An assignment...

[Bekki]

Very nice Bekki! I enjoy reading the great stories here...I spend less on books!

Thanks Ringos

[Xaxx]

dd

[Bekki]

The Sword of Alyssia Dragoon: AKA “The Dragons Tear”
Part One:
Deryck Sat Staring at his Sword, as he did so, he wondered…How?
How is it possible to Love a Sword? Did he truly love it, the sword that is...
or was it just the Thought of the sprit hat dwelled within the sword?

He remembered how he had received it, Picked up in a tomb
with the Amazing Sheath that shrunk the Sword to size to keep it from protruding form his cloak.
He was amazed to find it there, and had wondered how such an artifact could have stayed lost for so long… such a fantastic treasure literally lost to time…

He KNEW the Sword was intelligent the moment he pulled it from the
Body of the creature it was impaled in! He suspected the scabbard was Intelligent too,
but the scabbard could not talk.

However these thoughts would have to wait, for right now he had work to do!

Can you tell me how many are here? “No, but I can tell you there is a STRONG
Evil presence, so what ever IS there is either Very strong, or there are many…”

“Thank you Alyssia” Deryck told his companions, and he smiled inwardly as he did.
He had always love the looks on there faces when he passed on info from his sword…
“There is Evil, ahead, from what I can find out, there is either many,
Or whatever it is, it is very strong.” His companions nodded, they had learned his sword was special, even though they did not know JUST how special, so they had learned to listen.
They dispatched the Undead with relative ease, and continued to move on…
As they did, Deryck felt a Pang of sadness, He thought to Alyssia “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” She answered; though he knew this was not the case,
they had grown too close over the years…
“We are getting close to where it happened aren’t we?” Deryck asked…

Alyssia mentally nodded to Deryck “It is not far from here…” She affirmed.
Derycks sadness grew, “I am sorry.” He knew it was small comfort, but it was the best he had.
“You truly loved him didn’t you?” He asked, as they moved carefully through the Underbrush.
“With all of my heart, she acknowledged, then she said something that
Completely shocked Deryck to his core! “As much as I have grown to love you.”

Deryck stopped dead in his tracks, so fast in fact that his party crashed into him!
“Deryck whats wrong?” Tuvor asked. “Uhhh nothing.” He lied.
And Tuvor looked at him... “Are you sure? You look like you have seen a Ghost.”

He winced after he said it, he ‘knew’ about the sword. “I’m…sorry Deryck.”
Deryck smiled at him. “That’s… okay, Oh, Uhhh, we are getting close.”

They reached the foot hills and The Party camped for the Night.
Deryck and Tuvor drew first watch… as they sat around the fire they talked…
“you know eventually she will be gone.” Tuvor said quietly… Deryck just nodded.
“Yeah, I know.” He wondered if Alyssia Slept. As he thought quietly
How do you mourn a sword? She had told him of how she was created and how
The She and the scabbard were imbued with the spirits of her and her fiancé…

“He is truly evil isn’t he?” He asked “YES!” She answered coldly,
As she always did when HE was mentioned, “We stopped him, but only just…”
“You know I didn’t mean too…” he started… “I know Deryck.” She softened.
She knew how he felt and she knew he would mourn, but the evil they pursued
MUST be stopped… “Can you speak out loud?” he asked. He hated to but…

“You KNOW I don’t like too…” she Whined, “It feels so…hammy.”
I know but, I think it’s time they knew.” She thought about it and Agreed.
They must know what they faced, for if they were not All Ready, if they were
Not ALL committed to the task… they would fail.

She agreed, “Tomorrow after breakfast, “I will tell all.”
“Very well, I will never be the same after this, will It?” He already knew the answer…
He felt her sadness and that told him all he needed to know.

He looked at his friends, and filled them in. “There is something you need to know.
You ALL knew my sword was special, but there is more to it than you know.
My sword is intelligent; she was created many years ago to fight a great Evil.”
Svenson interrupted. “Wait a minute, you said SHE?” He asked…
“Yes. She the sword is imbued with the spirit of a Woman, a truly…
Remarkable… woman…” Sven cast a sideward’s Glance at Deryck.
“Uhhh, is there something we should know…?” He remarked.

At That… The SWORD burst out Laughing!
“This could be more FUN than I thought!” she chuckled.
Deryck cast a frown at the sword. “Could you please…” he started…
“I’m sorry, it was just such a funny thought.” And Deryck’s mind was filled
With the vision of Deryck standing there next to a Sword, IN… a Wedding Gown!
Deryck tried to stifle a Chuckle himself, and failed… miserably.
“Okay, I will admit it, it was kind of funny, but, I guess it is time isn’t it?”
She frowned inwardly, he could feel it. “Yes I am afraid it is…”

Deryck apologized “I know you hate when I do this
but it will just be easier for everyone this way”
And he thrust the end of the sword in to a stump by the campfire…
“Oh you KNOW I hate that!” She pouted, but she knew he was right…
For this could take a while to explain, and she didn’t want to make
him have to stand there holding her THAT long.
And with that she began her tale…

[Bekki]

Part two:

The Forging of “The Dragon’s Tear”

The Wind danced across the Plains and she marveled at the beauty of it all…
Although the reason why they were here saddened her. “Is this the only way?”
she asked.
“I am afraid there is no other way.” Istvan Replied.

