Pensive and Verul Benardi, Arrows at the Perimeter
Subject: Re: Two wizards outside of town
That make me laugh out loud last night.
Chris asked me what's so funny. Normally I've just answered "Oh it's that D&D game I'm playing" but that line at that time tickled me so much I had to start from the beginning.
"I play this wizard who was taking a holiday to visit his aunt and uncle in Overlook . . .
From: Karl
Subject: Re: Kasen at the farm
Farron is rather desperate to put some distance between himself and the city, but he will acquiesce to Kasen's feelings on when it would be good to camp.
From: Scott
Subject: Pensive and Verul Benardi
OOC: Started writing this yesterday before the black magic turn went out-- didn't want to waste it, so . . .
"You're the priest's boy."
Pensive turns to the gruff voice. It isn't a friendly voice-- the speaker is a tall man, with broad shoulders and a bulbous nose. His hands are an unnatural color-- Pensive recognizes the mottled, discolored skin as the mark of a dyer. Huge hands. "I help Sergeant Osred, yes," Pensive says.
"I am Verul Benardi. I understand that my son. . . struck you this evening."
Pensive says nothing, but stares at Verul.
Verul clears his throat. "I have come to apologize for my son." And with that, he thrusts two silvers toward Pensive. "There. That should cover any embarassment you suffered, boy."
Pensive does not take the money. Verul gestures impatiently at him, holding the coins at the end of his fingers. "Come on, now, boy, I'm not angry here, I'm apologizing. I'm not going to hit you, take the money."
"Where is Yancy?" Pensive asks.
"What?"
"Where is your son's apology? You were not the one fighting."
Verul Benardi's face twitches-- Pensive recognizes the twitch, having seen it on Yancy's face. "Listen, son, you don't mind about that. You just take this money, and have done with it, all right? Yancy isn't going to bother you again, I swear. Here, now, take this for your embarassment."
He pushes the coins toward Pensive again, touching them to the front of Pensive's vest. Pensive guides his hand away. "You cannot purchase your son's shame, Verul Benardi. Let him buy it himself."
Verul shakes his head, gives a nervous little laugh. "What's the matter with you, boy? This is _silver_, real silver! You could buy yourself. . . well, all kinds of things, once we get to Kantuck! Take the money, and take my apology."
"No. Neither hold value for me." It is a cruel thing to say-- how long has Verul been buying out his son's victims? Had he offered the same to Bastorien?
Verul draws in a deep breath, and his voice goes quiet and cold. "You want to hold this over our heads, then, boy. You want to shame my whole family. Make a laughingstock of the Benardi's, is that it? So you can feel righteous, and get a little pat on the head from your Lord Priest. Tell everyone what a bunch of brutes we are, hmm?"
Pensive lets the words hang in the air between them.
"Take the damn coins!" Verul hisses. "Take them!"
And Pensive reaches out. Not to take the coins, but to grip Verul's hands, and fold them over the money. It happens so quickly, the dyer doesn't have the chance to resist. "You have lived too long with the illusion that your money will buy your son respectability. Why are his hands not dyed, Verul? A son should know his father's trade."
Verul jerks back from Pensive's touch. "Don't-- don't you tell me how to raise my son."
Pensive watches him.
A log, suddenly descending deeper into the fire, casts a red light over both of them-- and Verul's face turns from defensiveness to hard rage. "You miserable little elf," he says. "You skyte. You filthy, stinking skyte."
Pensive feels his stomach twist and knot, and grimaces. But he stays silent.
"Priest's boy, indeed," Verul says, quietly, intensely. "Parading around our town like you owned it, were you? Skyte." His face twitches again. "You, shaming my family. I should. . . I should. . . hurt you." Verul licks his lips, and cocks his head to the side like he is listening to some far away song. "I should. . . devour you. I'll devour you, little boy, I'll strip you out of the Stone, I'll find you by darkness on the Path, and I'll eat you, I'll rape you, I'll gorge myself on your blood, and I'll find your little baby king, and I'll bury my muzzle into his guts, and I'll make his whimpers sing in your ears, and his father's ears as I chew you all slowly, and rip you, and mash you, and you will all sink forever in the scarlet light of my maw. . ."
Pensive hands are trembling, but he makes no move. "Blood and Stone will abide," he says.
Verul snaps his head upright. His voice is clear as he says, "Skyte. You'll not get my money. Spread your lies as you will. Others have tried. Others have met. . . ill fates."
And he turns and walks away.
Pensive rolls his shoulders. Blood and Stone will abide.
From: Scott
Subject: Re: The Exodus; black magic
The night is a confusion of screaming and rushing bodies. Pensive keeps behind Osred, closely, so that the priest's bulk diverts the crowd's press. In the lee of the stone, as it were, Pensive thinks. Apt, and comforting. He draws an arrow, and nocks it on his bowstring. The stonesash is coiled loosely around his shoulder
"The witch!" he hears Rennick mutter.
Pensive peeks his head out from behind Osred to see the black tentacles-- the demon's tentacles. Why had she attacked here, in the middle of the camp? Why not where the soldiers were resting? Pensive frowns. How many of these nests of tentacles could the witch conjure up?
