The Chronicles of Jhool: A Hero twice Born, Once Dishonored | Chapter 3

Image Credit currently unidentified. Unable to find original artist at this time. All rights to original artist.

The Chronicles of Jhool

Chapter 3

    With the adventurers making their way further into the darkness beyond, it was not long before a deathly silence settled over the city's entrance. The silence of the tomb that it had once become fell back into place.
    Light faded.
    Dust settled.
    The only sounds that infiltrated the darkness was an occasional boom from somewhere deep below, where the adventurers fought and bled against the unknown they had sought to find. And, infinitesimal to the veritable thunder-claps of far off combat, a soft chittering and scratching noise coming from the road leading in.
    A ferret, lithe and furred, chipped, chittered, and squeaked as it moved along the hard stone road. Its fur was patched with blacks and browns against a dirty ivory and it moved with the uncertainty of any wild beast in a new world. It had never been in this city before, this cave of sorts, and it wished to take no risks of being discovered by something larger and more ferocious that might have a taste for mustelids.
    Earlier in the day, it had seen the three humanoids, strange and goblin-like in their tendency to stand on two legs, pry open what the ferret had believed to be a sheer cliff-face. It had ignored the action as little more than a curio, an oddity the little weasel couldn't quite make sense of, in favor of hunting down something to fill its aching belly. But he was curious by nature and, once sated with a rather unfortunate field mouse, found himself returning to the scene a few hours later.
    He was hesitant at first to enter the hole the creatures had made in the cliff. While it didn't mind the dark of the cave, there was something distant that lingered in the air that he couldn't quite identify. Something smelled wrong about the air.
    Something dark.
    Something far below.
    The ferret's nose worked wildly, often catching a whiff of whatever it was that sullied the world of darkness, but occasionally finding something new and interesting. Very little smelled like food here. The most interesting thing thus far that didn't make his hair stand on end was the splattered remains of the elf's fists on the semi-broken statue.
    After a brief moment of investigation, the little mustelid considered that he was a fan of the hole left in the statue's side and that the elven blood tasted strangely sweeter than the mice he normally fed on, but that the statue offered little else.
    He moved on quickly.
    Doing what he could to avoid any contact with the offputting smell and the sounds of screams and explosions from down below, the ferret followed a branching path off of the main road that led away from the stench and the noise. The path lead down and away, curving smoothly past any number of closed doors and sealed portals. Every now and again he'd slither or snake his way through the occasional ancient skeleton or over a pile of debris, and soon found himself at the end of the road.
    The portal before him gave him pause, if only due to the ferret's attraction to shiny objects.
    The end of the hall was mostly blocked by a massive set of double doors that appeared to be made out of a forged tapestry of golds, silvers, and blues. Gems glittered and shown, accentuating the edges of the doorway in sapphire blues and ruby reds. In its hay-day, the little weasel could never hope to get through the nearly foot-thick metal, but gave little thought to the door short of a quick and valiant attempt to pry a gem from its socket before passing through the cavernous hole that rent most of the doors' base inward.
    What did it care of the obvious destruction? It knew nothing of the force required to cause such a hole. It just knew that the way was open.
    Better yet, there were other shiny things inside.
    With an excited squeak, he scampered through the destroyed door and promptly clambered up a glittering pile of gold coins and gems. He was so overwhelmed by his discovery that he tried to hop and accidentally rolled back down the loose terrain, buried in a tiny avalanche of gems.
    The ferret held no understanding of the colossal wealth before him, but his excitement was baser than that. While it wasn't food, he had a love of shiny things, and this room fit that love quite nicely.
    For as far as the ferret could see from the top of his little gold mound, the world around him shimmered. He could see golds and greens and blues and reds everywhere he looked, piled in veritable mountains that rivaled the hills and trees from the world outside. Everything seemed to buzz with an energy that, though he didn't know it, was the magic of thousands of different enchantments and items of untold power.
    The ferret didn't know what to do with himself.
    All thoughts of the sounds and smells from outside were gone. He lost himself running over, around, and digging through the different piles. He picked up and dropped coins and gems and baubles, replacing each with a new, more interesting one seemingly every moment. This world was overwhelming and he wanted all of it to take back to his den.
    The cycle repeated itself countless times as he worked his way further back. While he was unaware of it consciously, he knew that he had to find something. The perfect something.
    A green something.
    Yes, he agreed with the thought, something green.
    Something green as the trees. As deep as the forests. As alive as nature.
    That sounds good.
    The ferret snuffled and hunted. Sniffed and prodded. Licked and bit. Ran and scampered. The romp had become a hunt.
    He had to find it.
    Find me.
    He had to find it.
    Were the ferret paying attention as he had when he'd entered the city, the scent leaking through the walls might have given him pause or maybe even made him run back the way he'd came with the first shiny object he could find clamped in his teeth.
    But his attention was elsewhere.
    Find me!
    Why would he pay attention to that squishing noise? He had to find it. Whatever it was.
    Green as the trees. the voice whispered in its mind. Deep as the forests. Alive...
    He cared about the green of the thing after all. Not the black oozing through the walls. That didn't remind him of forests at all. It looked like tar. Tar didn't matter.
    FIND ME!
    Only it mattered.
    And find it he did.
    The green something, a strange smelling green gem unlike any the ferret had seen, was buried at the base of one of the many piles of treasure. Staring into the starry center was like staring into the deepest grove of oaks at twilight. The green seemed to glow but the dark core glittered with unseen starlight.
    Carefully, gingerly, the ferret closed his mouth around the iridescent green gem and felt a soft buzz of energy running through his body. It tingled and made him feel happy.
    Rewarded.
    Good.
    And then the mountain of treasure before him exploded outwards, a mass of black tar and shadow filling the space before him, reaching for the squealing ferret as he was thrown backwards into the air.

