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03-25-2017, 11:24 PM | #31 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
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Author's Note: I started this "What If" thread to capture some of what I thought were the more ridiculous aspects of Joe. There's plenty more material to mine on that front! But lately I've been toying with different ideas (credit to Samsson37 for triggering those ideas with his cross-pollination of Joe and the rest of the Marvel-verse). Ideas like "what if Joe took place in a D&D-ish fantasy world?" Or a sci-fi world? Or . . .
This is the start of a fantasy world. I figure there are enough edged weapons to get a running start. I have a few ideas about how to take it further - let me know if there's any interest in that. *** A long time ago in a place that has nothing to do with the world of Greyhawk, Orb, or New Zealand . . . Stuart Selkirk sniffed the air, cocking his head as he considered the traces of sickly sweet rotting fruit. He wove his way through the vegetation, reading the ground as he moved. He paused, and shifted course on a circle, searching for signs of life. There were no fading tracks, and the few indications of scat were old. He couldn't see any of slight depressions where animals had slept. No animals had passed through this area in days. He rubbed his tangled beard, sniffed the air again, and moved several hundred metres further through the woods. The changing hues of green puzzled him, transitioning from blue-green to a much brighter green, tinged with yellow. He noted unfamiliar vines wrapping around ash trees, starting the process of choking the trees. Thin tendrils were already reaching for the highest branches, and the stems at the base were as thick as his wrist. Selkirk pulled a knife and sawed through a fibrous stem, severing a foot-long segment that included several broad leaves. He wrapped the plant sample in a cloth, stuffed it in his satchel, carefully wiped sticky sap from the blade and sheathed the knife. He kept moving, pulling to an abrupt halt at the sight of a translucent shed snakeskin. He followed the skin with his eyes, gasping as he saw it wind through a tree in one direction, and coil over rocks in another. It took several minutes to carefully extricate the length of skin from the tree, and wrap the metres-long bundle. He glanced around the area one last time and hurried back to the more familiar vegetation, suppressing a shudder at his confusion over these unknown developments. *** Selkirk sat on a small hillock, idly rubbing a small pendant whetstone over the head of one of his hatchets. The jingle of horse traces drifted through the air, and he sheathed the hatchet and slipped the pendant back under his shirt. A reading wagon came around the bend, drawn by a thin dappled horse and driven by a woman in long skirts, adorned with heavy earrings and bangles. The wagon's paint was peeling and faded, but the wheels spun silently on their well greased axles. A samovar hung in an improvised rig from a hook intended for a lantern. The woman pulled on the reins as she caught sight of Selkirk, who was now standing. He strode towards her, unslinging a bundle and handing it to her. "The blight is spreading. The animals are fleeing, and I can't explain the flora." He shrugged and pointed the bundle. "Maybe Schnurr can learn something from these. I've never known a snake so big as to have such a skin." The woman scratched her brown hair, loosely held back by a silver comb, and took a quick look at the translucent chitin. "If you find the snake, save me some of its skin. I have some ideas for snakeskin clothes," Courtney laughed. "I'll drop it off, I can't be sure when Schnurr will get to these, though. He's been trying to turn himself into a tree. Wilkinson wants you to remain in the area. He sent this," she said, handing him a wineskin. "I'll be back in a week or so." Selkirk smiled at the gift and nodded. "Tell Schnurr that if he doesn't get his head out of the leaves and bugs I'll come by chop him down." He hefted a large axe for emphasis, and flashed a grin. "Be seeing you Courtney." **** Lonzo Wilkinson adjusted his green cloak and fidgeted. He was never comfortable in towns, and the heavy stonework of the castle made him particularly uneasy. Halberd-armed guards in burnished armour stood stiffly at various locations, none so much as glancing in his direction. Even the guard who had taken his arms had barely spoken to him. This deep in the castle, even the sounds of troops drilling in the courtyard were muffled. He turned at the sound of swishing silk and gave a short bow to the approaching woman in flowing green dress. "My Lady," he said. "Oh stop it Lonzo," said Lady Hart-Burnett. "I heard you were here and want to tell you I've been working on a new play. I trust you will tell your troupe. I so enjoy their talents." She held out several small folios. Wilkinson took the folios and glanced through them. "They are hardly my troupe, my Lady, but should I see them I will tell them of your interest." The heavy tramp of hob-nailed boots echoed through the corridor, and a tall, blond man approached. "King Abernathy will see you now. This way," he indicated curtly. "Good to see you too, Hauser," muttered Wilkinson. He winked at Lady Hart-Burnett, who withdrew down the hallway. Guards opened the heavy metal-reinforced oak doors and escorted the two men into the audience chamber. A clean-shaven man in simple but expensive clothes stood at a large table built from oak beams. A map was spread out, weighted down at the corners by ink pots and candlesticks. Wilkinson and Hauser stopped short and Hauser gave a crisp salute. The man waved them forward. "I'll get to the point. We've lost contact with one of the frontier outposts." "I noticed a problem during routine scrying," said a slender man, entering the room. "I didn't understand the problem, as the orb simply showed nothing." He pulled a pink crystal ball from his voluminous robes, placing it on the table and demonstrating. "Normally I have basic contact with each outpost, but this one . . . nothing. And they didn't light their signal fires." "When Kibbey told me of this," said Hauser, indicating the slender man, "I dispatched an Eagle Rider as a precaution. He reported that the outpost appeared to have been overrun, but couldn't provide more detail as a weather front moved in and he had to leave the area." "I'm dispatching a force to take back the outpost, under command of Sergeant Sneeden." "I saw him drilling a force in the courtyard," said Wilkinson. "But what do you need of me?" "Reconnaissance. Provide Sneeden a brief close to the objective. And then patrol across the border to determine what the threat is." Wilkinson rubbed his chin and considered the implications of cross-border scouting. He studied the map, calculating the time to gather dispersed scouts, and nodded. "Yes