Storythread

Seems like it's just the browser that can't recognise it.
I'm on a old phone you see...

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Alright, here's a bit of fun through the eyes of my World of Darkness character. By fun, I mean he almost died. Again.

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As Eli trudged throw the snow, naked as the day he was born, he began to reconsider the choices he made in life.

Granted, the last few weeks haven't presented him with all that many.

He really didn't have much in the way of choice after he got dragged into the woods by a werewolf...which also killed his dog (what a dick).

He probably didn't have much of a choice after he got pulled into a world that looks like a bad acid trip on bad acid by a cat spirit feeling peckish.

He DEFINITELY didn't have any choice after the damn thing taunting him set off his first change.

Now, the fact that ripping the thing in two and roaring at the pieces would have been duly considered at the time is besides the point.

Getting an arm and leg chopped off by some passing Uratha sure as hell IS.

Two weeks later, having learned just how messed the world actually is, having made a mortal enemy out of an elder, and joining the Iron Masters out of sheer instinct, he came to the thing that really bothered him the most about not having a choice after the First Change.

The things you have to do are god damned BIZARRE.

If someone had told Eli a month ago that he would be trudging through the snow to find and kill a cat spirit with something that looks like a brass knuckle screwed a katar, BUCK NAKED, he would've told them to kindly fuck off.

Now, it was only when he realized that this is his new normal that Eli really started to consider his life choices.

He wasn't impressed.

Such was his frame of mind as he approached the place where he was first introduced to papa wolf and mama moon, and where he introduced Hunts the Rage to his own innards.

(con't)

You may ask: why go back to some god-forsaken neck of the woods where you nearly got killed just to kill some cat that's not bothering you anyway?

Well, the quick answer to that is a fetish.

No not that kind, asshole. The kind where you stuff a spirit into an item to give it magic bullshit.

Since the pack had more or less decided that the cat was going to be put into Eli's knuckle-duster (which, let me tell you, looked like a spiked brass knuckle hate-fucked a katar), he couldn't really make anyone else go.

Now, apparently when you get sent from the material world to the Shadow without a locus, you can't wear any clothes; dedicated or not.

So, here he was: having a nice, long walk in the snow, wearing nothing but his hide and a weapon so illegal, it makes switchblades look cute.

After trying, and FAILING, to find the cat's den, Eli decided that he was going to do this the quick way.

So, with all the force an Urshual can muster. he screamed into the heavens:

HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNTSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS THHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEE RRRRRAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGEEEE!

Having successfully gotten the cat's attention (and probably set off car alarms in a nearby town), he decided to do the smart thing: sneak attack the bastard and take him down easy.

He shifted down into Uhran, and began the hunt.

For hours he stalked through the underbrush, listening, waiting, and sniffing for that damn cat.

Naturally, he bumped right into the damn thing without either noticing the other was there.

In a bizarre moment of kinship between man and spirit, between mortal enemies, they both thought, as one:

"So it's that kind of day."

Then, they fought.

Faster than Eli could react, the cat pounced. Digging its claws into the young Uratha, it spat and snapped, trying to close its jaws around his neck.

In hindsight, grappling with an Uratha, even a young one, was a very poor decision.

Within moments of its first strike, a normal-sized wolf had become taller, bulkier, and angrier.

So, so much angrier.

Since the cat had been so kind as to get within grabbing range, the now much stronger Uratha pinned the cat to the ground and started driving the now much larger knuckle into the cat's belly.

The cat struggled for dear, sweet life, and with a frantic kick managed to catch Eli in the arm, loosening his grip and freeing itself.

With a strength born from desperation, the cat leapt towards its attacker and sunk its teeth into his throat.

The bite brought him pain unbearable.

The pain brought him rage unending.

With a thunderous roar, the creature that was once a man tore the cat from its neck and threw it to the ground like a rag-doll.

With feline grace, Hunts the Rage managed to land on its feet and face its enemy.

Then, it saw what had happened.

What was before an intelligent being, a thinking creature with a mind of its own, had become something far greater, and far more ancient.

The death rage had come, and the destroyer had emerged.

With the wrath of an angry god, the wolf leapt at the cat, roaring with hate and rage.

Before the cat could react, it had found itself pinned once again.

This time, the werewolf would not let go.

Snarling, spitting, mad with fear, Hunts the Rage clawed and bit and kicked, desperate to get away from the force of destruction that loomed over it now.

Heedless of pain, heedless of injury, the wolf did nothing but attack.

The cat raked its claws across the wolf's face, and still it attacked.

The cat tore the flesh from its arms, and still it attacked.

The cat ripped out one of its eyes, and still it attacked.

Finally, with a blow that landed with a sickening crunch, the wolf drove the bladed knuckle through the cat's belly, and out its back.

It didn't stop.

With an unholy sound that would have stopped any other beast, the destroyer drove the blade farther up.

Left to its own devices, the destroyer would have torn the corpse in half with nothing but a bladed knuckle.

However, within moments of the wolf driving its weapon into the body, the knuckle began to devour it.

In the blink of an eye, where Hunt the Rage's body once lay there was nothing more than a bloody pile of snow.

Pulsing with new life, the weapon used in the merciless murder hummed with power well-contained, runes and inscriptions carving themselves upon the metal.

Of course, the destroyer cared only for one important detail.

It had no more prey to kill.

It roared to the heavens, damning the world that had deprived it of it sport.

Then, a new scent rode on the wind.

With a snarl, the wolf sniffed rabidly, devouring the air itself to seek its quarry.

It quickly recognized the scent.

Uratha.

Competition.

