Broken Sword
Journey into worlds of fantasy
and science fiction...
March 1998
Issue #1
Editors: Brian F. Fox and Rex Henderson
Original concept: Kevin Main
Introduction
The free city of Drakmar! At first you believe it can only be a mirage caused by the heat and your own exhaustion, but you
shelter your eyes with your hand, take a second look, and know it to be real. You have just finished a long trek through the
Kalarian Desert which followed months of questing, and the sight of the city's walls and towers is a welcome relief. You have heard much about this ancient and legendary city and know that its mysteries and adventures are countless.
Under the suspicious eye of the sentry you enter the city to discover that you are in the Thieves District, an area inhabited by mostly lower-class citizenry as well as thieves, assassins, and adventurers such as yourself. You marvel at all of the sights, smells, and sounds, but your revery is interrupted by a halfling who bumps into you. "Pardon me, kind sir," he says with a smile and a tip of his hat as he hurries off. You almost give a reply when your instincts draw your hand to your now missing money pouch.
Dodging through the crowd you chase after the halfling who nimbly moves toward an inn ahead. The sign reads "The
Rampaging Dragon," and the two story building appears old and a bit ill-used. You swing open the door and hurry in only to be met by a large party of adventurers seated around a huge table. Some appear to be warriors while others look to be thieves and possibly wizards. A gnome clad in a brightly colored jester's costume stands off to the side juggling daggers, and a glance from him makes you feel strangely uneasy. You notice that the group is also quite mixed by race: seated at the table is another gnome, three dwarves, four humans, and an elf. You decide to proceed with caution as the group looks you over carefully, some smiling, some frowning, and others watching you very coolly. Obviously you have interrupted a meeting of some sort. Peeking out from behind one of the dwarves is the halfling you seek. Placing your hand nervously on your sword you point at him and say, "You there! Hand over my money pouch."
The dwarf quickly reaches behind his chair and grabs the front of the halfling's tunic, easily lifting him off the ground. "Out
causing mischief again, are we?" he growls at the diminutive thief. "Toss over the pouch, you little runt, or I'll carve it out of you."
"No need for violence, no need at all," the halfling shrugs as he tosses the pouch to you. "Just a simple misunderstanding," he sheepishly grins at you.
"Looks like drinks are on you again, thief," a powerful warrior says with a laugh. "Treat our guest here to one as well," and he motions to you to have a seat.
"Welcome to the Fellowship of the Broken Sword," a knight in plate armor says to you. "I am Fafhard. My companions and I meet regularly at the Rampaging Dragon to share stories of our wanderings and adventures. As you know, Drakmar serves as a nexus, a sort of meeting point for travelers between worlds. Sit and share a drink or two with us while we weave our tales. Perhaps you will tell one yourself?"
You scan the waiting faces of the intimidating group before you and decide that it might indeed be wise to accept their
hospitality. Taking your seat and a drink you turn to listen to the first tale...
Table of Contents
Issue No. 1, March 1998
"Read it or die!"
(It's not much of a slogan, but it's all we could come up with.)
Regular Features
Retributive Strike (letters, reviews, opinions, and other nonsense)
Letters to Bozo (where our resident psychopathic gnomish jester
imparts his "wisdom" on anyone foolish enough to ask for it)
Minstrel's Musings (poetry, riddles, jokes, etc.)
Message Board (where continuing "add-on" stories are located
as well as where you may leave messages for all to read)
Role players' Rules of Thumb (a tongue-in-cheek look at the oddities
of fantasy roleplaying)
Stories, Articles, and Essays
"The Forest for the Trees," by Brian F. Fox
"The Land: Part II," by William Reck
"Druids Live," by Naugrim
"Ill-gotten Gains," by Brian F. Fox
"The Dane Chronicles: Part I," by D. Fox
Retributive Strike!
*Where the editors, authors, and readers get the opportunity to say hello or express their views (no matter how ill-conceived).
Greetings from the Fellowship of the Broken Sword!
"The Broken Sword" lives again! It has been a long time in making its return; here, in its present incarnation, is the work begun many years ago.
"The Broken Sword" grew out of the friendship of a group of role players (male teenagers with too much time on their hands - a very dangerous thing) from a small rural area in the boonies of central Florida. The group formed while most of its members were still in high school together, and at its core was a shared interest in roleplaying (AD&D to be precise), but the members were friends in every sense of the word.
As we grew older and more and more apart, one of our number, Kevin Main, started "The Broken Sword," a magazine which would be by and for all of us. It was often crude and amateurish, but it could also be quite entertaining and even hilarious. It reflected our interest in fantasy roleplaying, but also our sarcastic and cynical sense of humor in general. As we slowly moved on to begin our adult lives, "The Sword" served as a means to keep us loosely connected. The title of editor eventually passed to Christopher Main, Kevin's brother, and then finally to William (Bill) Reck, both of whom added their own touches to the work begun by Kevin. "The Sword," however, eventually died of collective apathy.
Many years have passed and all of us have progressed into adulthood (or at least a reasonable facsimile) and all of its
responsibilities. We all, however, fondly recall the times we spent together as well as the bizarre and often surreal adventures
we shared both in and out of the game.
All of which brings me to present. A few weeks ago while sharing a cup of coffee, Rex Henderson and I discussed the idea of publishing an e-magazine, and it was quickly decided that "The Sword" should be resurrected. After contacting them, all of the old members rallied to their fellowship and out of this effort the "Tales of the Broken Sword" you see before you came to be.
To our guests, we make no apologies for the occasional "ingroup" references we may use in our writings or for the jabs
directed at one of our number; we all have a fairly healthy sense of humor about ourselves, and we hope you will as well. We hope others will read and enjoy our work (and perhaps may wish to submit something themselves), but after all the primary purpose of this is to write for each other.
Long live the Fellowship of the Broken Sword!
Brian F. Fox and Rex M. Henderson
*
Hail Knights of the Broken Sword!
I am pleased "The Broken Sword" is back with us once more. When I heard the news of the "Sword's" resurrection, I dug up the back issues and it was refreshing to find the articles could still entertain me. I have high hopes that this latest incarnation will carry on with the fine tradition that has been established. I regret not being able to submit more than this letter, however, but I don't really have access to a computer at the moment. Fear not, fellow Knights, because it looks like I will be online in about a month.
I am still working at B/E Aerospace and I have recently received a promotion to Program Administrator. For those of you who don't know, B/E Aerospace manufactures aircraft interiors for mostly commercial aircraft. One noteworthy program we are working on at the moment is Air Force 2. (I would tell more, however, I would have to kill you afterwards.) As the Program Administrator, I am responsible for our entire spare part program from quote through manufacturing and beyond. Think of what I do as customer support after the warranty has expired. I am also involved with the "re-engineering" of the facility.
I am living in the Baymeadows section of Jacksonville with my fiancé, Cindy. We haven't set a wedding date yet, however, but as soon as we do I will make our plans known in the "Sword". I am eagerly awaiting the debut of this latest "Broken Sword" and I am looking forward to seeing what everyone has submitted.
Martek
Letters to Bozo
*The views expressed in this column are NOT those of the editors. Any and all threats of death or legal action should be directed solely to the author.
Dear Bozo,
I know that you will find this hard to believe, but this is a true
story unlike all those other stories that I read in my magazines. I
was delivering pizza, to earn a few extra gold pieces (because I'm savin'
up for a Rod of Lordly Might). Anyways, I was delivering pizzas to an
old castle on the outskirts of town. When I rang the gong, three hot
looking succubi answered the gates and they were buck-assed naked. I,
of course, was shocked but held my ground. They told me not to worry,
they just wanted the pizza and me!!! They invited me in and told me to
take off my chain mail. I thought, "what the hell," so I did. Soon I
was deeply involved in an orgy with three hot looking succubi. Man,
they showed me how they got their name. What a night. Anyway, now I
just don't feel my old self. I am very weak, pale, crave blood, and
it burns when I pee. I haven't adventured in months and my health
insurance has expired. What do you think that I should do?
Sincerely,
Guido "the tired and toxic" pizza boy
Dear Guido,
What the hell were you thinking? You never deliver pizza without a
Sword of Sharpness hidden cleverly in your cloak. Damn, you are
simple. It sounds to me like these "young ladies" used you and ate
your pizza. I bet that you didn't even get a tip. Well, here's a tip
for you..... get ready to die cause you got a most wicked case
of succubi syphilis. I would start adventuring immediately and hope
that you meet up with me in a dark alley. I promise I will put you
out of your misery with style. No charge....exceptin' what you have
on your dead body (and a pizza of course).
Dear Bozo,
I have a friend, who I'll call Dirk Bourteaux, who has a mighty bow.
