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 Post subject: The Dungeon: A Narrative
PostPosted: Mon Apr 10, 2006 2:57 pm 
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I'm going to start posting a story of sorts detailing our group's journey through the Dungeon. I'm making it as generic in setting as possible. And some of the details will be different to make it a more coherent story. Hope you guys enjoy! :biggrin:



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PostPosted: Mon Apr 10, 2006 3:02 pm 
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Part 1: Gathering

The Monastery was old. So old in fact that no one recalled who had built it, or even if it had been built as a monastery in the first place. All that was known now was that the secluded structure, located high in the Danger Mountains of Voren, was populated by monks and acolytes who were a strange lot indeed.

At least, that’s how the mismatched group who approached it felt. And that’s saying something. A confident and capable human warrior, Sigmund Ringede found himself oddly out of place. Cyrus Uan looked human, but in fact he wasn’t. Being from a far-off desert region to the west, he was from a race of psionicists, and he was cold. Something he was not used too. Next was a gnome named Ozwald Birsoon. He was a wizard, with an owl familiar and an odd aura about him. He eyed his companions constantly, seeming to be sizing them up for something. Ozwald was followed by a rather chatty little halfling named Albie. He wore studded leather and carried a mace, a rather odd combination. Lastly came two dwarves, as different from each other as they were from the rest. Dorn was rather tidy-looking (by dwarf standards), with a neatly trimmed black beard, and clothed in all black. He was clearly from a city, and looked a little uncomfortable out here in the wild. Brak, on the other hand, looked as if he was made for this region. Being from a barbaric hills of South Gotland, he was unkempt, dirty and had wild, red hair and a foul demeanor. He wore weathered leather armor, and carried a hammer, whose head was as large as his own, over his cannonball shoulders.

As the group approached the front gates, they were greeted by a brother in a dirty robe. His eyes were a bit wild, and he jumped at every sound.

“G-g-greetings.” He stammered. “I am Brother Pikoli.” He nodded to each in turn. “You are the chosen ones?”

“If’n ya mean the poor butts of some durned god’s joke, then yeah.” Said Brak. “We be them.” Everyone looked at him oddly, especially Pikoli. But to the Brother’s credit, he dismissed the blasphemy out of hand.

“May I see the mark you all bear?”

They all lifted sleeves and shirts and whatever to reveal a tattoo of a tower on various body parts. All except Ozwald, that is. He stood aloof, and ignored the request as if it were beneath him.

“Master Gnome…” Inquired Pikoli. All eyes turned to the wizard.

“I shall not suffer the indignity of baring my flesh for your amusement.” He said in a commanding tone that belied one of his size. Pikoli looked stymied.

“But sir…”

“Just show it, runt, so’s we can git on with this.” Stated Brak, his patience for everything clearly running dangerously low.

With an indignant harrumph, Ozwald hiked up his robe. He looked at each one of them in turn with a serious eye.

“So much as one snicker, and you will suffer the pain of a most unpleasant death.” With that, he turned and exposed his derriere, upon the left cheek of which was a tower tattoo. To their collective credit, the party kept mostly straight faces, and treated the situation with the seriousness that Ozwald deemed it to be.

All except Brak.

“BWAHAHAHA!” The dwarf guffawed. “Is that not the funniest site you ever saw?” He asked Dorn. The street dwarf coughed a couple of times, and turned away, facing Pikoli.

The monk took it in without comment or reaction, save a nod of satisfaction.

“Then follow me.” He turned and walked up the stairs and through the main doors. The others quickly followed, and not a one looked directly at the gnome. Not that he would have noticed. His eyes seemed to almost blaze as he stared at Brak. The barbarian noticed, but only chuckled, slapping the wizard on the back, and sending him staggering forward.

“Now don’t get all indign’nt, runt.” He said with a chuckle. “The gods has a sense o’ humor so’s ya gotta just laugh back at em.” He grinned and walked past the gnome and towards the doors.

“Oh, I will laugh.” Ozwald said to the dwarf’s back. “I will laugh when you are the first to die, you filthy pig of a dwarf.”

