Mysterious Enemy #2, Part 3

The Third Month

Itwasjustmeat. Itwasjustmeat. Itwasjustmeat. Itwasjustmeat, was what he forced himself to think when he sat down to eat now. He couldn't not eat, he was already starting to feel weaker and he tired more easily than he had when he first was trapped down here. It was a vile thing to do to his allies, but a necessary thing. He told himself that between mouthfuls of burned meat.

He was making excellent progress with his crude tools. Chips of stone-like dirt littered the floor, and he had made a pile of them to use as a step ladder as he ascended out of the depths of the earth. The dirt was as firm as stone and once he made enough room to stand in the dirt ceiling, he began swinging great blows at the earth with his faux-pick.

It was lightless here, except for the occasional spark of his crude pick hitting stone. He lacked the night vision that some of his friends had had, but he was starting to be able to discern shapes more clearly in the darkness. It was said that his ancestors could see well enough in the dark that that could shoot a night fowl out of a tree at midnight from a several hundred paces with shocking ease, perhaps the enhanced vision was just a side effect of that heritage.

He dug for hours on end, sleeping only when exhaustion came upon him, eating when he was hungry and he could force himself to eat. He had never been a builder, and his trade had given him all the exercise he needed or wanted, so he had no clue if he was pacing himself properly or safely digging his way out of this tomb.

He wasn't.

He was perched precariously in his upward sloping tunnel, his pick a twisted and bent thing now. He would need to find more metal. Inspiration suddenly hit him and he wondered if he could perhaps heat the metal in the oven in the mess hall to shape it more easily. Smiling, he took a half hearted swing at the toughly compacted dirt. He heard the noise of his pick biting into the dirt, and the noise of chips of compressed dirt clattering to the ground, then a new noise. A noise that sounded like a sword or spike being shoved into soft earth as his pick lodged in something.

He had broken through. His efforts and barbarousness had been rewarded. He had found dirt. He didn't even need a pick any more. He'd dig till his fingers bled and his nails tore off if he had to to get out. That was when a torrent of dirt came sliding down and shoved him off of his ledge and smashed him against the ground of the tunnel below him.

When he came to, his mouth was open from screaming in agony, and there was dirt in it. He spat and looked around. He could see the opening above him. Still gloriously intact. The rush of dirt hadn't filled the hall or suffocated him. He looked at himself and saw that his left forearm was snapped and deformed, bent and twisted like a noodle and bleeding everywhere. He had time to notice that his upper arm was in the same shape. He'd never seen his own bones before.

He then noticed that he was still screaming in agony and his blood was turning the dirt to mud.

Behold!

I submit to you The (Much More Fresh and Robust) Robust Five (More Or Less):

Led (More Or Less) by D'alton Braun, a Human of Fell Human Descent Fighter (and pistolier), accompanied by Xein Mac'Fumos, a Human of Fell Human Descent Alchemist (and businessman), supported by Kethralzahn, a Soulless Monk (and passive aggressive malcontent), further bolstered by Pyrel Areth, a Fell Human Swashbuckler (and wielder of mind powers), rendered more complete than originally intended by Ran'dahl Koltchrain, Fell Human Summoner (and life giver of nightmares), with a rear brought up by Kuyst the Okwighta Witch (and vizarder).

I dare say that this is the fellest collection of adventurers that I have ever laid eyes upon.

...I also have an NPC, his name is Fas'binder and he is a Greenskin Abraxen Commoner (and cooper).

Mysterious Enemy #4

The muscles of his long arms were taut with strain as he hefted the axe, just as he had hefted it a thousand times before. Once, he'd been thin and almost fragile, like all of his people. Once he had been a drunk, happily slurping watered down swill by the flagon and wasting time in a border town racking up debt to the local money lender.

Now he was hardened. Scarred and coated in slabs of muscle. He' been beaten and raped and nearly murdered here in the lumber camps. When the drink cleared from his head and bones re-knit and bruises faded, it all happened again, and again, and again. That was the lumber camps and they had been his crucible, a crucible of hate and violence that no creature could survive unscathed.

There was no weakness in him any more. His pale grey flesh was tough like that of his desert-dwelling cousin race. His extra knuckles and joints were no longer fluid and limber, they were tough and knobby from blows struck. His thin fingers and small palms were callused from hefting the axe and moving lumber.

His uncaring, hedonistic heart had been replaced by something cold and as callused as his palms. This empty, hollow heart of his cared for nothing. His mind was a blank thing that only thought in terms of instinct, survival, with higher functions limited to placing his axe blows with skill and remembering which guard to avoid eye contact with.

His mind was empty, his axe blows precise, but he heard the roaring from above. Like a beast from the south hunting for prey. His orange eyes flicked upwards, his arms still swinging the axe, and all he saw was fire raining down from the sky. His axe fell from fingers and he raced away from the falling piece of burning sky, now noticing screams and cries of rage that had been going on for some time.

As he ran, he saw death and fire raining down from the sky on the heads of his jailers and his co-workers. As he ran towards a crumbling piece of the camp's wall, something slithered out of his heart. Something as cold and hollow as his heart, the cold, banked coal of vengeance, and a grim smile like the blade of an axe split his face as he fled the camp's borders.

