My sister's keeper
"Melurine, please eat your porridge! It'll be cold before you finish! Why must you be such a difficult one!"
"Melurine, I'll go feed the chickens now. Would you be a dear and... oh... yes... well..."
"He was a rather nice gentleman, now wasn't he Melurine? Oh now, stay your tongue! Don't say such things!"
---------
"Call me uncle, it should suffice. Well in any case, is IS an unfortunate circumstance. With your father gone, I suspect you may need a man about the home for protection. I've faced unspeakable horrors on that battlefield. I stared straight into the abyss... The things I saw..."
"I've learned a thing or two about those creatures that haunt the night, you know. Feys and goblins and what you have... Say, you wouldn't know where your father kept his mead?"
"Well, I didn't know your mother very well. I've heard she was rather comely. Not surprising, your father was quite gifted when it came to girls. I believe it comes from our grandfather."
-----------
"Melurine... I... this is for your own good..."
"I DO love you, you're my sister... without you I'd be so alone, but sometimes..."
"EAT YOUR PORRIDGE! DID YOU NOT HEAR ME?"
------------
"I? Well... it is flattering, uncle, however I... am... that is to say... I... well... I'm not... pure... It... he was... he was kind... No no no!"
"Melurine needs a husband. Mother said she's speak again once a dashing prince would take her hand in marriage. But how would a prince find his way to our home? I'm certain she doesn't need a real prince... a good man should suffice..."
"Melurine's voice? Only when we were little girls."
-------------
"MELURINE! I SHALL NOT ASK YOU A SECOND TIME!"
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE AGAIN? HAVE I NOT DONE ENOUGH FOR YOU?"
"WHY WILL YOU NOT SPEAK?"
--------------
"I... oh it was horrible child... the men... they... butchered them. They would claw out their eyes and rip their flesh with their bare hands! I huh... I survived of course... ahem... we huh... we in our family are renowned for our physical prowess and iron will. I huh... umm pass me the mead, dear..."
"No, nothing of the sort... I'm merely resting here. The great war is not done with me yet, child! Even the best soldier needs rest... I shall go back to the front... in due time..."
"Come now, girls like you don't need to hear about such things... You'd best read about princes and such things..."
-------------
"Uncle, I'm happy you reconsidered your decision. Melurine and I will feel much safer in your presence."
"Please, drink. Neither my sister or I enjoy the taste of father's mead. I am certain it is electable, however it brings memories..."
"Melurine speaks to you, doesn't she uncle?"
---------------
"HAVE YOU NO COMPASSION FOR OUR UNCLE, THE GREAT WAR HERO? MELURINE? ANSWER ME!"
"WHAT DID YOU SAY TO HIM? WHY WERE YOU CONSPIRING? DID YOU THINK I WOULDN'T NOTICE?"
"STOP YOUR GAMES, MELURINE! WE... know... Umm, now where did I put that spoon? Did you see it by any chance?"
-----------------
"Uncle is a valiant man and a brave guardian. Our home is much safer with him on duty! I can't help but feel guilty... he should be out there fighting, but... we need him so..."
"I'm certain I saw a goblin peering from the woods! Oh, I was so afraid! Luckily, uncle was there to protect me! He chased away the monster with his mighty roar. You should have seen him!"
"Uncle can be quite peculiar sometimes. He doesn't drink as much anymore... YOU FILTHY SOW! YOU! YOU CAN'T HELP YOURSELF, CAN YOU? YOU DEVOUR EVERYTHING..."
-----------------
"DOES IT HURT MELURINE? DOES IT? I'M SO SORRY... HAHAHAHA!"
"IT'S A NEW POISON. THE BERRIES MOTHER TOLD US NOT TO EAT... WHAT DO THEY TASTE LIKE? I HOPE THEY'RE BITTER..."
"DID YOU SOIL YOURSELF AGAIN? WHAT A FILTHY, FILTHY GIRL! MAYBE YOU NEED TO SLEEP WITH THE PIGS!"
-----------------
Two ghosts living together for eternity. Two sisters with secrets. One forever silent and passive, and the other doting and motherly - until the midnight hour wherein she turns bitter, angry, and violent.
Melurine did something to her sister Melodie as a child, something which Melodie never forgave as Melurine didn't apologize. One day, Melodie thought, Melurine would apologize. She had to. That day never came for Melurine lost her voice and seemingly her wit following events that only Melurine knows of.
Their parents died of illness leaving the girls alone in a remote cottage with a small garden and a few animals. Melodie was a capable and clever girl with a strong sense of duty while Melurine was unable to do anything by herself. Melodie felt a mix of resentfulness and duty until one day she could no longer bear her existence.
One day their "uncle" came to visit. The man was a cousin of their father who deserted the war on the border of Darkon, escaping only after having sacrificed a few of his fellow soldiers. The man was a boastful louse but could barely sleep at night, fearing that the ghosts of his fallen comrades would come for him.
However, it wasn't his fallen comrades' ghosts but those of his "nieces" he should have feared. He guards them forever now as a shapeshifting ghost, generally taking on the form of a large mastiff at Melodie's request, but also taking on other shapes as she desires.