Brak seemed to pause at the top of the stairs for just a second, but otherwise gave no indication that he had heard the gnome’s prophesy.



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PostPosted: Mon Apr 10, 2006 4:55 pm 
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Cool. Keep going on this. :biggrin:



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PostPosted: Tue Apr 11, 2006 6:23 am 
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Very cool, keep it up. :D

Chris



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PostPosted: Tue Apr 11, 2006 6:27 am 
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Just so you guys know, this isn't going to be an accurate account of everything we have done/do. It's going to be more of a "highlight reel" of some of the better moments.



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PostPosted: Tue Apr 11, 2006 6:30 am 
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Gotetsu wrote:
Just so you guys know, this isn't going to be an accurate account of everything we have done/do. It's going to be more of a "highlight reel" of some of the better moments.


Yeah, I figured as much.

Chris



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PostPosted: Wed Apr 12, 2006 10:35 am 
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Part 2: Giving the Dungeon the Finger

The interior of the monastery was as impressive and ancient as the exterior. And inside were several monks milling about, many of which, it seemed, for no apparent reason. The whole place was a hubbub of senseless activity. As if everyone were nervously pacing.

Not exactly a welcoming thought.

The party was rushed through to a door in the back and into the basement. They moved to a dark corner, and stopped in front of another door. It was heavily barred and warded with spells of protection. Pikoli chanted a few phrases as he unbarred and unlatched the locks, and opened the door. Beyond was a small antechamber, at the back of which was a winding, torch lit stairwell leading down at a sharp decline. Pikoli lead them in and gathered them at the top of the stairs. He pointed down.

“At the bottom follow the corridor.” Said Pikoli. “There, you will find your destiny.” He turned to leave, but Sigmund grabbed the monk’s sleeve and jerked him around.

“What in the Nine and a Half Hells is this?” He asked.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean what are we supposed to do?” Sigmund asked. “You lead us down here and turn us loose without so much as a warning or a ‘Have fun storming the dungeon.’ Just what are we supposed to be doing in here?”

“But…the dreams…I thought you all had the dreams.”

“Well, yes.” Said Cyrus. “I believe we all had the dreams, and an uncontrollable urge to come here. But the meaning was never made clear.”

Pikoli took a deep breath.

“Alright, then. Let me explain.” He began. “Below you is a massive underground complex which houses just about every creature known to man. Lore has it that it was originally built as a prison for some great evil, but that somehow it become more then that.

“This has all been well and fine, since there is no known way out.” Sigmund’s eyes widened and he was about to say something, when Pikoli held up a hand, and hastily continued. “That is until recently. There have been tales of things long since thought gone appearing on the surface. And it is surmised that there is a great power marshalling evil forces below. The monks and acolytes here prayed long and hard for salvation. And it was made known to us that a band of heroes would be sent, bearing the mark of the Tower. It was they who would destroy the evil, and return balance to the Dungeon.”

“And we’re supposedly them heroes?” Asked Brak.

“Yes, you are.” Answered the monk. “And despite your appearances, we have complete faith that you will succeed where others have…er…not dared try.” He smiled nervously. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have urgent business in the Monastery. May the Gods be with you.” With that he turned and before anyone could stop him, exited the door. They stood in stunned silence as they heard the bolts and bars being put back into place, and the chanting that was, undoubtedly, resetting the wards.

They stood looking at each other for a moment.

“Well that’s all there is for it.” Proclaimed Brak, and he turned and began descending the stairs. The rest hesitated then followed reluctantly.

The stairs led to a long hallway, along which were several torches. At the end of the hallway was a large, roughly circular room. In the back were two doors. Other than that, the room was empty and featureless.

Brak stood looking back and forth from door to door for a minute. The rest just watched, hoping that the supposedly innate abilities of a dwarf would lead them in the right direction.

Finally, Brak shrugged and walked to the door on the right. He opened and then stepped back, a confused look on his face. The rest gathered around him and peered through the portal.

