It's only in Cora that you'd have six farmer's children sitting around listening to a vampire bard string his stories and amaze their minds...These tales are done in a variety of formats. From first person accounts to scattered journal entries to third person stories. Some are modern, some are past, all of them from various places in the universe. Some you may like, others may be bloody awful! But either way feel free to express your opinions. I will agree that some of these are pretty bad. Others are unfinished or very short. Others are long and complete.
This is intended to stimulate other's ideas and give me a place to keep my own personal record. Don't really care if anyone reads them :S
Tale #1
Askelon Noor, the Harrowed
Genre: Background, Modern
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The inspiration for this came from a D&D class by Lord_Gareth at the Giant in the Playground forums. The picture is her's also, I believe.
Askelon Noor, The Harrowed
Hijacked DestinyAskelon was only seventeen when her life came to a close. Her destiny ceased to be, or so the world thought. A drunk driver crashed into the bicycling girl in mid-day on her way to meet some friends for a weekend lunch. The funeral was held on April 7th, 2006. It was a somber day with the family in black. Her mother cried while her father stared in shock at the brightly lit coffin of
wood and
bronze.Askelon had always been an unusual girl. While she was a good student she preferred to spend her time doing sports. By age six she could ride a bicycle as well as boys of fourteen. At ten she had participated in several skateboarding contests, knew how to ski, snowboard, water-ski and surf. At fourteen she discovered yet more extreme sports in the water, kite-surfing, wind-surfing, sailing and diving. She had training in various sports and had expectations to become a trainer at a foreign beach some day. She had a loving family of Arabic descent and was very astute in their religion. She had a brother, a mother and a father who were left behind.
Life would move on without the girl, or it should have.
Ten days later, the world
messed up. Askelon was rudely interrupted, her destiny taken hostage, her body hijacked. A creature calling itself
Haagenti kidnapped her soul, her body; and woke her up. The entity was a fierce, animalistic presence and tore apart the coffin and earth in its search out. Askelon was locked away as the beast tore across the graveyard in her body. An old widow stood laying flowers at her husband’s grave only to see a dirty and seemingly deranged girl run at her. She let out a scream that ended with a cough of
blood as Askelon’s hand transformed into a black furred and taloned claw. Four inch long talons tore through the old grandmother splattering her body across her husband’s grave. It would have been her eighty fifth birthday next week.
Askelon screamed and screamed, unable to cope with what was happening. But her screams went unheard.
Haagenti laughed at her and told her that nothing she said or did could prevent this. It was simply too bad that her soul was still attached and would have to go along for the joyride. The dripping poison and disgust for humanity in the creature’s voice hardened the girl. This will not do. She said and she fought for control, barely managing to wrest herself from its grasp. She stood in the graveyard, splattered in dirt and
blood and knew not where to go.
A World Abandoned Askelon went to her home, but did not approach her family. What do you say after something like this? What do you say after a funeral? Hey Dad, Hahah! Joke’s on you? Oh by the way there’s a murderous beast inhabiting my corpse with me now.
She watched for weeks and struggled to control the
demon within. She found that it’s possession had seemingly granted her strange powers. She could transform her hands into long, sharp claws. She could also move with supernatural speed. She began to see
Haagenti in her head as this six limbed wolf-like creature. It had twelve inch claws, much like the hands she could form. And its eyes were a brilliant, emerald green. It’s breath dripped with caustic substance and it did not think like anything remotely human.
After a few weeks she quickly realized that her body no longer needed to eat and was not decaying. Whatever
Haagenti was it was making her into something that was not human. She was an
undead. The unreal nature of her situation drove the girl to extremes. She attempted drowning herself, throwing herself off of mountains and even bought a gun, shooting herself in the head. After each very painful event she found that she simply healed and woke up days later either floating in the ocean, in a dumpster or, in one case, in a morgue.
Haagenti laughed at these attempts and used them to rise to the surface, the girl barely holding on.
She finally realized that staying in her home town would only bring ruin and she went forth into the wilderness.
Legends and MythsAskelon walked for ages. She lost track of time, no longer knowing or caring. She hitch-hiked her way along America until she found the wilderness of Canada; and there she lost herself. The weight of the situation crashed upon her and she gave in to
Haagenti's whispered assurances. The beast triumphed and roared through the wilderness, destroying anything it came across. Askelon’s mind huddled within, shivering and hiding from what was going on with her own body. Rabbits, birds and even bears came to fear when this little girl was near. Campers went missing in the woods and whispers of a werewolf in the woods drew hunters. They believed it must be a crazed wolf of some sort that was attacking people.