People have come to visit their cottage. Travelers stranded by the mists or brigands seeking refuge from the law. The cruel punishment that Melodie inflicts upon the passive Melurine inevitably leads to a confrontation and death.
In truth, it isn't Melodie who controls anything but Melurine. The silent, seemingly invalid girl is more than she appears and certainly far more powerful. This is both her cursing and apologizing to her sister.
Random hooks thread
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Mistmaster
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Re: Random hooks thread
It reminded me of this movie, What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?
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Zettaijin
- Evil Genius
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- Location: Himeji, Japan
Re: Random hooks thread
That was the inspiration.Mistmaster wrote:It reminded me of this movie, What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?
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Zettaijin
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- Location: Himeji, Japan
Re: Random hooks thread
Most of my contributions to this thread have been rather negative in the sense that they deal with death, danger, and often feature villains. I thought I would try to buck this trend by offering up more examples of uplifting hooks.
The Night Mama Bruckner Stood Tall
The Bruckners had had their share of misfortune through the years. They lost their first born son to the ravages of winter. They found his lifeless body in its crib on a cold day made even colder by the morbid discovery. Yet the Bruckners swore an oath to each other – if they could somehow survive this winter, both physically and emotionally, then they would pledge to continue to fight and never give up hope that life may bring light as well as darkness. Papa played the fiddle and Mama sang of hope and life.
A few years after their marriage, the couple lost precious livestock to ravenous wolves hunting under the cover of a moonless night. Their few sheep had been savagely devoured by the starving beasts and the chicken coop was awash in blood and feathers. That winter proved to be difficult as the two had to survive on their meager crops and whatever they could hunt – and there was little in the woods. It was a long winter indeed. Yet, never did their hope in a brighter tomorrow falter. Papa played the fiddle and Mama sang of strength and will.
The loss of their first born was a difficult task, but losing the twins almost broke them. Alan had drowned trying to rescue his sister from the river. Some said he may have chosen death after finding bloody rocks and his sister’s lifeless body. A terrible accident – they had warned them not to play near the river, that the ground was slippery and loose. No matter how many tears they shed, they would go on as they always had. Papa played the fiddle and Mama sang of love and memories.
After years of failure, they were told that they could no longer conceive children. Apparently a severe cold lead to unexpected complications and never again could they hope to be awaken by an infant’s cries or rejoice at the sound of a child’s laughter. Having lost three children already, the couple would have been forgiven for thinking themselves cursed – the land has a way of bullying the meek. Despite their sorrow, the two stood strong and reminded each other of their promise. The night would not win. Papa played the fiddle and Mama sang of devotion and solidarity.
“Fire!” A sudden blaze erupted with wild flames crackling - or perhaps even cackling in delight over the mischief they had caused like cruel children. It felt as though the fire was mocking them. An aging couple by then, the Bruckners were at the mercy of many things natural and unnatural. On that night they lost half their freshly harvested crops. Beware the bad winds of autumn and the misfortune they blow, say the locals, sadly the Bruckners would serve as an example of this saying. “Not yet…” they said, their sunken expression reminding onlookers of the hardships that had befallen them over the years but also, of their staunch refusal to let the land break them. Papa played the fiddle and Mama sang of joy and perseverance.
Papa had fallen ill, his body weak and his mind clouded by doubt and fear. He trembled and shook while beads of sweat trailed down his balding forehead onto his pillow, soaking it. Mama prepared herbal teas and remedies never losing sight of their eternal vows. Then it came. As if the land had had its fill of the Bruckners refusing to bow before it; as if their continued refusal to surrender to their grief, pain, and misfortunes was an insult too great to ignore any longer. The land came to their door. A black hood covered most of its face, but the ragged clothes and smell of death gave it away. The stench of unearthed graves and spoiled milk emanated from the figure and it felt as though the wood of the house itself warped in its presence. The land was not alone, their beloved neighbor, the one who had helped them on numerous occasions was by its side. He was crying as his body changed… grew… The sound of bones breaking was sickening and he yelled out in pain, begging for mercy. By the time he was silent again, he had become a large man-bear, with claws and teeth bared and a vicious gleam in its eyes.
Mama had enough. She stood from her seat at her husband’s bed side and turned to face the bear creature. “That’s enough!” she said in a firm, commanding tone. “Haven’t you taken enough already? What have you to gain from our misery? You will NOT be taking a step further. Hector. I have known you for many years. An honorable and devoted soul such as yours wouldn’t just die. Surely you can hear me. Stop this foolishness and leave this place.”
The cloaked figure stood in silence while the bear creature who was once their neighbor growled and, standing on its rear legs, raised a mighty paw readying itself a strike. But it never did. Mama walked up to the creature and pointed to the open door with an unflinching gaze. The bear creature roared yet it still did not lay a claw on her.
The fire in the hearth began to roar. The flames grew stronger and threatened to leap out of their confines as they had done once before. Mama frowned. “Fire. Hear me. You are our friend and our foe. You bring us warmth and you bring us death. But you are like the animals – you are just hungry. Here, I’ll feed you.”
Her eyes coldly returned to the bear creature. “Now, Hector, Papa needs rest and the fire is growing weaker. Get us some wood so I may feed its belly. It ate more than its share once because we had not kept it full and content.” The bear creature growled but unexpectedly obeyed, making its way outside and returning with fire wood. The cloaked figure remained unfazed.
