Vordon - A Dark Sun Story

(This is based on a dream I had. It is messed up, violent, and brutal, but I dreamed it, so I worked it into a story. This takes place a few months after the death of Kalak)

Vordon

             "We're not going to shake them," called out Nathan as she glanced over her shoulder at the hoard of advancing Vordon troops. "Go! We'll hold them off!" She turned her crodlu spurring it forward as his partner Logn did the same.

            Without hesitation, Zarnian barked, "Trakas, get the kids and go!"

            "It's suicide," he called angrily.

            They had little time to argue. The mul took one last glance at her lover and her son, then drew her spear before kicking her crodlu forward.

            Trakas cursed. He stopped his own mount, jumping to the ground, to gather the energy he would need for any spells. They were in the desert between the House of the Painted Eye and Tyr. There were not many plants to aid him here, but running from the oncoming hoard would accomplish little. He and the children would still be overrun, and if he worked quickly, he might still be able to save Zarnian.

            For her part, Zarnian did not look back. Instead, she gritted her teeth and plowed into the onslaught, as did Nathan and Logan. Her two new guards were cut down almost instantly. As she charged, Zarnian felt the weight of her spear in her hand. She would die, but she would take many of them with her. With this certainty of death everything else fell away and she was simply gladiator whose only sorrow in this moment was the lack of spectators to witness her glory. The first three troops to ride upon her fell with her spear slashing their throats. She managed to dodge another one's spear but crashed into a fifth that cut her with his sword. Though she managed to incapacitate him with a stab of her spear yet another launched off his kank and tackled her. She rolled with him when she hit the ground but he managed to land on her spear arm, pinning it for just an instant. In those few seconds, two more guards jumped down, holding her down. Bucking one off, she tossed another one. Somewhere behind her Zarnian could make out the sound of iron on obsidian - Trakas and possibly Timmuth were fighting. Rage stabbed red across her vision. They were supposed to run! She had to take out as many as she could. Punching another in the throat, she tried to retrieve her spear but instead a lucky boot landed on her hand. An involuntary cry erupted from her throat as she felt bones break. With her left hand, she pulled her dagger and stabbed another soldier in the heart. A dagger or sword found a weakness in her armor and a blade stabbed into her right shoulder. Pulling her own dagger free of the newly made corpse, she turned to stab another when she heard "Zarnian!" It was not Trakas, but it still made her turn. Her lover lay unconscious (lifeless?) at the feet of one of her nightmares. The one-eyed guard captain that slaughtered his way through her house under a templar’s orders was now standing with a metal sword to Timmuth’s throat. Next to Timmuth, someone held Sorin with a dagger to his throat. Zarnian's eyes locked with her son's. The only thing behind those dark brown eyes was rage. Holding Timmuth's gaze she responded by throwing down her dagger, then all went dark.

*****

            Her head throbbed and her mouth was dry when she woke. Her shoulder screamed obscenities from her battle wound as her entire body was suspended by her wrists, with only the tips of her toes touching the floor. She was alone in a bleak room with nothing except a door. This was not UnderTyr, this was too uniform. For an instant, she thought there was some safety in this, then she realized that Vordon had any number of complexes or places that they could do as they wished.

            As she pondered this, Thaxos Vordon entered the room with one-eyed captain, two male muls, and three other guards that looked battle tested. All were armed, except Thaxos. The old man stepped forward with a soft smile on his face. "Zarnian, I am sorry that we had to meet like this." In response the mul raised a single brow of disgust. "You should know that nothing has been done to the boys. Trakas will live as well. He may have a black eye, but that is all." Zarnian kept her expression as still as possible. After searching her face for a time, Thaxos simply shrugged. "I understand. If I were in your position, I would likely also be angry.”

            "Cut the shit," Zarnian snarled.

            Now all the mirth was gone from him. His voice a growl, he stated "You know what I want."

            "I know what you think you want. It does not exist."