The Dragon's Maw (Part 7) - Chronicles of Braum Stormforge

Artist Unknown - If Identified, please let me know - http://www.misucell.com/WDF-158230.html

    CRACK~
    The sound of the kobold being crushed under the weight of Magna was sickening. Worse yet, it came down cleanly on top of his head and split it like an overripe melon, spraying its contents across Braum and the other kobolds. In a heartbeat, the creature was snuffed out of existence only to be replaced by two more of the little dragon-kin, their blades flashing and searching for purchase beneath his steel hide.
    Fortunately, he didn't have the time to think about the implications.
    With his shield in his left hand, he knocked away a spear that was aimed for the slot in his helmet, bashing the beast backwards. A half moment later, a sword came from his right, seeking to cut out his knees from below him. That monster met the still gooey head of his hammer and was sent sprawling, its ribs shattering beneath the blow.
    But for each one blown away, more seemed to seethe from all around.
    And for each one that appeared, a blow landed on his armor. A blade slipped beneath a plate. A wound was cut into his flesh. And he fell back, bellowing in rage as much as pain.
    "ANYTIME NOW!" Braum roared and spared a half second to glance back at the summoner at the top of the stairs.
    None of the kobolds had been able to surge past him. Those few that had were brought down with utmost ferocity and their broken bodies now littered the way, blocking others from making the journey easily.
    But they still needed more time.
    The eidolon could clearly be seen in the runic circle now. The summoner's eyes were open but where irises would normally have been, Braum could make out nothing but a hollow, iridescent glow.
    And so he fought on.
    One kobold was kicked square in the chest only to be trampled by its compatriots.
    Another was sent sprawling by a well place shield blow.
    He had just taken out several of the little blighters in a great swing of his hammer when two things happened. First, he felt the bite of pain and the warm outpouring of blood as a spear slipped into a crack in his armor. The hard ridge of the blade bit into his flesh and rested just between two of his ribs, lighting his chest ablaze with pain and causing him to let out another bellowing roar.
    Second, a group of kobolds uncovered a very functional, very deadly-looking ballista some hundred yards away.
    For half a moment, Braum just stared. Through the haze of the pain and the shock of the massive bow-and-arrow like machine, he felt himself just go numb. Had it not been for his steel, he likely would have been killed in that moment of surprise.
    It was only when the ballista started being aimed towards Ember, the still unfinished summoner, that he was brought to his senses.
    "HEY!" he bellowed, trying to get their attention.
    But they weren't looking at him. They were getting ready to fire.
    And he had to do something.
    Using his considerable bulk and his massive tower shield, Braum plowed through the kobolds that were still in front of him. He moved through them like a bulldozer and ran as hard and fast as he could. He still had one problem...they were too far away and he had no ranged weapons.
    Think, Braum, Think. I just need a moment. Just need...
    He laughed out loud as the idea hit him.
    While he might have simply used some of the debris lying around him, Braum didn't want to slow down and possibly be caught by the horde that was now following on his heels. Instead, he quickly sheathed his hammer and reach back into his bag.
    A moment later, in a single, seamless motion, Braum drew out the cast iron pot that he'd taken from the priest's room and threw it for all he was worth.
    The great, black cauldron soared with an elegance and grace that no cookware should ever really see, particularly when thrown at another person. It struck true. The lead kobold, a little monster slightly larger and more scarred than the others who was just settling in at the controls of the war-weapon, didn't even see it coming. The pot hit dead on, slammed him to the ground, and lodged itself to the little dragon-kin's head with a resounding KLONG!
    It struggled and screeched and clawed at the pot, trying desperately to get it off, but by the time he and three others had managed to pry it from his crooked skull, it was already too late.
    A wall of steel and blood and fury descended upon them, hammer first, bellowing in a rage that even the Dwarf had not known up to this point.
    He roared and screamed and swung his weapons, decimating everything in front of him. While many still fought on, some began to back away in fear of the ferocious display that Braum was putting on. Bodies were broken, the ballista was crushed, and, just as more of them decided to back away in favor of their lives, a new threat emerged.
    It started low; a soft grumbling that quickly built up to a rushing boom. But half a moment later, the entire far end of the room lit up with arcs and bolts of blue and white electricity that shot this way and that, shattering stone and violently tearing a crater out of the platform where the now complete eidolon hovered; its deep blue eyes narrowed and sparking with energy.
    With Braum in front and the Eidolon behind, the kobolds turned tail and began to run, but it was already too late. The sound of lightning and thunder from the magical beast coupled with Braum's screams of defiance and rage drowned out their cries; the only thing louder being the sound of Ember's laughter as he watched the destruction from his perch above the stairs.