A Long Time Coming...

Xein had sent a runner to the mansion the day after they arrived back from saving most of Kusseth. Things had not turned out the way he had envisioned and he certainly had not tought that Nakmander was a flat out terrorist. He had assumed that it was going to be a sneak attack on the government of Kusseth and taking over the city, not total destruction... Things were different now, with the loss of their friend Spineplate. He wanted to talk to D'alton about the loss of his close friend and sort things out between them. It would be unwise to have bad blood within the group at this point, the others already making plans to go separate ways... The Robust Five may be done...

He sat in the basement, the lantern burning above him. The new cask of Ice Ale was done brewing while they were traveling, frost on the edges. He had a glass poured for himself and one poured for D'alton, waiting for him to arrive any minute.

---

D'alton walked the halls of the Braun mansion, quiet, it seemed, for the first time in ages. Yet, the walls seemed to echo the clang of metal on metal, the laughter and bickering of camaraderie, and the tromping about of his dearest friend, Kethranmeer. The silence seemed all the louder for its absence, Wiping a hand across his eyes, D'alton walked down the street to the Boil, nodding to the greenskin Abraxen as he entered. He went through the kitchen and to basement door, steeling himself for a conversation with Xein, one long overdue.

Xein heard the footsteps coming down the wooden stairs, creaking with each step, when D'alton was in full view, he indicated to the chair across from him, “Welcome D'alton, please... sit down, we have things to discuss.”

D'alton sat down across from Xein, pulling the tankard of ale to him. He looked up. "Yes, Xein, it would seem we do, What's up?"

"I have ordered us food from upstairs, you will find that my chef is a great cook and will be making it personally. Mr. Bordeen has traveled and cooked around the world, but that is not why you are here," Xein slowly shook his head in despair. "I would like to honor our good friend Spineplate by patching our wounds, as it were. This may be very important, as Derf is terrifying me from his seeming change of sanity, and his apparent want to make us go back to prison. Why did he attack that warden?" he mused aloud.

"And John talks of starting a gunshop. It seems our big metal friend may have been the glue that held us together. I do not, however, wish to see you and I drift apart," he took a long pull from his Ice Brew, and started again,"D'alton, my friend... Too long have we been at odds over the ill-fated heist. We would make a far better team together than we do apart. Let's show the Known World a thing or two about who the Robust Five were, and avenge our friend!" he held his glass up to toast with D'alton.

D'alton choked on his Ice Brew, and forcibly removed his own tongue from the side of the glass, for it had become stuck, such was the ice of the brew (really, it's not that cold). "Xein, I agree that Kethranmeer's loss was felt across the group, and I, too am unsure what the future holds for it. But perhaps you are right in that it would be best to set aside our differences. I am not certain that our paths will remain on the same track, at least for the time being. I am planning on departing this city, to find Kethranmeer's progeny, and make his cause my own. It is, however, good to know that I have at least one friend left in this world..."

Xein looked at D'alton, and for a moment, wondered how one could choke on such a smooth drought beer. It's boldness, coupled with it's ability to stay at a comfortable just above freezing temperature was something he figured people in this hot part of the world would enjoy. Well, some people just don't know good beer, he mused.

He cleared his cool throat and began,"Yes, but I would rather we just forgot about the whole fiasco that was the heist. Let's just say it never happen. I mean, we used to get along. We watched each others backs in Beltan and at one time had a strong friendship because of it," Xein took another pull of his beer.

He continued,"I am contacting someone to try and get us pardoned for our past crimes so we can roam Kusseth as free men, unhindered by the fear of apprehension and re-jailing. I will let you know if this goes through. Also, I was wondering, I have hired some mercs of the Nightfowl Claw Clan to help maintain a level of... safety around this district. I need a place for them to stay, and I thought that if we were to allow them to stay in John's room when he vacates to go to Port Brass... It could help offer even more protection for the Mansion."

There was a shuffling of feet down the stairs into the cellar where the table was set up. His cook set down two plates of good looking roast boar with potatoes and some type of grilled vegetable and went back upstairs. "I would also like to talk to you about why you are leaving the city..." Xein stated.

“A full pardon, eh? I can't say that isn't intriguing...” He chewed on the boar thoughtfully. “This is really good, by the way. As for the mansion, I don't have a problem with that, so long as the place stays in once piece while I'm gone.” D'alton's face darkened. “As for why I am leaving...I feel like it's something I have to do; I feel...weak. Watching Kethranmeer repeatedly take those hits, and not being able to do anything other than fire pointless shots at Nakmander, was the hardest thing I've ever done. I've got to do something to better myself. As for Kethranmeer's sons, and the battle they're fighting: I feel like I owe it to them to help them out any way I can. I feel responsible for their father's death. I feel guilty, and lost, and helpless. I've got to find myself again. That, Xein, is why I'm leaving Meroteth.”

