Thursday, March 28, 2019

112 - “The Dragon Scholar” - Tonklyn - A Tale of Heroes

Here's how you can read the story a week (two scenes) ahead of everyone else!

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As Tonklyn's horse nosed out of the woods and onto a gently sloping and rolling meadow, the mid afternoon sun was already casting shadows of the tall trees of the Umbrawood Forest before him. He nudged his horse forward, then stood still to look ahead. Three other riders followed out of the trailhead in the woods, and waited beside him.

The grasses of the meadow were mostly green, but yellowing slightly in the summer sun, spotted with red and blue wildflowers. An occasional tree or rock outcropping broke up the trail. Below them, in the far distance, they could see the city of Twynne Rivers, surrounded by a ring of shanties and farmland. To the north and to the south, they saw the two branches of the Wynne River, called the Lesser, and the Greater, respectively, flowing into the city where they merged, giving the land a name and livelihood.

Tonklyn breathed in, allowing himself a moment of memories. It had been several years since he had left the city, and he hadn't been back since. It looks like nothing has changed, but everything has changed for me.

“We can probably be there before dark,” one of the riders near Tonklyn suggested, to prompt him into motion.

“Yes. We can.” Tonklyn signaled his horse with his legs and started ahead down the trail. It wasn't really much of a trail. Months of disuse had allowed the grass to overgrow the path, but it could still be seen.

Tonklyn had never liked riding, or traveling at all. He had always been accustomed to living and staying in one place. For his childhood and youth, that had been Twynne Rivers.

He had been apprenticed after ten winters to the librarians and historians in King Twynnham's council halls. For two years, he had swept and scrubbed the floors, dusted the tables, and polished the metalwork all day while learning to read at night. Then they taught him how to file the books, scrolls, maps, and records, and he became a page, fetching and reshelving whatever the great sages of the King demanded.

His eyes swam with images remembered as his horse walked down the meadow.

As he grew in the library, his education had continued, and he learned how to scribe for the sages. They had required him to stand for hours at a time at small and narrow tables built into the walls and shelves of the library. There, he had written as the sages had dictatef the ideas and conclusions of their studies. Words of philosophy, history, and geography had flowed from his pens as the greatest minds of the kingdom spoke. Tonklyn had absorbed it all, fascinated.

The scribe's nooks were scattered throughout the huge library, and the sages had often paced up and down the shelves, forcing Tonklyn to scoop up the papers and scurry to the next nook to keep up and continue writing.

Afterwards, he had spent hours compiling and copying the pages so they could be cataloged, shared, and further debated by the others. Often, one of the wise men would dictate something that confused him. When that happened, Tonklyn would dig out other works from deep in the stacks and study the topic until he understood.

Despite all of the shelving, searching, and chasing, the work in the library had been mostly sedentary, and, since it was the Royal Library, they had all been fed well. During this time in his life, his belly had begun to fill the robes of the the scribe, just as his mind filled the role. He hadn't paid any attention to that, however. He’d been focused on learning.

As Tonklyn and his men rode on through the afternoon, he recognized shapes in the spires and towers of the city. Twynne Rivers was truly a vast and expansive mass of populace.

One topic that had come up repeatedly in the histories was the reign and fall of the Dragon Kings. It had fascinated him. Some historians regarded that era as glorious, civilized, and noble, and others labeled it tyrannical and oppressive. I guess it all depends on who’s writing the book. 

Tonklyn had read them all, obsessed, particularly as he read of the dragon’s decline. None of the histories had been clear on what had led to it. Over the course of a few years, Dragons had interacted with their subjects less and less, isolating themselves. Finally, the various races of mankind, the humans, elves, dwarves, and giants, had all banded together and slain the Dragon King. His wyrmkind ministers and nobles had all been slaughtered, and his palace hold in the western mountains had been laid waste and plundered, and what remained of his treasure had been scattered.