            Now it was Thaxos' turn to snarl. Stepping forward, he stared deep into Zarnian's eyes. "Do not make me angry. I know that mine exists. All I need from you is the location."

            "Why me?"

            "Because you are a symbol, king slayer. I might be able to get one of the others of your house and break them with greater ease, but you are the heart of the Painted Eye. If you give me the location, you will kill that heart. Spare yourself what may come and save me time. Tell me now." He growled the last word.

            So it comes down to this, Zarnian thought. She was strangely calm. A smile stretched her full lips. "Do whatever you are going to do to me, but," she made eye contact with everyone in the room one by one, "if anyone harms those boys I will track you down and kill you slowly, and everyone you love when I get out of this." Then she turned her attention to Vordon exclusively, "and I will survive and get out of this."

            "I heard you were stubborn, but I didn't know that you were suicidal. Arkan," he nodded at his lieutenant.

            "Fuck you Vordon," spat Zarnian, testing her bonds once more.

            He turned to her. "No, I am not the one getting fucked today." With that he turned and walked out of the room.

            Then, she felt Arkan's hands unbuckling her armor and choaked back the vomit rising in the back of her throat. Not again, not with him. He tossed her armor to the side and he was before her, his hands slipping under her undershirt. Though her hands were tied, but she could still kick him, or perhaps her legs wrapped around his throat to kill him, a small payback for the horrors inflicted on her house. Yet, as if reading her thoughts, Arkan stated, "If you think about resisting I will bring the boy in here and use him instead in front of you." There was something in his voice that made her believe that he would. As someone behind her cut her down and they dragged her to the floor her heart tightened. Panic threatened to overtake her. She thought of Timmuth in the next room. If he heard her cry out he would know, she had to be strong. Before she could fully steel herself she felt her body rip apart with the intrusion. Gasping, pain and violation washed across her in waves. This was one of her greatest fears and it was happening now. During the act time passed and perpetrators passed uncertainly. Eventually, it stopped, but by then she was torn and beaten. Before she could take a single unchoked breath, she was restrung from the ceiling. The pain in her broken hand and damaged shoulder tightened the world around her until she passed out.

            The sound of the boots walking in the room startled her awake. Vordon was once again with the others. Now, Thaxos did nothing to hide his true personality. The masks were off. Both were naked before the other. Zarnian bit back shame. Very few had willingly seen her naked before without even iron paint to hide her scars. Given what had just happened, it was odd to feel ashamed about her whip scars, but she did. Looking her up and down, Vordon inquired, "Are you ready to tell me about your mine?"

            "There is no mine," she spat, though her swollen jaw made it less forceful than she would have liked.

            Thaxos appeared amused. "What you do not understand is that I already know of it, if not its location, just as I know so much about you." He stepped behind her then she could feel a finger trace one the whip scars on her back. Despite her resolve, she shuttered in disgust. "A mul slave only whipped once in her entire life? Others would give anything to live a life that privileged, but you, you do everything to hide the fact it ever happened." Then he was before her again, his eyes sparkling with his power over her. Reaching forward, he gently took her topknot, slipping it behind her left ear and in front of her chest. "Is that what your mentor did as you were lashed to the post? He gentled your hair away from your back and whispered in your ear he was sorry. Then he raised his whip. Do you think it was the horror of having to beat you that caused him to take his own life two weeks later?"

            Something inside of her was dangerously close to breaking. Vordon should not know, no one alive should know. Panic welled inside. She fought to keep it in check. If she panicked now, she couldn't help Timmuth or the others. Suddenly, the whip just appeared in his hand. The markings and wear made it easy to identify. "Your mentor's whip." He examined the thongs. "Woven with spines and needles. You know exactly how this feels." Anger soared though her. Arkan took it from her room, stealing her last memento of her mentor. Fresh hatred caused her to tug on the bonds making them tighten, biting deeper into her wrists. "I can see this frightens you. That is not my intent. This whip won't be used on you." On cue, the door opened and Trakas' barely conscious form was dragged in. Blood dried on his face from a gash in the side of his head.

