Since it's one of those dark and rainy fall-evenings (actually it's winter, but it feels like fall), and this thread is somewhat quiet - and maybe also a very tiny bit to prove that I can do other things beside annoy everyone with technical problems
- I've decided to tell you all a story. Gather close around the campfire, fill your cups one more time, and don't look behind you into the dark, for this is a story about a dark and malefic ghost, in a world far, far away, called Faerun...
Topigog cursed loudly when a particularly thick drop of water managed to find it's way from the trees above him through his collar, straight onto his shoulders. Great! Now he was even reduced to swearing like a common soldier. This endless "campaigning" was getting on his nerves.
It had been in the nice days of early summer when the summons had arrived at the Crystal Citadel - nice to take a walk in the gardens that is, not nice to march for hours under the sun. He was to join Ulm's main army as soon as possible, together with two of his colleagues, but only after creating a powerful magical item to increase his mental strength. A variety of reasons were given for this sudden order - magical reconnaissance and advice, support magic - which the crude magic of the so called 'master smiths' was equally capable of - even divining the best course of action through astrology. As if that was even possible without the extensive library on the subject he wasn't allowed to bring with him! It was too heavy they had told him. As if the soldiers armour wasn't heavy… It hadn’t taken long for him to figure out the true reason he was here… and that was the first time in his life he had understood the saying ‘ignorance is bliss’…
Ulm’s enemies, the goblin nation of Shinuyama, were commanded by an incredibly powerful ghost. A veritable king among ghosts, so powerful the gullible goblins even hailed him as a god. While he was not as stupid as to believe that, there was no denying his power: Three times already the ghost had suddenly appeared in front of one of Ulm’s proud armies, all by himself, and three times he had killed dozens of brave men and sent the rest of the army – with all of it’s commanders and magical support - running for the hills.
And the reason he was here – after months of marching through dusty, heat-parched steppes, cursing the sun every step of the way, and then marching even more weeks into fall and into the Fireshear Mountains, up one muddy slope and down the other, cursing the never-ending rain, and begging to see the sun for only a little while, in the company of uncouth soldiers and the completely uncivilised lion tribe auxiliaries – was to fight that Ghost when next he showed up. Somehow, he was supposed to attract this hideous creature’s attention – the mere thought of meeting the thing’s gaze made him shudder already – and engage him in a battle of wills, to distract him, disable him, and if possible kill him, while the foot soldiers around him made short work of the goblin rabble. Luckily his colleagues were there to lend him their strength, but even so… he’d rather march straight through fall and into winter without seeing a single ray of sun. And to say that as a kid he had dreamed of becoming a soldier…
Oh, how jealous he was of his brothers who had stayed behind at the Crystal Citadel, who’d now be enjoying a cup of hot tea in a comfortable chair, next to a huge fireplace, a library full of interesting reading close at hand.
At the exact same time Topigog was bemoaning his luck Wagiobath was sitting in his comfortable chair next to a huge fireplace, with some interesting books piled up around him. He had been trying to find a way to calculate the possible density of magical crystals in the earth at specific location related to the positions of the constellations at the time of the shaping of that fold of the world… without any luck so far, but in all honesty he hadn’t been trying too hard, instead enjoying the warmth of the fire, and the exquisite new and exotic taste of the substance before him. Chocolate it was called, and dissolved into a cup of hot milk with or without a dollop of honey it gave all the warmth and wellbeing of a cup of tea, but at the same time offered an amazing layer of tastes. Ulm’s new allies of Mictlan might be crude and uncivilised savages, but the fact they had introduced chocolate into Ulmish lands made up for a lot of shortcomings. *
He had finished up his chocolate (might he bother himself to call for a servant to bring him a second cup?) and was slowly dozing off when suddenly a large, armoured figure burst into the room, treading thick black mud upon the carpet. Before Wagiobath could even begin to formulate a protest the newcomer barked: “Urgent orders from the high command! You are to report to the building site in The Landrise immediately!”, while throwing a folder of official-looking documents onto the table.
A quick scan of the seal told him there would be no escaping this one: The orders did indeed come straight from the high command, and from looking at the date (only 5 days ago) the large messenger had probably ridden several horses to their deaths on his way to him. So reluctantly he opened the letter - and nearly fainted upon reading its contents. Only a few weeks ago a small probing force had attacked the hugely superior forces defending the strategically important border province of The Landrise. To make matters worse there wasn’t any enemy force in that area that could possibly have any use of the intelligence gathered by the reconnaissance force. So the only reasonable thing would be to expect an attack by the enemy Ghost-pretender, who had enough magical power to teleport himself to wherever he wanted. And so Wagiobath had to do the same: teleport to building site and face the Ghost’s vast mental power. Alone. As only with the help of a magical crystal coin could he and his colleagues amass enough magical power to teleport, and only one of those artefacts was currently available in the laboratory.
So after humiliating himself in front of a total stranger by being violently sick in a corner – the chocolate suddenly didn’t taste that good anymore – he went to the laboratory, hung the crystal coin around his neck, and chanted the complex magical formula required to travel long distances instantly. At his destination he found the camping site of a medium-sized army, strangely silent, since half of the army consisted of animated magical constructs. Not far off work could be seen progressing on the nearly finished Citadel that was being built at that location. If the Ghost didn’t attack soon the entire army could take refuge in that imposing building. So it was best to assume the attack would in fact come soon.
Which indeed it did. The very next morning Wagiobath was startled from his morning tea (No chocolate was to be found in this corner of the empire) by the bronze alarm calls from several trumpets. Quickly the disciplined men fell into ranks, mages went around to set the magical constructs into motion, archers nocked their bows and planted arrows into the soft mud in front of them. But despite the franatic activity all of them(except the constructs obviously) kept an eye on the frail, robed man who was supposed to be their saviour… and noticed he had turned a sickly shade of yellow.
As the ghost came slowly floating out of the woods ahead Wagiobath called upon the powers of the magical spheres to strengthen his mind for the ordeal ahead, and then – while the first arrows where fired in vain, and the infantry began their doomed assault upon the lone translucent figure – he made contact with the mind of the thing. The icy, bone numbing cold of the grave reached out to him, the dust of endless ages intruded on his mind, and through it all he could faintly sense the mind's amusement at the valiant attempts of the army to attack him, and then also its disdain for him, the mere mortal who’d attempt to grapple with the mind of eternity. The disdain roused Wagiobath’s anger, and he called upon reserves of strength he did not know he possessed, the will to live and survive, drawn from the depths of his living soul the undead abomination could no longer understand. For an eternity the battle of wills raged – an eternity or a heartbeat – an eternity in which he was aware of every fibre in his body, in which he drew from every fibre in his body. An eternity in which he felt triumph and elation as the Ghost started to realise he could not submit the will to live of the mortal before him. Could not even resist the energies of life fuelling the mortal’s assault on the strands of will holding together its ghostly form.
And then the eternity ended, and Wagiobath could vaguely hear the cheering of all the other life forms close to him, before he succumbed to unconsciousness.
* In no way do the personal opinions of the characters in this story reflect my own valuation of my esteemed ally.
Re: Faerun MA PBEM (mail pretenders)
)
Linear Mode
