Cut Scenes.   Posted by The Raconteur.Group: 0
The Raconteur
 GM, 9 posts
 Teller of Tales
 Writer of Wrongs
Thu 22 Aug 2013
at 18:55
Cut Scenes
This is the thread for scenes occurring outside the characters' presence but which add to the story for the players.
The Raconteur
 GM, 13 posts
 Teller of Tales
 Writer of Wrongs
Tue 27 Aug 2013
at 06:52
Villainous Prelude



Moonlight shone down on the wooded hilltop as a light breeze whispered its way through the pines.  A cloaked and hooded man stood on its crest, looking away at the distant lights of a small coastal town.  His mouth hardened into a thin line as he studied the settlement.  He stood there, perfectly still, for a great deal of time.

Eventually he heard a light shuffling of leaves, one that would have seemed natural to someone with a less-perceptive ear.  He knew those called to the meeting could move quietly when the occasion called for it.  This occasion called for it.

The man turned from his contemplation to regard the five smaller figures approaching him.  His visitors looked at each other suspiciously, but seemed afraid to start any sort of confrontation, or even engage in the puerile insults that were their wont.  Good, he thought.

They were right to be afraid.

“You all have the plans then?  And we are agreed?”  The man’s voice was soft, but seemed loud to his listeners after the long silence preceding it.  They shuffled their feet and murmured their assent.  “Good.  All has been arranged; it takes place the day after tomorrow.  Return to your tribes and tell them what I have told you.  And remember the instructions each of you received previously.”  If the man’s eyes could have bored holes into his listeners, they would have.  “If you follow them, you will be rewarded as agreed.  If not, well . . .,” the man let his voice trail off as his visitors cowered.  “I think you know the consequences.”

He turned away from the five small figures as they babbled their assurances that they would do everything asked of them.  A small, cold smile creased the man's lips as he heard them scrabble away, eager to be gone and back to their tribes, excited about the prospect of what was to come.

Eventually the man was left alone again.  Alone with his thoughts.  Thoughts of revenge.  His lips curled as he spit one word at the hated town.  A word filled with venom fueled by years of bitterness.  A simple word, but one that promised to repay his misery and disappointment a hundredfold.

Sandpoint.




This message was lightly edited by the GM at 05:33, Mon 02 Sept 2013.

Willow Sanderson
 NPC, 1 post
 Wise Woman
 Herb Expert
Mon 2 Sep 2013
at 05:53
Herb Challenge Postscript



Willow Sanderson still wasn’t quite sure what had happened.  She was the Lost Coast's undisputed mistress of herb lore, only Hannah herself excepted, yet she had lost the Herb Challenge to some girl she’d never seen before, and one who couldn’t have been more than seventeen at that.  Willow sat down in one of the Hannah’s comfortable chairs as she tried to process how the girl had managed to walk off with her ribbon.

She heard footsteps behind her and felt Hannah put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder.  “Don’t be mad at the girl,” the elf woman advised.  “Did you see the look on her face when she won?  She was more stunned than you were.”

Willow gave a bemused sigh.  “I’d love to be angry at her, but she was so damnably NICE.  As soon as she won she was apologizing to me, telling me how much she respected my herb lore, and how incredible it was that a girl like her had managed to win.”  Willow shrugged helplessly.  “I was afraid she might ask me to sign something for her.  Besides, it was my own fault.  ‘Tarragon,’ I said.”  The wise woman grimaced and slapped her forehead.  “I knew that answer and just blew it.”

Hannah smiled; she was glad her friend was taking the loss so well.  “Did you see young Kerr Mollin rooting her on?  It was so sweet I almost had to stop the contest to go pinch his cheeks.”  She put a hand over her heart.  “They make such a cute couple!”

Willow laughed.  “That they do!  I might have to blame him for my loss!  Or at least tell his mother I do.  Could you imagine the earful Bertiz would give that poor boy?”  Both women shook with laughter as they imagined the scene . . .

OOC:  Liseth, you are still living a charmed life with the die, is all I'll say, lol.




Dacen Kresk
 NPC, 1 post
 Sandpoint Guard
Thu 5 Sep 2013
at 22:23
At the Northern Gate



Dacen Kresk was the newest member of the Sandpoint Guard.  As such, he had been assigned the relatively low-maintenance (and low-excitement) duty of patrolling Junker’s Way, Cliff Street, Church Street from Cliff to the Northern Gate, and Tomb Street.  If you were a gambling man, those were the streets you would bet on to be completely devoid of people during the cathedral’s consecration ceremony.