Prey.

With a howl of rage, the mad wolf bounded towards the source of the scent, slavering and snarling like a beast possessed.

The destroyer was hungry, and it would be fed with blood.

Storyteller here. This marks the end of the part where my character's alone, and I wouldn't want to involve other characters without talking to their owner. If anyone actually cares enough about this, I could tack a little bit more, but nothing all that exciting. Let me know what you thought of it, thanks for reading.

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Well I've decided to make a slight continuation I did for "Lessons." Read it here:

>1d4chan.org/images/4/4e/Lessons.png

Also you may read "The Declaration of Surrendependence" to get some context in this story's lore:

>1d4chan.org/images/d/de/TheDeclarationOfSurrendependence.png

>pic seen is what the featured character: Weland Faulkner looks like

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-Month of Netihm, Day: Brigh, Year 1920
-Current Location: Fort Ernmore, Wiverst Countryside, Briastrin

It was a weekend in the continent of Briastrin and the Faulkner twins are going to be having a weekend's rest.

After a pop quiz and more lectures in Briastrin's and Chimax's history and the Cedna Accord's accomplishments. Ethelhild "Ethel" Faulkner was delighted to learn that she was going to be taken on a trip to the nearby Braistrinian City of Barton Ridge. There she will be accompanied by her tutors; Captain Bethany Cameron and Elven Mage Vulmar Sarsalr. Both Bethany and Vulmar figured it was about time Ethel learned a thing or two about the modernized lifestyle of Braistrin, to which Bethany and Vulmar's superiors approved of.

But Ethel's older brother, Weland Faulkner. Was going to be having a slightly different routine, he was going to be having another meetup with the daughter of a Briastrinian politician, Half-Elf Lucia Ingraham.

Weland Faulkner being one of the children of the now deceased Empress Dannya Faulkner of Eustran, he is very much royalty. Even with the dismantlement of Eustran's royalty and nobility he and Ethel still had their "noble" status that was mostly now used as celebrity status throughout the Cedna Accord.

Weland Faulkner originally aspired to be a great warrior, or a paladin and champion who'd fight for his mother's name, dynasty and honor. That is until the Cedna Accord came rolling in, wrecked their shit and have now effectively conquered Eustran despite a few rebellions here and there from those who refused to bow down to the Cedna Accord.

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I can strangely imagine Micheal Jackson's Thriller playing.

Bump

Someone last week wanted me to point out that there's a discord group for writers, which naturally I forgot to include in the OP because I'm an idiot like that.

discord.gg/6AwKHGF

Good work, user. I'm not that familiar with WoD so I couldn't follow a lot of what was going on, but your writing's okay. The one thing I would say is that you don't need to start a new line after a single sentence; it makes it feel a bit disjointed - although the way you present it is still MUCH better than posting a single block of text.

And it's nice to see someone involving their gaming character in their writing. I think too many people assume that we don't want stories linked to their campaigns, when it's just that we don't want non-fiction greentext stories (which is the sort of thing most people think when someone says 'campaign story').

Thanks for the feedback. I'll keep the spacing in mind.

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Did you join the discord, guy?

are u in the discord and if not why arent u

who is chronicle

Stop shilling your cancerous circlejerk chat client you fucking morons.

I'm not in the discord because I barely have time to write anything, let alone discuss what I'm writing. If it's your sort of thing good for you, but it's not really for me.

be nice

Columbia to Ground Control
Columbia to Ground Control

We just got a shipment. No idea how it came.
Can anyone explain why there's a tank on the moon?
Are the Chinese trying to one-up us again?
It's strange though. The thing's totally empty.
Don't even see a base or anything.

Not even sure how you can even drive it.
Thing doesn't even has keys,
And we hardly even fit.
So all we can do is leave it where it is.

>Ground Control to Columbia
>Ground Control to Columbia

>So you're telling us that there's a tank on the moon?
>How the hell did that happen?
>We don't even know how to deal with that.
>Are you even sure that thing can work even?

>Well, in any case, just...crap, I have no freaking clue, Columbia...
>I dunno, just...put a club on it, break something.
>Long as the Chinese can't use it, we don't have to worry about them colonizing the moon anytime soon.
>Ground Control Out

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Weland Faulkner, now under the care of the Cedna Accord along with her sister. Are basically being trained, treated, and groomed to become pawns or courtiers. And that was pretty much it; both Ehtel and Weland were to become basically courtiers who’d be paired to be the spouse of a politician or Cednan Official’s child. Weland was already paired with Briastrinian Senator Bradley Ingraham and elven wizardess Lura Bryrel’s half-elf daughter, Lucia.

Which is why Weland now spends the rest of his days playing around with Lucia Bryrel Ingraham, not that he “enjoys” playing with Lucia, but he is simply doing it for the sake of obligation and also for his sister. He sometimes fears and believes that if he does not comply with treaty rules, or play along with being a courtier to be paired with an official’s daughter, bad thing may happen upon his sister Ethel. So he plays along.

“I’m gonna go on a trip!” Ethel gleefully said to her brother Weland who was getting ready in dressing up to be leaving for another playdate with Lucia Bryrel Ingraham. “Miss Cameron and Mister Sarsalor are gonna take me to a big city of Barton Ridge, they’ll take me out for lunch, a ‘field trip’ in a museum, and take me to something they call a movie. Which Mister Sarsalor said is a ‘moving picture show,’ I’m excited for this weekend brother, are you? You’re gonna be on another play time with Lucia.”

Weland chuckled to his sister and said as he was buttoning up his coat. “Well… Yes, you can say that. Mostly it’d be Lucia who’d be glad to see me.”