Sire. I'll coordinate with Sneeden on my way out." The king grunted, reaching for papers from an aide and already considering other issues. Wilkinson glanced at Hauser, how flicked a hand in dismissal. Wilkinson controlled his anger and left, striding past stiff soldiers. He ducked into the kitchens, gathering up loaves of bread, wheels of cheese, pemmican, jerky and several pheasants without breaking stride, wrapping them all in a cloth. He blinked in the sunlight as he emerged in the courtyard, full of troops engaged in close order drill under the bark of Sergeant Sneeden. The humourless sergeant caught Wilkinson's eye and strode over while still shouting orders. "We leave tonight. Forced march. We'll be there in three days. Have the objective reconnoitered and be prepared to cut off enemy retreat." Wilkinson wrinkled his nose at the stench of sweat, oil and leather. "Anything else?" Sneedon put a whistle to his lips and blew a short blast. The drilling troops changed formation, charging a series of posts. The lead rank slammed shields into the posts and started thrusting at them with short swords. "Do it right," growled Sneedon, turning back to his unit. Wilkinson chuckled and adjusted his pack. "I hear you have some distance to travel, pardner," drawled a man in a slouch hat, leaning against the wall. The man chewed a stem of grass. "Perhaps I can get you there faster." Wilkinson grinned and gripped the arm of the man. "Hardy - good to see you. I was loaned a horse to get here, but Hauser conveniently forgot to arrange return transport." "Figured as much. Come," said Hardy, pushing away from the wall. He led Wilkinson away from the courtyard, past stables and armouries and down winding steps to an open-roofed enclosure on the edge of the moat. Three enormous dragonflies sat on perches, and Hardy quickly lashed two saddles to one. Wilkinson unrolled a map, unclipped a small broach in the shape of a star, rubbed it and placed it on the map, casting a minor charm. He rolled up the map, slung his pack, and climbed onto a dragonfly. "Let's go!" *** Courtney slowly drove her wagon through the narrow, winding muddy streets of the small town. Laughter and strains of music guided her through the maze, and she pulled on the reins as she caught sight of the tavern. Flashes of light through the leaded windows, and accompanying collective gasps and applause told her she was in the right place. She tied the reins to a hitching post and checked the protective wards on the wagon. Satisfied, she gathered up her skirts, checked the knives around her body, and entered. The smell hit her like a wall of sour sweat, waste and spilled alcohol. Barely visible through the crowd, a burly man with a blond beard strummed a lute and sang a ribald song, while a clean-shaven man in rust-orange and yellow hose juggled flaming batons while periodically breathing fire. The crowd loved it, and Courtney found a space at the bar. She caught the bartender's eye and exchanged a small coin for a mug of wine. It was closer to vinegar, and she rubbed at the filthy crust around the lip of the mug. "Hey luv - woudja like a little more?" A gap-toothed patron leered at her. Courtney twisted slightly and removed one of his hands from her, bending his fingers back. He froze at the pressure of a blade at his groin. "Yes," said Courtney. "I'd like a little more space. Why don't you relocate to the other side of the tavern." The man caught the hard glint in her eye and nodded, sloshing cheap beer and crashing into patrons in his haste to move. Fists started to fly, and Courtney rolled her eyes as the party degenerated into a brawl. The flash of a ring of fire overhead froze everyone in their tracks. "Everyone stop fighting!" shouted the man in orange and yellow. "We haven't been paid yet." The bartender cast a nervous glance at the scorched wooden beams in the ceiling, and thought of the thatched roof. He quickly dug out a few silver coins, passing them to the blond troubadour. Courtney caught the blonde's eye and nodded towards the door. "McConnel, Hanrahan, come on boys," she said, placing her unfinished wine on the bar. "Wilk's got work for us." *** An open wagon, drawn by a pair of enormous dogs, rattled along a muddy route, followed by a reading wagon, the driver guiding it over the ruts with practiced ease. Its exterior walls were covered with picks, shovels, a broken-down wheelbarrow and assorted bags and packs. Inside, a group of men dozed around barrels and crates of additional supplies and bundled weapons. The drivers pulled their wagons to a halt at the sight of a man kneeling by the side of the route. The man grinned beneath his walrus-mustache. "Eric Scott and Steinberg, glad you could make it." "Glad you met us at the right place LeClair," Steinberg said, rolling his eyes as he angled the cart towards a gap in the woods, catching sight of another parked wagon. He stopped beside it, took a quick look at the steaming samovar, and glanced under the wagon. Courtney, lying on her back, lowered her tools and shot Steinberg two fingers. "Fix yer own wagon," she spat. Steinberg flashed a wink and a grin, and Courtney scowled and turned back to checking under her wagon. Men exchanged greetings as they quickly unloaded gear, setting up a temporary anvil and forge and a small tent with two cots and a selection of healing herbs. They all gathered around a model on the ground, and LeClair started explaining the plan. "Wilk's up with Owen and his spy glass, watching the objective. Looks like a group of Yuan-ti have taken it over. An assault force will meet us here. Graves will staff this RV location, and will provide any necessary emergency blacksmith support." A stocky man in a simple chain vest, straight short sword and square shield nodded. "Sneeden is bringing his own medic who will take over the aid station. Eric and Greer will be up on the screen with us," continued LeClair. The two clerics nodded, absently fingering pendants and vials slung across their chests. "The rest of us will set up a screen around the side of the objective. Between the ballista, Hanrahan's fire and various bows we'll provide covering fire for the assault force and cut off escape." |
04-02-2017, 07:24 PM | #32 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
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I'm not sure if this tale is worth developing or not. If there's any interest I'll flesh it out. I've got draft running on two different lines, both using a vaguely D&D feel. In one, the Joes are (to use D&D terms) a collection of pretty much every class, with Hawk as a fighter/warlord-style king. In the other, they're a chapter of paladins. In either case there's a cadre of ranger/druid/bard/cleric/mage types who are affiliates and/or scouts and spies. On the cobra side, well, cobra kind of writes itself for this, but it's a mix of necromancy, fantastic creatures and cults. I have Destro as an iron golem.
