Back in the Saddle
Ah, the wind, the rain, the sun, the chafing between the thighs. Nothing like being back on a horse in the rough wilderness.
Aye, we've left the pyramid behind us in ruins, the ghosts of Thrullzon and Karavakos to wail on the wind, and the Rod of Ruin in ashes. I drank many a jolly libation to the passing of that foul thing, and when I was done burning it and drinking to its passing I vented my bladder liberally upon its cremated dust. Consider yourself ruined, Rod of Ruin. * Pfft *
See how I did that, using words to express my physical distaste? Hah! Next I'll be making smiling faces with punctuation. It will usher in the Revolution!
Anyhow, the past is behind us (obviously) and the future lies ahead (even more obviously), so let's get the hell on with it, I say.
We escorted the lovely Viralis back across the wilderness to her own forest, and when we got there she didn't even offer us tea! No wonder Thrullzon had such a bee in his bonnet about her. I presume he walked a lot further with her, and if she didn't even offer us tea, imagine what she wasn't giving him. Still, can you blame her?
But the past is gone, right? No point dwelling on the dead, or semi-dead, or something.
So when in the local area, what better to do than to start sampling the local cuisine? Not exactly a gourmandiser's destination, this place, which is ... wherever the hell this is. It's a bit rough keeping track of things just lately, but I'll get there once the alchohol flushes out of my system, which may, admittedly, take a fair while, because it would involve my having to stop with the regular drinking, but when you've had a thousand year-old demon possess your soul for several levels... urgh, I mean, months ... then you can criticise me for enjoying the fruits of freedom.
But I digress. Which is unusual for me, isn't it?
What was I saying?
Ah yes, the local cuisine. A touch bland, I think, the ale slightly insipid, but in good company and wotnot it was more than enjoyable. Worst thing was having to pop my seconds back on top of the stove while us heroes, being heroes as we are, had to rush off into the night to dispatch some villainous types.
Still, nice chance to flex the old magic muscles again. A lot has changed within me in my time in the glassy black, some of it I understand, some of it not. I think that being a Curser, as I was, and then being swallowed up by the most dire of curses, by a demon whose very name is a curse, has opened me wide to my own dark powers. I can do things now that I could not imagine doing before the ghost of Thrullzon took me over.
When we walked into that temple and saw a defenceless old man being set upon by a band of thuggish shadow elves, the old fires blazed bright again and poured out of me in strange new shapes. I skirted the fringes of the battle while first Harkill and then Vondal faced down the whirling dervishes, both spilling torrents of blood in a vain attempt to save the old man from the assassins. Even outnumbered, we soon walked through a sea of their dead and spat steel and fire after their fleeing backs. Alas, it was too little to save the priest, or to prevent the desecration of the temple.
This was not our fight. We do not know these people, or their foe, but I have a feeling that this will not be the last we will see of the shadow elves. That is how these things seem to be.
So we returned to our fireside, our warm food, cold beer, adoring women, yet our revels were subdued. And when the time came to sleep, I could not fall into that welcome black. The months imprisoned in Thrullzon's web were like a long waking nightmare, but I could always escape into the sanctuary of slumber. But tonight, the old nightmares are creeping back. There is a shadow on the firestones, and they spell my name.
I think I need a holiday.
Aye, we've left the pyramid behind us in ruins, the ghosts of Thrullzon and Karavakos to wail on the wind, and the Rod of Ruin in ashes. I drank many a jolly libation to the passing of that foul thing, and when I was done burning it and drinking to its passing I vented my bladder liberally upon its cremated dust. Consider yourself ruined, Rod of Ruin. * Pfft *
See how I did that, using words to express my physical distaste? Hah! Next I'll be making smiling faces with punctuation. It will usher in the Revolution!
Anyhow, the past is behind us (obviously) and the future lies ahead (even more obviously), so let's get the hell on with it, I say.
We escorted the lovely Viralis back across the wilderness to her own forest, and when we got there she didn't even offer us tea! No wonder Thrullzon had such a bee in his bonnet about her. I presume he walked a lot further with her, and if she didn't even offer us tea, imagine what she wasn't giving him. Still, can you blame her?
But the past is gone, right? No point dwelling on the dead, or semi-dead, or something.
So when in the local area, what better to do than to start sampling the local cuisine? Not exactly a gourmandiser's destination, this place, which is ... wherever the hell this is. It's a bit rough keeping track of things just lately, but I'll get there once the alchohol flushes out of my system, which may, admittedly, take a fair while, because it would involve my having to stop with the regular drinking, but when you've had a thousand year-old demon possess your soul for several levels... urgh, I mean, months ... then you can criticise me for enjoying the fruits of freedom.
But I digress. Which is unusual for me, isn't it?
What was I saying?
Ah yes, the local cuisine. A touch bland, I think, the ale slightly insipid, but in good company and wotnot it was more than enjoyable. Worst thing was having to pop my seconds back on top of the stove while us heroes, being heroes as we are, had to rush off into the night to dispatch some villainous types.
Still, nice chance to flex the old magic muscles again. A lot has changed within me in my time in the glassy black, some of it I understand, some of it not. I think that being a Curser, as I was, and then being swallowed up by the most dire of curses, by a demon whose very name is a curse, has opened me wide to my own dark powers. I can do things now that I could not imagine doing before the ghost of Thrullzon took me over.
When we walked into that temple and saw a defenceless old man being set upon by a band of thuggish shadow elves, the old fires blazed bright again and poured out of me in strange new shapes. I skirted the fringes of the battle while first Harkill and then Vondal faced down the whirling dervishes, both spilling torrents of blood in a vain attempt to save the old man from the assassins. Even outnumbered, we soon walked through a sea of their dead and spat steel and fire after their fleeing backs. Alas, it was too little to save the priest, or to prevent the desecration of the temple.
This was not our fight. We do not know these people, or their foe, but I have a feeling that this will not be the last we will see of the shadow elves. That is how these things seem to be.
So we returned to our fireside, our warm food, cold beer, adoring women, yet our revels were subdued. And when the time came to sleep, I could not fall into that welcome black. The months imprisoned in Thrullzon's web were like a long waking nightmare, but I could always escape into the sanctuary of slumber. But tonight, the old nightmares are creeping back. There is a shadow on the firestones, and they spell my name.
I think I need a holiday.