“You gonna be playing dress up, dolls and pretend?”

“Yes… Lucia, being a child of her age loves playing such things...” Weland said quietly to himself. “-Even though I myself can do better with my skills.”

“What was that brother?”

“Oh uh, nothing Ethel my dear sister.”

Then there was a knock on the door of Weland and Ethel’s room.

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A Cedna Accord Official opened the door ajar to announce. “Captain Cameron and Wizard Sarsalor are here to pick you up. Get ready soon, they’re coming.”

Weland and Ethel were already done dressing up before that announcement even begun, so they just put one some perfume and some fragrance to smell good. They were now ready to go out just as another knock came and came in elven wizard/mage Vulmar Sarsalor, Ethel’s second tutor and mentor. “Good to see both of you groomed, dressed and ready to go.” He said with a soft smile.

“Oh I can’t believe we’re going to a big city. I wonder how the big cities here in Briastrin? How different they are to the cities of Eustran when mommy once took me out once?”

“You’ll soon find out Ethel, now come on. Captain Cameron is waiting for us in the car.” Vulmar Sarsalor said as he held Ethel’s hand. Ethel walked along with her elven mentor with Weland following behind, Vulmar, Weland and Ethel walked down the halls of Fort Ernmore with Cedna Accord Officials; human, elven and half-elven, greeting and saluting to Vulmar Sarsalor. They finally reached outside walking out of the complex’s entrance to see an automobile parked in front of the entrance with Bethany Cameron in the driver’s seat. And another ranking officer in the front seat beside her.

“Well there’s our ride, get in children.” Vulmar said with Ethel squeeing slightly with excitement for the trip. With everyone in their seats, Captain Bethany Cameron turned the ignition of her car and begun driving out of the compound, and now they were all in the highway of the Wiverst Countryside. The road leads to the nearest urban area and large city; the City of Barton Ridge, in which Ethel will spend her daytrip with Bethany Cameron and Vulmar Sarsalor.

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As Bethany was driving down the road to Barton Ridge Ethel spoke to Weland. “Oh boy big brother, aren’t you excited you get to come around with me, Mister Sarsalor and Miss Cameron before your playdate with Lucia?”

But before Weland could even reply Bethany Cameron answered Ethel’s question to her brother. “Oh I’m sorry Ethel dear but your brother can’t come along with us today. His playdate with Lucia Bryrel Ingraham is already scheduled.”

“Awwww… I was excited to have big brother see how a big Briastrinian city looks with me!”

Weland answered to Ethel. “Oh fret not Ethel. Perhaps another time I may take a tour like this with you. I promise, another time we can spend time together outside the walls of the compound we are residing in… Its just that I have duty calls with Lucia.”

“Really? But why not tell Lucia and her parents to have another playdate another time?”

Bethany answered to Ethel again all while driving and keeping an eye on the road. “Sorry Ethel but it’s already arranged. It couldn’t be arranged at any other day at this time since Lucia; just like you Ethel, is a student who has to study for school and have good grades. And Lucia is going to be busy for the following week, which is why Lucia can have a playdate with Weland this weekend.”

Vulmar interjected. “Your brother said it himself Ethel, we can take him along another time. This time in different city here in Briastrin that’s much fancier than where we’re going. Who knows? We may take a trip to Briastrin’s national capital of Ambury, or maybe even the cosmopolitan city of Akhurland? Which is rich in elven culture and is the very first Briastrinian city where the first hundred elven immigrants have resided in this nation. Similar to like the elven city of Selletheas in Chimax which is rich in Briastrinian human culture, and is where the first human immigrants from Briastrin reside alongside elven-kind in Chimax.”

>to be continued

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Bump

Thread near death

Neat concept.

Kinda feel like it could be expanded...couldn't tell you how, though.

Also, to bump the thread, I had a short-lived plot bunny about a stoner Tzeetch sorceror in Harry Potter. Here's what I have:

“I made some arrangements with the conductor.”
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“Mmmhhm.” He hummed appreciatively as he sucked on his pipe. He exhaled a cloud of sweet, intoxicating smoke. He glanced down. “Now that's the good stuff, innit sir?”
The conductor was lying insensate on the floor, insensate to the rumbling and bouncing of the train. A tiny, smoking blunt was gripped between his teeth, kept precariously aloft over the pools of drool trickling out of the corners of his mouth.
“So, do you mind if I catch a ride on this train?”
The conductor seemed to stir a little, and tried to speak. Beetle leaned down to put his ear closer and listened.
“...pretty rainbows.....”
He chuckled. “I'll take that as a no.”
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“Getting across the lake was harder.”
----
Beetle reflected on the fact that while pot kept him grounded in the real world, it also made him kinda stupid. Else he'd never gone with this plan.
Of course, if he was sober enough to reject it he'd probably go for some hideously over-complicated plan instead, and Tzeentch was wont to screw those over for a quick laugh. KISS Principle and all that.

He was clinging to the underside of the rowboat. He didn't dare come up for air or warmth-the rowboat was occupied, and there were a bunch more around in this miniature flotilla.
His only source of air was a bunch of long reeds pursed between his lips. Some had broken. Periodically he had to swallow-never spit-drops of lake water. And unless his tongue was sorely mistaken, the bigass octopus was male, and had been masturbating recently.
Warmth? Tough shit. He just had to do without.

The worst bit? Beetle was pretty sure the pot was soaked now. And he'd never found a good substitute for a blunt in the morning.

