rpg

Game Day!

~ Bon Steele ~ 4 Comments

Alanna

At first, she lived mostly by being motionless. By being exquisitely still, she would escape their notice, be overlooked. Shadows and niches were her allies and she used them ruthlessly.

She remembers a time when she didn’t have to be quiet. She remembers shouting and running. She remembers bright colors; colors other than the ever present red and black. The trees weren’t frightening, then.

Now, she stays still and wary. She has learned that climbing high above their heads into the trees means they can’t see her.

She doesn’t know of her future, what it holds, what she will become.

She can’t imagine what’s coming.

She’s only ten, and scared, and hiding. 

Today is game day. I have a semimonthly gaming group – we meet every other Sunday for our tabletop RPG.  We’ve been meeting as a group for going on fifteen years, now. The longest running adventure is our 2nd ed DnD game. Currently, we are poised on the very lip of the Underdark with the intent to go in and wipe out everything that moves.

Some of the characters might have issues with the Drow.

Might.

I’ve been running Alanna – currently a level 15 (warrior)/17 (thief) – for most of the time I’ve been gaming in Austin. And, while I have a firm grasp on her past, written her backstory, etc., I’ve never sat down and fictionalized it.

I should.

It’s a good story.

But, I don’t have time this morning. I’ve got to cook up some taco meat1, gather my gaming gear, and head into town.

There’s Drow ass that needs whuppin’, y’see.

 

 

 

 

1 – As “grown up” gamers, we tend to make actual food for these get togethers, instead of subsisting on cheesy poufs and Mountain Dew. As foodies, we tend to make feasts. Today is Taco Bar day.

The Qunari Strike Back, Chapter 1.2

~ Bon Steele ~ 2 Comments

As a reminder:

Dragon Age is owned by BioWare, David Gaider, Felicia Day (Tallis) etc. etc. All the characters belong to their respective owners. I’m just making them dance like puppets for my own amusement and yours. So, while the world & characters belong to someone else, the action and story are mine.

So, probably NOT keeping the title. But, for now it tickles my geek bone.
This completes Chapter One of this story.  If you missed the first part of the chapter, click the link. 

When last we saw our protagonist, she’d been trying to find sleep while an ice storm hurled itself against her shutters. Unfortunately, a troublesome bit of her past has shown up. And, of course, brought trouble….

 

“Tal-Vashoth.” Sometimes, only Anders’ pungent phrasing was appropriate. “Andraste’s tits, woman! What changed? Last we spoke you were completely dedicated to those bastards.”  Hawke’s stomach soured.  “What have you done?”

Tal cut her off. “Like I said, I’ll tell you all about it. In due time. Right now, we need get going.”

Hawke raised a hand. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t hear my dog anymore.”

Tallis grimaced. “Then we really need to leave. Like, soon.” From somewhere in the lower region of the house, an explosion sounded. “Very soon,” she amended.

“I knew I should have killed you.” Hawke scrambled off the bed. She grabbed both her armor and staff from their niche. Years of campaigning had her yanking the silverite mesh over her head even as she sprinted for the door. As she neared the stairs leading into the main part of the house, another explosion rocked the edifice. Plaster sifted from the ceiling. From somewhere below – the kitchen? ­– she heard a happy exclamation.

“Enchantment!”

As she raced down the stairs, Hawke didn’t bother looking around for Tal. She was sure that if the assassin had wanted her dead, she’d be cooling right now. At the bottom of the landing, she found Sandal standing with several Qunari warriors scattered about his feet. Not a hair was out of place and he appeared to be humming a song to himself. Even without obvious wounds, the horned, gray fighters were quite dead. Smoke eddied from the nearby kitchen door. His song skittered to a stop and he glanced soberly up at her as she approached.

“Where’s Bodahn, Sandal?”

Sadness settled over his face like an obscuring veil. He pointed towards the front hall. “Orana is hurt.”

Damn. It. Nothing she could do about that, now. Healing was definitely not within her sphere of magic. Hawke didn’t waste any further attempts at information gathering. She strode into the kitchen, mentally preparing a spell. The scene in kitchen however, brought her up short. On one wall, a large cooking hearth took up most of the space. Nearby were two Qunari warriors, encased in ice. Frost glittered in a wide pool around them. Spillover from whatever had frozen them had also snuffed the fire – which was sending up an acrid scrim of smoke in protest. Hawke examined the nearest Qunari. At her touch, he toppled over and shattered into a dozen chunks of bloody ice. “Powerful. I wonder how he does it?”