Anyway, chime in if you're interested in reading this kind of a story, and which way you'd like to see Joe. |
04-02-2017, 09:06 PM | #33 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: baldwinsville new york
Posts: 1,781
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Interesting concept. Ill read more and let you know. I am thinking THE FIRST I think i like more
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04-03-2017, 03:13 AM | #34 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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I love all of this. Keep it up.
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Needs : AOCI Lamprey Vests, (or similar), ROC Flash helmets, ROC Shipwreck flippers, 25th Dusty Torsos (or similar), BBTS Bull (Taurus) head, Snake Eyes V.52 forearms. |
04-01-2020, 10:44 PM | #35 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
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Well these are weird days. I recently found myself killing time by watching old music videos. Saw one that, well, let's just say they don't make 'em like that anymore. The song was "Boy in the box." It inspired this one-shot story.
*** I crouched, trying fill my lungs with oxygen while not gagging on the stench of raw sewage mingled with rotting vegetables. My hands trembled from the adrenaline overload, but I could still feel the strange smoothness as I rubbed by upper lip. What the hell. They shaved off my mustache?! My scoped-pistol was gone. Worse, so was my hat. I loved that crumpled flying hat. Even through the din of humanity, all moving at max chaos through the narrow streets, I could hear the shouts. They're looking for me. Hunting me. I broke for an alleyway, almost garroting myself on a low-hanging string of red paper lanterns, ducked past a wooden cart piled high with - hell, I don't want to know what that was. I called it an alley, but how can you tell the difference? Every street here is so narrow I can touch the walls on either side. Yet half of Asia seems hell-bent on turning this into the main market. I squeezed through the hustle, trying not to wretch at the smell of a hundred people digesting cabbage, or slip on the slick streets. I took a quick look at the sky, hoping to see the sun to get my bearings. All I saw were banners covered in dragons, lanterns, strings of colored pennants, and above those, laundry hanging to dry from every tiny window. A fight broke out behind me. Two sumo dudes struggled. Light flashed off steel, grunts echoed, a body went down, and everyone casually stepped over it. I backed away, bumped into someone who . . . well, I'll assume that was a curse. I can't make out the language. Where the hell am I?! My last memory was in the cockpit, every instrument going haywire while the conditions outside were clear and calm. Didn't make any sense. This makes even less sense. I ducked into another alley, and two massive Polynesians in grass skirts slammed into me. They slid right off, dancing and backflipping in the tiny street, leaving a smear of sweat on my leather flight jacket. I take it back. THIS makes even less sense. "It's a routine flight," they said, thinking back to the mission brief. "Fly Ninja Force from Okinawa to some flyspeck island south of Tokyo," they said. 'Cause until now I thought the guys who brought knives to gun fights were the weirdest thing I'd ever seen. I looked around. Where the heck are they? The pajama brigade is normally so loudly dressed they make Chuckles look discreet. A guy with a snake tattoo on his bald head stared at me and jerked his head towards a girl, her face a mask of white makeup with black character written on one cheek. Actually, those chop suey weirdos would fit in so well here I might have run right past them. I pushed into a tiny shop, only a couple of feet deep. The proprietor grinned at me from behind a rough board, covered with incense holders. He grinned, his mouth full of alternating black and gold teeth. "You speak English?" I asked. His grin widened and he held up sticks of incense. "Swell," I muttered, as the dude says in the movies. Shouts rang echoed, and I swear I saw straight razors. I knocked over the board with incense, pushed past the owner, and dived through the curtain behind him. I thought it was a maze outside. It's a maze in here - and dark. I stepped over sleeping bodies and pushed through another door, and another. Is this a frickin' opium den? I almost kicked over a metal bucket (now there's foreshadowing), and a woman hissed at me, dunking a naked child into it. A staccato clatter spun me left - an old man typed furiously at an old typewriter. To my right, men with shaved heads played some kind of domino game. I pushed on another door and stepped into gray light. I blinked. It was daylight just moments ago. I climbed crumbling concrete steps and stood on some kind of roof, looking around. A wire cage hung from a beam. A dirty kid wrapped his fingers through the wire and examined me. Ahead, a man dressed all in black beckoned, his hand making some kind of martial arts move. His face was mostly wrapped, but what skin was visible looked paper-thin and covered in fine wrinkles. His crooked fingers waved again. A flash of light caught my eye, and his. T'J Bang shuffled forward, his sword at the ready. With a yell, Banzai leaped from, well, I don't know from where. The old dude spun, smoke and light bursting around him as though his hands were flash bangs. I kicked over an old oil drum, rolling it towards him. T'J Bang's sword blurred through the air and the old dude just laughed. With some kind of Jedi trick he knocked T'J Bang on his ass with a blast of air, spun, and drove a heel into Banzai's gut. Banzai collapsed, dropping his nunchucks. In a blur of blue and gold, Dojo cartwheeled past the fallen Banzai and snapped his wrist, flicking a metal ball on a chain to the man. The old man leaped in the air, driving his foot down at Banzai's head, who rolled aside at the last moment. The man caught the ball, spun, dragging