“Many years ago this was the site of a great battle
the Temple at the heart of this outpost was built to honor those heroes.”

He continued, “The high mages and High Priests have deemed this
the best course of Action…You were there Alyssia.” She frowned at him,
she knew he was right but it still seemed so…wrong.
“But Istvan she countered, “Their souls will be trapped, forever.
That will be horrible! An eternity of servitude!?” She pleaded.
She knew the decision had been cast and she could not stop it,
but she could at least make her point known.
Alyssia dear, you know these Wizards, and Clerics, and you KNOW,
if there was another way they would use it.” He comforted.
“They did not come to this decision lightly, and it will not be forever,
when the evil one has been thrown down, they will be released.”
This eased the burden a little but it still made her uneasy…
“Besides Alyssia, the spirits were all volunteers.” He told her.

She looked at him in surprise. “Volunteers? How?
How does a SPIRIT volunteer?” He smiled at her;
“they held a ceremony and Communed
with the Spirits, and two of the Greatest heroes
stepped forward and volunteered.”
He smiled.

“They couldn’t resist the chance to battle evil again;
And in a sword such as this!?” He Held up the “Dragons Tear.”
It Gleamed in the early morning sunlight,
As the Light danced along it’s blade…It was positively beautiful,
It was Dwarven Masterpiece… It was a Bastard Sword of Unmatched Quality!
The beautiful Watermarked Blade Polished to a High Shine,
and the Jewel and Gem encrusted Hilt, positively a thing of beauty…”
She could see Why He truly admired it…

”You know, it is somehow fitting that something so beautiful
be destined to destroy something so Ugly…”
The Irony was not lost on her…

The preparations continued as they Waited and meditated,
Soon the ceremony would be complete and The they were called to the Temple…
"do you think anyone knows what is going on?”
she asked as the walked down the corridor…
“No, we kept this only to a select few to keep the chance of word
getting out to a Minimum.” He answered.

“They still don’t know who he is; do they?” She could see this struck a nerve…
and it uncharacteristically frightened her…
“No. They don’t; and this concerns them.” He answered flatly.

This really concerned her, he always seemed like he could be anywhere,
and he always seemed to be one step ahead of them!
It had reached the point that they had all eventually
been given items of non detection; and yet
He STILL seems to know there every move! How!?
The question haunted her as they continued down the corridor
to the Final ceremony, and in their hands THEY held the guest of Honor!

“At least it is a beautiful night for it”
She smiled as they arrived at their destination.
She looked around, as they approached the chamber they sought.

Istvan just grunted; “Hmmm, yeah, I guess it is…” she glanced at him.
And started to say something as this was rather odd of him,
but didn’t get the chance.

They entered the chamber and she looked around the Room
and chills ran through her at the Sight of All who were present…

“This is an Amazing and yet frightening sight sight.” She thought.
But that thought was tinged with a hint of excitement.
She felt small as she looked at the gathering.
She marveled at the Wealth of Power in this room!
And yet felt fear, and she knew why.
If he should have found out!?
If he should know who was in this room!?

She asked her mentor as she hugged him.
“Is it safe for you all to be here together?”
He smiled at her and said. “Don’t tell Istvan but, who says we are here?”
She looked at him in shock “But…How?” He took her to the side…
“We are but Avatars, We do not need to be here in person;
we the Avatars, have all the Experience needed to perform this task,
But The TRUE power Lies in the Spirit that INHABITS the item, not the caster,
Yes it takes a great Power to CRAFT the item; and Enchant the Item,
but we could not risk ourselves, we know there is a leak.”
She nodded her assent, she had thought as much, “Then Who?”
She asked.

“That is the problem, we do not know, but we know it is someone close to us.”
She was distressed by this revelation. “Do not worry my child,
When the ceremony is complete we will teleport you all out.”
This made her feel a little better. She watched as the attendants completed preparations. She knew why they had to walk in,
they needed a physical presence her, then the Avatars could home in.
And teleport here, that way the Masters did not have to risk themselves’…
One of the others spoke up.
“We are ready, bring the Sword and Scabbard to the altar please.”
They began the Enchantment ceremony and Istvan watched intently
as did Alyssia. She had Always love the Arts so, and this was positively beautiful.

But all during the ceremony something itched at the back of her mind,
Who of their gathering would do such a vile thing to team with a being of pure evil?
Why? What could they hope to gain?

Surely they could not think that it would SHARE power?
That would be folly if they did. But she pushed that thought aside for the moment…
She concentrated on the task at hand, jumping in when called upon
to help with the casting.

The ceremony was complete; all that was left was to imbue
The item with the Spirits of the respective volunteers…

She could not describe how it felt to be a part of this….
Such a monumental event to help
to create perhaps the greatest Bane of Evil!
It was a most glorious experience!

The exhilaration... the power… She was truly having
the most thrilling moment of her life.

She mentally cautioned herself to maintain her concentration
as she almost felt drunk with power.

She listened to the Mantras...as The lead Magus
was about to cast the fianl Spells to finish the incantations...

then the spirits of the heroes would be bound to their respective Atifacts....

