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Hey guys, just wanted to run an interest check for a Roleplay idea I had.

Here's the basic details:

The year is 2020. Meteor showers are spotted across the globe, from New York to Hong Kong. This day, Februrary 22, 2020 would be the day the Fight began.

You are special. Lucky, might be the better word. Or perhaps not. You were near one of the meteor crashes as it fell, and you were the first to get up close. What you found would change your life forever.

A box, plain and ordinary lies in the crater, in every crater across the world. Inside is an item of great power, a legendary artefact from ancient myth turned real. An item, and a cell phone. On that cell phone is a note simply stating,

"You are in the game now. Kill the others and the ultimate prize will be yours. It will be your truest desire. Fight to win, Holder."

------------------
The idea of the game is inspired by such things as Future Diaries and Battle Royale, pitting all players against each other to hunt each other down or form alliances to be the ultimate victor. You must be okay with dying to play this game, for there can only be one. At the same time, you may wish to hunt down unclaimed artefacts to gain an edge, or perhaps examine th mystery surrounding the items you carry.

The items themselves drawn from ancient myths such as Excalibur and Masamune. I am toying with the idea of giving everyone a random one from a list ill make. Everyone will also have their own personal character page where they will write their next move and I will Dm it. If two players meet a new thread will be made for their duel or discussion. Allying is possible but there is still only one winner. There will also be an in-game forum (super meta right?) for players to access through their phones. The phones will also grant additional abilities such as a one time favour, money, and escapes, etc.

The system itself will probably be something simple I cook up. I have some ideas, but I wanted to judge interest before I go on with it.

Let me know if you like the idea or if you have questions.

[Portrait]

Portrait
[spoiler]

[/spoiler]

Female Half-Elf Ranger 1
Chaotic Neutral

HP: 10
AC: 17 = 10 +3 [studded] +4 [dexterity]
Touch: 14,  Flat:  13
Initiative: +4

STR 15 (+2)
DEX 18 (+4)
CON 14 (+2)
INT 14 (+2)
WIS 10 (+0)
CHA 9 (-1)

Size: Medium
Appearance: Tanned, blue eyes, red hair with braids coming to a low ponytail. Prominent feature is her crooked grin which is caused by an ugly scar that runs all up the right side of her face to her ear. She also lets her hair down on the sides to cover up her mangled ears.

FORT: +4
REF: +6
WILL +0

Languages: Common, Elven

Equipment:
Hand Axe (x2)  [1d6, crit x3, crit x2., 3 lb., light, slashing]
Longbow  [1d8, crit x3, range inc. 100 ft, 3 lb, piercing]
Studded armor [light; +3 AC; max dex +5; check penalty -1; 20 lb.]

Feats:
Tracking
Two-Weapon Fighting

Half-Elf:
[spoiler]Immune to magical sleep

+2 racial bonus on saves vs. enchantments

Low-light vision (darkvision if half-drow)

+1 racial bonus on listen, search, and spot checks

+2 racial bonus on diplomacy and gather information checks
[/spoiler]

Ranger:
[spoiler]Favored enemies

Track as bonus feat (already included)

Combat Style

Endurance

Wild empathy (roll level + charisma bonus)

Endurance (level 3)

Animal Companion (level 4)

Woodland Stride (level 7)

Swift Tracker (level 8)

Evasion (level 9)

Camouflage (level 13)

Hide in Plain Sight (level 17)

Favored Enemies:

Humanoids (elf) +2

This ranger chose the two-weapon combat track.
[/spoiler]

Have you guys played this game at all? If you like old-school grid based combat (turn-based), you'll probably like it.





http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wet5YL1YvDo

This thread is pretty self-explanatory. Share your favorite stories of things that have happened in your games, to your characters or to your friends characters! I'll kick off.


------

We had just come to the final session of the second campaign in an epic long storyline that had about 13-18 sessions each. Basically the characters from the first campaign came back in the second much older and wiser, and some of their children joined the party. Long story short, the group pursued some dark forces to a wasteland of snow and wind that lay beyond the northernmost mountains of Kirin, which were thought impossible. This story is not about them (maybe more on them another time)

This little story is about one of the former party members. Again, cutting short, this character was my friends Chaos Priest type character named Ka'Zrik (if you've read my short story Old Blood on here, he is actually Sha'zel's brother.) He had three important things. First, he had stolen an item that the party had gone to great lengths to retrieve and it seemed as if he was going to use it for nefarious purposes. His kind is known for doing questionable things, but he had taken it to furfill his own goal which somewhat aligned with the party. Second, he had an axe that had once belonged to Gor (Throndir might know of him :P) who had stolen it from a dark god. This axe had a mind of its own which had begun to overpower Ka'zrik. Thirdly, he possessed a dark book which also spoke to him. So all in all, a good recipe for evil or insanity.

After some time of a party split, everyone reaches an ancient ruin in this god-forsaken land of ice through various means. The main party was led by many high-level and important characters, and had just reconvened with another part of the fractured party, an important fire monk named Trysanna. Both of the parties that combined led armies, one from the Kingdoms, another from tribes in the northern lands. They assaulted the ruin, which was heavily defended by Verianos (basically dark elves: what Ka'zrik is) and other things. While the fighting went on, Ka'zrik slipped inside, struggling to keep his mind from being controlled by the axe.

Throughout the entire campaign since the very beginning, Ka'zrik and his sister Sha'zel have been driven by the insatiable lust for revenge on the family of Verianos that slaughtered theirs, House Than'ravil. Time and time again the two of them (seperately) had faced off against Than'ravil and been rebuked. Captures and escapes had happened, treacheries, you name it. Finally Ka'zrik had tracked House Than'ravil to a place where they could not run. He sought out the patriarch of the House and challenged him on a thin bridge over a glowing matrix of strange machines in these ruins.