Mist invaded the abode swirling into the ghostly forms of the lost Bruckner children. Little Sven was pale and blue, while his the older sister he never knew was clearly bleeding from a nasty gash on her head. Alan, her twin, was bloated, with blue and purple skin. The three approached their ailing father until Mama Bruckner interjected. “Children! Where are your manners? Can’t you see your father is ill? Stop bothering him and make yourselves useful. Maeve, boil some water and spread some ointment on those compresses. Sven, even one as small as you can help. Bring me some clean sheets, those are soiled. Alan, take the logs Hector brought and feed the fire.”
The ghosts obeyed silently. Mama Bruckner slowly walked to the hearth and spoke to the fire in a soothing tone, as if to calm an upset child. The fire warmed the house but stayed within its enclosure, no longer threatening to burn it down. Having pacified the fire, she began singing. It was a cheerful melody punctuated by whistles and traditional chants learned from her grandmother. The cloaked figure seemed to finally react with its hands, which were barely poking out from beneath far too long ragged sleeves, shifting.
Soon, the fire’s crackling and popping added a certain hominess to the song, reminding us of the comforts of family and friends gathered before the hearth. The children’s ghosts joined in chorus with angelic voices filled with innocence and joy. A deep baritone began to accompany the elderly woman’s singing – it was Hector, whose features had become more human than bear.
The figure was beginning to quiver. It’s once stoic expression was now wincing. Then the sound of fiddling erupted in the room. Papa Bucknker had taken his fiddle and was now playing. The tune grew more raucous and lively with the ghostly children dancing on misty feet. Hector took Mama Bruckner’s hands and spun her around like a doll. Despite her age, she was moving like a young woman again with agile feet and clapping hands.
Soon enough, other voices joined in as villagers from near and afar made their way to the humble Bruckner abode singing the traditional ditty in unison. The figure turned swiftly looking left and right almost nervously and then it ran out the door into the woods as everyone celebrated inside the house.
This story has been passed down from one generation onto the next and every winter on the coldest day, the villagers gather for a massive dance. Everyone on this night forgets their pain and their fear to chase away the land’s avatar. On that night everyone forgets their troubles and rejoice in the memory of The Night Mama Bruckner Stood Tall.
The Night Mama Bruckner Stood Tall
The Bruckners had had their share of misfortune through the years. They lost their first born son to the ravages of winter. They found his lifeless body in its crib on a cold day made even colder by the morbid discovery. Yet the Bruckners swore an oath to each other – if they could somehow survive this winter, both physically and emotionally, then they would pledge to continue to fight and never give up hope that life may bring light as well as darkness. Papa played the fiddle and Mama sang of hope and life.
A few years after their marriage, the couple lost precious livestock to ravenous wolves hunting under the cover of a moonless night. Their few sheep had been savagely devoured by the starving beasts and the chicken coop was awash in blood and feathers. That winter proved to be difficult as the two had to survive on their meager crops and whatever they could hunt – and there was little in the woods. It was a long winter indeed. Yet, never did their hope in a brighter tomorrow falter. Papa played the fiddle and Mama sang of strength and will.
The loss of their first born was a difficult task, but losing the twins almost broke them. Alan had drowned trying to rescue his sister from the river. Some said he may have chosen death after finding bloody rocks and his sister’s lifeless body. A terrible accident – they had warned them not to play near the river, that the ground was slippery and loose. No matter how many tears they shed, they would go on as they always had. Papa played the fiddle and Mama sang of love and memories.
After years of failure, they were told that they could no longer conceive children. Apparently a severe cold lead to unexpected complications and never again could they hope to be awaken by an infant’s cries or rejoice at the sound of a child’s laughter. Having lost three children already, the couple would have been forgiven for thinking themselves cursed – the land has a way of bullying the meek. Despite their sorrow, the two stood strong and reminded each other of their promise. The night would not win. Papa played the fiddle and Mama sang of devotion and solidarity.
“Fire!” A sudden blaze erupted with wild flames crackling - or perhaps even cackling in delight over the mischief they had caused like cruel children. It felt as though the fire was mocking them. An aging couple by then, the Bruckners were at the mercy of many things natural and unnatural. On that night they lost half their freshly harvested crops. Beware the bad winds of autumn and the misfortune they blow, say the locals, sadly the Bruckners would serve as an example of this saying. “Not yet…” they said, their sunken expression reminding onlookers of the hardships that had befallen them over the years but also, of their staunch refusal to let the land break them. Papa played the fiddle and Mama sang of joy and perseverance.
Papa had fallen ill, his body weak and his mind clouded by doubt and fear. He trembled and shook while beads of sweat trailed down his balding forehead onto his pillow, soaking it. Mama prepared herbal teas and remedies never losing sight of their eternal vows. Then it came. As if the land had had its fill of the Bruckners refusing to bow before it; as if their continued refusal to surrender to their grief, pain, and misfortunes was an insult too great to ignore any longer. The land came to their door. A black hood covered most of its face, but the ragged clothes and smell of death gave it away. The stench of unearthed graves and spoiled milk emanated from the figure and it felt as though the wood of the house itself warped in its presence. The land was not alone, their beloved neighbor, the one who had helped them on numerous occasions was by its side. He was crying as his body changed… grew… The sound of bones breaking was sickening and he yelled out in pain, begging for mercy. By the time he was silent again, he had become a large man-bear, with claws and teeth bared and a vicious gleam in its eyes.