And then….....the world exploded.

To be continued…

[Bekki]

Since it unfortunately seems this Post has been buried
in the deep dark recesses of the Thelanis thread...

The further adventures of...
"The dragons Tear"
can be Found
in the Muskateer's Thread.


If you would like me to continue posting them here
please Post a reply in this thread or you can send me a PM.


And thanks to the OP for getting this Started,
my original version of the story was actually very short.

In re-writing it for here, it has actually grown alot.
And it has allowed me to change some things
and really delve into the characters...

I don't know Where it is going form here
but it is going to be really fun to find out!

Thanks again for the Idea Snip.

Thank you all for all the Support.

[SniptheShadow]

Since it unfortunately seems this Post has been buried
in the deep dark recesses of the Thelanis thread...

The further adventures of...
"The dragons Tear"
can be Found
in the Muskateer's Thread.


If you would like me to continue posting them here
please Post a reply in this thread or you can send me a PM.


And thanks to the OP for getting this Started,
my original version of the story was actually very short.

In re-writing it for here, it has actually grown alot.
And it has allowed me to change some things
and really delve into the characters...

I don't know Where it is going form here
but it is going to be really fun to find out!

Thanks again for the Idea Snip.

Thank you all for all the Support.

By all means please continue, Bekki!!!

And a giant thank you to all you've added to my little experiment. Wow!

Geez, I'm offline for a week while I move between cities for grad school, I finally get my internet up and running and look at my little thread go!

Thanks so much for the posts!

That includes you as well, Uamhas (Uma). Bekki's tale is not the only one that has another installment for us all to gobble up.

More, more, more!!!

Thanks a bunch everyone.

Snip

[Uamhas]

New installment of Oloth's story here. It's no longer just about a weapon, so I'm still reluctant to post it in this thread. Now I'm gonna go read Bekki's

[Merkinsal]

New installment of Oloth's story here. It's no longer just about a weapon, so I'm still reluctant to post it in this thread. Now I'm gonna go read Bekki's

hmm, no longer just about a weapon eh? Could it be? omeomyomy

[SniptheShadow]

New installment of Oloth's story here. It's no longer just about a weapon, so I'm still reluctant to post it in this thread. Now I'm gonna go read Bekki's

Don't feel reluctant at all, and besides, there is still a weapon involved (the stiletto), but I won't split hairs at all about something like if there is still a weapon involved.

You've got me (us) hooked now so there's no turning back, Uma.

Thanks btw...

Snip

[Uamhas]

(apparently any spelling of soft brown squishy stuff is not acceptable, as the 3 letter word that starts with P and ends with 2 O's has been changed to ***). Bekki, I have a request. Please post a link to the rest of your story, here? I scrolled through several pages of the muskateers, and finally found part 4, but then lost connection... and I am a lazy tart, so... pretty please?

[Ringos]

... and I am a lazy tart, so... pretty please?

Mmm...lazy tarts. My favorite kind!

[Stormanne]

Barbarians Folly...

It all began on The Khorvair. The captain was a small, mousy looking elf. But he cadre of weapons was immense. Said it was from all the dead beats that managed to get aboard his ship. The trip from Thelanis was long and boring this time of year. I was no dead beat. Paid my fare in advance, which according to the cap, was unusual. Not a lot of traffic for Xen'drik period, let alone during that continents winter. Captain said it would be up to the winds as to which port we put in at. If the winds crept from the west, we'd put in proper at Stormreach. But, if they were out of the south, we'd be stuck going to Three Barrel Cove. I'd heard stories about the Cove from a few others on the ship, said it was full of cut throats and brigands. Sounds like a place I'd find information on my prey.

Three weeks into the journey, the minotaurs that were manning the sails took to some ideas of taking the ship over. Apparently there were some halflings putting thoughts into their heads. No worry to me, not like they'd mess with any barbarians of Clan Ragerender, let alone the current clan leader.

I guess that thought passing from the halflings was too much for those thick skulled minotaurs. They dare wake up the passenger berth before the sun rises. Looks like things are not well for our rodent resembling captain. Why did I ever leave dry land?

I walked onto the deck to one hell of a scene, two minotaurs playing tug o war with the still breathing captain. I didn't really care one way on the other, as long as I got to Xen'drik. "Hey, if you guys kill him, are you still going to Stormreach?," is all I had to say to em. You'd think I just called their mothers milk cows or something. They dropped the cap and turned square to me. My axe was in the captains quarters, which was on the far side of the two enraged minotaurs...figures. Looks like I have to use what the host gave me, for the moment at least, as the little rat of a captain was crawling away.

"Listen guys, I'm just wanting to get to Stormreach, I don't care who's at the helm," I tried to reason with them. Like peeved minos are going to listen, but it let me cover some ground to them while they listened. Worked, briefly. They both swung those lumbering logs they called arms at me, managed to dodge one, but the other caught me on the hip, and knocked me through the far wall. "That hurt, you sucking cow!" I said as I staggered to my feet. I looked over to the side to see the captain knocking a bolt into his crossbow. I was in his quarters, granted, I came in the hard way, but that lumbering oof put me right where I wanted to be.