Only 16 and the oldest of his siblings, Dacen had been extremely proud when Sherriff Hemlock selected him, out of all of that year’s applicants, to be Sandpoint’s newest guardsman.  He smiled as he remembered the celebration when he had come home to inform his family.  And his pride didn’t stop there; he was being trained by Alergast Barett himself!  Dacen remembered watching the big guardsman ring the Ogre Stomp! bell a record SEVEN TIMES last year.  Dacen thought he had never seen anything so exciting and inspiring.  And the man was a wizard with a polearm; he had already shown Dacen had a few neat maneuvers.  Dacen practiced them every day without fail.

Now Dacen, Dacen Kresk, was wearing the same uniform as Belor Hemlock, Alergast Barett, and Kellan Storval!  He had heard about Kellan’s exploits earlier in the day.  He hoped that as he got older people would talk of him the way they talked about those three.  It would happen soon, if hard work and effort had anything to do with it; after all, Kellan wasn’t THAT much older than Dacen was!

But Dacen realized that such daring deeds were far in his future.  The most exciting thing that had happened to him that evening was watching Gorvi drunkenly berate his junkmen over at Junker’s Edge.  He was REALLY glad Sheriff Hemlock and Lieutenant Barett weren’t like that!  Right now Dacen knew he needed to keep his head down, obey orders, and learn as much as he could from them and Guardsman Storval.

As Dacen made a left from Cliff Street onto Church Street, heading toward the Northern Gate, he noticed that the gate seemed to be open.  That was strange; Dacen was almost certain it was supposed to be closed for the ceremony.  But he figured it wouldn’t be unusual for someone to try and beat the crowds out the Northern Gate if they weren’t that interested in the consecration.  That said, the Gate was supposed to be closed, and Desna take him if Guardsman Kresk wasn’t going to be the one to close it!

As Dacen walked toward the Gate, he wondered if the other guards were finally going to let him go out drinking with them after the Festival was over.  Apparently new guards had to prove themselves, or something, before they received such an honor.  Dacen was hoping that his successful patrol tonight would . . .

That was odd.  It looked like small figures were slipping in the North Gate and heading down Tomb Street.  Maybe animals?  It was hard to see in the dark.  He increased his pace, bringing his polearm into a ready position.  He didn’t want to think about what Sheriff Hemlock would say if animals disrupted the ceremony because Dacen hadn’t managed to keep the gate secure.

As the young guardsman jogged past the White Deer, he heard laughter.  It was a high-pitched, harsh sort of laughter that he had trouble locating.  Wait, was it . . . above him?  Dacen heard a movement on the White Deer’s roof, and looked up just in time to see a small figure hurtling through the air directly towards him.

Dacen had no time to react.  The figure landed on his shoulders, slit his throat with the sharp weapon it carried, and leapt off him before he crumpled to the ground.

As Dacen Kresk’s lifeblood spilled out onto the rough ground of Church Street, he saw that his attacker was a black-cloaked goblin, and that many more goblins were entering the town through the Northern Gate.  He hoped Sheriff Hemlock, Lieutenant Barett, and Guardsman Storval would do a better job protecting Sandpoint than he had.  He really hoped his parents, little brothers, and little sister would be okay.

He wished he could see them one last time.

Then his vision went black, and young Dacen Kresk, oldest son of Nedrick and Polla Kresk, youngest member of the Sandpoint Guard, never saw anything again.




Lunk
 NPC, 5 posts
 Junkman
Mon 9 Sep 2013
at 22:52
Big Damn Hero



Lunk was sad.  He had just left Junker’s Edge, taken a right on Main Street, and was now moving slowly down the deserted thoroughfare, picking up junk and putting it in the huge burlap bag he carried.  Lunk felt like he was walking through a ghost town.  He would have much rather been at the consecration ceremony with his friends Pisca and Mister Chask.  That would have been fun.  Picking up trash wasn’t much fun.  But it was a job.  And at least it was better than getting yelled at by Gorvi.

As he picked up the trash, Lunk wondered why Gorvi was so mad all the time.  In Lunk’s view, Gorvi had it made.  All he had to do was yell at Lunk and the other junkmen and make sure they picked up the trash.  And Gorvi really seemed to like yelling.  But he also seemed really angry all the time.  That confused Lunk.  If he was Gorvi, he would be much happier.  Although he probably wouldn’t yell as much.  So maybe he would end up right back where he was now.

Lunk stabbed a pamphlet with the sharpened stick he used to pick up the smaller trash and wondered if he could really call Mister Chask a friend.  Mister Chask seemed like a friend, but Lunk wasn’t sure he was smart enough to be Mister Chask’s friend.  He wondered what you called it when you were nice to someone who was much dumber than you.  Lunk figured there was a word for it.  There were lots of words Lunk didn’t know.

