An assignment...

[SniptheShadow]

Are you bored at work? Perhaps the game servers are down and you are just killing time on these forums. Could be you're like me and love to dabble and try your hand at writing from time to time. If so I have an idea to soak up some time in between new module's for this game we play.

For those interested...



Assignment #1:

Pick a weapon you know and love. Try and write something describing that weapon. You could write one line. You could write one single paragraph about it. You could attach it to this thread or start your own all about that weapon. It could be a large and lengthy tale with lots of characters or a simple description of the weapon itself. It could be a description merely of what happens when it is used. For example, imagine a page of text going in detail on the use of a Vicious weapon. Ouch!

I don't ask anyone to do something I am not willing to do myself, so I'll go first.







The Mace

(A memory of Nalinor's)

by

SniptheShadow




Everyone crowded around the treasure chest as Nalinor worked the lock. Someone bumped him and his pick scraped the detailed etching on the gold outside of the lock. Nalinor hissed and shoved hard to get everyone back. If this thing was trapped!!

"Could I breathe while I do this, please!?"

People nodded and stepped back, and the barbarian grunted in what Nalinor took for a sloppy apology. The sorceress was all smiles and big strawberry blonde hair. She always seemed to be grinning at him, and it made Nalinor self-conscious. Her smile looked like she had a big secret and couldn't wait to tell him.

He turned back to the chest.

The lock was made in a design he wasn't familiar with but he soon figured out its workings and the satisfying *clack* sounded to all their ears. He opened the chest wide and then was knocked out of the way as his companions, all save the sorceress, went at the contents of the loot like wolves on a carcass.

The sorceress smiled down at him. Nalinor looked directly up at her and her upsidedown face made his head swim and his blood pump faster.

"You were a bit slow getting it open," she said.

Sorrow. Her name was Sorrow. Odd name for a woman so beautiful, thought Nalinor.

Nalinor looked at the treasure chest over from where he had just been crouched. The other four in the group were all heading off out of the room and either comparing their finds or arguing over ownership.

A tiny hand came into his line of vision. "Here, I'll help you up."

Nalinor took hold of her hand and his blood flow sluiced through his ears like language. She was so beautiful! She pulled him to his feet.

"I thought rogues were supposed to be nimble."

"I wasn't expecting my companions to toss me to the floor in their greed," he retorted a bit too abruptly.

"Let's see if they've left anything for us," she said and then smiled that same smile again.

"You always smile like you have a secret," he said.

Not looking back as she headed over and peered down into the depths of the chest she said, "Perhaps I do."

Nalinor said, "I'm Nalinor."

Sorrow said, "I know."

He bit down on his lip, not knowing what else to say. She pulled out four scrolls and a wand in a darkwood case. Everything disappeared into pockets hidden within her robe. Nalinor let his eyes quickly scan the curves beneath the fabric of her robe until she spoke and he felt his face redden.

"You can have what's left."

He blinked and swallowed and said, "Thank you."

He leaned over and looked into the treasure chest.

The insides were lined with a red plush velvet trimmed in gold. The only thing left inside the chest was a mace.

Wonderful, thought Nalinor.

He reached in and grabbed it by the hammer head and then pulled his hand back and stumbled away. Pain shot up his arm from his fingertips and it made him dizzy. The sensation was cold but it burned, it burned like fire.

"Here, here," said the sorceress and grabbed his hand and examined it. She bit her lip and then produced a salve from another hidden pocket and rubbed it on Nalinor's burns.

Nalinor watched her as she tended him. She smelled good! Her hair smelled of lilac and her fingers rubbing his blacked out everything else in the world; there was only her.

"My name is Sorrow," she said, not looking up.

"I know," said Nalinor.

_____

"Reach in and grab the HANDLE and not the business end this time," she said.

Nalinor lifted out the mace and held it up to the torchlight. The leather around the hilt felt nice in his hand; soft and spongy. It had tufts of white fur that jutted out near the base and the place where his thumb curved around the thing. He tested the weight and it felt heavy and perfect. The metal was made of a dull black iron and it seemed to have a grayness to it like --

"Is that frost?" he said out loud.

"It has a snowflake on the side, so I should think so," said Sorrow.

Nalinor twisted it around and saw the star branded deep into the black metal. He had never seen snow before so he would just have to take the woman's word for it.

"We should hurry and catch up to the others," said Sorrow. "Bring your new toy, Nalinor."

Nalinor watched her move off ahead and out of the room.

He hooked the mace to a loop on his belt and ran after her.

_____


The sound of screaming caused Nalinor and Sorrow to break into a sprint. The sound echoed down the corridor out from the darkness and sent shudders rippling through Nalinor.

They came around a corner to chaos.

Nalinor took in the scene:

Metal blades had erupted from the floor and spun in place like fans of death. He counted two rows of six. One had the remains of the paladin. A severed arm clenched the air not far from him, but the rest spun round and round and he screamed like a little girl. Blood drops flew out like rain in spirals from him, both arms missing and both wounds jutting his life away like a fountain.