I had prepared for this moment for a long time. Music had been selected specifically for this, in many parts, drawn from all manner of places. If you can picture the battle music at the end of the first Episode of Star Wars it was like that. They squared off, dueling up and down the bridges, matching each others power and skill. Each of them uploading all the spells they could use to no avail. Meanwhile this huge battle is happening outside and spilling inside the ruins. Thunderous quakes rip the ruins as magic is unleashed. The bridges shake and collapse and they leap from pillar to pillar, dodging errant lasers of magical death. Finally, Ka'zrik strikes a telling blow and gains the upper hand, leading to the death of the head of House Than'ravil (whose name escapes me).

In the heat of the battle the axe begins to take over him and the book too, having been promised some sort of bargain for power. I say to the Ka'zrik's player, "You'll have to make a will save to defeat this thing. It's not looking good". He looks at me and nods grimly. "You'll need a 20." Ka'zrik picks himself up off the bridge and stumbles over to one of the magical lasers erupting from the ground. The whole world around him seems to shudder. The book screams at him, the axe roars in his blood. He tosses the book aside to the beam, that was the easy part. He had already tricked it once before. Then came the axe, and the roll. Everyone at the table who had been immersed in the battle while their characters fought outside waited with baited breath. The D20 rolled.

Of course it was a 20.

Everyone yelled and jumped up and down. I had had no intention of having him destroy one of the most important magical artefacts there was, but I couldn't argue with a 20.

This month I started a daily drawing challenge, wherin I would attempt to draw at least something every day for a whole month and hopefully onwards. So far I've been doing pretty well and I wanted to share it with you guys. :)

I'll upload whatever I feel is worth sharing from what I draw.

Wolfrin Fenris


Wolfrin (A little more elf-like)


Moiraine Damodred (Wheel of Time)


Random Girl (looking a little derp-eyed, I'm afraid)


One of my characters, Alys Swiftwind


Random Girl

Did a quick doodle of what I thought Wolfrin's character/alter ego looks like. Might try again another day.

Fantasy World Creations has been around for a loooooong time. Since I was in high school (possibly even grade school) in fact! There are some people here who I don't really know, and people who I used to know and wish I hadn't accidentally left by the wayside. Long story short, I want to know how you got here!

I'll start . . .

The memories are a bit fuzzy, but back in the old days I made a forum for my friends called the Cleric's Court. It had a few members, some people I knew from meatspace and a couple from Runescape (Hello Linus and Lion!). I made way too many child boards, it looked kinda ugly, but I loved it. At some point I merged forums with Mr. Throndir's FWC (if I recall correctly) and that led the way to here.

So how did you join up/know everyone?

Hey guys!

As of late I have developed into a huge board game nerd. I own around 50 or so board games and play every week alongside regular Pathfinder/GURPs, etc. Does anyone else here play any? Or want to? Let's talk about it!

[Old Blood 1.]

Hey guys, I've been working on this for a little while and I've just completed my first edit so I thought I'd post it up for feedback. It's set in my world of Kirin, which has changed a lot since I first made it. There's probably still quite a few grammar issues that I'll be fixing later, but I hope you enjoy it. (Also I hate formatting for forums >.<)

Old Blood





1.

THE WOODSMAN wrapped his cloak about him and pushed on through the blinding snow, trying to ignore the sense of being watched. Winter?s icy teeth blew down from the mountains to bite at his face. The only sound within the wailing wind was the crunch of snowshoes. From beneath his hood, Ganton of Treyne watched the last light of day fade behind the evergreens. Lines of worry marked deep folds in his weather-beaten face. Hidden in his auburn winter beard and behind a thick gray wool scarf, his mouth was grimly set. However, it was not the cold that set his chin so.

Retracing his steps from earlier in the day, Ganton wound his way west. His quarries tracks stretched out behind him, snaking upwards towards the peak from which he had come. Parallel to them lay his own tracks, his snowshoes leaving shallow dents on the snow. What worried him was that his quarries? boots measured at twice the depth of his own, were he not garbed for winter. Only an armored man could weigh enough to sink that deep, and Ganton doubted any soldiers had come this far north. Military generally stayed south of the River Daran. It was the width of the marks, however, that truly made him fearful.

Carefully the ranger put one foot in front of the other, keeping well away from the too-wide holes on his right. He kept his back turned against the wind as it roared against him, leaving a layer of frost on his fur cloak. Not for the first time he wondered why people still chose to live this far north. Feeling the prickling feeling between his shoulder blades he chanced a glance around. All he got in return was eyes full of sleet. No-one would spot him in this snow, surely?

The feeling of being watched bothered Ganton, he had not spent years of his life as a military scout to be outsmarted here. He knew the outdoors like the back of his hand, and the frustration of being unable to find someone who could find him was almost worse than his fear. For once in his life, the ranger was eager to escape the isolation of the outdoors and surround himself with as many people as possible. Grunting in annoyance, his hand drifted uselessly to the heavy axe that rested beneath his cloak. Whatever was out there would get him before he could use it.

The feeling persisted even after he peeled off from the trail of footprints and headed north towards the abandoned homestead that he temporarily called home. The squat rectangular hut jutted out from the snow like bones before him. Rotted wood walls were bolstered with chopped lumber from the surrounding pines and packed with dirt and pine needles to keep out the chill. A thin curl of smoke wound up from the chimney only to be immediately snatched away by the wind. He was glad his companions heeded his advice about staying indoors. Halting at the door, Ganton took one last look back at the woods.

The evening shadows made every tree into a waiting enemy, a branch became a sword and the sway of leaves an attacking foe. Ganton knew not to trust his eyes in this dim light. A soldiers knowledge, from another era. Throwing back his hood the ranger listened intently, straining to hear anything over the howling wind. Any sign, any trace of his invisible opponent. Gradually he began to make out the whispering voices floating along the wind, just barely within hearing. His axe halfway out of its loop, he flushed with embarrassment as he realized they came from inside. Letting out a breath and cursing himself for a addle-brained fool, he turned back to the door.

And froze.

Spinning around smoothly, he pulled free the axe and swung it towards the black shape behind him. Nearly he swung it, but caught it by a hair, fingers grasping at the slippery handle and pulling it back to his body.