===

(Alright, so I misjudged the length of Part 7. There's only one more entry into Dragon's Maw before we switch back to a few other pieces. Promise. ;P )

The Dragon's Maw (Part 6) - Chronicles of Braum Stormforge

Artwork officially owned and copyrighted from the 4th edition Monster Manual

    BAM!
    BAMBAMBAMBAM!
    Braum and Ember stood dead silent for a tense moment, their eyes locked on the interior of the wardrobe door. The little beasties on the outside were pounding with all of the force they could, but none of the kobolds seemed to be trying to open the door. Either they were too dumb to try, which honestly seemed unlikely to Braum, or they were smart enough to know that actually opening the rune-locked door would end badly for all involved.
    The battering of the wood lastly a only few more seconds, though it felt much longer.
    It was only after all had fallen quiet, the silence broken only by the sound of scampering feet pattering out of the room beyond, did the two adventurers explore their surroundings.
    Turning away from the battered armoire, Ember openly groaned. The illusionary wall had dropped them into yet another stone hallway.
    "Ants. I'm saying it now: you're all descended from ants."
    Braum grimaced as he stared at the hard, cold stone but for much different reasons than the pissed off summoner. The earth and rock of the hall was a comfort to him given the sheer amount of time he'd spent on the surface since he had become a paladin. All the same, they had just passed through a magical barrier into an unknown hall and officially had no idea where they were going.
    Much like the halls before, this one twisted and worked its way downward and deeper into the earth. However it turned out to be much shorter than anything else they'd dealt with. After just a couple hundred yards, the hall emptied out into a dark, cavernous void.
    "Stay here." Braum grunted to Ember who was idly glancing into the darkness while holding the little celestial monkey.
    The mage offered no qualms and, past the precipice of the hall, Braum was happy to make out shapes in the darkness. Great long shelves ran along the edges of the room and disappeared into the darkness beyond. There was another, similar one at the top of a great stone stairwell nearby that seemed to run parallel with the stairs.
    No. Not shelves. Braum thought as he got closer.
    The stone structures protruded from the walls and along banisters but they weren't flat. Instead they seemed to be filled with something. Not shelves, but a basin perhaps? They all seemed to be topped off to the brim with sort of brown and tarry liquid whose pungent aroma stung his nose as he approached it.
    Petrol? Lamp oil?
    He recognized the smell but couldn't place it. Whatever it was, Braum felt pretty certain it would burn though.
    "So let's light it." Ember said nonchalantly after Braum returned to explain his findings to him.
    "Could be a trap."
    "Could be."
    They stared at each other for a long moment before their gazes fell down to the celestial monkey chittering away in Ember's arms.
    "Let the monkey do it." they said in near unison.
    And so, a minute later, the little celestial monkey was wandering into the darkness grasping one of their misbegotten torches from earlier. It clutched the flaming stick in both hands as it waddled on its hind legs towards the nearest basin, occasionally glancing back with a look of disdain and annoyance. Braum was happy it didn't look afraid; he might have felt guilty otherwise.
    It clambered up the side of the closest basin awkwardly and, with no fanfare outside of one last glance back at Ember and Braum, tossed the flaming torch into the petrol.
    The oil caught fire instantly.
    To their surprise however, nothing seemed to explode or detonate or punish them in anyway for their actions. Instead, the fires spread cleanly and seamlessly down the the length of the basins; connecting in multiple areas and working quickly to illuminate a truly massive room far larger than either of them had imagined. The flaming petrol extended as far as they could see and what they saw caught Braum's heart in his throat.
    Treasure. Literal mountains of it.
    The paladin could not even guess at the size of the room, but he didn't doubt it could fit a small townscape in it, at the very least. Hills, plateaus, and mountains dotted the "landscape", but instead of being made of rock or mineral, they were constructed out of piles of long forgotten coins and loot; many of them so old they didn't even appear to be made out of modern day precious metals. There was certainly some gold and silver, but piles of iron, copper, nickle, and lead seemed to shine back tenfold for every one that glinted gold.
    And, at the center of the room, a pedestal stood towering above it all. Upon it was a spherical gem. The sphere seemed to light and spark and crackle with energy despite its smooth, ruby-red surface. The serene globe was at odds with the internal torment of arcs and bolts of magic that the gem contained; a veritable maelstrom beneath a thin shell of calm.
    "Me thinks that's our prize." Ember commented.
    "Aye."
    The pair stepped forward, heading towards the large stairwell that lead to the base of the room, when a loud clattering sound interrupted them. Along the Eastern wall, a large pile of iron coins and scrap seemed to be moving all on its own, pressing inward from against the wall.
    "Looks like we're going to need to earn it though." Braum muttered.
    As if to punctuate his point, the high, squeaky voices of kobolds could be heard screeching somewhere beyond.
    Ember's face hardened in recognition.
    "Cover me." was all the normally witty summoner said in response.
    The man snapped his fingers and, with a crack like a thunderbolt, the celestial monkey that had just began to paw at a nearby pile of copper coins disappeared in a flash and a blast of blue smoke. A single, echoing screech of defiance fading into thin air was all that remained a half moment later as mage brought his hands together and started to chant.
    Had Braum decided to keep watching, he would have seen the runes form on the ground and the distinct shape of the eidolon begin to materialize.
    But he didn't have the time.
    They had no way back, no way forward, and had to retrieve that orb and get the hell out before they were overrun or something even worse showed up. He already knew from having seen Ember work with the monkey that it would take him a good minute or two to summon the big guns and that meant it was only him between the mage and whatever the hell was coming to get them.
    Barreling down the stairs, he once again drew his hammer and raised his shield; this time certain they would see use. And, at the bottom, he planted himself firmly to the ground; ready to keep from anyone or anything that might try to get past and up to the defenseless summoner above.
    He would hold the line no matter what.
    The screeching reached a crescendo and the hoard of iron treasure gave way to a wall of bodies. Scrabbling, skittering, and  yelling, dozens of small, dragon-like humanoids pried their ways past the treasure that had been blocking the previously hidden hall. Their roars filled the chamber as they rushed him, weapons held high.
    And, as the first creature was brought to the floor in a single swing of his mighty hammer, Braum roared back in defiance.