Recently, I tried to use it and got caught. Dirk slapped me and said
mean things like, "Put that down you big puss before I cut your heart
out with my rapier". Anyway, last night I snuck into his room were he
was passed out from too much wine and borrowed his mighty bow. I only
wanted to try it out. I wasn't even sure that I could draw it. Well,
to make a long story short, I put the arrow in backwards and cut his
bowstring in two. Fortunately, he is still passed out today but I
know he will be cross with me when he finds out. I don't know where
to find a new string. What am I gonna do? Please help.
Signed,
Wally "the Weasel" Wilson
Dear Weasel,
Well, I guess the mighty bow ain't mighty no mo'. Listen, you little
Weasel, when Dirk finds out about your little faux pas, he will
definitely use the remaining bow string to garrote your scrawny little
neck. He then will cut out your heart and replace it with your
privates. He will then eat your heart with a light merlot. But hey,
don't fret. I'm here to help. First, by all means, don't let him
wake up. Second, take one end of his mighty bow and place it gently
against his left eye while he sleeps. Then shove it into his skull
with all of your might. Do it like your life depends on it, because
it does. Lastly run like hell. If you are still alive, wait 5
minutes and return. Now pull the bow from Dirk's eye socket and
frontal lobe and then bring it to me. I think that I can fix it and
possibly even fix you. Good luck and may your work be swift and
effective.
*Dear Bozo,
I'm having problems. My master is so possessive of me. He flaunts me
like a new pair of shoes and makes me embarrassed to be seen with him
in public. I'm a +5 vorpal bastard sword with an intelligence of 15.
I want to be independent and live my own life. Should I backstab him
while he is sleeping and then run away? I've met this great +3 short
sword named Lana who keeps yearning for me to leave my master so we
can be together. Any suggestions?
Sign me,
"Steel Emotions"
Dear Steel Emotions,
The last intelligent sword that I ran into that went on an ego trip was
a short sword of sharpness. I would like you to know that I smashed
that sword into tiny pieces against a boulder. Just what the hell is
the problem with you intelligent swords! You think that you have some
sort of bill of rights or something? Why can't you just keep your
#$%^?#! mouth shut and do what you're supposed to do such as obey your
master? If I ever come anywhere near you, I will help you meet the
same fate that the other damn short sword that I just told you about
met.
#Dear Bozo,
I'm a jester in dire need of some help. Every time I perform on
stage, I get heckled. Tell me, how can I improve my routine and rid
myself of hecklers?
Sign me,
Heckled to Death
Dear Heckled to Death,
There is a simple solution. Use the hecklers as part of your act.
Using people out of the audience as props can bring a lot of laughs.
Just don't let the hecklers get to you. Be intelligent with your
comebacks and make them look really bad. This will always bring a few
laughs. Never let them see you sweat. Take control and keep it.
Give hecklers some of their own medicine and they'll shut up real
quick. Some are very persistent though and can piss you off really bad.
Once, during a performance, I was sent to jail when a halfling
heckler threw a mug at me. I caught the mug and retaliated with a
dagger in his forehead. Try to avoid this. Wait until after the show
to kill the heckler. Good luck, and a word of warning: don't bring
your act around here because I hate competition and I would have to
dispose of you properly.
Your friend,
Bozo
* from the archives - "BS" 3/90 vol. 2 #1
# from the archives - "BS" 4/90 vol. 2 32
Minstrel's Musings
*Poetry, riddles, and various ramblings...
Revealer of all secrets, healer of all wounds, I cannot truly be saved, only spent. What am I?
[Brian F. Fox]
*
"A Knight's Loss"
He climbs upon his emotional steed
All prepared to win the fight
Knowing only what he needs
Certain of his holy right
She spreads her wings and takes to flying
Looking for what she knows she needs
She thinks she cannot lose by trying
And thus does fate sow its deadly seeds
He travels on in all his glory
Intent upon his earthly gain
Shes flys unaware into his story
Unaware of the risk of pain
Attracted by the thought of winning
He draws his sword, he knows he's ready
Not thinking that killing her is sinning
His emotional sword is sharp and steady
She only sees the shining armour
For love has made her vision blind
She knows that he is what she sought for
She hopes he understands his find
Clouds collect, the wind is rising
Dragon and knight meet once again
He cannot perceive her tearful greeting
Mask'ed by the falling rain
So sword in hand, attacks unending
Piece by piece, he cuts her deep
She can but let him, love stops her defending
All she can do is stand and weep
And all too soon the fight is over
Her loveblood scattered, she dies in pain
He walks away from she who would be his lover
Her body washed by the tears of the falling rain
He never knew what he had wasted
He never looked past what his eyes could see
And now his life will be forever emptied
For the sake of one small victory
- Richard Oakham (sent in by John Rios)
*
Dealer of death, protector of life, wise men keep me hidden while fools flaunt me freely. I rest snugly in my bed until summoned by my master. What am I?
[Brian F. Fox]
*
Question: What do you call a halfling without arms?
Answer: Trustworthy
Question: What's the difference between Bozo the Gnome and a bag of shit?
Answer: One is a container full of feces and the other is a bag of shit.
*
By the pricking of my thumbs,
Something wicked this way comes.
-William Shakespeare [MacBeth, Act IV, Scene I]
Answers: 1. Time 2. Sword or Dagger
Bulletin Board
Proposal from Kevin
Thursday, 26-Feb-98 08:40:16
Message:
207.203.192.38 writes:
[This was sent in by Kevin. A few of us felt it would be best to place this here for everyone to look over before we
went any further with it. Feel free to post your comments as replies to allow everyone to know what your thoughts are.]
The following is a rough draft of a guideline that I believe will maintain the spirit of The Broken Sword
ARTICLES OF THE AGE OF GAR
Preamble
In the Age of Gar we gathered in concert to share and support our spirit and Creativity. And in the spirit of our gathering, we set forth these articles to outline and organize our growing legion.
ARTICLE I
We hereby set forth The Broken Sword to be the tome and representative of this legion and to serve as a vessel of communication between it's members. All may share its wealth but only a Knight may submit to its content. A Knight may submit their own article, a non-copyrighted article of interest, or the article of a non member one time. No submission shall be refused!
ARTICLE II
We, The Knights of The Broken Sword, declare ourselves the creators and defenders of this tome. We hereby swear to uphold these articles as presented and to stand by all de-cisions made by the Council of Gar. To become a Knight a prospective member must be sponsored by a Knight and submit a resume to the Sword. Afterwards the council will examine, question and vote. Acceptance will require gaining 2/3's of the participating Council's vote.
ARTICLE III
In order to maintain the spirit of these articles, The Broken Sword, and the Knights, we form the Council of Gar. It will be their duty to watch, deliberate and advise. The council will comprise sixteen chairs occupied by the following Knights. The last chair will remain empty in memory of fallen Knights.
Role Players' Rules of Thumb
(Formerly known as "Murphy's Laws for the AD&D Adventurer")
* From the Archives - Originally printed in "Broken Sword" 6/90, #4, Vol. 2
1. The more effort the player puts into designing his PC's background, the higher the chance that the character will die within the first few sessions of the campaign.
2. "Survivability of a character" is the talent of the player to find loop-holes in the AD&D system which gives the character an extra edge to overcome obstacles set by the DM.
3. The quality of a character's ability rolls is inversely proportional to the DM's attentiveness to those rolls.
4. Players who bring calculators to a game most likely are playing rigged halflings.
5. No one can agree on the powers of a vampire.
6. Dennis' characters never bleed when they get wounded; they just whine.
7. If it weren't for taverns adventuring parties would never get together.
8. Always be wary of players who know all of the major demons by name.
9. A paladin who claims to worship Thanos is probably not a paladin.
10. The three rules of a hero are: 1. Never kick a dragon in the nuts (it only makes them mad); 2. Never kiss a succubus on the mouth; and 3. Never, never let them see you sweat.
11. Any player who needs one experience point to gain a level always runs out to kill the nearest orc.
12. Whenever rolling up a character, always choose the seat furthest from the DM.
13. Always beware of gnomes bearing swords of sharpness.
14. If, while you are making plans to launch an assault on the enemy, the gnome of the party disappears, he has probably gone to warn the enemy of the oncoming attack.
15. One characteristic common to all alignments is the tendency to strip clean the nearest dead body.
16. Once Chris starts to lose, he immediately looks for someone else he can take down with him.
17. If the old adage, "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you" held true, Pallin would be.....well, you know.
18. When in doubt.....take the left passageway.
19. All barkeepers are smart-asses and usually retired 17th level fighters.
20. The more you like your PC, the more the other PC's want to kill him.
"The Forest for the Trees"
by
Brian F. Fox
[This story originally appeared in the February 1996 edition of the magazine Lost Worlds. I just couldn't help myself from posting it here as well.]