Mama had enough. She stood from her seat at her husband’s bed side and turned to face the bear creature. “That’s enough!” she said in a firm, commanding tone. “Haven’t you taken enough already? What have you to gain from our misery? You will NOT be taking a step further. Hector. I have known you for many years. An honorable and devoted soul such as yours wouldn’t just die. Surely you can hear me. Stop this foolishness and leave this place.”
The cloaked figure stood in silence while the bear creature who was once their neighbor growled and, standing on its rear legs, raised a mighty paw readying itself a strike. But it never did. Mama walked up to the creature and pointed to the open door with an unflinching gaze. The bear creature roared yet it still did not lay a claw on her.
The fire in the hearth began to roar. The flames grew stronger and threatened to leap out of their confines as they had done once before. Mama frowned. “Fire. Hear me. You are our friend and our foe. You bring us warmth and you bring us death. But you are like the animals – you are just hungry. Here, I’ll feed you.”
Her eyes coldly returned to the bear creature. “Now, Hector, Papa needs rest and the fire is growing weaker. Get us some wood so I may feed its belly. It ate more than its share once because we had not kept it full and content.” The bear creature growled but unexpectedly obeyed, making its way outside and returning with fire wood. The cloaked figure remained unfazed.
Mist invaded the abode swirling into the ghostly forms of the lost Bruckner children. Little Sven was pale and blue, while his the older sister he never knew was clearly bleeding from a nasty gash on her head. Alan, her twin, was bloated, with blue and purple skin. The three approached their ailing father until Mama Bruckner interjected. “Children! Where are your manners? Can’t you see your father is ill? Stop bothering him and make yourselves useful. Maeve, boil some water and spread some ointment on those compresses. Sven, even one as small as you can help. Bring me some clean sheets, those are soiled. Alan, take the logs Hector brought and feed the fire.”
The ghosts obeyed silently. Mama Bruckner slowly walked to the hearth and spoke to the fire in a soothing tone, as if to calm an upset child. The fire warmed the house but stayed within its enclosure, no longer threatening to burn it down. Having pacified the fire, she began singing. It was a cheerful melody punctuated by whistles and traditional chants learned from her grandmother. The cloaked figure seemed to finally react with its hands, which were barely poking out from beneath far too long ragged sleeves, shifting.
Soon, the fire’s crackling and popping added a certain hominess to the song, reminding us of the comforts of family and friends gathered before the hearth. The children’s ghosts joined in chorus with angelic voices filled with innocence and joy. A deep baritone began to accompany the elderly woman’s singing – it was Hector, whose features had become more human than bear.
The figure was beginning to quiver. It’s once stoic expression was now wincing. Then the sound of fiddling erupted in the room. Papa Bucknker had taken his fiddle and was now playing. The tune grew more raucous and lively with the ghostly children dancing on misty feet. Hector took Mama Bruckner’s hands and spun her around like a doll. Despite her age, she was moving like a young woman again with agile feet and clapping hands.
Soon enough, other voices joined in as villagers from near and afar made their way to the humble Bruckner abode singing the traditional ditty in unison. The figure turned swiftly looking left and right almost nervously and then it ran out the door into the woods as everyone celebrated inside the house.
This story has been passed down from one generation onto the next and every winter on the coldest day, the villagers gather for a massive dance. Everyone on this night forgets their pain and their fear to chase away the land’s avatar. On that night everyone forgets their troubles and rejoice in the memory of The Night Mama Bruckner Stood Tall.
Last edited by Zettaijin on Tue Dec 25, 2018 6:42 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Mistmaster
- Evil Genius
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Re: Random hooks thread
This is a nice story.
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Zettaijin
- Evil Genius
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- Gender: Male
- Location: Himeji, Japan
Re: Random hooks thread
Thanks, I want to try and focus more on average individuals doing rather extraordinary things. These are necessary in order to give people hope that life ISN'T completely hopeless.
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Zettaijin
- Evil Genius
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- Joined: Fri Apr 11, 2008 2:30 am
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- Location: Himeji, Japan
Re: Random hooks thread
A Feast for Swines
What do you fear most? Finding yourself lost in the mists, with unknown horrors lurking just out of sight? To be caught riding through a Kartakan forest after nightfall as the wolves howl at a moonlit sky? Losing loved ones to the more cruel denizens of the dread realms?
For some, the answer is far for mundane. For a number of less fortunate individuals, winter is a time of dread and fear. The land becomes hard and bodies cold. Food is a concern as is shelter. Even those who possess a home worry that the strong freezing winds may blow through and bring down their walls. In some parts of the land, the snow accumulates making it hard to leave their home let alone run were someone (or something) to threaten the homestead.
For the more unfortunate souls who have no home to call their own, every winter may be their last.
However, in recent years, rumours have been circulating of groups of derelicts and homeless individuals receiving the visit of excessively generous souls who gift them not only with food, but wine and warmth in the form of fleece blankets and particularly long lasting firewood.