Dojo in an arc towards T'J Bang. I saw hunk of concrete on the ground and picked it up. Visions of Alabama fairs filled my mind as I heaved it, nailing that dude right behind the ear. He dropped to the ground, hard. T'J Bang pounced, driving his sward through the body. Dojo walked over and nudged the body. He frowned, bent down, and picked up a pile of black cloth. "Where's the body?!" I asked. "Happens sometimes," muttered Banzai with a shrug. "Weird things happen in the vile vortices." He walked to the cage and started picking the heavy lock. It fell open and he pulled out the kid. "What the hell is going on?" "Mission accomplished," said Dojo, slapping my shoulder. "We were here to get the boy in the box." "Where are we?" I asked. Dojo looked around and shrugged. "Somewhere in the Dragon's Triangle," he said. "Oh," he added, reaching into a pocket. He handed me my hat. "We found this on the way in. Thought you'd want it." I put it on, already feeling better. "So," Dojo went on, looking around. "Where'd you land the plane?" |
03-06-2021, 06:09 PM | #36 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
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Author's note: I've never quite been able to shake the idea of Joe in a D&D-like setting, but have also never landed on anything satisfactory. Here's another stab at it.
______ The crowded city hall meeting room stank of rotting meat, mingled with sweat, perfume, garlic and leather. Barbecue's mind wandered as he absently touched his nearly-empty coin pouch. These meetings had become a nightmare since the recent decision to add the role of firefighting to the militia's responsibilities. The guild of firefighters had been left jobless and penniless. His father hadn't left his house in weeks, sitting all day mumbling about generations of apprentices and masters. Barbecue's attention was drawn back by city administrator's gavel hammering on the table, trying to restore order between the shouting farmers, merchants and militia leaders. Townspeople babbled while righting benches and chairs knocked over in shock at the farmers dragging the carcass of a mauled bull into room. The head of the merchant's guild stood up. "This threat is too close to the roads, and threatens commerce. I'm offering five hundred gold to whoever ends it. With proof of course." The militia captain turned as red as the sigil on his blue uniform. "I told you we're handling it." "Yeah, well, competition is as good for security as it is for trade. Five hundred gold." Barbecue glanced around the room, noting bowed heads and shuffling feet. He smacked his colleague in the belly. "We should do this." "Can't," mumbled his colleague. "Just got picked up by the militia. I'll be patrolling with them." A woman in green robes stood up. "I'll investigate this menace," she said loudly. She gestured to the farmers and pointed at the dead bull. "Deliver that to my residence for further study." Barbecue looked down at his hands, noting the slight shake in one. He eyed the woman, trying to figure out how she could face something that had so savaged a two-thousand pound animal. She clearly had wealth, so perhaps she had her own guards. He felt his coin pouch again. "This blight needs to be stopped. And you need someone with some common sense to keep from getting killed," sighed a wearing the robes of one of the many temples of the City of Springs. "I'll try to keep your household guards from bleeding to death." Barbecue glanced between the woman and the cleric. He clenched his fists and jumped to his feet. "I'll accompany you," he shouted, and flexed his muscles. "You could use an axe." The woman in green raised one eyebrow, and then nodded. The city administrator looked around the room, now buzzing with whispered discussion. His eyes shot from head of the Guild of Merchants to the blue-uniformed militia captain, momentarily lingering on the scars on both their faces. "I see no other business on the docket, and bring this meeting to a close," he called over the noise, smacking his mallet on the table. The woman in green signalled to the two men, who approached her. "I am the Lady Jaye," she said. "Meet me tonight at my residence. We shall make our plans." *** Lady Jaye left the meeting hall, her mind racing through the implications of what she had just committed to doing. A wild-eyed theologian from Temple Alpha stood by one of the city's many fountains, railing at passersby, waving his holy symbol of a pyramid in their faces. She felt a presence and frowned slightly, moving her hands through a series of discreet motions. "Oh stop that," came a voice from behind her. Lady Jaye turned. A lean, red-haired woman stood in the shadow of two buildings. Lady Jaye looked her up and down, taking in the snug, utilitarian garb. Her practiced eye made out the outline of several knifes around the body. "I want to help." "With what?" asked Lady Jaye. The woman rolled her eyes in exasperation. "With hunting down whatever's doing the killing. It's good reward money." "Why didn't you volunteer in the meeting hall?" asked Lady Jaye. "I'm not welcome in there." "Hmm," whispered Lady Jaye. "Well, you look like you can handle yourself. You also look like you could use a couple of good meals. Tell you what. You meet me at my dining table tonight, and you're in." The red-haired woman gave a tight smile. "And you can give me back my coin purse then," said Lady Jaye, turning away. |
03-07-2021, 06:36 PM | #37 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
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A guard in a green uniform escorted Barbecue through the heavy gates to a compound, and across a gravel courtyard to the main building. The walls surrounding the compound and the main building itself were crenellated, and he see several archers pacing back and forth. The main building's walls were of undressed stone, with narrow mullioned windows. In a corner of the compound, opposite a kennel and a stable, lay the bull's carcass, concealed under a blood-stained tarp.
