Sworded Tales

“You, but you’re,” Gerard started with beautiful stultification.

“Dead, yes,” the wonderful smile replied, “It’s difficult to explain.”

The crashing siege in his mind had been replaced by the hammering blows of his heart.  The clearing where he had encamped for the night materialized around him as Gerard tried to swim free of the dream fugue.

“I’m awake,” he stated.

“Oh, indeed,” the Halfling woman replied, the double entendre of her tone lost on the groggy male before her.

“And you’re still here,” Gerard continued without pause.

“Not really, Gerard,” she replied, glancing in the direction of the shrouded corpses, “Our journeys have just taken new turns.” Continue reading

A lone traveler garbed in hooded dark green comes riding into view around the bend.  As the rider gets closer to the bridge, the man pulls back his hood from his bald head to better see the place to which he was summoned.

Examining the workers as they place stones in the bridge and looking around at other travelers at hand, the man dismounts, strapping a medium sized chest onto his back and pulling a covered shield from where it hangs on the saddle.  Going around to the front of the animal, he pulls an apple out of his pocket and feeds it to the horse.

“Thank you, good fellow.  I appreciate the ride,” the rider says quietly as the apple disappears while he pets the beast. Continue reading

A meal of meager fare and the blistering fatigue combined with blissful perfection though, and Gerard found himself awash in a pool of dreaming sanctuary.

Flowers dotted the war trampled landscape, blossoming and fading in pulsing regularity.  The wash of color echoed with the windy hiss which sent his hair flapping forward.  Tickling strands kept nipping at his eyes, but his sluggish dream arms could never find their way to redirect this tactile assault.  Distant siege engines sent flaming spheres skyward, crashing into the frozen parapets in Gerard’s periphery.  He could not make out the specifics of the structure which shielded him, but the crescendos of thunder made his teeth and testicles ache with each impact. Continue reading

A Shadow of Hope was a PBEM game I ran for several years with a host of different players and characters.  I have always wanted to edit the shared content into a contiguous storyline and have decided to do so here.  I look forward to revisiting the tale which was such a pleasure to tell, and am grateful beyond words to those who contributed their considerable time and creative muse to breathe life into the characters.

A Shadow of Hope

“Watch to yer port `dar, ya fool!”

The cry of alarm rings out across the swollen breadth of the Winding Water river, sending a sputtering flock of wings skyward from a grove of trees along the far shoreline. Muttering curses follow as the four polemen lean heavily on the weathered lengths of wood which serve to steer the sizable barge bearing them down the frigid runoff waters.

The barge rides dangerously low in the current, responding sluggishly to the efforts of the fur clad men. Seven tremendous blocks of quarried granite rest at the center of the float, restraining straps creaking against the sheer weight of the endeavor. The barge finally turns in a slow arc along the swift current, causing only a mild thump as the outermost log glances off of a sinister rock peeking a few inches above the surface. The camouflaged fang, seeking to sink any floating prey and spelling a frozen doom for those who ride above, waits once more as the current sharpens its edge. Continue reading

Have you ever seen the fire dance?
Dance and spin, singing, looking right at you?
Tomorrow you’ll see.  See the consumer.
The MASS consumer.
You can’t breathe.  The flames won’t let you.
They will let your lungs explode, boil the flesh from your bones.
Nothing quite like the smell of fresh cooked meat…especially when it’s real fatty.
 

Calypso walks into the darkening lines.
Sierra scorched, the party-goers laugh and cry.
A thought, why are there wasps on my cake?
Perhaps the rotting meat draws them.
Maybe the maggots, the buzzing of flies, or the blood.
The bodies swim to and from in the seas of red slip.
The tides that will roll in merely a few days hence.

A restless night spent in wayward seclusion did little to comfort the Halfling as he finished his cold breakfast and again followed the trail south into the morning mists.  The telltale outcropping of cliffs materialized out of the morning haze, blotting out the horizon with an ominous murk.  Gerard hunkered in amidst a relatively concealed band of deadfalls and patiently waited for the sun to creep into the higher reaches of the day, hopefully burning the obscuring moisture away in due time.