A red-robed priest with a necklace of bones wielded magic and his hands glowed deep blue and black. Undead filled the room both in front of the blade barrier and behind. The barbarian fought shoulder to shoulder with the fighter while the cleric was unconscious on the floor. The other fighter had somehow managed to get himself trapped beyond the blade barrier and was trying to fight the horde of zombies there all alone.

The barbarian yelled, "The traps, man! The traps!"

But Nalinor was distracted.

Sorrow was trading arcane magics with the evil cleric. For every spell he tried she countered with a blast of fire this time, and a zap of lightning the next. The priest shouted something in a language that made Nalinor feel dizzy and then Sorrow wasn't moving. A blue light swiraled around her. The priest laughed.

Nalinor crouched down as an axe went wizzing by his head and he moved into the room. The men battled the things around them and the gore on the floor grew massive and slippery.

The priest was mumbling more words that made Nalinor's skin crawl. He moved around the edge of the wall away from his chanting and tried to find a control box for the traps. The paladin's screams had ceased.

The air began to open.

Nalinor blinked and couldn't believe what he was seeing. The air was ripping open in a verticle slit from...nothing. One minute he could see the fighter and barbarian engaged in battle across from him and the next the air tore wide.

An arm reached through from the other side.

It was huge in size, the skin so black it pulled in the light around it. The fingers of the giant hand ended in blood-red talons and they gripped the open air in an eagerness that made Nalinor need to pee.

Nalinor could see things beyond the rip in space.

The thing on the other side shifted and twisted and tried to come through and Nalinor could see a sea of gibbering and clawing red-eyed things moving like waves on an ocean in hell waiting to come through from the other side. The priest was doing it.

Nalinor could tell by the look on the man's face that he was working some nightmarish spell and trying to open the rift. Nalinor took a step and then spotted the trap box. He would need time to work the mechanism to shut it off. Time! No time!

He looked over his shoulder and saw his comrades standing hip-high in fallen corpses, he saw Sorrow still frozen in place with the spinning corpse of the paladin swiraling and swiraling insanely in the backdrop behind her, armless and impaled on the blade barrier.

He looked back and the priest was looking into the rift as it widened, mesmerized.

A screeching noise poured out from the rip in the air and it froze everyone in place; something was coming through. The priest laughed again.

Nalinor didn't think about his next movements, he merely acted.

Still crouched down low to the floor he slithered up as fast as he could around behind the priest. He reached down for his weapons but this time his hand grabbed the handle of the mace and not the hilt of his dagger. The mace was dangling from his belt and there would be no hissing sound drawing it from a sheathe like there would his blades, so he took hold of the mace, drew back and hit the priest in the ribs.

The priest half growled, half yelled in rage and pain and he turned around at his assailant.

Nalinor watched in fascination as the priest slowed down in his turning around to confront him. He reached out his hands at Nalinor, opened his mouth to utter a spell at him and then stopped. His eyes were open wide and full of hatred at first, a look like he wanted nothing more than to drink from Nalinor's skull later after the battle, but the look to turned terror. The eyes widened further and Nalinor saw frost travel across them.

The priest was freezing in place.

With arms outstretched, with mouth opened mid-spell he froze into a glistening white statue. He sparkled in the torchlight. His robe was a thing of beauty and his every hair was a thin wondrous strand of ice. Nalinor could even see nose hairs frozen. The eyes were orbs of frozen fear locked on Nalinor.

The priest shattered.

Nalinor involuntarily let out a shout as shards of the priest bounced off in every direction with the sound of windows being shattered by a stone.

And with his death went the horde. The zombies faded away in a black smoky mist and the rip in the air softly popped closed. They all could hear the frustrated wail from the giant thing with the taloned hand. It started just as the rip sealed over and echoed around the now empty room, save for the companions and the grinding sound of the spinning blade barrier.

Nalinor looked down at the mace in his hands.

The barbarian cheered and held his axe high overhead.

Sorrow came up and stood next to him, her small boots crunching on ice. Her last foot fall crunched the priests face into powder.

"Do you like your new toy?"

Nalinor kissed her.

"I think I do," he said.




The end

[Ministry]

DOOD... I just want to know when the book will be published.

That was a good read.

[Ringos]

Agreed Min...in fact my face became flush during a few of those parts!


*pats face with cool, damp cloth

[binnsr]

Me Axe is me friend; Me Axe is me buddy.
Me Axe lops off the heads of everybuddy.

[Dozen_Black_Roses]

wow! that was a really great story, ty for that

[binnsr]

wow! that was a really great story, ty for that

Thanks Suzee!

j/k .. to the OP, that was a pretty good read.

[Ardanroth]

ill bite, great read btw
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One solitary troll ate heartily and sucked the meat from bloody bones before tossing them into the fire that lit the encampment. A scurrying of movement ensued, Seinna gasped. Young elves fought between themselves for the scraps and leftovers that the trolls deemed fit to leave them.

Seinna looked at Axxan, “We can’t leave them, not even if they are elves”. Her eyes tearful yet were brimming with anger.