            "No," slipped from the mul's lips as the henchmen quickly strung Trakas from his wrists less than six feet from her. The druid moaned as one of the guards ripped his clothing from his torso.

            Holding the whip before her eyes, Vordon hissed, "The mine."

            "No," this time she meant to say the word. It tasted sweet. Though it was a temporary victory, it was still just that.

            Shrugging, Thaxos motioned to the guard by the door. "Bring in the healer."

            A man with a shaved head walked in. Though psionic, he held himself like a slave. Vordon indicated the druid with a slight tilt of his head. Without a word, the psionic walked to Trakas, placed a hand on his head and closed his own eyes. A moment later, a livid wound appeared on his own bald pate. He stumbled but a guard dragged him out of the room.

            Healed of his head wound, Trakas' bright green eyes opened. When he locked eyes with Zarnian, his were full of sorrow. She knew she looked bad, with blood, bruises, and a black eye swelling from a blow she received during the assault. They said nothing, for no words were necessary.

            The guard with her mentor's whip stepped behind Trakas, unfurling the lash. Zarnian heard someone step behind her as well. If she could have taken the whipping alone she would have, or even been raped again. But this torture was about watching Trakas suffer. Unable to look away, she kept her eyes locked with his as they both received the first lash. The sudden pain stole her breath, leaving her unable to do more than gasp. After five more she heard the first scream then realized it was her own. Trakas followed a few lashes after. More rained upon their bodies. Zarnian felt her skin tear, blood pour down her legs. Then, the pain became so intense that her vision began to dim. She welcomed this, anything to get away from the agony. Then the whipping stopped. Without warning, she tumbled to the floor as her bonds were cut, and saw Trakas do the same. He was a horror of blood and torn flesh as she knew she was. Her body would not fully follow her commands, but she managed to crawl forward enough to take his hand in hers. Weakly, his fingers responded, holding hers. "I'm sorry," she whispered, hating the idea of others hearing.

            He tried to smile. "I'm sorry."

            She loved him intensely for his smile, his words, which made his suffering worse. The mine. To end Trakas' pain she was almost willing to tell of it. However, in the pit of her stomach she now knew that this would end with their deaths. If she told of Iteriuk, they would both die. If she didn't, they would likely both die. The secret may hasten their deaths but it would bring death to everyone else she loved. Looking deep into his eyes, the same color as the forest he loved, she explained, "I can't."

            "Don't," but before he could say more a boot kicked him in the ribs. He cried out automatically trying to roll away from more blows. It was this sight that spurred her to action. Finding the last reserves of strength within herself she rose, lashing out with her right leg to sweep the legs of the man kicking Trakas, then with a sickening blow a stone warhammer descended on her leg, breaking it. The sound and sensation brought a wave of nausea into her throat but was released as a scream instead. Her leg rebroke over the old injury, the one that kept her from glory in the arena and almost took her life. Howling at the pain, she held her leg and physically shook, her mind holding on now by a silken thread. She could feel Trakas' hand on her, but it offered no true relief.

            For moments, they stayed like that on the floor, Zarnian's scream dwindling though the pain in her leg did not, and the writhing had reopened wounds on her back. As she tried to cope with it all, she heard a child's voice cry out. Looking up, two guards held onto Timmuth and Sorin. The boys appeared untouched, but Sorin was now sobbing. Timmuth just glared, all trace of youth and hope gone. Only hatred remained in those eyes, now the color of kank shell. His eyes were locked with Vordon and they spoke only of death. "Do not harm the children," she gasped, every word a struggle.

            Thaxos stated, "I grow tired of this. I have other things to do besides find ways to make you reasonable. Tell me now, or I will slit the throat of one of the boys."

            She reached forward for Timmuth prompting one of the muls to stomp down on her wrist, breaking it as well. Trakas did the same but received two more vicious kicks in his ribs; she heard something break. Sorin sobbed louder, then Timmuth elbowed his captor in the groin, then as the guard doubled over, Timmuth bit his captor’s cheek and gouged his eyes. Another guard swung a warhammer and as Zarnian screamed and reached, she watched it sail for Timmuth's head, a killing blow...