Entering the main building through thick, metal-banded doors, the guard motioned to a weapons rack in a small guardroom, where Barbecue laid his axe and a dagger. He gazed around another courtyard, this one a riot of coloured flowers and herbs wrapping around a small pool. The building wrapped around the courtyard, and Barbecue took one more glance over his shoulder before entering an ante room, with cool tiles under foot and tapestries adorning the walls. They passed into a room with sofas, padded chairs and padded stools, where Barbecue recognized the cleric from earlier in the day, bent over a table with several chess boards set up in various stages of play. They nodded a greeting to each other, when Lady Jaye entered. "I'm delighted you are here," she said, casting a quick look to the guard. The guard shook his head, and Lady Jaye sighed. "Ah well. I thought perhaps we might be joined by another," said Lady Jaye. "But no matter," she added with a shrug. "Barbecue and Doc, please follow me to the dining room. We shall get to know each other over dinner." She led them down a hallway and into a room with a long table surrounded by high-backed chairs. She stopped suddenly in the doorway, noting the red-haired woman sitting at the head of the table, leaning back in the chair, her feet crossed and propped on the table itself, her fingers steepled in front of her. The woman reached down and produced a crossbow, which she held out casually. "I assume you are requesting that weapons be left at the front door." "Yes," said Lady Jaye with a smiled, and waved to her attendant, who rushed forward to take the crossbow. "And I suppose I did say to meet me at my dining table. Though calling at the front door would have been simpler." "But less interesting," said the red-haired woman. "Your traps around this compound are some of the more imaginative that I've encountered. Call me Scarlett." |
03-09-2021, 08:38 AM | #38 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
Following dinner, they withdrew to yet another sitting room. A table was covered with a large map, and several other maps, notes, and sketches were pinned on boards against one wall.
"I've gathered these findings and reports from the farmers and merchants guilds," said Lady Jaye. "I've plotted each incident on the map on the table. Sketches and reports of the incidents are against the wall. I've asked the militia captain for his patrol reports, but he has been . . . uncooperative." Scarlett opened a satchel and pulled a sheaf of papers. "I thought that might be the case. I took the liberty of borrowing the militia's patrol reports," she said, dropping them on the table. "They gave them to you?!" exclaimed Barbecue. Scarlett snorted. "This compound is better guarded than the militia headquarters." They examined the maps and reports, plotting all known attacks and actions. Barbecue read and reread descriptions of the attacks. Tossing the papers to the desk he wandered out to a courtyard to examine the bull's carcass. Gashes severed the hamstrings. The throat was torn out. The body was eviscerated. It was difficult to judge the size of teeth and claws, but they were big. A green-shirted guard joined him, standing with arms. "Whatever did that was big, fast, and strong. And hunts at night. You sure you're being paid enough?" asked the guard. "Are you?" asked Barbecue in return. "Oh I'm not going," said the guard, with a shrug. "Sometimes the Lady gets it in her head to do something herself. She's quite capable. And she keeps us busy with other tasks." Barbecue ran a hand through his hair and flicked the tarp back over the carcass. He clenched his fists and wandered back inside, passing through the dining hall to pour himself another glass of wine from a cut decanter. He thumbed through the descriptions of prints at the various scenes, imagining the size and gait of . . . whatever it was. Doc wrote out of a timeline of attacks and corresponding patrols. He scratched his head, puzzled, and started over. "The central point between these attacks is this area in the foothills," said Lady Jaye. "Yeah," muttered Doc, frowning. "But look where the militia patrols have been focussed," he said, pointing to the region on the opposite side of the town. "And as each new incident has occurred the patrols have moved further away from the foothills. Do they know something we don't?" "They're either deliberately avoiding contact out of fear, or out of collusion. Or both," said Scarlett. "Hey! Those are serious allegations," said Barbecue. Scarlett shrugged. "Well the militia's never been impartial." Barbecue opened his mouth to protest. He had friends who had been on those patrols. But then he thought of their reactions at the meeting, and their strange reluctance to embrace adventure or a fight. It had been odd then, and seemed differently odd now. He noticed that the room was silent, and all eyes were on him. He closed his mouth. Scarlett rolled her eyes and turned to Lady Jaye. "Have you mentioned to anyone when you thought we'd start?" "The militia captain asked me that when I approached him about his reports. I told him it would take a few days to prepare." Scarlett nodded and distractedly pulled at her lip. "He doesn't know about me. We can use this. Leave tomorrow morning. Tell the city gate guard you're going to one of the farms to gather information. Might be worth doing anyway. Either way, once out of sight of the walls, turn off here," said Scarlett, tapping the map. She traced her finger along a draw. "I'll meet you at the ford." "This is a bit much," sputtered Barbecue. "You're behaving like the militia are our enemy." "Enemy, no," said Doc. "Though perhaps they don't welcome the competition. I don't generally approve of subterfuge, but the militia's secrecy does raise questions." "No, it doesn't," shouted Barbecue. "Their activities are always secret. It's how they stay safe." "And yet here we are with a common threat, and their actions