?Bury my bones, but you?ll get yourself killed sneaking about this way!? he exclaimed, slumping against the door with a pounding heart. A woman stood before him, a spectre clad in a thin dark cloak and hood. Beneath her hood cold eyes gazed out from an ethereal face as white as the surrounding snow, seemingly unperturbed by his attack. Her eyes divided him up and criticized every inch. Despite her lack of winter garb, the cold seemed to only reach her eyes. ?What on the Wanderer?s green earth are you doing out here??

?Taking a look around. Two sets of eyes are better than one,? Her voice was sardonic. ?Do not fear for my safety, redbeard." That last part came out with a twitch of a smile. Attitude to match the eyes, Ganton thought sourly. ?Will you away from the door or take root where you stand??

Ganton grumbled into his beard and stepped aside. If he hadn't known better he might have thought she really was a ghost and could walk clear through him. His heart pounded like a drum, a jumble of fear and anger. As if it was his fault she scared him half to death. Not that she needed to sneak up on him to scare him. Just the knowledge of her existence and what it implied frightened him well enough. She brushed past him, gliding across the snow leaving barely a trace in her wake. He shuddered inwardly as he followed her inside. He had never seen anyone move as Sha'zel did.

Warmth washed over Ganton as he entered. The smell of crackling wood filled his nostrils and he felt the tension seep out of his shoulders. The homestead was compact in size, one room with a simple stone fireplace easily filling half the far wall. Time inside with nothing to do ensured Gantons companions had made the scraps of this place into what could almost be called home, were it not for the barricades. Scrap wood from old bed frames made sturdy enough barriers to anyone attempting entry through the windows, and the hardy oak table would do well enough for the door. Still, Ganton?s mind would not soon forget the enormous tracks and the equally large hands that would belong to their owners. Sha'zel retreated off to a solitary corner and wrapped herself in her cloak.

"Everything alright? I heard a thump against the door." Alyn?s concerned question brought Ganton away from the door where he realized he had been staring after Sha'zel. Tall and leanly muscular, the young knight appeared to lounge in one of the dining chairs, but with the straight backed composure of a waiting wolf. His hand-and-a-half sword lay across his lap, polished to a gleam. Seeing the look on Gantons face a small smile of touched his lips and he relaxed. "Just the girl, eh? I apologize. I could not stop her from leaving, even if I forced her at sword point. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive, my lord." Ganton replied gruffly, sketching a bow that was made awkward by his bulky furs.

Alyn?s grey eyes twinkled with amusement. "How many times must I tell you not to use that title, Master Ganton. We are partners in this. All of us."

"Only a few more, my lord." With a brief shared grin with Alyn, Ganton moved to stand before the fireplace. The ranger had just begun to strip off his soaked layers to dry them when the small trapdoor in the corner of the room popped open and a large sack popped out followed by an even larger man.

Grunting and wheezing to fit through the narrow gap, R?an Heldath pulled himself free to stand over his findings. He looked like a chunk of solid rock carved in the shape of a man. What he lacked in height he made up for in width of sheer muscle alone. Once short-cropped brown hair was now becoming wild, and large sideburns and the beginnings of a winter beard framed his face. Arms like tree trunks hefted the sack and dumped its contents out on the table. R?an surveyed his finds with a glum look. Like every Heldath before him, R?an was a blacksmith, and what he was looking at were weapons. Terrible ones, the majority more rust than actual metal. Ganton had never seen a rock look sad until now. Alyn caught his eye and they both barked a laugh.

"While you were out we found a trapdoor under the dining table." Alyn explained, "R?an hoped the former owners might have a soldier or two in the family. Unfortunately there's only space for one down there." He grinned widely.

"Aye and unfortunately if they were it were a right long time ago," R?an added, his voice the low rumble of an avalanche. "All that's left is rust in the shape of swords. A right fine way to keep a weapon. In the bloody basement, a fine way." The blacksmith punctuated his frustration with a spit and scrubbed his hand through his hair. "I for one am hoping for better news on your part. Too long cooped up in here. Excuse me, m'lord. Fire needs tending and you'd kill a fire if it were the whole forest what burned." Alyn slapped his back affably as he passed, but his sharp eyes quickly turned serious as he looked to Ganton.

"Has there been any sign of the captives?" Straight to the point.

Five days ago, the entire village of White Creek disappeared, though it did not take much to puzzle out the cause. The fourteen-odd buildings in the town were burnt to the ground and any who weren't simply missing were staining the snow a bright red. Tracks were found, but men to follow them were scarce. It was mere coincidence that the four of them had arrived in time to follow the attackers. None of them truly knew what they were facing. The neighbouring villages of Bear Head and Rockwell spoke in hushed whispers of beasts who come down from the mountains following a great Hunger. Ganton was starting to believe these tales.

Ganton collected his thoughts before answering immediately. He always preferred listening to speaking, and when he did speak he liked to plan his words carefully. "None, my lo--Alyn. They must have at least a day on us." Ganton felt a twinge of guilt. Alyn?s steely eyes refused to give up hope for their survival and it made the ranger feel useless for not being more helpful. Still, that was his own cup of stew. "I found the tracks, however. They lead east up into the mountains. It is as we fear. Whatever these things are, their size will lend them considerable advantage in crossing the Stonewall." Alyn?s face moved not an inch but Ganton knew he heard the unspoken suffix to his words. They are lost. How can there be any hope of reaching them now? We were too late.

"How many?"

?Fifteen.? Ganton replied after a time. The knight never knew when to cut his losses. ?Fifteen up the mountain, no doubt heading for the closest pass. It?s the only way through the mountains for many spans." He chuckled sourly, "Almost lucky for us they have prisoners. That'll force them through the pass instead of over at least.?

An awkward silence fell over the room and Ganton scratched at his beard uncomfortably. Perhaps he had said the wrong thing. Alyn?s face was set in determination and R?an?s neck twitched in anger. Ganton had to wonder if the enemy would cross. Whatever could ransack a village so thoroughly would care little for their prisoner?s welfare. That was what set the room on edge. What was their quarry capable of? After a time, voices were found again.

"When they take the valley, we gain an opportunity to catch up to the bloody bastards. They?ve got a lot to answer for.? R?an?s tone brooked no argument that the foe would take the pass. Lives depended on it. Ganton worried perhaps that the blacksmith boy was far too eager to get in a scrap with an enemy they knew nothing about. Ganton scratched his beard fitfully.