           

            With a scream of pain and rage, Zarnian bolted forward in her bed. Timmuth, she thought. She had to get to Timmuth. Her feet barely touched the ground as she bound forward bursting through the boy's door. At the sound of her footfalls Timmuth sat up in bed drawing his dagger from under his pillow in a fluid motion. Seeing it was Zarnian he relaxed, dropping his weapon to his side. Sorin woke, his eyes heavy with sleep. "Bad dream?" asked her adopted son. There was more concern in his dark brown eyes than he allowed in his voice.

            She nodded. Making her way to the side of the bed she kissed him on the forehead. Leaning over she repeated the gesture with Sorin. She could smell both of the boys. This was real. The children were safe, her body was whole and unbroken, and Trakas was alive, his back not raw. Yet, every time she blinked, she could see the horrors of her dream. It was so real, yet, she knew it was not a prophetic dream. Those were different, but it was also not normal. With a wave of nausea also came a wave of realization. Vordon. He just used her dreams to probe all her worst fears - he had a systematic plan to break her.

            "Zarnian?" Sorin's small, quizzical voice snapped her back to the room. Her hands were balled into fists, twisting handfuls of the boys' bedding. She could feel the clammy sweat covering her. Timmuth again clenched the dagger, his eyes scanning for the threat.

            Recovering slightly from the realization, she tried to twist her face back into a smile. It was weak at best, but she had to try. “It was just a bad dream. Both of you, go back to sleep.” Kissing them again, she tucked them into bed. Timmuth allowed her to cover him, but as he slid his hand under the pillow his eyes clearly said he would not allow himself to go back to sleep that night.

            Leaving, she grabbed Bobby and Kurt, shoving them in front of the boy’s room. “You watch them. No one in besides me.”

            Kurt snapped to attention. Bobby nodded, but appeared more concerned. Zarnian managed to make it back to her own room. Nearly falling on her bed she grabbed a pillow and silently screamed into it until she was spent. Then, having dispelled some of the horror and violation she hardened her heart. Vordon thought he knew her now, but if he tried to break her, he would her a find her a formidable enemy. If this was going to end in death for one of them, and her prophetic dream made her think it would, then it would not be her in the gray. She killed one king, and Vordon was no king. Taking her spear into her hands, she held it as a talisman against the dark and started planning Thaxos Vordon’s demise.

Petra's Proposal - A Warhammer Story

It occurred to me that I had never posted this story. We have taken a long break with our Warhammer characters from our Monday game, and Petra was one of my characters. For those of you who wondered what has happened to her over the break, read on....

Petra's Proposal

                It was cold and wet. The air smelled partially decayed and green at the same time. The slight musky tang of swamp drifted from some unnamed direction and stung the nostrils of everyone in the tiny collection of hovels that made up Stony Hollow. Petra took a deep breath and smiled. It was a good day. It was one of the few times that this new landlocked location actually felt like home. She had been born and raised in the swamps, so seeing too much grass or sun made her feel uncomfortable. With the gray sky and the slight stink, it felt  better.

                As she sat on a boulder and watched, children laughed and played. Her own brothers and sisters had made friends with George’s children. Now, they made a small gang of snot nosed terrors. The adults banded together out of self preservation to give the children chores, but they simply worked together to complete the tasks quickly and get back to what they were doing before – being children. Petra did not begrudge them being children – it was a state that did not last long. She was barely an adult in the eyes of the law, but she had been an adult for a very long time. Lately she had felt more than adult. She felt old, warn, battered.