They were in for a big surprise. When Askelon, or we should say
Haagenti, came across the hunters they first believed her to be lost. All of them were dead before they could even pick up a weapon. Askelon forced
Haagenti aside and went into a nearby town. She went to the authorities and told them the truth, she was the killer and was possessed and in need of a super-human prison. They
laughed at her but due to her dirty, unkept appearance they took her to a nearby
asylum. There her torn clothes were replaced with white, her hair cut and washed and her body cleaned. Askelon waited there two days before escaping, using the powers
Haagenti granted her. She grew more and more in control of the beast, but
Haagenti resents her willpower more than anything else and strives to cause her to do harm or to let him free.
To FreedomTime passes, seasons come and go. Askelon is not sure what year it is or how long she has been in the woods. Unknown to her, it has been about a year. During this time sightings of her when
Haagenti obtained control have given her the name
The Werewolf of Saracha after the name of the forest she has taken up inhabiting. These tales interested a group of international researches who had investigated numerous supernatural sightings either finding the ‘super-powered being’ responsible or trying to prove the myths false. Using various super-powers and technology the team manages to find Askelon during one of her controlled periods. She tries to escape but ends up captured and taken in for research and help.
The scientists treat her well and gain her trust. They begin to study her to see if they can aid her in subduing
Haagenti for good. One of the researchers, a man called Frederick Gygin, is an associate of Duncan Summers and contacted the dean. He told the dean of the girl’s powers and difficulties in addition to her age and the fact that did not seem to have completed general education. Duncan takes Askelon into Claremont to help her control her powers, study a cure and give her a basic education. Askelon never gives a last name and insists that her family must not be told of her life.[/sblock]
Tale #2 The Story of Jack and Old Rawhorn
Genre: Random Story of Character's childhood, fantasy
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The Korc hills were nothing spectacular compared to the great mountains and gorgeous cliffsides Jack had climbed up over his life. But they did hold one thing of value—Old Rawhorn. Some say he’s the biggest ram in the Nath, others that he’s not only the biggest but the oldest and meanest to top. The myths say that Old Rawhorn has killed dozens of men who have sought to take his horns as their trophies. Jack would love to say that all those myths are false and there’s no way any ram like that could exist. He’d also like to say that he’d never be foolish enough to chase after it.
So thinking, Jack slides down a hill to rest at the bottom of a small valley and takes a deep breath of air. His heart is pounding and his breath fogs the air around his head in deep gasps. The last flash of a white-furred animal the size of a baby mammoth disappeared around the side of the hill. Jack gave a groan of frustration and got to his feet, sprinting after the form. He gave chase like an ice devil from legend was on his heels when really the only thing after him was his own ego. He turned the corner of the hill and swallowed a small scream of surprise.
Standing before Jack was the prize he’d been after. The sought after horns of Old Rawhorn himself. Unfortunately, they were still attached and the goat was anything but happy at being chased around the hills like a chicken. A handful of arrows dotted the thick hide of the old beast and it let out a long, low growl as its harasser came into view. Jack stopped for just a moment to consider his next action before turning and racing up the hill behind him.
Jack reaches the top of the hill and realizes he cannot outrun a bloody goat. He turns around and watches it charge up the hill at him when he gets a grand idea. As the goat closes he runs back down, straight at it. His momentum allows him to plant one foot in the beast’s face and run down it’s back leaping off of it onto the hill. He slips and slides down into the valley but comes up from a barrel roll and sprints down another valley hoping to hide and wait for a good ambush.
About an hour later Jack has managed to hide from Rawhorn behind a small collection of boulders covered in ice. The goat is trundling around looking for him in the same valley. Jack grins at his opportunity and lines up a shot with the back of animal’s head. He lets first one, then a second arrow fly. The first arrow soars forward and bounces off the back of its skull doing minimal damage. The second hits the spine and slides up behind the skull into the brain. Rawhorn lets out a roar of outrage, and falls over dead. The young tribal lets out a scream of success and draws his axe as he runs to Rawhorn intending to cut off its horns.