This is an 'alternative history' take on my campaign; what would have happened had the PCs not been around to solve things. The infant king is cursed, and the common folk suffer horrifically under this magic. The curse is tied to the child's life, and the peasants have finally had enough.

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Isabella sighed quietly. For a moment her exhalation stirred the air but then it stilled once more, slipping back into that malaise of lazy inaction. She wanted to scream, to rage and cry and lay about herself with her fists- anything would do, so long as she could move again. It seemed as if the walls were closing in about her, pressing tight against her chest and making it hard to think. With some effort, she took a long, steadying breath. The air tasted stale and warm.

By her side, Damian gave a small squeal of discomfort. The noise startled Isabella from her reverie, and slowly she stretched an arm into his cot and began to gently stroke his brow. As her careful ministrations continued, the child's cries began to quiet. Gradually, tiny eyes fluttered closed, and his breathing grew calm and peaceful. Isabella smiled weakly, resting her hand upon her child's pale bald head.

There came a sharp rap at the door. Gathering her scattered thoughts, Isabella cleared her throat.
"Enter," she said, her voice sounding strangely hollow even to her. With a sudden jerk, the door flew open, and a harried looking young gentleman stepped through it. He wore the deep blue of the Royal Guard, but his uniform had clearly been patched half a hundred times, and it bore a dozen rips and tears besides. Anxiously, he snapped to attention, and Isabella absently noted his almost skeletal appearance- his arms too skinny, his face gaunt and white. The poor boy had been starving.
"Your Majesty," the guardsman began nervously, fingering the pommel of his sword. "The mob have nearly broken through. Lord Kilvarrick believes he cannot hold them much longer. I am to, ah, escort you to safety, ma'am."

With a dreadful certainty, everything came together for Isabella. The man's worried demeanour; the way his fingers played about the hilt of his weapon as he spoke; the irregularity of sending a single guardsman to see the Royal family to safety. It all made a horrible sort of sense. Tears stung at the edges of Isabella's vision but she choked them back fiercely. Wiping daintily at her eyes, the queen struggled to speak over the lump in her throat.
"That shan't be necessary soldier," she managed. At that, the man's hand firmed around the hilt of his blade, though his face belied his fear and uncertainty.
"Your Majesty-" he tried, but Isabella spoke over him.
"I shall do it myself," she said, her voice soft but firm. She turned her eyes to his. "Allow me that much at least."

The guardsman stepped back, unsure, and rubbed at his neck with one hand as if embarrassed. Taking his inaction as assent, Isabella stood. Time seemed to grind to an unending halt as she lifted the pillow from the head of her bed. With every fibre of her body screaming out in protest, she brought the cushion down over her child's head. Tears fell unbidden from her half closed eyes as she sobbed in silence, the only sound the merciless pounding of her own heart. Damian thrashed limply underneath the pillow. She could feel his mute struggles, and one of his tiny hands fumbled blindly at her wrist, searching desperately for his mother's comforting touch. Isabella counted out ten heartbeats... twenty, thirty. Slowly, the child's movement ground to a halt.

With a moan of purest despair, Isabella collapsed at the foot of his crib. Her head sagged forwards into heavy hands as she began to howl her misery to the gods above. Her mind fled gibbering from reality, burying itself in the furthest flung reaches of her head; her only thought the memory of Damian's hand reaching out for hers.

When the sword came, it was little more than relief.

Dark. Yikes.

Was the sword purely a mercy kill, or was there an assassination planned in addition.

A bit of both, mostly the latter. The lords of the realm had basically figured that the royal family was a sinking ship and the best way to survive was to try and appease the peasantry by giving them what they wanted.

So what was the plan for afterward?
Were they thinking that far?

Also, what did you think about my plot bunny above.

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Good stuff. Well, not for poor Izzie, but them's the shakes.

"And here, you see the only piece depicting Valeria she actually posed for." Harley's voice echoed throughout the empty halls of the massive exhibit, the high walls and domed ceiling carrying his words throughout the entire building. The legion of paintings lining the walls seemed to follow him with their eyes, disapproving of the insolent noise. "Not one for the arts, unfortunately, but I think you'll agree she has quality where she lacks quantity."

As far as Gavin was concerned, he had no choice but to agree. The violet eyes of the Lady in White stared back at him, clear and unrelenting as the day he saw them himself. So piercing were those eyes that the rest of the Huntress' unworldly beauty almost went unmarked. When one managed to look away from those vibrant orbs, they saw an enchanting face, with high, proud cheekbones and a small, regal nose. Lips the color of blood stood in stark contrast to ivory skin; a beautiful visage twisted with a furious scowl.

Both deadly and divine, the Lady was Nature made flesh.

"I can only wonder how..." Gavin took a moment to glance at the signature. "...Mr. Mayson managed to convince her to pose for him. Especially a pose like that." Harley chuckled. "With a gamble, naturally. If the Huntress has one weakness, it's her pride. He goaded her into a game of riddles, with his life as collateral." Upon hearing this, Gavin couldn't help but cry out in surprise. "His life? He's insane!"

Now, Harley laughed, long and hard.

Gavin fairly bristled at this, and just before he could object Harley waved his hand, wiped a tear from his eye and said "Oh, my boy. Every time, they say the same thing. No, lad, you're right. Devon (well, that's his first name, mind you), Devon was a man who knew nothing of fear. 'My art', he said, 'will live on in my stead, so the more I make, the more I can live.' If you think that's impressive look here right over here. He managed to get the Deceiver to sit for a portrait."

Bethany Cameron then said. "Now now there Mister Sarsalor, we can spare the history lesson to Ethel for next week. Right now its the weekend for us to wind back and relax and have some good time."