                It began with the tower. She was not the smart like some of the others, but she had valuable instincts. The tower was wrong, against the nature she spent her entire life with. Seeing her little brother Elric, dead inside the tower, was more than she could take. It instilled a fear within her that she had not been able to remove from her heart. Though she enjoyed traveling with Wilhelm, Maxwell, and even Bartleby, she had departed for her simple home, far away from the Hollow. There, she spent time trying to protect her siblings with her body and earning a small living, but she knew that it was not enough. Finally, while she was getting supplies one day, she had come across Max at the trading outpost in her village, on his way to Altdorf. He told her about Stony Hollow and she packed up, leaving here everything she and her family had known for generations to get away from the horror of the tower.

                But getting away from the horrors of the road had not been so easy. On a simple supply run with Wilhelm, Bartleby, and the new dwarf Milgrom, they ended up far from home. Biitten by a werewolf, she slipped into a deep and tortured dream. She remembered some of it – sensations of running, the way the moon shone of the soft bed of pine needles around her, the smells of prey, dirt, and grass. It called to her in a way that was horrifying and appealing all at once. Then, she awoke, far from home and with nothing. She adventured for a share of the money, but while the others had gained bars of silver, she had every single brass bit stolen, and the horse she had just paid a gold for. With nothing more than the clothes on her back she watched while the others got new clothing, shaves, and fancied up for a party that she almost wasn’t invited to. Wilhelm had stood up for her, and only his act of kindness had kept her from having to work for whoever would give her a few coppers for her protection of their wagons as they traveled. She owed him, and she wouldn’t forget. But she also would not forget that Milgrom and Bartleby casually spent their silver without giving her a brass. If she hadn’t attacked and killed the first werewolf they might not been alive to spend that money.

                Fortunately, she had more money now than she thought she would see in a dozen lifetimes, thanks to the Elector Count’s gifts. They were a much needed surprise when she was destitute and desperate. Most of that money would be saved. Her family would not go hungry, and she could afford to build them a proper house. She could even move them into a city if she wanted, but she didn’t want to. Seeing the children play with their new friends was powerful incentive to stay at the Hollow.

                Seeing George cross the field toward Belle’s house stabbed Petra with a certain nervousness she rarely possessed. Straitening up, she smoothed down her short black hair and wondered if she had any dirt on her face. She rubbed her hands over her face, took a deep breath and walked quickly enough to catch up with him. “George,” she greeted. Suddenly, her mouth was dry.

                “Petra.” The name was both greeting and question.

He stopped walking. They were not alone, but no one was close, either. If she was going to do what she considered, now was as good a time as any. “George, I have a proposal for you.”

He nodded, and wore the sage look he bore at times. He was neither handsome nor ugly, and the years had worn on him out in his place with its vampires, wolves, and zombies. The death of his wife still haunted his eyes, yet he still managed to maintain an air of dignity and kindness. “What would you like to propose?”

She could tell he still had no idea. If she wanted to back out, she could now. Instead, she plowed forward. “I want to marry you. I have money, I can build us a place. I won’t lay with you in a way that will get me pregnant, but I will in any other way you want. That way, if you die, I’ll watch your kids because they will be mine and if I die, you do the same for me.”

He looked a little started. She was a full decade younger than he was, with a bridge of freckles across her nose and dark brown eyes that were at once curious and hard. Her lips were thin, and she did not use them to smile often, but when she did, she was pretty. He looked past her shoulder at their collective families playing together and back at her. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yep,” she answered with a nod of her head. “Been thinkin’ about it. They’re practically family anyway and this way, should the worst happen, I know they’re in good hands. Besides, been watching you. You’re a good man, and I could do worse.”

“You could do better,” he answered with a wistful smile.

“Not around here, and not like I am.” There was no criticism or harshness in her words, only truth. “You interested?”

“Yes, I will marry you,” he replied with a soft smile. He took her hand and kissed it. She nodded, before turning and going back to sit on her boulder in the cold mist, to watch her family, and try not to think of the tower…

 

Keeping Track

A short pencil is better than a long memory.

 

My stepfather Tom says that all the time. He is the one that looks and sounds like a cast member from the Sopranos, so sometimes I listen to what he has to say and sometimes I just walk away. However, that one phrase is something he says so much it stuck in my brain like spit out gum finding its way from the sidewalk to my shoe. Ewww.