?Even supposing they do, and I wonder at that, they?ve still a day or two on us and we lose ground every moment this storm continues. And no? Ganton added, seeing Alyn eye the door, ?we are not going out after them in a blizzard. I once saw a messenger who had run through a storm to reach our camp die of frostbite as his sweat froze his skin. Fool boy.? He sighed and tugged at a stubborn chunk of snow that had taken up residence in his mustache and softened his voice ?No-one is doubting your courage, my lord. But only a fool boy would attempt to find his way up that pass in the dead of night with the whole brunt of winter bearing down on them.? As if to punctuate his point, the wind groaned angrily against the shuttered windows, rattling the wood. Ganton wondered if it actually was a howl. He shook himself mentally. Why was he so paranoid? ?The girl spooked me is all.? He flushed as he realized he had spoken aloud, but Alyn only looked at him with a cocked head.

?We stay then. For the night.? Alyn decided. Alyn usually decided. ?But we are away the moment the sun rises. We cannot afford any more time than is necessary here.? Ganton knew that Alyn already resented having to spend several days here, allowing him to range. It was necessary work, though. Sometimes Alyn was as bad as R?an when it came to rashness.

?Like two horses chomping at the bit.? He tugged at his beard again. I have got to stop speaking aloud!

?There is a way,? Sha'zel said suddenly, making Ganton jump in his boots and R?an drop the fire poker he had been holding. The blacksmith glared at her in response as she glided out of the shadows. ?There is a way to cut them off. Meet them head to head? She moved her two fists to collide in front of her. As she drew up beside him, Ganton felt as if the warmth of the fire drained away in her presence. He tugged at his beard near enough to split hairs.

?Going over the mountains is impossible, Sha?zel," replied R?an through gritted teeth. Her name hung in the air, alien. ?If there was a way besides the pass, Ganton would know. We stick to the pass and push hard. With the Wanderers grace we'll come down on their heels."
?Not over, boy. Through.?

R?an snorted but Sha?zel held fast. Her pointed aquiline face was blank but her violet-blue eyes burned with intensity. R?an ignored her stare and laughed. ?I did not take you for the joking type, girl. Let me just go back to the nearest town and get my mining tools, I seemed to have left them behind. Fool of me that I never thought of that. Not even a rope for caving.?

Sha'zels blade was halfway out of its sheath before Alyn put himself between them. Rising up to his full height Alyn towered over them by a head, the knights body stiff with fury. Alyn was rarely angry, but when he was it was the kind of silent fury that put you on edge without knowing why. "Cease this child's play at once," he snarled, "have you no wits in your heads? You two have been at each others throats since the Three Bridges. I will not stand for this nonsense."

"Is that a command," Sha'zel said plainly, her hand still on her sword hilt, "my lord?"

The knight flinched as if struck. It took him a few moments before he could nod, though it seemed to pain him to do so. Sha'zel gave no other reaction save to let the sword slide back into its sheath and stalk back over to her secluded corner. When she had gone, Alyn let out a breath before rounding on R?an.

?And you! What is in that thick head of yours! You keep antagonizing her like a bloody child poking a snake. How are we supposed to work together if you can?t even keep your tongue in your head!? Alyn rarely snapped at anyone. Ganton wondered if Alyn would find something to yell at him for just for the sake of it. He wished he was in another farmhouse right now.

?But--? R?an began hoarsely.

?I?ve had more than enough of the two of you butting heads every other day, but especially you! You know exactly why she is here with us and yet you continue to play games!?

?It?s not a game--?

?You are my friend, R?an, not my vassal. I do not want to order you--or her, for that matter--about like children, but if that is what it takes to keep this group in one piece, than so be it. I will find those women and children, R?an, with or without you" Alyn visibly quivered with anger now, his voice rising to a shout that hung in the air. Ganton worried if it would come to blows. Alyn was taller than R?an, but R?an was built like a stone outhouse and did not take kindly to being put in a corner. This time Ganton did pull out some hairs on his beard. A moment that lasted an eternity passed as the two men stared at each other but eventually R?an deflated and stood down, looking wounded. Ganton shook his head. He didn?t understand people one bit.

R?an stalked to the fireplace and jammed a log from the heap into the hearth as far as it could go, ignoring the flame that licked at his hand. Clearly there was no more speaking to be done on the subject. Alyn sighed and turned back to Sha'zel, perhaps hoping to smooth things over. She had lain down on her bedroll towards the wall and tension hung thick in the air. Defeated, Alyn turned to Ganton with slumped shoulders.

?We must have unity, my friend. You of all must understand this. Please say you understand. I?m at wits end here since we left White Creek.? Truly, for bags were present beneath his eyes, ?This is not about us, Ganton. It?s about finding those poor people who have been ripped from their homes by whatever these things are. If we let them die--? Ganton reached out a hand and grasped Alyn?s shoulder firmly. Alyn smiled grumly, his grey eyes somber.  ?You?re right, my friend. Calm minds, calm deeds. It?s the bloody weather, that?s it. The snow makes me feel trapped here. Weak.? He shook his head, ?I don?t like it.?

?We just need a plan.? Ganton replied, finally. ?A plan. That?s all.? He did not need to add his own worries to the melting pot. Ganton was no leader. He wanted Alyn to have his full confidence. If anyone could keep this mess together it would be Alyn. Already the spark of an idea lit Alyns? eye. It did not take much for the young knight to adapt. Briefly Ganton recalled his soldiering days, watching young lords like Alyn posturing and puffing out their chests before a battle, only to weep on their knees at the outcome. He was sure Alyn would not be like those men.






Ganton let Alyn lead him to the table and let the first musings of a plan wash over him, only adding his own embellishments when necessary, or when something sounded too dangerous. Making plans usually made the knight feel better. Eventually Ganton lit his tabac pipe, drawing R?an away from his staring contest with the fireplace to stand behind Alyn, unusually quiet with his own pipe clenched between his teeth. As Alyn talked, Ganton could see the fear the young knight tried hard to mask. He was doing a fair job at that, but Ganton spent most of his time around others listening and watching instead of talking. Though he knew it was a simple facade, the young mans? zeal was enough to give him confidence. Ganton had seen battles won and lost on leaders who knew fear but spoke bravely.