Tal spoke from behind her. “Me too. I thought dwarves couldn’t be mages? By the way, there aren’t any more of them in the house. At least, not alive.” A susurration of sound accompanied her daggers sliding back into their sheaths.

Turning, Hawke struggled with herself. Part of her wanted simply to obliterate the woman for bringing trouble into her home. But, I know she wouldn’t willingly put innocents in harm’s way. “Go to the front of my house. See if you can find a young elf maid. Sandal said she might be hurt.” That’s not the same thing as she wouldn’t put innocents in harm’s way, though.

Tal scurried away. In a couple of minutes, she was back. “Found her. There’s an older dwarf with her. He’s got a bandage around his arm. There’s another man there too. Human, a blonde. He’s wearing feathers?” Tal’s voice crept up in a disbelieving tone.

“Anders. He lives here. He’s a mage, too.” Hawke glared at Tal, daring her to say anything. Their last argument hung between them. Troubled gray eyes met hers.

“Then, I hope he has some healing spells. Not just for her, either.”

Hawke began making her way towards the front entrance. “Bodahn…the older dwarf? Is his wound that bad?”

“No. But there’s a mabari that’s been hurt. Most of his insides are…” Tal trailed off as Hawke swung about to stare at her.

“You have brought destruction and pain with you. As always. This time there had better be a damn good reason.” She turned and took a few steps before stopping again. Over her shoulder she added, “If my girl or my dog die…” She left the threat hanging and hurried to the front of the house.

 

—

“Oh, Mistress. I am so sorry. Please. I will be fine. Please, don’t trouble yourself about me.” Orana’s distress was palpable. Even with her grievous injuries, she struggled to sit up. Hawke’s heart went out to the ex-slave. All the attention being directed at her obviously unnerved her. “Where’s Wulf? Is Bodahn hurt? I need to…” Anders gently pushed the young woman back down.

“Don’t move, Orana. You’re still wounded even though you can’t really feel it.” In spite of his mild voice, Hawke knew he was furious. She could see lines of anger radiating down his face. She was in a killing rage, herself. Her mind turned back to the sight of her dog’s corpse. He’d been brutally killed while defending Orana and the house. She’d wrapped what remained of him in his favorite rug. Hawke’s breath hissed out in pain and a tear slid down her cheek. She knew that sort of loyalty unto death was typical of the breed, but she was devastated by the loss of her companion. Anders glanced up at her and then shot another enraged look at Tal. For her part, the elf was doing her best to be inconspicuous, sitting quietly on a nearby bench with her arms wrapped around her knees. Closing his eyes, Anders drew mana from the Fade to continue healing Orana. Soft blue mist encased her shoulder and arm as he worked to heal the javelin wound in her upper chest. They’d removed the barbed weapon, snapping off the head and drawing the rest of it through the hole it had left while she was still unconscious.

“Orana, can you tell me what happened?” Hawke knelt next to Anders and placed a hand on Orana’s good arm. Clammy fingers clutched at hers. Understanding dawned as she took in the panicked countenance. Inwardly, she viciously cursed the girl’s ex-master. Outwardly, she struggled to make her voice and face as kind as possible. “I’m not blaming you, Orana. It’s not your fault. You haven’t done anything wrong, nor are you going to be punished. Just tell me what happened.”

The little face peered at hers for a moment. Hawke simply waited, exuding patience. After a moment, Orana inclined her head towards Hawke, speaking in a low voice. On the off-chance that one of these people are responsible for the attack, Hawke realized. Remind never to go to the Imperium.

“I heard Wulf barking in the front hall. I ran to quiet him – everyone was asleep! But there were people in the house! Wulf was fighting them. And then, one of them threw…something? At me and it hurt. And then…and then you were here. Please, I am so sorry.”  Tears coursed down her pale face. Anders nudged Hawke.

“That’s enough. She doesn’t know anything and you’re just upsetting her.” He touched a spot between her eyes, azure vapor trailing from his fingers. “Sleep now, Orana. Everything will be better in the morning.”