Pensive steps out from behind Osred, moves a little bit away from him. A crying mother, holding a child far too large to be carried, runs past him. Chaos. He checks the edge of the camp, and finds that there _is_ no discernible edge, at least not from his vantage point. People scattering everywhere.
And they were sitting here, watching the tentacles batter bodies on the ground-- they were the only ones not moving among 1000 fleeing bodies.
"Spread out!" Pensive urges, and keeps his eyes on the sky. He moves toward a patch of shadow.
OOC: I don't know what you spells you have memorized, Jake, but some air support in the form of a ticked off hippogriff might be nice. . .
From: Mike
Subject: Re: The Exodus; black magic
Garyth's sleep-fogged mind struggles for a moment to comprehend what he sees. It almost seems that he still dreams. But no, he's seen this before, in the jungle. The sight of the flailing tentacles and the memory of the icy bite of an elven blade makes him shudder involuntarily.
From beside him, he hears Rennik's voice. "The witch!" Yes, of course. His mind works feverishly. If the witch were here, the rest may not be far--this may be a diversion to occupy the guards while the undead army falls on a defenseless camp. That must not happen. As horrifying as these... these *things* are, they pose little threat to anyone outside their range. "To arms! To arms!" he cries. He scans about quickly, spotting a nearby guardsman. Grabbing the soldier by the arm, he barks out orders. "Find Bragga and tell him to prepare the sentries for an assault. Go!"
Unlimbering his bow and nocking an arrow, he turns his head to shout orders to the Falcons. "Bows at the ready! Fan out, and stay clear of the tentacles!" He scans the starless sky, searching for the witch.
From: Mark
Subject: Melani
OOC: In honor of the 1-1/2 webcast where a customer basically wants us to do all their customer service for no charge, in a market where all of our margin has shrunk to nothing, Melani is going to change to CE and sell out the humans to the evil god.
Mark
From: Karl
Subject: Re: Pensive and Verul Benardi
Scott, if you ever run a PBEM game I want in.
From: Mark
Subject: Re: Pensive and Verul Benardi
Me to.
I am almost having withdrawl today after the past two days.
Mark
From: Jake
Subject: Re: Pensive and Verul Benardi
That was fantastic Scott. Great stuff!
From: Jake
Subject: Re: Pensive and Verul Benardi
Me too. And if I ever get my game off the ground and you are interested in playing, you've got a free pass--I'll find a way to work you into the game.
From: Jake
Subject: Re: The Exodus; black magic
> OOC: I don't know what you spells you have memorized, Jake, but some
> air support in the form of a ticked off hippogriff might be nice. . .
:) Just what I was thinking, and luckily Osred happens to have that spell memorized. His spell arsenal is pretty close to being tapped out, but Summon Monster III is one that he's still got prepared. I'll be waiting until he spots the witch to cast it though.
From: Ty
Subject: Black Magic
[I am kind of worried about Matt. Haven't heard from him in any form in a long time. I will be remote controlling Rennik until I can figure out if Matt's ok and around]
Garyth and Pensive scan the pitch black skies for a moment, then stop and look at each other at almost the same moment. With the low burning fires on the ground around them, and the thick cloud cover, it would be impossible to see anything more than ten feet in the air.
Pensive opens his mouth to say something, when there is a rapid hissing sound and new screams coming from eastern edge of the camp. Rennik yells, "Arrow shots!" It clicks in Garyth's head. The hissing sound is a barrage of arrows coming in from a high arch. He grabs the two nearest guardsmen and says, "Cut those tentacles down. Save anyone who is still alive."
He leads the rest of his band over to the edge of the camp where the arrows are hitting. He can see several wounded citizens, some severely. Even as he moves to get to the edge of the camp, the hissing sound comes again, and arrows begin raining down. They do not appear to be aimed, but rather just shot in a long arch into the camp. Many of them go harmlessly into ground, but a few hit, and more screaming and running begins. As he watches, a late arrow strikes on young woman on the back of the head, and she slides silently to the ground, oddly graceful in death.
Garyth is just getting ready to order his men to charge in the direction of the barrage, when a second barrage hits several hundred yards away, and from a different direction. It's all happening to fast. How many are out there? Garyth feels a rough hand yank his arm. He looks down, and Rennik scowls up at him. "This is how I would attack us, if I had small numbers of my people to use. Attack the center to drive the masses out in a panic, then raid the edges with arrow fire to keep my numbers and position hidden. Those fleeing the middle and those fleeing the edges will meet in chaos in between. You'll lose more in the crush of bodies than the arrows will take."
Behind Rennik, Vincy nods. "And if we chase off into the dark after them, they can just keep dodging around our perimeter and firing into the crowd. We don't have the numbers to cover all directions."
From behind, Osred's deep voice asks Garyth, "What do we do, Captain?"
From: Jake
Subject: Re: Black Magic
Osred unlimbers his his shield and holds it ready, his arm crooked to catch any arrows that find their way to him. If he is aware of the shaft that seems to sprout from its surface moments later he gives no sign. "I've gotten soft," he thinks angrily to himself, ignoring the thrumming vibration in his shield arm. "The Lord gave me a gift that could have stopped these arrows, blown them to hell and back, and I wasted it, sacrificed it not more than three hours ago. Hell. I traded one little boy for how many? Should have left him there under the wagon's wheel before I let this happen."