Sworded Tales

A largely nomadic people, the Strongheart Halflings are roaming clans of culture and vitality, dotting the southern landscapes of Faerun with their memorably militant ways.  One of the sacred places, the Wild Rock Oracle upon the Arnrock within the Lake of Steam, serves as neutral ground and a focal meeting point for all the Strongheart clans, friend and foe alike.  Every three turnings of the seasons, a new clan is selected to serve as the oracle’s keepers and protectors.

The Hearthblade clan, renowned for their facility with crafting and employing a wide assortment of Halfling sized pole arms, was serving as keepers of Wild Rock during their first summer season when the Crimson Pox came upon the land.  With little warning, a red speckled fever erupted, the living began to die, and the dead began to rise and wreak havoc upon their kin. Continue reading

The mentality of the human species could certainly have come under close scrutiny.  One could definitely question its sanity.  What other result could be expected for a species that chose to breed without regard?  The exponential growth in world population caused an increasing strain on the planet’s ecosystem for which it eventually could not compensate.  With mankind pouring poisons into the water, degrading lands and resources, and corrupting the air, the continuous consumption and wanton destruction brought about a point of critical mass within the planet’s existence.  When given such a final ultimatum, nature’s choice was simple…

…it retaliated. Continue reading

Broken Iris

Excerpt from the journal of Iris Craven, 18-Aug-2009:

I exist across realities.

There’s really no better way to explain it, as best as I can understand, and believe me, I have front row seats.

When the portal flared to life, the world just…shattered.  As I flew backward through the air, something visceral broke loose in my mind’s eye.  I was suddenly inside a house of mirrors, but all of my reflections were different somehow, unique.  Infinite variations of myself, nested within a single instant.

But I was the only one screaming. Continue reading

In the whispering glow of the nearby fireplace, Deadspring’s swift and surefire fingers hovered over one of her rooks, drumming a chaotic dance against the calloused pads of her thumb.  Her eyes flicked to her king and back, as the spidery shadow of her hand danced in reflective harmony amidst the other chess pieces scattered about the board.  For several long moments the choreographed duet continued, until the heroine’s hunched form finally sat erect once more, digits now moving to her face and ceaselessly fluttering at her lips while she pondered.

From a semi-reclined state on the opposing leather sofa, Dakota Sunrise lifted her head slightly and peered out from under her seasoned fedora.  One eye crept open momentarily to visualize the status of the game before sliding closed again, her head lolling down in quick succession.  The contented sigh which followed, elicited solely by the delightfully sedate ambiance, was mistaken by her counterpart as an indicator of impatience.

“Yes, yes.  I know.  I know,” Deadspring chattered, hunkering forward over the table once more, “Move, move already.” Continue reading

Gerard put his small feet one in front of the other and pushed himself to physical limits, shapeless terrain blurring by him, blotting out the grim images which were trying to scar his psyche.  His Ranger training was the only tool which served him now, and it provided enough insight to allow him to survive the next few restless days and nights.  His instincts kept him moving in a straight line away from the carnage he had witnessed and toward a safe haven of the Rangers some leagues north of the accursed lands.  There he would perhaps be able to rest, to allow his mind and body to ingest some of what had been seen, and to perchance begin the healing process.  There had been no indication that the Shredder had been giving pursuit, and he at least took some small degree of solace in the fact that his Halfling companion was able to nearly destroy that which had brought about her demise.  Until he was safe though, his faculties were bent only on survival.

The Rangers were created not as a means to deal with the unusual and unexplainable events which surrounded the dead zone, but primarily as an entity to police its borders and to keep those who did not know better from wandering into dangerous areas.  Continue reading

Originally from West Bend, Ohio, Andrew Deturck grew up in a stable yet disciplined dysfunctional household.  An abusive father and submissive mother lead to many sleepless nights, some of which were spent in the emergency room.  Andy’s parents did not support his musical interests and did not approve of the crowd to which he had attached himself.