are . . . " Lady Jaye's voice trailed off at the sound of a discreet knock at the door. A servant entered the room, and beckoned for Lady Jaye. She followed him back to the tiled reception room, where a fit-looking blond man in red tunic stood staring disinterestedly at a tapestry. He turned at her entrance and gave a short bow. "My Lady," he said. "I am Fred, a guard in the employ of the Merchant's Guild. The Guild has tasked me to accompany you on your venture to resolve the matter of killed livestock. To verify that the service has been concluded as agreed upon." Lady Jaye raised an eyebrow and looked Fred over. "Very well," she replied. "Meet her tomorrow at dawn. We'll be setting off to gather facts from one of the farms." "Are you in council?" asked Fred after a brief pause. "Perhaps I may assist?" "No," said Lady Jaye. "We have finished for the evening. Fred frowned, but said nothing. After another pause he bowed his head and withdrew, collecting a swordbelt from the guardroom on his way out. "We have been assigned a minder by the Merchant's Guild," said Lady Jaye, returning to the planning room. "To verify that the service has been concluded as agreed upon. A swordsman." "'To verify that the service has been concluded as agreed upon?'" laughed Scarlett. "Is he a merc or a lawyer?!" "Likely as untrustworthy as either," said Lady Jaye. "But no matter. As I was about to say, I agree with Scarlett. We follow her plan. Meet me here tomorrow morning." Barbecue tensed and opened his mouth again, then caught Lady Jaye's eye and closed it. He bounced on his heels in frustration, clenching and unclenching his fists. "Ok," he said finally, with a sigh. "I get it." He took a few deep breaths, and then turned towards Doc. "So, uh, your temple is known for healing draughts. Are you bringing any . . . tomorrow? " Doc stepped closer to Barbecue. He peered into his eyes and mouth, and examined the steadiness of his hands. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "I'll bring bandages and medicines for emergencies. In your case, I think you should lay off self-medicating. Though I could put you on a regimen of cabbage." "Well . . . I was thinking in case of emergencies beyond banages," said Barbecue. "You strike me as a bravo who often finds himself in emergencies," smirked Scarlett. |
03-10-2021, 12:05 PM | #39 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
The afternoon sun was still high in the sky. In the still air, dust raised by the mare on which Lady Jaye rode clung to sweat-damped clothes of the small group. Barbecue squinted as he studied the hills, looking for the draw Scarlett had indicated. He adjusted the broad leather belt around his waist, the pooled sweat trickling under it, and swiped at the incessant flies. The City of Springs had fountains every few streets, and its narrow alleys and the high walls of buildings cast shade and encouraged breezes. Out on the road, nothing protected him from the direct heat. He glanced up at a raven, circling overhead. His mind wandered back to the conversation with a disgruntled farmer. The farmer had seemed so guarded, nervous even about the presence of strangers on his land. His refusal to show his herd had seemed peculiar. Lady Jaye nudged her horse off the road and across country. Fred paused, pointing towards the direction of the city.
"Wait," he called. "Where are you going? The city is straight ahead." "And I'm going this way. You're free to return to the city. Or to follow me. To verify." Fred scowled and adjusted his sword belt and the baldric on which hung a short bow and slim quiver. He glanced back down the road and shook his head. Taking a sip from his water skin, he strode after Lady Jaye, Barbecue, and Doc. "And what do we gain out this direction? We learned nothing new from the farmer." Fred glanced at the sky, and over his shoulder at the road. "We're still a couple of hours from the city. These roads can be hazardous after dark." "Then it's a good thing I have a Merchant's Guild guard to protect me," said Lady Jaye, smiling. The sun sank lower and in the sky, and the approaching hills cast shadows over the grass. Clumps of trees and bushes thickened and merged into small copses. A low whistle drew their attention to one such copse, in the shadows of which stood Scarlett. A hobbled mule was tied to a tree, and two small tarps were strung up as makeshift shelters. "Who is that," asked Fred, his hand on the hilt of his short sword. "My Lady in Waiting," replied Lady Jaye, sniffing the air. "And she appears to be waiting with supper." "Why didn't you tell me this was your plan," asked Fred, peering into the depths of the copse, searching for other surprises. "Do we have a lack of trust?" "I always trust to Merchant's Guild to protect its interests. And you can always trust me to do the same," said Lady Jaye, dismounting. Barbecue took the reins of the mare and tied it to a tree. He unsaddled her, checked her hooves, and brushed her down. Out of the corner of his eye he took in the neatly stacked pile of supplies that the mule had evidently carried. Rope, spikes, a hammer, pick, rations, lanterns, torches, oil, an ax. Scarlett filled wooden bowls with broth and bread. Fred, eyeing the tarps and blankets, drew up a watch roster for the night. *** Barbecue blinked, trying to keep bushes from morphing into silhouettes of creeping foes. A sound caught his attention. Heavy breathing. He glanced at the tarps under which the group slept and adjust his position. It wasn't snoring. He shook his head and walked to a large tree, staring out at the open from behind the trunk. He was sure he could hear the sound of something sniffing the air. He walked to Fred, who sat on a log, staring at the sky. "Did you hear a noise?" "It's night. I hear insects. I hear animals rooting for grubs. I see flashes of bats passing in front of stars." "No. I mean, something sniffing." "Like a badger?" "Well . . ." The mule let out a piercing scream, and