“Well I cannae do the bloody lo’ of em canna. Com’ to yer senses woman, it’s jus to big” Axxan exasperated. He moved his hand to his side, they had had this argument too many times, and he knew what the outcome would be.

“And you can’t bloody leave them either! Not you, not I, not anyone with a heart”

Axxan sighed, “fine, bu’ I wan’ you near me for this un”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The path to the troll was littered with the remains of previous encounters. Overturned carts with wares left intact, a small chest which was known to hold a families valuables, carpets, rugs and pictures. “The poor sods, Ill revenge ye’ Axxan griped his warhammer with such anger he expected the shaft to break, and as he appeared over a small hillock let loose an almighty battle-cry and ran into the heart of the camp.

The first swing contacted fully with the trolls head yet immediately a searing pain coursed through Axxans right arm. Axxan gripped the shaft tighter and launched another tirade at the dazed troll, again the pain shot up through is arm burning each vein and sinew until finally it relented.

With each strike the pain grew stronger and penetrated deeper into Axxans body. Seinna was prepared she knew he needed her right now, and began uttering a healing prayer.

She never heard the second troll coming or saw it as a huge hand scythed deep into her back. Pain rushed through her body and was equalled again as another blow struck her. A faint scream left her lips but it was cut short as she collided with the boulder.

Axxan glanced over with a look of anguish just in time to see Seinna’s eyes roll into the back of her head. The pain that he felt when he gripped his warhammer paled into insignificance to the anger that now rushed around his body. With a mighty strike he dismissed his first opponent and turned to face his new foe.

Blow after blow was swapped between them as the fight turned into frantic battle for survival.

Axxan caught the troll’s leg with firm strike – Axxan’s body erupted in pain. In turn the trolls arm smacked down hard on Axxans shoulder. Another strike caught the troll hard, flaming hot pain scorched into Axxans head, as he glanced towards Seinna, “breathe dammit” he thought. In turn the troll took advantage of his momentary lapse and brought its knee up, winding Axxan.

“I ain’ go’ time fo this” Axxan swung wildly at his opponents head, his only thoughts now were saving his friend. In parallel the Troll launched its final attack and caught Axxan fully in the face. Bones crushed, blood flew, eyes met, Axxan’s bled, the Trolls were vacant. Both man and beast fell to the ground. Axxan’s body lay motionless as he mustered the strength to look through his bleeding eyes towards Seinna, he felt his life force leaving him but managed a smile as he saw a chest rise with a shallow breath.

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Axxan clung to the pillar and gave it a mighty bear hug, “Aye its alrigh’ darlin’ I love ya jus’ as much.”

“Stupid dwarf, you’ll be the death of me with your affections for that thing”

“Quit yer jealous rantings woman,” Axxan looked across at Seinna,” I love this bloody thing.”

Seinna smiled as her hands drew arcane swirls in the air. At a certain point she would utter an arcane word and with each word her smile grew bigger.

Axxan flexed as open wounds began to heal.

“But no’ as much as I love ya”

[Forceonature]

The Sword of Shadows

I took you from Velah, she held you no longer
the great Sword of Shadows, to make me even stronger.
We rolled 1d100 to see who would claim you,
back when VON raid loot only consisted of two.

My barbarian loves you and your improved crit range,
your adamantine features, and your cool-sounding name.
I see tons of red numbers, when fully raged and on crack,
thanks to greater two-handed fighting and power attack.

Oh Sword of Shadows, why must you be bound?
I'd send you to all of my toons; I'd pass you around!
Many claim that two wounding of piercings do a lot more harm,
but I'd rather not spend my plat or buy one from a farm.

Even at 16, you're one of the best swords.
You're great at tripping, and mowing down the hordes.
By a greensteel axe you will eventually be replaced,
but not before I kill Arraetrikos and slam your blade in his face.

[Uamhas]

