When the door opens - Storytime Part 3

*click*

Falken smiled, the door opened, and a massive wooden log shaped as a battering ram swung down straight into Falken’chest.

The kid flew back and hit the wall with a loud crack and hit the floor with a sickening thud. He felt his ribs shifting in places they shouldn’t, his lungs heaving and hurting with every single breath. The all too familiar taste of copper started sliding through his teeth after a painful cough showed him his own blood, now spattered on the floor.

Falken tried to get up, but the pain was too much. Lying face down in a pool of his own blood was not new to him. The streets of Waterdeep were ruthless and unforgiving if you didn’t know how to take care of yourself. Thugs, guards, people bigger and stronger than you in general, always found a way to remind you of your place. More often than not, your place was between the sole of their boot and the ground. He had learned to avoid these situations, to sneak away from people bigger than him, usually taking something of theirs with him as well.

This time he had messed up. He ran through all the reasons why the trap, the annoyingly simple trap, had sprung; however, as much as he thought about it, he couldn’t change the fact the trap had sprung, and now he was losing blood, fast.

His arms and legs were responding but the pain in his chest was too much to get up and move, so he started crawling towards the corridor’s wall, scraping across the stone floor. With some effort he sat upright against the wall and looked left and right, trying to weigh his options. His friends were still waiting for him downstairs, he could try and crawl his way down the stairs, it was just 4 stories down until he reached the Rookery. He wasn’t sure he would not kill himself going down those stairs, but it was the best chance at he had.

That’s when he heard footsteps.

For a second he thought there was only one set of footsteps, then he heard two, three, a whole group of people were getting up from their barracks and clattering around, probably alerted by the loud sound of the battering ram that had hit him. The trap was probably rigged to sound off some sort of alarm in a separate room in the tower as well.

Falken closed his eyes and held in a painful groan. That was it… the trap was made to seem simple so whoever looked at it would think it was easy enough to disarm, when in fact the trap was a more complex mechanism, made to disable whoever was picking the lock and to alert any nearby guards. Now he could barely move, was bleeding internally and externally, and would be a very easy mark to track down.

“If I wasn’t sturdy enough I could be a very nice wall decoration by now”

Falken closed his eyes, let out a small painful chuckle, coughed up some more blood and tilted his head back against the wall. He clutched one of the daggers he was using to pick the lock, held it against his chest and gritted his teeth. If this was it… he might as well go down fighting.

The footsteps got closer, Falken tightened his grip on the dagger and his breathing got faster. His eyesight was failing him now, he felt dizzy, and his eyes were getting foggy, everything looked white and just as suddenly as the battering ram hit him, he felt himself slip away into a cold sleep.

The fog surrounded Falken’s body and obscured the whole corridor, as Lauren entered and almost tripped over the boy’s body. She had heard the boy’s grunts as she was going up the stairs, but she also caught the sound of footsteps coming from above. Thinking fast she concentrated on the air’s moisture and added some of her own body’s water to it, creating a thick cold fog in the corridor where she presumed Falken would be. If the guards would come in she would at least have a few extra seconds to try and help the kid before they were spotted.

She had to fight her urge to audibly gasp when she finally saw Falken bloodied on the floor. She checked for a pulse and placed her cheek next to his mouth to see if he was breathing. After a second that seemed like an eternity she could feel the warm wisp of his breath on her face. Choking back her tears she placed her hand on his chest and spoke to the water spirits in the fog, and within herself to channel enough energy to bring the boy back from the brink of death. His bones started to realign themselves and the internal wounds slowly began to close. The loud footsteps startled her for a moment and broke her concentration. They were heavy, unusually thick and loud.

The Goliath stood behind her squinting through the fog

“Lauren? Is Damian with you?”

The Feathergale Spire - Stories from the campfire part 2

As they left Summit Hall on that morning Falken kept checking that every single one of his possessions was where it was supposed to be. Last time they had spent a night among unknown armed forces they ended up flying (or falling) down a deep canyon full of rocks.

“Hey kid, did you lose something?”

Falken turned to Damian and gave him a playful smile.

“No, but I believe you did.”

He showed Damian him one of his own daggers. It was actually the one the Sorcerer kept hidden most of the time. Damian gave a snort and a laugh while giving the boy an approving look.

“Well look at that. Last time someone took this dagger away from me, the one who did it had to sleep with me the night before and get me drunk as well… good job kid, keep those eyes sharp.”

Falken smiled and tossed the dagger over to Damian. He remembered that night well. He had lowered his guard just as much as the tiefling had… and would come to regret it as much as every one of them.