then the mare started screaming too. Visions of responding to a stable fire flashed across Barbecue's mind as he turned to the thrashing animals. "By Ceridwen," cursed Lady Jaye, springing awake. The others were at their feet, drawing weapons and turning in the darkness, trying to make out the threat. The mule thrashed, and its scream suddenly cut off. Something heavy crashed through the underbrush and Fred loosed an arrow in the direction of the noise. A massive silhouette broke from the tree line, dragging the carcass, heading for the foothills. Scarlett aimed her crossbow and squeezed, firing a heavy bolt. The silhouette dropped the carcass and let out a something between a roar and a growl. Fred loosed another arrow that flew wide. The silhouette paused, then picked up the carcass in its jaws and ran for the hills. "Follow it," hissed Scarlett, reloading her crossbow. Grabbing torches, the set off in pursuit, chasing the creature that was gaining speed as it approached the rock faces and caves of the hills. Lady Jaye paused at the edge of a tiny creek, pointing to the ground. She lit a lantern, drawing a hiss from Scarlett who shielded here eyes and looked away from the light. "Look," said Lady Jaye, pointing to the footprint in the mud. "It's the same as those in the other attacks." Fred grunted and searched the gloom as Lady Jaye extinguished the light. The silhouette was lost against the backdrop of rock mounds. They strained to hear sounds of its movement, but the air was still and quiet. Scarlett held her crossbow ready and advanced cautiously. Fred nocked an arrow and moved in line with Scarlett. Lady Jaye drew a dagger from her boot, and Doc drew an odd looking knife. "What's that?" whispered Barbecue, as he swung his axe to loosen his shoulder. "Lancet," whispered Doc. He looked at it and shrugged. "It's a large one. But better than nothing if that . . . that thing comes back." Lady Jaye studied the faint tracks a moment longer and pointed into the gloom. "What makes you sure it's that way?" whispered Fred. "A few years ago I spent a little time with some rangers in the forests and mountains down south. Fascinating experience. I assure you. It went that way." |
03-11-2021, 02:22 PM | #40 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2012
Location: Canada
Posts: 1,018
|
They advanced cautiously, following Lady Jaye's directions, the darkness turning to grey as dawn slowly approached. A crash of falling rocks echoed off the hills, and they picked up the pace, even Barbecue being able to spot the blood trail in the dawning light. The trail ran straight into a pile of rocks at the face of a cliff.
"Must have a cave in there, and somehow collapsed the entrance," said Doc, staring around. "And we left our tools at the camp site," muttered Fred. Barbecue pulled a small flask from his belt and drained it. He grunted as his heart rate sped up and adrenaline hit his body. He adjusted his wide leather belt, spat on his hands, seized a rock and pulled it from the pile. He turned, eyed the way the rocks rested on each other, noting the similar problems to rescuing victims under collapsed buildings. He reached and pulled a loose boulder from the top of the pile. Muscles flexed and strained as he bore the weight and tossed it behind him. The others stepped back to give him more space, and Doc frowned as his examined Barbecue's flushed expression and the veins and tendons standing out on his body. "Where did you get that?" he asked, pointing at the flask. "Oh, well, if you know who to ask . . . " said Barbecue, slinging a boulder the size of a small elephant. "Copperhead Road?" asked Scarlet. Barbecue tossed another boulder and tensed. "It's the only place normal folks can get the potions they need." "You know what's in those black market potions?" said Doc with a shudder. "They just take, um, less effective ingredients, with less consistent results that last shorter durations. They're more addictive too." "What ingredients?" asked Scarlet. "They harvest certain bodily fluids." "Well," grunted Barbecue, wiping his hands on his trousers, "I drink milk and eat honey, and both of those are fluids from creatures." With a grunt, he shifted a final boulder, clearing a narrow path. Lady Jaye shook her head and lit her lantern. "Those come from cows and queen bees. That," she said, pointing to the empty potion bottle, "came from a bull or a stallion." Scarlet flashed a quick wink and nudged Barbecue with her elbow as she stepped past him and tossed a flaming torch down the tunnel. She raised her crossbow to her shoulder and advanced deliberately, scanning the floor and wall, the tip of the bolt tracking the movement of her eyes. Nearing the torch, she motioned to Barbecue, who tossed a second torch down the rough corridor, it's floor and wall streaked with blood smears, and with clumps of flesh and hair caught on jagged outcrops. He stooped to pick up the first. The narrow tunnel opened to the left. Barbecue tossed the torch around the corner as Scarlett rounded it, crouched, sweeping with her crossbow. It was a tiny, empty chamber. They carried on up the tunnel, which seemed to widen slightly. It seemed to open into a larger chamber up ahead. Scarlett and stepped to either side of the entrance, steadied their breathing, and swung their weapons through the opening. They stepped into a narrow chamber and fanned out as Barbecue moved up the middle of the narrow room. A corroded spiked flail, a pair of damaged crates and some broken jars lay in a corner by another entrance, this one covered by a filthy curtain. Fred and Scarlett again prepared their bows. Barbecue took a breath, reached out, and yanked down the curtain. The creature - some unnatural cross of a wolf and a bear* - crouched on the other side, straddling the mule, blood soaking its muzzle and chest. It roared, the pitch changing as an arrow and bolt caught it in the belly. Barbecue leapt through the entrance and swung his axe