Post by Lydia on Nov 3, 2012 14:49:09 GMT -7
Ms. Jubilation Apogee
Castling Press
Foundry City, Diora
Update incoming on events astounding Sweetgrove town borderlands watch post
Rutherford Banjo
Charge to Mr. R. Banjo
Sweetgrove, Diora
--
~A Weighty Letter Arrives for Ms. Apogee~
Ms. Apogee,
Ever I have been your faithful correspondent and today I hope to uphold that legacy with most gracious care. First, let me tell you of this rural town, a picturesque I think you would enjoy, were ever you to travel here. As your health continues to obstruct such travel, instead sit back in your most comfortable chair and read these words aloud, so that they may take you aloft to another place and time, and share in this adventure.
Sweetgrove looked like a pile of vegetables from far away, haphazardly dropped from a market basket and splattered any which way on the land. The tallest of the buildings stood up like the silhouette of a celery stalk, and was the local library, a musty place filled with scrolls and tomes and a self-important librarian. Amongst the buildings and dross there was, nearer to the river that flowed past it, a friendly little building like a squat potato, brown and plain. This was McGinty's, a tavern where the likes of yours truly and other folks would meet, talk, and eat as they traveled through and to the town.
There we meet our players upon the stage of this adventure, for there were three: A paladin named Goodknight, a ranger, Jane, and me. Goodknight was a massive woman, muscular and mighty, bedecked in shining armor, just as you'd expect. Her fierce smile could surely have cut the fear of doom in the hearts of any villains. Jane was a rough and tumble sort, with mud on her cheek and worn leather armor, and hair as wild as a bramble. As for me, you know I always keep myself impeccably clean, and I was just finishing the delicate process of rendering my moustache immaculate when the very same ponderous librarian mentioned earlier entered the bar.
Now, what I have not told you yet is that Sweetgrove was an ordinarily peaceful town. Of late, it had become darker and darker, till it seemed the sky was almost always pitched night, and strange happenings had been going on all over town. The most recent of them all had been a terrible accident over by the docks in which a young fisherman, kissing his lover, had nearly drowned-- this was the talk of the town at that moment, as I set down my mirror and Jane set down her mug.
Goodknight addressed the librarian at once, demanding to know what ailed him, and he flung himself upon her for protection, stammering madly about ghosts, tombstones, and wicked magic. It took nothing more than that to spark Goodknight's interest, and Jane stepped forward, demanding to know where he'd seen such things. I, being of a less durable sort than such fighting folk, asked cautiously how far away he had been when first the images appeared to him.
His poor, sallow face lit up with hope at the sight of us all, and he quickly explained how he had been about to complete his yearly sojourn to the grave of his dear grandfather, who had been one of the very founders of Sweetgrove and a most generous and kind man. Ever faithful, this poor librarian had traversed the muck and grime of a sucking swamp on foot to reach the place where his grandfather had been buried-- the original site of Sweetgrove, now mostly sunk beneath the swampy waters-- only to discover the tomb overrun with vile and wicked goblins, performing evil majicks and calling down Demons and Devils upon the very earth!
As you surely have already guessed, we were on our feet at once, and had the librarian point us in the direction of the tomb from which he'd fled. Goodknight lifted her sword, Jane her wicked bow, and I requested that the librarian entrust to me the bouquet of flowers he had prepared for his grandfather's grave, that I might lay them upon it once we had cleansed the site of the wicked beasts he'd witnessed.
We were off at once, taking no time for rest lest the goblins mass an army of their wicked minions and march upon the peaceful town whilst we delayed. Goodknight took the lead, her powerful legs striding easily through the churning bog of the swamp; Jane followed close behind, leaping nimbly from branch to branch in the trees above us, her watchful eye protecting us from ambush or other unwanted surprise. And I, carrying my delicate burden, struggled not to fall behind, stepping reluctantly from squelching spot to spot, consigning my shoes to be marred and muddy, swearing that I would surely clean and polish them once our dire task was done.
In no time at all we came upon the goblins' bonfire, an evil thing that could be seen for miles, made of licking green and yellow flames. Goodknight charged upon them first, her sword out and shining, her warcry splitting the heavens. They cast their demonic nets upon her, trying to slow her advance, and she cut through them mightily, slicing away the chains and burning, acid-soaked ropes to fall upon the goblins behind them savagely. Jane, near invisible in the shadows above us, began to let loose arrows, silently, swiftly, plunging them into the ears and eyes of the goblin shamans. One by one, she picked them off, killing each in a perfectly calculated instant. When the last fell, their evil fire died out completely, and utter darkness rushed back in to fill the place where that unearthly light had shone.
With only the moon to see by, I looked about desperately for the gleam of Goodknight's armor; I listened for Jane's careful, quick steps shaking the leaves of the trees.