As Gerard’s perception increased with the clearing of the day, his heart lurched when he saw how close he had positioned himself to the final resting place of the young Halfling woman who only days earlier had entrusted her safety to Gerard.  He was spared the direct sighting of her blackened corpse, as scavengers had apparently pulled the body into some nearby cover to dine in relative peace, but his trained Ranger’s eyes could read the signs of her passing as easily as if he had witnessed the entire turn of events. Continue reading

The dynast walks among us.
He treads softly to learn our ways, to fuel his wiles.
True power is gained not through the might of the fist,
But through the scope of the mind.
So many of the elite grasp at straws when without their supports.
A true leader is one who is like us, who knows us,
With whom we are comfortable and can talk and disagree with.
Fear, awe, control, tools of the dark lords, the lost souls.
Will you know if you meet the one who is among us?
Yes.  You will know.

Diversity is the key.
How many battles can you fight, and fight well?
The specialists, the idealists, yes, they serve their purpose, when used as a tool.
But the diverse, the adept and those who can adapt,
That is where it comes from,
That is where it will go,
The dark horizons await.
Don’t get swallowed.

The cavern sprawled out before him, an unending vastness.  Squinted eyes pierced into the dark folds of rock, seeking those that would shorten his journey.  The breath, low, strong deep draws, billowed outward, hanging in the thick air for a stale eternity before drifting up toward the rimy ceiling some immeasurable distance above.

The head turned slightly and the ears twitched, attempting to pick up the slightest vibration.  A foul breath billowed from the passage behind him, wrapping around his lithe figure, almost embracing him.  One small, purposeful step forward and black fire began to leap between the fingers of his right hand.  The flesh there, already scorched black, the nails gone centuries ago, felt none of this.  It was reflex, an instinctual response to the approach of a nemesis…someone who would dare keep him from his goal.

Gerard thought about the hunter he sought and what was perhaps waiting for him on the trail ahead as the day continued to wear on.  Little was known of the wicked mechanical constructs known as Shredders.  Few who encountered them survived to convey any details about the habits and tendencies of the mechanical monstrosities.  Clearly they possessed a sentience that was impressive, locked into a permanent predatory mode that continually improved with each successful hunt.  By all accounts, they had appeared relatively impervious to damage inflicted by standard weaponry, although there was some indication that heavier, siege weaponry could exceed the integral strength of the creature’s frame.  A magical aura had been detected around the Shredder’s metal casing, but this was not uncommon when dealing with constructs fashioned by Artificers.  The number and type of appendages varied greatly from machine to machine, which added to the difficulty in classification.  Some researches believed that the term Shredder was merely a catch all title for any construct that couldn’t be placed in a more refined category.  Function seemed largely based on what appendages the particular Shredder manifested, but inevitably the lethality of many of the creature’s limbs was unquestionable.  If nothing else, the metal beasts could kill nearly without equal.  Continue reading

Gerard was the one best suited for that task.  Few knew these lands better than he, although he would send word for Rillian to join him.  She was one of the few Elven Rangers that had signed on for these grim patrols, and her keen insights into the region and the ambient magics could prove invaluable.  Still, it might take her weeks to finally reach Gerard, depending on the speed of the messengers, and he had little time to lose.  The trail of the Shredder would already have grown quite stale, but he was the only one who knew of the location of the attack, and if he were to uncover what was happening in the dark lands to the south, he would have to move quickly, and quietly.

Gerard’s news to the local representatives in Tribalta was received with the appropriate amount of consternation and concern, and a message was forwarded along the outpost chain both for information and to summon Rillian with all haste.  Reinforcements were rallied, but Gerard did not wait for their arrival.  Each hour that passed further reduced his chances of picking up the trail of the lethal machine.  Thus without any undo delay and only a few hours of solid rest, Gerard found himself headed back into the comfort of the wilderness and the nightmarish memories of his last passage south. Continue reading