| T O P I C R E V I E W |
| Kris the Grey |
Posted - 18 Jul 2013 : 04:23:40
Greetings fellow sages,
In discussing the results of a home brew adventure set during the fall of the deep gnome city of Blingdenstone (in the year 1371 DR) on another thread I posted a snippet from a short story about our adventure that a couple of my gamers and I were moved to whip up.
It occurred to me that this is the official forum for such sharing, so (and in the interest of sharing more effectively, Lol) I figured it wouldn't hurt to post it here as well.
Enjoy. Oh, and feel free to share your feedback. We are deciding whether to invest the energy and effort needed to turn the tale from a snippet into an actual story and hearing whether anyone actually enjoys reading it will help us in making that call.
(Note to the reader: the particular twist to my adventure is that it is a 'play yourself' adventure - think 'The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe' or 'The Woods Out Back' - so the players ARE their characters and came to the Realms (magically and mysteriously) from Earth.)
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Do I go back?
Karyl hung magically suspended, twenty feet in the air, the great Hall of Miners stretching away before her, far beyond her sight into shadow. Down below her feet a battle raged. Gnomish soldiers and a scant number of Knights in Silver stood side by side in desperate battle lines, pinned into a corner near the cavern's entrance, slashing and hacking wildly. Near a dozen demons hemmed them in – spiders the size of large elephants, leaping forward and back with a scythe of claws and snapping bites. Bebeliths. Loathsome drow-called demons, brought in by the dozen to crush Blingdenstone completely. On the outskirts of the battle, their dark elf allies darted in and out, crossbows clicking with deadly accuracy.
Do I go back?
The words ricocheted through the tumult of her thoughts. In her hand, Darkfell muttered in dwarven. Noror! the sentient sword insisted, Enemies! and tugged at her mind, demanding that she join the fray. She did not. She floated there, staring down in horror, perched on the precipice of doubt. Her eyes picked out bastions of strength, points of light among the harried gnomish and human line. There was the Crown Prince Marktarn, the courageous keystone at the heart of the gnomes. There was Sir Joseph Wyrmslayer, the human battle commander of the Knights, his shining longsword Qualmanthor flashing left and right – wounded a dozen times, his bright armor dark with ichor and blood, beset from all sides but still standing strong, rallying his Knights with every shout. There was Nymara, the servant of Mystra Emma had called to assist them in this fight, fleet and nimble, a blur of silver fur and shining rapier, his voice raised in praise to Midnight as he slashed and cut in his goddess's name. His divine power laced the backbone of the line with iron and was all that kept it from crumbling.
This is not how it was supposed to be!
She was supposed to come sweeping in and call out for reinforcements, brave men and women who would race along with her to save her friends. Mere moments ago she had barely escaped the clutches of Bregan D'aerthe in the twisting passages to the north. The members of that band even now held a few of her Earth-born companions - Emma, Obie, and Nadelyne - captive. Only thanks to Emma's quick thinking – and the jingling chainmail that put Karyl at the back of the line – had she managed to slip away. They were depending on her now to find Wyrmslayer and the others, depending on her to come racing back with an army at her heels as they desperately stalled for time.
But from this...? She watched Wyrmslayer fall back, and back again, losing precious ground. His longsword lashed forward, caught a demon leg, and then Nymara was there, his melodic voice high and his rapier dancing, and it was the demon's turn to fall back. Yet, in that briefest of moments while Nymara's back was turned, another Knight in Silver went down under rending jaws, never to rise again. No, from this fight there would be no reinforcements.
Her gaze drifted south into the receding ever-twilight of the great cavern. Sir Wyrmslayer and the others had not succeeded in the real task they had come here to perform. They had not pushed deep enough into the cavern, had not stemmed the tide of demons that still poured unchecked into the city. Somewhere down there, in the deep gloom, the cursed priestesses of Lloth still kept vigil.
Do I go back?
Back, to warn the deep gnome illusionist Henkala Shadowsong, who even now hastened south with a small force, that no fewer than ten of the spider demons closed in on her position? Back, to try to free Emma and the others snared in Bregan D'aerthe's deadly ambush, though she was alone and without help? Back, to the House Center, seat of svirfneblin power, and on to the escape tunnels that led away from the city and disaster, away into freedom?
Back, and leave them all to die, admit to failure, give up the city, give up the lives of thousands?
We are promised that there will always be choices, she thought with a kind of terrible fatality. We are not promised that any of them will be good choices.
She took in a deep breath and shut all her doubts away. The plight of Shadowsong, the battle raging down below her feet, even Emma and the others – Stars help them all, for she could not. Three battles lay before her that she could fight, three battles she might even win, three battles that would surely lose this war. No. No, the only way left was straight ahead. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,” she breathed, and with a sudden rush of will, broke into flight.
