|
Links
Home
Chronicles
Chronology
Othlopædia
Characters
People & Races
Equipment & Money
Spells & Magic
Gazetteer
Religions
House Rules
Bestiary
Rogues Gallery
Supplements
Adventures
Comments & Updates
eGroup Board
|
Pre-Game
11 Eren 652 - 24 Eren 652
7:29pm Sun Jun 11, 1995
|
Oth.
Adae. One.
It's been a long day. The calf needed turning. In the end, your
expert hands and their skill brought a new weak-legged creature
into the world. Returning, you paused to look at the city, the distant
winding streets, blackened neighborhoods, peaked roofs, and chimneys.
A thousand ash tendrils winding skyward, pillars for a soulless
soft and heavy black ceiling.
The sickness of the place reaches even here, soiling the stone fences,
and turning the houses, sheds, and barns shades darker with each
passing year.
The soot settles into each wrinkle and fingernail, branding each
resident as a child of this place. Some, that live closer to the
Temple, have been so encased with the stuff that they can blend
seamlessly, like ghosts against the walls and within the doorways
of the city.
Squating in the center sits the Temple. A strange edifice that boasts
an age older than the southern mountains, it sits within a cluster
of metal knobs, heavy arches, and glowing vents. It is the monster
of this place. The buildings and homes and stores and streets and
markets cling to its massive feet like barnacles. The Temple is
the heart and life of this place, breathing death on all that are
born to it.
The road turns back into the hill, turning your back to the city
and the Temple. Looking now, toward the hills and more distant forest,
you can see the day's last light retreating across the distant treetops.
An ocean of dark and ancient green stretches there, far to the north.
No roads dare venture beneath those giants, only trails of the desperate
and frightened. One might even believe from this distance that forest
is virgin. You have seen the ruins and the abandoned walls. You
have heard the tales the people tell. As old as the forest may be,
the history of this place is far older.
Tonight you are left with a feeling. It is one you have felt on
occasion before; that the currents within this place, the pendulum
that keeps time for all events, so long dormant, suspended at the
end of a long powerful sweep, an instance in eternity, is beginning
to move again.
In the night, you are awakened by a boy screaming. When you have
reached your feet, the screaming ends, abruptly.
Dammon. One.
Your headache is, profound. Never before have you felt the brain
swell and pulse within your skull. It is a curse. It must be a curse.
How could anything hurt and blind so badly? It's been an hour since
you tasted dinner for the second time. The fish could have been
chewed better, and the beans lay strewn across the floor and far
wall like a scattered army of bloated white maggots, still stunned
by the force of their expulsion.
Since, you've tried again, but produced nothing but stomach broth.
Your pain is legendary.
With the morning prying and making its way thorough the shutter
slats you bury your head further beneath blanket and pillow. Even
the dim light that is able to sift through the dolor of Oth makes
your eyes want to crawl back into your head. You are wretched.
If only you'd been drinking, this all might make sense.
The final insult arrives as you hear the door to your room slam
open.
Mishara. One.
Aren watches you and then tries the same. His concentration as expressed
by a trapped tongue, pressed between two rows of teeth, is great.
Finished, he leans back and examines the arrow with a practiced
eye. It seems humans are more precise with only one eye. Perhaps
two only serve to confuse them? You can see plainly enough that
the fletching is crooked, not so much that will affect his shooting,
but the unnecessary spiral those feathers will create, would give
you pains to carry in your own quiver.
He looks to you for an approving gesture.
With an answer as ambiguous as 'You are learning', the young man
smiles contentedly. Despite his natural faults, which are no more
blame to him as of any in his race, he is good archer. His crude
and hapless manner by which he blundered through his short life,
did little to affect his archery. He was no more a flinger of arrows
to a pure elf, but among humans, the boy could turn a good share
of heads.
Standing you notice the time passed. Evening lurks beyond the keep
walls. Above, a guard is changed. The weary giving another wearisome
report of another uneventful day. The nightguard then find their
places along the broken toothed crenulations, watching the unmoving
distant, darkening forests. The nightguard is heavier tonight than
on others since your arrival.