Those who recall having seen these rare benefactors say they were dressed in especially fine clothing which seemed to wrap them in a warm golden glow. They remained silent, merely smiling gently.
On the other hand, the more rapacious elements of the upper classes are in an uproar over stories of mysterious visitors who find their way to their gatherings and cause no small amount of mayhem.
They come unannounced and uninvited, but wearing the finest threads one would expect from the very elite of polite society. No one knows the identity of these mysterious uninvited guests but proper etiquette suggests that one should not question one's superiors, especially if they deem you worthy of their attention.
Indeed, their presence pushes the hosts to prepare the most gorgeous of feasts to impress these potentially quite important but also suspiciously silent guests.
As the guests gather around the table, the silent nobles begin devouring the food and quaff the wine and liquors with wild abandon, resembling wild animals more than distinguished nobles. The other guests soon join in kind, unable to resist their hunger and thirst. Within a few minutes, everyone will begin to take on the traits of hogs and boars with snouts and fat jowls.
In the end, the tables will be overturned and the tablecloths stained with spilled wine and rich sauces. Bones and scraps of food will litter the ground as the hosts are left a weeping mess. The invited guests regain their forms and senses with little memory of their binging, only a lingering feeling of guilt and terrible nausea.
By then the uninvited guests have already made their way out, quietly laughing at the madness much like one would chuckle at a small, harmless faux pas between close acquaintances.
What do you fear most? Finding yourself lost in the mists, with unknown horrors lurking just out of sight? To be caught riding through a Kartakan forest after nightfall as the wolves howl at a moonlit sky? Losing loved ones to the more cruel denizens of the dread realms?
For some, the answer is far for mundane. For a number of less fortunate individuals, winter is a time of dread and fear. The land becomes hard and bodies cold. Food is a concern as is shelter. Even those who possess a home worry that the strong freezing winds may blow through and bring down their walls. In some parts of the land, the snow accumulates making it hard to leave their home let alone run were someone (or something) to threaten the homestead.
For the more unfortunate souls who have no home to call their own, every winter may be their last.
However, in recent years, rumours have been circulating of groups of derelicts and homeless individuals receiving the visit of excessively generous souls who gift them not only with food, but wine and warmth in the form of fleece blankets and particularly long lasting firewood.
Those who recall having seen these rare benefactors say they were dressed in especially fine clothing which seemed to wrap them in a warm golden glow. They remained silent, merely smiling gently.
On the other hand, the more rapacious elements of the upper classes are in an uproar over stories of mysterious visitors who find their way to their gatherings and cause no small amount of mayhem.
They come unannounced and uninvited, but wearing the finest threads one would expect from the very elite of polite society. No one knows the identity of these mysterious uninvited guests but proper etiquette suggests that one should not question one's superiors, especially if they deem you worthy of their attention.
Indeed, their presence pushes the hosts to prepare the most gorgeous of feasts to impress these potentially quite important but also suspiciously silent guests.
As the guests gather around the table, the silent nobles begin devouring the food and quaff the wine and liquors with wild abandon, resembling wild animals more than distinguished nobles. The other guests soon join in kind, unable to resist their hunger and thirst. Within a few minutes, everyone will begin to take on the traits of hogs and boars with snouts and fat jowls.
In the end, the tables will be overturned and the tablecloths stained with spilled wine and rich sauces. Bones and scraps of food will litter the ground as the hosts are left a weeping mess. The invited guests regain their forms and senses with little memory of their binging, only a lingering feeling of guilt and terrible nausea.
By then the uninvited guests have already made their way out, quietly laughing at the madness much like one would chuckle at a small, harmless faux pas between close acquaintances.
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Zettaijin
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 667
- Joined: Fri Apr 11, 2008 2:30 am
- Gender: Male
- Location: Himeji, Japan
Re: Random hooks thread
The Gentle Giantess
Every little girl and every little boy knows the story of the Gentle Giantess. Somewhere in the hills lies an old tower where she lives with her menagerie and a few companions. Life isn’t as simple and whimsical as these tales would have you believe, but for a child they give hope that beasts and monsters aren’t lurking around every corner, waiting to devour them. They teach them that the world also offers kindness to offset the dread… at least sometimes.
It was a simple tale. A story parents told children to ease their fear of things that creep in the dark; just in the corner of their eyes and out of sight. Until I met her, that is.
I don’t know what came over me. I was afraid, I guess, afraid that the dark would bring something more terrible than bandits and rogues. So there I was, accosted by a band of ruffians on a long stretch of road in Hazlan. A tax for the wizards, they said it was, although I don’t think the fabled mages of Hazlan would hire such men to carry out official duties – no one would. I didn’t travel alone, but they outnumbered us by quite a margin. Also, their leader seemed different somehow, something in his eyes. His gaze was almost hypnotic. And every time he spoke, it felt like a slithering snake crawled up my spine.
Then it started. A few subdued oofs and humphs, followed by the thump of bodies hitting the ground. My mind was hazy, but I remember seeing this woman standing before me… her hands… they were so strong! She had no hair, not exactly unusual in Hazlan, and was covered in colorful markings – again as one might expect in Hazlan. Yet I doubt she was a Red Wizard. She stood there with a broad, gentle smile, and propped me up with one mighty hand. Alas, I was unable to even stand on my own two feet and promptly fell back to the ground and I lost my senses again.