By late afternoon, the meadow trail brought his travelling party near the southern Greater Wynne River. He smiled as the breezes brought him its familiar smell. He recalled travelling on that river. Two years ago, he had applied for, and been granted, a Field Research Quest, to find the lost and abandoned palace of Maxinn III, the final Dragon King. He had left the city on a westbound barge, flowing upriver, driven by the nature powers of the riverman giant, heading to the mountains the Giants called “Dragon’s Teeth”. How appropriate! All of the scholars had seemed to assume that was because of the tall, sharp peaks towering into the clouds, like teeth with smoky breath. Tonklyn had known better.

He had sailed up the river, traversed the mountains, and found the palace.

It was, however, not lost, nor was it abandoned.



<<<>>>



This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
Thank you: Chet Cox, Genevieve Springer!

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Monday, March 25, 2019

111 - “Bread in the Bell Tower” - Parith - A Tale of Heroes

Here's how you can read the story a week (two scenes) ahead of everyone else!

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There was no bell in the bell tower of the abandoned chapel. That was probably a good thing for Parith and Korr. It allowed them a little more room in the tiny space. Well, Parith had been comfortable stretched out there that night. That was, once all of the bird's nests and cobwebs had been cleared away. Korr was a lot taller, so his side had probably been a bit more cramped.

Parith hadn’t slept very well the previous night. Some homeless squatters must have been fighting in the chapel below. The noise had jarred him awake.

Parith sat, leaning with casual ease against the wall under the large window-like opening. Each wall had one, presumably for the sound of a great bell to call out to worshippers all over the neighborhood. Did they take the bell out? Maybe they never had one. A chapel out in the Outer Wall Quarter might not have had enough tithes to get one.

He dropped his gaze from the rafters of the steeple to Korr, sitting cross-legged opposite him. Korr's eyes were closed and his face was tranquil. It was late in the morning. The sun overhead brightly lit the rooftops surrounding the tower, but the interior was mostly in shade.

Parith picked up one of the loaves next to him and tore it in half. Then he broke off a smaller piece and stuffed his mouth.

After a moment, Korr opened his eyes and stretched out his legs. Parith smiled and tossed the other loaf to him. Korr held it up, sniffed it deeply, then gave a quizzical look at Parith.

“Yes, I paid for it!” He said with a slightly defensive tone. Korr's expression didn't change. If anything, he looked more skeptical. Parith persisted, “I did! I believe, in situations like this, the proper response to being given good food is: ‘Thank you’.”

Korr nodded, and said, “Yes. Thank you.” He also began eating.

After another bite, Parith studied his new companion. “So, tell me more about this ‘Heathrax’ man you're searching for.”

“I really don't know much at all.”

“Where is he?”

“I don't know that either.” Korr broke off a bit of bread. “In the progress of my studies, my learning, it is my time of questing. My master gives me a task, and I must go and complete it. Then I return to the dojo and report what I have learned.”

Parith laughed. “So, you just agreed to take this message, whatever it is, to someone you don't know, who is in a place you don't know where?”

“Yes.” Korr said resolutely, “For my master.”

“How?” Parith laughed again, “How are you supposed to find him?” He took another bite of bread.

Korr nodded. “My master teaches that all things are connected. The world is whole, a complete round. Thus, any road that you walk will eventually lead to where you need to be.”

Parith finished his loaf. “It sounds to me like your master is just getting his servants to go do his busy work.”

“He is not my master like a slave holder. He is my master teacher.” Korr dusted off the crumbs and stood. “Come.”

“Where? To look for this Heathrax?”

“Yes. But first we must pay for the bread you stole.”


<<<>>>



This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
Thank you: Chet Cox, Genevieve Springer!

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Thursday, March 21, 2019

110 - “Trouble for Bread” - Parith - A Tale of Heroes

Here's how you can read the story a week (two scenes) ahead of everyone else!

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In the previous part: Thissraelle, a young high elf wizard, has spent much of the summer trying to teach Karendle how to find her own powers. It hasn't gone so well. In the meantime, her giant friend, Granthurg, is worried about what might have happened to his river barge captain. Antonerri and DeFrantis seem to be settling in caring for the monastery's orphans, the kids they had rescued from the Dragon's Flame, but she's been having horrible nightmares. Even though Eddiwarth is having some conflicted feelings toward Thissraelle, he seems to be more adept at sparking her ire than catching her eye.