Frank checked his watch; it was almost noon, time to check in. He quickly examined his surroundings and spotted a fallen oak
tree several meters off to his right. Searching for snakes and finding none, he took advantage of the break and dropped his
pack to the ground with a grunt. Though he carried some of the finest hiking equipment available, in this heat and humidity any
load soon became burdensome. He sat down, took a long drink from his canteen, and caught his breath. "I hope I'm doing the
right thing," he said aloud to himself.
Frank flipped up the cover on his wrist vis-phone and used the speed dialer to dial in but chose not to activate the earpiece;
after all, there was no one around, except for thousands of bugs, a few snakes, and God only knew what else. He listened to
the sound coming from the tiny speaker on the vis-phone: one ring, two rings, ...
"Hello?" spoke a demanding voice, obviously being distorted to prevent any possible voice identification. There was no image
being transmitted, as had been agreed upon.
"Base, this is Hiker One, checking in, over," Frank replied in a monotonous mock-military tone. He felt extremely
self-conscious about using code-names and words, and every time he had to check in he could hardly keep from laughing. In
actuality, he would find the entire situation even more humorous if not for the fact that if he was caught he could expect a long
stay in a gulag or possibly worse. He had always disliked martyrs and had no intention of becoming one.
"Knock off the army crap, Hiker One. Remember why you're out there. You're several minutes early; how are things going?"
the voice asked with a small but noticeable trace of concern.
"Oh, things couldn't be better. It's just like a Sunday stroll in the park out here," Frank replied, swatting furiously at the
mosquitoes which had begun to swarm around him.
"According to your signal you are two-point-one klicks short of where you need to be by our timetable."
"I had problems with my pack, Base One. One of my straps broke, and I had to rig it. I'm still right on course, and I'll easily
make up the distance by nightfall, " Frank replied irritably. Who does he think he is criticizing me? I'm the one humping it
through this mess, while he sits back there like some petty dictator!
"You'd better," Base One commanded. "We can't afford any screw-ups on this one. We'll probably only get one shot at this
and it better count."
"Any updates for me?" Frank asked, choosing to ignore the remark.
"No. Everything is still on track. There've been no changes."
"Good, I like to keep things as simple as possible. I'll give you a ring again at the appointed time. Hiker One out." Frank
pressed the disconnect button and closed the cover. He had never met the man or woman who was overseeing the mission; a
distorted voice who was called Base One did not exactly instill him with confidence. Frank pulled out his insect repellant
tablets; the mosquitoes were really getting bad, and he did not even want to consider the ticks and chiggers. The pills usually
took effect within twenty to thirty minutes. Oh well, he mused as he popped a pill into his mouth, they probably cause cancer anyway.
Picking up his pack he set off after checking his bearings. He had no doubt he could make-up the time by nightfall; after all, he used to be an Army Ranger, and still did a great deal of hiking and camping. He could not in all honesty call this "fun," but it also was not the most difficult hike he had ever been on. Frank was well aware that if it had not been for his training, he would not have been selected for this assignment.
He had been furnished with very little intelligence by Green Earth. The target was the newly constructed central control complex
of Wild Florida, a sportsmen's park being erected in the middle of what once was the Ocala National Forest. Five years ago,
Congressman Jake Ferguson sponsored the National Park Lands Act of 2025; this allowed for the sale of public lands in order
to ease the burden of the national debt, which America's foreign investors had begun calling in. After a bitter and fierce debate
the act passed, and now a multi-national group had bought up most of the forest and was creating a "sportsmen's paradise" in
one of the few relatively pristine areas left in the state. The coral reefs off the Florida Keys were being eagerly devoured by
recreational investors and oil interests, and the Everglades were all but a dim memory as urban sprawl had spread across south Florida.
Frank reflected on his experiences with Green Earth. After an unpleasant tour of duty with the Army, he left the service and
began attending college at the University of Florida where he earned bachelor's and master's degrees in biology. Because of his
outspoken environmental sympathies, a friend had convinced him to attend a local meeting of Green Earth. As he quickly
discovered, Green Earth was a radical environmental movement, zealously dedicated to the preservation of the natural world.
They had been accused of and taken credit for several acts of sabotage and harassment against both industry and the
government. In spite of their goals, they found very little sympathy with the public; the world was still in the midst of the worst
global depression in recent history, creating a very cynical and jaded populace. Special interests ruled the country, and the
government no longer even pretended to be responsive to the citizenry.
Groups like Green Earth had grown increasingly desperate as wilderness areas continued to disappear. In response, they had
finally chosen to answer violently to what they viewed as the rape of the natural world. Frank had opposed this growing
sentiment and actively lobbied against it. He had experienced during his tour of duty the true results of violence, and the thought
of ever again harming another human being appalled him. He was honestly surprised when they asked him to perform the
mission; after all, hadn't he opposed it from the beginning? Hadn't he argued that there was too great a risk to human life, no
matter what the justification? And still they had been adamant in selecting him for the assignment. When he thought back on this,
even now he was uncertain as to why he had agreed. Perhaps he had simply allowed himself to be pressured by the group, or
maybe his military training had left him too susceptible to following orders. In spite of all his doubts, however, he had accepted
the mission, and he knew that he could no longer afford to be indecisive; this was a weakness while on an assignment, and one
which he could not allow in himself.
Frank continued to hike through the woods at a steady pace, narrowly avoiding two snakes (one a poisonous diamondback
rattler) along the way. True to his word, he easily made up for the lost time and before nightfall was actually ahead of schedule.
This was his third day in the woods, and by now he had found that he could once again adjust to extended periods outdoors.
With the help of insect repellant tablets, the insects were fairly manageable, and with a moderate amount of caution the snakes
were easily avoided. He must now wait until dark at point Alpha before he proceeded any further; Green Earth's sympathizer
on the project had described perimeter sensors very near to his position. The plan was to enter the construction site after dark,
following a path which their agent had passed along to them. Frank only knew him as "Guide" and hoped that he would be able
to live up to the name.
Guide was to meet him at point Bravo, the central control complex, where he worked as a security guard. They would then
enter the building, plant the explosives, and escape in a security vehicle which Guide was to make available. The attack on the
complex was scheduled for that night; it was July 3rd, and the complex would be running with a skeleton crew because of the
July 4th holiday. Even though most people placed very little significance on the holiday anymore, Green Earth wanted to take
advantage of the event to increase the emotional impact of the attack.
Frank dropped his pack to the ground and sat down at the foot of an old pine, resting heavily against its trunk. He watched
with pleasure as the sun dropped behind the oak and pine trees. Florida offered some of the most beautiful sunsets, with colors
of purple, red, and orange splashed across the sky. He was far from the city lights and would be able to really enjoy the
night-time sky. This was his favorite time to be in the woods, and in spite of his mission, or because of it, he was determined to
enjoy it to the fullest. He listened as an owl began its hooting in some neighboring tree, only to be answered by the myriad of
frogs and crickets which were on all sides of him. He was often amazed at how noisy it could become in the woods at night,
especially during the summer months. It was a shame that he would soon have to disturb all of this.
Reluctantly he glanced at his watch, flipped the cover up on the vis-phone, and dialed. "Yes?" a voice asked.
"Base One, this is Hiker One checking in, over," Frank again responded in his best military voice. He simply enjoyed irritating
Base One too much to pass up any opportunity.
"Just a sec, Hiker. Let me put him on the line." There was a brief pause, and Frank waited.
"Hiker One, this is Base One. What is your status, over?"
Frank hesitated for a moment. "I'm at point Alpha, preparing to proceed to point Bravo. Request permission to proceed, over."
"Permission granted, Hiker One. Proceed to point Bravo, rendezvous with Guide, and then on to the target, over," the voice
tersely responded.
This doesn't sound like the Base One I've grown to hate these last three days, Frank thought. Since when has he gotten
so G.I.?
He paused for a second, and asked tentatively, "Are there any updates for me, over?"
There was silence for several seconds as he was put on hold. "Negative, Hiker One. Proceed exactly as scheduled. Do you
copy, over?"
"I copy, Base One. Hiker One, out," he replied, ending the conversation. He stared at the ground for a moment, and then
began to let his eyes wander the woods about him. His gut told him that something was wrong; either Base One was in a subtle
way trying to warn him, or someone else was attempting to deceive him. Because of the voice distorter, it was impossible to tell
who he had actually been talking to. He had long ago learned to trust his instincts, and everything about this mission suddenly
seemed wrong. It was possible that Guard had been discovered and had exposed the entire conspiracy, or that he had actually
been an agent provocateur from the very beginning. Either way, Frank realized that it did not matter. He could no longer trust
anyone in the organization; he was completely on his own. To attempt to complete the mission would only be suicide. Surrender
was not an option; he had no intention of spending what remained of his life in a concentration camp for political prisoners.