I danced. I danced to the tune of a harp and recorder played by the giantess and her friend, an odd little fellow with a face too small for its head. Its beak-like nose was offset by tiny little eyes and short-cropped red hair styled into a small ridge. I had no fear and no worries – I was just dancing, imagining myself some kind of fairy or nymph. It never seemed odd to me for I was but a child now. To my now young again eyes the tower seemed so much more impressive and the giantess even more imposing, but again, none of this was unusual or improbable. I was happy and content, and more importantly, I felt safe. More than I had ever felt before or since.
I was woken by the sound of instruments playing a simple tune not unlike something one would imagine children dancing to. The same I was dancing to in what I assume was a dream. My eyes had trouble getting accustomed to the sunlight beaming through a single window but my bed of hay was getting a little itchy. I stumbled about carefully, leaning against the walls of what seemed like a tower of some kind judging by the contours of the walls. It no longer appeared as impossibly massive as before, but I had other concerns at the time. A set of stairs lead to an upper floor and although I had regained some semblance of mental clarity, I worried that I could just as well fall and break my neck. So, I tried to peer up the opening to the next floor from where the music seemed to be emanating.
The diminutive figure with bright, short cropped red hair was dancing and playing a small harp. I could see him (it?) go back and forth across the room, so I opted to quickly return to my bed of hay in order to re-evaluate my options. Upon entering the previous room I was greeted with a strange creature poking its head through the window. The purple and pink beast’s head was preceded by what appeared to be a long, straight neck that apparently stretched farther down than I could evaluate and that odd smile… It was this grin that changed from mocking to friendly every few moments. And It laughed. Oh how it laughed. Its lips spread to reveal gleaming white teeth and black gums. Its jet black eyes were looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and… well, I can’t say I remember much after that. I turned to run and found myself face to chest with the giantess. She too laughed and placed a massive palm on my head. Then her companion slipped from behind her towering frame.
The giantess laughed, and the small man (I assume it was a man) also laughed and that… thing was still laughing. I couldn’t escape… and once again my senses failed me.
Upon waking again, I was slumped in a bed. A cursory glance revealed I was no longer in the tower of the giantess and possibly in an inn. My second concern was inspecting my belongings. Surprisingly, not only was everything intact, but I had a small pouch that did not belong to me. In it were some coins and a small recorder, I surmise that this was no dream.
Asking around in Hazlan I found a few people who may or may not have encountered the giantess but only one other soul recalled visiting her abode and, as I did, first came as a child only to wake up an adult again. I now realize that the giantess saved me from the bandits and brought me to the inn from her tower or keep, a place that apparently no one in Hazlan seems to know the location of. Whatever she and her companions are, I owe them now, yet I fear that we may never meet again. Deep in my heart I yearn to return to the safety of her home - to her and her companion’s playful tune.
Every little girl and every little boy knows the story of the Gentle Giantess. Somewhere in the hills lies an old tower where she lives with her menagerie and a few companions. Life isn’t as simple and whimsical as these tales would have you believe, but for a child they give hope that beasts and monsters aren’t lurking around every corner, waiting to devour them. They teach them that the world also offers kindness to offset the dread… at least sometimes.
It was a simple tale. A story parents told children to ease their fear of things that creep in the dark; just in the corner of their eyes and out of sight. Until I met her, that is.
I don’t know what came over me. I was afraid, I guess, afraid that the dark would bring something more terrible than bandits and rogues. So there I was, accosted by a band of ruffians on a long stretch of road in Hazlan. A tax for the wizards, they said it was, although I don’t think the fabled mages of Hazlan would hire such men to carry out official duties – no one would. I didn’t travel alone, but they outnumbered us by quite a margin. Also, their leader seemed different somehow, something in his eyes. His gaze was almost hypnotic. And every time he spoke, it felt like a slithering snake crawled up my spine.
Then it started. A few subdued oofs and humphs, followed by the thump of bodies hitting the ground. My mind was hazy, but I remember seeing this woman standing before me… her hands… they were so strong! She had no hair, not exactly unusual in Hazlan, and was covered in colorful markings – again as one might expect in Hazlan. Yet I doubt she was a Red Wizard. She stood there with a broad, gentle smile, and propped me up with one mighty hand. Alas, I was unable to even stand on my own two feet and promptly fell back to the ground and I lost my senses again.
I danced. I danced to the tune of a harp and recorder played by the giantess and her friend, an odd little fellow with a face too small for its head. Its beak-like nose was offset by tiny little eyes and short-cropped red hair styled into a small ridge. I had no fear and no worries – I was just dancing, imagining myself some kind of fairy or nymph. It never seemed odd to me for I was but a child now. To my now young again eyes the tower seemed so much more impressive and the giantess even more imposing, but again, none of this was unusual or improbable. I was happy and content, and more importantly, I felt safe. More than I had ever felt before or since.