Back in Twynne Riverns, Parith Laren, a wood elf rogue, has met up with Mann Korr, a strange man that fights with his feet and bare hands.

While all of this is going on, the dragon Kirraxal is planning something big for Twynne Rivers!

<<<>>>


Part 9

Returning!

<<<>>>

“Pardons, friend.” Parith stepped aside, allowing an older woman to cross his path, before continuing on along the side of the street. He had an excited, almost cheerful gait, and chuckled to himself as she grumbled complaints in passing. It was mid-morning, and already quite warm. The narrow, dusty streets of the Outer Wall were busy with people. Most were poor peasants trying to get onto their daily lives, finding a job they could do or spending the previous day's wages on the food and produce they needed for today's meals. 

Parith glanced ahead. There's the woman I saw earlier, further up the street. She was dressed in a plain brown dress, trying to guide two small children toward a gourd vendor sitting on a blanket. Parith's eyes bounced to the other side of the street. That man in the doorway is still there. He wore a grey tunic, looking down at his dusty bare feet.

There's not a lot of color here in the Outer Wall. Maybe it's just the dust we're all kicking up. The street sloped up a little bit, and a thin scraggly dog trotted by him. No City guards around, either. At least, none that I can see right away.

This was the third time he'd walked this section of the street, watching, listening, carefully checking. From ahead he began to smell the bread. There we go.

The rising road leveled and bent slightly to his right, and as he turned with it, he saw the bread vendor. He was an older man, with two small stools. He sat on one, and the other held a big basket piled full of golden loaves. Parith picked up his pace slightly, crossing to the vendor's side of the road. No guards near, and no other buyers in the way...

The old vendor glanced down at his sandal and bent over, reaching to adjust the strap. There's the moment! Go!

Parith jumped into a run. As he passed the basket, he snatched two loaves from the top of the stack. He tucked them into the open folds his shirt and dodged between two passers-by.

“Hey! My bread!” The old man's voice called out down the street, “Someone stop that thief!”

There should be an alleyway up here on the left. Are those footsteps behind me? Others looked on as he rushed past. There is is! Am I being followed?

Like a summer breeze stirring up leaves, he spun and slipped into the alley. In a moment, he crouched down behind a pair of large barrels there.

He held his breath for a moment, listening for any footsteps. I'd better not stay here long...

His eyes focused on the building across the alley. It was a sturdy structure, made of beams and brick. The building he was hiding against was taller, two stories. I can get up there, easy.

He heard shouting from the street. I'd better go now. He popped his head up above the barrel. He didn't see anyone in the alley, but the shouting was getting louder.

With a quick grunt, he jumped up onto the barrels. Now he could hear footsteps as well as blades being drawn.  He squatted low and leaped across, pushing hard, then pulling up his feet. He hit the upper wall of the opposite building, but there were no holds. He planted his feet against the wall and pushed upward and back across the alley, twisting in the air. Now, grab!

He flung his hands forward and grabbed the lowest edge of the roof he had originally been under. His right hand landed on a loose ceramic tile, and slipped free. The other gripped securely, however, and he held on, dangling.

They're coming! Quick! Do it just like in the forest! Parith swung his legs up and hooked his knee and shin up onto the roof's edge. The slope made it difficult, but he pulled himself up and flipped over, lying flat on his back. He gently scooted his body away from the edge and he heard shouts and footsteps below.

Ok, maybe not as much like the forest... Parith held his breath until the commotion faded away. He checked the bread in his shirt. Still there, not smashed. Good.

After a moment, it went quiet. Voices became more distant, things returned to normal. He turned over, knelt on the roof slope, and snuck up to the crown. He peeked over the edge of the roof down onto the street. Everyone below had returned to their business, uncaring.

He smiled and nodded, then stood and walked across the rooftop.


<<<>>>



This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
Thank you: Chet Cox, Genevieve Springer!

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Monday, March 18, 2019

109 - “Jabbing the Hornet’s Nest” - Eddiwarth - A Tale of Heroes

Here's how you can read the story a week (two scenes) ahead of everyone else!