 

Yet, the one case where this advice is never more necessary is with gaming. Just when you think that you don’t need to write everything down, write it down and then write some more. A thousand things can interfere with you remembering details from one game to another. Perhaps your gaming group only meets once a month, or perhaps you are playing 2-3 times a week! Either way, your brain can become taxed. Did your character buy a point in charm, or is that your other character? Did you spend your XP on getting loyalty for your organization or did you just think that you did?

Recently, I was talking to a group member about their organization. They said they wanted to buy a trait for it. Next week, they were saying they had that trait even though we had no XP yet. This wasn’t done to be fraudulent, it was done because nothing was written down. I have had similar things, but always default on screwing myself over. Character sheets help keep track of XP spent on your character, but when you have a more complex system such as our Dark Sun system where you can buy things for your organizations, always keep track on paper, because the memory can be a flimsy thing.

 

However, it also pays to take great notes on every game session. Keep track of things your character is doing, things you find interesting, and big events. My advice on this is to not rely on one person to do it. What your teammate finds interesting may not be the same thing you find interesting. I try to keep very even, detailed notes. When I have posted them in the past I have been told they are very based on my character by one person, and told they were far to detailed by another.

The best thing you can do you make your gaming experience a little more smooth is take some notes, and be very sure that you know where you are spending your own XP. Then when the DM asks, you can answer, and when you look back, you know for sure.

Reviewing the Highlights or Playing Monday Morning Quarterback

 

This morning I woke up early enough that I was able to engage in something of infinite gaming value – mentally recapping the game. This is not just going over the game again to make sure I commit the details to memory, it is taking it apart bit by bit to assure that I have both been fair in my judgments and not made any huge mistakes. I believe that if you are playing a dungeon crawl, this is not that essential (did I stab that kobold enough times?) but if you are playing a multi-year intrigue game it is invaluable.

 

For instance, last night, I felt I was getting cut off by one of the other players. At the time, I solved this by splitting from the party and doing a few things on my own. Instead of carrying this feeling over into the next game, the isolation of meditating on the game allowed me to break this little scenario apart. My character is not the brains of the operation (but I as a player am not exactly stupid, so this is a fine line) and I had a real life migraine that was messing with me. It could be that distorted my view, or perhaps the other person felt that speaking up for me was helpful. Nothing to hold a grudge over. For me, who can hold a grudge better than a dwarf, this is a break though.

 

There is also the matter of how to improve my own performance. I painted myself into a corner when I designed this particular character. She is a ‘one-shot’ organization character which means I will likely play her for a handful of times over the next few months. Still, I have a character I pigeonholed myself with. She is good at three things – breaking and entering, and being stealthy. That is about it. When I have nothing to steal, and nowhere to sneak to, I find myself thinking – what now? So recapping the game also allows me to tear apart her abilities and where I can better use them next time. Should I have been the one that went to the estate to look for clues, or should I have stayed in town and tried to break back into that noble estate for a second time? There are always clues for ways to do things better.

 

If you are really being reflective on how to improve your gaming, invite a trusted game member to give you feedback, too! I have one member of my gaming group and we always call each other the day after a game and recap. Usually this involves making sure the other noticed all the clues and significant bits of information, and sometimes he tells me I messed up or did something really right. These bit of praise or criticism I file away for future endeavors. If I blew it when I talked to NPC X, how, and how can I get it right?

 

I am 5 foot 1 inches and have short stubby legs and a large chest. Gaming is my sports. Recaping by myself and with others are my highlight reel, because I want to be the best gamer I can be, and that comes from reviewing the footage.

Returning to Athas

So after a long game break, our group has begun the return to Athas and the start of Dark Sun Chapter 4. Jason (our long suffering DM for those who do not know) has been running mini games for us with the spotlight on various characters. As I get ready to start gaming Zarnian again, I wanted to highlight a few moments for her.