An enormous yawn split the remaining tension and pulled him out of his reverie. R?an grinned sheepishly with a small ?sorry?. Alyn let out a small laugh, clearly relieved to be somewhat back to normal. Standing, Ganton stretched his sore legs and moved to look out the window. Peering out, he saw little behind the falling snow save the darkness that lay like a blanket between the pine trees. Somewhere out there, he knew the watcher was still there.

With a few softly muttered apologies between Alyn and R?an--Ganton hoped this meant they were on the same side again--the party set about bedding down for the night. Sha?zel was stretched out and buried beneath her dark cloak, still as the grave. Alyn attempted to bring her furs to drape over herself as a blanket which she promptly refused. Ganton missed a joke that passed between the other two men, but R?an ended up with the spare furs.

First watch fell to Ganton, who waved away the offer of drawing straws. His hands gripped his axe tightly as he sat by the window peering out into the shifting shadows. Sleep would not come at all tonight.
   
Dawn brought clear skies and a cheerful sun, but did little to relieve the tension in the farmhouse. The ranger woke--having been forced to sleep by R?an through no small protest--to Sha?zel missing and Alyn fretting. R?an himself wore a devil-may-care grin, clearly unconcerned for her welfare. Not for the first time Ganton half-wished he were being worked to the bone on a dredging platform instead of here. At least you knew what you signed up for when you hauled oil. Nevertheless, he had a duty to himself and the others whether he liked it or not. After a brief breakfast of trail rations, Ganton grumpily stretched his stiff limbs and stepped outside: he had barely moved an inch from the window during the night when he was awake, waiting for an ambush that never came.

R?an stumped out of the farmhouse as Ganton was checking his gear, yawning as loudly as a man of his size could. With a start he caught himself mid-yawn as his leg sunk deep into the fresh snows.

"Bury me, but we'll drown before we reach the mountain today."

Ganton gave him a mollifying smile, though the humour did not touch his eyes. Straightening up, he slipped his longbow into the holster on his back, the string tucked safely away in his pouch. It would not do to have his string snap in the cold. The heavy wood axe went into his belt at his side. The ranger had never put much stock in any weapon that could not double as a tool. Swords were no use to him over a nice chopping axe. A quiver of thick broadhead arrows rested on his other hip alongside his various pouches holding his pipe, flint and other useful items. Throwing his thick fur cloak over his shoulders he looked like a bear on its hind-legs. Testing the wind with a bare finger, he allowed himself a brief smile. The clear skies and warm sun promised a decent enough climb today, though of course too much heat would turn the slope to a sheer climb of ice. He felt confident though, not least of all because they could finally leave the cramped shack behind.

"Did you hear me? I said how far to the pass?" R?ans voice started him out of his thoughts, and he coughed into his beard to hide his embarrassment. The young blacksmith looked restless. If Ganton looked like a bear in his furs, R?an actually was. Draped across his shoulders was an old bearskin rug from the farmhouse, standing in for proper winter gear. Regretfully, none of them had expected to be anywhere this far north in the dead of winter. Beneath that, he wore what little scraps of armor they could beg from the remaining villagers, all ill-fitting to his blocky form. Meeting Ganton?s gaze, the young smith flushed in embarrassment and scowled. ?How far, you stone-headed treeclasper??

"Lay off, R?an," said Sir Alyn as he stepped out of the farmhouse. It was less a command and more a friendly suggestion, though R?an shot him the same scowl. The knight wore a look of determination on his face this morning, showing no sign of his earlier worries. As always he looked the part of a lord, straight backed and hard like an elm tree, though a scraggly growth of beard marred his otherwise groomed appearance. His armor shined brightly in the morning sun, a stark contrast to R?ans scraps. His hand-and-a-half was strapped over the back of the white cloak that lay draped over his shoulders, obscuring the black chalice sewn into the fabric resting on his back. He leaned on the edge of the halberd he carried and gave R?an a reassuring nod.

"Ganton and I already have a plan in hand."

R?an only grunted, and Alyn flashed Ganton a quick smile before his lordly mask returned. Alyn passed R?an a bundle and moved to take his place in the front of their group. Pulling a dull looking sword from the bundle, R?an looked at it sadly. It looked like a dinner knife in his massive hands. Determinedly, the blacksmith pulled each weapon from the bundle and slid them one by one into his belt, avoiding the gaze of the others. Alyn only gave him a quizzical glance but Ganton gave his attention to his coinpurse, remembering a time when meals were hot.

"Where is your wight?" R?an asked, looking around half with curiosity and half hoping to spy the wolf that ate her. "Finally abandoned us to die? I?m surprised it took this long.?

Alyn gave him a disapproving look. Though he rarely became angry, when something went awry he broke out the disappointed look. "I've told you not to call her that. You and I both know she is no monster." R?an snorted at that and Alyns lips tightened. "I am certain she has preceded us to the pass. You may not trust her, but I do. Put your trust in me at least.?

Ganton gave a cold shiver. How had she left the farmhouse without him noticing anyway? He had been up nearly the whole night watching for an ambush and had not thought to check over his shoulder. It would not surprise him to learn that R?an had simply looked the other way in the hopes she get lost in the snow and never come back. Suddenly Ganton remembered.

"She said something about a way through, last night. Leave my boots outside my door if that's not what's she's gone off for." Ganton hoped he would not have to stake his life on it, regardless of what he said.

Alyns face darkened but he only nodded. Alyn treated Sha'zel as if she was solely his responsibility, and he waited on her like a fretting midwife sometimes. The midwife of a lion maybe. Shouldering his gear, Alyn started off towards the mountains with R?an in tow, leaving Ganton to consider who would even find their boots to leave.