horizontally at the creature. It caught the axe and spun with shocking speed, flinging Barbecue into a wall. He caught a glimpse of Fred thrusting his short sword at the creature's exposed flank, and Scarlett swirling on her knees, razor-sharp blades slashing at the creature's hamstrings. Barbecue staggered to his feet as the creature swiped at Fred. He swung his axe and felt it bite at the creature's shoulder. He wrenched at it, cursing the blade caught in the creature's flesh. The creature tried to kick at him, and its legs buckled. It collapsed on Barbecue, pinning him, its arms trying to claw at him. Scarlett moved in a blur and drove her dagger through an eye, the hilt catching on the skull. The creature spasmed, and lay still. Barbecue jerked and twisted clear of the beast, driving himself backwards on his hands and heels, clutching at the dagger on his belt. He gasped for air, looking at the creature. A wave of nausea swept over him and he fell to his knees, retching. Fred planted a foot on the creatures head and pulled the axe free, passing it to Barbecue and clapping him on the shoulder. They looked around the room. It was dominated by several long tables, each with a bear or wolf held down by metal and leather restraints. Each appeared to have died while being cut apart, and blackened, hardened gore crusted the floor. A bench was covered with scalpels, saws, beakers and a leather-bound book. An entrance opened to another small chamber with small cells, each sealed with metal bars. Another emaciated wolf lay curled in one cell, whimpering, one paw surgically replaced with a bear's paw. "Vivisection," gasped Doc, shaking his head. "What cruel mind came up with this?" Fred loosed an arrow into the wolf, putting it out of its misery. He lit a flask of lamp oil and threw it in the cell. He lit another flask and waved at everyone to clear the room as he smashed it over one of the surgical benches. Standing outside in the morning light, Barbecue sipped from a water skin, rinsed his mouth, and spat. The sound of another flask of oil smashing echoed from the cavern. Fred walked out and Barbecue caught his eye. "Have we earned the five hundred gold?" Fred stared back into the scorched cavern and spat in a fruitless effort to clear the taste of burned hair and meat from his mouth. He looked at his short sword, noting the hair and blood on the blade, and stooped to wipe on the dew damp grass. "Yes," he said, nodding. "I'll attest to that. The guild will establish accounts in your name in its enterprise of lending gold against collateral." Barbecue blinked. "I'd rather you just give me the gold," he said. The others nodded, narrow eyes studying Fred. "Hmm. Very well. But you are missing an opportunity." He caught the look in the suspicious eyes and paused. He glanced up at the sun and the pointed in the direction of the city. "I assume you'll be going back to the camp for the horse and gear. I'll leave you here. I will arrange for the delivery of the gold to the Lady's estate. You can divide it accordingly. Though should you ever change your minds about the enterprises money-lending venture . . . no, well." He clicked his heels, bowed his head to Lady Jaye, and set off. The others watched him leave in silence for a few minutes before turning and walking back to the campsite. "Why would someone make these . . . things?" asked Doc. "Do you suppose someone is trying to make an army?" suggested Scarlett. Barbecue pulled out his empty potion flask and stared at it. "The farms . . ." he said. "The slaughtered animals were all bulls and stallions, weren't they? Maybe this is tied to selling potions?" "Maybe you're not as dumb as you look," muttered Scarlet. *** Postscript Lady Jaye walked the halls of her estate, mulling over her long conversation with Scarlett. It had been illuminating, and troubling. Matters were even more fraught than she had suspected. But those were matters to consider in the morning. In the meantime, her insatiable curiosity demanded answers. How had those experiments been performed, and what had been learned? She stepped into her wine cellar and quietly closed the door behind her. Muttering a phrase and pushing on a torch bracket revealed a crack in the wall that she pushed through. She knelt in the small opening, her toes on the edge of lead symbols embedded in the stoned floor. She opened a heavy wooden trapdoor and descended a spiral staircase, emerging in a forgotten temple to a long-lost deity. One wall was lined with shelves laden with jars of willow bark, animals organs suspended in liquid, mold spores, and insect larvae. Bookcases and scroll cases lined another, close to a writing desk covered in jars of brightly coloured inks and an assortment of quills. Several heavily scarred worktables dominated the space where a congregation once gathered. A delicate silver and platinum circlet sat on one, surrounded by various thin lenses ground from rubies, emeralds, and diamonds. She cleared a space at a table, pulled the leather-bound book from a satchel and laid it in a copper-lined box. She put on linen gloves and, after examining the binding, carefully thumbed through the pages. Settling the book back open at the beginning, she swung a large lens over one, and peered through it at the magnified writings and symbols, marvelling as the words changed shape on the page trying to conceal their meaning. Energy crackled around her hands and she imposed her will on the book . . . __ * https://www.yojoe.com/action/93/monstroviper.shtml ___ Author's note: I'm not sure about this one. I have some kind of clash of personalities and their associated troops in mind (think Musketeers vs Cardinal's Guards, with a dash of the underworld and an as-yet-undefined but significant role for Crystal Ball) with Jaye and the Baroness as rival puppet-masters, and Springfield/City of Springs as a Lankhmar-like setting. It hasn't quite jelled yet. |
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