“But, it is…morning…” Orana’s words trailed off. Her eyes slid closed and she slumped over sideways as his spell took effect.

The healer stood, scooping the slight elf in his arms. He carried her to where Bodahn hovered near the door, worry in every line of his stocky body. “Here. Take her to her room. She’ll be asleep for a bit; don’t try to wake her. She is also going to be very hungry when she wakes. Make sure she eats as much as she wants.”

Bodahn gathered the girl carefully in his arms and moved slowly away. Hawke could hear him murmuring in a soothing voice to Sandal as he passed by. She swung her attention back over to Tal. Best be fast. Quickly summoning mana, she slammed the assassin to the ground. While Tal lay gasping, Hawke snarled a word of command, paralyzing the other woman against the floor. “You will tell me – right now – what is going on and why you have dragged me into it. And tell the truth, Tal. You’ve caused my dog’s death and my servant’s injury. I am in no mood for your usual games.” Through the haze of anger and grief that clouded her mind, she could sense Anders coming to stand behind her. He didn’t touch her, he knew better, but he did fix his irate gaze upon Tal as well.

From her prison on the floor, Tal gasped out, “I am so sorry, Hawke. I didn’t think that they would move this fast. I didn’t know…”

“That? Is a lie.” Hawke gestured.  The shimmering bands of light encasing Tal compressed. “Upstairs, you said that we had to leave right away. So, you knew that someone was after you.” She listened dispassionately as a couple of the elf-woman’s ribs snapped.

“Yes!” Tal coughed, blood foaming on her lips. “I knew that they were after me!” Hawke made another complex sigil in the air and the bonds around her lessened somewhat. Agony lanced through Tal’s chest as she dragged in a lungful of air.

“Better talk quick. Sounds like you’ve punctured a lung.”

Anders frowned, looking at Hawke. He knew that she could be merciless when she chose, especially when those she cared for were threatened. But this? This was a new. “Miri?” Hawke didn’t even glance back. She simply raised a hand to quiet him and then knelt next to the stricken Tal.

“No more lies, Tallis. You will explain yourself. Or you will die. Choose.”

The Thane of His Existence: The Game in Story Form

~ Bon Steele ~ 2 Comments

Part One

 

 

ELF

“Well, fuck.” Minozh leaned against the rock wall. Even in the shade, the stone burned through his shirt. His head pounded in heavy counterpoint with his stuttering heart. Impossible colors swirled across his eyes, sickening as they swooped and distorted his vision. Trying to reduce the next day grogginess, he’d halved his dose of Morpheus powders last night. That particular experiment was a spectacular failure. Half a dose meant that you still dreamed. And the sleeping draught ensured that while in the grips of a particularly gruesome nightmare, you couldn’t scream yourself awake. On the plus side, he could tell that that the symptoms were lessening. It was just going to be an extremely long and hard day. In spite of himself, Minozh chuckled. A night of drinking with dwarves produced much the same effect.

“Oy! You lot! Get yer gear together. I’m about to start casting.” Even from 35 feet away, Tim’s voice grated on Minozh’s eardrums. He watched the rest of the camp begin to get ready for the continuation of their journey. The natives, especially that large tattooed fellow, moved quickly about their tasks.

The batras brayed irritation as Galen moved down their row. He was tying blindfolds around their heads. For someone who put on the airs of a green-skinned dandy, he moved with a precise grace. Military training there, Minozh thought. Without realizing he did so, he rubbed a handful of red sand against his left arm, scraping the skin off in shallow arcs. The scars there throbbed and itched.

He pushed himself off the rocks and rose to gather his stuff. Fortunately, it wouldn’t take him very long. He didn’t have much. Eyes still tearing, he made his way back towards the rest of the camp.

 

 

HUMAN

          Tim watched as Minozh made his way back towards the camp. He’d been keeping an eye on his old friend, waiting to see if today was the day he went berserk. What is that silly blighter doing, he wondered when Minozh picked up a handful of the gritty sand. Face dreamy and faraway, Minozh rubbed it against the interwoven scars that twisted around his arm. Tim decided that calling attention to it would only make things worse. To his mage’s sight, those scars glowed with the sullen red and black of tainted magic. The valley elf was close to snapping, he knew. There was only so much sanity to go around Minozh’s head on a good day. The past few weeks had had precious few good days.