Stepping lightly through the broken stones that marked a path long disused, Sha'zel al In'kavius kept low to the ground. Stalking through the snowy rubble, she kept one hand on her intact sword and another outstretched for balance. Before her, the path wound up and onwards, snaking in and out of view as it turned. To her left a wall of jagged stone rose, flanking the deep drop to her right. This was far from difficult terrain where she came from, but it would not do to slip on a wayward rock and take a tumble here. Warily her eyes darted around, watching the rocks of the valley for potential ambush. She had a dim idea of what they were following and she did not wish to be caught unawares.

With her free hand she brushed snow free from the valley walls until she found what she was looking for. A slab of masonry older than any in the New Kingdoms, stuck out from the new fallen snow like a bony finger. Her hand traced the intricate angular script upon the stone and she allowed herself the briefest of smiles for her success.

Quickening her step, she made her way onwards past the old sign. Remembering the sheer imputence on the blacksmith boys face her mild joy turned to ash. How dare he question her? She could have buried her blades in his back while he slept a dozen times by now and by her grace she had not. Men had no grasp over how fragile their lives were. Would that he were to spend one day in the lightless world he would speak softer and step where she directed. His bloody smirk set her teeth on edge. And the nerve of that lord boy to treat her like a child, as if saving her life once made her a ward to be protected for the rest of his days. His calm demeanour was almost worse than the blacksmiths tongue.

Suddenly she stopped, crouching to the wall. Cursing to herself for not paying attention she peered around the bend. Before her rose a sheer wall of smooth stone, broken only by inset carvings and a set of enormous stone doors that split the middle. Supporting the walls to either side of the door were the remains of tall square columns, at the foot of which stood statues so worn with age and covered with snow she could not make them out. She knew who they were, however, and this place. Al'lan'a'kuzul, Home of the Stone Men. Undoubtedly were she to wind back time she would find the faces of ancient lords of the kuzul beneath those snow drifts. It was a place much like this where she had first found herself stepping forth from the Lightless Land. Here they would find a way through to cut off their quarry. The Stone Men always built a second entrance, that she knew. She only need find it.

Sha'zel approached the enormous doors cautiously, scanning the cliffs above the fortress entrance with the practiced ease of a hunter. With her sword, she walked along the door tapping the stone. The black sword rang out a tale of doors at least a foot thick. Grimacing she considered attempting the Song.

The Worldsong was an ancient thing. Describing the Song is difficult, for it is the sound of the universe. Everything within the universe vibrates at a certain frequency, a frequency that can be manipulated by proper application. The only people in the world capable of manipulating the Worldsong were the aieros, the Chosen of the Gods. In times long lost, they were given the gift of magic which flows through their very veins. She could barely handle the Song. She was not aieros. She was verianos, an exile. Her people had lost the Song. Were she to attempt to manipulate something so large, it would just as soon bring the mountain down on top of her head before opening the doors.

Frowning, she peered closely at the ground beneath the doors. Here the powder had been disturbed by another. Slowly she drew her second sword--its length split in two by a power she did not wish to think about--and surveyed the surrounding cliffs once more. She needn't have worried. The tracks had been covered by the fresh snow meaning whoever had passed through here had done so the previous day and closed the door behind them. Which also meant they must have found a way in. Sticking her swords into the snow, ready in an instant if necessary, Sha'zel ran her hands up the center line of the doors. Snow came away at her touch and made one thing clear.

"No sign of force. There must be something controlling the doors," she whispered, allowing herself a second smile, although that was probably enough for the day. She would hate to accidentally smile in the company of the others and give the impression of enjoying their company. All she needed to do was find a way to repay her "debt" to the knight and get him to stop following her around like what she assumed human mothers did. Fussing, it was called?

A quick search of the surrounding area revealed a toppled column leaning precariously against the wall. At its peak was a hole in the wall, though an effort had been made to fill in the gap with snow and bits of rubble. These things knew what they were doing. Sha'zel would not have noticed the hole if she hadn?t been looking for just that. Carefully she sheathed her swords and cast one final look around before climbing up the column.

The column was made up of individual angular blocks stacked on top of one another, and as such had fallen in such a way as to almost provide a stair. The supporting beams inside had likely succumbed to age. With ease she made her way to the top and drew her shorter blade to pry away some of the debris. She was careful not to touch the edges of the black blade.

Pushing aside the freed rubble with her free hand she slid into the darkness within the hole. Slowly she drew her intact sword, realizing she was not alone anymore.







The pass was precarious, wending its way along the contours of the mountains. Narrowing so at times that the party had to go one abreast, R?an felt grateful the snow had not yet melted beneath the afternoon sun. From behind Ganton he could tell the woodsman certainly thought the whole mountain was going to turn to ice at any moment. He kept poking at the powder with the end of his unstrung bow and muttered under his breath.

Ahead of them both, Alyn leaned on his halberd and trudged on through the snow. R?an felt sympathy for the knight: wearing even half a set of plate armor would making walking in these drifts a mean task. R?an was no stranger to mail. If it were not for the impending danger of a possible ambush at any time, he would have forced his friend to stop and leave the armor behind. Not that he probably would of course, Alyn was stubborn as a mule when he set his mind on something. Grimacing he remembered the bloody wight. If it wasn't for Alyn they wouldn't be wasting time dogging her . . .

"Here!" Alyn called over his shoulder "the path splits here!" Alyn waved Ganton over to examine the ground around the split. Yawning and stretching his cold limbs R?an leaned his bulk against the cliffside, disinterested. Sleep had been restless. He had been too angry to keep still for long and let sleep overtake him.

Rubbing at his eyes with balled fists, R?an tried to put the girl out of his mind. From their vantage point on the narrow path, the view of the surrounding landscape would be breathtaking were it not for the pressing worry of their journey. The land below was covered in pine trees dressed in white and wrapped in mist. Far and away on the horizon the land sloped down from rugged mountainous terrain to northern hinterlands. R?an strained his eyes to catch sight of the farmhouse but it lay nestled and hidden in the trees.

Sighing, he shifted his weight to remove the rock lodged in his back and gave a start when a scrap of cloth fell away to land at his feet. Grunting, R?an bent down and snatched the cloth up from the snow. Examining the place from which the scrap must have fallen, he noticed a pair of deep gouges rent in the stone. Calling a couple times to get Gantons attention, the two of them studied the stone with furrowed brows.