Up and on she arrowed, leaving the safety of the tunnel entrance behind. The floor dropped away. The battle dropped away. The cavern opened around her, a cool dark rush of space. She sped south, arcing high into the air, soaring up one hundred feet above the stony cavern floor. The torn red robes covering the riven remains of her armor flared out behind her, caught in the wind of her passing. In her left hand a moon blade, a boon bestowed upon her and her female companions at Selűne's altar in Silverymoon, flowed from her palm in a slash of silver; in her right, Darkfell burned black, blazing with enchantment. She made no attempt at stealth, wrapped in the magical veils of half a dozen spells that kept her up in the air, sheathed her in layers of protection, filled her with a fierce courage not entirely her own, and made her blaze bright to eyes attuned to magic. More than one such eye flicked to her from the battlefield below – she'd been seen. One of the massive spider demons broke away from the mad melee and pursued, skittering rapidly along the wall. She rose higher in her arc, pressing south, and then all at once there it was, far below her, fat and wide and flashing with green and blue and violet light.
The Portal.
It sat on the roof of the begemmed Miner's Hall. There were enemies all about it. Spiders swarmed and dangled from the walls and crawled over the stairs. Female soldiers from Menzoberranzan's First House stood sentry on the terrace and the steps that led to it, swords drawn. Behind them, a dozen undead gnomes, freshly conjured from the bodies of the fallen, ringed it. Above, on the roof itself, a cadre of priestesses of Lloth waited, as she knew they must. One of them must be the yochlol, one of Lloth's own handmaidens, hidden in drow disguise. Even from this distance she felt their combined malevolent power as it rolled toward her. Most fearsome of all, five more of the massive bebeliths kept guard, legs tensed for the springing jumps that would send them hurtling across the room. She shuddered at the thought of their claws closing around her, the remembered feeling of them ripping through armor and flesh...
A whisper of a thought reached out to her from behind and to the left, the skein of a message that just barely reached her consciousness. Well met, Lady Darkstar, said a high voice she recognized. Nymara had seen her as well. Are you venturing to close the portal?
Her eyes narrowed on the massive shape, seething and burning with arcane energies. Through that maw poured the destroyers of Blingdenstone. Through that maw came the spawn of the Abyss. Her response was short, sharp, and final.
Yes.
That was all, and then she had blazed past, the message cut short, out of range, headed on – alone – towards the magical construct, and the drow and demons alike who warded it. Above her heart her mark, the invisible brand all her earth-born companions bore, burned. She had only one star remaining of the seven it had started with. One star to set off in the portal's maw and pray that it would close. If she could get there. Past the spiders and the demons and the drow. Past the Handmaiden of Lloth and all the red-burning eyes that marked her approach, all the hands that tightened on swords, all the minds that reached for spells. A dozen forms of death, and any one alone outmatched her. Her arc reached its apex; she started to descend.
With a swell of magical power two of the waiting priestesses rose into the air, unfurled their snake headed whips, and began to close... |
| 5 L A T E S T R E P L I E S (Newest First) |
| Kris the Grey |
Posted - 21 Jul 2013 : 21:51:23
Anyone attending GenCon this year and enjoying the story above might want to take a peek here:
http://forum.candlekeep.com/topic.asp?TOPIC_ID=18076 |
| BEAST |
Posted - 19 Jul 2013 : 04:24:51
I will certainly remember that offer, K. You're too kind!
GenCon is not in the cards, just yet. I will be doing the low-budget local con for at least one more year, before I try to tackle the logistics of a cross-country one like that.
But I can see meself as a random Clan Battlehammer dwarf on loan from Icewind Dale in 1356 DR, inspired by me king's own personal grand quest in the name of glory and legacy. How much trouble could one bearded bloke get himself into, anyway? ;) |
| Kris the Grey |
Posted - 19 Jul 2013 : 01:42:26
Thauranil,
Thank you very much. We are toying with doing a larger story, should we do so, I'll be sure to let you (and the other scribes) know. The more people who actually want to read such a story the more incentive we have to add to it!
Beast,
Lol. Indeed. Thanks again for the praise. When I'm running a game I start by sketching out a comprehensive background plot (the what, when, and why for each 'bad guy' and 'good guy' faction), follow it up with a timetable of events to come (so I don't later 'cheat' the players by manipulating the clock) and finish it off by jotting down a few 'memorable scenes' of action, panorama, or stirring dialogue that I want the adventure to be sure to include. I then run the game with an eye towards the cinematic - as if I were shooting a movie. It's worked pretty well for me so far, and I've tweaked it quite a bit over the years. Fortunately, it seems to have lent itself fairly well to storytelling.
If you (or any other reader) have any specific things you liked - or didn't - be sure to let us know. It is great to hear people enjoyed the read, but we are also shooting to see what they would have enjoyed seeing done differently.
On the subject of play, if you should ever find yourself in Connecticut (or at GenCon) let me know, I'd be happy to save you a seat at the table one evening. I meant what I said about you being a RAS/Realms scholar of note, and my play yourself adventures run best when the people playing them have a healthy background in lore. Imagine what you could do if you suddenly found yourself in the Realms in say 1356 (and managed to live long enough to find a friend or two)? I bet you'd be a powerhouse of accumulated knowledge. Lol. |
| BEAST |
Posted - 18 Jul 2013 : 18:14:22
Haha! I can practically hear Thauranil saying, <"And THENNN?!">
KTG, yeah, I started reading this late last night, but I was too tired to concentrate.
I re-read today, and I gotta say, IF I were to play the game, I'd like to play with people who elaborate the story as well as you. Good job! |
| Thauranil |
Posted - 18 Jul 2013 : 13:25:21
Awesome.
Ahhh but where is the next part, I need closure! |
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