~ *** ~

The Feathergale Spire was a white tower that went up for what it seemed to be miles and miles up into the sky, as if signifying the desire of the cultists that inhabited it to reach the heavens and attain some sort of enlightenment from a higher power.

To Damian it was just very pretentious architecture.

The last time they had been here they came asking for information on the missing Mirabar caravan, and shared their stories with the cultists. They took them in, shared bread and salt with them, invited them to partake in a glorious Manticore hunt where they fought alongside them and brought down two of the beasts, and then they continued to celebrate their deeds for the rest of that night.

Then on the morning of the next day, they woke up, their hands tied, taken hostage by the very people they feasted with, and in Damian’s case, shared a bed with, the night before. Thulls, the captain of the “Sky Knights” as these cultists called themselves, informed them that they would be offered as a tribute to the Spirit of air. Helmdorn challenged Thulls to a sword fight to the death in exchange for their freedom and their equipment. Thulls simply laughed, and then had his henchmen throw them off the top of the Spire.

To Helmdorn they were pretentious pricks with no honor whatsoever.

A group of friendly Aaracockras had picked them up as they fell, bringing them to a safe place. That was when they realized their friend Draupnir had injured his neck when they caught him mid-air, and was now in a catatonic state. After much deliberation, the group of adventurers had to take the decision to… end his life themselves, and give him a proper burial instead of leaving him out there for the wild beasts to take him.

Shieldbuster now saw them as the ones who forced him to kill his friend. Pretentious murdering pricks who would taste death at the end of his blade.

A few nights later they had come back to the spire under the cover of night to recover their equipment and exact vengeance on these fools, or at least make sure they rued the day their paths crossed. As of now they had managed to climb up to the level where the cultists kept their flying mounts’ roost. The air cultists had a great deal of Flying creatures which they had domesticated in order to serve them as mounts, most of them being griffons, large magical  beasts with the head and wings of an eagle and the body of a lion, and giant  vultures way larger than those you would encounter out in the wild. They managed to get in and have Lauren befriend one of the giant vultures with her druidic arts. The easy part was over. From now on, stealth was going to be absolutely necessary. So Falken was sent ahead to scout the floor where the cultists’ armory was located. Lauren, Shieldbuster, Helmdorn and Damian stayed behind.

As time passed, the minutes turned into hours, and Falken was still out there.

“That’s it, we need to go help him! –Lauren said- What if he got captured?”

“Hush!! Lower you voice, I’m trying to think of something here…”

“Well Damian you can think all you want… I’m going after him”

The druid got up, left the Vulture’s roost and went down the stairs to go after the kid. Lauren had taken a liking to this kid, and had become very protective of him ever since they started to travel together, and she was not going to let him die at the hands of some pretentious murdering fools who thought they could command the forces of nature by killing innocents and offering them to some spirit in the sky, or some such nonsense. Nature was all about balance, and this construction... this temple was just another slight against nature that put everything out of balance. She would not stand for it... her very skin crawled every time she saw depictions of the sacrificial rituals on the halls of the Spire, and she shuddered as she thought about what they would do to the boy once... or if they found him.

“Those two are going to be the death of us…Shieldbuster, I’m going up to see what I can find, you stay here with Helmdorn and work on an escape plan”

Helmdorn and Shieldbuster looked back at Damian with a pair of puzzled looks and said exactly what they were thinking at the same time.

“Escape Plan?”

They were pretty high up and the chances of navigating through the spire were minimal, so coming up with an escape plan in these conditions was a daunting task to say the least.

“Look, just try to find out a way to get us out of here ok? I need to go down there and make sure they don’t wake the guards”

And with that, Damian left. Hoping that this visit to the Feathergale Spire would end up significantly less disastrous than their last.

On a floor right below the vulture’s roost, Falken had managed to slip past a couple of sleepy guards and into a room that seemed to be the cultist’s armory. Several suits of armor hung on some wooden busts, and an array of martial and simple weapons had been collected into a couple of barrels to the left and right of the room. If his eyes did not deceive him, and they usually didn’t, their equipment should be stashed away from the cultist’s regular equipment… now there was only one thing keeping him from his goal.

A simple lock, with a simple trap.

Back in Waterdeep he used to pick locks like this at least once a week. He wasn’t trespassing, he just removed obstacles from his way in order to survive. Survival usually meant “appropriating” food that he could not afford for himself. Merchants never really appreciated the way he spirited away their goods so the locks on their warehouses got more and more complex. Other street kids that did not have his skills were a lot less fortunate than him, so he always tried to help them out whenever he could, but if he needed it more than someone else, then it was his for the taking. The kid was talented like few, had a keen eye for detail, nimble hands and was quick on his feet. However, picking a lock without sounding off the alarm, moving in, taking the goods, then exiting and leaving the door with no trace of having picked the lock… THAT, was something you learned.