"Where's me axe?," I said pointedly to the captain. He shrugged at me and said "Which axe, I have so many?" As I looked around, he wasn't kidding. He had an entire wall of nothing but the big two handers, a few that looked like a giant would have a hard time wielding. But my adamantine was missing. "Where's my bloody axe?" I reiterated with fist to the side of his head. Bad move on my part, as he had the constitution to match his looks and crumpled to the ground. Time to take a quick look at his axes, since something is better than what I had now against the two brutes coming towards me.

Found one that had a familiar black sheen to its head, adamantine. Perfect. Wrapped my hands around it and received quite a shock, literally. Lovely, enchanted. Seems like my day just gets better and better. No time to grumble, it this thing hurts this much to pick up, I can't wait to see what it does to those two morons approaching the man sized hole in the wall. Lets hope they are expecting a corpse in the darkened cabin and aren't on their guard.

One managed his horned head through the whole to look around. Bad idea. His head hit the floor with the eyes still blinking in disbelief. And my butt hit the floor looking likewise. I don't know what just hit me, but as long as it hit him harder, I'm happy...at least as happy as I can be given that I'm fighting for my life. To add to the good fortune, the other just turned through the door. Great, I'm still ass down on the floor and this bull headed buffoon is three feet away and out for blood. He stamps his feet a good couple of times and charges...

I'll tell you what, getting knocked through one wall will make you a lil mad. Two walls in one day, that just ****es me off to no end. At least I didn't lose the axe. I try to stand up, and fall right back down. ****, piece of horn stuck in my leg right in the bend of the knee. This is going to hurt. "Raawwwwwwwwrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr" comes at me through the dark hole in the wall. Wonder if that was a response to my scream from pulling out his horn tip from my now numb leg. At least I can stand now. Things are starting to get a little blurry now. Getting too mad to really care whats next, just as long as that walking steak dies.

I come busting through the wall again, this time by choice. I hit the dazed dairy cow right in the chest with the flat of the axe and use the expected jolt to add to my momentum. I keep pushing him til we hit the main mast. Seems like I've knock the wind from him. I step back, line up and swing for his neck...

****, didn't stun him long enough, he managed to move before I connected with the hit. Only thing I caught was his other horn...and the mast. The mast that is now crashing downward towards the captains quarters. Looks like Stormreach is going to take longer to reach now...if I live. And bully here is still in line with me, ramping up for another charge. Bad idea. Its one thing to come head on when I'm on the ground, but I'm on my feet and holding five feet of angry adamantine.

I like to imagine the sound of my axe crashing into his head was like that of a thousand thunderclaps rolling across the sky. I'll never know for sure what it sounded like. When my axe buried into his thick skull, the resulting shock wave knocked me to the railing of the ship, and him clean overboard on the other side. Thats the last thing I saw for a few days.

I woke up in the Wavecrest about a week later, that axe still in my hand and note on the cabinet beside the bed.

"Dear Stormanne,
Thank you for saving my life and my ship. If you can call it saved. It seems that you now own that axe in your hands, seeing how I couldn't get it out of your grip. I'll consider it payment for you saving/sparing my life. And I'll use the money I'll get from the sale of your old axe to put towards repairs. I dropped you safely in Stormreach as you payed for. I wish you well.
yours truly,
Captain Quibly Seeratte
P.S.- If you are looking for passage back to Thelanis, find someone else."

Well, at least I'm not without a good axe. It may be a bit more unbearable than my old axe. But its pretty vicious to my enemies.

Now to make my way to the city proper. I need information on a drow that needs to meet my new axe...

[Uamhas]

Yay! More stories!!

[SniptheShadow]

Stormanne,

Thanks for the post. What a great way to start my day reading your tale Barbarians Folly.

I have the edges of some type of tale at sea in the back of my head floating around as well, (no pun intended) but you beat me to it.

No complaints here. And to use a vicious weapon -- Nice! I was hoping to read one with a weapon that bites back. Cool!

Thanks again.

Snip

[cdbd3rd]

^


Leothold held the forearm of his weapon in a sweaty grip. Beads of perspiration defied the chill morning air and collected just above his brow. Glancing at the Initiate standing to his left – one of the few elves in his class - Leo marveled at how he stood impassively watching, as if the throngs of screaming orcs on the surrounding hills were no more threatening than scolding squirrels. Looking back across the valley, his mind wandered away...

Having just lost his family to one of the many marauding bands of orcs terrorizing the countryside, Leothold had tried to enlist with the King's Regulars. He was only 12 however, and they laughed him away. A young pikeman who had been nearby suggested the monastic order, explaining they would give him a place to live - and to learn.

Leothold's memory moved him to outside the gates of the monastery. He stood marveling at the symbol on the gate. The large silver-inlaid Purple Iris shone brightly in the warm afternoon sun, the inlays glistening like morning dew on the petals.

Again Leo’s memory carries him forward. The last of Spring passed, and the Summer. The first bite of Fall soon took hold and Leo's classes were progressing well. His body was responding well to the physical regimen even as his mind soaked up stories of wonders he never dreamed could exist. It was one of these fall mornings that shouts and running feet broke the stillness of his study. A quick conference between Masters at the doorway, and the class was soon ushered to the practice field.