He understood his comrade's conflict. He was not as close to Spineplate as D'alton was, but it hurt him as well. "I will watch over the mansion for you, and wish you good speed in your journey and hopeful metamorphosis. Be careful, for I fear we are wanted in more than one circle now... I am going to keep an ear to the ground, if I hear trouble calling, I will send warning to you as soon as I know. I am glad we had this talk," he embellished with his hand and fork, "Now, let us eat, enjoy, and depart..."

Mysterious Enemy #3

"He was never a smart boy," she whispered, "but he was strong."

"He was never a good boy," she whispered as she turned her gnarled hands to the task of kneading the dough, "but he was loyal to his friends."

"He was greedy," she whispered as she shaped the dough into five vaguely man-shaped figures and an octagon shape, "but he served his country in its time of need."

"He was a gambler, liar, and a thief," she whispered as she put the dough men and octagon in a tray and shut them up in an oven, "but he always sent his wages back to his sister and I."

"He was rude and obnoxious," she said later as she removed the cookies from the oven and tossed them to the floor of her kitchen, "but he always had a sweet smile for his mother and his sister."

"He was an awful, callous little shit," she whispered as she stared into the darkness. In the darkness of the kitchen, red eyes blinked and a long rat tail swished out of the shadows beneath them, "but he was my boy." she finished.

Black talons like tiger claws clicked against the tile floor and the red eyed rat scurried out of the darkness, its fur was oil black and faintly luminous and the creature itself was the size of a small dog. Its scything claws and blocky teeth tore into the crudely man-shaped cookies in lightning quick swipes, leaving nothing but stray crumbs. The elderly woman smiled a bleak smile.

Mysterious Enemy #2, Part 2

The Third Week

When he threw his former allies into the refrigerator unit, he'd stripped them of their armor. There wasn't much metal down here in the tunnels, but he was able to cobble together a metal shovel blade from a metal breastplate. He ground the faux-shovel against the stone walls of the one brick room down in the tunnel, leaving scratches in the wall and slowly turning the thing into a bladed digging shovel that he felt could perhaps penetrate the hard earth above his head.

The first time he dug with it, the haft snapped and the blade bent back. He responded by drinking the rest of the ale and beer in the stone casks the builders had left behind when they left. It took a week, he thought.

When the booze faded, he remembered his father, in prison orange. He remembered his father looking tired as he hefted the pick over his shoulder, breaking stone searching for ore. He went to the armory and found a warhammer, not a perfect tool, but sufficient, and collected the remains of his shovel and the breastplate he'd built it out of. He hammered as long as he could, until lack of nourishment made him pass out.

When he woke, he went to the food supplies and ate sparingly, enough to feel fed, but not overindulgent. He returned to his task, hammering and sweating and sucking in huge lungfuls of the stale tasting air. When he finished, he had sore arms, and a compacted mass of metal narrowed into a crude pick shape at both ends. He attached it as best he could to a piece of wood.

He went back to where his shovel had twisted and broken and raised a hand above his head to touch the thin line he'd but in the dirt. He took three test swings, sighting on the line and hoping it was a weak point. The fourth time he swung back, he brought the pick forward and let go with all his slightly malnourished might.

There was a soft clink, and in the darkness he saw something bouncing on the dirt floor, a small chunk of dirt so packed together that it was more like a chip of stone. It was the size of his big toe. He smiled then. It was a savage and grim thing and he did so because he knew he would have his freedom, and perhaps his revenge, whatever the cost.

Goofy Stuff

This is something from the wiki, which most people don't read, nonetheless, it is kind of amusing and effectively and concisely runs down the contents of each scenario.

The Known World - Scenarios

01 - Beltan

In which imprisonment ensues and later comes to an abbreviated end.

02 - Kemmel and Mesl

In which heads are successfully (more or less) laid low.

03 - To Kusseth City We Go

In which underground curiosities are discovered and brigands are lit afire and buried alive.

04 - Kusseth City

In which a theft, a reunion, and a fireworks festival occur in the largest city of The Known World.

05 - On the Road Again

In which a ghost town and the meteoric curiosities associated with it are discovered.

06 - The Heist

In which a bank is robbed and a conveyance's location is questioned.

07 - Of Course That Wasn't The End Of It

In which an election is forced and a formerly fat individual is summarily deposed after being mostly ignored.

08 - Descent Into The Depths

In which Kethranmeer shames the group with his untrained stealth, and the results of poor pet care are viewed.

09 - Kidnapping

In which the effects of chemistry, poison, and anatomy are utilized to unreave a reaver.

10 - Convoooyyy!

In which a pixelated game is referenced and a mechanical mass bludgeoning device is fashioned.

11 - Further Descension

In which Okwighta are curt and Fell Humans do not act in a militaristic fashion.

12 - Burn The Mother Down

In which the mother does not in fact burn down, a disguise is fashioned, and the merits of technology are irrefutably displayed via a lightning bolt to the face.

13 - Evasive Maneuvers

In which horses are forgotten, much to the chagrin of Rhetkhan Kannunn.

14 - The Night The Sky Cried Tears Of Fire

In which both Kethranmeer and Nakmander fall, and only one gets up.