Instead, I saw the glow of a blue and wizened woman, beckoning to me. I was overcome with a sense of purpose, and stepped forward, following her as she led me through the muck and grime of the swamp. When my feet struck not mud but stone, I knew that this was the tomb of the librarian's grandfather, and surely that was why the ghost had called to me.
She spoke, but in a language unknown to any living thing, her hollow eyes cast upon the passage that led deeper into the tomb. Entranced, I continued forward, the bouquet clasped in my unthinking hands, and only Goodknight's common sense (and heavy hand) stopped me from calamity at that moment. She grabbed my shoulder and shook me until I came out of my trance, her alarmed shouts penetrating the thick fog that had come over my senses. I had very nearly been led by the willowisp into a deep pit, at the bottom of which shone the deadly spines of a trap.
Still, we had found the tomb, and so descended into it, until at last we found the shrine where all the dried offerings of years past lay, showing the heartwarming devotion to his ancestry that had guided the librarian his whole life. There, while Jane kept guard and Goodknight spoke a prayer of holy words, I lay the bouquet upon the stone where all the others had been laid.
The tomb began to rumble, and shake, and a voice as if from another world entirely let loose a mighty howl!
And suddenly, my friends vanished from before my eyes, as walls of stone rose up between us all, locking us away from each other in tombs of our own! I fumbled with my pack until I had lit a torch, and then looked about anxiously, calling for my friends in the darkness that had descended upon me. I had the most curious sensation of dropping deep beneath the earth, and then suddenly, it stopped, making me stumble. Where before I had been in a simple tomb, I now stood-- alone-- in the depths of a catacomb of mazes!
The light of my torch seemed feeble indeed in this dank and lonely place.
As you might imagine, the magic maze in which I had found myself was vast and made the heart falter, frightened of what lay ahead. I had packed ten torches, a bedroll, and my shortbow and sword, but I had nothing that might help me navigate a maze. I thought long and hard, and then came alight with an idea I had learned from you! So, since I was tired and suspected only ghosts or my other friends might come upon me, I lay down to sleep in the tomb, and let my torch burn itself all the way out.
When I awoke, I was still alone, but upon lighting my second torch I was gifted with the use of the first to mark my path, as it was now little more than a stick of charcoal. Every few feet I made my mark upon the wall-- an arrow, pointing in the direction I was going, so I would know if I looped back and went again the same way I had already gone.
I will not bore you with the extensive details of the twists and turns, but suffice it to say there were many dead ends, and more than once I came upon traps much like the one I had seen when first we entered the tomb, laid with spikes and frightening to behold.
When I finally came free of the maze, it was to a room with eight doors. I marked the door through which I had come, and began to examine each of the others. They were not identical, but there were two of each make, opposite each other. Thus, the door through which I had exited was inlaid with inscriptions in the stone; to its right, one that had been inlaid with brass, instead; one further, a door that was plain and unmarked; and the last two were inlaid with polished, precious stones. Just as I was about to begin testing these doors, the one opposite mine slammed open before the fist of none other than Goodknight, who was closely followed by Jane. Exultant, we welcomed each other back, glad to see we had all navigated the maze successfully.
This did not stop us from wondering at the puzzle before us, however. I examined each of the remaining doors, confused, but it was Jane who took us to the next step: from one of the plain doors, a slight, unpleasant smelling draft came through. From all the rest, there were slight shafts of light-- a pale blue light under the gem-encrusted doors, a pale red one under the other plain door, and pale green beneath those inlaid with brass.
I said that this must mean we did not wish to go through the plain doors; one clearly led deeper, as it smelled foul and had no light; the other, possibly to a fire or a kitchen, and no ghostly kitchen has ever appealed to me. We thought longer upon it, and Goodknight shook her head, answering me: "Do you not see? It is the dark door that leads us to the swamp. The draft proves it: we must go there."
Thus saying, she opened the plain door with the draft, and stepped back out into the very swamp we had started! I was awed, and followed in wonder as these two brave warriors led us back to the now peaceful town of Sweetgrove. They had not rested, as I had, and so were tired and uninterested in talking; still, I could not resist the question of why. Why had the spirit of the librarian's grandfather tried to trap us there beneath the swamp beside him? Why had he laid out the labyrinth to delay us from returning?
We could not determine the answer, and went on in silence, until daybreak came and our return to Sweetgrove came with it. The librarian, bless his hopeful heart, had been waiting for our return and embraced each of us, eagerly, heedless of the grime and muck of battle and swamp upon us. We related our deeds, and confirmed that the flowers had been laid upon the grave as he had asked.
Still, I wondered: why the labyrinth? What had been the cause? Until I asked the man outright.
He looked haunted, and answered that his grandfather was often up to such tricks. Only Jane had anything to say to this unsettling news, suggesting in her raspy voice, "Guarding a dead city must be fierce lonesome, I reckon. It's an easy thing to understand."