Trickling whispers chase through her reverie, seeping into her thoughts and drawing a smile across elfin features. There is the key to casting that spell- the elusive component needed for success! Inferior supplies provided by a two-faced dwarf will no longer handicap her in the perfect execution of such a deliciously complicated casting.
The rich scent of an exotic flower interrupts her contemplation, forcing her to open her eyes and find her apprentice-become-partner standing in the doorway. Aurea begins to share her revelation with Phae, and between the two they carefully craft one scroll each before the inspiration can fade, intending to inscribe the potent spell into their grimoires. It takes them the remainder of the darkness to complete the meticulous work, until the sun begins to lighten the sky outside with the dawn. The scrolls are very carefully rolled up and inserted into rigid leather tubes until such a time as they can be added permanently to an already vast store of knowledge.
“It's time to go,” comes the sighing voice. The two mages are silent as they walk arm-in-arm to the veranda before kissing each other upon both cheeks and winking out of existence to arrive at their seperate destinations for the beginning of a new day...
...
Aurea's energy is nearly depleted, the robe hanging in tatters upon her back has been stripped of its enchantments, and the sceptres once used to augment her casting lie broken and splintered somewhere back among the sandy dunes. A walking cadaver with the ash-white charring where it survived her most potent bolts of electrical magics shambles after her- mindless determination that will not be turned from the soft, juicy meal of wizard. Sickening slurping noises come from the slit of a mouth every time it swallows and moans. As she drags her feet along, she can't help but risk a glance back, only to see it closer than ever... Grinning at her and chomping cracked stumps of teeth behind withered, blackened lips as a purple tongue oozes putrid slime in place of saliva.
She doesn't need to look to know she has one wand and one scroll left. Her fingers already clutch at the smooth wood, feeling the damage of a split right down the center, and she can only hope to coax one more casting from it. The scroll... it is that precious treasure she labored over so intently only hours before. Though it pains her greatly, she would much rather do without the spell and be alive than have the scroll intact, and be dinner. So it is that she flicks her wrist and feels the wood disintegrate between her fingers as a sticky web spreads before her feet, leading her undead pursuer through the strands until it is thoroughly entangled. Quickly now, as she knows the web will not hold long, she turns in place and holds up the scroll to read aloud from it in the fading light of dusk. As the scroll crumbles to dust, the zombie shakes off the remnants of spidersilk and takes a step towards her, only to stop as a crackling nimbus of darkness surrounds it. Her ears protest at the sudden change of pressure in the air, then just as suddenly ease as the aura implodes with a subliminal pop, erasing the physical form of the creature and leaving instead a gem the size of her fist nestled in the sand.
A flood of weakness drags her to her knees with a sob of relief. Coming that close to being eaten alive is not an experience she thinks to repeat anytime soon. However, her curiousity, bane and salvation that it is, compels her to reach out and pluck the soulgem up from it's resting place. A chill as if she holds a piece of death itself in her hand spreads quickly through her fingers, until she drops it in a small belt-pouch and closes the drawstring.
When she recovers enough of her strength to begin the trek back to civilization, her mind ticks over her newest acquisition. Already, she is contemplating possibilities for such a unique item... and how she might best make use of it.

[Ardanroth]

ooooo a lovely twist Uamhas

and an excellent poem

nice task Snip

[Ereli]

Well, don't have the energy to write an epistle, a limerick will have to do

There was a young cleric named Erelei
Who loved her heal scrolls, true, and verily!
Although not a mace
She wields them with grace
filling health bars to the limit quite rapidly!:-D

[SniptheShadow]

Well, it has been a solid week that I waited before replying.

I did this as an experiment to see how many would want to try their hand at it. I'm happy with the outcome. I know many may be sitting at work and can't spare the time and others mainly use the forums purely for gaming info or to trade items, some could care less -- so that's cool.

The few that have participated are great examples, and I thank you for sharing and giving it a try.

binnsr, Ardanroth, Uahmas, Forceonature and Ereli - to all a big thank you!!!

And to everyone and their compliments on my example and attempt -- Thank you so much! I'm just glad a few enjoy these when I try to work out an idea here.

But...isn't there supposed to be a lot of RP folks on Thelanis!? Maybe it's because it's summer? Dunno. I just figured there would be more trying their hand at writing. Hmmm? Perhaps I can give a few weapon options to prime the creative pumps as an example. Alright then:

A few to brainstorm with...

+3 Dagger of Deception

+4 Shockburst Rapier of Tendon Slice

+2 Mace of Disruption

+5 Vorpal Khopesh

+1 Acid Shortsword

Maybe that helps...?


I'd love to see more writing examples if anyone feels like it and has the time...

Thank you all again.

Snip

[Merkinsal]

She "What's in there?"

He "A mace."

She "Is it any good?"

He "I don't know"

She "...ok...Well..., how do we find out"

He "Ah, See Kargon over there?"

She "Yes"

He "Go hit him in the face with it"

...
...
...
...

She "The mace broke?!?"

He "omg, you dumb blonde, RUN!"..... "and leave the haaammm" (trails away in the distance)

[Uamhas]

teehee! Funny Merk.

[scampb]

The +3 Dagger of Deception
Is it good or bad, what's your perception?
For the women scorn, it has but one use....
It's a new form of contraception!

[Merkinsal]

teehee! Funny Merk.

Ty, but your's Uamhas is something else again. Can't say in just a few words just how much fun that was to read. Do you have any books out?

[SniptheShadow]

Ty, but your's Uamhas is something else again. Can't say in just a few words just how much fun that was to read. Do you have any books out?

/agreed...

Snip

[Uamhas]

(I know I already put in one story... hope you don't mind another? Sometimes I just like to write.)


Life was good. I had it all: nice wardrobe, modest little place, solid reputation... and a killer job with benefits... and I do mean killer. Now...

