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As told by The Narrator
I drew this tale from a ragged, filthy street urchin over the course of several meals and many hot chocolates. The tale was drawn in pictures, spilt salt on a tavern table. I have translated these pictographs gist, rather than describing each of them in detail. I say, if I’m going to dry out my throat, endanger my very livelihood telling you this tale, the least a decent man might do is buy a cup of wine or two, if only to lessen my risk----
For weeks the girl-child followed the invading army, always near, never quite catching up. She often traveled through the corpse-strewn litter of a shire or town unfortunate enough to be in the path of beast men. Here, her passion would gain intensity as she sifted amongst the refuse for necessities, adding them to the bundle she carried. Here also she would find more reason to loath the creatures responsible for this wanton destruction.
Sometimes the army marched further than the girl’s meager supplies would hold up. In those times she gathered whatever looked edible while moving. Trial and error, small bites, sniffed then chewed and spit out often. Other times the smell was not so bad and the bite would be swallowed, only to make her sick to her stomach. The mere stub of a tongue she retained left her with less sense of taste than most, but the very strong tastes would sometimes warn her not to swallow. The complete silence around her hid dangers, but she quickly became adapt at spotting any movement, as well as the tiniest of details. She grew stronger with each passing day. She found the darkness of the forest comforting, and learned to avoid those creatures that proved a danger to her, while the more docile creatures of the forest grew used to her, accepted her as one of their kind. As summer turned to fall, she found less to eat, and so was forced to hunt to survive so that she might catch the army. She carefully watched the other hunters of the wood, and patterned her hunts after them. But she hunted only the other hunters. As they would prey on the weak, she would prey upon them. She became the bane of many a fox and owl. At night she would find tall grass, or a place where the wind swept leaves to a pile, then burrow under them, pulling her mother’s cloak about her. With the rising of the sun, she would gather her scant assets and once more pick up the track of the marauding legion.
The stories continues HERE
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As told by The Narrator
I drew this tale from a ragged, filthy street urchin over the course of several meals and many hot chocolates. Don’t expect me to part with it for much less, my friend.
The accusation has been made, not without some merit, which I’m of a mercenary bent. A maiden, or perhaps a score, may have had cause to refer to me as a bounder or a cad, even on occasion a heartless blackguard. If any of my censurers could see my face in this moment, they would know in my breast beat a heart of flesh and blood, as capable of breaking as any other. The sight of the wisp of a girl child, sobbing over her hot chocolate wrenched it. The thought that I had caused this upset shattered what remained of my emotion’s center.
I reached across the table and gathered the small tear streaked pile of rags to my chest and tried to comfort her. She buried her face in my shoulder as sob wracked her tiny frame. We remained so for what seemed an eternity.
The spell was broken when Sally returned to gather up what was left of our meal. I gently returned Urchin to her perch on the table. I ached to know the story behind the plight of this child. My countenance must have been most transparent, for the child overturned the saltshaker and began to draw pictures in the palette of that mineral. I will translate these pictographs gist, rather than describe them all:
Imagine a peaceful dale, hidden in a deepwoods. Further imagine this dale to be the home of a halfling village. Homes of stone, sod, and wood, for the smalling race is nothing if not ingenious in making excellent artistic use of whatever material is abundant, fill its center. Merchants and craftsmen hawk their wares while children play near by, the very picture to describe the word idyllic.
A flaming arrow strikes down a young mother with a child in her arms, huge dark shapes rush through the shire, striking down all that moves and setting to torch that which does not. Men, women and children put to the blade, not just killed, but cruelly abused before being dismembered alive.
A young girl, frightened beyond all understanding, races from the wave of carnage, desperate for an escape, a place to hide. With the raider so close behind, fleeing is not an option. She spot’s an overturned chest, empty by the raider’s plundering. Quick as a headsman’s axe, she scrabbles under it.
She hears the clank of chain and scabbard, the creak of boiled leather approach. Many hobnailed boots and smaller slipper shod footfalls near. Suddenly the chest creaks and settles under a heavy weight. Crude barks and laughs mix with higher pitched cries and screams of torment.
The child peers through the chest keyhole, only to see her neighbors, either in the grasp of the huge beast men being tortured, or in pieces on the ground, or worse yet, spitted over a fire made of the village’s finest belongings. The child feels a scream welling up, but bites her tongue to forestall it. The pitiful wailing of the victim brings the scream closer to the surface, but any sound would betray her hiding place, now a seat at this inhuman celebration of viciousness.