Carts of weapons were being wheeled out of buildings Leo never knew were there, and the Elder Brethren were grabbing weapons with the comfort of years of practice. One cart was wheeled over to his class and left for his Master to hand out. Master explained as he began uncovering the cart that these weapons were of great importance to the defense of the monastery, and that they required little skill to use. Leothold’s class had not progressed to actual combat training yet, so they would be the support line. Master pulled out the first of the odd-shaped weapons. Leothold’s first impression was that it was simply a thick and clunky looking crossbow. As master pulled forth bolts from the cart and began a short lesson with the weapon, it quickly became apparent that this weapon was much more than just a crossbow. Leo watched as Master loaded a handful of bolts into the box part of the weapon, and directed the class to watch as he operated the weapon. Holding the crossbow at his hip and pointing it toward the targets down-field, Master grabbed a handle and began cranking it forward and back in rapid succession. Bolts flew from the front of the weapon as fast as Leo could count them. Looking at the targets, he saw bolts stuck in targets, in the ground around the targets, and even in some of the nearby targets. As Master began handing the weapons out to the class, he explained that the 40 students would all be firing these weapons when he told them to, and that the field they attacked would be riddled with their bolts. Other classes of Initiates around the field were getting similar carts and similar instructions.

Soon, each Initiate held a crossbow, and a bag of bolts. Master lined them up, and talked them through loading and firing the unusual weapons at the straw targets. As the bolts flew, he explained that a very large band of orcs had targeted the monastery and meant to have it for themselves. Master also allowed himself a rare chuckle as he also explained that the orcs thought the monks of the Purple Iris were soft and would be easily cowed. The initiates, feeling very soft at that point, did not share Master’s odd amusement.

A raucous chorus of battle cries rang out across the frosty valley; bringing Leothold back to the present. He adjusts his grip as the mob of orcs surge down the hill directly across from his class. Master’s voice came to them clearly, ordering the first ranks to fire. The clacking of firing handles rocked in unison, and in hard contrast to the whistle of bolts flying out to do their jobs. The battle cries from the field turned from anger to howls of pain. Master ordered the second ranks to step up and fire, first rank to reload. Clack, whistle, move, fire, reload, and repeat. Of the arrows and bolts returned from the orc archers, few found their marks. The elf on Leo’s left crumples, and Leo looks down only long enough to notice the large black arrow piercing his neck – and the same impassive stare he had had before the battle had begun. He drops another handful of bolts into the box, and awaits the order to step up. Watching the field below, he sees the mob of orcs finally meeting the line of Brethren number far fewer than what they’d left the hilltop with.

The order to step forward does not come. The orcs are closed with the monks and to fire upon them would damage their brethren as much as the orcs. Master passes ammo down the ranks, and reassures the class the battle is safely in hand, and will soon be over. He tells them to be ready for when the last orcs lose their courage and turn to flee the field, and that we will give them one more rain of death before they’ll be allowed to escape. Prophetically, almost as soon as the words escape his lips the last remnants of orc soldiers begin to scurry from the fight and bolt back toward their hilltops. Handles clack, bolts fly, orcs die...


Leothold leans over the table, putting the finishing touches on his parchment. Master had tasked all the Initiates to write a paper on their experience of the previous week. Leo leans back examining his drawings, and double-checking his math figures. Satisfied with his work, he hands his paper to Master outlining his ideas on changing the crossbows to fire heavier bolts further distances.

[SniptheShadow]

cdbd3rd,

Wow! That was great!

Nice to have someone post a story for us.

Thanks for sharing!

Snip

[cdbd3rd]

{Leo later learnes the Kama - with my apologies for the kama actually taking on a smaller role here than I'd intended.}

Leothold's saga continues

Time had passed quietly in the serene monastery of the Purple Iris. Nestled in the southern foothills of the Blackridge Mountains, the enclave of monks found peace. No humans had interest in venturing randomly towards the sharp craggy ridge, and the chill darknesses of the Northern Steppes had no interest in crossing the ridge southward.

One year turned to two, then three. Each winter would roll down the mountainside only to be pushed back up the slopes with the coming of each spring. Summer would blossom with healthy crops promising bountiful harvests come fall. Then fall would arrive in its splendid array of colors - golden harvests overseen by the reds and oranges from the local foliage, all canopied by the light blue skies beginning to chill for the next round of winter.

Fall was Leothold’s favorite time of the year. Most would see harvesting fields as tiresome chores, but Leo turned the time to introspection. Leothold had always been able balance his chores and his training with his meditations and prayers. He turned each swing of his blade through a bundle of grasped stalks into a fluidic sweep. Each bundle of plants would become a burden for his body to weather carrying to the carts. Each passing breeze a touch of the spirits of all things the breeze had touched and passed on its travels.

Leo had not wavered in his weapons training, even in the deathly cold grip of winter. The same sticks that were used to thrash the harvests had been handed to them with training towards their more martial purposes. Staves had turned walking sticks into lethal lengths of hardwoods. And always the two most important weapons - the mind and the hands - were tuned to work together without thought.