Reaching into a side pouch on his backpack, Frank pulled out the night-vision goggles and placed them on his head. Scanning
first in the infra-red and then in the ultra-violet spectrums, he carefully searched the surrounding area. The floor of the forest
was dense with foliage and fallen trees, making it impossible to be sure that he was alone. He would have to take his chances,
hoping that if there were security forces in the woods about him then they would be just as impeded by the forest's foliage as he
was. Removing all but the most essential equipment, Frank placed his now lightened pack on his back and adjusted his gear,
ensuring that it was properly secured. He then wrapped himself entirely in a thermally insulated blanket to greatly reduce the
amount of infra-red radiation that any observers might detect. As an afterthought, he placed his hand on the explosive charge in
his hip pouch. I suppose I carried it all this way for nothing, he reflected with a wry smile.
Taking a few final deep breaths, he scanned one last time to his right. If there were security forces in the area he hoped that
their numbers were small and that they were dispersed. He then pulled out a small metal object the size of a can of soda and
began setting its controls. "I knew taking this along was a good idea," he said aloud. Throwing it deep into the woods ahead of
him, Frank crouched down behind a tree, quickly pulled the blanket over his face and eyes, and put his face to the ground.
There was a muffled explosion, accompanied by a blinding flood of light that lasted but a second. After taking a deep breath,
Frank sprinted off at full speed, hoping for a moment of surprise. He had run for about ten seconds when an amplified voice
blared out, "Halt or we will be forced to open fire! You have five seconds to comply with this order!" He tried desperately to
increase his pace, ducking as low as his balance permitted and using the trees around him for cover as much as possible.
Suddenly a barrage of shots were fired, several of which struck dangerously close. Frank continued to run, hoping against all
odds that he could break through their lines and escape into the depths of the forest. He did not see the root in his path, and as
his foot struck it and he lost balance, a second hail of gun fire erupted from behind him. As he fell forward, he felt a sharp blow
from behind which filled him immediately with an intense burning sensation. Frank hit the ground heavily, knocking the wind out
of him. Gritting his teeth in pain and struggling to catch his breath, he crawled towards a large fallen tree which was less than
twenty feet away. He quickly placed his body against the trunk of the tree, grateful to discover a shallow depression along his
side of its length. Frank listened to the sounds of pursuers moving quickly through the woods and to an occasional burst of gun
fire. It sounded as if they were moving away, searching further in the woods than where he had fallen.
They must not have actually seen me, he thought. They must simply have fired blindly at the noise I was making! He
congratulated himself for his foresight in insisting on being furnished with the photon grenade; without it they would surely have
caught him. Not only was it capable of inducing temporary blindness, but it also could play havoc with the sensitive receptors of
night goggles. It was also fortunate that they were not equipped with carbon dioxide sensors, which might have pin-pointed his
hiding place in a matter of seconds. All-in-all, I guess I'm just lucky, he thought as he stuffed his bandana into his suit to
staunch the flow of blood. Biting down on his flashlight, he slowly pulled out his first-aid kit and inhaled some of the pain-killer
he found. Fighting desperately against passing out, Frank sterilized and bandaged the wound as best he could. After waiting
silently for about a half-hour and hearing no further noise, he cautiously leaned against the trunk and looked about. He could
neither see nor hear any signs of his pursuers, but he knew that they could be hiding nearby or possibly wearing insulated
blankets as well. He laid back down along the tree and suddenly realized how thirsty he was. Allowing himself to drink only half
of the remaining water in his canteen, Frank placed the container next too him, adjusted his blanket over his shoulders, and
relaxed as best he could.
The night seemed to last forever; he drifted in and out of consciousness throughout it. With the aid of the painkillers Frank was
able to tolerate the incredible pain in his back. He spent the night listening to the sounds of the creatures which were all around
and the whisper of the night breeze as it blew through the trees. With his night goggles he watched a raccoon approach him,
probably drawn by the smell of the food he was carrying. It quickly scurried off after Frank threw some small sticks at it, never
intending to strike it, but only warn it away. An owl sat in a branch above him for quite some time, only to fly off later on some
mysterious errand.
In spite of the pain, Frank slowly began to feel a sense of peace. The night had given him time to think about all of the things in
his life that had meaning and to see them clearly for the first time. By the time the sun came up, he knew what he must do. He
stopped his contemplations for several minutes to enjoy the beauty of the sunrise and was suddenly amazed at the sight of a doe
grazing nearby. It was upwind and had not noticed his presence. After several moments, it abruptly stopped its feeding and
perked up its ears. More swiftly than a human could ever hope to move it bounded away into the forest.
Frank knew that it had sensed something, which might mean that men were approaching. He painfully pulled out the explosives
and began altering the settings. Placing his right thumb on a small button, he pressed down and held it. There was very little
pressure required to hold it down, which was fortunate because of his waning strength. Using his other hand for support, Frank
pushed himself up against the fallen tree, taking care to recline on his uninjured side. He placed the bomb in his lap, knowing
that if he removed his thumb from the button he would be dead in three seconds. The explosives were relatively weak, with a
blast radius of no more than twenty feet, and the forest floor was damp, so that there was only a minimal chance of fire.
He knew with certainty that this was as it should be; he had compromised his principles far too often in his life, but he would
never compromise them again, especially not in death. Using his free hand and his teeth, Frank removed his watch and
vis-phone. He then glanced down at his blood-soaked side. He had been hit very badly and estimated that with the aid of his
canteen and painkillers he might make it until nightfall. The men would almost certainly find him long before then, but with the
assistance of his volatile companion they would be helpless to apprehend him. Certainly, in their zeal for justice they might shoot
him on the spot, but that would only slightly diminish the time which he had left. He intended to enjoy his few remaining hours
left in these woods that he had so quickly grown to love. The pain began to worsen again, and he inhaled some of the
anesthetic. Gazing up through the trees into the beauty of the lightening sky above, Frank suddenly felt more alive and fortunate
than he had ever felt before in his life.
"The Land"
by
William Reck
The Land Continued........
This article is primarily for the original readers. Others will not get many
of the references. As a review, Kevin Main started a story with the idea
that each of our group would add a chapter. I will try to have the original
story scanned for a future submission for those who have forgotten. I wrote
this story for the "Broken Sword" for the last issue which was never
published. By luck, I still had the story on disk.
As a brief refresher, a group of young men who enjoyed D&D, camping, and war
games are sucked through a rift in time to the future beyond WW III when
civilization has been crushed. The rulers of the land like to collect
objects they consider icons of the past civilization, while the peasants of
this future world detest everything having to do with the past. The war has
made their current existence pitiful. The young men were captured and
"enslaved, hired, contracted", whatever you want to call it, by a collector
who saw this as an opportunity to increase his collection and thus his
status among "the collectors". He taught these young men how to survive and
turned them loose. The current time is immediately following this "boot
camp" training which most of the young men have finished. I apologize if I
have butchered this, Kevin, since I am writing this from memory.
CHAPTER 2
Anheuser-Busch Incident
(Bill Reck)
The fire hissed as it slowly began to dry and eventually burn the damp wood,
on this the eighth day of what was being referred to as the Anheuser trek.
It had rained that afternoon as it often does in the subtropical heat of
south Florida.
"I wonder if the others had a successful trip," Dennis said breaking the
silence.
"Who knows, and who cares, man," replied Marty. "All I know is that its been
6 months since I had a real Budweiser and I can almost smell the barley and
hops. Brian and Dave had to go chasing that rumor about an intact McDonald's
sign and Kevin of course had to follow along."
A moment later, Bill and Chris came strolling into the quickly constructed
camp carrying only 1 squirrel and a possum as dinner. The meal which six
months ago would have repulsed most of the group was now readily accepted, a
group of young men which had discovered a time portal which sent them on a
trip into a future time, after the earth had been devastated by a nuclear
war with the remaining inhabitants having recovered somewhat from the war's
effects. This group was almost immediately killed upon their initial contact
with humans which had spent generations in anguish hating the people who had
used technology to almost bring about the destruction of the earth. They
would have been executed had not the group of young men found a way to use
their knowledge of their time to be able to find items which were symbols of
a way of life before the nuclear devastation. The men who ruled these future
times were called "collectors" and they gained power according to the number
of items in their collections. The larger the collection, the more serfs who
would pay tribute and submit to a kind of feudal system. It had been six
months since the group had been cast into this time, during which they had
been successful in finding several items to satisfy Gran, the collector who
had originally come into contact with the group. Gran was smart enough to
know to keep the young men happy and controlled so that his power would grow
while the young men were not arrogant enough to believe they should strike
out on their own in this unfamiliar time and place.