===

(Hello Lovelies, I do hope you all enjoyed Part 6 of Dragon's Maw. I wanted to give you a heads up based on some comments I've received that I'm only going to put out one more part of Braum's story for now as that will be the end of this little arc. I will definitely be picking it up later, but I want to move on to other work to regain some inspiration. I need to return to Little Island Tales and I have a few other smaller works that I'd like to put out as well. So, keep your eye out for the last entry here shortly and I hope you enjoy what will be the climax of this dungeon adventure!)

The Dragon's Maw (Part 3) - Chronicles of Braum Stormforge

Image Credit: BioWare and Dragon Age Game Series.

    "This bloody cave reminds me of an anthill." Braum spat.
    "So kind of like all Dwarven cities then?" Ember offered with a snide grin.
    "Not like this. Whoever put this place together must have been drunker than a fish in a tub of whiskey."
    "So, like all Dwarves then?"
    Braum shot him a brief glare.
    The door they'd passed through had led them through a drastically smaller tunnel. Unlike the previous, monumental passages, this was more akin to a large hallway than anything else. Worst yet, it appeared less like it had been carved out by a skilled group of engineers and more like it had been accidentally formed by a giant, blind, mildly idiotic worm with a tendency to lean to the right.
    The hall twisted, turned, went up, went down, double back on itself, and even featured one, lone secret door that led literally nowhere.
    Braum, not for the first time in the last day, felt a fire starting to light in the back of his mind. In a decade of service to Trudd, he'd never felt particularly disrespected by the deity's plans, but ever since this recent, rather cryptic dream, he'd felt outright wronged and like someone was yanking his chain. Everything about where he was, who he'd been with, and just the general lack of clear directions was quickly getting under his skin.
    "You know," Ember began. "It has a sort of a majesty to it in a way. Like a piece of art. Made by a very stupid per-"
    click
    Braum didn't really hear the depressing stone as much as feel it and immediately, unconsciously regret what he knew was coming next. He'd been in a few of these ancient ruins and it always seemed some designer or architect liked to leave little surprises for those who would come later. Normally there was at least a reason; a logic to the wheres and whys a trap might be laid.
    As far as he could reason in that brief millisecond of thought, whoever put it here was just an asshole.
    The slab of stone shot out of the cross section of the hallway like a hydraulic press and hit him with surprising force. With a distinct clatter and clank, he found his head and upper torso brief slammed into the far wall. He saw stars and tasted copper but, to his surprise, he wasn't dead; more beat up than anything.
    He was bleeding lightly from the forehead where he'd slammed it into the stone and he couldn't quite remember the alphabet, but he wasn't much worse for wear. All in all, he could have been in much worse shape. Apparently the trap had either lost its edge over the years or it hadn't been built to try and crush such a heavily armored assailant.
    The enchanted steel of his platemail was already rebuilding the cracks and dings by the time he crawled up from the dusty stone.
    "Son of a rotten troll fucker..." Braum growled through the taste of blood and dirt.
    "You really should watch out." Ember commented dismissively.
    Braum glared a warning of pain and suffering at the summoner who, despite having just watched him slam into a wall, had remained rather cool about the whole thing. Ember and his massive, ephemeral beast simply stared right back.
    Mentally, he added that to the list of offenses he'd had to deal with in the last day.
    "Fine. Fine. Let the..." he stared at the eidolon that was hovering just next to the summoner, searching for the right word.
     He didn't find it.
    "...Let the thing go first."
    "What?" Ember said with the first look of surprise and emotion he'd seen on the man's face. "You can't be serious!"
    "What're you talking about? Of course, I'm serious."
    "But what if there's danger!" Ember demanded. "He's not immortal after all. If he dies from some beast or some trap down here I'm gonna have to STOP. Then I'm gonna have to summon him. And then we're going to have to start walking again! I just couldn't bear it if something happened."
    For just the briefest of moments, Braum wondered if they would be lucky enough to find a Dwarven tomb. This was quickly followed by considering whether or not he could fit the summoner's corpse in it.
    Ember let out a laugh and waved his hand dismissively. The man's monster pushed forward through the cramped tunnel and soon they were pressing on through the hewn-rock maze.
    Braum, despite his feelings of frustration, continued to keep himself between the mage and any potential danger that might appear from their front however he decided to let the eidolon have a good distance this go around in case they tripped on anymore traps.
    Soon enough, the tunnel widened once again into another large hall. Unlike the ones before, however, this hall actually appeared functional. Two doors could be seen, one on the left and one on the right, both made of simple wood. Additionally, there was a wide expanse shrouded in darkness further beyond...perhaps the main area of the city?
    With the exception of their echoing footsteps, however, absolutely nothing stirred.
    "What do you think?" Braum asked with a motion towards the vast expanse beyond.
    "I think we should figure out what's behind these doors before we move on."
    He considered for a moment, glancing back and forth from the void just outside of the realm of their visibility and the simple wooden doors and quickly agreed with the summoner. After all, it wouldn't take to have something sneak up on them from behind. Nor would it pay to accidentally pass over the orb that they were looking for because it was in some study or storeroom that they just walked past.
    What they found in the first door in the left was hardly exciting, however.
    A little room with a desk, a bed, a single chest, and a large armoire sat quietly in darkness, seemingly forgotten by time. The bed was made while the floor and everything else appeared relatively clean and undisturbed short of a fine layer of age and dust that seemed to cover everything.
    Braum wouldn't have given a second thought if not for Ember.
    "Ooo~" The summoner chortled as he approached the chest at the end of the bed.
    With a shrug, the paladin joined him in the little room and began to take a closer look around. The table was made of a fine cherrywood; smaller but well crafted. The bed appeared to have woolen sheets. The armoire-
    He blinked in surprise.
    Braum hadn't noticed it the first time, but the armoire's face was glowing softly. A ring of runic symbols that he couldn't readily recognize had been carved out of the wood; the diameter of the ring having been intersected the by doors' seam.
    "Huh." he thought outloud. "Hey Ember, what do you thi-"
    But he didn't get to finish his question. Behind him, Ember had been tinkering about with the chest at the foot of the bed. At the same time Braum was turning to ask the summoner about his thoughts on the runes, the thunking and clanking of Ember's mechanations were replaced by very hasty footsteps exiting the room.
    A half second later, the world was on fire and Braum found himself airborne.