I've always heard that you should start a tale at the beginning... and, well, that would place this particular beginning at about the middle of last season... I just finished a job, and am looking for a little down-time to recharge. You know; clean my blades, count the money, have a drink, maybe get horizontal. A body needs maintenance just like gear to stay in good working condition, and it's not difficult to get trade. Even with me being drow most guys are a sucker for big, dark eyes and a “gee-you-sure-are-strong” helpless look. Fools. They're only good for a quick toss in the sheets... Anyway... I'm oiling my favorite dagger and this grey-skinned pygmy with no hair on his head and puny ears comes up and actually sits at my table. I'm thinking he's a cheeky little fellow, for a corpse. Before I can send him on his way with a polite request that he become rectally intimate with a morningstar, he starts talking and what do you know? I'm interested.

Seems he has a problem with a squatter at his dig site, and wants someone- me in this case- to get rid of it. What draws me most is curiousity- he says it's an air elemental, but I'm wondering how accurate that might be. Living at the edge of the Menechtaurrun I get regular visits from stray elementals looking for a little something to toss around besides sand. Usually they kick around a place, make a mess, and move on. His seems to have taken up residence. Most people just clear out for awhile and wait for the elementals to go away on their own, thus preventing being flung about like a child's rag-toy every time they come within touching distance. He informs me with a black scowl that the mine is his livelihood and he has a deadline, so the whole wait-and-see approach is about as palatable as boiled dirt. Though I can think of worse creatures to deal with (like gnolls), that whirligig routine can be a bit of a nuisance, and the fee I'm getting is a juicy incentive. To keep from being a living thistledown I've learned how to dispatch them quickly so this job sounds like cake.

With my usual sultry charm I tell him that his big fat mouth and total lack of stealth will only foul the job, so he should stay clear until I give him leave to return. He warms up so much to this that he informs me that the split of my backside won't fetch the worth of a kobold prayer bead if I take longer than the agreed-upon time. Though I'm not feeling particularly threatened, It's good to have a clear business understanding with a client. Time to get to work!

Now I'm pretty good at not being seen... or heard. I've received compliments from halflings, ok? One item from my wardrobe makes those enchanting qualities even more pronounced- it's a lovely mithril gown that moves like silk and suppresses almost any sound I could make. That's why I have no trouble at all infiltrating the main chamber. There's not much light, but my night vision is sufficient to show that the place is meant as a living area, and would benefit from the services of an entire cleaning cadre. The reason for the mess is making no attempt to hide, but instead dominates the center of the room- and is quite involved in turning a sturdy wooden bedframe into a pile of kindling and wood dust. Seems to me this whirlwind is taking a personal interest in destruction, but that's not my business. My job is just to evict it's butt. Do elementals have behinds? Nevermind. In order to do this, I have to get close enough without being detected to strike at it's most vulnerable spot, killing it instantly with the deadly point in my right hand. Failing that, hellooooo Lady Banish. Should my luck hold, I'll not need the banisher, but occasionally luck will turn... and it's good to be prepared. Worst-case scenario: things go buggy, and I use the spell bound into my mask. I did say I had a nice wardrobe, right? Well it's not all leather and mithril. This little treasure was... liberated, yeah... that's right, liberated from an ogre stiff. What? He wouldn't be using it anymore. It would be a crime to leave something so valuable to rot with his corpse. That is my last resort, though, as it would mean possibly returning my deposit... and just the thought makes me flinch. Best to just get it done.

Each bare foot precisely placed, balance perfect, immaculate in stealth and I am less than a pace behind it. Even, steady breathing. Maintain focus. That place where man-height would put his kidneys, there's the sweet spot. This is going to hurt me, too, since I'll have to insert the points of my daggers into the field of moving, churning air to kill it, but the expected wrench is worth it. The key will be not to tense up. Drawing back my right arm, and in absolute silence, the blade parts the air but then, incredibly, the pillar of wind is gone! In its place is a sleek, muscled back with a long, plaited lock of flax down his spine. His spine? This is NOT an elemental! It's a man?! Too late, the strike cannot be aborted, only redirected to a less lethal insertion point with a twist of my forearm. The tip shifts up to scrape across the lower curve of his ribs, skating across the bump of his vertebra, and leaving a shallow, bloody stripe across the taut skin of his back. I cringe when the keen tip first pierces his skin, as I can feel a small increment of his vitality being leeched from the wound.

His reaction baffles me. Rather than some kind of pain noise, or an attempt to flee, his spine arches and his head is flung back, and I swear on my soul, the sound he makes is SO not that of a man experiencing penetration with tempered steel. I admit that it distracts me, that sensual gasp. I fall back in confusion, flat on my bottom with daggers clutched to my chest but not yet thinking of flight. The man turns eyes to me that contain the heat of the desert dunes, and just that quickly, I am caught. I cannot say if it is magic or simple fascination, but I find myself bespelled, utterly unwilling to flee that tawny gaze.

I marvel that everything about him is shades of gold. His skin is that warm tone blessed by the sun, complemented by the paler glimmer of his hair and made devastating by the rich glow of his eyes. I cannot say when I have ever seen a more beautiful man... or when I have been so instantly enthralled by one. I feel as if my inner self is being exposed, pulled from within to be laid bare before him, and it quickens my breath. He closes the distance between us with a single step and crouches down at my naked feet, and never once does he cease looking into my soul. I wonder, for the first time, if my spirit appears as dark as my physical form.