Shortly after his sixteenth birthday, Andy ran away with several friends and headed toward New York City.  For several months he and his friends struggled with their music and finding odd jobs to put food on the table.  Andy began to experiment with drugs and found himself in the employ of some rather seedy individuals in the neighborhood.  Sharp of mind and quick of tongue, Andy managed to survive in this world of darkness.  Moving up through the ranks his choice of drugs became heroin, fueling his inner musician better than any other high. Continue reading

High amidst the peaks of the Lost Emerald mountain range, the sight of winged beasts circling the cloud striations is a common one indeed.  Plentiful enough are the common birds of prey, the black-beaked eagle, the shrieking falcon, and the much prized war shrikes of the renowned Thurillion Air Guard which trains in a nearby principality, but unquestionably the chief among these aerial lords is the Silverglint Wyvern.  So named for the near reflective quality of their abdominal scales, these poisonous predators soar through the frigid skies with almost complete invisibility from below, picking and choosing their prey with calculating ease.

Atop the mountain cluster known as the Skyreach Palisades, a single culture of people, simply referred to as the Martor by their subterranean Dwarven neighbors, exist in unison with the cliffs and aeries of the ancient geography.  A hearty and versatile stock, they are the sole hunters of the mighty Silverglint Wyverns and regale in the challenge provided by felling one of the mighty menaces. Continue reading

For long moments you stand quietly, swaying gently from side to side as the cool breeze races over the top of the protective battlement brushing against your thighs.  The perspiration on your neck and forehead dries to a crispy film.  Eyes closed with an intake of breath, a shiver shoots up your spine as you finally succeed in wrapping your mind around the latest turn of events that have come crashing into your life.

Sporadic gunfire is head in the distance followed by a sharp series of shrieks.  Human?  Hard to tell at this distance.

This snap back to reality brings with it the realization that you have been standing here for quite some time entertaining the notion of jumping off of the roof.  Some primal force, some deep seeded fear has coaxed you into climbing the shadowy heights of this temporary sanctuary.  The thoughts rush back to your mind with simplistic ease.  One simple motion, one quick leap, would carry all the suffering, all the anguish, sixty feet to the pavement below, to the bliss of darkness.

After what seems a psychological eternity, a subtle shift in the sulfuric wind and this image of blackness stimulates the haunting memories which burn so vividly in your mind’s eye.  The bitter taste in your mouth thickens, and your teeth gnash.  One hand rises to your brow, absently rubbing the discolored wound which still registers tender to the touch.  ‘Christ!  Has it been such a short time?!’ your mind races.  With a mocking sting, your memory shows you that once pristine panoramic vista… Continue reading

What would heroism be without villainy to serve as foil?  The signature characters in City of Villains resonated with me more than their do-gooding counterparts.  Ghost Widow especially, but I have a soft spot for the strong female lead.  So no surprise there.  Heroes break the laws of physics.  Villains just break laws.  The primal appeal of walking the dark side is often reflected in the evil-doers I chose to play.

Widow Palm

With this open handed striking technique, the masters of Widow Palm are able to convey such concussive force, that they can liquefy internal organs with a single impact.  Primarily an art directed against a single target, the art was largely taught to the practitioners of Ninjitsu and those who specialized in assassination.

Origins of the art have been lost to the combination of secrecy and the passage of time, though the naming of the technique is said to be rooted in the number of husbands that were dispatched by the ruthless fighting style.

Speed Load

“Wanna see that again?” the thin figure chuckled menacingly. Continue reading

The young Falleen boy sighed with contentment.  Looking down over the rim of the plateau on which he was perched permitted him the dazzling and disorienting view of the sun cracked plains below.  The cool night air raced up the cliff face and whipped his thin scalp lock out behind him in an erratic dance.  How he loved the Arkadian Steppes and the serenity they induced.  He often dreamed of leaving behind his heritage and running free amidst the outcroppings and wildlife of the arid Steppes.

“They are moving away,” came a firm voice from directly behind the boy.  The timbre of those words carried authority and confidence, and well they should.  This rugged Falleen man was S’Ranas Issquau, teacher and protector to the young charge crouching before him.  Lowering the binoculars from his face, the pale orange eyes of S’Ranas fell upon the young countenance as it turned to face him, and the man marveled at the peace this place brought to such a troubled mind.

“I thought you said we wouldn’t see another soul tonight,” mocked the boy mildly. Continue reading