It is almost dusk by the time he manages to cut the horns off and tie them up with a length of rope. As he drags the horns through the snow, Jack wonders how people could have been so afraid of this thing. It had been huge and somewhat mean but it did not seem like a carnivore. He dragged the horns away. A snow owl flew over his head toward the valley and alighted near where Jack had come face to face with the beast. A head being swiftly decayed by several Nath Hoppers sat nearby. The owl pecked one of the insects off the skull and flew away, leaving the poor victim to an unburied rest.
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Tale #3 Rite of Adulthood
Genre: Continuing on Jack's childhood adventures
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The other boy crouched before Jack’s hiding spot. He was calling loudly for Jack to come out and stop hiding. This was not the way the rite was supposed to go. As a foreigner everyone expected the frail Jack to get killed. The boy had a wooden club in one hand and was facing away from Jack’s hiding spot, leaving him perfect for an attack.
A nearby stone provided the perfect means of doing this and Jack threw it at the back of the kid’s skull. A sound thwack echoed through the leaves and he fell without a further sound. Unfortunately the movement had alerted two other boys who ran to the area and pointed to Jack’s hiding spot. “There he is! Let’s get him! There’s no way a foreigner can win this gauntlet.” The two boys ran forward and Jack stood up. He couldn’t let them reach him. He was far too frail to have a hand to hand fight. As the neared he picked up another stone and knocked the one on the left down on his knees. The kid cursed and covered his broken nose with one hand as blood splashed the ice.
The other neared and tackled Jack to the ground, or at least attempted to. Jack did a forward somersault under the tackle and came up with the first boy’s club in one hand. He brought it down with enough force to knock out the second kid and then threw it behind him straight into the other boy’s charge.
He stood there surrounded by three unconscious tribals and grinned. Maybe he wouldn’t be killed today. Heck maybe he would even become the next Champion, although he doubted they would let him have the title. He rushed off into cover once again to search for his next victim. This was getting fun.
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Tale#4 Arashi Eire on Justice
Genre: Background for a character I never got to use
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The resounding drip of water practically pounded in Arashi’s ears. It was slight, pattering sound coming from a stormdrain not five feet away but after listening to it for the past two hours it was becoming unbearable. Her attention was focused on two men sitting near the window of a tavern across the street. The man on the right had a thick, black beard and a broad-brimmed hat pulled down over his face. The man on the left was a sneaky looking fellow with thin, greasy hair and a portly belly. The two had been speaking quietly over several pitchers of ale for the past few hours.
Arashi was currently sitting in a pile of damp rags under a ragged cloak with a hood pulled high over her head. In her right hand was a tin cup with a few coppers rattling around in it. Pretending to be a beggar was starting to hurt her back and more than one person had looked at her poor disguise with an odd look. She was a paladin, not some thrifty street rat! And all this work just to see if her hunches were right.
She let out a tired sigh and tried to keep her eyes open as they sagged down. The patter of the nearby drain was starting to drive her crazy but at the same time it was so consistent it was also making her very sleepy. Suddenly the man on the right, with the beard, stood up. Arashi’s eyes opened wide and her hand slid to her side where a short sword hung beneath a very patched bag. This was it the moment she’d been waiting impatiently for. Black-beard shook the slimy man’s hand and headed to the door, taking a large brown cloak with him.
While walking through the door he put his hood up since it was raining ever so slightly. Arashi liked to call it ‘misting’ rather than rain because you could never tell where it was coming down from. Black-beard passed her and dropped a coin into the cup. Arashi kept her head desperately down hoping that he wouldn’t notice her clean features or dyed hair. Damn, she thought, I should have found someone to do this disguise for me. However, he didn’t seem to be paying much attention and did not notice anything odd. Or at least if he did, he didn’t act like it.
Arashi waited until he was beyond a stone’s throw away before standing and shuffling after him. She tried to be inconspicuous, as if she was merely heading down the street to try begging somewhere else. The man made several turns and Arashi followed him the whole way down to the city’s warehouse district.
Here she hung back behind a pile of fish-smelling crates and watched as he approached one of the smaller warehouses. From what she had gathered this warehouse has been leased to an organization called Horton’s Southern Exports. The organization was a small subset owned by the Azhure Plumes guild. She had seen several day delivers delivering spices from the Neuf Province. But this false front did not dissuade her suspicions. She had heard from several people that Horton was a slave dealer.