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Eddiwarth walked with careful steps down the hallway to the library, trying hard not to spill either the ale in the tankard in his left hand, or the food piled up in the plate in his right. After the meal, he had put a plate together to take to Thissraelle. He wasn't sure what she would want from the meal, so he had just loaded it up with a bit of everything. He had wanted to take it to her, but she hadn't been in their dormitory. DeFrantis had said that she would sometimes spend the evening in the library with Granthurg.

Granthurg? Eddiwarth actually snorted. Why Granthurg? I'm a handsome guy, aren't I? He held up the tankard to his face to try and check his reflection. The curve of the cup made his nose look really big. He snorted again. Well, anyway, I am! Besides, I'm an elf. Well, half of me is, anyway...

In a moment, he stood in front of the door, and suddenly realized that he couldn't open it with his hands full. He tried to shift either the plate or the huge mug into one of his arms, but quickly abandoned that idea. Shaking earth, how am I going to do this?

Balancing for a moment on one foot, he tentatively raised the other to tap his shoe on the baseboard of the door. It banged loudly, and he almost lost his balance in surprise. Oop! Too hard!

He heard familiar heavy footballs behind the door, and it opened quickly with a short squeak. Granthurg stood there, towering over Eddiwarth.

Eddiwarth smiled with a bit of embarrassment and held up the food. “Hi! Sorry to bother you. Is Thissraelle in there?”

Granthurg smiled down at him and stood aside. Eddiwarth stepped in, glancing around the room. She was sitting in one of the large, comfortable chairs deep in the long library. She slouched low, unlike her normal high, straight posture, and her eyes were full and even a bit red, and hidden behind a bit of her white hair. Near where she sat was a table covered in books and scrolls. The yellow sun of the early evening was gradually turning red, and shone through the windows, keeping the room well-lit.

Eddiwarth hesitated, taking in a sharp breath, then walked up and showed her the meal. “We missed you at dinner. Are you hungry?” She looked up at him and managed a sort of half-smile. He held the plate for a moment, but she didn't stand, so he looked for a place to set it. He nudged a book aside with his elbow, clearing a space on the table, then set his burdens down. Granthurg hurried over to move the books away from the possible spill.

“Karendle's not up here, either, huh?” Eddiwarth asked. “She wasn't downstairs in your sleeping room. I checked for you there first.”

Thissraelle and Granthurg glanced at each other, then back at Eddiwarth.

“What?” He asked, “Where is she?”

Thissraelle dropped her head. After a pause, Granthurg explained, “Karendle left today.”

“What?”

“Yeah, she and Thissraelle had another argument, and she picked up her things and left. I guess she’s heading back to Twynne Rivers.”

Eddiwarth was surprised. But then, they’re constantly bickering over things; magic, duties, room space... Maybe I’ll finally get some time with just Thissraelle. He strode over to the chairs and dropped into the one next to her. “So, did you finally drive her away?”

Thissraelle looked at him, her brows knit and her eyes wide and a bit firey.

Oh, no. What did I just say?

“I didn’t drive her away!”

“Well, you two are always mad at each other!”

Thissraelle gasped. “I’m trying to help her!” She stood up, bending over Eddiwarth. He sank down low in the chair, avoiding her glare.

“Yeah, well, it didn’t seem to be working out...” he stammered, shielding himself, “I mean, didn’t she say she was trying to capture you?”

“SO WERE YOU!” She was close, shouting in his face.

“Yeah, but, I apologized...,” he mumbled.

She grunted with frustration and turned her back, looking at Granthurg for support. He only shrugged and gestured at Eddiwarth. Thissraelle shook her hair. Her hands tensed in fists at her side.

Eddiwarth took in a breath to try and break the unnatural silence. He sat up a bit, then suggested, “I brought you some dinner...”

“Oh, by the Creator--” Thissraelle hissed, and strode out of the library. The door swung loose after her.

Eddiwarth lowered his arms, and glanced down the narrow library, then looked up at Granthurg. The giant raised an eyebrow and folded his arms before him.

Eddiwarth stood up and straightened his shirt. “That didn’t quite play out how I’d planned it.”


