Colonel Varges,
I regret to inform you that we have failed to breach the gateway. It is barred with runes older than you or I, probably older than our fathers, and our grandfathers fathers.
We need more men. The dead are becoming... restless. We lost a whole squad to the construct guarding the anteroom. We have converted much of the space to accomodate the burials.
The construct has since gone quiet, it seems to understand our inability to breach the portal. The men call it "The Cog".
We may require the aid of a demolisions expert, I entreat you to look to the services of the engineering core to source acceptable personel.
Yours in good
Hunger.
It eats us all.
Growing up in the mean streets of the city of rivers, Duvito quickly learned just how hungry a person of limited stature could get. Stealing wasn't a crime. It was a necessity. With no parents, no silver, and no future, he wasn't the only orphan on the streets.
But he was the smallest.
Non humans, fey folk... whatever you got called, you were an outcast. The odd elf, a few dwarves? Sure. But gnomes were not a common sight. Being a street urchin was bad enough, but at least the others could beg. At least people sympathised.
It wasn't like that with him. He was different.
However, being small has its advantages to
"Look mate, we can't let this drop. You caused quite a ruckus in there and we can't just let you go scot free."The gnome elbowes the fighter in the knee and tosses a few silver pieces to the guards. "My associate and I apologise. We'll be out of your hair from now on." The guard nods cynically and gestures for his comrades to let the unlikely pair pass. The other adventurers look on from the gate as the fighter and his gnomish companion stumble unsteadily back along the kings road, towards the woods. The Gnome pokes the fighter, who gives the gnome a sharp kick up the arse in return. They both laugh, and the others look on before they disappe
Manor houses, Temples and Flower girls by soragaki, literature
Literature
Manor houses, Temples and Flower girls
"Look mate, we can't let this drop. You caused quite a ruckus in there and we can't just let you go scot free."
The gnome elbowes the fighter in the knee and tosses a few silver pieces to the guards. "My associate and I apologise. We'll be out of your hair from now on."
The guard nods cynically and gestures for his comrades to let the unlikely pair pass. The other adventurers look on from the gate as the fighter and his gnomish companion stumble unsteadily back along the kings road, towards the woods. The Gnome pokes the fighter, who gives the gnome a sharp kick up the arse in return. They both laugh, and the others look on before they disa
The rogue darts noiselessly from archway to archway, enclave to shadowy enclave as he makes his way up the moonlit roads. Not that his finely tuned senses need the moonlight; in the dimly lit backstreets, it may as well be broad daylight.
Two pinpricks of light dazzle out of the black, and begin to grow to faint orbs. Headlamps.
The carriage barrels along the road like a bat from the depths.
Sehenine be praised for stupid merchants and well oiled locks.
The rogue steps swiftly from the shadows into the road, and the path of the oncoming charriot.
Sword in hand, he stares down the oncoming engine of muscle and hoof, oak and iron.
The bea
The bard tunes his guitar and strikes a chord. With a low fizzing hum the magic flows from the pear-wood instrument and begins to slowly fill the room.
Mellow-Dee.
The notes flit across the room, and light on the shoulder of one of the drinkers, which then knocks over his neighbors beverage.
His neighbor looks at him in bemusement, and says "the next round's on you mate".
Something about the tone of the music changes and the drinker says "fat chance".
This should have ended the matter.
"piss off, buy me a drink mate".
"you piss off into your cup, "mate".
The pair push back their stools and launch themselves at one another.
The high,
As the band of adventurers continue along the winding dirt road, the cleric begins talking about her life before her mission. She speaks of her abandonment, her home at the church, and then she begins to talk more recently, about her interests and motives for coming to the kings road. The rogue is busy eyeing up the coin purse hidden in the rangers cloak, but his ears perk up when he hears a snippet of the conversation.
"In several of the tomes I have studied there are accounts of a death cult moving through these foothills... but to where I'm not sure. The details were scarce at best, but I'm determined to root out this evil and exorcize it
The gnome awakes with a start as the cart goes over a bump in road. He looks around him at the band of travelers. A mixed bunch to be sure. Directly to his left, a hooded figure sits staring straight ahead at the passing scenery. She is quiet, stoic, yet lithe and deathly pale. The gnome shudders, and rubs his eyes. Directly opposite him is a scruffy looking fighter, who seems to have had more than a few nights sleeping rough. His stubble indicates that he has not shaved or bathed in at least... in a long while. However, the state of his Armour and the way he holds himself bespeaks more than his personal hygiene. He is a born warrior. His val
Duvito Lightfoot is a small time pick pocket from one of the various syndicates and thieves guilds that scatter the world's larger cities and towns, known as the hidden hand. With a series of misdemeanours and minor felonies against his name in most places where the law holds sway, he is a wanted gnome with a price on his head.
Were he to be captured he would likely be stripped of all his worldly possessions and thrown into a damp dungeon to rot.
Most people would quit. However, this is not an option for Vito. He is afflicted with the most diabolical case of kleptomania that has been visited on any gnome throughout the entire span of histor