The disappearance of one of her friend’s had drawn her attention to the place. That had been two days ago. She had not seen any shipments leaving the warehouse but after paying an ox-handler a handsome sum of gold she had found out that Horton was set to send off a shipment on in a caravan this night. The name of the wagon was the Gull’s Kettle. She wasn’t sure why a gull would have a kettle or why a land bound vessel had a name like a ship’s but she was positive that it would be leaving full of slaves. Arashi would have none of that now.
Black-beard knocked on the door three times and it opened, letting him in. Arashi’s suspicions had led her to this man because he was seen hiring several known thugs in the area in addition to having worked at Horton’s warehouse for a long time. No one was sure if black-beard was Horton or not, because when asked he gave his only name as ‘Dave.’ Arashi just knew that it had to be a false name, it seemed far too suspicious. She had also seen several iron manacles in one of the crates within the warehouse.
Arashi snuck around the side of the warehouse to a pile of broken crates. Beneath the crates was a simple longspear and a few javelins that she had stored there the previous night. She hadn’t wanted to leave her prized guisarme at the Temple, but it was far too bulky to carry about with her and leaving it where it could be stolen was not an option. She quickly gathered up the weapons and used a rope ladder she had set up the night before to clamber to the top of the roof. She crawled her way to the skylight and peered down into the warehouse.
It was dark; too dark to see anything. Arashi cursed herself and began to back towards the rope ladder again. However, the misting had made the roof slippery and she slid across the roof making a loud noise to fall through the window and into the warehouse below. The shattering of glass and her shout of surprise would have alerted anyone beneath to her presence. She managed to land somewhat on her feet and looked around as her eyes adjusted.
The shouts of men sounded in the warehouse and dim torches lit the walls. A line of ragged looking people with gags over their mouths and with hands and arms clamped together stood against the back wall. Black-beard and five other men stood facing her with weapons drawn. Somewhere during her fall, Arashi’s disguise had torn apart and it was easy to see her leather armor and strange hair now. Her hair fell down her back in two pigtails, the left dyed red and the right side dyed blue. She grinned at the men staring at her only to have them laugh back.
“Who are you, girl? What are you, sixteen? And and..what is on your head? Did you come here to try and steal our gold?” The questions of Black-beard were broken up by his own guffaws. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes as they teared from the great bellows coming from his mouth full of half-decayed teeth. The other slavers, for Arashi’s suspicions were right on target, were also laughing but steadily moving toward her with longswords drawn.
Arashi stood tall and cried out to the laughing men. “Laugh not, fools. I am of the Justicars of the Silver Hand and I come to give you your just reward. We do not like slavers in this city and I won’t let you get out of here without chains on your own wrists. Give up now or face certain death. Even now my fellow paladins encircle your warehouse and prepare to storm it with but a call. However, if I call them in they will surely sunder you limb from limb. Save your lives and give up.”
Arashi held her breath, praying to the Light that her bluff might pay off. The other paladins would have looked down upon her for lying even in this situation, but she had always thought that almost any means necessary should be used to bring about justice. Even if it did require a lie or too.
Black-beard looked at the skinny girl before him. She had a sling of javelins on her back and a spear held ready. She looked like she could put up a fight but there was no way she could defeat his five men. He felt that there was no need to get involved. And as for her bluff, well, he had heard better lies from old men. “Get her. Bring her here alive if you can, we can add her to the slave line. I’m sure the little miss could do with a hard day’s work.”
The five men rushed at Arashi expecting her to stand and fight them like a stalwart defender of justice. Arashi looked at them rushing her and shook her head. Well so much for plan A. And she turned and sprinted across the warehouse between the stacks of crates. Her retreat brought even more laughs from the men and she could hear them insulting her bravery from behind her. Fools, she thought, Did they really think I would fight fair? I can’t take out five men by myself!
Upon reaching the crates Arashi turned for a moment and threw a javelin at the oncoming men. Their own momentum prevented them from getting out of the way in time and a blonde-haired slaver in the front was speared through the chest. He fell back and screamed in pain, blood pouring from his chest and washing over his chest like a slow tide. The four men paused for but a moment before charging her. The first to reach her was a thin man in his late thirties. He had graying hair and a nasty scar across his lower lip. As he approached Arashi lunged with her spear, scoring a shallow gash across his thigh. He grinned at her and jumped over her spear, lashing out at her.