Captain Bethany Cameron is partly right; it is the weekend for most Briastrinian citizens. The kids would play outside in the playgrounds and play areas. While the grownups and older people would spend their weekends partying hard in certain venues meant for their age, yet there are people who'd still have jobs and occupations that require them to work even in weekends. And both Bethany Cameron and Vulmar Sarsalor are officials and ranking officers for the Cedna Accord who’re doing their jobs right now of tending and caring for Weland and Ethel Faulkner.

The drive continued to Barton Ridge continued on, Ethel was on her knees on the back seat as she constantly took in the view of the Briastrinian countryside. Passing through some farmsteads, seeing other cars driving along the road, houses beside the road and even passing a few urban villages. Even Weland had to appreciate the view sometimes and just like his sister, he was glancing every now and then on what he saw, probably because he knows this land is unlike Eustran which was ruled by his mother. That and also all of these modernized and industrious sights were still essentially new to him.
The drive took about an hour long journey until everyone can see the sight of tall city buildings; finally they’ve reached Barton Ridge. Ethel and Weland have noticed and can see that there are even more cars driving in the road, both entering and exiting the city. Bethany drove into the city limits as she drove around a bit more to find a spot where she can park her automobile, and she did as she parked in front of an office building just beside the side walk behind another parked car.

Bethany Cameron then said. "Now now there Mister Sarsalor, we can spare the history lesson to Ethel for next week. Right now its the weekend for us to wind back and relax and have some good time."

Captain Bethany Cameron is partly right; it is the weekend for most Briastrinian citizens. The kids would play outside in the playgrounds and play areas. While the grownups and older people would spend their weekends partying hard in certain venues meant for their age, yet there are people who'd still have jobs and occupations that require them to work even in weekends. And both Bethany Cameron and Vulmar Sarsalor are officials and ranking officers for the Cedna Accord who’re doing their jobs right now of tending and caring for Weland and Ethel Faulkner.

The drive continued to Barton Ridge continued on, Ethel was on her knees on the back seat as she constantly took in the view of the Briastrinian countryside. Passing through some farmsteads, seeing other cars driving along the road, houses beside the road and even passing a few urban villages. Even Weland had to appreciate the view sometimes and just like his sister, he was glancing every now and then on what he saw, probably because he knows this land is unlike Eustran which was ruled by his mother. That and also all of these modernized and industrious sights were still essentially new to him.

The drive took about an hour long journey until everyone can see the sight of tall city buildings; finally they’ve reached Barton Ridge. Ethel and Weland have noticed and can see that there are even more cars driving in the road, both entering and exiting the city. Bethany drove into the city limits as she drove around a bit more to find a spot where she can park her automobile, and she did as she parked in front of an office building just beside the side walk behind another parked car.

"Alright we are here." Bethany Cameron announced as a 'Yaaaayyy~' was heard from Ethel.

Ethel got out as she was able to open the door of the car herself. There she took in the sight, the view and even the smells. The city was indeed noisy with the sounds of many people talking, cars driving and honking their horns and more sounds of cars and people talking or yelling. This was also a new sight for Weland too as he was amazed by the looks of the buildings and other tall skyscrapers he saw. Bethany Cameron also got out of her driver’s seat and as soon as she got out the other ranking officer who sat beside her now moved to the now vacant driver’s seat.

Weland did not notice that there was a person sitting beside Captain Cameron until now as he saw the official that sat beside Bethany was a male half-elf. Weland was still seated and looked beside him to talk to Vulmar Sarsalor. “I am quite amazed how the buildings made her in Briastrin are much taller than any structure I have seen in my old homeland, if I’m correct, I read in a book in the libraries back at Fort Ernmore that these buildings and some of these ‘skyscrapers’ are made out of metal?”

Vulmar answered. “Yes, but actually they are also made out of cement. A mixture of a closely controlled chemical combination of calcium, silicon, aluminum, iron and other ingredients. As for the metal; which is steel, they’re used to help maintain the structural integrity of the building so that it wouldn’t fall due to its size. Now excuse me please.” Vulmar moved his way through Weland out of the passenger seat and was now out of the car and stretched his arms and legs after staying seated for an hour. Even Bethany and Ethel begun stretching too.

>This is a story idea I've had rolling around since I heard about the Ynnari so I figured I'd throw up a napkin drawing of what I have so far and see what people think.

The Man I Killed

"My funeral pyre,
Like a torch to paradise,
Shall light our way home."

The final words of Br'uford, Fire Dragon of the Burning Fang and one of my dearest friends. How many nights I sat awake and wondered at what he meant. Dying on that battlefield, with Orkish munitions riddling his body to a blood pulp, there was no chance of saving him. He had discarded his spirit stone for his faith in Ynnead, and as I watched the spark of life fade from his eyes, there was nothing to bring back, save the last words on his lips. As a Howling Banshee I was well acquainted with the martial aspects of our culture, but this was something different. My Aspect was that of dirge and sorrow, a roiling scream of pain turned into a war cry against our enemies, but one that consumed us at some level even in times of peace. Br'uford held no sorrow or loss, there was no regret in his voice. Only the calm certainty that he would live on, somehow, in this god he swore his service to.

It was not long after this I began to seek out more of these self-professed Ynnari. If Br'uford could face death so peacefully, how could I face life with so much pain? I yearned for the freedom of our kind, but the bitterness of our undoing welled in my stomach like a poison. Hours I spent brooding in my chambers, or endlessly dueling my fellow Banshees in training, focusing this anger into a weapon as sharp as my swords, but not without the doubts that still lingered at the edge of my soul. Was this truly the only way? Finding those of a like mind was not difficult, many Howling Banshees willingly gave themselves to the cause of the Ynnari upon hearing their evangel. Jain Zar's willingness to join was all some needed, while the promise of ease to a restless and pained spirit brought others. It was the latter that brought me.

