D&D Perspectives #2
Feb. 6th, 2006 09:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
funraniumThe party has had several other members at one time or another. Some have had less than wonderful departures. I give you the second coming of Constable Stefan Engel.
Something loud happened and then he wasn't standing anymore. He was looking up at the grey northern sky and the edges were contracting in. Then there was a searing pain in his hand, a fire that spread through everything and obliterated the world, leaving darkness, anger, and a desire to go home.
He heard is brother talking and the clank of a spoon stirring in a pot. Stefan didn't know how much time passed but he was sitting on the ground. Bertram was talking about the Kurzim War. Something about a ship called Polford's Pride.
"You never talk about the war. Was Polford's Pride yours?" Stefan's voice was a croak. Everything was still dark.
All noise stopped for a few long seconds. Then the stirring started again. "So. You're awake. I was wondering if you would." Bertram said in a even, measured tone.
Stefan couldn't see anything. "Sure I am. Where are we? Am I blindfolded?"
He felt fingers at his eyes and his eyelids being pried apart. There was a sudden brightness from the campfire and his brother's face slowly resolved into view. "Hey, you are in there. Welcome back, bro."
Stefan tried to get up but he couldn't move. He felt a brief surge of panic but it didn't hold, which stuck him as odd. No fear, just the knowledge that he couldn't move and that was bad. Bertram walked away and began stirring the cookpot on the fire once more. "Don't worry, bro, the stiffness will pass. I've had you tied to a horse for three days now. You never were much of rider you know; that was Joachim's thing."
"Thanks. Good to know." Stefan's right arm slowly and stiffly raised. He looked at his right hand with its missing three fingers. Huh, he thought, they're gone. My fingers were blown off when my pistol exploded. I remember now. Gods, it looks burnt and rotting but at least it doesn't hurt. "Where is everyone else, Bertram?"
"Well after you died, I left with you the next morning before that freakish Kurzim spy could loot your corpse. No reason to stay I figured. Besides, I didn't want you near the rest of them if you woke up." Bertram started spooning out a bowl of stew.
"Died?" Stefan looked at his hand again. For some reason, he had a vision of Ass with his wild red hair and a corona of fire. "But I'm not dead."
Bertram took a seat next to his rifles. He stood back up for a second to remove a pistol from an uncomfortable location and then settled back down to his meal. "Polford's Pride wasn't my ship, though it was one of my line, back when people used to call me Commodore. When we first came across a Kurzim ironhull, the Pride got hit by one of those crystal cannonballs. She burnt right down to the waterline. We fished her crew from the sea but it was just recovery, not rescue."
Ex-Commodore Engel paused for a moment. Whatever he was looking at, it wasn't here. He took a bite of stew. "Funny thing was that night, when the bell rang for third watch, two crews headed out for stations. The crew of Polford's Pride went to pick up their duty like nothing had happened. The dead helmsman even resumed the same damn course they'd been on before."
My gun exploded, then Ass burnt my hand. Elias didn't so much as wave a magical finger to help. The worthless druid hit him with lightning bolts because SHE WOULD NOT LISTEN. Without noticing, Stefan was on his feet and had his pistol out, walking in circles muttering to himself about "fucking elves" and "Justice".
Bertram took a sip of coffee as he watched his newly risen brother positively vibrate with fury. "Yup, just like Polford's Pride. They only call me crazy because they haven't seen what I have. I reckon its time to clean the guns."
Something loud happened and then he wasn't standing anymore. He was looking up at the grey northern sky and the edges were contracting in. Then there was a searing pain in his hand, a fire that spread through everything and obliterated the world, leaving darkness, anger, and a desire to go home.
He heard is brother talking and the clank of a spoon stirring in a pot. Stefan didn't know how much time passed but he was sitting on the ground. Bertram was talking about the Kurzim War. Something about a ship called Polford's Pride.
"You never talk about the war. Was Polford's Pride yours?" Stefan's voice was a croak. Everything was still dark.
All noise stopped for a few long seconds. Then the stirring started again. "So. You're awake. I was wondering if you would." Bertram said in a even, measured tone.
Stefan couldn't see anything. "Sure I am. Where are we? Am I blindfolded?"
He felt fingers at his eyes and his eyelids being pried apart. There was a sudden brightness from the campfire and his brother's face slowly resolved into view. "Hey, you are in there. Welcome back, bro."
Stefan tried to get up but he couldn't move. He felt a brief surge of panic but it didn't hold, which stuck him as odd. No fear, just the knowledge that he couldn't move and that was bad. Bertram walked away and began stirring the cookpot on the fire once more. "Don't worry, bro, the stiffness will pass. I've had you tied to a horse for three days now. You never were much of rider you know; that was Joachim's thing."
"Thanks. Good to know." Stefan's right arm slowly and stiffly raised. He looked at his right hand with its missing three fingers. Huh, he thought, they're gone. My fingers were blown off when my pistol exploded. I remember now. Gods, it looks burnt and rotting but at least it doesn't hurt. "Where is everyone else, Bertram?"
"Well after you died, I left with you the next morning before that freakish Kurzim spy could loot your corpse. No reason to stay I figured. Besides, I didn't want you near the rest of them if you woke up." Bertram started spooning out a bowl of stew.
"Died?" Stefan looked at his hand again. For some reason, he had a vision of Ass with his wild red hair and a corona of fire. "But I'm not dead."
Bertram took a seat next to his rifles. He stood back up for a second to remove a pistol from an uncomfortable location and then settled back down to his meal. "Polford's Pride wasn't my ship, though it was one of my line, back when people used to call me Commodore. When we first came across a Kurzim ironhull, the Pride got hit by one of those crystal cannonballs. She burnt right down to the waterline. We fished her crew from the sea but it was just recovery, not rescue."
Ex-Commodore Engel paused for a moment. Whatever he was looking at, it wasn't here. He took a bite of stew. "Funny thing was that night, when the bell rang for third watch, two crews headed out for stations. The crew of Polford's Pride went to pick up their duty like nothing had happened. The dead helmsman even resumed the same damn course they'd been on before."
My gun exploded, then Ass burnt my hand. Elias didn't so much as wave a magical finger to help. The worthless druid hit him with lightning bolts because SHE WOULD NOT LISTEN. Without noticing, Stefan was on his feet and had his pistol out, walking in circles muttering to himself about "fucking elves" and "Justice".
Bertram took a sip of coffee as he watched his newly risen brother positively vibrate with fury. "Yup, just like Polford's Pride. They only call me crazy because they haven't seen what I have. I reckon its time to clean the guns."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-02-06 08:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-06 02:46 pm (UTC)YOUFUCKINGBASTARD.
Date: 2006-02-08 03:16 am (UTC)Re: YOUFUCKINGBASTARD.
Date: 2006-02-08 03:23 am (UTC)