The End of Part 8


<<<>>>



This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
Thank you: Chet Cox, Genevieve Springer!

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Thursday, March 14, 2019

108 - “Empty Chairs at the Table” - Eddiwarth - A Tale of Heroes

Here's how you can read the story a week (two scenes) ahead of everyone else!

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The brothers of the monastery had been in a happy, celebratory mood. It wasn’t often that there was an occasion for such a big meal. Not that any other meal wasn’t time for good company. The abbey wasn’t one of the harsh, austere orders, with oaths of poverty, silence, and sorrow. Still, tonight’s feast was particularly brisk with laughter and conversation. The Father Abbott led the feast, frequently calling for more trays of the venison to be brought out, and praising the brothers that had roasted them.

Eddiwarth ate, and even enjoyed the food. He’d helped prepare it and serve it, as it was his turn for kitchen duty. Not that he’d had an important role. He had mostly just peeled potatoes and carrots. Slicing the onions had proven to be a particularly emotional experience, or at least so the brothers had teased.

Where could she be? Every time there was any kind of motion near the main door of the hall, Eddiwarth’s head snapped to look. Each time, he was disappointed. Either a monk was just walking past it, or someone was leaving to do an errand for the Father Abbott.

He stared down into his almost empty bowl, wondering.

“More ale?”

He didn’t respond at first, not realizing someone had spoken to him.

“Hey!” someone nudged his shoulder. Eddiwarth looked. It was Granthurg. “More ale?” he said, offering the pitcher.

Eddiwarth shook himself back to the moment. “Sure,” he responded, but without enthusiasm.

Granthurg set the pitcher down in front of Eddiwarth, and pushed his chair back, getting ready to stand. Eddiwarth looked around, suddenly aware that dinner was ending, and many of the brothers had gone on with their evening. The monks of the day's kitchen crew were starting to gather plates and the meal’s remnants. He hadn’t even noticed that Antonerri and DeFrantis weren’t sitting there any more. He reached and picked up the pitcher that Granthurg had left, but didn’t pour. He set it back down.

“She didn’t come.”

Granthurg paused, not hearing. “What?”

“She didn’t come to dinner.”

“Who? Thissraelle? Karendle? No, I didn’t see either one.” Granthurg stood. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I guess not. It’s just that...”

“What?”

I wonder what happened. I guess it’s not so strange that they would miss a meal, but... Eddiwarth looked around, then finally stood. One of the monks nudged him, gesturing toward the table and the plates. He nodded and began his cleanup duties. Granthurg shrugged, slapped him on the back, and left the table.

I hope nothing’s wrong. Maybe I’ll make her a plate after cleanup. He pushed back his own chair and began stacking bowls from the table around him.


<<<>>>



This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
Thank you: Chet Cox, Genevieve Springer!

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Monday, March 11, 2019

107 - “Late to Dinner” - Eddiwarth - A Tale of Heroes

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<<<>>>

“Dinner’s ready!” Eddiwarth proclaimed, bursting through the door from the kitchen. “Roast venison with potatoes and cabbage!” His thin, mostly elvish frame was covered in a long apron, which was damp, dirty, and scattered with vegetable peelings. He had pulled his hair back to keep it out of his eyes, and out of the food as he’d worked. In his arms, he carried flat baskets full of bread loaves into the large hall and set them on the table. Behind him came several of the brother monks bearing steaming trays and bowls full of meat and vegetables. The final two brothers brought out pitchers of ale.

The other brethren of the order sat, eagerly waiting, on either side of the long table. Next to them were Granthurg on one side, and Antonerri and a very tired DeFrantis on the other. Eddiwarth pulled his chair up next to Granthurg, between him and the monks.

“Venison!” The Giant shouted, taking a deep smell as the tray of seasoned meat was carried past him. “What’s the occasion?” The brothers set the trays and bowls on the table, then turned to retrieve more.

One of them paused on the way. “It’s the feast of St Ivarr! Our Father Abbot will be celebrating a special Mass at midnight, but now, we feast!” He hurried after his companions, to bring out more food.

Granthurg looked quizzically at one of the monks seated next to Antonerri. “Who was St Ivarr?”

