. The cat says back – My kittens are starving in the den. I have a right to feed them. Whose need is greater?
Let me tell you straight and true comrade when the sands of time run out and Grim Jack the Collector comes knock knockin’ for the Soul Harvest - well – the one still suckin’ sweet breath played it right.
So we were busy changing history again. When it’s your bar tab ask me why there aren’t more pyramids. This was supposed to be a simple slash ‘n dash. Make sure the current ruler encountered something bad for his health. Put the new guy in. Make sure any objectors figure out keeping quiet ensures a longer and happier life than their boss. Collect the money and go console some Widows.
Right out of the gate this one didn’t feel quite right. Couldn’t put my finger on it, but I felt the crow walkin’ over my grave. Hecate’s Girdle we were the Masters of Deception and we done our share of shady deals. Double crossin’ and triple crossin’ so bad you needed a score card to keep the players right.
That’s why I can’t believe we didn’t see it coming, getting caught stupid and wide eyed like a one legged man in an ass kicking contest.
One minute the plan was working, then the bottom dropped right out. Death came for us from all sides, even from within. Someone sold us out. Pure and simple. The hissing of arrows and swords striking meat pounded out a symphony of slaughter. As my cohorts dropped around me I grabbed what I could and triggered my Gateway Stone.
Desperately screaming the trigger words I was torn off the battlefield in a blinding concussion before I could even utter a destination. I left something behind in that mad chaotic exodus. There’s a hole in my spirit and trust is just a word I used to know.
I crash landed in a desolate wasteland. All I had was the gear on my back and my 2 weapons, the sentient Mabion blade I now call Void, because it is strangely silent. Like a mad child or a jilted lover. The other weapon I scavenged from a fallen comrade his Soul Reaver blade named Angel.
Hiding by day and travelling at night I tried to take stock of where I was while my scarred body and fractured mind tried to heal. It took a while until I could pass for normal in the small towns I was brave enough to enter.
I arrived in Wildgard needing a rest after the long haul. Along the way I listened and watched and I’m forced to admit that not only am I not sure “where” I am I’m also not sure WHEN I am.
I can’t find any mention of Night Fell anyplace I’ve looked. Not in new history, not in dusty old tomes. It’s like the slate was wiped clean. We stole a Star Chart for a client once and took a sneak at it. Didn’t look like nothing I’d ever seen. One of our members who knew Astrology and such tried to explain parallel universes and time theory but he was talkin’ Carpentry to a cat.
Now on dark clear nights I lay out and look at the Stars hoping for a sign. Hoping and praying that someone else , anyone else made it out. It’s all that keeps me going.
CONTINUATION:
The Splintering Mind
Captain reeled in the saddle, catching himself just short of pitching off into the burning sand. Cursing softly to himself he scanned the horizon. How much farther ?? Soon. Soon he would be back in Wildgard. The place he’d started to mentally equate with home.
He’d been traveling again, chasing down rumors. If a map was a body he swore he’d taken the wrong entrance and was halfway to Colon.
Sounded like NightFell. Hopeful. Always hopeful, maybe THIS time …. Maybe this would be the time he found a familiar face, someone from before. Like all the other times it didn’t pan out. Misinformation, missing information and plain old bad information.
This time they reported a hulking beast and a silent shrouded figure hanging out together.
Could it be? The group had a lot of survivors and those two would rank high. Mongrel, the mixed race half breed, slow witted but a willing front line fighter. Loyal as anything. The kind of loyalty like that Tavern owner’s dog you have to shake off your left leg sometimes. A survivor though, after the fire fight and the losses were counted and the thought that this one was too much he’d come wandering from the opposite side of the battlefield. Shaking the gore off his weapons he’d shrug and slowly growl “Got lost again” and wander off. The shrouded figure – sounded like the Scout Two Shadow. She took that name because while she had her own shadow, she always seemed to be standing in yours. When she did that to a new recruit if he didn’t faint when he turned around and saw her standing there you knew he might live ‘til the end of the day.
The parade of names and faces seemed to be getting shorter as the memories faded. Old friends like Centurion the Winged Avenger, Witch Hazel, and Markku the Shield Breaker. Newer comrades like Nimbus the Elemental Mage and the thief twins Nimble and Gone. Lastly the faces that came with no name, that swarthy guy with the bracer of knives on each forearm or that tall amazon that could thread the needle with a javelin as thick as a man’s wrist.
And finally Taliesin, dear sweet Taliesin. The night before it went bad she’d given me the warp stone trying to impress on me its importance, insisting I remember the trigger words. But all I could dwell on was the sad look in her eyes when they gazed into mine. Now I know why. What if you could see the future, or more accurately “a future” maybe one where a loved one is killed violently? What if you saw a future where you could save that loved one, but would never be able to see them again? Would you let them die and say nature took its course? Or would you save them but send them away forever? Which decision would be easier to live with?
I curse myself for making you do it Taliesin. It’s so hot and dry.
My head is aching. Shimmering lights dance before my eyes. What’s that noise? Like the rustling of wings? Lo – Centurion beckons. Are we going home? Darkness awaits.
A DECISION IS MADE:
Captain awoke, or more accurately Captain regained his senses feeling like a Military band used his skull for a drum charge. Powered by instinct he rolled to his feet grasping for Angel or Void, puzzled when neither seemed within reach.
“Easy friend you’re with friendlies.” Came a deep soothing voice. Then a chuckle.
“Was the damnedest thing I’ve seen though. We were cresting a rise and the men came back excited. There was a collection of vultures circling something out on the plain. We drew closer and there you were. Up to your waist in dead birds, on your knees watching the sky with those 2 eerie swords moving like they were alive and you chanting. Calmly smiling and chanting what sounded like a death dirge.”
It started to come back. Yes, the wings weren’t Centurion come to carry him home. He’d pitched off the horse into the sand. The fool animal it appeared had the sense to run. He couldn’t. Yet he’d still clutched the 2 swords, Void the Silent Blade and Angel the Soul Reaver. The vultures spotted him and began the vigil. He knew he couldn’t out run them so he picked a spot and began the Amchadii Death chant.
It is a good day to die. It is a good day to die.
My sword hilt is notched with death strikes.
My ancestors wait in the great hall.
Come enemies, I need bones to build my funeral pyre.
It is a good day to die. It is a good day to die.
He’d remembered seeing the group of strangers approaching which frightened the vultures off. Though half out of mind with heat stroke he still saw the fear in their eyes as they seemed to be discussing what to do with him. When he saw none were drawing blades he finally allowed himself to relax. In this case it meant falling slowly on his face into the burning sand.
“We’re dropping off supplies at the Fort in Wildgard.” That was a familiar name. “You’re welcome to come along. We parlay with the Fort Master Gavin. That sounded like a good idea.
Through some lucky stroke he’d avoided Grim Jack’s last dance again. Maybe Taliesin saw something he was missing. He’d always watched for the bad things to happen. The shadow in the doorway. The knife in the back. The hair standing up on the back of your neck. Maybe he should watch for a few good things.
A talk with this Gavin didn’t seem like a bad idea. The trip would give him some time to soul search. He hoped he could stand what he might find.