If it wasn’t for a quick lean backwards, Arashi would have received a cut right across the face. She scowled at him. They would dare harm a woman’s face? Pfshaw! Off with their heads. Arashi cackled at the man and swung her spear at him. He dodged out of the way and stepped up next to her. The two men behind him stepped forward to engage Arashi and forced her on the defensive. She moved backwards and fended off sword blows.
It seemed as if she would do fine when a precise strike reached under her spear and stabbed her in the side. The cut was deep and she used the chance to stab the man who’d cut her in the ribs. Leaving her spear in the last victim she turned and ran deeper into the warehouse, holding her side to keep the blood from seeping out too fast. When she reached the wall she turned and threw another javelin which flew true and struck a third bandit in the leg. He cried out and fell the floor, clutching at the wooden stake jutting several feet from his leg.
Three down, two to go. Arashi turned a corner and drew her short sword. A teetering crate of paprika stood by her side and it gave her a savage idea. When the fourth slaver, a man with long, shaggy hair stepped around the corner he was hit in the face with a crate full of spice. He fell back with a cry of surprise followed by a scream of pain. Arashi had opened the top of the crate before she threw it hoping that the spice would get in his eyes. It seemed that the Light was on her side and her fourth foe was blinded by the company’s own goods. The old man with the gray hair stepped over his companion and approached her.
“You did good, girl. Managed to kill two of our men and disable two others. But you’re bleeding fast. You’re going to die tonight. How about you surrender? I’m sure me and Dave could help you out a bit. No use letting a good bit of flesh going to waste now, eh?” The man walked toward her and brandished his longsword, grinning as he did so. Arashi shrugged and dropped her short sword.
“Okay. If you promise to keep me alive then what can I say?” The man laughed at her easy surrender and stepped up to her, forgetting the mistakes his companions had made in underestimating her. Arashi allowed a brief smile to flash across her pained face. The man frowned and wondered why she was smiling only to realize as he was kneed with the only part he had been thinking with. As her fifth victim went down in pain, Arashi thumped in soundly with the hilt of her blade on the back of the head. She nodded, satisfied with the fact that only two men had to die this night.
She went back the way she had come and knocked out the blinded man, who was crawling around looking for his sword. As she approached the man with the javelin in his leg he backed away from her. “P-please don’t kill me! I needed money for my family and and they promised to sell my daughter if I didn’t help them!” Arashi shook her head as she approached.
“I’m not here to kill you. Let me help you and if you help me rescue the slaves I will put in a good word for you with the authorities.” Arashi leaned forward and poured her healing energy into the man. Bending forward sent waves of nausea through her due to her own wounds, but she couldn’t leave this man to die from the leg wound she had given him. The amount of blood on the floor made it obvious that he would die soon if not tended too.
The man stood shakily and looked at his leg which was almost completely healed over. “You..you helped me. Why?”
“As I said, I did not come to kill. Remember, I did ask for surrender first. Now return my favor and help me with this so-called Dave.” The man nodded and thanked her profusely as they returned to the center of the warehouse. Dave stood near the slave line with a knife against a beaten looking woman’s throat.
“What’s this? Frederick, remember what I said about your daughter? She’s mine when this is over. You dare betray me to this girl? She killed your friends!”
“She came to help me. If only I had the bravery to stand up to you like she had.” The red-haired man charged Dave even though Arashi called out for him to stop. The threat to an innocent’s life was far more important to her then killing the slaver but her attempts were futile. As Frederick ran at him, Dave stabbed the woman in the throat and turned to face the man. He managed to get his arm up to protect himself from a mortal wound but was now bleeding everywhere. Frederick pressed him back until Dave was impaled on his former ally’s sword.
During this fight, Arashi rushed to the woman’s side. She reached her just as Frederick dispatched the head slaver. “You idiot! Oh please..Light preserve this woman until I can bring her to a healer.” Arashi quickly freed the other slaves and picked up the dying, or perhaps dead, woman. She rushed from the warehouse, calling out behind her that the slaves were now free. One of the slaves, a pretty lass with long brown hair ran to Arashi’s side and helped lift the woman. Arashi looked over at her and smiled, realizing that it was her friend, Janice. The two ran to the nearest temple and broke into it crying out for a cleric.
An old man was putting several candles out around an altar in the church when they burst in. He turned to them with a smile on his face that quickly turned to one of shock and horror. He rushed to their side. “What has happened here? We must get this woman to a doctor, we have no one here with the power to heal. Warren! Warren, come here quickly! Go and fetch Doctor Vakhinson from his home. Run, boy, run!”
