World of Weirdcraft V
A/N - Guess who got The Complete Chronicles of Conan for Christmas? Also 'Season of the Witch' comes out next week. Ron Perlman and Nic Cage with big swords fighting demonically-possessed zombie monks. What do you mean it's not awesome?
The Uruk-Hai Acquisition
Two roads lead to the Dark Keep. One winds out from the town gate, threads through the edges of the Sacred Forest, skirting abandoned temples and haunted tombs, dips through the treacherous swamps and then carves a savage path up through the barren rocky plateau. It is beset with danger, even before the adventurer dares to cross the moat and brave whatever doom lies beyond the great gateway.
The other road is a short, reasonably well-paved path up from the edge of town to the side door. The locals use it for deliveries.
The townsfolk take a cautious pride in their Dark Overlord. He doesn't really do much in the way of local oppression and terror. But it stands to reason, big dark tower like that, he has to be evil. And so the town does very well out of the small, steady stream of adventurers that pass through. They drink at the taverns, boast at the brothels, and spend well in the various shops that do a trade in weapons, potions and such items. Due to the fact that very few adventurers actually return down the road, credit is not generally offered.
Occasionally, some crazy trainee sorceress will make her way up to the gates and entreat Sheldor to take her on as an apprentice. Penelope threw the last one into the moat. She'll put up with the skeleton warriors, the witch in the cellars, even Shlaym, but mad-eyed redheads in purple drapery screeching at her that they worship her boyfriend as a demigod, just...no.
It has been a couple of weeks since Penelope arrived. There have been a few changes.
For one thing, the ancient stone throne, carved with runes of power, now has some little stripy cushions on it. (Sheldor had twitched when he first saw them, but he has to admit that they do make it more comfortable.)
There had been the day a party of dwarves had tunnelled into the deepest hidden caverns beneath the very foundations, and roused an ancient and brooding evil from slumber...
The Balrog had been terribly apologetic.
“I'm so sorry about the mess, but they came right up under my bed...”
Penelope was all sympathy.
“Well, I'm just the same if somebody wakes me unexpectedly, aren't I, Sheldor?”
“Indeed, dear.”
Tranquillity is delighted to have a fire-proof playmate at last. And it is always handy to have someone who can beat the dents out of armour with his bare fists around.
And, then, there were the orcs...
00000000
…Penelope is happily looting a ruined temple up in the mountains, when those responsible for ruining the temple in the first place come back.
One lone woman with an axe doesn't look like much of a challenge.
One orc rushes her, yelling fiercely and brandishing a jagged blade. He almost makes it, before a large reptilian claw swipes him into the dirt.
Enthusiasm for the fight abruptly wanes. Something about a couple of tons of flying fire-breathing reptile dropping out of the sky will do that. Penelope swaggers over to see what Tranquillity has caught.
The chieftain is ugly, even by orcish standards, piggy little eyes in a mass of scars and tribal tattoos. Snarls and spits at her boots.
“I would rather die than yield to a woman.”
Penelope shrugs.
“Fair enough.” It's a good, clean strike, just like her father taught her, a firm stance and a strong follow-through. Shakes her hair back, and scowls. “Anyone else?” She asks.
Behind her, Tranquillity bats the headless corpse around, worries at it.
“Don't play with your food, sweetie.” Penelope admonishes.
A gristly crunch, a burp, and the large snout swings round hopefully.
There is abrupt general grovelment.
00000000
“There's a bunch of orcs at the front gate.” Dranel pants.
“And?” Sheldor does not look up from his scroll.
“They've got Penelope...”
All it takes. Sheldor is already moving, wrapped in storm and angry lightning. If anybody has offered insult to her, he'll start by tearing their hearts from their still-living bodies and boiling their eyeballs in their sockets. Then, he'll get... creative.
But his barbarian is looking entirely too pleased with herself, slipping down off Tranquillity's neck, and swaggering towards him.
“They followed me home. Can I keep them?”
Sheldor looks out at the horde. The horde take one look back, and prudently fling themselves flat again.
“Well, really, I don't know...we're quite well-provided with skeleton warriors...”
“You have to keep wiring them back together, though.” Big eyes, and a little pout. “Please?”
He can never resist her when she does that.
“Oh, very well. But you'll be responsible for exercising them, young lady.”
“Yay!”
The party goes on long into the night, and many toasts are drunk to their new Queen. Penelope, snuggled up under Sheldor's chin, listens to the cheering, and grins.
“I got my own loyal horde. Go me!”
“Well, you are a beautiful and terrible warrior-queen with the power of life and death over them. Of course they are going to worship you.”
“What about you?” She asks.
Sheldor looks down at her.
“I think you are an annoying barbarian wench with no manners and an atrocious singing voice.”
Penelope unleashes her greatest and most terrible weapon. She opens her eyes very wide, and her lower lip trembles. Sheldor the Conqueror, mighty sorcerer and scourge of kingdoms, is utterly helpless, and he knows it. He sighs fondly.