And His teacher taught him well

This one was a simple one though, a simple lock with a simple trap that would activate through a spring mechanism built into the lock. If you did not have they key and tried to open the lock, the trap would trigger and bad things would happen. This, of course, meant nothing for someone with Falken’s skills. He just needed to put in the pin and hook from his tool kit and twist a bit until the lock opened, all while keeping the spring mechanism from going off.

That is, if he HAD his tool kit with him. Right now his tool kit was somewhere behind this very door, and he was using two daggers to open the lock. A simple lock. With a simple trap.

*click*

Pintas y Dados - El podcast

Una de las cosas más gratificantes de ser un Dungeon Master es ver como toda la preparación previa al juego resulta en una historia divertida y asombrosa a la hora de jugar. El proceso que cada DM sigue para prepararse y escribir la historia antes de contarla difiere de DM a DM. A algunos nos gusta improvisar, a otros nos gusta planear todos y cada uno de los puntos de la historia, otros lo planean pero dejan que la decisión dependa de una tirada de dados… En fin, todos tenemos nuestro “librito” que seguimos a la hora de correr nuestros juegos.

Por otro lado, una de las cosas más gratificantes de ser un jugador de DnD, es que tu Dungeon Master no te mate.

HAH!!

Pero no hay nada mejor que encontrarse con tus amigos luego de un juego y hablar sobre lo cool que fue el juego, o las diferentes formas en las que podemos correr otro juego la próxima vez que nos toque ser DM.

Con esto en mente, dos amigos y yo nos pusimos de acuerdo para crear “Pintas y Dados”.

Pintas y dados, el podcast, es básicamente una ventana en la que Fernando, Moisés y yo les hablaremos sobre varios aspectos de nuestro hobby favorito: Los juegos de Rol. Hablaremos de Dungeons & Dragons, Pathfinder, Fate, Numenera, Legend of the 5 rings, y muchos otros sistemas de juego, mientras comentamos sobre los monstruos, las reglas, las historias y las ideas que pasan por nuestras mentes a la hora de preparar una sesión de juego. Todo esto mientras nos tomamos una que otra pinta :) .

Además de esto, con la ayuda de nuestro grupo de amigos, grabamos varios juegos de rol que presentaremos como una historia en episodios. Así como cuando nuestros padres escuchaban radionovelas? bueno, así mismo solo que con nerdos, dados, sin guiones, y un humor mucho más cuestionable.

El día de mañana (29 de Junio) presentaremos nuestro primer episodio, gracias a nuestros amigos de Patacoins, ustedes, mis muy estimados lectores, podrán encontrar el podcast en el sitio de patacoinstv.com y así también en iTunes y cualquier aplicación de podcasts en Android (yo uso Podcast Republic, es gratis, soy pobre)

También si tienen alguna pregunta, o algún tema que les gustaría que comentemos en el podcast nos pueden escribir a pintasydados@gmail.com, o encontrarnos en twitter como @Pintas_y_Dados y en Instagram como pintasydados. En un futuro grabaremos un capítulo con sus preguntas y comentarios, asi que envíennos todas las ideas que quieran escuchar en el podcast!

Estamos muy entusiasmados con este proyecto y esperamos que les guste lo que tenemos preparado para ustedes.

Cheers!

Julio

Stories from the Campfire - part 1

This is a true story, much like every other story about something that is perceived in a moment in time.

This is a story about how one of my friends died…

****

As the water priest and the shape-shifter fled the scene, Damian rushed to the clearing on the river bank and knelt by the druid’s side… The tiefling was the first to reach her, while the Goliath and the small boy followed him shortly after.

She had no pulse, her breathing had stopped, and her once flowing hair was now slowly dissolving into the ground beneath her.

****

“We are in need of strong arms to plow the fields and water the crops, as I mentioned before you may stay here in Summit Hall, but only after you’ve paid for your room and meal with hard work…” – The elderly lady clad in full plate armor looked sternly at the group of adventurers, making it absolutely clear that she would not give any of the foul smelling, ill equipped, strange looking adventurers in front of her one single piece of bread that they did not earn with the sweat of their brows.