The brother smiled broadly. “He’s a Defensor Creator, or a Champion of the Creator, and the patron saint of our order! Once a year we celebrate his great sacrifice by feasting, prayer, and a special service in the chapel!”

DeFrantis looked confused. “A celebration? Nobody mentioned this before!”

“Oh, yeah.” Eddiwarth jumped in, “While we were making dinner, the brothers were all talking about it. I guess he’s kind of an unpopular saint.”

A brother said, “Many, many years ago, he saved the Church of Three Lights from an evil demon who was trying to take it over! He died fighting for the Lights.” Antonerri’s eyebrows rose in interest, before the monk continued, “But in recent years, the church councils and archbishops have kind of disgraced him, swept him aside. But we, here, in the woods... We remember what he did. So, we don’t make a big fuss about it, but we feast!”

Eddiwarth smiled, shrugging. “So, what is he the saint of?”

The Father Abbot and his assistants entered the dining hall, brown robes flowing. In instant, everyone jumped to their feet. As he rose, the brother whispered with a smile, “He’s the patron saint of heretics!”

The monks all stood with their heads bowed and their hands before them in a praying posture with the right hand’s palm cupped over the back of the left. Antonerri did it as well. After a moment, DeFrantis joined them.

The Father Abbot began pronouncing a blessing in a language Eddiwarth didn’t understand. Eddiwarth glanced over at Granthurg, who simply bowed his head. They were guests of the monastery, and were not required to participate in the rituals, but sometimes Eddiwarth wondered. Does Granthurg actually believe in The Creator? Maybe he’s just being respectful. Antonerri obviously does. He goes right along with it all. DeFrantis, I don’t know. 

The priest finished the prayer, and pronounced, “Salvator, Servus, Sui.” As each of the words was spoken, the monks held their right palms forward, first, before their heads, then to the right and slightly lower, and finally, with the final word, to the left and just a bit lower still, mimicking the placement of the three lights in the Church's heraldry. Eddiwarth watched as Antonerri followed the pattern. Yeah, he believes it, that’s for sure. I wonder if--Wait--Where’s Thissraelle?

The ritual complete, all of the monks sat and began sharing the food around the tables. The friends did also, except for Eddiwarth.

“Hey, where are the other two girls?” He pointed to the empty spaces next to Granthurg and DeFrantis, where Thissraelle and Karendle usually sat.

Granthurg shrugged. “Oh, I’m sure the ladies,” he said, raising his brows at the emphasis, “will be along soon. Here! Sit down. Have some potatoes.” He handed a bowl to Eddiwarth.

Yeah. Maybe they’re just running late...


<<<>>>



This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
Thank you: Chet Cox, Genevieve Springer!

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Thursday, March 7, 2019

106 - “I’m Gone” - Karendle - A Tale of Heroes

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<<<>>>

Karendle stepped into the long chamber. The monks, unaccustomed to guests, and even less accustomed to female visitors, had given the three of them this large room in the monastery to be their dormitory. It was long and narrow, with a few chairs and a table right by the door. Further in, along the left, lay three straw mattresses covered with blankets. The back wall had two large windows, which were both currently open, allowing in the occasional hot breeze of the summer afternoon.

Karendle walked in. The first bed was DeFrantis’, then Thissraelle’s. The third was her own. Looking them over, she laughed to herself. Thissraelle, the young high elf, had left her bed in pristine condition, sharply spread and made as if no-one ever slept in it. The blankets and sheets were neatly and tightly tucked under, protecting her sanctuary. Her belongings were not visible, presumably packed neatly away in the trunk next to the bed. Karendle mused that if she were to look inside, she’d see that all of the clothes were neatly folded and carefully stacked.

DeFrantis’ bed, on the other hand, was made, but quickly thrown together. Not really messy, but made like someone who hadn’t slept well, and was more interested in getting to her morning brew and her day’s tasks than making sure things were too neat and tidy.

Karendle stood by her own bed and sighed. The blankets were draped, half on the floor, half off the mattress. Her pillow had fallen between the mattress and the trunk, which was, itself, strewn with the clothing she had worn the day before. One of her sandals lay near the trunk, but the other was several feet away, under a small stool by the window.