"What in the fuck was that!" said Chris as he tossed the bones of his
devoured meal into the fire. "Sounded like movement back behind the horses,"
he continued.
"Probably the smell of the food has drawn some wild animal," Bill said as he
and Dennis retrieved their bows from the tents.
"I don't see anything," Marty whispered from half way up the tree he had
just climbed.
Chris went to grab the horses just in case while Bill and Dennis scouted the
area behind the horses where Chris indicated he had heard something. After a
few moment's search it was obvious that it was a false alarm. Everyone
returned to the fire, although everyone's weapons were conspicuously left
close at hand.
"It must be that I'm just jumpy about getting close to Bush Gardens,"mumbled
Chris at a level just audible enough for everyone to hear.
"How close do you think we are to Tampa?" Dennis asked to nobody in
particular. "We have got to be less than a couple days away."
"I think that we are in the outskirts of Tampa now. That section of road we
came across had to be part of I-75,"said Bill. "Those farmers we passed also
talked of a large city of Lockheed ahead which is probably built on the
ruins of Tampa."
"I hope I was right about the eagle at Bush Gardens," added Marty.
"You mean the beer," corrected Chris.
****
"God my legs are killing me," Kevin whined for the one thousandth time. "Why
in the hell did you have to trade the horses, Dave?"
"Because, you idiot, those farmers would take less in trade for horses than
in gold. They may never have given us the sign if we hadn't offered the
horses in trade," replied Dave.
"You could have left us with two horses to pull the wagon so we could ride
instead of spend so much time walking," Brian offered.
"Fuck you both," was the only reply.
Brain, Dave, and Kevin had been on the road for the past three weeks
traveling to near Sanford to recover a McDonald's sign which had one side
completely intact. Since they had only one horse to pull the wagon after
trading the others for the sign, they spent a great deal of time walking to
make better travel time. The McDonald's sign made the first large find the
group had made in the six months since their arrival here.
Later that day the trio arrived at what they had made their base of
operations. The group had found a large tin building which once belonged to
a hermit who had apparently collected "tech" items. Local farmers and
villagers avoided the area since everyone either feared or hated anything
which resembled the machines created by the technology of the late twentieth
century. The group found it ironic that the same people who basically
worshiped the symbols of lavish life led by people of their time would also
despise the science which got them there.
Shannon put away the shotgun he had fabricated when he recognized who was in
the group which approached. He had decided to stay behind when Bill, Dennis,
Chris, and Marty decided to go chasing dreams in Tampa. Since his arrival in
this new time Shannon seemed to be one of the people who despised their
current situation the most. It was rough to use a mechanical engineering
degree in a world which rejected science. He spent most of his time trying
to figure out how they had gotten to this time period. Thus far he had only
rumors of other people who came to this time era from other times.
"Where are the others?" asked Brian.
"Fuck if I know," replied Shannon, "Chris, Marty, Bill and Dennis are
traveling to Bush Gardens in search of the Anheuser Eagle. I've been busy
trying to rebuild the motorcycle so I decided to mind the store. Jeff, Rex
and the others are still training with the collectors guardsmen and aren't
going to be out of quasi boot camp for awhile."
"Oh those fuckers," Dave grumbled in the background. "They are going to get
their asses in a sling."
"Shut up Dave, we can't do anything about it now," Brian shot back in his
usual argumentative tone at his brother.
"Maybe you can't do anything. Just sit here on your ass Brian" Dave growled
back as he left the garage for town.
"Should we stop him?" inquired Kevin.
"No, let him go twiddle his thumbs in town" answered Brian as he ignored his
brother's exit toward town on their only horse.
Dennis awoke everyone slightly before dawn every morning. For some strange
reason he always insisted on taking the last watch. Later when riding,
Dennis would inevitably fall asleep in the saddle. This morning however
Dennis was wide awake.
"What's the matter with you?" Marty asked Dennis.
"I don't know, I've just had the feeling were being watched," he answered.
"I've had that feeling since we left", echoed Chris.
"Ya'll are just jumpy living a D&D adventure," Bill said with ironic
sarcasm, "settle down and screw your heads on right."
Several hours passed with nobody offering any lasting conversation and the
small group skirted what appeared to be the thriving town of Lockheed. Marty
lead the group using occasional signs of what they believed was I-75; he
claimed to have the best knowledge of the area and nobody felt like arguing.
By late afternoon they had made a significant discovery: Chris had noticed
some tangled piping which turned out to be the remnants of the theme parks
roller coasters.
"The Scorpion was one hell of a ride," Chris said,"this has to be it."
"That means the brewery is around here somewhere" said Dennis as he scanned
the horizon for signs of large building which would have housed the brewery.
"I don't know," said Bill as his got off of his horse to get a better look
at what was visible of the frame of the roller coaster,"it looks like just
the top of the roller coaster is above ground."
"You mean that you think it may be buried." intoned Marty as he joined Bill
in examining the twisted metal.
Marty and Bill set off on foot in one direction trying to find clues to the
location of the Brewery, while Chris and Dennis began foraging for the
evening meal. As luck would have it, Marty and Bill startled a young doe and
managed to bring her down with one of Marty's arrows, while Dennis found
what appeared to be the roof of a very buried brick building.
They ate dinner and decided to try and enter the building even though it
would be after sundown. Armed with torches the crew entered the building
through an area where the bricks had crumbled to rubble. Inside the dust was
very thick from many years of silts getting blown through cracks in the
walls. From the inside it was obvious that much of the building was full of
sand and would have to be dug out. The foursome skirted the sandy areas as
much as possible knowing the floor might give way under the tremendous
weight. Following a path which descended into the lower guts of the brewery,
the four quickened their pace as excitement rose. After passing through what
appeared to be an administrative area, they finally managed to find huge
aluminum tanks which once were part of the brewing process.
"Michelob, Budweiser, or Bud Lite?" said Marty with a gleam in his eyes.
"Busch-h-h" answered Dennis.
"How do we get into these things?" asked Chris as he followed the path of
the intricate tubing through the huge chamber.
"Hey, there is where the tours go through" said Bill as he began climbing
toward a walkway above them. "It says on this sign that these are the grain
tanks" he said as soon as he reached the sign off the walkway. In a few
moments everyone had made it to the walkway. The two torches they had been
carrying were beginning to get low, so replacements were pulled out. Chris
doused one and planned to use the other to light the second set of torches
when Marty grabbed it and doused it as well.
"What the fu...." Chris started to say but was cut short by a hand over the
mouth.
"Light down behind the door we came in," Marty whispered.
"Shit, we were followed," Dennis said in a moment of genius.
TO BE CONTINUED.....
"Druids Live"
by
Naugrim
Over the past (5) years I've seen some pretty interesting...and some not so interesting things as a police officer. A couple of years ago I began
keeping a journal to capture some of the moments that really had an impact on me. ( ...and if the truth be known, I have entertained some ideas
of a book in my old age-cop talk sells!!!) Where am I going with this? Well, I'm glad you asked. Since I now have a captive audience (actually,
there have been many times that I've had a captive audience), I have decided to share some of my more interesting calls for service with you,
my fellow Knights. These situations are not fiction, nor have I taken any creative liberty with the original facts for the sake of sensationalism.
Most of them are sensational enough in their own rights. As you will see, I have put the incidents in a 'story telling' format for ease of reading.
I have selected a pseudonym that some of you may find vaguely familiar; Throckmir Naugrim. I know, I know...the very name of that Great
Dwarven Spirit strikes fear deep within your souls. Fear not, I am with you! Well, I think that about covers it. So, sit back, relax, and enjoy...
Druids Live
I remember it like it was yesterday. It was the day that I realized that Druids still walked the Earth. I was on patrol in West
Greenville when I received a call from dispatch. The telecommunicator, with a hint of laughter in her voice, stated, " 156 ( that is
my call sign), I need you to check at 317 Sylvan Drive in reference to a naked female walking in the front yard." What followed
was clearly a long pause before I acknowledged. Another officer, commonly referred to as 'Yard Dog', quickly radioed in that
he would check with me. We were enroute.
As I pulled up to the residence, I was confronted with a somewhat gruesome sight. A 300 ( at least ) pound naked lady sitting
in her front yard holding a naked child on each leg. Yard Dog pulled up and we took a moment to digest this particular
dilemma. The first word that popped into my mind was, "DAMN!" After calling for my supervisor to respond ( damage control
in case we had to wrestle with a 300 pound emotionally disturbed naked lady...an event that would surely make the news), we
approached the serenely smiling naked woman. "Hi officers, can I help you?" ( Loosely interpreted that means- I don't see the
problem with sitting naked in a populated residential area with a naked child on each leg in the middle of the day.) "Well,
actually, if you could go inside and put some clothes on, we'll talk about why we're here."