“Dokkalfar,” comes the soft utterance. Without breaking our gazes, he reaches out and touches the tip of one finger to the curve of my exposed ankle. A subtle current passes from his touch into my skin, and the obsidian flesh tightens as my toes curl with an unexpected pleasure. I can feel my mouth forming a small “o” at the sensation, but he surprises me again. His touch withdraws and he reaches around to his back. A streak of blood finally draws my gaze from his to watch as he lifts his hand to his mouth and licks the thick crimson liquid from the pads of his fingers.

“Are you vampyri?” I feel foolish even asking, and even more so at the hesitant, breathy quality of my voice. I am woman, hear me... sigh? AUGH!

“I am Bralani,” he replies. There is some quality to his voice that makes him sound...defiant? I don't recognize his dialect.

“I'm Oloth,” my mouth feels dry, and my throat makes a hard clicking sound when I try to swallow. Come on brain, start back up again, please.

“Yes, lovely Darkness..” his voice simultaneously soothes and disturbs me. It's so smooth and gentle, but why am I so fascinated with him? It takes a moment for the meaning of his words to be absorbed.

“No, my name. I am Oloth.” As I speak he leans closer, obliterating the bubble of my personal space with an almost audible *pop* and hovering over my bent knees. Though I find him so appealing, there's a featherlight thread of fear in my pulse, so I lean back away from him and push with my heels, my hands tight about the hilts of my weapons.

“I am called X'xin.” He watches my mouth while he talks and I sink deeper under his spell as I taste the name. “kih-TZE-en.”

My mind is desperate to wrest control back from my wayward emotions- I am not a slave to my feelings, thankyouverymuch- and begins to sift coherency back in, but intelligent thinking flies away when he leans even closer and curls long fingers about my left calf. What comes from my mouth is an assertive demand that he release me immediately.

“Whuh-a-at are you doing?”

He continues to crowd me and I find myself retreating in tiny increments until I am prone beneath him, and he is crouched over me, propped up on one arm while the other skims a cool palm higher across my knee. Maybe I should have gone with the leather trousers instead of the open-air hauberk.

“I am going to kiss you,” he murmurs. For a heartbeat, my muscles do their best impression of warm honey, but then I see a spot of blood at the corner of those perfect lips, and panic blooms full-blown. Before he can move any closer, my body twists itself free in a move I couldn't have planned and I kick away from him to sprint toward the exit. Forget it. A threat of a kind I've never experienced and don't know how to deal with? This isn't part of the contract.

A shrill cry leaps from my throat as his hands catch my waist and he jerks me off my feet to spin me into his embrace. I cannot say why I don't slice him to ribbons with the daggers, only that the thought never even occurs... how then do I get myself out of this? His breath is warm and spiced with a coppery scent against my face, and it's then that I remember my final fail-safe: the teleportation mask lying slack at my neck. In desperation I drop the dagger from my right hand and whip the mask into place an instant before his mouth meets mine. Is it surprise or something more dangerous that enters his expression in that instant before I leave him? No matter, I am so outta there. When my ears cease their ringing from the hasty teleport, I return my remaining weapon to its wrist-sheathe and drop down into a shaky crouch by a rough-hewn table. I can ignore for now the continuous murmur of patrons in the open-air tavern in an effort to gather my scattered thoughts.

“What in Fernia is a Bralani?”

I don't realize I've spoken aloud until a wizened old woman gives a cackle and says, “Not Fernia, girl. Arborea”

I say something erudite. Something like, “huh?” and she proceeds to tell me a little about Bralani.

“Eladrin, they is. They don't usually mingle with us common folk. Oh, they's good people... mostly,” again, that irritating cackle, which I could cheerfully stuff back down her windpipe for her by now.

Her head bobs and that laugh once more gouges my eardrums. “They got they own ways of doin things, tho.”

No.. Really?

“Why you askin 'bout them, girl?” At this point, I remember the little fellow that hired me, and figure now would be a good time to... ahem... Renegotiate the terms of our contract... maybe at the point of my favorite...

... I am such a stupid, fumble-fingered...

...My favorite dagger is on the floor back in that chamber

My eloquence is once more displayed as I deliver a rapid, “'scusemekthnxbai,” and make my leisurely way at a dead run to the tavern where I had previously encountered my “client”, that lying little troglodyte.

I want that dagger back.

[SniptheShadow]

(I know I already put in one story... hope you don't mind another? Sometimes I just like to write.)


Life was good. I had it all: nice wardrobe, modest little place, solid reputation... and a killer job with benefits... and I do mean killer. Now...