----

(Hey all, sorry about my absense for the last two weeks. In short, it's one of those times that life just catches up to you and grinds everything else to a halt. As it stands, I'm working to play catch-up and hope to punch out more of Braum's tales in the next few days; hopefully with a return to regular releases. I hope everyone's doing good and that you have a wonderful day!)

The Dragon's Maw (Part 1) - Chronicles of Braum Stormforge

    "Well...this looks to be the place."
    The man by his side, a mage of sorts by the name of 'Ember', shared a sidelong glance with him as they stood before the mouth of the cave. The towering entrance was a good forty feet wide and almost as high, halfway up a mountain.
    Braum, Ember, and two others had been tasked about a day ago with not only finding the cave, but to retrieve some sort of magical object within. Roughly a week prior, Trudd, Braum's God, had appeared before him personally in a dream, telling him that a great calamity was to befall the world should he not help intervene.
    The words still echoed in his skull as though he'd heard them seconds before.

Destruction looms on the horizon, carried swiftly on the wings

of a multi-hued beast. The First of Her children awaken, stirred by

those that seek the greatest of Her treasures. Treasures that might

allow a mere mortal power over Her children. Should all of these

treasures be brought together and the ritual be completed, Her reign

shall begin and the world shall know peace no longer. You must

travel to the Northern Kingdom, to the city of Emberfall. There you

will set forth to save the World. You will have companions and 

you will know them when you see them. 

    He woke in a cold sweat, a strange amulet he'd never seen before tied to his travel pack. A golden bauble with the image of silver dragon emblazoned across the front.
    The message irked Braum fiercely. His god had always been nothing, if not direct and to the point. But if Torag's son was passing on this strangely cryptic message, he knew that other gods had to be involved.
    It was only when other deities with their cryptic bullshit worked within the pantheon that he wasn't given a straight answer.
    And so, a short week later, Braum stumbled across a mysterious man in a dingy little tavern in Emberfall; a Chosen of Bahumet, the dragon god. The three others, all called by similar matters but apparently not so by their own personal deity, were tasked with retrieving a strange object: the 'dragon's orb' from a nearby cave by this "Chosen".
    Supposedly, the cave was an old dragon's den that had since been abandoned and even looted repeatedly by several adventuring parties, but that didn't make him feel any better.
    Braum had no love for the beasts. Anywhere that once held a dragon might still and gods know he had no desire to dance with one.
    He also felt no particular love for the band of fools he had been tasked to work with. While arguably, he truly felt no ill will towards Ember, the mage-like individual that called himself a 'Summoner', or even the man with the bow and arrows whose name escaped him, there was a certain, instant dislike towards the man in black who seemed to crackle with negative energy.
    The necromancer.
    Bardoon was all he'd called himself but the name stuck in the back of his throat like phlegm that slid down his throat yet refused to quite leave. It made him want to spit, to vomit like he'd swallowed a poison. Everything about the man was unpleasant even if he held no initial respite for the man's position to begin with.
    He'd worked with necromancers in the past through one adventure or another over the decade he'd served Trudd. Hell, he'd even liked a few of them. Each time, he had a quiet moment of review and consideration as to why his god would place him in lieu with someone of that nature and, over time, he'd realized that necromancy was little more than any other magic. While it technically was bending the unnatural to its will, there was nothing inherently more evil to animating a skeleton than there was to summoning fire or acid out of thin air.
    It was an abomination against the laws of the universe, but technically, so was all magic.
    And so, by his God's decree, he would just deal with it.
    Much to his relief, Bardoon was left behind on the trail after only a half day's travel. They had been accosted by goblin's along the path; a feral, wretched little group of green skinned monsters that flung spears, shot arrows, and were generally more of a nuisance than an overt threat. It was when the fight was finished, however, that Bardoon decided to stay behind and use the mangled corpses of the foul little creatures that had attacked them to raise them as his own personal body guards.
    Braum shuddered at the thought.
    Luckily, the spells took time, and so Ember and Braum continued on up the path while Bardoon and the one with the bow stayed behind to perform whatever unholy ritual needed doing.
    They would surely meet up once they were done. Hopefully not for a while though.
    Now, standing before the cave's entrance, he had to wonder if that was the brightest idea. While he had Ember with him and the beast that was bound to the Summoner, it seemed like they were walking directly into a dragon's maw.
    Braum glanced over his shoulder at the beast Ember had called an Eidolon.
    The massive, powerful looking creature seemed almost ethereal in nature; like a specter that was stuck in the world of the living. It towered over him and seemed to hover slightly above the ground. More to the point, each hand was tipped by vicious looking claws that seem to spark and arc with electrical energy. Everything about the monster screamed power.
    And yet...
    Braum found his eyes wandering the interior of the cave's maw. The ragged edges of the rock gave it the appearance that something very large had dug the rock out by hand. He could still see the raked out grooves of massive claws through solid stone.
    The sight made him feel very small despite his heavy armor.
    "Shall we?" he said with more steel in his voice than his nerves truly offered.
    "Yes. Let's."
    The trio stepped past the precipice of the cave's mouth and down into its waiting gullet as the path curved downward, deeper into the mountain. Deeper towards their mandated prize. And somewhere within, something massive shifted as it sensed trespassers in its territory.