Three years had passed since the Year of the Orcs. Leo’s class had dwindled by a few members, and now numbered only a dozen. The past winter had seen he and his classmates promoted from Initiates to Brethren of the Order of the Purple Iris. They had been presented with the full robes of the order, adorned with the striped sashes of their ranking. They had received new sets of sticks and staves of solid ironwood, shipments of which arrived from Elven Eirenheim far to the south. Plus, each was assigned to time with classes of Neophytes to begin learning to teach others their knowledge and skills. As Master had explained, “It serves little purpose to learn what cannot be taught. The best teachers are obtained from the best students. Always so has the Way survived from generation to generation.”


The current spring had rolled in amid a series of turbulent storms. Several late blizzards had crossed the Blackridge, and saddled the monastery in a early spring blanket of snow. Nevertheless, morning prayers and chores turned to martial training, and the small class gathered on the practice field. Today the usual racks of staves and sticks were missing and a new cart stood in its place. It was still covered with an oiled leather tarp protecting it from the still falling flakes. Master approached from the far side of the field. Today the Brethren were shocked to notice he walked with a slight limp. Never had Master shown any sign of infirmity before. Nearing, they also noticed the slightest hint of a bruise on one cheek, and knuckles reddened from recent use. Breaking their discipline, several murmured questioningly as he stopped next to the cart. After silencing the students with the slightest frown, Master simply explained, “The master is forever also the student.” Only then did the brethren notice the white silvery aura around the iris on Master’s robe had turned to a golden hue. As one, the class bowed deeply to congratulate the new ranking Master had attained. Master silently returned the bow with an uncharacteristic hint of a smile before sobering and turning the attention back to the waiting cart.

Brushing off the gathered dusting of flakes on the tarp, Master gestured to Leo who promptly stepped forward to fold the tarp off the cart. The class took in a rack filled with 12 pairs of wooden harvesting blades. As Leo stepped back into line, Master stepped forward slightly, pulling a highly polished set of blades from behind him. The handles were a gleaming shiny dark purple wood, and the blades were covered with a similar looking wood sheath tied around the tip of the handle. Tucking one of the blades back into his sash, Master untied one sheath and showed the blade to the class. The shine of the grip was easily outshone by the bright white sheen of the lethal looking serrated blade Master held forward. A slight swirling in the white blade hinted at the enchantment it carried.

At Master’s nod, the class stepped forward to select their pairs of blades. Master unsheathed his second blade as the class lined back up, and the brethren noticed their own wooden blades were actually sheathed in a similar manner. The wear on the handles however showed that these were obviously of fully mundane nature. Master began his lesson. “These are called Kama. As you all have learned from your sticks and staves, these are also a tool we have used all our lives. Notice how comfortable they feel to your hand already.” Master lectured on the weapon’s history, which fell in line with much of the histories they had learned of their other martial skills and weapons. How they were mostly adopted to hide their lethality from fearful rulers many, many generations before.

“Up to now,” Master continued, “You have used these alone for your harvesting chores. Now you will see their true martial value when used as a pair.” Master stepped slowly through several examples of how to block, turn, catch, and counter with the hooked blades to immobilize an attacker’s weapon, and then dispatch him. He finishes off an elaborate combo with a small nod. “In due time, this will be as effortless to you as walking. But now we start with basics.”

The next several weeks, the practice field was alive with the class learning to hold their new weapons correctly, and the basic blocks and turns. They learned to turn a block into a lock to open their opponent up for a counter, as well as many critical areas to strike for crippling effects. The brethren learned quickly, already having become quite comfortable with their tools over the years. They had shown themselves capable, and their own sheaths had been allowed to come off making the training both more realistic, and a little more dangerous.

Late spring, and the warmth of summer was closing down upon them. A new figure stood next to Master one morning. The class lined up as normal, looking curiously at the man standing quietly arms-crossed, his face hidden in the shadows of a hooded cloak. They took in the details the cloak did not hide. The solidly muscled barrel chest and arms, the matching spiked daggers at the man’s belt, and the larger sword strapped across his back. Leothold had seen a sword like that before. He frowned at it, trying to pierce the shadows concealing this man’s face wondering why this man would have a sword born of orc-craft on his back.

Leothold’s piercing gaze is interrupted by Master stepping forward and in front of the visitor. “Today, my students, begins a new phase of your training. You have learned your basics quickly and efficiently, as I had no doubt you would. Our visitor today,” Master lowered his hand to indicate the man behind him, “Will be with us the rest of the summer. He will be teaching us to use the skills we will continue to study against his own unique skills. He has traveled far…” Master stops and concludes with, “I’ll let him tell his own story. Class, greet Orrobahk of the Pomarj.” With that, Master stepped to one side and joined the class in a respectful bow to the visitor.

Orrobahk returns the bow with a nod, and a fisted salute. He then removes the orcish sword, leaning it against the weapons cart, before unclasping the cloak and allowing the hood to fall back. Master studied the expressions of the class as Orro revealed his face to them, as Orro’s parentage sometimes brought out the worst of human fears. Their discipline held, however, as they took in the decidedly orcish features that stood out on his face. Once he too was certain there would be no ugliness – other than his own – Orrobahk greeted the class.