I've always heard that you should start a tale at the beginning... and, well, that would place this particular beginning at about the middle of last season... I just finished a job, and am looking for a little down-time to recharge. You know; clean my blades, count the money, have a drink, maybe get horizontal. A body needs maintenance just like gear to stay in good working condition, and it's not difficult to get trade. Even with me being drow most guys are a sucker for big, dark eyes and a “gee-you-sure-are-strong” helpless look. Fools. They're only good for a quick toss in the sheets... Anyway... I'm oiling my favorite dagger and this grey-skinned pygmy with no hair on his head and puny ears comes up and actually sits at my table. I'm thinking he's a cheeky little fellow, for a corpse. Before I can send him on his way with a polite request that he become rectally intimate with a morningstar, he starts talking and what do you know? I'm interested.

Seems he has a problem with a squatter at his dig site, and wants someone- me in this case- to get rid of it. What draws me most is curiousity- he says it's an air elemental, but I'm wondering how accurate that might be. Living at the edge of the Menechtaurrun I get regular visits from stray elementals looking for a little something to toss around besides sand. Usually they kick around a place, make a mess, and move on. His seems to have taken up residence. Most people just clear out for awhile and wait for the elementals to go away on their own, thus preventing being flung about like a child's rag-toy every time they come within touching distance. He informs me with a black scowl that the mine is his livelihood and he has a deadline, so the whole wait-and-see approach is about as palatable as boiled dirt. Though I can think of worse creatures to deal with (like gnolls), that whirligig routine can be a bit of a nuisance, and the fee I'm getting is a juicy incentive. To keep from being a living thistledown I've learned how to dispatch them quickly so this job sounds like cake.

With my usual sultry charm I tell him that his big fat mouth and total lack of stealth will only foul the job, so he should stay clear until I give him leave to return. He warms up so much to this that he informs me that the split of my backside won't fetch the worth of a kobold prayer bead if I take longer than the agreed-upon time. Though I'm not feeling particularly threatened, It's good to have a clear business understanding with a client. Time to get to work!

Now I'm pretty good at not being seen... or heard. I've received compliments from halflings, ok? One item from my wardrobe makes those enchanting qualities even more pronounced- it's a lovely mithril gown that moves like silk and suppresses almost any sound I could make. That's why I have no trouble at all infiltrating the main chamber. There's not much light, but my night vision is sufficient to show that the place is meant as a living area, and would benefit from the services of an entire cleaning cadre. The reason for the mess is making no attempt to hide, but instead dominates the center of the room- and is quite involved in turning a sturdy wooden bedframe into a pile of kindling and wood dust. Seems to me this whirlwind is taking a personal interest in destruction, but that's not my business. My job is just to evict it's butt. Do elementals have behinds? Nevermind. In order to do this, I have to get close enough without being detected to strike at it's most vulnerable spot, killing it instantly with the deadly point in my right hand. Failing that, hellooooo Lady Banish. Should my luck hold, I'll not need the banisher, but occasionally luck will turn... and it's good to be prepared. Worst-case scenario: things go buggy, and I use the spell bound into my mask. I did say I had a nice wardrobe, right? Well it's not all leather and mithril. This little treasure was... liberated, yeah... that's right, liberated from an ogre stiff. What? He wouldn't be using it anymore. It would be a crime to leave something so valuable to rot with his corpse. That is my last resort, though, as it would mean possibly returning my deposit... and just the thought makes me flinch. Best to just get it done.

Each bare foot precisely placed, balance perfect, immaculate in stealth and I am less than a pace behind it. Even, steady breathing. Maintain focus. That place where man-height would put his kidneys, there's the sweet spot. This is going to hurt me, too, since I'll have to insert the points of my daggers into the field of moving, churning air to kill it, but the expected wrench is worth it. The key will be not to tense up. Drawing back my right arm, and in absolute silence, the blade parts the air but then, incredibly, the pillar of wind is gone! In its place is a sleek, muscled back with a long, plaited lock of flax down his spine. His spine? This is NOT an elemental! It's a man?! Too late, the strike cannot be aborted, only redirected to a less lethal insertion point with a twist of my forearm. The tip shifts up to scrape across the lower curve of his ribs, skating across the bump of his vertebra, and leaving a shallow, bloody stripe across the taut skin of his back. I cringe when the keen tip first pierces his skin, as I can feel a small increment of his vitality being leeched from the wound.

His reaction baffles me. Rather than some kind of pain noise, or an attempt to flee, his spine arches and his head is flung back, and I swear on my soul, the sound he makes is SO not that of a man experiencing penetration with tempered steel. I admit that it distracts me, that sensual gasp. I fall back in confusion, flat on my bottom with daggers clutched to my chest but not yet thinking of flight. The man turns eyes to me that contain the heat of the desert dunes, and just that quickly, I am caught. I cannot say if it is magic or simple fascination, but I find myself bespelled, utterly unwilling to flee that tawny gaze.

I marvel that everything about him is shades of gold. His skin is that warm tone blessed by the sun, complemented by the paler glimmer of his hair and made devastating by the rich glow of his eyes. I cannot say when I have ever seen a more beautiful man... or when I have been so instantly enthralled by one. I feel as if my inner self is being exposed, pulled from within to be laid bare before him, and it quickens my breath. He closes the distance between us with a single step and crouches down at my naked feet, and never once does he cease looking into my soul. I wonder, for the first time, if my spirit appears as dark as my physical form.

