Sworded Tales

Constable Tormarin was the rigid sort.  Rural life and a disfiguring birthmark upon her face drove her to develop a stunning physique and penchant for swordplay.  A strength of character evolved from staring folks in the eye, daring them to comment on her appearance.  Folded into this iron will was a sense of integrity that was outshone by few.  When her charismatic power blossomed and men were drawn to her, she found none that were worthy of her attention.

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The launch pulled the horror from Jorey’s face.  She turned her attention skyward and reveled in the rush of air.  Sputter shrieked in delight next to her, but she heard none of it.  She was a flier at heart, a soarer, and when she was aloft, the entirety of the world was hers.

She released Sputter and the youngster flapped open his sails and spiraled into lazy loops.  Jorey rode higher on the cannon’s push and opened her own sails at the apex of her ascent.  She drifted in that moment of perfection, her eyes finding Sputter and picking out Gorm’s big frame further ahead on the drift. Continue reading

The tension between the two women crossed the barrier between physical and spiritual.  Words boiled between them and an eruption was imminent.

Gerard’s contented whistling brought both women up short.  They turned and watched the ranger performing his routine camp ritual, adding fuel to the fire and shaving a few root vegetables he had procured along the way into a small pot.  His smile as he went about his work was laced with a simple purity that diffused the arrogant spike of conflict hanging between them.

Both women saw it and felt it. Continue reading

Farrin pulled himself up with one hand, yanked the other free and slapped Horil.  Her head rocked back and a face of rage returned in its place.

“Have you lost your mind?” she said, spittle flying in addition to the blood, “I ought to just drop y–”  The thought died on her lips.

Farrin’s gaze dared her to find a flaw in his action.  She could not. Continue reading

Borlak replied to the man, “Well met, I am sure.  But as for the invitation, I must decline.”  The barbarian looked around at the muddy field, and the camp, taking in the would-be adventurers before continuing on, “I cannot speak for the others, but I have signed on with this group.”

Rôhn finished wrapping proper dressing around his battle wounds and looked up when he heard Thorum’s greeting.  He hastily moved out from under the tarp, leaving his weapons and armor there, and approached the circle of conversation, taking up position next to Borlak, as if by his very proximity, he registered his accordance with Borlak’s declination.

“How fares the bridge?” the Dwarf interrupted with some urgency, wiping blood — precisely whose was undetermined — from his hands to his shirt.  He tucked his thumbs in his broad leather girdle as his eyes darted to the hillock, which obscured the bridge from view, and, gritting his teeth, mentally warded off any ill news in Thorum’s response.

“Well, can’t say as the bridge ‘as suffered any trouble,” Thorum replied.

Rôhn nodded and, either rudely or seemingly oblivious to common civility, turned and walked away as Thorum was answering his question. Continue reading

That’s a question I don’t have difficulty answering.  Granted, there are a host of wonderful contenders, and my answer would vary based on specific genre.  I tend toward the nostalgic wonders though, and the pinnacle of a game experience for me is Dark Tower.

The setup, the music, the scrolling of the tower, even the feel of the pieces summon memories and elicit sensations that no other game can.  For those who haven’t had the good fortune to experience Dark Tower, I would recommend it.  Not because it plays as an outstanding game, though it has its moments, but because it is a piece of board gaming history.  And in 1981, that revolving tower was nothing short of magical.  With it, I have haunted ruins, filched from bazaars and flown with dragons.

So for International Tabletop Day, we dipped into the well of childhood and cracked open the Dark Tower.  A flip of the switch…and the tower stayed dark.  Fuck.

Many, many flips and fresh batteries later, and I was still trapped in the present and the crowd was not happy.  I’m talking very unhappy.

My quest turned down a different path and culminated in a sojourn with the soldering gun.  This was not the first time I had dabbled within the innards of the great machine.  Nor do I imagine it will be the last.  Tangling with vintage technologies is not for everyone, but I’m pleased to say that the phoenix rose from the ashes again.

When that music and the sounds of battle rang out once more, I was ten again and no journey was too far to reach the tower.  I like to think that Roland of Gilead would approve.

What’s my favorite game?  My stock answer is, “I’m for the Tower.”

Ardenn Gallows walked away from the nightmare of his life.

Try being born into the world of managing the recently deceased.  A family that builds coffins and gallows, preserves bodies and digs graves was one that few wished to encounter outside of the rituals surrounding interment.  The journey was a lonely one, especially when the family was riddled with faults.  A carpenter father who drank, an alchemist mother who aspired to zealotry, an abusive older brother and a pair of twins that were horrific mirrors of each other.  This was the arena that Ardenn navigated before seeking his fortune on the road.

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The mageíamatic cannon was pretty standard fare.  Most chose to launch singly, but the platform could easily fit two.  Three if they were wee folk.  The navigator assured them of the stable history of the transport, but Grom took the lead as precautionary custom.  He was thrown into the emptiness well above their target and caught a draft with powerful ease, the webbing of his sailsuit rippling taught with his progress.

Jorey launched next with Sputter.  Her angst was lessened knowing she could keep an eye on him.   After the incident near Singer’s Crossing, she wouldn’t let him sail alone.  Her mind dipped into that painful eddy of memory with ease. Continue reading

Merinde was poised with her new daggers leveled at the apparition before the logic processed.  The women locked gazes and Gerard blathered on, unaware.

“Are you alright?  I mean, I know you’re not…alright, but the last time I saw you.  Something attacked.  It was after you.”

“Friend of yours?” Merinde asked. Continue reading

They both screamed, though Farrin’s was the more womanish.  Horil’s arms had flown up into the air, barely juggling her tools in the rush of gravity.  So it was his practiced hands that worked the catch mechanism, and it was he who prayed.  Had they fallen too far?  Was this the breaking point for bones or muscles?  Farrin cried out to anyone who would listen.

The catch held and so did Farrin.  Horil’s weight had shifted to one side and she slid with jarring force, her knee joints screaming as they hooked onto the rod.  Her momentum swung her with graceful potency and her head collided with Farrin’s more delicate man parts.  He lost his grip with a grunt and tumbled. Continue reading