I was woken by the sound of instruments playing a simple tune not unlike something one would imagine children dancing to. The same I was dancing to in what I assume was a dream. My eyes had trouble getting accustomed to the sunlight beaming through a single window but my bed of hay was getting a little itchy. I stumbled about carefully, leaning against the walls of what seemed like a tower of some kind judging by the contours of the walls. It no longer appeared as impossibly massive as before, but I had other concerns at the time. A set of stairs lead to an upper floor and although I had regained some semblance of mental clarity, I worried that I could just as well fall and break my neck. So, I tried to peer up the opening to the next floor from where the music seemed to be emanating.
The diminutive figure with bright, short cropped red hair was dancing and playing a small harp. I could see him (it?) go back and forth across the room, so I opted to quickly return to my bed of hay in order to re-evaluate my options. Upon entering the previous room I was greeted with a strange creature poking its head through the window. The purple and pink beast’s head was preceded by what appeared to be a long, straight neck that apparently stretched farther down than I could evaluate and that odd smile… It was this grin that changed from mocking to friendly every few moments. And It laughed. Oh how it laughed. Its lips spread to reveal gleaming white teeth and black gums. Its jet black eyes were looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and… well, I can’t say I remember much after that. I turned to run and found myself face to chest with the giantess. She too laughed and placed a massive palm on my head. Then her companion slipped from behind her towering frame.
The giantess laughed, and the small man (I assume it was a man) also laughed and that… thing was still laughing. I couldn’t escape… and once again my senses failed me.
Upon waking again, I was slumped in a bed. A cursory glance revealed I was no longer in the tower of the giantess and possibly in an inn. My second concern was inspecting my belongings. Surprisingly, not only was everything intact, but I had a small pouch that did not belong to me. In it were some coins and a small recorder, I surmise that this was no dream.
Asking around in Hazlan I found a few people who may or may not have encountered the giantess but only one other soul recalled visiting her abode and, as I did, first came as a child only to wake up an adult again. I now realize that the giantess saved me from the bandits and brought me to the inn from her tower or keep, a place that apparently no one in Hazlan seems to know the location of. Whatever she and her companions are, I owe them now, yet I fear that we may never meet again. Deep in my heart I yearn to return to the safety of her home - to her and her companion’s playful tune.
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Zettaijin
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 667
- Joined: Fri Apr 11, 2008 2:30 am
- Gender: Male
- Location: Himeji, Japan
Re: Random hooks thread
I'm again offering a no prize to the person who spots the reference above... Hint, only Canadians of a certain age may get it...
-
Zettaijin
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 667
- Joined: Fri Apr 11, 2008 2:30 am
- Gender: Male
- Location: Himeji, Japan
Re: Random hooks thread
Almost a year has passed since my latest post. I have neglected this project for far too long.
The Bearded Nun
"From the tales I had heard, one would have imagined the woman to be quite different. My mind had conjured forth a statuesque femme fatale - something one could find in ancient depictions of Goddesses long forgotten. I imagined her to be subtly foreign, possibly tracing her roots to some far off land; exotic eyes and sharp, impossibly angular features.
Imagine my surprise when this stocky, squat little woman dawdled her way to my side. Her face was round and somewhat pale and surrounded by thick dark hair, like a beaming full moon in a dark sky. Odd as she may have looked, her smile was warm and genuine as any I'd ever seen. More striking still was her wispy beard. Short if not somewhat scraggly black whiskers surrounded the sides of her lips and chin leading me to wonder if perhaps I had been mislead.
She introduced herself with a distinctly foreign accent, one I could not quite identify. And upon reaching the borders, she casually began speaking in the local vernacular. She explained that she had a talent for languages and was an eager student of many of the land's lesser known ones.
Such an odd little person would surely attract much ridicule and uncomfortable stares, but the way she conducted herself and the sheer warmth of her presence seemed to make everyone forget what was in plain sight. I truly believe that I was as much in awe of this diminutive nun as I would have of the Goddess I had previously imagined.
Moreover, for a woman devoted to the teachings of Ezra, she did not speak much of her faith. Indeed, one could be forgiven for not knowing that she was in fact an emissary of the divine order.
I was tasked with accompanying her on her travels as a guard but somehow I don't believe she was ever in any danger. Everyone she meets becomes a friend. Witnessing her work in one community, I found it interesting how people were not only drawn to her but also how they built around her.
Upon leaving the last village, not only had they rebuilt some of the ravaged infrastructure, but they had set up a plan to pursue her work with a few locals gaining no small measure of confidence and leadership in the process."
"As a child, I remember meeting her once. She was a peculiar looking woman, that's for sure. But her presence was soothing. People just seemed happier around her.
She had come to look after me as my mother had fallen ill and my father was away. Being an only child and my family living far away, we really didn't have much in the way of help. I still don't know why she came to my house, but I will always remember her singing. I think her voice was that of the Heavens.
We don't talk about her as much, I guess. But she was good to us. I think we needed her to remind us that the world isn't always hard."
"Sh' lived'ere fr'while zai'recall. Called her the stump cuz she was short and looked like a tree stump. I'd say 'Good morn, Lady Tree Stump!' n'she juss laugh. Ne'er a hint a trouble with'er round, no sir. Juss laugh and laugh... She'd play tha'flute and th'cats n' dogs'd dance with'th'kids!