Arashi collapsed in a pew, staring at the blood covering the woman’s body. Her eyes were wide open and unmoving. Arashi knew that look, it was the look of death. Janice hung at her shoulder and thanked her for coming to the rescue trying to comfort her friend. But it was to no avail, Arashi knew that she had made a mistake in trusting a man who would stoop so low as to work for a slaver. This wasn’t justice. Her eyes hardened and she took one of her last javelins from its shoulder sheath. Standing, she headed for the church’s door.
“Arashi, Arashi, where are you going? Please stay here, we can still help her..she isn’t dead..is she?” Janice clutched at the hem of Arashi’s torn shirt but was brushed off.
“No. I go to bring justice. Stay here, I will be back.”
Hours later, Arashi returned. She held one broken javelin in hand with blood staining its end. Her eyes were tired and angry. Blood, not hers, stained her arms. Janice did not ask what transpired and Arashi did not speak for the rest of the night.
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Tale #5
Victor Alderidge, Pirate, Mercenary, Drug DealerGenre: Background, character description
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This image is by YoshiyukiKatana of a character of his own design. It was the inspiration for Victor. This person's art is awesome, I suggest checking it out!
Growing up with pirates isn’t easy. For that matter, who really thought that there still were pirates? When Margaret Alderidge left her family on a cruise ship, she didn’t expect anything truly exciting to happen. She’d always been called the ‘wild child’ of the family with her various exploits into faraway lands. This cruise was supposed to be a short venture into the Mediterranean before dropping her off in Israel for a camel-back trek across the desert to Egypt where she would stay for a bit before heading down to live in the Sahara for a few months.
Margaret used the word ‘cruise’ loosely so that her parents would actually let her take the ship. It was an oil tanker carting lots of empty oil and lots of money. When a small ship approached while she was watching, Margaret thought nothing of it. When the grappling hooks where thrown over and men with guns came over she got more than her share of excitement for that trip. The ship was quickly taken over by these Modern day pirates.
They had planned to execute everyone on board, but it seemed that their new leader was both ruthless and a philanthropist. He spoke to the men of the tanker and made a deal which allowed them to get out alive. He was like a sweet drink with a shot of adrenaline and danger mixed within. Margaret was instantly infatuated. She insisted that she be able to come along and join the crew, which drew great derision from the other men. However…
Five years later, I was born at sea, in a thunderstorm screaming and wailing like all hell was loose. Or so they tell me. I grew up learning how to swim, shoot and drink. Mom passed away when I turned ten due to a bad case of cancer. I always told her she smoked too much. She did get her exciting life though with all the heists, cons, raids and pillages we went on. It was a great adventure but it wasn’t to last.
When I turned twenty we got caught. This wasn’t a you all go off to jail caught, this was third-world country justice. The police raided the ship and began shooting everyone. It wasn’t like a raid though, it was like a war. I do not know how many I killed before I jumped overboard and swam away. I saw the ship go up in an explosion when I reached dock and the force of it threw me into a pile of crates. Somehow, I wasn’t caught. So here I was stuck in some god forsaken port town with no ship, no friends and no money. I spent a few weeks working as a bartender before joining up with a crew of mercenaries heading to a war in Kenya. It was some drug trafficking gang war but I got to drink, shoot people and gamble. What more could a man ask for?
After a couple of months of that I managed to off the leader and take command. I always disliked the way he got a higher cut then the rest of us. Well, now I got that higher cut. We got stuck in a bad spot where most of the mercenaries got killed or caught and I was done with that gig. I took the money, the guns and the drugs and got the hell out of there. But what I had stolen was a lot more than a cart of cocaine. This was pure, grade A Max. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was on the way to the big leagues again.
I found a seller in a place called Freedom City and headed there. I should arrive on tomorrow into the port. This ought to be fun.
ChicoryVictor’s rifle, Chicory, is always at his side. He carried it in a leather case that resembles an instrument case for some type of wind instrument. When others ask, he simply says it’s his trusty trombone. Chicory is a unique weapon that Victor found while diving in an old shipwreck. The ship’s name had been worn away with age and almost everything of value taken. When Victor saw the case he opened it and found the seemingly normal looking rifle.