A Paladin’s First Steps | The Chronicles of Braum Stormforge

A Paladin’s First Steps

The Chronicles of Braum Stormforge

Bruam’s first days away from Wyrms-horde were ones of confusion, despair, and a deep sense of loss. By all accounts, it was his decision to leave the mountain; to venture from the depths of Myrepeak in the name of the Trudd. No one had forced him and it was not as if he’d been coerced by the deity to do his bidding. If anything, he had been unconsciously searching so long and so hard for a cause that he truly felt drawn to that the reaction was practically reflex. A knee jerk reaction. Something that he’d thirsted after for decades without knowing what that thirst was.

Yet, with the initial thrill of acceptance dying down, it was replaced instead by the aching of his sore feet and a deep, gnawing feeling in his gut. And as he trudged through the long, forgotten halls traveled only by the few humans and even fewer gnomes that ventured down to the Dwarves’ great halls, all of the weight and fear of the decision was hitting him full force.

He didn’t know what he would do.

Sure, Braum had heard the tales of paladins. They had done many great things. He’d seen the Greataxe of Journ, the paladin of Torag from the third Eon, glittering in its perfect, Mithril splendor as sharp and gallant as the day the dwarf had fought and defeated the Scourge centuries earlier. He’d seen the statues of Lon and Glon, the twins in the service of Pelor that had slain the Great Crimson Wyrm Faranak whose home and treasure piles would give way to the tunnels of Wyrms-horde. He’d even listened with wholesome intent to a young human man by the name of Kalen Nodworth who claimed to be tasked by the god Zohls to procure the recipe to everlasting life.

Braum always chuckled at that one; wondering if, to a human, everlasting life was just living past their formative years and making it to a rich age of forty or so. It seems like their race was too foolhardy to get much further than that without divine intervention.

Still, Braum thought with a furrowed brow as his feet throbbed in their steel boots, there are a lot more stories of horror than of wonder.

For every tale of magnificence that he could recall about a paladin of this God or that, Braum could think of a half dozen stories that he’d heard in passing about the mistakes of following one’s god. Hell, it was just another reason his family was always disinclined to the cloth.

For every Journ that stood gleaming in the night against the forces of evil, there was a Koveg that was killed by his followers when they decided THEY were the chosen followers of some damned deity. Or there was a Thurdag who got beheaded in the name of some holy crusade to the Eastern Kingdoms. Or there was a Wennoki, or a Thentrol, or a Javi… All of them met their end horribly in some dank hole in the world because they’d been driven forward by some divine light. Even Journ, glittering and fucking perfect as he was supposed to be, died of the Scourge that overtook his body after he slew the Lich Pathos.

Braum swallowed hard as he thought about the implications.

The tunnel that reached out before him sloped upward. Cold and hard, it was little more than baren, quickly carved stone and a paved flat surface so carts could pass into the Lower Cities. He’d never seen the entrance or the Sky beyond, but he knew it was there based on the stories he’d heard about it. He could feel the wind rushing down in little gusts and bursts that rustled his beard and the air around him felt far colder than he was used to.

And here he was walking towards it.

In his left hand, he held his shield, the weight always so comforting now seemingly unyielding. Khadgar it was called. “Trust” in his dwarven tongue. In his right hand, Magna. “Protector”. He could trust his shield most of all and, with his hammer in hand, he’d protect those that would need it.

Braum felt the fear well further up in his throat.

No. Not just fear.

Something else far worse that boiled the bile at the top of his gut.