The bond I shared with my sisters flourished under this new guidance. Faith in Ynnead was not merely something to profess, it was something experienced, mind, body, and soul. The feeling of casting away my spirit stone for the first time filled my heart with dread, but the rush the moment of death brought now was unparalleled. With every Ork I slew or mon-keigh gutted by my blades, I felt the strength of their spirit innervate me from within. My mind focused, my nerves tingled with energy, it was as if they were feeding my spirit. This was not like the dreaded leeches of Commorragh, but something greater. There was a glimpse of experience, the weight of years of life, and then silence, the culmination bolstering me. My mind was clear and sharp, my body as nimble and deadly as a fencer's sword tip. And best of all, when I removed my war mask, the pain was gone.

I had become one of them. Under the will of Ynnead I could fulfill my promise to keep my Craftworld safe, protect my loved ones, and follow the Path of the Warrior, but without the self-deprivation it required. I was free now, free to live and do as I pleased without fear of She Who Thirst's gaze being drawn. Free to live without limitations over my emotions and my life. I indulged this frequently, partaking in art and theater, entering the dreams of my lover, and talking at length with the Seers of the ghost halls.Those who scorned my lack of adherence to the Path I dismissed, my duties were not neglected.

This hope, this strength of unity not only with my kin but with my own life and its place in the cosmos, this I carried with me into battle. My anger and sorrow were freely vented, though no longer for that of a dying race. It was aimed at those who might turn us from this brilliant path, and derived from their criminal ignorance. I sought to lay them low, to cut their lives from them, that they might serve Ynnead in death if not in life.

This hatred for the unbelievers and sorrow for those beyond salvation is what seared in my heart the day the Commorrites attacked. It was on an Exodite world, a not uncommon target for the more cannibalistic of their Archons. I felt no joy in the death of other Eldar, even those as twisted as the Druchii, but on the field of battle that day I felt no remorse either. Their kind flew like locusts from the clouds, their webway portal spewing their grav-craft over the planet. Craftworld armaments fired in response, their report rolling through the trees. I stood with my sisters, blades drawn, bracing myself for their shock troops. The wait was not long, as a Raider swung low and a horde of gladiatrixes fell upon us. The sound of steel clashing and the song of blades in the air whirled around me. I ducked and dodged and parried a seemingly endless stream of blows from the Wyches, their form as practiced as my own, but their weapons far cruder and more vile. It was an even match however, and for every blow my armor blocked, their reflexes saved them from my response.

Gradually the Wyches fell back. My sisters managed to carve the life from a few of their number and I could feel their rejuvenated spirits glistening behind their war masks. It was more than the momentary fragment left by a lesser creature, the souls of our kind were drawn to us. Desperate to experience this myself, I rushed forward ahead of my companions after the cowardly Druchii. I did not make it far however before I suffered for my brashness. I was drawn into a snare, as from above the trees came a flashing of blades and the shriek of hoverboards. No sooner did I look up than a pair of Hellion glaives came for my face, sharp and with the full swing of their decent. Instinct took over and I ducked, tumbling forward, my swords drawn and bared. Some of the Hellions jinked through the trees, dropping poison on my sisters who were dashing to catch up, while others remained to toy with me.

Although I was not old by Eldar standards I knew well enough the likes of many Commorrites. Hellions were not refined warriors like Incubi, they were not even the gaudy showgirls of the arenas. These were gutter runners, exiles, and gang members. I was a sister of the Shrieking Blade and would not be trifled with by such filth. With a flash of psychic energy my scream pierced the air, my mask amplifying it until it drowned out the thunder of distant guns. The Hellions circling me dropped from their boards, one flying into a tree, another darting off into the forest as quickly as he could fly. Only one remained, his mind too drug-addled to fear the blistering warcry. His ears bled as he charged me on his hoverboard, the glaive in his hands whirling from side to side. Such an amateurish trick, I thought as I dodged aside. I swung my powersword, severing the harness he used to keep himself tethered to his board. With uncertain footing he turned his craft around and, sluggishly, made another pass.

This time I met him head on, the splinter pods he fired bouncing harmlessly off my bone armor. His glaive swung low, too low, and without his tether the board slipped from him. Off balance, I parried his blade and brought him down to earth, crushing his ribs beneath my knee. He was disarmed now, helpless, but I yearned for the kill. I needed to experience the death of one of my own kind, to feel his spirit touch my own. Raising my blade, I drove the power weapon deep into his chest. His eyes flashed with anguish and I could feel the life draining from him. Twisting the blade, I leaned down, eager to feel his death. I wanted every moment, any dying word, any token of finality he might have to give. I wanted to be witness to his final legacy.

Then it happened. The Commorrite's last breath rasped from his torn lungs. Light filled my spirit and a melody of emotions and experiences flooded my mind. This was a death like no other, the richness of a life I'd never seen. Commorrites lived such strange and dark existences, the sensation was as overwhelming as it was magnificent. Every fear and joy he had known, every love, every grudge was held in spiritual fidelity. Elated and intoxicated, I rose from his corpse and shouldered my blade, looking for the next victim to ravage like the murderer I was. My sisters were gone, their screams echoing through the trees as they hunted the Wyches on foot. Hellions, stunned by my psychic blast, littered the ground around me. I felt my blade in my hand as I stood over one, preparing to deliver the coup de grace to her neck, when something stopped me.