Looking back to the young man you find a new expression on his face,
worry.
"There's no wind," he explains. "There will probably be an attack.
We'll need to find a place for you to stay. The gates are being
closed."
Kaithah. One.
Afraid.
You'd leaned a little too close to hear, knocking something off
the barrel which had until that time served as a loyal cover.
"Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid." Another corner. Where is the damned
street? Closed windows and doors look down at you from the crowded
building sides. The shadows grow deeper with every footstep. You've
fallen twice. The second time you slipped on something freshly dead.
"Damn."
The footsteps sound like they're closing in behind you.
"Where am I?" Another corner. Ghosts stand above you in the twilight.
Shirts on a line, hanging to dry, out of your reach. The alley continues,
turning back in on itself. Maybe. Maybe not. Are you heading east
or west, south? You think maybe the harbor was behind you when you
entered, but that was some six turns ago, or was it nine?
"She's over this way!" The shout was much too near. The footsteps
behind you are ringing louder and louder on the worn and sloping
cobbles.
Another turn. You falter, slide, regain your footing and choose
one of two alleys, both leading away into the unknown. Your feet
slick now with alley refuse, you find uneasy footing before sprinting
off into the darkness again.
Behind you you hear someone slip and go down, followed by curses.
Other footsteps continue after you.
You knew it was stupid to stay around and watch, but the scene opened
before you like a horrible play. There were nine, maybe ten of them,
surrounding an old man who pleaded pitiably for his life. But they
kicked and spat on him, cursing him, his family, his parents. It's
unclear to you now, running for your life, how you even came upon
that sad incident.
Another corner. How long can this alley be?
You race down a narrower corridor, trying to piece together this
evening's events. They'd called him Esond, Ascond, Ehson, or something
like that. He looked harmless enough. Maybe held crossed them. Owed
them some price he could never pay. It didn't matter now. He was
dead, and if you don't find a way to elude them soon, you will be
too.
The alley ends, with a turn. The walls are high and brick to all
sides, without any low windows to afford your fingers purchase.
Ahead of you a closed (locked?) door stands half concealed by a
century's garbage, to your side a opened grate offers the darkness
and lure of the Lower Streets.
They are close behind you. And in only a few more seconds you'll
need to be gone, hidden, or answer to more knives than you care.
Malyn. One.
Another bustling night at the Tower.
A man appears in the crowd, awkward and unattractive. He exchanges
a quick glance with the bartender who nods, and motions him onward.
The man moves uncomfortably through the crowd, holding a small bag
clutched tightly between his thin white hands. His face is thin
and his eyes and cheeks are hollow. A first look at his clothes
would mark him a poor man, but he moves very uncomfortably. That,
his clean-shaven face, and the slight trace perfume tells another
story.
The man nods and bows slightly. He sits his bag (still in his vice-like
grip) on the table with a heavy clinking sound that could only be
coins, before nervously sitting across from you. Sweat beads on
his forehead and although he tries to speak, he only manages to
glance back at the bartender (who is now dealing with other clientele),
and somehow making you feel similarly nervous.
He motions stupidly toward the bar and when he speaks he speaks
quickly. "Tavon told me to come over here." He looks over to the
bar, and an abandoned look seizes him as he sees the bartender has
disappeared. "Uhhh... He said that I could, ummm... Hire you to
do something for me." He sits still for a moment, and then his pale
cheeks grow flushed with embarrassement. "Uhhh, no, it's not like
that.. I don't need... well, you know, I'm not asking you to...
well, no...
He stops himself. Takes a deep breath and continues with his eyes
closed. "I need, I need someone killed."
end
|
Date: 11:16 pm Wed Jun 7, 1995 Number : 1 of 132
From: Sam Spectre Base : Oth.
To : All Refer #: None
Subj: This Base Replies: None
Stat: Normal origin : Local
Here it is...