"Why should I do that? I'm just out here worshiping nature. Is there a problem with that?" (So there it was. At long last I had
come face to face with a Druid. Not quite what I expected, I'm sure...but a Druid nonetheless. Of course, at the time I could
only think...Jesus-what a psycho!!!!)
"Ma'am, actually, it's against the law to walk around naked in public. It's called Indecent Exposure. I'm afraid you're going to
have to go in the house and put some clothes on." (-both of us doing our best not to bust out laughing.)
"Against the law? What law? I'm on my property! I can worship any way I want to!!! Do you believe in God? Don't you
worship? What's going on here? Why are you here? ( Now a flurry of questions without giving us the chance to respond.)
Apparently, while we were discussing religion, nakedness, and nature, a neighbor familiar with this lady's particular 'condition',
made contact with her husband. Within fifteen minutes, he arrived on the scene. Instead of being supportive and showing
empathy for her obvious emotional disorder, he yelled what we were thinking..."What the hell are you doing???!!!! Well, if
things weren't bad enough, now she was up...(ghastly) and arguing with him ( did I mention 300 pound emotionally disturbed
naked lady?). The naked kids were running around in the yard, neighbors began coming outside to witness the carnival, and
we were trying to talk rationally...and calmly to the 'odd couple'.
Fortunately, he was able to get her calmed down and finally, with kids in tow, back in the house. We found out that she was
schizophrenic and had stopped taking her medication. We walked back to our patrol cars realizing we had a lot to be thankful
for. We didn't make the news, didn't have to wrestle with a 300 pound emotionally disturbed naked lady, and had come
face-to -face with a Druid. When all was said and done I realized...Druids live.
-Naugrim
"Ill-gotten Gains"
by
Brian F. Fox
[This story originally appeared as an entry in a small fantasy writing contest which was held online. It won for the category of "best thief-oriented story"! Thank you, thank you, you really like me!]
The Den tavern in the Thieves District of Drakmar was busy as usual that evening when Myloh walked in the door. Some of its
patrons referred to it as "The Den of Thieves," while others called it a "Den of Vipers," but its actual name was simply "The
Den" (however deserving the other names might be). As he entered the dimly lit dingy tavern he bumped against a table
upsetting the drinks of those sitting there. "Watch it, you clumsy fool!" a large brutish-looking man yelled at him. Grabbing the
small halfling by his leather tunic he easily lifted him off the ground. "I'll give you two choices: either you buy all of us new drinks,
or I'll crush your head and keep your pointy ears as a trophy. What'll it be?"
Myloh, who was small even for a halfling, shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of apology. "I sincerely ask your forgiveness. Of
course I'll buy all of you new drinks!" Reaching into his money pouch he produced several gold pieces and dropped them into
the man's outstretched hand.
Dropping the halfling to the floor, the man turned back to his laughing companions. "That's better. Now be off, runt."
Myloh straightened his tunic and walked away, his teeth gritted in anger. He moved to the bar, brushed off the seat of a stool
and attempted to hop up onto it but missed and fell to the floor. Ignoring the laughter of many of the patrons, a young barmaid
passing by who had seen everything reached out to give him a hand. "My thanks," Myloh said accepting her assistance. Sitting
on the stool, Myloh dropped his money pouch on the counter. Turning to the crowd he announced, "Drinks are on me! I'm in a
good mood and I've got money to spare!" The assorted riff-raff, thieves, outlaws, and adventurers who filled the tavern
immediately leapt from their seats and ran to the bar. Several of them thanked him while others slapped him on the back. Many
of these eyed his large money pouch enviously.
"You must have come into a fortune," the barmaid said as she wiped up a spill on the bar.
"You could say that," Myloh responded with a wry smile. "My name is Myloh, and I am at your service fair lady." He held out
his hand to her.
"And mine is Elisa," she replied. Myloh took her hand and kissed it causing her to blush. Working at The Den did not expose
her to a great deal of gentlemen of any race.
Looking around suspiciously he said, "Can you keep a secret?"
"Sure," she answered as she sat down beside him. "In Drakmar, those who can't often lose their tongues or their lives."
Nodding, Myloh leaned forward, spilling some of his wine on himself. Frowning, he continued. "You see, I'm an investigator
and picklock by profession. About a week ago I ran an errand for a minor wizard in the High District who needed some
materials for a potion he was working on. Well, when I returned with the stuff that scoundrel refused to pay! I don't need to tell
you that I was more than mildly annoyed. I reminded him that we had a verbal agreement and that I am a professional, but he
simply responded that he no longer needed the materials. I argued with him, but he would simply not see reason. Finally, my
professional pride hurt, I decided to pay him a visit that night. I admitted myself into his quarters and relieved him of a small
chest I had spotted in his study when I had been there. When I had a chance to examine it I found it contained 500 gold pieces
and a beautiful diamond!" Pouring the money pouch out on the counter he picked up the gem and handed it to her. Her eyes
opened wide in appreciation and she handed it back to him.
Myloh set it down on the counter and turned to her. Several of the patrons stared at the gem, drool practically running from
their mouths. "Aren't you a little nervous about leaving it there like that?" Elisa whispered to him.
"No, I'm sure it will be fine," Myloh smiled. Lowering his voice to a whisper he continued. "Well, that's when my problems
started. Normally, I have superb reflexes and dexterity, which is why I chose to pursue my profession. But now I find myself
cursed with clumsiness! I trip over my own feet, I spill food and drink on myself, and worse. I tried to pick a frozen lock for a
merchant, an honest transaction, but I only succeeded in dropping my tools everywhere and breaking one off in the lock! I was
extremely embarrassed, as you might imagine." The barmaid nodded sympathetically. "I was threatened later by a street tough
near here, and when I drew my dagger in defense I cut myself and then dropped it on my foot! Luckily a patrol came by and
saved me. Rather ironic, a burglar being rescued by a patrol," he said. Elisa smiled at him, amused at the fact that he had
accidentally referred to himself as a burglar.
Once again Myloh announced that drinks were on him. A crowd formed again at the bar, and when it cleared he looked down
at the treasures on the bar. Shaking his head he continued in a whisper. "Well, being the bright halfling that I am I realized that I
must be under a curse. Having friends at the Academy Arcane I decided to look them up (I've done services for them in the
past). They cast several spells upon me and agreed that I was under a curse, but then informed me that they didn't know how
to break it! They asked if I had recently gained any possessions and I reluctantly showed them the diamond; remember, I had
obtained it from another wizard. They identified it as the source of the curse but said that no one currently there could remove
it.
"So, after a great deal of thought I decided to take matters into my own hands. First, I took the diamond to a well and threw it
in, only to find it back in my money pouch the next time I checked. Then I took it to a gnome gem cutter and asked him to split
it, hoping that would break the curse. He couldn't. I then tried to return it to the mage I took it from by sneaking it back there,
but once again it found its way back to my pouch. I was just about at the end of my rope when a thought occurred to me.
Maybe, just maybe..."
Myloh interrupted himself to once again announce that drinks were on him. By now the tavern was packed with people as
word spread that he was buying drinks for everyone in the place. When the crowd cleared Myloh looked down at the
remaining gold pieces on the bar which were left. There was no sign of the diamond.
"Oh no!" Elisa cried. "The -"
Myloh cut her off by a loud "Sh-h-h-h!" She looked at him questioningly and he would only smile. In a whisper he said, "You
see, I had a theory. I gained the gem through theft and therefore perhaps it could only be gotten rid of through the same
method. That wizard had set me up! He sent me on an errand and refused to pay me, a burglar, while all the while he made
certain that I would not overlook that chest. He knew I'd go for it! So I decided to trust in the shady and unscrupulous nature
of the patrons of this tavern," he smiled.
Hopping down deftly from the stool he pulled out three daggers and began to juggle them flawlessly. Placing the weapons back
in their sheaves he then turned to Elisa and kissed her hand. "Apparently I was right. I hope the gem serves its new owner as
well as it did me. Please keep what gold is left in thanks for listening to my story." To the amazement of the patrons Myloh
danced a jig as he left the tavern.
Smiling, Elisa watched him go and then scooped up her gold. "Not a bad tip, not bad at all," she said.
"The Dane Chronicles"
Part I: A Boy and His Dog
by
D. Fox
My eyes snapped open as I felt the hot breath and warm teeth gently squeezing the soft flesh of my neck. It occurred
immediately to me that I would have to act fast or die even faster. As my eyes strained to focus in the pitch darkness of the
forest, I knew what I had to do. I collected my thoughts and then projected them to communicate, "Alright you worthless cur,
you have made your point. You are the superior assassin of this team." At that point I felt a slight lick and the pressure was
released.