"Please...not my Llaine..."

There was a voice...not in my head, but in my spirit. One that was not mine and yet tied to my own, as if I being guided by an invisible force. Unwanted emotions roiled inside of me. There was a darkness to them, a feeling of deep shame and guilt, but also the unmistakable pang of love. A powerful affection swept over me as I stood over the Hellion, her eyes glaring daggers as she held her hands to her bleeding ears. Lowering my sword, I placed it against her neck. The feeling cascaded through my mind and surged in my blood. I wanted to protect this woman, and guilt wracked me for even daring to feel such a thing. Worst of all, neither of these emotions were my own. My stomach grew ill and I staggered away from the disabled Hellion, my sword trembling in my grasp.

"Thank you..."

I could not stop it. I could not halt the thoughts and emotions any longer. The moment I experienced before had turned into a constant, unending stream of consciousness. I was no longer alone, my spirit altered by the life I took. Terrified of what I was becoming, I ran, desperate to find my sisters.

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Weland decided to step out of the car as well, mostly to tag along with his sister, whom he cares about dearly, for the trip around this city but then- "He kid, where do you think you're going?" The half-elf officer who's now occupying the driver's seat said to Weland. "You forget? You got a scheduled appointment with Senator Ingraham's daughter."

Weland then remembered he almost forgot he has a playdate with Lucia Bryrel Ingraham. “Sorry you can’t come again brother. But really next time I hope and just maybe you can come with us in a trip like this and watch those moving picture shows with us.” Ethel said solemnly.

“Ofcourse your brother can come with us another time. Right now he has an appointment with Lucia Ingraham, now come one Ethel. The movie that we’ll be seeing is going to start soon.” Bethany Cameron said as she looked to Weland. “As for you Weland, Sergeant Matters here will drive you Senator Ingraham’s Estate in Yagoton.” Bethany Cameron said Weland looked to the half-elf officer who was in the driver’s seat as the half-elf waved his hand off.

After Ethel and Weland said their goodbyes, Weland was in for another drive that’ll last for about a half hour. The estate of Senator Bradley Ingraham is located on a smaller neighboring town that is about twenty kilometers away from the current city Weland’s in. And so the Cednan Official drove out of the city limits with the sights of tall buildings, many people and cars getting less and less as they were out of the city and back on the ridge road that was on a chain of small hills. (Which gave the city of Barton Ridge its name with it being near a series of small hills connecting to each other.)

Weland was now more familiar with the path taken since he did remember being driven along the road he’s in when going to Lucia’s place of residence before. Finally Weland was in the familiar sight of the Town of Yagoton, and saw he was nearing the Ingraham Estate.

While the town of Yagoton was much, much smaller than the city Weland was in earlier. It still boasted the same modern urban architecture of concreted buildings but he was more familiar with the sights and looks of this town since he was here before. And just like the larger city Weland was in earlier, it still boasted with its population of people, its shops, venues, and the cars they drive around in.
The Cedna Accord Official who was driving Weland to his destination drove to the front of the considerably small mansion in which Lucia Bryrel Ingraham lived in. The car was parked as the Cedna Official told to Weland as armed guards who guarded the mansion approached the vehicle. “Alright here you are Mister Weland Faulkner. You can get off now. You’ll be picked up later at about four or five o’clock in the afternoon. Have fun with the Senator’s daughter, I’ll be going back to Barton Ridge for Captain Cameron, Wizard Sarsalor and your sister.”

Weland finally got of the car which quickly drove off. The armed guards recognized Weland and gestured him to come inside and follow them. The guards walked Weland to front door and let him in as they simply went back out the gate and front of the estate which they were guarding. Weland turned the knob of the front door, went in and closed the door behind him and the sound of a house radio playing music filled his ears. A house maid greeted Weland and directed him to where Lucia is. “Ah there you are Mister Weland Faulkner. Lucia, the sweet girl has been expecting you. Please follow me.”

Weland followed the maid as he passed by some of the very familiar rooms and halls of this mansion, which seemed smaller in the outside but slightly larger in the inside. After following the maid he was at what he remembered is the door to Lucia’s playroom. The maid knocked at the door. “Miss Lucia dear, your friend Weland is here to see you.”

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Bump (sadly without a pic, connection issues - but let's not let the thread die)

Nothing says romance like SUDDEN TROMBONE

Also, bump.

The shepherd boy loved to play near the statue at the summit of the mountain. Every day, after the morning chores, he would go up to the peak with his stick and his silly wooden plank in tow. For hours he would slice the air with his majestic longsword, raise his shield against the flames of mighty dragons, and bring down droves of monsters with loud whoops and hollers. It was not a hard climb, nor was the mountain very tall, but it was still not the safest place for a boy to play. His mother knew that outright banning him would just entice him to go, so as she waved him off every day she would warn him, "Come back before the sun goes out, or the skeleton knight will eat you!" And every day, sure as the spring mists, the boy would return well before sundown.

But one abnormally warm afternoon, the wind picked up the hairs on the nape of his neck and he paid it no mind. The temperature dropped, and dropped, dropped lower than normal for this season. His hands grew clammy clutching his stick and wooden shield. The wind howls grew higher and higher, almost louder than his cries, but the boy did not notice. He continued to whoop and holler and cut down vampires and harpies and gorgons. Clouds barrelled down into the valley, rolling and roiling faster and faster and up upon the peak. Snow and sleet and harsh stinging rain hit the boy with unbridled anger and he cried out in sudden shock.