- Spectre
Date: 4:21 pm Thu Jun 8, 1995 Number : 2 of 132
From: Adae Base : Oth.
To : All Gods Above Refer #: None
Subj: Good morning!
Replies: None
Stat: Normal origin : Local
Real: Masc to All Gods Above
Stretching, luxourously, rousing to the flower scent. Adae stands leisurly,
tall for even the locals, and as darkly suntanned as any outdoorsman.
His head slowly clears from Joachim's newest batch of home brew. Ah the
honey flavoring so hard to resist.
Morning abolutions in the garden, rinsing in the stream by the small sod
hut, the day begins. Feeding all the sundry friends, saying hello to the
different visiting folk, Adae walks around the homestead with a critical
eye.
It started early last night, the young lass a bit more resistant than
some of the others. Her comments about "setteling down" were pushed aside
last night, today they come back.
"No", he mutters, she wouldn't want to settle here. "Of course, if I were
the settleing type, I wouldn't be here anyway. Forbidden knowledge indeed!
Why is it forbidden? Who says? Why am I asking two mules and a cow? Oh
well."
He finished the morning chores as the sun finally arose, and.his brief
and almost contrite prayers went with the morning fog. Heading into town
to help Cerces prepare for the calfing due shortly, Adae hoped things
would change. Hopefully for the better.
Date: 7:29 pm Sun Jun 11, 1995 Number : 3 of 132
From: Sam Spectre Base : Oth.
To : All Refer #: None
Subj: Oth. One. Replies: 5
Stat: Normal origin : Local
Date: 12:17 am Mon Jun 12, 1995 Number : 4 of 132
From: Inigo Silverpoint Base : Oth.
To : Sam Spectre Refer #: 3
Subj: Re: Oth. One. Replies: None
Stat: Normal origin : Local
Real: Darth Vader to Sam Spectre
"Hmmm. I suppose I could use a sheltered spot for the evening. Where did
the time go? Fletchery is so exacting and time consuming, but if you do
it correctly, the pride you feel my apologies; I ramble. What is the attack
that you fear is imminent and how do we best avoid its path?"
(you can delete the first part of that question if I would already know
the answer.)
Inigo Silverpoint
Date: 8:53 pm Mon Jun 12, 1995 Number : 5 of 132
From: Kaithah Argentale Base : Oth.
To : Sam Spectre Refer #: 3
Subj: Re: Oth. One. Replies: None
Stat: Normal origin : Local
Real: Nygwyn to Sam Spectre
Kaithah Argentale curses as she remembers the excitement she felt when
she first arrived in Oth. It certainly was not turning out the way she
had expected. It was difficult for Kaithah to watch those men beat the
old man to death; she had always been taught to respect her elders. However,
it seemed that things were *very* different in Oth!
Kaithah knows that she must make a decision and *now*' She realizes that
she could never hope to fight her way out. If she only had a minute or
two, she knew that she could pick the lock on the door. The voices and
footfalls were getting much too close...
She quickly spins to her side and crouches to jump down into the opened
gate the stench quickly fills her nostrils. Kaithah takes a deep breath
and leaps down into the darkness. She quickly scans her surroundings and
then darts away from the light coming through the opened grate. Above
her she can hear the men's angry voices as they continue their search.
Kaithah grips her long sword and moves further into the Lower Streets.
Date: 9:42 am Tue Jun 13, 1995 Number : 6 of 132
From: Merope Base : Oth.
To : Sam Spectre Refer #: 3
Subj: Re: Oth. one. Replies: None
Stat: Normal Origin : Local
"Tavon must be mistaken. I'm retired."
Date: 11:29 am Tue Jun 13, 1995 Number : 7 of 132
From: Adae Base : Oth.
To : Sam Spectre Refer #: 3
Subj: Re: Oth. One. Replies: None
Stat: Normal origin : Local
Real: Masc to Sam Spectre
Pipe smoke tendrils around the thatch roof as Adae ponders the days end.