What they saw was blackness. Not the blackness that comes with an absence of light, but a tangible blackness, as if something was there, but wasn’t.

“Check the other door.” Sigmund said to Albie. The halfling skipped off and opened that door. He came back a moment later.

“It’s the same.”

Each one seemed to be taking a brief moment to curse Pikoli and his Gods.

After a minute Brak reached out and poked the blackness with his finger. It was cool to the touch, and the tip of his finger disappeared as he pressed it in a bit. However, when he tried to retract it, he found that he couldn’t budge. He began to panic, and in his struggle, his finger sunk deeper in, but came out none.

“By Gordin’ hairy ass!” He exclaimed. He reached out and grabbed Sigmund’s mail shirt and tried to use the warrior to pull himself free. Everyone grabbed the dwarf and began tugging. Pain surged up his arm as his finger began to come out of the socket. But still, the part in the blackness didn’t budge.

“Off with yas!” He yelled as he pushed them all away. He stood looking at his hand, now sunk in to the base of his finger. He could feel his finger still, and he wiggled it. It felt fine. Suddenly he heard the tell-tale sound of a sword clearing it’s scabbard. He jerked his head around to see Sigmund move to his side and level his bastard sword with Brak’s wrist. As he lifted the weapon, the dwarf’s eyes widened.

“Fuck that!” He exclaimed and dove forward, his whole body disappearing into the blackness.

They all stood dumb-founded at the dwarf’s actions.

“Brak!” Sigmund called. Nothing. “BRAK!!” Still nothing.

“Well, good riddance to him.” Said Ozwald, a smirk on his face.

“Yeah, but now what?” Sigmund asked? “It may be our only choice to follow him. Because there is no other exit save the other door, which has the same blackness. And we can’t go back.”

Ozwald’s face sagged, and his smirk turned into a grimace.

“Fine.” He said. And with that he walked through.

The rest seemed to all sag a bit in resignation. Whatever was beyond the black, they were in for all of it. One by one, they all walked through.



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PostPosted: Wed Apr 12, 2006 10:46 am 
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This is kick ass. Would you mind if I posted this on the official boards?

With due credit of course. :)

Chris



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PostPosted: Wed Apr 12, 2006 11:00 am 
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Sure, go ahead. I'm just having fun writing it. It's good exercise for the writing muscles. :biggrin:



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PostPosted: Tue Apr 25, 2006 6:58 pm 
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*taps foot*

Chris



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PostPosted: Tue Apr 25, 2006 10:44 pm 
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*flips finger*



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PostPosted: Wed Jul 26, 2006 9:00 am 
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Ok, this one's not my best, but the next one should be fun. :mrgreen:

Part 3: Farewells and A Hello

During one of their frequent rest-periods, Sigmund awoke to the sound of chuckling. At first he was confused. But after a moment he recognized the sound and rolled his eyes, sighing.

“Ozwald!” He hissed across the small chamber. “Shut up!”

The other members of the party were in various states of rest, and none stirred. Ozwald turned to Sigmund, his face straining.

“I apologize good human.” He said, his tone not quite completely sarcastic. “I just find it amusing what a sense of humor fate seems to have.”

“Yeah, I know.” Said Sigmund, sitting up and gathering is stuff. “That’s all we have heard for three days now.” As he rolled his pack up, and prepared for the next “day” Sigmund reflected on what had happened three days ago.

The party had wandered through Dungeon, finding some resistance in the form of fiendish “squids” for lack of a better term. They had dropped from the ceiling and had caused more confusion than harm at first. Eventually, the party had gotten past them (or so they had thought) and found themselves in a chamber with a large door. Dorn had used his skills in trap lore, and had declared the door safe to open. So, Brak, being Brak, stepped up and turned the handle. There was a hiss, and a pop, and just enough time for the dwarf to curse his deity before the Fireball Spell went off. When the smoke cleared, most of the party had been far enough away to avoid damage. Dorn was burned and needed attention, as was Sigmund. Brak, however was nothing more than a pile of ash and bones with a pair of boots. In the stunned silence that followed, the only sound heard was the uncontrollable giggling of Ozwald.