"The mark is fresh," Ganton said, running his fingers into the grooves. "See how the stone falls away like this. Whatever made this is strong."

"Very strong," R?an murmured to himself, "did someone try to get away?" That question was more to himself than anything else. The snows would hide any bodies to be found. He shuddered inwardly and unconsciously closed his hand over the scrap of cloth.
"Down here. She went this way." called Alyn from the left-hand path.

"So what, Alyn?? R?an groaned. ?You're not seriously going to follow her and get us all lost or dead in an ambush are you?" Ganton have him a look of worry and R?an rolled his eyes. The woodsman worried about everything and he was at wits end with it all.

?I trust her, R?an. You can come or you can wait for another snowstorm to come bury us.? Alyns voice matched his gaze. His grey eyes were as cold as the snow. R?an sighed deeply. The knight moved to stand face to face with R?an, though with his height he ended up looking down on him. ?I have never led you wrong before. If it makes you feel better, I will swear to you that whatever happens is my fault should something happen. She is one of us, R?an. I will make you see that. I will make her see that.? That last part was spoken in a whisper to himself as he turned back to lead the party, not meant for R?an?s ears. The blacksmith didn?t understand what he saw in her. She literally was a monster from a childrens tale and he wanted no part of such things. Why did he have to trust her? R?an scrubbed his hand through his short hair and replaced his hood when it fell. He probably would follow Alyn into an active volcano but he would be damned if he didn?t have to like it.

The trio made their way carefully down the right-hand path. Gradually it climbed higher and became wider so much so that they kept three abreast, each man scanning the towering cliffs above for signs of life. Anything would be a relief, it had been some time since they had seen any signs of life save for the birds in the sky. The valley pass was eerily quiet, and each sudden gust of wind made each man start and grip their weapons tighter. Ganton stopped every few minutes to crouch down and shift aside some snow here and there. It was only a few minutes before he caught Sha?zels trail, and only a few minutes after that when he found the first runestone.

The stone jutted unnaturally out of the snow, clearly placed there long ago. Carved runes worked intricately into the stone excited Alyn, who mentioned they reminded him of the documents he had seen from the kuzul embassy in Princetown. As they travelled on, he chattered on about the historical significance of this place. Did early kuzul once live near here? Most certainly they had carved the runes into the stone sign they had seen. Grudgingly R?an was forced to admit--silently, to himself--that Sha?zel might have been on to something here.

The sun hung in the middle of the sky when they reached the doorway. The Al'lan'a'kuzul was a squat gray fort flanked with rows of columns, most in ruin, set into the side of the mountain. A pair of great stone gates lay open in the center of the wall. Even upon first sight, R?an could tell this place would have been nearly impossible to take in battle in its time. The pathway they had left behind was treacherous to the three of them, but certain death for an army of size. It wasn?t metalwork, but R?an did wish he had more time to poke around in the masterful stonework.

That was what R?an was thinking when Sha?zel glided smoothly out from behind the nearest pillar, nearly making R?an?s heart leap out of his chest. Cursing and grimacing enough to break a child?s spirit, R?an slammed the old sword back into its sheath when he realized it had jumped into his hand. Sha?zel did not so much as glance at him, but she gave off an air of satisfaction as she passed.

?The way was guarded.? she said plainly, as if it were of no consequence. Grimly Alyn pulled his eyes off the open doorway as she spoke. Clearly he expected something to jump out immidiately. ?They left a rearguard in case we tried this path. It tried to get the drop on me. It got away.?

?It got away?? R?an sputtered, incredulously ?You?re sitting here trying to scare honest men half to death and you speak of ?getting away?? The whole lot of them is going to come down on our heads at any moment!? He realized dimly the sword was back in his hand again.
Never losing that air of content, Sha?zel strode up to R?an and looked him up and down. She came up to his chest but still managed to make him feel small. He felt bile rising in his throat and his neck was twitching noticeably. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Alyn looking grim as the reaper and debating intervening again. He realized her sword was free and he gaped openly before he could stop himself. What on earth was he doing? He should strike her down now and be done with it. The black blade held him mesmerized as she lifted it to rest against his cheek.

?One should hope that the wielder of this blade has a skilled arm, because a mere cut from this will make you beg on your kneels for the killing strike. Darksteel is poison to the soul.? She smiled then, and R?an involuntarily took a half-step away. The girl never smiled. He decided right then he should make his peace with his life before he died. ?I left a nick on its arm. I let it drag itself away from me, moaning for death, until I found the way out. I have done two deeds for you today, blacksmith. What have you done?? A feverish gleam lit her eye as she spoke, and when she was done and put up her sword the cold mask returned.

Silently she glided forward into the yawning tunnel. Alyn gave R?an a forced smile and a shrug before starting after her, his halberd leaving round holes in his trail. Ganton looked like he wished he were anywhere else right now, and by the tugging at his beard seemed as if he were about to do just that. R?an was glad the woodsman hasn't brought up dredging again. Thinking about have a hot meal and a bed again, albeit on a iron death trap in the middle of the ocean, was not an option if he were to proceed.

Muttering furiously to himself for allowing her to cow him, he lashed out at one of the stone statues with his sword. The old blade made only a dent in the snow but no damage to the rock. He sighed resentfully and wished to the Wanderer for a better weapon.







Inside the tunnels proved to be labyrinthian in nature. First left than right than left again always at a perfect ninety degree angle. Not for the first time since entering was Alyn thankful for Sha'zels lead. She followed a trail of blood that sometimes caught the light as they passed. He was not pleased in the dishonourable method, but need outweighed his pleasure. Not only that, but they walked in near darkness that only her eyes could penetrate. The girl would only allow them to bring one lantern in, hooded, so as to not draw unwanted attention.