“SO!” he boomed. He saw Minozh wince and tried to modulate his tone a bit. “So. I am about to cast a spell; a very handy spell! With sigils and mystic passes, I’ll carve …What is it Shield-Thrust?”

“Just get on with it. Day’s wasting.”

Tim sighed. The taciturn warrior had no appreciation for the subtleties of showmanship. None.  “Right. I’m going to pull down a cloud and carve out a … a, I suppose you could call it one of your ‘windships’ from it. We’ll be able to travel in style and with speed,” he spared a glare for the Thrall, “to the Library of Jalaad.”  He ended his speech with a flourish and a smallish fireball, off to the west. He couldn’t help it.

 

 

CYMRILLIAN

        Galen watched with a cool expression as the old mage began to chant in a high, sonorous voice. Whatever language he was using, it wasn’t one that the Lyceum taught. Neither Archaen nor Elder nor High or Low Talislantan.  Nothing that he recognized. Further, the magic that Tim commanded – powerful illusions, attack and conjuring spells – were nothing that he recognized.

At first, he had thought the old man was a charlatan of some sort. Maybe a Cryptomancer of some kind, using sleight of hand to conceal his magical runes. Time and diligence had shown that whatever the sage was doing – it worked, and often far better than his own magic.

That? Rankled. Galen Faedraught was no one’s inferior. His family’s wealth had always seen to that. The best of everything: clothing, food, women, liquor and yes, magical schooling. Indeed, he had been granted access to the Lyceum on the basis of his family’s largesse. At first, he had attended mainly out of a desire to advance his family’s standing. Magic moved everything in Cymril. As time progressed, he had begun to enjoy the studies. No one had been more surprised than he had been to find that he had a powerful natural aptitude.

The old man had reached a screeching crescendo. As Galen watched bemused, a single cloud pulled itself free from the sky and drifted down to the ground. Bits of it sloughed off on its downward journey, shaping itself into a large boat. Forgetting himself, Galen found that his mouth was hanging open. Just how in the name of all that was holy had that scraggly man done that?

“Astonishing! I don’t believe that I have ever seen anything quite like that in my not inconsiderable travels.” Dar Motas was striding toward the boat, knapsack in hand. “And you say it will hold our weight?” The sandy-skinned savant ran a dubious hand over the misty side of the vessel.

“Oh, yes. Why the power alone in making that spell work…”  Tim was once again cut off by Shield-Thrust.

“Good.”  With a grunt, the burly Thrall hefted his duffel bag and lesser sack of spears over the railing. “Time to go.”

Galen snapped his mouth shut, hoping that no one had noticed his expression. He decided that he and Tim were going to have a talk. That very evening, if he could manage it. He wanted to know just how in Oblivion Tim was able to do the things he could do. He wanted to know if those things could be taught to him.

 

THRALL

        Magic users. Shield-Thrust rolled his eyes. None of them understood what a schedule was. He glanced at the sky. He knew what a cloud in the desert meant, even if these off-worlders didn’t.

“We should get moving. That cloud likely means a storm on the way. Don’t want to get caught in another, do you?”

He watched with no small amusement as they scrambled to get their gear and the animals on board. Guess they didn’t want to tangle with any more storm demons. Good. Neither did he.

“How fast are going to be going? Should our packs be strapped down? What about the batras?”

Tim stroked his graying beard, considering. “Och, I’d strap everything down for sure. We’ll be moving at quite the brisk pace. Wouldn’t hurt to hunker down, yer ownself, come to think on it.” He moved off, still muttering to himself. Shield-Thrust wondered briefly what an “African swallow” might be before shrugging. Didn’t matter.

Once everything was stowed correctly – the young Cymrillian mage was useful there – Shield-Thrust took position toward the rear of the boat. He wanted to keep an eye out for potential danger coming from that direction. The cloud ship slowly lifted off the ground and then hung there for a moment.

“What is the problem?” he shouted from his station.

“Nothing. Just orienting ourselves so that we are headed in the right direction.” Galen called back.

Shouldn’t they have done that before taking off?    Pfft. Magic users.

 

ELF

            At last. Finally, we are making progress. Not long now, whoever you are. Not long until I lock my hands around your throat and tear the life out of you. When you try to scream? I will whisper her name. Over and over and over. You will pay. 

Happier days: Minozh and Eirel