One moment that is important to chapter 4, at least to me, is her newly cemented relationship with Trakas. Chapter 2 ended with them going their separate ways, Chapter 3 saw them go through rocky times, but Jason and I both decided that they would be together at the start of Chapter 4. But anyone can tell you, unpacking what has been at times a tempestuous romance can be tricky.

I wrote and rewrote this a few times, yet I am happy with it. The part of me that is Zarnian is thrilled and this makes me anxious to start Chapter 4.

So here it is, a story snippet with Zarnian and Trakas, a few days after Kalak's death.

*****

 

                She felt his presence before she heard even the softest of his footfalls. His scent and presence were familiar to her, so she did not move from her place as she tried to arrange things in her new room in Tyr. Then, she felt his arms around her. A flood of comfort tinged with guilt stabbed through her all at once. “Zarnian,” he whispered as he buried his face in her neck. She turned to see him now. Trakas had not recovered from his ordeal in Kalak’s chambers over the last few days. His skin still hung on him like beggar’s rags and the dark circles under his eyes made his face appear as haunted as her soul felt. Seeing him like his, some of the pain of Malik’s death leeched from her bones. She hugged him with her one working arm, holding him against her. For long moments, they said nothing, just holding each other until finally Trakas confessed, “You were all I thought about while I was in the chamber. You kept me going. Just thinking about killing Kalak and being with you, raising the kids, being a family.”

                Her confused feelings over Malik wrenched her soul. She loved Trakas but she had loved Malik, too. Malik had rejected her twice before he died. Why? He wanted her to be happy, to build a life without him. It was what gave him hope. Trakas had hurt her to the core, but he hadn’t meant to. He probably felt he had no choice. The druid’s smell swept over her, the way his heart beat against her skin, the way he gently touched the base of her neck. If she said she would try again for this third time, it had to be permanent, no regrets, nothing held back. “Trakas, right before the fight, I kissed Malik.”

                He gently positioned her good shoulder so he could look her in the eye. “I don’t care,” he divulged with a trace of his old mischievous twinkle in his own green eyes. “I don’t care what happened yesterday or before this minute, with either one of us. All I care about is the two of us, here, now. Zarnian,” he paused for just a moment as he gazed into her eyes, “I love you.”

                Zarnian released a breath that she didn’t even know she had been holding for the last three years and with it allowed all the old hurt to flow out. She didn’t say the words this moment, instead saying them with a lingering kiss. She’d tell him how much she loved him and wanted a life with him, but later, when they didn’t sound mimicked. For now, she would just enjoy this moment.  

Only Children and Gaming

 

I will say that I am a proud only child. When I was seven, my mother sat me down and told me about boat children from Cambodia. They had no homes, and they needed to be adopted. She said we could adopt one so I would have a brother or sister, my choice. I started crying and said “Give them my clothes! Give them my toys! But I don’t want a sibling!!” My mom left, going to the other room. I thought that I upset her, but it turns out that she was laughing her ass off.

 

The irony is that skip forward a few decades and I have a large extended family – my gaming family. I have siblings I love, a few that have driven me nuts, but we are all there for each other at each and every crisis and life point. Recently, when Jason and I talked about starting a family, I evaluated a local birthing center. I found myself making sure that the immediate waiting area for family would support a game of Lords of Waterdeep or Cthulhu Munchkin. Sometimes my Mother-in-Law talks about ‘family only’. Not to hurt anyone’s feelings, but when your biological brother does not invite you to the Christmas party and your friend on 30 years shows up the instant he finds out you need help picking a lock at your own house at midnight, how do you define ‘family’?

Now learning how to game late in life and as an only child has not been without its own challenges. Sharing is something I still struggle with at times. I have always been unique – a fact I pride myself on. I am unique for a few reasons: being an only child, having red hair, being a female comic book nerd in my youth, and knowing Star Wars front to back while still being able to ‘pass’ in society as my mother calls it… all things that are rare. I LIKE being rare. I LIKE being unique.