He looked around him, he could not see anything, even his hands were lost in the white darkness. The boy was not the smartest boy, but even he knew if he tried to walk home he would fall off a cliff and die. Exposed, he crawled over to the nearest nook he could hide in; The lap of the skeleton knight's statue. Curled up in the smallest ball he had ever curled himself into, shield held up against the storm's wind in vain, he held the clasp of his cloak in his tiny fist, thought of his mother, and hoped he would not die.

He awoke in a small stone chamber barely bigger than himself. So small he could not stand there if he wanted to. It was warm, and he could see. The light came from a glowing stone a few handbreaths above his head. At first he thought it was amber, just like he had seen at the market a few years ago, because it glowed in the same burnt orange colour, but he realised after a moment that it was a heart, slightly bigger than a sheep's. It beat twice, and with every pump the room filled with warmth and it brightened.

Curious, the boy squeezed his arm away from his side and reached up to it. Do not touch my heart. A dry unemotional voice said from inside his head. Do not. After a moment, he asked in the tiniest of whispers, "Why?". The voice inside answered, For you would surely turn to stone. The boy reached again towards the light, gingerly and slowly, testing for the strange voice. It never came. Worried and saddened, he decided to not touch the amber heart and fell into a deep sleep.

The next day, shaking melting snow from his body as he got up from the statue's lap, the boy ran home to what he expected would be a worried but relieved mother. He could not wait to tell her about the weird amber heart and the voice. As he crested the hill nearest his homestead, he noticed the sheep were still locked up in the house, and his mother was outside waiting for him, long wooden spoon in hand. She flew into a fit of rage, yelling about his stupidity, about what his father would say if he were here, and about how worried she was. Her hands moved like birds scared out of a tree, only deviating their paths if it meant they could smack him on top of the head. The wooden spoon stung on his skin like bees. He stared at his mother's feet the entire time, but did not cry until she left.

Seasons passed and the boy stopped playing atop the peak as often as he used to. He was afraid of angering his mother again, but that was not the only reason why. His mother could no longer work due to her growing belly, a parting gift from his seldom present father's last visit, and it had fallen to him to take care of the flock. His mother, wobbling around as she worked the kitchen (she still adamantly refused to let him cook), reminded him what to do when she went into labour. How to heat the water, and prepare the sheets, and snip and knot the cord. He nodded along. He had helped birth so many lambs at this point that he barely listened to her mumbles.

I'll be back later to finish this. Criticism is welcome and highly appreciated.

It's good, user - I'd certainly like to read more. Although if you keep only posting one paragraph per post we're going to hit the bump limit pretty soon.

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>Nothing says romance like SUDDEN TROMBONE

I don't get what you mean user. If you think the character Weland is in love with Lucia, you're wrong. As stated, he's simply complying and playing along. Though I'll give a spoiler:

Lucia would actually like Weland though.

Anyway I'd like to hear any criticism and feedback for my my currently on going story, and the previous that it's connected to.

>1d4chan.org/images/4/4e/Lessons.png

The door opened and out came Lucia Bryrel Ingraham, age nine and soon to turn ten, and daughter of Briastrin senator Bradley Ingraham and elven wizardess Lura Bryrel.

"Weland you came! And just about time. I just finished a setup for our playtime, come in! And thanks for bringing him in Darrel.” Lucia said to the maid who brought Weland to her playroom.

>youtube.com/watch?v=tD1G977kF8A

>youtube.com/watch?
v=RFaVrVyc0A0

>youtube.com/watch?v=M8OQxkJsImE

Weland went in with Lucia holding his hand and pulling him in. He saw there was also radio in her playroom which was tuned in on the same station as the radio he saw and heard outside, but smaller and was set on a table as it was playing pleasant music. Her playroom was large and in it were numerous shelves containing various toys, car models, dolls, action figures that are usually marketed for boys and a few toy rocking horses as well. And there was even a large play castle which occupied a quarter of the room, but there were also bookshelves in the room which contained various books ranging from the usual children’s books and some novels that Lucia like to read.

“You ready to continue our adventures my prince? Saving me from the evil Dark Knight who kidnapped me to his castle?” Lucia asked with excitement.

Weland let out a soft smile. “Of course my dear princess! Remember I told you that I was trained to be a brave paladin back in my old homeland? No scallywag shall hold my dear princess captive any longer. Let us continue the adventure, but where is my sword?” He playfully asked to which Lucia replied.

“Right here brave knight.” She tossed the toy wood sword to Weland which he caught.

“Ok then, let the battle between me the Hero and the Dark Knight commence!” Weland playfully declared as they both continued their roleplay.

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I don't see what this has to do with traditional games.

Have you ever DM'd a game? A good grasp of storytelling and narrative structure is essential for things like D&D. Let alone if you're making an entirely new setting. For that matter, if you're a player writing a backstory for your character it's also good to be able to string a sentence together. And obviously if you're actually creating a new board/roleplaying game you need to be able to write the fluff for it as well as come up with the rules.

Also, since when did Veeky Forums ever stick to the topic?

Gonna be totally honest, I was just writing down the first thing that popped into my head when I saw the picture.

I'm assuming you're looking for narrative feedback since you put this in a storythread, Working on that assumption, I'd say it's an interesting glimpse into a story I'd like to read. One bit of criticism, though - from the bits in the lower left-hand corner, that's some kind of being, right? Well, until I saw that (maybe) previous version, I thought that was a head on a pedestal. You might want to give the figure in the door slightly broader...shoulders? I love the silhouette, but you may want to make it clearer that's a person...thing? Regardless, good work; make it better.

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