In front of her stood a very peculiar-looking group of adventurers. At the front stood a dark blue skinned pale-eyed tiefling, a demon-born as evidenced by the horns that grew from his forehead towards the back of his head through the bone-white hair he had inherited from his mother. The tail that he kept wrapped around his waist was also a dead giveaway for those who had a keen eye for details. Damian was used to the strange looks of of, well... pretty much everyone else but his close friends. However, unlike most other tieflings he did not shy away from the looks of others; in fact, he loved being the center of attention, and enjoyed wearing very colorful clothes, as was the fashion of the people he grew up with, the Gur of the sword coast. 

To his right stood Shieldbuster, a Goliath both in race and stature. His body looked as if it had been carved right out of a mountainside, and wore several markings of his tribe upon his face and body. Although most of his kind had a cold demeanor towards pretty much everyone else, this Goliath had somehow managed to acquire a warm look of amiability after his travels along the sword coast. Shieldbuster was clad in the armor of the last orc he had slain in combat, a dark steel breastplate that covered most of his body, yet his pale skin also showed the scars of previous battles. One would not immediately guess it, but he was also a merchant, and was used to being among regular folk most of the time. 

The knight Helmdorn stood to the back of the group. He was clad in full plate armor, bearing the markings of Helm, the God of Guardians, protection and protectors. He was silent, stoic, and ever vigilant. He carried a large sword strapped to his back, which showed signs of use. He had removed his helmet as he entered Summit Hall, revealing a blond head of hair, a sun-baked skin, and the evidence of elven heritage in his factions. Not quite a human and not quite an elf either. He was robust and strong for an elf, but not quite as tall and thick as a human would look. Although at rest, he kept a watchful eye around their group, his grey eyes surveying their surroundings.

To Damian's left was Lauren. The druid's glistening turquoise skin always looked like she had just walked out of a lake. She had deep dark blueblack eyes, her hair flowed as if it was perpetually underwater and had a voice that sounded as if she was talking through a seashell. She was a water Genasi, a child born touched by a water spirit. In a completely different group she might have stood out; however, she was traveling with a tiefling, a Goliath, a half elf, and a kid who was too young to know and do the things he did. She had taken a liking to this kid, and treated him as if he was part of her family

The kid, Falken, looked like just that... a kid. A 14 year-old child that seemed to hang out with a crew of people who took care of him. This, was very far from the actual reality. Falken was a very lively kid, with very dark jet black hair and the bluest eyes you had ever seen in your life. He wore leather armor that was fitted to his small complexion, on top of regular clothes and a red bandana that he kept tied around his neck. After a few moments anyone could see that this kid was up to no good. His eyes never stayed fixed in one place, although contrary to Helmdorn, his eyes were not vigilant, his eyes were eager. 

Damian looked at the old lady, then back at the group, then with a sly smirk he replied gesturing towards the water genasi “You need someone to water the field and crops? Say no more, Lauren why don’t you go roll down the hills? You should be done in mere minutes”

After a short awkward moment of silence, Shieldbuster and Falken started snickering behind Lauren’s back while she gave the Sorcerer an unamused look. Helmdorn just kind of stood there, trying to keep his composure in front of lady Oriana.

“You are as lively as ever Damian… - Lauren said in the most dull tone of voice she could possibly make, she then turned to the lady captain of the Knights – We will be more than glad to work for the right to share a roof with the Knights of Samular ma’am. You need but show us the way.”

Lady Oriana gave them a disdainful look, and ordered them to present themselves before the farmers that were working the land outside of Summit Hall, except for Damian, who was instructed to go to the Hall’s library and act as a scribe and help the scholars to transcribe some old texts. The day passed and they all returned to the mess hall where the knights were to meet for supper. Bowls of hearty soup were passed around, along with slices of venison and lamb and rustic crusty bread. It was the best meal they had had in days and their appetites were quickly satisfied after a few courses of heavy soup. The sounds of loud chatter, along with the hustle and bustle of the cooks coming and going with the platters of food made the place look a lot more lively than it actually felt. 

They had arrived at Summit Hall after barely surviving a run in with a pair of Perytons out in the field. The first thing that came to their attention was that everyone in Summit Hall was carrying a weapon. Simple or martial, everyone had a weapon strapped to their belts. as the day went by and they talked to Captain Oriana, they realized this was because they had been attacked by bandits on several occasions in the last few weeks. Everyone was weary and on edge, so as soon as they entered the keep all they got were foul looks and nasty sounding whispers. As of now, everyone seemed to have gone back to their daily chores and was minding their own business and the food one their plates.