 

This does not always work in the RPG world. I play with people I think of as siblings. We think alike. We act alike. This means that if I come up with something that is cool and ‘unique’… well, Solomon said a hell of a long time ago that there was nothing new under the sun, and we was right then and now. Does this sometimes cause me ‘chaos’ as we say in my group? Yes. Have I learned to live with it a hell of a lot better? Yes. At 30 something I have learned the concepts of sharing (most things) with at least an air of grace… and now those in my group can stop laughing at me making that statement.

 

At the same time, I would love to hear from all of you. Do you care if you have something who creates things very similar to you, or do you think that there should only be 1 ranger in a party of 4? What do you think?

 

-Madelyn

School Wars - Dark Sun Notes from 12 10 12

Notes for Dark Sun 12/10/12 – School Fighting

 

Barok was approached by the templars to a great display in the arena. Tosh from Nibenay arrived and he wanted to see the best of what the school had to offer. Barok was even invited to sit in the posh seats with the other dignitaries. He was asked to select five of the best gladiators from Barok’s School for Gladiator Who Want to Fight Good and Do Other Things Good Too (now called Barok’s School). Barok chose Xraneth, a thri-kreen from Xanus’s clutch, Tryranicus Thawk, the younger nearly identical brother of Adamicus Thawk, Red Teeth, a Halfling with teeth stained red from blood, Mighty Nautilus a dwarf in a mask, and El Draque, a Dray with yellow and black armor. There would be five challenges.

 

After arriving at the arena, they learned they would be facing two other teams of gladiators. One group was from Nibenay, and the other was from a famous but unnamed school within Tyr. There were nicely dressed elemental priests from all the elements, plus one. The challenges would be based on these elements. Each gladiator could only represent their team once and then would only be relegated to a helper role.

 

The first challenge was the challenge of Earth. Barok’s team fronted Nautilus the dwarf, while the other two teams but in a human and a mul. Everyone else on the teams could throw rocks at the other two school’s entries as they scrambled to get to the top of a small hill of jagged rocks. At the top was a crown of obsidian. The winner would scramble up, snatch up the crown, then they would win. The three tiers they had to climb were covered with sharp rocks, though. Once the competition started, Team Barok pelted the mul with a ton of rocks. He was almost dead before he made it to the third tier, but the human remained pretty unpelted. He made it to the top at the same time as Nautilus and snatched the crown. Nautilus used his giant hair belt as a whip to snatch the crown away and won at the last minute. In reward, he received a very nice set of armor.

 

After the game of the Earth, everyone got a small rest. The mul was dead, and the human battered. Barok’s team used some of their special items to bribe the attendants to learn the next contest was the contest of fire, and that one of the opponents was a half giant. Tryranicus bribed an attendant to slip a laxative into the half-giant’s drink, and then the game began.

 

The challenge of fire was to defeat a fire elemental in a ring of hot coals. Everyone only had a dagger, but better weapons could be obtained from burning braziers around the ring. The dray competed for Barok’s school and there was also a half elf. The dray grabbed the half-elf and face planted her into the elemental, beating her until she was unconscious. The half-giant attacked the fire elemental a few times before the Dray turned her attention on him, breathing fire in his face. Then she attacked the elemental, almost killing it, but the half-giant could have stolen the victory. Tryranicus Thawk distracted the half-giant, giving the Dray a chance to make the killing blow, which she did and got the gem.  In reward she got a nice sword.

 

The next competition was the competition of air. Barok’s team selected Red Teeth. In this chariots of various colors and prestige would attack those teams who summoned them. Each had two colored kestrekel tails and if the gladiator could grab those they would score points. The other members of the team built the stands to attract the chariots. Red Teeth proved very effective, as did the rest of Barok’s team. Because they had good teamwork and better tactics than the other teams, Red Teeth was able to attract the best chariot, the Golden chariot, twice. Both times he took the tails, and he won. In reward, he got a new cloak of kestrekel feathers.

 

There was a small break before the next two contests to be resolved next game…