He craned his neck back to look down the tunnel he’d been following for the last three days. The way that led back to the Lower Cities of the Dwarves. To the Heart of Myrepeak and the capital city of Wyrms-horde. Could he really just abandon it? Abandon everything he’d done in the name of some god on a whim? Just do what the supernatural bastard wanted?!

As if response, Braum felt a soft warmth grow in his chest. At first he thought it was Trudd listening to his thoughts somehow and judging him for it. He would punish Braum for some perceived heresy and destroy him right here and now. A dead paladin before he’d ever even gotten out of the mountain because he’d dared question the will of his lord. A reminder to never question a god’s will again.

But, upon looking down, he saw that his armor was glowing softly. His god was listening and Trudd was sending a message, but not one of anger...but of reminder.

Braum touched the glowing spot on his armor and chuckled in realization as to what it illuminated.

Much like his hammer and shield, he had named his armor as well. Inscribed with the same dwarven runes, quite literally molded into the armor at the time of its birth, Durmgrist. “Home”. He had always felt safe within the steel and something about the name always brought comfort to him in the darkest times. It had seemed perfect when he named it.

And now it did again.

Braum looked back down the tunnel one more time before continuing onward up the tunnel, his feet no longer aching as they had a moment before.

He still felt afraid. Only an idiot wouldn’t be. And the thought of how he would die and what terrible fate this decision would lead him to still swirled about in his mind. However, the biggest one...a feeling that he couldn’t quite put his finger on...was beginning to fade.

Braum no longer felt homesick. For he carried his home with him. He carried his armor and his shield and his hammer and, he supposed most important of all, he carried a faith that Trudd would watch over him; not just as some angry, vengeful spirit that demanded retribution in his name like some, but as a benevolent protector. Just as Braum would defend the innocent with all his power, he knew Trudd would watch over him in his own travels.

And, when the time came, he would not be wrought with fear at slipping into the void. He would be welcomed to eternity by the very father that watched over him.

Braum smiled to himself.

These thoughts stayed with him for many miles, washing away all other anxieties and terrors of the dark, as, for the first time in his life, Braum stepped out into the sunlight beneath a wild blue sky.

===

Hello Lovelies,

I was quite surprised to see how well Braum's story was received earlier. Surprised, but happy. My Dungeon Master not only liked it but also wants more information. He's encouraging us all to highlight the in-between the origin of the character and when the story of the game that we're playing actually starts. While I don't think anyone is quite tackling it to the length I am, I find that actually fleshing out the character's story makes me feel for them and understand them more than just going "Braum fought this badguy" and leaving it at that.

I do hope you enjoyed. I intend to do more but I guess I'll see if they get posted or not.

Love you all and have a wonderful day,

- RB

=== 

Critical Failures vs. Spells Swords and Stealth: A Comparison in Quality

 

I mentioned a little bit ago that I'm big into the game "Dungeons and Dragons" for a number of reasons (I won't bore you with the details; you can check that bit out here). Well, because of that very post, I decided that my itch was strong enough to go grab a D&D fictional story. While there are a number of them out there that do the job and do it well, I decided I wanted something a little more meta.

Cue finding the 'Spells, Swords, and Stealth' series by Drew Hayes.

I was immediately enamored.

I finished the first book within two days and bought the second one without hesitation. The story, in short, circled around four characters within a tabletop RPG game known as Spells, Swords, and Stealth. These characters run into a bit of an issue when the REAL players show up in their sleepy little town. They are then forced to go off on an adventure of their very own where they'll face hordes of goblins, monstrous demons, mad kings, insane wizards, and a dungeon designed to destroy any who would enter it particularly real players. Oh, and did I mention that this is SOMEHOW happening in real time while actual people are playing, leading to those very books to change their information based on the adventures of the "NPCs" that our story focuses around?

And that's just book one.

I proceeded to devour all three books in the series and am waiting on baited breath for the next one to come out (although I unfortunately don't have any release dates). The writing was so good and it blended well-known game elements seamlessly with well-thought out fiction and story telling elements. On top of that, it worked fantastically to combine meta knowledge regarding the 'real world' with the happenings of the 'game world' that it constantly left you thirsty for more.

Overall, it was EXACTLY what I wanted that I went searching for more of the same. Since Drew hadn't produced more of that series, I decided to follow Amazon's recommendations regarding the "Critical Failures" series.

Man, that book is aptly named.

First, in defense of a relative comparison, I will say that I did not read the entire series like I did with 'Spells, Swords, and Stealth'. The book is surprisingly well reviewed on Amazon and has high praises but, in my own defense...I just... I couldn't. Perhaps the others are better. However, given the teeth gnashing pain of getting through Book 1, I didn't want to waste my time or money if Book 2 was a repeat of the first.

So what's the book about?

In short, it's built on a similar overall concept. It's built on meta knowledge regarding tabletop roleplaying games. A bunch of friends who invite a brand new game master to play with them quickly realize that insulting him might not have been the best choice. And, if a few vulgar jabs, the game master transport all of the friends into the game world that they were playing a moment before. Dealing with the results of their actions, they're taken on a great chase from the law of the land where they experience all manner of monster and threat to life and limb as they learn the ins and out of living the game only to end in showdown that goes a little bit more sideways than you might imagine.

Sounds like fun right? What could go wrong.

In short: really bad writing.