"It sure", he says to no one in particular "is awful here, isn't it. Maybe
things will change. Maybe the ocean will wipe this blot off the serene
landscape."
Looking, longing, the forest calls. Purity, life, peace. His reverie is
almost unbroken please when a voice calls "Hello to the cabin! Adae, are
you there?"
"Joachim! Good to see you, and so soon! I've just recovered from our last
fellowship. Have a Beat, and let me get some bowls for your travelling
companion there. have a seat."
Quiete freindship, the two men so different. Joachim; older, perhaps wiser
with the ages past, father of several, respected village elder. Adae.
Young but serene, unattached as far as he knew. respected, but for skill,
not time.
The bond of farming all that introduced them, Adae came new to the village
with techniques that help stop the molding blight. Joachim saw this, so
did the elders, but noone really impressed. His easy manner and difference
won him the time of several young ladies, and his politeness took care
of the elder mothers. The elders still watched, even as he volunteered
his time with the house buildings this spring.
But when the Fallow's little boy came out with some illness, and the rest
of the family started coming down too. The villagers were frightened.
As soon as Joachim's youngest daughter Minureal caught it, everyone in
the village was ready to burn the Fallows and their sin ridden farm to
the ground. Until a figure robed in hell fire itself came out of the forest,
yelling at the crowd, dispersing them through threat and fear of eternal
damnation. The deamon ordered everyone who had the illness sent to the
house, including Minureal. Over the days, the deamon ordered food brought,
as well as forest plants and clothes.
By the eighth day, it was over. four villagers were added to the sick
house., and grandma Fallow passed away. But the others were alright. Minureal
ran straight for her doll when she was out, and the others were escorted
by a gaunt, un-enflamed Adae. No one questioned the order to burn the
house, nor to build a newone elsewhere. This too the elders saw, and understood.
The two men had been quiet for sometime, the stillness a bonding. Shared
drink, shared smoke, and a love for the cleanliness of a good farm all
they needed.
"Hmm.. no one lives that close, let's go take a look, shall we?" Through
the flap-door, wandering around in the moonlight, listening. "The stars
look beautiful tonight, don't they? If only I could g.... oh yes, the
scream. Let's look around for a bit, and see if any of the visitors are
disturbed."
"Remind me to ask around tomorrow,
after we get up. Perhaps someone saw something."
If nothing found after an hour or so, return home. In the morning, ask
the visitors and neighbors if
they were aware of anything.
And hope the turning of the forces is for the better; this place can't
get much worse.
Date: 11:25 pm Tue Jun 13, 1995 Number : 8 of 132
From: Dammon Base : Oth.
To : Sam Spectre Refer #: 3
Subj: Re: Oth. one. Replies: None
Stat: Normal origin : Local
Real: Aragon Arcanas to Sam Spectre
"Uhhhhhhh .... keep the noise down!" moans Dammon
as he takes a painful glance toward the
source...
|
Navigation
Episode 0
Chapter 1
Each turn of the Othic Chronicle PBEM pre-game
is indexed here:
|
|
|
|
4
|
5
|
|
6
|
7
|
8
|
9
|
10
|
|
11
|
12
|
13
|
14
|
15
|
|
16
|
17
|
18
|
19
|
20
|
|
21
|
22
|
23
|
24
|
25
|
|
26
|
27
|
28
|
29
|
30
|
|
31
|
32
|
33
|
34
|
35
|
|
36
|
37
|
38
|
39
|
40
|
|
41
|
42
|
43
|
44
|
45
|
|
46
|
47
|
48
|
49
|
50
|
|
51
|
52
|
53
|
54
|
55
|
|
56
|
57
|
58
|
59
|
60
|
|
61
|
62
|
63
|
64
|
65
|
|
66
|
67
|
68
|
69
|
70
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
People
Joachim Fallow (Com3)
Lasserbrig (...)
Leva (...)
Malari (...)
Old Daris (...)
Tavon (...)
 |