She curls into a ball, thrusting her fingers into her ears to block out the sounds of suffering, the cries of the tormented and the gibbering of the tormentors, biting harder on her tongue to repress the terrified scream that would be her end.
For hours it continues, the fear growing, the sounds ever more horrific. Her fingers burrow deeper to shut out the sound, her jaw clinches ever tighter. Mercifully, the sound stops, the pain in her mouth and head fades as all goes black.
She wakens to the smell of smoke and the taste of blood. Listening, she hears nothing of the invaders. Cautiously she lifts the chest and crawls out from under it. Something moves near her feet. It is just a crow, trying to get a bit of meat. It looks like some poor soul’s tongue. Around her the shire is in smoldering ruin, vermin feast on the scattered remains of neighbors, friends and family.
Oddly, all she feels is remorse that she did nothing to help them. She begins to move through the remnants, gathering useful items into a torn bloody cloak taken from her own mother’s body.
On a broken, still burning wagon she find a child nearly her own age. He has been tied spread eagle to the wheel and used for target practice, his body inflicted with more savage wounds than the girl can count. A crude, worn short sword protrudes from the child corpse’s throat. Another of the same variety sticks in the wagon nearby. The girl-child takes both. A new feeling stirs in her, one that displaces the wrongness she has been unable to comprehend since rising from her hiding place. The new passion fills her as she spies the obvious trail of a ravaging army breaking an easily discerned path into the woods.
Shouldering her bloody cloak-wrapped bundle, she follows.
(to be continued)
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With the release of the NwN expansion HotU in the US and Canada a few weeks back we hear so many of you chomping at the bit!. We have all been anxiously awaiting the Bioware patch.
Well their first attempt failed ( 1.60) and the second attempt ( 1.61) is looking stable , so we have decided that on Dec. 28th ( Sunday Evening) the NWN:UO main server will be patched to 1.61.
We realize this decision may effect several of our overseas friends, so Urchin will be running a mirror of the NWN:UO server without the patch for you. We will post the mirror IP before the main server is patched. Once the overseas players have a patch the characters will be transferred to the main server vault. Another option is to order the english version of the game from Say Amazon.com
The Main server will not be upgraded to HotU till the end of January ( Date to be announced) giving us DMs time to get a few goodies in place ( *looks at Spawnie and Arch* Go to it guys)
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As told by The Narrator
I drew this tale from a ragged, filthy street urchin over the course of several meals and many hot chocolates. Don’t expect me to part with it for much less, my friend
Jeremy had no more than stepped through the kitchen door, when (*check name online*) appeared with a tray of roast beast, oven corn, a decanter of elven Icewine and two steaming mugs. My petite dinning companion leaned over, sniffed both mugs, made a face any fool would read as repugnance over the first and an expression of pure delight over the second. She scooped it up, raised it to her mouth, but halted just short. She then offered it to me.
"Oh no thank you, Milady," I enthused with all my prodigious charm, "I much prefer the mulled wine," as I gathered up the other mug.
Urchin, as I resolved to call her, lifted the mug to her face. The tin tankard was nearly large enough to engulf her tiny head. She swallowed noisily. She set the mug down. As if by magic, a wickedly glowing eighteen-inch blade appeared in her grip, she lunged. Quick as a wink, she was seated again. As I tried to fathom what had prompted this odd behavior, the abundant amassment of roast beast before me slowly dropped apart, neatly sliced into eight near perfect segments.
The silent one calmly speared a slice with her short sword and took a minuscule bite.
The Story continues HERE
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Once again we have another caption contest getting under way. This week's photo comes from a couple out for a quiet stroll.
Hop on over to the FORUMS and get your entry in!
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The beauty of the full moon spread over Britannia last night, but our heavenly guest wasn’t the only moon shining through our beloved lands.
DM Akalima decided to feed her naked dwarf fetish by disguising it in a competition. The call went out to the brave in spirit, those immodest souls and the down right perverted.
"Gather naked one and all, for Covetous Caverns shall host the crawl!"
They stood shivering in the cold, as DM Akalima reviewed the rules. " Naked you must remain and survive the evils that dwell deep. No healing potions, no hiding in the shadows, helping your fellow unveiled companions is forbidden. The one that survives receives a bit of the riches of the Gods." With everything spelled out, and rules understood, into the caverns they went.
The tale continues HERE
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