Exploring the Fabled Lands
The Warrior
The boat rocks beneath my feet. I keep my eyes on The Spider, the constellation that points north. I look to the fresh water in my pail, or rather... the lack thereof. I won't make it another day on the sea. Keeping one eye on the stars, I glance at the map my grandfather had left me when he died. This map was is my chance at a new life. A chance for riches, power, and most of all...adventure.
A blob of white stinking goop splatters against my precious heirloom. I look up. I spot the source of the goop. A white seagull caws overhead. It's laughing. I feel the creases of my brow deepen. My hands tighten into a ball. I open my mouth to shout at the bird. No sound leaves my lips. I look at the horizon in every direction, realization taking hold of my brain. A seagull...there must be land nearby.
Finally, I see it. Sure enough, the distinct outline of cliffs comes into view. I take a hard turn positioning the bow towards the approaching land mass. My heart quickens. A smile creeps across my mouth. I fold the map with a silent prayer to my grandfather.
I made it.
The thought was short-lived. Soon the water around me began to shake the boat. Clawlike waves try to rip my boat apart piece by piece. I tighten my grip on the stern. My eyes widen as it gets harder and harder to maintain my grip. A line of jagged, razor-sharp rocks surround the island. My boat is being dragged right for them.
I take a deep breath. I keep my eyes on the rocks. I start counting down in my head, trying to time the exact moment of impact. That moment came. I leap into the icy water. The fanglike rocks sink into the boat, tearing it to pieces. My already cold skin seems to freeze over in the icy waters.
I struggle to find the surface. The waters seemed to fight over me, pulling me this way and that. I feel a flame within my chest. The fire gets hotter and hotter rising up my throat and threatening to force my mouth open to either escape or be quenched by the water. It's too much. I open my mouth to breathe just as I'm tossed face-first upon a sandy beach. I lay on the beach gasping for air. I listen to the waves crash nearby and wonder if I actually made it out alive. I wonder until I hear the sound of someone approaching. I stumble to my feet and see:
My head cocks to the side. I look the man up and down and wonder. I open my mouth to speak. The old man beats me to it.
"'Well, well, well, what have we here friends?' asks the old man. He seems to be talking to someone next to him...'Looks like a washed-up adventurer to me,' he says in answer to his own question. 'All wet and out of luck!'" -Fabled Lands: The War-Torn Kingdom
I listen. The man debates with himself. When the debate begins to heat up, I decide to interrupt. I asked the man to confirm where we were. The man confirms we are on the Isle of the Druids, then beckons me to follow him and begins to walk away.
I look back at the pieces of my boat. They slosh back and forth upon the sand. I look to the sky, covering my eyes with my palm. The Sun's rays wrap around my water-logged clothes. The light drinks away the icy moisture. It feels...nice. I march away from the beach, moving further into the island following the old man. The Sun won't feel nice for long.
I continue up the hill catching up to the old man. We walk up the hill together. He looks at me as he talks, never taking his eyes off me. Somehow he never trips or stumbles. He takes twists and turns up the hill all while never taking his eyes off mine.
Suddenly we make it to the top of the hill. Three massive obsidian archways adorn the crest of the hill.
"Here are the gates of the world"-Fabled Lands: The War-Torn Kingdom
The old man walks back down the way we came. I look from archway to archway. Each is carved with mystic runes. I haven't the slightest idea of what they mean. Yet amongst the runes are characters I do recognize. The are written clear as day, without any sign of maring or weathering from the elements. They read:
Yellowport, Marlock City, Wishport.
I choose at random and decide to look at the inside of the arch labeled Yellowport. The runes light up and pulse with vibrant magical energy. A flash and crack of thunder and lightning sear the sky just overhead. Everything goes black.
My vision returns. The putrid smell of rotten eggs wafts through my nostrils. I fight the urge to throw up. It's clearly coming from an almost yellow river to my right. My gaze follows the stinking river up to see a large city. "Welcome to Yellowport"- Fabled Lands: The War-Torn Kingdom
A passing merchant startles me with his greeting. I wait a few moments to gather my thoughts, then head in the same direction as the merchant...into town.