Castling Press
Foundry City, Diora
Update incoming on events astounding Sweetgrove town borderlands watch post
Rutherford Banjo
Charge to Mr. R. Banjo
Sweetgrove, Diora
--
~A Weighty Letter Arrives for Ms. Apogee~
Ms. Apogee,
Ever I have been your faithful correspondent and today I hope to uphold that legacy with most gracious care. First, let me tell you of this rural town, a picturesque I think you would enjoy, were ever you to travel here. As your health continues to obstruct such travel, instead sit back in your most comfortable chair and read these words aloud, so that they may take you aloft to another place and time, and share in this adventure.
Sweetgrove looked like a pile of vegetables from far away, haphazardly dropped from a market basket and splattered any which way on the land. The tallest of the buildings stood up like the silhouette of a celery stalk, and was the local library, a musty place filled with scrolls and tomes and a self-important librarian. Amongst the buildings and dross there was, nearer to the river that flowed past it, a friendly little building like a squat potato, brown and plain. This was McGinty's, a tavern where the likes of yours truly and other folks would meet, talk, and eat as they traveled through and to the town.
There we meet our players upon the stage of this adventure, for there were three: A paladin named Goodknight, a ranger, Jane, and me. Goodknight was a massive woman, muscular and mighty, bedecked in shining armor, just as you'd expect. Her fierce smile could surely have cut the fear of doom in the hearts of any villains. Jane was a rough and tumble sort, with mud on her cheek and worn leather armor, and hair as wild as a bramble. As for me, you know I always keep myself impeccably clean, and I was just finishing the delicate process of rendering my moustache immaculate when the very same ponderous librarian mentioned earlier entered the bar.
Now, what I have not told you yet is that Sweetgrove was an ordinarily peaceful town. Of late, it had become darker and darker, till it seemed the sky was almost always pitched night, and strange happenings had been going on all over town. The most recent of them all had been a terrible accident over by the docks in which a young fisherman, kissing his lover, had nearly drowned-- this was the talk of the town at that moment, as I set down my mirror and Jane set down her mug.
Goodknight addressed the librarian at once, demanding to know what ailed him, and he flung himself upon her for protection, stammering madly about ghosts, tombstones, and wicked magic. It took nothing more than that to spark Goodknight's interest, and Jane stepped forward, demanding to know where he'd seen such things. I, being of a less durable sort than such fighting folk, asked cautiously how far away he had been when first the images appeared to him.
His poor, sallow face lit up with hope at the sight of us all, and he quickly explained how he had been about to complete his yearly sojourn to the grave of his dear grandfather, who had been one of the very founders of Sweetgrove and a most generous and kind man. Ever faithful, this poor librarian had traversed the muck and grime of a sucking swamp on foot to reach the place where his grandfather had been buried-- the original site of Sweetgrove, now mostly sunk beneath the swampy waters-- only to discover the tomb overrun with vile and wicked goblins, performing evil majicks and calling down Demons and Devils upon the very earth!
As you surely have already guessed, we were on our feet at once, and had the librarian point us in the direction of the tomb from which he'd fled. Goodknight lifted her sword, Jane her wicked bow, and I requested that the librarian entrust to me the bouquet of flowers he had prepared for his grandfather's grave, that I might lay them upon it once we had cleansed the site of the wicked beasts he'd witnessed.
We were off at once, taking no time for rest lest the goblins mass an army of their wicked minions and march upon the peaceful town whilst we delayed. Goodknight took the lead, her powerful legs striding easily through the churning bog of the swamp; Jane followed close behind, leaping nimbly from branch to branch in the trees above us, her watchful eye protecting us from ambush or other unwanted surprise. And I, carrying my delicate burden, struggled not to fall behind, stepping reluctantly from squelching spot to spot, consigning my shoes to be marred and muddy, swearing that I would surely clean and polish them once our dire task was done.
In no time at all we came upon the goblins' bonfire, an evil thing that could be seen for miles, made of licking green and yellow flames. Goodknight charged upon them first, her sword out and shining, her warcry splitting the heavens. They cast their demonic nets upon her, trying to slow her advance, and she cut through them mightily, slicing away the chains and burning, acid-soaked ropes to fall upon the goblins behind them savagely. Jane, near invisible in the shadows above us, began to let loose arrows, silently, swiftly, plunging them into the ears and eyes of the goblin shamans. One by one, she picked them off, killing each in a perfectly calculated instant. When the last fell, their evil fire died out completely, and utter darkness rushed back in to fill the place where that unearthly light had shone.
With only the moon to see by, I looked about desperately for the gleam of Goodknight's armor; I listened for Jane's careful, quick steps shaking the leaves of the trees.