I sat up and relaxed my muscles as I resheathed my dagger. I projected, "I thought you weren't coming back this night, as you
told me that you had business with your old clan." A large figure of a wolf stepped out of the shadows to view his old friend and
respond mentally by communicating, "The business was not as taxing as I had originally thought that it would be. I made my
point and took my leave. As is my style, wouldn't you agree? By the way Dane, I remember our bet as he who demonstrates
superior stealth is deserving of free meals for a week. I prefer my rabbit medium rare."
I projected, "You will enjoy what I bring you but I never specified as to the content of the menu. Tell me more of your business
with the Clan of the Mist Wolves. I am interested in hearing how the Great Crutch of the Mist Wolves handled himself." Crutch
stared deeply into the forest for a moment and then turned to me and responded, "As you know I am the uncontested heir to
lead my clan upon the death of my father. I simply responded to an upstart's accusation of my worthiness to carry out my duties
if and when I choose to assume this position." I smiled as I thought, "You have always said that you have no interest in clan
politics or assuming the role of Alpha Male. Why care if your cousin questions your interest in doing this?" Crutch quickly
responded with, "He questioned my authority and attempted to compromise my right as heir. For that, I acted as I had to. I
challenged him to combat. He would not withdraw his accusations of my faithfulness to the clan and tried to avoid the challenge.
I did not make it easy on him. The result involved a cowardly attack on me by him and three of his underlings."
I raised an eyebrow and thought, "An attack in the middle of your village? I can only assume that it did not bode well for your
cousin and his lackeys." Crutch made a sinister canine smile. Even though I have adventured with Crutch for seven years, I am
still disturbed by his intimidating display of teeth. Crutch then stated, "I chose not to kill him but I believe that he will not be
traveling for many months. Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for one of his junior henchmen. He did not fair quite as well.
No concern of mine as I was within my right to retaliate. I even think that my father was pleased by the outcome. He has never
been impressed with my role as a leader, but he cannot deny my abilities as a warrior. I consider this affair concluded. If not,
then I will deal with it more harshly next time."
I sat without responding and then opted to change the subject as it seemed to be irritating my friend. I asked, "How is your
father? Is his health well?" Crutch thought, "He is fine enough. The clan is strong and growing with two new pup members. We
now number 23 in all. This is the largest we have been in over 20 years. It was a nice visit but I was glad to leave. I have no
interest in that lifestyle. I enjoy my freedom too much. Besides, who would keep your halfbreed Elfin ass out of trouble?"
I laughed at this and thought back seven years earlier and remembered how different my first encounter with Crutch had been
from now. I had been employed by a baron of a small territory to recover his kidnaped daughter. I thought that this should be a
simple enough job, not to mention that I was in desperate need of gold to pay my thieves guild dues. I decided to take the job
and thought that I might take my advance payment and sell the girl to the highest bidder to increase my take. I wasn't sure if I
was going to do that. My conscience was nagging at me about the professional ethics of such an action. The threat of hired
retaliation also concerned me too. I decided that I would decide later what I would do with the girl.
As one of the best trackers in the territory, I did not come cheap. The Baron paid me 400 gold pieces up front with an
additional 600 upon the safe delivery of his daughter. I was very pleased with the financial terms and looked forward to cashing
in. I had some reports that a band of orcs had abducted the girl and had retreated to the forest. The local law came up empty
handed and after a great show of bravado soon retreated to the pub to "strategize." As my reputation was well known, the
Baron was quick to send word to my guild that he was in dire need of my services.
I met briefly with the distressed Baron and must admit that I had a moment of pity for the man. He was authentically worried for
the safety of his daughter. My father would not have wasted his time, not to mention money, looking for me. I guess that this
motivated me a little to help him. It never hurts to get a Baron indebted to you and make 1000 gold pieces while you do it. I
took my leave of the Baron and made my way to the edge of town where the band of orcs and the subdued girl were last seen.
I am always amazed at how easy it is to track a band of orcs. I'm not sure which is easier, following their tracks or their smell.
This group made no attempt to cover their tracks which appeared to be no more than eight hours old. I thought to myself, "Man
this is going to be too easy." Of course, every time I have ever said that I was extremely wrong. But then again, I am a "mug is
half full" kind of guy. I proceeded to follow these simpletons into the forest. They did not follow a road or even a path; they
kind of blazed a trail into the dense forest. I just dismissed this as amateurs at work.
After about an hour of following this gang, it was around five o'clock in the evening and light was beginning to fade. I continued
tracking for another two hours and decided to strike camp. As a half elf, I have superior night vision and can detect warm
blooded creatures in total darkness. This and the fact that I am more at home in the forest than anywhere else offers me calm
sleep. I took the normal precautions when setting up camp: I set three very well hidden and effective traps to alert me of any
intruders, and I bedded down under an elderberry bush for cover. For warmth I used my cloak of invisibility, and to mask my
humanoid odors I applied rabbit piss to my leather sandles. I made a quick "once-over" of my weapons. Daggers, one
poisoned, one without - check. Short sword - check Caltrops - check. Poisoned darts, left forearm. Not poisoned, right -
check. And the trusty garrote - check. All accounted for and in their proper place.
I have always received a lot of shit by my brothers in the thieves guild for using my short sword, but they have never taken too
kindly to a thief who is also a fighter. Over the years a few of them have come to regret my fighting skills and my short sword,
but that is a story for another time. I had a calming and uneventful night and began my adventure at dark early the next morning
so that I could close the gap between me and my prey. I found a small cache of wild berries and enjoyed my breakfast. The
trail was all too clear and I estimated that I would catch up to them by three or four in the evening. I estimated that there were
six of them, five orc and one troll, with one of the orcs carrying the girl. I was unsure if she was still alive as she never appeared
to walk and was always carried. I thought positively and assumed that she was unconscious or drugged. I saw no reason to
carry a dead girl all this way if they did not have another agenda such as slavery or ransom. I was also very concerned about
my other 600 gold pieces as I could only assume that the baron would not be willing to pay 600 gold pieces for a dead
daughter; well, maybe not that much. Either way, I was very happy to be doing what I loved. Traveling, fighting, and collecting
great sums of money.
The day was peaceful and I could tell that I was closing fast on my bounty. I was beginning to formulate a plan of how I was to
recover the girl: I figured that I would wait until these fools went to sleep and go in and take them all. This seemed simple and
relatively risk free. Anyhow, I was sure that they would be incapacitated from drink shortly after they stopped to sleep. There
was no town or village for miles and I felt that I could get to them before they got to their destination. That was my plan
anyway.
Around three o'clock I began hearing them in the distance. They weren't even trying to be quiet. They left a trail that even my
human father could follow. I began flanking them to get a better look at this so-called gang and to size them up. As I had
estimated, there were six of them. The troll was leading the band and berating the orcs all the while. He apparently was upset at
them for some reason that due to my limited understanding of orcish I was unable to decipher. One of the orcs was carrying a
large bag over his shoulder that I could only assume was the girl. The contents of the bag were still while it bounced regularly
off the orc's back. I hoped that I could walk back with the girl rather than have to carry her. In my line of business, manual
labor is usually an option, not a necessity.
The day wore on and the troll continued to berate the orcs. Eventually they decided to break for camp. The orc with the bag
dropped it on the ground with a thud. I thought that I heard a moan when it hit, or at least I had hoped so. The rest of this gang
just dropped to their asses in complete exhaustion. As I had hoped, one of the orcs pulled out a big jug of elixir that I can only
assume was piss spiked with alcohol and proceeded to share it with his orcish buddies. I waited until they looked as if they
were in for the night and moved closer to them. I wrapped myself in my cloak of invisibility so that I would blend into the
surroundings and began slowly creeping closer to my new friends. My 26 years experience as a thief has paid off many times as
my movements were once again completely silent.
I looked over this gang again from my close vantage point and found four of them already asleep. One of the four, the troll, was
even sleeping with his head resting on the bag and its contents. The other two orcs looked as if they were not too far from sleep
themselves. I thought, "What a way to make a living. I must really love the dangerous lifestyle. The odds are not in my favor
with six of them and one of me, but that has never stopped me before. Well, let's see, there are six of them, so that makes it
100 gold pieces for each dead monster. Not a bad motivator." I replayed my plan in my head as to how I was to dispose of
these problems. I would wait another five hours to make my move as they would be deep in sleep by then. My choice weapon
for this job would be my dirk with poison of course. I would strike through the eye and then across the throat. I estimated that
due to their close proximity to each other, I could get all six in under a minute. None of them seemed very well armed except
for the standard rusty long sword and dagger. I did not see a bow in the group, so I felt confident that if it went wrong I could
make a hasty retreat and live to see another day.