Lauren kept trying to keep the kid, Falken, from appropriating other people’s belongings, Shieldbuster started up a conversation with an old Halfling that was sitting on a table nearby, while Damian and Helmdorn remained at the table. Their group could be described as a motley band of mismatched members at best. Every one of them seemed to have their own reasons to be in the company of the others Shieldbuster’s company after a while, who seemed to be the glue that kept everyone together somehow.

The Goliath had been there when Falken tried to “borrow” some things from his caravan after offering to guide them around the city of Waterdeep, and also when Damian had stumbled onto his caravan while running away from the local guards after a little... misunderstanding with one of the local noblemen's daughters. Helmdorn had come to him as a hired sword, but seemed to be involved in a greater cause, and yet he felt like part of the group already.

And Lauren… Damian remembered that day when Lauren approached their group asking if she could join their company in order to look for a lost person who seemed to matter a great deal to her. Damian had tried to woo the druid into his bed, to no avail, and almost got murdered in the process. He used to laugh whenever he remembered the story… Now most of their relationship consisted of jokes and gags regarding their particular heritage, yet profound respect from Damian's side, due to the fact that Lauren had healed him back from the brink of death on more than one occasion.

They were currently looking for a lost caravan, carrying a Delegation of Diplomats from Mirabar who were by now likely dead or missing at least a few limbs. All investigations regarding the matter had been fruitless up until now.

“Damian!”  - Shieldbuster’s voice boomed over the noise in the mess hall – “Come here my friend!”

Damian stood up and walked slowly over to where the Goliath was standing.

“What is it big man?”

“I found this little old man, he likes to talk”

Shieldbuster was a merchant, yet he knew that in order to get the most information out of someone he could always rely on Damian. Who had a way with words and was a lot more calm than he was.

Damian’s pale white eyes looked behind Shieldbuster’s enormous figure and found an old Halfling sitting there, finishing his supper. The grey hairs on his head were a clear evidence of how many winters he had survived, and also gave a good idea of how many he had left. 

The Halfling kept rambling on and about how difficult life was in the Realms lately, with bandits raiding every homestead they could find, not to mention the appearance of so many fanatics around the area.

“Hmmm well you are a rare sight to behold sonny… you one of them Demon spawn?”

“Tieflings” Damian said with a courteous smile. The old man wasn’t the first or the last one to throw racial slurs at him so he paid it no mind.

“Ah yes, the spawn of Asmodeus… you know the people here aren’t too pleased to see your kind around, everyone’s an enemy these days… everyone…”

“Well yes, old man, but I assure you, my friends and I bear you and your friends no ill. We are actually on a very important mission regarding a caravan that left from Mirabar more than 5 tendays ago. It should have passed through Summit hall before heading for Waterdeep. Have you heard anything regarding any such”

“Mirabar?” – the old man gave him a puzzled look – “We haven’t seen anyone from Mirabar pass through here since last harvest, and that was quite a long time ago”

Another place where no one had ever seen or heard of the bloody caravan. To say that Damian was frustrated now would be a huge understatement. So far they had been attacked by Orcs, attacked by cultists, attacked by Griffons, Perytons, wights, wild animals and ANOTHER band of orcs that seemed to be led by some kind of Demon that had been a recurring sight in Damian’s nightmares ever since. But still no news of the missing caravan. All they had to show after that was a bunch of scars, traumatizing sights and a dead companion…

Draupnir was not your regular elf… He had a name that sounded like a Dwarf’s name, he behaved like a Barbarian from the North, and the last time he tried to guide them through the wilderness, they reached the place where he would eventually meet his end. He was part of their company, nevertheless, and his loss had affected them a lot more than they all let on. None of them had really talked about it since then, and Damian still had a hard time trying to reconcile the fact that Draupnir was still alive after the fall… but that was then and this was now.

The old man seemed to be trying to remember something, then he slapped his knee and touched his temple with his right index finger “Although I believe I did hear some of the young ones in the knight’s table talking about those bandits frequenting the roads to the north of here… And if a caravan did come from Mirabar then I believe your best shot at finding them is by following the north road out of Summit Hall.”

Damian smiled, and nodded courteously “Thanks old man, I guess we might as well give it a shot.”

Damian stood up and motioned for shieldbuster to walk with him. The Goliath left the Halfling behind and walked along.

“I’m not entirely sure if following the old man’s advice is a good idea but it’s the best clue we’ve been able to come upon since we started this whole thing… I’ll go to bed, inform the others that we leave tomorrow and please… tell Falken to put the Halfling’s purse back where it belongs”

“With or without the gold?”

  

Damian looked at his friend and smiled “I’ll leave that up to you, just don’t tell Helmdorn”