I'm struck by the number of people rustling about, in some places shoulder to shoulder. I'm able to make out several street signs. I scan the signs until I find an inn and head in that direction. I find the place.
I walk into the inn. For the amount of people outside I expected a bigger crowd. It's not empty, but it's not bustling. I see several what I assume to be regulars at the bar with a handful of other parties scattered about the establishment. They sat on rickety stools at lopsided tables. I walk to the bartender, feeling my shard pouch out of habit. Its low. Curious about the happenings around this new town I consider buying a round of drinks for the regular patrons, but think better of and instead secure a room for the night. I take a shard out of my purse and hand it to the innkeeper.
I make my way to my room and wait for night to fall. As darkness settles on the city I decide to take a look at the darker side of the city...literally.
I walk down from my room back into the tavern. Most of the patrons had left, though a few of the regulars from earlier were still at the bar. I walk out into the street. I'm hit with the stink immediately. The inn had given a slight but welcome respite from the stink of the city. I snort and begin walking. Lanterns flicker with freshly lit flames. The streets are close to empty.
I walk through the dark streets nodding to the occasional passerby. Most keep their eyes on their feet. I find myself unintentionally falling into step with someone in front of me. They look back and meet my eyes. I start to nod when they bolt into an alleyway to the left. Curious, I follow, looking around in circles to see if anyone else is near. I'm alone.
As I turn into the alleyway the person who met my gaze is gone. Confused I venture further in. Not more than 30 steps in I face a wall. I'd hit a dead end. Before I can look to where the runner may have gone I feel something heavy strike my skull. My vision goes black.
I awake in dimly lit chamber. The air is moist and smells like old logs that have been out in a heavy rain. My head hurts, but my vision gradually adjusts to the dimly lit space. I'm not alone. Shadows move along the walls and whispers grow to full fledged conversation. The shadows belong to several dozen men standing a few paces away. They wear in very little clothing. The clothing they do wear seems to be made of furs and feathers, but each wears various talismans made of what looks like...bones.
One of them steps forward and stands before me. At this point I test my arms and legs. I realize they are both bound. I'm pretty sure I can break the bindings. I could probably beat a few of these men in hand to hand combat if it came to it, but not all of them. I began thinking of an alternative escape plan. Nothing came to mind.
The one that stands before me turns to face me then back to face the crowd. He's wearing what looks to be a human skull on his head, and a necklace made of human teeth.
"Behold our sacrifice," the man says gesturing to me behind him. I realize he's referring to me. I look around the space once more. I see a monsterous statue of some fat human animal hybrid with sharp fangs. In front of the statue is a placque with a name. I begin to read the plaque outloud when the one that had stepposd forward cuts me off, saying I'll be cursed if I continue. I pause, catching glimpses of other cultists putting spices in what looks to be a giant cooking pot. The speaker licks his lips, revealing inhuman looking fangs.
I decide to take my chances. I flex my muscles and snap my bindings. The speaker's eyes widen and begins to shout but he's cut off from my forceful uppercut breaking his jaw. He goes down, but more are coming...a lot more. I slowly wade through he cultists, shoving, biting and striking in all manner of ways. I flail about more like a kracken than a man trying desparely to make my escape. It's not enough. There's too many. Adrenaline takes me to the brink, but as much like a kraken I may appear...I'm still a man. I'm struck hard by a blow I didn't see. My momentum stalls. Three more blows fall upon my head, back and stomach. I fall to the floor. Then all at once it seems a dozen fanged mouths bare their ghastly smiles, and a storm of feet and fists fall down upon me. My vision goes black...I don't wake up this time.
***
This was a synopsis of a recent play through I had in book Fabled Lands: The War Torn Kingdom.
This one was probably the shortest and most unlucky of the characters I've played yet. I rolled terribly everytime and even when things should have fallen in my favor due to my starting stats...they didn't.
I plan on making another one of these with (hopefully) a more successful character.