In rough Commonish speech, Orro began, “Good morning, new friends. I am Orrobahk. Many, many years ago, I live on Pomarj Mountains as part of tribe. My mother taken by tribe, and I born soon after. Mother not live til I grow older, and I not live happy because I part human. But I fight much to stay safe, and fight more to keep food to eat. Soon I fight better than son of Chief. This make son angry and Chief not happy. I told tribe is not place for me, and to go away. This is good thing, I not like living with tribe. Some others not happy too, and they go with me, making me Chief of new little tribe. We make way down mountain, make new home not fighting each other, and not hurting hummies living near mountains. We make some trade with hummies so is good.” Orro’s features sadden as memories cross his mind. “But we small tribe, on edge of large mountain, and that not good. Band of gnollkin find us, and we not able to run, and not fight good enough. All of band die that day but me. I not run until all friends already lost. I leave mountain and go to coast and find work on fishing boats. One day boat I on attacked by pirates. Crew lose fight, but us alive they give choice to join crew. Hummies never treat me good any way, so I join. I find I make good pirate, and later fight to be first mate of ship. Captain treat me good because I good fighter, and is good for time. I talk to Captain to make less killing and more gold to smuggle things. This was good too. Not like to kill those not need it. But Captain get sick later. He sick, and crew not want me to be Captain even if I good fighter. They not want to fight me, but say they not like me and to go away. I leave them at a port. I travel more, and meet new friends. These friends always treat Orro good, even the elf and halfling ones. These friends Orro still friends with, though not seen in long time. Friends of Orro fight evil shaman from Pomarj, and Orro fight with them. Friends still help man who rule city. Orro meet girl hummie with pretty voice who not afraid of Orro’s face. Felina still live in city with children of Orro, and Orro travel now to teach things to people to keep them safe.” Orro stops talking as he realizes he has rambled on far too long.

With an apologetic glance at Master, Orro returns to what he’s supposed to be talking about. “I hear things of orcs hurting hummies. I not fight them all, but I know how to fight them. I know how they fight. This I come to teach friends that want to learn these things.” Orro explains some of the cheap tactics orcs have used, including knee and elbow spikes on their armors, and helmet spikes that can catch fighters unaware. He explains the differences in the mob swarming tactics of the orcs and goblin slaves, and the tricks used by the Urok elite fighters.

The summer passes. The brethren learn that Orro, despite his ragged features, carries a warm caring for those weaker or smaller than himself. His years of enduring abuse on the Pomarj and in the cities of humans strengthened his will to direct his strengths and skills in the right direction. Although never to be mistaken for possessing saintly morals, his loyalty to those he considers a friend are never in doubt. Leo and his classmates discover that Orro’s dedication to teaching them what he knows, or answering their curiosities, is heartfelt. During that summer the brethren learn their kama skills, and enough of orcish tactics that they feel ready to take the front lines should the next Year of the Orcs ever come to pass.

One evening in the fall, after the harvest carts had been pulled in the gates and evening meditations completed, the class gathers again at Master’s urging. Master is standing at the front of the class tonight, Orro at his side. Orro turns to Master. “Master, I teach students all I know of what you want me to teach them. They all learn what I say very good, and now is just to hope is not needed.” He salutes Master, then walks over and salutes each student in turn, sharing a comment or two with each as he pauses. Leo overhears the comments as Orro speaks with the small female next to him. “You small friend, Sister Trina, told me you worry because you are small for a hummie. You worked hard. I not see that worry in you now. Always remember the stories of my little halfling friend Efren. Is never about the size on the outside, but the size on the inside.” They bow/salute before Orro steps in front of Leothold. After saluting, Orro confides “You, Brother Leothold, have been great learner. You ask me many things of what I see, and you are still curious. I think you will see these places you ask about. Adventuring not easy, but can be a good thing.” They share a bow/salute, and Orro continues with the others until he’s again standing by the Master.

Master addresses the class, “Orrobahk has decided he will stay on for the winter. He will not be joining us on the training field; however he will be available for any of you who may be interested in learning some Orcish language. From news around the Kingdom the orc raids are continuing, and we may well see them again in the future when the lesson of their last visit has been forgotten. A wise warrior knows all he can about his enemy.”

With a final salute to the class, and to Master, Orro excuses himself from the classroom. Master then turns to a chest sitting against the wall. Opening it, he sets 12 smaller wooden cases on a table. “My students, you have gained proficiency in the kama. Although your road is just begun towards truly mastering it, the skills you have learned this past summer have earned you this.” He opens the top case to reveal a polished set of kama’s, each showing superb craftsmanship. He picks up one of the set, and unties the sheath. “These I present to you for the work you have done, and for the work you have yet to do teaching what you have learned. Should you ever be pressed to defend our home again, you will be assured to have the strongest weapon on the field.” Master angles the blade slightly, and the class can see the unmistakable hue of an adamantine blade. “No mere sword or armor of orc-craft will ever stand against you on the battlefield.” As the brethren file past and gather their cases, Leothold catches a glimpse of another stack of cases in the chest, before Master eases the lid closed once again.

[SniptheShadow]

Keep em coming, cdbd3rd.

Haven't seen a tale told on this thread in a while. I thought it was done and buried and forgotton in the pages and pages of whine and cheese. Glad to see I was wrong.