And he hadn’t stopped for three whole days.

Later, only a few hours after Brak had died, the party had retraced their steps and began looking for a less dangerous route. Again they encountered the squids. This time, though, they proved much more dangerous. But not as dangerous as Sigmund himself had proven.

The fighter cringed at the memory of the mistake he had made. He had been tired, and injured, and though these were valid explanations, he knew he should have known better. Dorn had been attacked by a squid, and it had wrapped around the dwarf’s head. Sigmund, seeing his companion in danger, attempted to cut the creature from it’s hold. However, his aim had been too low, and his sword had chopped through the squid and into the neck of the dwarf. They had tried to save him, but Albie’s skills as a healer had been inadequate. So now Sigmund carried the burden of guilt over Dorn’s demise, along with the de facto leadership of the party.

And he really just wanted to hack that annoying little gnome into a million pieces right now.


As the party made their way deeper into the dungeon, they came across a site that seemed out of place, even considering all they had been through. The room was large, and scarred with signs of recent battle. And in various twisted poses, lay the bodies of six dwarves.

“I say,” mused Ozwald, “ I am seeing a trend here.” He looked around at the confused expressions of his companions. “Obviously this Dungeon does not take kindly to Dwarves.” And with that he began chuckling again.

“Look, Ozwa…” Sigmund began. But his voice cut short as something prodded his back, just between the shoulder blades. A whispery voice came to his ear.

“Be silent, human. And tell me what you are all doing here.”

The rest of the party looked at Sigmund quizzically as he just stood there silently, his eyes wide.

“We were sent by the monk in the monastery to destroy a great evil.” Said the fighter, seemingly to no one in particular.

“Who are you talking to?” Said Cyrus, taking a step forward.

“To me.” Said the soft voice of an elf, as he emerged from the shadows behind Sigmund. He wore a gray cloak over a green outfit. In his hand was a long sword, which he lowered from Sigmund’s back. As he sheathed it, he stepped away from the fighter, keeping the wall to his back, and eying the rest.

“And just who are you?” Asked Ozwald, seemingly nonplussed at the appearance of the elf.

“My name is Silverstar to those who do not speak my native language.” He looked at the bodies of the dwarves. “And these were of late my companions.”

“What happened here?” Sigmund asked.

“We were ambushed by a sizable force of orcs and goblins, lead by a wererat.”

“Well, at least that’s something new.” Ozwald commented dryly.

“How did you survive?” Asked Cyrus, suspiciously.

“The same way I surprised your human companion here.”

“Well…” Said Sigmund, “It seems that fate has brought us together at a fortuitous time.”

“It would seem.”

“Care to join us on our ‘noble quest?’”

Silverstar looked at each of them for a moment.

“I am in your service.” He said, with a level of sarcasm that even Ozwald was impressed with.


As it turned out, Silverstar was highly skilled in the arts of treasure seeking, trap-finding and other “mechanically inclined” abilities. The fact that he seemed to be a perfect replacement for Dorn did not escape Sigmund. Nor any of the other party members. And they all began to get the feeling that this was some elaborate game, being played by fickle, immature beings who cared not for the lives and feelings of the adventurers. As if they were some group of characters from a fictitious tale, being made up as it went…



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PostPosted: Thu Jul 27, 2006 8:36 am 
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What? No comments or criticisms?



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PostPosted: Thu Jul 27, 2006 9:01 am 
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Gotetsu wrote:
What? No comments or criticisms?


I think it's pretty funny. Keep 'em commin'. I want to see the group meet Gortek. :)

Chris



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PostPosted: Thu Jul 27, 2006 9:18 am 
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BlanchPrez wrote:
I think it's pretty funny. Keep 'em commin'. I want to see the group meet Gortek. :)

Chris

That's up next. But I can't remember, did he charge into a fight with more squids? Or was it something else?

Edit: Nevermind. Read the journal.



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PostPosted: Thu Jul 27, 2006 5:58 pm 
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Ozwald is a dick. :biggrin:

Good job, Keep going.



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