To start, the book feels unpolished. The overall tone and flow of the story is incredibly choppy and tends to rock the book's pace like a new driver trying to learn a clutch. It gets where its going but not without banging your head against the dashboard a few times. Even worse, there's a point where it literally walks in a circle thematically by having one group go somewhere, while another group goes elsewhere ONLY to have them switch spots looking for each other AND THEN do it again. Quite literally having the characters just walk in circles.

However, the one that gets called out most in other commentary (and what I even took offense to) was the raw vulgarity of the writing. In the book's defense, most tabletop gamers are some foul-mouthed motherfuckers. We like to shoot the shit and make all sorts of bad or silly jokes. But there's a difference between bullshitting with your friends and turning that crap up to 11 and writing it down as a story.

Nearly endless cussing. Vulgar commentary. Rude asides. And so. Many. Fluids. Shit, piss, vomit, snot, cum, blood, and literally anything else that can come out of a body can and does. Characters ejaculate from healing magic and one character legitimately shits himself regularly. Men slip and hurt themselves in all manner of bodily fluids and there is regular conversation and focus on this vulgarity throughout the book.

I'm all for a sense of reality and, let's face it, life can be gross. But focusing a narrative on a character regularly shitting himself is bad writing. Once makes a point. Multiple times is just foul.

When all is said and done, these two stories seemed a fantastic comparison because, in my own opinion, they take the same subject matter and show the best and worst ways to do it. 'Spells, Swords, and Stealth' provides an interesting narrative and builds a world around it with a pace that leads you through your environment while still tying you back to the original game. 'Critical Failures' throws you into the story headfirst and than can't decide how it wants to proceed. 'Spells, Swords, and Stealth' provides a fascinating story within the context of the game while still showing you meta elements that ties everything together. 'Critical Failures' regularly has characters bitching about concepts a non-player will likely not understand and features more blood, piss, shit, and vomit than an emergency room that caters exclusively to frat-houses.

Overall, if you're looking for a fun and interesting story, I'd definitely recommend Spells, Swords, and Stealth. Maybe I'll return to check out Book 2 of Critical Failures one day, but that will likely be when the book is free and I'm very bored.

Dungeons and Dragons and Writing

Hello Lovelies,

Every now and again, particularly when I'm going on tangents about writing subjects, I mention that I play Dungeons and Dragons. To my surprise, I've actually gotten a few emails on the subject in the past year. I didn't think much of it at first, but I feel like I should explore the concept a little because of the range of curiosity I've received.

First off, allow me to clarify. This is not a gaming blog. I won't go into the finer details of the games because it just doesn't fit here. Instead, allow me to clarify why it tends to come up within the realm of 'writing'.

So, to begin: What is Dungeons and Dragons?

For those who are unfamiliar, D&D is a tabletop game and is conceptually no different than a regular board game like Monopoly or Life with sets of rules and guidelines. While some people do actually use a board and figures, the real draw of the game for most people is what I often refer to as 'Interactive Storytelling'. There are plenty of different groups in the game's history that like to claim different things about the game (my favorite being that it 'teaches players how to use real magic spells and/or summon the devil'), but the game is little more than being able to direct a character within a fantasy story. Imagine the story of "Lord of the Rings" if you were able to control the actions of Legolas. Everything else is happening around you from the book but YOU as a player have the opportunity to control that single character, what they do, and how they react to the world around them.

Sounds interesting, huh?

I thought so, but this is where the writing comes in.

While once in a grand while I'll actually be a player, most often I act as what is known as the GM, which stands for Game Master. In short, I'm the one who has to wrangle and direct all the players along with providing a narrative and world to exist in. Modules, i.e. pre-done stories and adventures, do exist that can be purchased and utilized, however I honestly have never used one. Instead, I simply create my own content for my players to use. Sometimes this is good, sometimes not so much.

This brings us nicely to the next major point: Why do I find Dungeons and Dragons useful for writing?

Well, aside from the obvious challenge of having to create an interesting plot hook for players to follow, D&D forces your writing to the next level. For one, you can't really just have a cardboard cutout for them to explore. You need a world. Countries need cities. Cities need infrastructure. Locations need populations. People need personalities. Anyone or anything that a player is ever exposed to needs to have a purpose, a reason, an existence. Any player could decide that they want to strike up a conversation with a random character in the street or they might want to investigate some element of a location that seems relatively pointless in the scope of things only because YOU didn't imagine the use for it originally.

The same can be said for designing the narrative itself. It's very easy to set up a plot hook of "The king was killed by an assassin, go find out who did it and why.", but what about down the road? You now have to be able to plan for WHERE the players will go and how will they will act and design your game around that.What roads will they take? Who will they talk to? What will they find along the way? You need to be able to imagine every opportunity and option that a player will take (you won't be able to...but try) and then build those options. You need to be able to smooth the surface and be ready to lay the train tracks as the train is rolling. Sometimes this is something easily planned for but sometimes this requires you to think and write and act literally in the middle of the game; conjuring life to characters and places that hadn't even been considered yet.

So, in short, D&D is an invaluable tool for me that encourages creative thinking and narrative. It forces me into realms I hadn't considered before and, more than once, has actually contributed to my public works simply because it inspires me like little else can.

With that said, what really gets your blood flowing and helps you write? Is it simply writing alot or perhaps there's something else that gets your fingers flying? Let us know in the comments below.