It was anything but normal, however, and Victor has slowly added more bullets to the arsenal Chicory can fire. When he first got it the blast was so strong that it could knock a super down at a huge range. This was amazing for a man without any powers himself so he kept it around. Over the years he’s modified it to fire stun grenades, magical ice grenades that lower the temperature of an area, and even a trans-dimensional shot that Victor can ricochet off nearly anything.
Cyber EyeWhen Victor was a mercenary he had an unfortunate accident. A shard of shrapnel from a frag grenade tore into his eye and damaged the retina. With only one eye his perception and aim was off and practically destroyed. He contacted an old friend of his father’s, a tinker, who had hired them for various theft jobs in the past. He paid a handsome sum of money and paid off two favors to get a cybernetic eye implanted that could see through concealment and see heat. [/sblock]
Tale #6 Enter a Black Port
Genre: Random section of a story never written
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Enter a black port, the smoky darkness obscures all but the dim lighted crates along the wooden docks. The city itself is nothing but a black figure in the background waiting patiently, silently for new victims to disembark. Shambling dock workers carry boxes back and forth from warehouse to ship to warehouse again. Their purpose and intent are unknowable. Many wear tall, lopsided hats with wide brims. The brims obscure the facial features and yet a dull, red glow seems to emanate from where eye sockets should be. Our ship scrapes along the stone dock walls and a rope is thrown to a waiting worker.
The worker catches the rope and begins to crawl up it like a spider onto our ship. This is not the realm of the living nor a place where any man is welcome. The ship’s crew are already below decks, laying about in a lazy mess. Their blood seeps through the boards and leaves a bloody wake. I stand on board the deck…waiting.
One, then two, then a half dozen of the red-eyed denizens clamber aboard. The scent of blood is in their corrupt nostrils. They can smell it, feel it even. The coagulating mess of life spread out in a macabre horror. Remains of men and women are spread out like a grisly meal for the creatures as they ignore my hiding spot and lap at the sticky pools with purple, bloated tongues. Not a one notices as I step from behind and swiftly behead three with a single blow. The remaining creatures seem barely disturbed so confident are they among their own territory. It has been centuries since anything has dared interfere with their malicious activities.
The other three collapse as their heads come free of twisted, malformed necks. There is a spurt of black and purple blood from each as they die slowly. A quiet bump echoes across the otherwise silent port as the last of them falls into a heap. That sound fills the dock, echoing and seeming to become louder with each bounce off of seemingly abandoned houses and shop fronts. A still silence ensues across the entire abandoned shipping area. It lasts for but a moment before the town seems to stir to life. Clawed hands and hideous visages appear at windows and doors. The appearances seem confused at first, unsure of what the sound could have been. However, the new ship sitting in the bay with a single man standing on board beside several broken figures made what had happened fairly obvious.
Welcome to Vah’Dinell.
Swarms of so called citizens swarm out of their respective places towards the blood-soaked ship. There are hundreds of these beasts and I am here to clean up the mess. They have grown complacent in this domain of fear and insecurity. A new age is coming, an age not of fear but of man. An age where none of these fantasy creatures shall be left where magic is but a decadent memory of times long past when man huddled within dark caves full of stored food and bread—leftovers of harvests years past. And now, they fall.
The first to jump on board bare their fangs and roar incomprehensive vulgarities. I do not speak the old tongues and have no need to know what types of curses they murmur to me. A flick of my wrist and a barrage of slim, whirring blades fly from my sleeve embedding themselves with loud, squelching sounds. A flood of pure black corruption springs forth as they fall forward onto the ship. The deck is soon coated ankle-deep in dark sludge.
As more of the beasts clamber aboard they begin to slip on their brother’s fallen organs crushing it into a primordial mess of organs and gore. I dance amongst the vampires a single slim blade in each hand and a spinning collection of steel out of my small backpack. A grey, ugly bastard leaps over a truly dead corpse to meet a kick to the face. Another grabs my leg and receives a skinny blade down its open, leering mouth. It’s mouth closes like a trap and falls away dragging my hand with it.
Pain runs through my arm as another latches on like a leech attempting to drain me of as much blood as it can. I am no one’s meal. I release my sword and flip a dagger into that hand, driving it deep into the beast’s skull. The grey gore that explodes out as its skull is crushed by my hand drives the remaining creatures to renewed vigor. Hundreds more are crawling onto the ship like a never ending tide of lice from an old man’s hair.
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