Instead, I saw the glow of a blue and wizened woman, beckoning to me. I was overcome with a sense of purpose, and stepped forward, following her as she led me through the muck and grime of the swamp. When my feet struck not mud but stone, I knew that this was the tomb of the librarian's grandfather, and surely that was why the ghost had called to me.
She spoke, but in a language unknown to any living thing, her hollow eyes cast upon the passage that led deeper into the tomb. Entranced, I continued forward, the bouquet clasped in my unthinking hands, and only Goodknight's common sense (and heavy hand) stopped me from calamity at that moment. She grabbed my shoulder and shook me until I came out of my trance, her alarmed shouts penetrating the thick fog that had come over my senses. I had very nearly been led by the willowisp into a deep pit, at the bottom of which shone the deadly spines of a trap.
Still, we had found the tomb, and so descended into it, until at last we found the shrine where all the dried offerings of years past lay, showing the heartwarming devotion to his ancestry that had guided the librarian his whole life. There, while Jane kept guard and Goodknight spoke a prayer of holy words, I lay the bouquet upon the stone where all the others had been laid.
The tomb began to rumble, and shake, and a voice as if from another world entirely let loose a mighty howl!
And suddenly, my friends vanished from before my eyes, as walls of stone rose up between us all, locking us away from each other in tombs of our own! I fumbled with my pack until I had lit a torch, and then looked about anxiously, calling for my friends in the darkness that had descended upon me. I had the most curious sensation of dropping deep beneath the earth, and then suddenly, it stopped, making me stumble. Where before I had been in a simple tomb, I now stood-- alone-- in the depths of a catacomb of mazes!
The light of my torch seemed feeble indeed in this dank and lonely place.
As you might imagine, the magic maze in which I had found myself was vast and made the heart falter, frightened of what lay ahead. I had packed ten torches, a bedroll, and my shortbow and sword, but I had nothing that might help me navigate a maze. I thought long and hard, and then came alight with an idea I had learned from you! So, since I was tired and suspected only ghosts or my other friends might come upon me, I lay down to sleep in the tomb, and let my torch burn itself all the way out.
When I awoke, I was still alone, but upon lighting my second torch I was gifted with the use of the first to mark my path, as it was now little more than a stick of charcoal. Every few feet I made my mark upon the wall-- an arrow, pointing in the direction I was going, so I would know if I looped back and went again the same way I had already gone.
I will not bore you with the extensive details of the twists and turns, but suffice it to say there were many dead ends, and more than once I came upon traps much like the one I had seen when first we entered the tomb, laid with spikes and frightening to behold.
When I finally came free of the maze, it was to a room with eight doors. I marked the door through which I had come, and began to examine each of the others. They were not identical, but there were two of each make, opposite each other. Thus, the door through which I had exited was inlaid with inscriptions in the stone; to its right, one that had been inlaid with brass, instead; one further, a door that was plain and unmarked; and the last two were inlaid with polished, precious stones. Just as I was about to begin testing these doors, the one opposite mine slammed open before the fist of none other than Goodknight, who was closely followed by Jane. Exultant, we welcomed each other back, glad to see we had all navigated the maze successfully.
This did not stop us from wondering at the puzzle before us, however. I examined each of the remaining doors, confused, but it was Jane who took us to the next step: from one of the plain doors, a slight, unpleasant smelling draft came through. From all the rest, there were slight shafts of light-- a pale blue light under the gem-encrusted doors, a pale red one under the other plain door, and pale green beneath those inlaid with brass.
I said that this must mean we did not wish to go through the plain doors; one clearly led deeper, as it smelled foul and had no light; the other, possibly to a fire or a kitchen, and no ghostly kitchen has ever appealed to me. We thought longer upon it, and Goodknight shook her head, answering me: "Do you not see? It is the dark door that leads us to the swamp. The draft proves it: we must go there."
Thus saying, she opened the plain door with the draft, and stepped back out into the very swamp we had started! I was awed, and followed in wonder as these two brave warriors led us back to the now peaceful town of Sweetgrove. They had not rested, as I had, and so were tired and uninterested in talking; still, I could not resist the question of why. Why had the spirit of the librarian's grandfather tried to trap us there beneath the swamp beside him? Why had he laid out the labyrinth to delay us from returning?
We could not determine the answer, and went on in silence, until daybreak came and our return to Sweetgrove came with it. The librarian, bless his hopeful heart, had been waiting for our return and embraced each of us, eagerly, heedless of the grime and muck of battle and swamp upon us. We related our deeds, and confirmed that the flowers had been laid upon the grave as he had asked.
Still, I wondered: why the labyrinth? What had been the cause? Until I asked the man outright.
He looked haunted, and answered that his grandfather was often up to such tricks. Only Jane had anything to say to this unsettling news, suggesting in her raspy voice, "Guarding a dead city must be fierce lonesome, I reckon. It's an easy thing to understand."