She nodded. It’s no wonder I don’t fit in here.

She picked up her blanket and whipped it open onto her bed. She tossed her clothes from the trunk to the blanket, then opened the trunk to remove what few other things she owned. There wasn’t much. Some leggings, another shirt. A cloak, a tunic. She fetched the sandals. All of these went onto the blanket.

She reached under the mattress and pulled out a scabbard and belt. It was made of strong, finely-tooled leather, and had been fitted to her own waist, made for her by the monks of the monastery. They had said it was in gratitude for her help rescuing the children, and as an act of kindness as their guest. She pulled the sword out and held it. She had taken it from the slavers, and kept it as they had fled the manor house in the forest after the rescue. She thought about the days she had spent imprisoned there, along with DeFrantis, chained to a post.

She slid the blade back into the scabbard. She stood and swung the belt around her waist. On the other hip was a small rondel dagger. This was the blade that DeFrantis had pulled from Karendle’s side, saving her life. She shook these thoughts out of her head.

I have to get out of here.

Karendle folded the edges of the blanket over each other, then began tightly rolling it up.

“What are you doing?” Thissraelle’s voice cut through the quiet room.

Karendle jumped up as if she had been caught stealing tarts from the kitchen. She didn’t respond, but continued rolling her blanket.

Thissraelle walked in. She was not tall, even for an elf, and her thin and angular face was framed by long, whispy, light-colored hair. Karendle was muscular and stocky, and she knew that if it came to a physical fight, the elf would be no match. Still, Karendle felt a bit intimidated. She focused on tying the blanket bundle with some twine.

“Are you... leaving?” Thissraelle asked, looking at the sword on Karendle’s hip, and the empty trunk, “What...? Where are you going?”

Karendle tied off the blanket. “I’m going to Dirae,” She mumbled, half to herself, “Then, I’ll get on a barge back to Twynne Rivers. I’ll be out of your way.”

“What? Why?”

Karendle stood and tossed the bundle over her shoulder. Her eyes narrowed as she faced Thissraelle. “I have business there!”

“Business? What business?”

Karendle just moved past Thissraelle, toward the door. Thissraelle took in a sharp breath as she realized where Karendle was going. “Karendle! The wizard hunters?”

Karendle stopped and turned around. “Why not? It’s not like I’m learning anything from you! I’m trying what you tell me, but it isn’t working! You don’t get it. I didn’t grow up in the heart of the guild with magic all around me. Life is very different in the mountains! Life is very different for the dwarves!”

Karendle saw Thissraelle’s eyes widen, then go harsh. “I never said anything about--”

Karendle stopped her with a wave of her hand. “I think you’re right. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a mage. Not on my own, anyway.”

She strode out of the room, leaving Thissraelle with her hands out in stunned silence.


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This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
Thank you: Chet Cox, Genevieve Springer!

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Monday, March 4, 2019

105 - “Rocks and Stones” - Karendle - A Tale of Heroes

Here's how you can read the story a week (two scenes) ahead of everyone else!

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Karendle let out a guttural grunt as she twisted, throwing her arm in a sweeping circle. A large boulder of limestone flew through the air before her and smashed into a steep rock wall at her left. It shattered into pieces, falling and scattering across the floor of the old quarry. The sound of the stones tumbling on the ground and splashing into the water echoed off the tall straight walls around her.

She looked down at her hand, at the small blue sapphire in her palm. Her breath was quick, her heart pounding hot in her ears. She tightened her fingers and gripped the stone in a fist. With a sharp, fast motion, she pointed at another stone from among those that had been left there on the ground. She felt the tingling power in the gem and willed the larger stone before her to rise. It surged up into the air, shedding the moss, decayed leaves and sticks that had been resting on it. It was a large, roughly carved block, rectangular in shape. She brought her other hand forward, as if gripping it between them. She growled from deep in her throat, and pushed her hands and arms away from her. The block rushed away, following her shove and smashing into another wall. The block cracked in half, and fell down into the water below in two large splashes, with many more smaller stones and chips following.