I knew that I would have a long day tomorrow while carrying a drugged and bruised girl back several miles out of the forest, so
to make the best use of my time I decided to catch a few hours worth of sleep myself. I would wake refreshed and ready to do
the job of dispatching some nobodies. I also knew that even if they did wake while I slept, they wouldn't see or smell me
anyway, so I slept. My last sight of the evening was the group of six snoring up a storm and laying in disarray around the bag
that I would soon have in my possession.
I awoke as planned after sleeping three or four hours. It was hard to tell but I immediately knew that I had slept too long. I
could tell that all six of my marks were already dead. As a professional, I have an experienced eye in determining the status of a
situation from afar. That and the fact that all of their throats had been torn away from their bodies and their was blood
everywhere. The stench was overwhelming. The bag still lay undisturbed under the semi-severed head of the belligerent troll
except that the bag was now empty. I quickly unsheathed my daggers and began scanning my surroundings for heat patterns. I
saw none. I sat quietly for what seemed ten minutes, just listening for movement. I heard none. I then sheathed one of my
daggers and pulled my short sword and entered their camp.
It was certain that all six were irrefutably dead. All of their equipment was still on them and there was no sign of a struggle.
There was not even a pulled blade. I then kicked the trolls head off of the bag and looked inside. I found some evidence that a
person had been carried in it. The smell of human, some blond hair, a piece of fine fabric, and a little dried blood. Not enough
blood to be overly concerned with. I then surveyed the camp as best as possible while searching my new friends' dead bodies
for any goodies that they might have on them.
I found that there were several sets of what appeared to be wolves' tracks. Except that these tracks were bigger than normal. I
estimated that these tracks were of wolves that must be at least five feet tall at the shoulder and weigh in at 300 pounds each. I
also found that the troll had 75 gold pieces on his person that were generously left behind. That seemed quite rich for a
character of his type. I can only assume that the money might have been a partial payment for his incomplete job. I also found
another set of tracks. It was human and female. I assumed that it had to be the girl. Amazingly, she walked out of camp within
two hours ago. Now I was confused. Apparently something decided to kill my new friends and spare the girl. And to make
matters worse, she was walking in the wrong direction. I have got to remember to never sleep on a job again.
The only thing that I had to go on was the tracks of the big dogs and the girl, both of which were going in different directions. I
decided to follow the girl. There was more money in it. Besides, satisfying your curiosity doesn't pay the bills and can even get
you killed. I hate to travel at night but I figured that I had better or else she may meet up with those agitated dogs and I may
lose 600 gold pieces. About 40 minutes into my trip, I got the sense that I was being watched, which is not a feeling that I
normally get. I climbed a tree to get another look but saw nothing. I picked up no heat patterns. I continued at a faster yet more
cautious pace and hoped to overtake the girl soon. I heard a twig snap behind me and I quickly cloaked myself and tucked
against a tree. I was motionless as I saw the biggest wolf that I had ever seen begin walking toward me. He stopped and began
smelling the air and the ground. It was obvious that I was looking at one of the wolves who had dined on the orcs. He knew
something was wrong as he could not spot me, and I was praying that he would just go away. At this point I began to question
the value of 600 gold pieces. I thought, "Shit Dane, cut your loses and make tracks, or better yet make no tracks."
The great wolf crouched down on the ground and just layed there. After about ten minutes of this I thought that I was going to
explode. A wolf that was at least 300 pounds of man-eating muscle was just fifty paces away, waiting for me to make a move.
I believed that he could not find me but was going to wait for me to move and then make his hit. In a sick kind of way, I
respected his patience and style. I myself have used this tactic once or twice. I just hoped that he wasn't as good as me. From
the looks of things, I was in big trouble. Even if I was lucky enough to take this creature down, his buddies would most likely
get me. At this point, I had really wished that I had purchased that potion of flying that one of my thief brothers tried to sell to
me. I picked a bad time to be cheap.
Suddenly, I felt a tugging sensation on my mind. It felt as if something was pushing a finger into my brain but it didn't hurt, rather
I just felt a sort of pressure. I assumed that someone was casting a spell on me. By the time that thought came to mind I had
another and it wasn't mine. I heard words in my head and knew that they were not spoken. The words said very clearly, calmly
and in a raspy voice, "Do not test my patience, pet. I know that you are here and I will not let you leave. I do not know what
magic you possess that cloaks you from my senses but I will have you. Now or later." I thought to myself, "Oh shit, the gig is up
and now I have to deal with some mind probing magician and a pissed off dog."
My mind raced and I still came up with no solution to my predicament. I did the only thing that I could do in this situation, I
tried to talk my way out of it. Or rather I tried to think my way out of it. I assumed if it could talk to me mentally, I could talk to
it mentally. I had heard of such things in the guild but never had experienced it. I thought of what I wanted to say and then tried
to project my thoughts. I began with, "I will make a deal with you. You show yourself and I will show myself, and then we can
kill each other like civilized folks." The reply came swiftly but with calm, "I am lying in plain view. Now it is your turn." My mind
raced even more. The good news was that now I believed that I had to contend with only one foe, and the bad news was that
my foe was a highly intelligent orc-eating wolf.
I then projected, "Am I conversing with the amazingly beautiful creature that shows itself to be a great wolf?" The wolf replied,
"Yes, you are addressing Crutch of the Mist Wolf Clan, and there is no need for flattery as it will not change your fate". I was
partially excited and partially terrified. I had never spoken with an animal such as this. Yes, maybe the infrequent crow or
weasel, but never a great beast. I then asked, "Why do you desire to end the life of one who is a lover of all creatures of the
forest?" Crutch replied, "You are in my forest and have only ill will toward one who seeks not to harm you." I projected, "You
must be referring to the girl. I don't want to hurt her, I want to rescue her. I was hired by her father to return her to him as soon
as possible and that is my intent." Clutch replied, "You will do nothing. As soon as you are foolish enough to show yourself I
will end this conversation." At that point I knew the importance of self-discipline and the art of holding still. Clutch and I
continued to talk and I actually found this form of communication enjoyable and simple. I learned how to protect my thoughts
and only project those thoughts that I wanted him to receive.
This continued for at least three hours as far as I could tell. We spoke of many things, such as hunting, the forest, his clan, the
dead orcs, the girl, and life in general. I felt that he was using communication to throw me off so that I would get sloppy and
show myself, which I did not do. I did ascertain that he and other members of his clan killed the orcs after tracking them for a
while. They walked right into their camp, stood over each one, and bit through their necks. Amazing job. They knew that I was
out there but could not find me. They figured that I would just return the way that I came so after they freed the girl, they sent
her the other way. She was scared shitless but Clutch directed her out of camp in a manner that motived her to move quickly.
He just wanted her to leave his forest.
I knew that daybreak was coming soon and then I was much more likely to be seen and I didn't want that. I came to the
conclusion that eventually I was to end up dog food. I had to think fast. I couldn't come up with anything. My muscles ached
and my mind was groggy but my survival skills kicked in. I suggested a deal to Clutch: I inferred that he seemed to me to be
very evolved and intelligent. Of this he agreed. I then suggested that if I could offer a simple riddle that he could not answer, he
must allow me to leave unharmed. I played on his ego by suggesting that he seemed very articulate and surely was more
intelligent than I am and after much prodding he agreed. I projected, "This is not a trick question, but a fair question with only
one correct answer. What is the shortest complete sentence in our language?" Clutch seemed to smile, or at least it seemed like
a toothy grin. Maybe it was a snarl but I do know that it almost made me break and run for it. I will never forget that feeling.
Clutch thought long and hard on this question. After what seemed a lifetime, he stated that he had an answer. He replied "'I live'
is the shortest sentence in your language." Now it was my turn to smile, and then I slowly projected, "No Great Clutch, I am
sorry. 'I am' is the correct answer. Now I hope that you are a creature of your word and will honor our agreement." Once
again Clutch displayed that terrifying grin and replied, "Yes, you have won your freedom. I have never allowed a foe to leave
my forest alive. I guess exceptions must be made. You may show yourself and leave." I knew that I could get attacked as soon
as I stepped out of shadows but I had to take this chance. I had played all of my cards and this was my only option.
I appeared in front of Clutch who immediately stood up. I felt as if I should turn and run but decided to hold my ground and
finish this. Clutch then projected, "I must know your name as you are the most patient and cunning pet that I have encountered."
I replied that my name was Dane and that I was honored to be in the presence of such a noble creature. Clutch asked me to
stay and chat a while longer. I saw this as a wonderful opportunity to sit so I did. I wasn't even sure that I could walk yet
anyway. We communicated for hours it seemed and I told him of my travels and adventures and how I must recover the girl.
He was intrigued by my lifestyle and told me of his desire to see more of the world than just his forest and clan. I agreed to
allow him to accompany me while in his forest and help me find the girl. This was the beginning of a very interesting, dangerous,
and profitable partnership.