“Yes, I adore you, too.”
The Uruk-Hai Acquisition
Two roads lead to the Dark Keep. One winds out from the town gate, threads through the edges of the Sacred Forest, skirting abandoned temples and haunted tombs, dips through the treacherous swamps and then carves a savage path up through the barren rocky plateau. It is beset with danger, even before the adventurer dares to cross the moat and brave whatever doom lies beyond the great gateway.
The other road is a short, reasonably well-paved path up from the edge of town to the side door. The locals use it for deliveries.
The townsfolk take a cautious pride in their Dark Overlord. He doesn't really do much in the way of local oppression and terror. But it stands to reason, big dark tower like that, he has to be evil. And so the town does very well out of the small, steady stream of adventurers that pass through. They drink at the taverns, boast at the brothels, and spend well in the various shops that do a trade in weapons, potions and such items. Due to the fact that very few adventurers actually return down the road, credit is not generally offered.
Occasionally, some crazy trainee sorceress will make her way up to the gates and entreat Sheldor to take her on as an apprentice. Penelope threw the last one into the moat. She'll put up with the skeleton warriors, the witch in the cellars, even Shlaym, but mad-eyed redheads in purple drapery screeching at her that they worship her boyfriend as a demigod, just...no.
It has been a couple of weeks since Penelope arrived. There have been a few changes.
For one thing, the ancient stone throne, carved with runes of power, now has some little stripy cushions on it. (Sheldor had twitched when he first saw them, but he has to admit that they do make it more comfortable.)
There had been the day a party of dwarves had tunnelled into the deepest hidden caverns beneath the very foundations, and roused an ancient and brooding evil from slumber...
The Balrog had been terribly apologetic.
“I'm so sorry about the mess, but they came right up under my bed...”
Penelope was all sympathy.
“Well, I'm just the same if somebody wakes me unexpectedly, aren't I, Sheldor?”
“Indeed, dear.”
Tranquillity is delighted to have a fire-proof playmate at last. And it is always handy to have someone who can beat the dents out of armour with his bare fists around.
And, then, there were the orcs...
00000000
…Penelope is happily looting a ruined temple up in the mountains, when those responsible for ruining the temple in the first place come back.
One lone woman with an axe doesn't look like much of a challenge.
One orc rushes her, yelling fiercely and brandishing a jagged blade. He almost makes it, before a large reptilian claw swipes him into the dirt.
Enthusiasm for the fight abruptly wanes. Something about a couple of tons of flying fire-breathing reptile dropping out of the sky will do that. Penelope swaggers over to see what Tranquillity has caught.
The chieftain is ugly, even by orcish standards, piggy little eyes in a mass of scars and tribal tattoos. Snarls and spits at her boots.
“I would rather die than yield to a woman.”
Penelope shrugs.
“Fair enough.” It's a good, clean strike, just like her father taught her, a firm stance and a strong follow-through. Shakes her hair back, and scowls. “Anyone else?” She asks.
Behind her, Tranquillity bats the headless corpse around, worries at it.
“Don't play with your food, sweetie.” Penelope admonishes.
A gristly crunch, a burp, and the large snout swings round hopefully.
There is abrupt general grovelment.
00000000
“There's a bunch of orcs at the front gate.” Dranel pants.
“And?” Sheldor does not look up from his scroll.
“They've got Penelope...”
All it takes. Sheldor is already moving, wrapped in storm and angry lightning. If anybody has offered insult to her, he'll start by tearing their hearts from their still-living bodies and boiling their eyeballs in their sockets. Then, he'll get... creative.
But his barbarian is looking entirely too pleased with herself, slipping down off Tranquillity's neck, and swaggering towards him.
“They followed me home. Can I keep them?”
Sheldor looks out at the horde. The horde take one look back, and prudently fling themselves flat again.
“Well, really, I don't know...we're quite well-provided with skeleton warriors...”
“You have to keep wiring them back together, though.” Big eyes, and a little pout. “Please?”
He can never resist her when she does that.
“Oh, very well. But you'll be responsible for exercising them, young lady.”
“Yay!”
The party goes on long into the night, and many toasts are drunk to their new Queen. Penelope, snuggled up under Sheldor's chin, listens to the cheering, and grins.
“I got my own loyal horde. Go me!”
“Well, you are a beautiful and terrible warrior-queen with the power of life and death over them. Of course they are going to worship you.”
“What about you?” She asks.
Sheldor looks down at her.
“I think you are an annoying barbarian wench with no manners and an atrocious singing voice.”
Penelope unleashes her greatest and most terrible weapon. She opens her eyes very wide, and her lower lip trembles. Sheldor the Conqueror, mighty sorcerer and scourge of kingdoms, is utterly helpless, and he knows it. He sighs fondly.
“Yes, I adore you, too.”