Lunk looked up briefly as thunder pealed across Sandpoint.  Father Zantus liked using thunderstones to get everyone’s attention.  It was better than yelling.  Lunk wondered if Gorvi had ever thought about using thunderstones.  It seemed better than . . .

Lunk stopped and scratched his head as he saw small figures run onto Main Street from Bent Street and head south towards the orphanage school.  Lunk thought it was strange that the children would be released already; he thought he had heard that they were going to sing at the consecration.  Almost as he had the thought, a couple of the small figures began to sing.  Lunk had trouble understanding the words, but they didn’t sound like any children he’d ever heard.

Lunk nodded in understanding.  Maybe they’d been released because they had bad voices and would spoil the ceremony.

Lunk started to get worried.  Some of the small figures held torches.  He didn’t know who would give children torches, but he knew he had almost burned down the orphanage when he lived there just by knocking over a lantern and he had been really sorry but fire was dangerous and it was important for people and especially him to be very careful around fire.

Two of the small figures saw Lunk, and started running towards him, laughing.  Lunk saw that they were not children at all, but goblins!  Lunk was confused.  He sometimes saw goblins down on Junk Beach picking through Sandpoint’s discards, but he had never seen any inside the town, much less a whole group of them.

To Lunk’s surprise, the two figures drew small blades and leapt at him, attempting to drive them into his body.  Lunk brought his hands up defensively and knocked them aside.  He knocked one of them into the street and one into the wall of the Sandpoint General Store, which cracked both the goblin’s head and a window.  Lunk winced as both goblins slumped into unconsciousness.  He hoped Mister Vinder wouldn’t be mad at him.

Lunk was getting upset.  There were more of these goblins, with torches, and in Lunk’s view if children weren’t allowed to play with fire goblins should DEFINITELY not be allowed to play with fire.  He started trotting down Main Street until he saw goblins at the doors of the orphanage.  With torches.  Trying to set the door on fire.  He could hear the screams of frightened children, the ones too young to attend the ceremony.

Lunk had a weird feeling.  It was like his heart was pounding in his head, and he couldn’t see very well.  The feeling started him running towards the fire-setting goblins.  He was not going to let them burn the children.  Those goblins were bad.  They needed to stop.  They needed to DIE.

For the first time in his life, Lunk was MAD.

Lunk roared as he arrived at the front of the orphanage, startling the goblins, who had been far too intent on their arson to realize their imminent danger.

“YOU!!”  Lunk brought a huge fist down on a goblin, mashing it to a pulp.

“WILL!!”  Lunk picked up two goblins, mashing their heads together and dropping their lifeless bodies to the ground.

“NOT!!”  Lunk grabbed a goblin as it started to flee and hurled it against the wall.

“HURT THESE CHILDREN!!!!!!”  Lunk bellowed, stomping a final goblin as the rest gibbered in terror, running for their lives from this avenging Giant who had appeared out of nowhere.

Suddenly it was quiet.  Lunk was breathing hard.  He looked around and saw that the goblins had all fled.  He heard a noise behind him and turned to see the orphanage doors standing open.  Miss Krasny, his old teacher, and more than a dozen young children stood there, watching him in awe.

Then a huge cheer went up and the children ran out to hug him, dancing around, calling his name, and cheering even louder as Lunk raised his arms above his head in victory.  Lunk felt tears running down his face.

At last.

Lunk sat down and sobbed with joy, hugging every single one of the children.

At long last, he was a hero.

Just like Ursion.




This message was last edited by the player at 22:55, Mon 09 Sept 2013.

The Raconteur
 GM, 636 posts
 Teller of Tales
 Writer of Wrongs
Mon 17 Feb 2014
at 21:14
Ripnugget's Reconnaissance



The armored man’s mouth twisted as he listened to the cheering and the shouting coming from the town. That can’t be good, he thought to himself.  I told them we needed to hit fast and hard.  But no, they wanted the perfect plan.

Well, there was nothing for it now.  But he needed to head back to Thistletop and inform them of this newest development in person.  Ripnugget should know that they needed to increase their operational tempo and shorten their timetable, and he couldn’t trust one of the goblins to convey the information with sufficient force; they all looked at the chieftain as some sort of god.

The man stood and looked down at his goblin lieutenant.  “Okay, Crik, I’m leaving you in charge.”  The man patted the goblin on the back as it looked up at him in startlement.  “I need to get this information back to the Council.  Stay low, stay alert, and stay informed.  Got it?”  The goblin nodded mutely.  “Good.  I’ll be back in a day or two.  Possibly with reinforcements.”

And with that, the man stole off through the foliage, and was gone.