She didn’t need to shout or grunt. This was not a physical exertion. She threw these boulders with her mind, channeled with the power of the oculus gem in her hand. But making the effort loud helped to dissipate the frustration clouding her mind.

She stood on the edge of the quarry, breathing deep. She was a bit short, even for most women, but taller than most full-blooded dwarves. Her long red hair draped over her right shoulder in a braid. She wore a brown shirt that came down almost to the knees of her leggings, and tied at the waist. She kicked her boots against a stone, knocking it off the edge and into the water.

The quarry was cut into the side of a hill, deep in the forest near the monastery. The gray walls like a giant wound in the woods. It was old, and crusty, but never quite healed. She saw a large block resting on the floor below her and to her right, half-submerged in the pool. She glared at it, furrowing her brow and clenching her teeth. I can move you! I can shatter you, too! 

With a sweep she raised her hands high above her head, and the rock shook, but didn’t follow. The water around it sloshed and rippled, laughing at her.

You WILL move!

She reset her feet, strong, underneath her, repositioned her arms, and with a scowl and a scream, threw the rock up into the air over the quarry, high up above her head, into the canopy of tree branches.

The motion of throwing her arms had shifted her hips, and she slipped on the mossy stone ground, toppling over and landing on her side with a grunt. The block paused at the height of the throw, then fell back. It splashed hard into the water at the end of the quarry and sprayed the walls, and Karendle, with slimy green wetness.

She sat up and looked out over the quarry. It was cut almost like a theater, with the three slightly sloping stone walls facing her. She sat as if on the stage. Below her, and between her and the walls, was a shallow pit, filled with rainwater, now recollecting, at one end. She came here often to practice her magic, moving these stones around. This was where, many years ago, nature powered mages had broken stones away to build the chapel and walls of the monastery where she was living, along with her friends.

Friends. She laughed to herself. These people aren’t my friends!

As soon as she thought that, she knew it wasn’t true. She drew up her knees and dropped her forehead to them. That was just her anger talking. Her frustration.

“Find your will! Find it in your core!” Thissraelle had said. Karendle had been trying to move barrels around the courtyard, using her own mental powers. “See? Like this!” Thisraelle had gestured with her wrist and a large barrel had easily slid along the walkway.

Find it in your core! What in the earth does that mean? No matter how Karendle tried, the only way she could make the magic happen was when she used the oculus. She wanted to learn. She wanted to do it, but her lessons with Thissraelle always seem to end in arguments, in shouting.

She sighed and looked up. She brushed a bit of the pool water off of her cheek. She’s right. I’ll never learn this. I’ll never be a true mage.

She looked at the blue gemstone in her hand. Maybe this is the only way I can do magic. 

She reached to the pouch on her belt, pulled it off, and opened it up. She tossed out the other two stones onto the ground before her. Two smooth but dull gray stones of granite. These were for dimensional powers. I hardly even know what that means, yet.

She set the blue oculus with them. That one gave her mental powers, the ability to move things and see things with her mind. At one point she’d had a ruby, and had used that for striking blasts of magical energy. She’d lost that one when she’d been stabbed by the thief in the slave market.

She looked the stones over. I need more of these. I need another red one, and maybe one of light, or a nature stone. Granthurg has one of those on the barge. Maybe he knows where I can get one.

She picked up one of the gray dimensional stones. I used this one to trap that wizard. I guess he’s still in there, somewhere. When they gave me these stones, they promised me more if I were to bring them captured wizards.

She scooped them all up and put them back in the pouch. She stood and took a deep breath. They wanted me to capture Thissraelle. She sighed the breath out. But she is my friend, after all.

Isn’t she?

Karendle turned around and walked back toward the monastery.


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This continues the story of the heroes in Wynne, in Twynne Rivers, in the world of The Hero's Tale, Family Friendly RPGs. Here's more info on The Hero's Tale, and family friendly RPGing. If you like this story, support us at our Patreon!
Thank you: Chet Cox, Genevieve Springer!

Previous Scene, Next Scene
Start the whole story from the beginningStart from where this current story arc begins. Start from where the current story part begins