Even more glad to see another installment from you.

Nice job!

And thanks for sharing...

Snip

[cdbd3rd]

Keep em coming, cdbd3rd.

Haven't seen a tale told on this thread in a while. I thought it was done and buried and forgotton in the pages and pages of whine and cheese. Glad to see I was wrong.

Even more glad to see another installment from you.

Nice job!

And thanks for sharing...

Snip

Thanks, Snip. Just trying to help fill the void while we wait for Bekki to get back on the J-O-B.

[Ericnox]

Far from the best, but it was fun to write, and some people might even know the quest he did by the end))

Ericnox nodded as the Inquisitor handed over his orders. He looked them over and then looked up at the man.

"This cannot be right. Can it?" He asked, looking back at the orders.

"This is right from the Archdeacon himself. Do you question your orders Paladin?"

Eric bit his lip and then shook his head. "No sir. I do not."

The inquisitor grinned at Eric and nodded. "Then go my son. You have much work to do."

Eric scooped up his hammer, looking at it for a moment and shaking his head. He turned from the inquisitor and walked out of the tavern, sighing softly. He kicked open the lid of the sewer and climbed down into the murky depths.

"Silver Flame, grant me the resolve to do this. Do not let my eyes become clouded by the will of others." He said as the magic of his maul burst to life.

The holy energies of the weapon lit up the area. A strong acid dripped from the maul as well, leaving a hissing noise as it dripped onto the stone floor.

"You! The Flame has no power here! Leave at one!" An elf called out, as he started to cast a spell.

Eric did not know the spell, but it was an aggressive action none the less. He charged, hitting the man in the ribs. The sicking sound of bones breaking seemed to echo though the dank halls. Several people looked up, most in surprise as the elf crumpled.

"Stop him! We must stop him!" A halfling cried out, drawing a sword and rushing Eric.

"And he shall..." Eric says, batting the halfling aside with ease, "Smite the wicked..." His words rolled out, echoing as he walked forward. "And plunge them into the fiery pits Fernia!"

A few of men looked rather frightened at this, one even dropping his weapon. The other two charged Eric, both quickly crushed under the weight of his maul and fury in his strikes. Eric ignored the man in the corner, cowering at the sight of him. His heathen God would know what he did. He would be condemned to a fate worse then death.

Eric opened a door. The room had a stone floor, but was wide and rather warm for it being in the sewers. Beds, toys, wooden dishes and clothing sat on the floor. Eric walked in, his eyes sweeping across the sight.

"WHY!?" Screamed out several voices in his mind, making him fall to his knees in pain. "Why attack our Church!? Why Paladin?!"

"I... Am just doing as I am told! Like a good Paladin! You shall not sway me!" He shouted, standing up and looking at the people who entered the room.

"What crime have we been accused of Paladin?" The leader said, the others stepping back and watching him.

"Heathens. You are Heathens and must be purged." He said, still shaken from the voices in his mind. "And I am the Fist of Retribution. I will purge you from this land."

The man stepped forward, shaking his head slowly. "You poor misguided soul. The only crime these people have done is be hungry, homeless, and filled with loss. We have given them hope."

"Lies!" He said, his hands gripping tighter on his maul. "The Silver Flame protects me from your lies."

Eric walked forward, the Elven cleric doing the same. "You Paladins... So blinded by faith you cannot even see the world around you. No one will fo-" He was cut off, Eric's fist grazing across his face.

The metal glove took skin with it, Eric looked upon the elf, bleeding and holding the side of his face. He shifted his stance, raising his maul to his shoulder level and looking the man dead in the eyes.

"So be it." The Cleric said, stepping back as several others rushed past him.

Eric hit the first man in the chest, hard. His maul struck true, bones shattering and organs being crushed. The second and third man firing crossbow Eric groaned and charged the man that missed him. The sweep was fast, Eric's hammer was faster, helping the man make contact with the ground. Death was instant.

The last man dropped his crossbow, realizing he had no time to reload. The Cleric stepped in, casting a spell over the last man, shielding him with his own faith. Eric turned, his eyes filled with anger.

The fight with the final man was over fast. Eric's maul striking true and swift, snapping the man in half with almost frightful ease. Eric's gaze shifted to the Cleric who stood firm.

"In this dark hour, I will face death with a smile, knowing I shall be embraced by the Sovereign Host and gifted with peace. May the Gods smile upon you as well." The Cleric said, smiling at Eric.

Eric looked at the man, then to the bodies that laid about him. A moment of doubt filled his eyes before he shook his head. "Lier! LIER!"

Eric's strike was swift, sliding under the shield and crushing the Elf's shoulder from below. His cry of pain was cut off as Eric shifted, using his hammer as a slingshot, shooting the man past him, before finishing with a strike to his spine. shattering it just below the neck. The man laid lifeless on the floor.

Eric's task was done. He looked into the room they where guarding and his eyes widened, the symbol of the Sovereign host rested upon the church walls.

"What... Have I done?" He asked aloud, before a hand rested on his shoulder.

"Carried out your mission perfectly Paladin. Return home, and be proud." The Inquisitor said, smiling a bit as he walked into the Church.

Eric turned and left, hanging his head a bit at the mass murder he just caused.