Steeling his nerves and straightening his back Alyn quickened his pace to catch up with Sha'zel. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the vast black chambers, their usage long forgotten in time. The lanterns light seemed feeble compared to the vast darkness that swallowed the party up. Sha'zel kept them straight on through the center of each chamber, and so the light could not reach the walls most times. It felt as if they were in another world. It was hard for Alyn not to worry. He was out of his element here and had put his trust entirely in Sha'zel. She did not turn as he drew up to her, but kept on scanning the hall as they walked, seeing things that he could never hope to with his eyes.

"What was it that you slew?" He asked quietly. She paused for a moment, searching for the words to explain in his language.

"They are jotar'nid'ogir. They are Blood of the Old Troll." Alyn noticed her watching his face and realized he his mouth was agape. He quickly snapped it shut with a flush, but she had already stopped short. Glancing behind her to find the other two out of earshot, she spoke with a soft voice that caught the young knight off guard. "Are you sure you want to go through with this? The jotar are vicious creatures. Once they swept through the Lightless Land and nearly brought us to oblivion." She stared up at him from beneath her hood, her icy eyes glinting in the lanterns light, "Your people mean nothing to me, but I owe you a debt of blood. It would not do for you to die before it is repaid." She punctuated her last words with a finger jab to his chest.

Alyn caught her wrist with his hand. She did not struggle, but he felt as if he were laying a hand on a caged wolf. "One day I will teach you that not everyone in this world is an enemy. Your land is not my land. There never was any debt to me, Sha'zel. I only did what any sensible man would do given the circumstances. No more, no less." He searched her eyes for the the spark of understanding that he had only seen once before. Instead he met glaciers. She held his gaze for a moment before turning to resume her lead down the tunnels. Alyn sighed heavily. There was so much he didn't understand about the girl, and he suspected even if he stayed with her until her deathbed he would know only a bare fraction.

"The debt was never to me, Sha'zel." Alyn muttered. R?an have him a questioning look as the pair caught up and opened his mouth to comment. Seeing his furrowed brow he clamped it shut. Alyn tried to put on a brave face as he followed Sha'zel into the darkness.




Scroll down for Part Two!

[Vanil Bramblefoot]

Vanil Bramblefoot
Male Halfling Rogue Level 1
Neutral Good
Size: Small
Hair : Light Brown
Eyes: Hazel
Skin: Light

STR 10 (+0)
DEX 16 (+3)
CON 13 (+1)
INT 16 (+3)
WIS 14 (+2)
CHA 13 (+1)

HP: 7
Spd: 20 ft
AC: 16 = 10 + 2 [leather] + 3 [dexterity] + 1 [small]
Touch AC: 14
Flat-Flooted: 13

Initiative modifier: +3
FORT: +2
REF: +7
WILL: +3

Attack (Hand): +1
Attack (Missile) +4
Grapple = -4

Language: Common, Halfling

Feats: Nimble Fingers

Equipment:
Light Mace [1d4, crit x2, 1/2 lb, light, bludgeoning]
Light Crossbow [1d6, crit 19-20/x2, range inc 80 ft., 2 lb, piercing]]
Leather armor [light; + 2 AC; max dex + 6; check penalty 0; 7.5 lb.]

Skills
[spoiler]
Appraise 5
Balance 7
Bluff 2
Climb 3
Concentration 2
Craft (Traps) 5
Disable Device 9 [nimble fingers]
Disguise 1
Escape Artist 3
Forgery 5
Gather Information 6
Heal 2
Hide 9
Intimidate 1
Jump -4
Knowledge (Architecture) 5
Knowledge (Local) 5
Listen 5
Move Silently 7
Open Lock 9
Profession (Blacksmith) 6
Ride 3
Search 5
Sense Motive 2
Spot 2
Survival 2
Swim 0
Use Magic Device 5
Use Rope 5
Tumble 8
[/spoiler]


Halfling
[spoiler]+ 2 dexterity / -2 strength (already included)

Small (combat bonuses, + 4 to hide already included)

+ 2 racial bonus on climb, jump, move silently

+ 1 racial bonus on all saving throws (already included)

+ 2 morale bonus on saves vs. fear (stacks with racial bonus)

+ 1 to hit with thrown weapons and slings

+ 2 racial bonus on listen checks (already included)[/spoiler]


Rogue
[spoiler]Sneak Attack +1d6

Trapfinding

Evasion (level 2)

Trap Sense (level 3)

Uncanny Dodge (level 4)

Improved Uncanny Dodge (level 8)

Special Abilities (choices begin at 10th level)
[/spoiler]

Personality
[spoiler]
If there is one thing to know about Vanil, it is that he is unflappable. In the face of certain death, his dying breath would be spent on a wry quip.

Master Vanil was raised a Bramblefoot in Halfstone, the center of Halfling activity in the realms. A Bramblefoots chief goal and only aspiration in life is to pick the thorns of the Stranglethorn trees around the village. Stranglethorn trees bear the sweetest, juiciest, most amazing fruit that any halfling worth his salt has ever tasted. As such, the Bramblefoots, along with the Thornfingers, the Prickleburrs, and the Brierjumps, were named for their difficult but necessary jobs (as is the halfling way, to name after the job).

Master Vanil was an oddity however. Vanil dreamed of a greater future for himself and his family, though old Ma and Pa Bramblefoot could not disagree more. Thus, when the a dwarven smith of great learning came to the town to replace the old boulder of a halfling that had recently passed away. This smith, Jon Hammerdon, agreed after great persistence to teach Vanil the ways of a smith, having found the little one poking through his things. Thus a life-long love of traps and michief was born.

Vanil is impetuous. Born of a need for action. Vanil is a troublemaker and a scamp, but never a liar. Vanil talks far too much. He speaks when others would be silent. He is a fool, but wise in the clutch. He is a sort who would never give up on someone in need. He is definately the last thing Ma Bramblefoot expected.[/spoiler]

Hi everyone!

I don't actually know who else is still here from the original group other than Throndir but if we've never met before I used to be Kain Bloodbane, and myself along with Throndir and others made this place. :) Throndir and I merged forums from back when I still had my own called The Cleric's Court. If we have, nice to see you again! Sorry I haven't been around but I had been busy with college and other things. My how things have changed. I am happy to see this place is still standing, and hopefully I'll be more responsive than in the past.

(panda)