“Dokkalfar,” comes the soft utterance. Without breaking our gazes, he reaches out and touches the tip of one finger to the curve of my exposed ankle. A subtle current passes from his touch into my skin, and the obsidian flesh tightens as my toes curl with an unexpected pleasure. I can feel my mouth forming a small “o” at the sensation, but he surprises me again. His touch withdraws and he reaches around to his back. A streak of blood finally draws my gaze from his to watch as he lifts his hand to his mouth and licks the thick crimson liquid from the pads of his fingers.

“Are you vampyri?” I feel foolish even asking, and even more so at the hesitant, breathy quality of my voice. I am woman, hear me... sigh? AUGH!

“I am Bralani,” he replies. There is some quality to his voice that makes him sound...defiant? I don't recognize his dialect.

“I'm Oloth,” my mouth feels dry, and my throat makes a hard clicking sound when I try to swallow. Come on brain, start back up again, please.

“Yes, lovely Darkness..” his voice simultaneously soothes and disturbs me. It's so smooth and gentle, but why am I so fascinated with him? It takes a moment for the meaning of his words to be absorbed.

“No, my name. I am Oloth.” As I speak he leans closer, obliterating the bubble of my personal space with an almost audible *pop* and hovering over my bent knees. Though I find him so appealing, there's a featherlight thread of fear in my pulse, so I lean back away from him and push with my heels, my hands tight about the hilts of my weapons.

“I am called X'xin.” He watches my mouth while he talks and I sink deeper under his spell as I taste the name. “kih-TZE-en.”

My mind is desperate to wrest control back from my wayward emotions- I am not a slave to my feelings, thankyouverymuch- and begins to sift coherency back in, but intelligent thinking flies away when he leans even closer and curls long fingers about my left calf. What comes from my mouth is an assertive demand that he release me immediately.

“Whuh-a-at are you doing?”

He continues to crowd me and I find myself retreating in tiny increments until I am prone beneath him, and he is crouched over me, propped up on one arm while the other skims a cool palm higher across my knee. Maybe I should have gone with the leather trousers instead of the open-air hauberk.

“I am going to kiss you,” he murmurs. For a heartbeat, my muscles do their best impression of warm honey, but then I see a spot of blood at the corner of those perfect lips, and panic blooms full-blown. Before he can move any closer, my body twists itself free in a move I couldn't have planned and I kick away from him to sprint toward the exit. Forget it. A threat of a kind I've never experienced and don't know how to deal with? This isn't part of the contract.

A shrill cry leaps from my throat as his hands catch my waist and he jerks me off my feet to spin me into his embrace. I cannot say why I don't slice him to ribbons with the daggers, only that the thought never even occurs... how then do I get myself out of this? His breath is warm and spiced with a coppery scent against my face, and it's then that I remember my final fail-safe: the teleportation mask lying slack at my neck. In desperation I drop the dagger from my right hand and whip the mask into place an instant before his mouth meets mine. Is it surprise or something more dangerous that enters his expression in that instant before I leave him? No matter, I am so outta there. When my ears cease their ringing from the hasty teleport, I return my remaining weapon to its wrist-sheathe and drop down into a shaky crouch by a rough-hewn table. I can ignore for now the continuous murmur of patrons in the open-air tavern in an effort to gather my scattered thoughts.

“What in Fernia is a Bralani?”

I don't realize I've spoken aloud until a wizened old woman gives a cackle and says, “Not Fernia, girl. Arborea”

I say something erudite. Something like, “huh?” and she proceeds to tell me a little about Bralani.

“Eladrin, they is. They don't usually mingle with us common folk. Oh, they's good people... mostly,” again, that irritating cackle, which I could cheerfully stuff back down her windpipe for her by now.

Her head bobs and that laugh once more gouges my eardrums. “They got they own ways of doin things, tho.”

No.. Really?

“Why you askin 'bout them, girl?” At this point, I remember the little fellow that hired me, and figure now would be a good time to... ahem... Renegotiate the terms of our contract... maybe at the point of my favorite...

... I am such a stupid, fumble-fingered...

...My favorite dagger is on the floor back in that chamber

My eloquence is once more displayed as I deliver a rapid, “'scusemekthnxbai,” and make my leisurely way at a dead run to the tavern where I had previously encountered my “client”, that lying little troglodyte.

I want that dagger back.

Uahmas...wow!

...just plain WOW!

What a way to spend my lunch on a friday.

Thank you for sharing that!

So now I get to daydream and wonder about part two of this tale...


Awesome!

Snip


P.S. And Uahmas, post as many tales as you please...

[SniptheShadow]

I spelled your name wrong! OMG!!

I'm so sorry! It's Uamhas not the dumb way I spelled it before.

Forgive me.

I mixed the two letters up. Jeez.

Dyslexics of the world - UNTIE!

I'll try to be less careless in the future and prove I have a wee brain above my neck.

Snip