Not sure why left. Kinda miss ol' Lady Tree Stump."
"Yah, the beard eh... s'kinda strange fir a lady, I say. Buh's nah my worry yah know. She was a good woman. Took real good care of tha sick and tha old. That she did! A little angel comin' to help'us through a rough patch. Ya gotta think tha old an' sick got better cuz' ah her, yah know. 'S'not magic', she said, 'just good hands'. I don't believe it. Nah, ah don't. There was a little magic there, a little bit of it anyways.
Ah knew she was Ezra's girl, buh nah my worry yah know. She ne'er seid a word 'bout that yah know. Jus' smilin' an' helpin' like a little angel. Ah'm not special like her, yah know, but I hafta help out my kin. Yah learn to bind tha wounds an stuff like that with'her 'round."
"The diminutive woman known as the Bearded Nun was quite secretive about her affiliation with the Church of Ezra and certainly made no effort to promote it or her beliefs. On the contrary, she deftly changed the topic when I inquired to a point where I felt somewhat guilty for my intrusive questioning.
Obviously her prowess at the healing arts is the object of much discussion and as a medical expert I must admit that these were in no way exaggerated: The woman is as gifted at medicine, if not more than most established practitioners I have met.
I remain however skeptical at her claims that she merely has 'good hands' and suspect there may be some mystical origins to her more astonishing work.
Be that as it may, the woman was a blessing and I for one would welcome a return visit."
"I've tracked the comings and goings of the woman known as The Bearded Nun for many years. I even asked various clergies for more information. Given her appearance, it goes without saying that she cannot hide easily, yet actual information about the woman is hard to find and it took me some time to gather these records of her life.
As stated before, my research included visits to major churches of Ezra and I managed to briefly discuss the matter with higher ranking members. While none had any criticisms or indeed a bad word to say, they also felt that she was a bit of a mystery.
So far, it seems as though the woman was originally an orphan girl from Borca with most agreeing that she was indeed possibly born with facial hair as the earliest records of her presence at the orphanage obviously made it a point to note this unusual trait. I suspect this may be the cause of her parents abandoning her.
Be that as it may, she was raised to serve Ezra and decided quite early on to devote herself to caring for others. She was the youngest recorded healer in their ranks and she rapidly grew in skill. Upon reaching her late teens she felt she told the others at the orphanage that she couldn't bear taking more of their time and meager resources, opting to travel the land in some form of spiritual journey.
From this point onward, her relationship to the church became more distant and I had to rely upon various accounts from locals who had received a visit from her.
In all cases, she stayed for a few days up to a few weeks; often following the spread of disease or destruction or some other calamity. She would assist the locals in various capacities and has demonstrated an uncanny gift for learning languages, which I'm sure is of great help in her work.
She also seems to be proficient at music, alternatively playing the flute, lute, harp, and small percussion instruments. Children are especially drawn to her and various witnesses claim she had the uncanny ability to calm distressed children with her smile alone.
Everyone talks of her facial hair and diminutive stature but this is second to the fond memories they have of her stay. After reading and hearing so much about her, I couldn't help but feel a little jealous and secretly wished to meet her in person.
Still, the true mystery is how she finds the hamlets and villages she resides in. No doubt she uses the mists to travel as records of her travels suggest a rather haphazard itinerary but no one has ever seen her in the presence of the Vistani. Does she possess some manner of other worldly ability to navigate the mists?
Lastly, it has come to my attention that at least one tribe of Vistani is currently tracking down the woman for purposes that remain shrouded in mystery."
---------------------
The Bearded Nun was raised by followers of Erza in a Borcan orphanage. She was christened Myrna and offered the typical upbringing one would imagine from such an institution.
Despite her appearance, she is in fact "planetouched". Her father was himself planetouched and engaged to a suitably attractive (albeit not planetouched) local beauty. The couple were notoriously vain and proud but also a generally positive force with both engaging in various community-focused initiatives to aid locals in need. Beautiful inside and out, as they would be described, but also somewhat obsessed with making the world as beautiful as they were.
Alas, they came afoul of the Vistani and their vanity caused them to ruffle the feathers of the Rauni who lay a curse upon the couple - their first born child would not inherit their beauty, on the contrary, the child would be born ugly.
As per the curse, the girl was born with facial hair and oddly stubby limbs. The parents could not bear to look at her and gave her up for adoption.
Despite her odd appearance, her celestial blood somehow gave her a few unnatural traits such as a calming, uplifting aura which is especially effective around domesticated animals and young children along with an uncanny ability to learn new skills - including, but not limited to, medicine and languages.
Her naturally cheerful and humble demeanor may be due to her celestial blood or the care she received growing up, either way her presence alone is enough to raise morale and accelerate the process of healing.
The undead her obviously repulsed by her to various degrees and even more powerful types such as vampires may feel uneasy in her presence. Lesser undead may either opt to ignore her or, in some cases, even flee.
Her "faith" is mostly for show by now as she has more or less cast off most of her religious baggage in exchange for a more neutral form of humanism. She pays lip service to Ezra but never makes any overt references to the church.
She is also a community builder. People rally around her and begin forming stronger bonds which lead to strong communities better able to fend for themselves and, in some cases, repel the darkness whatever form it may take.
Obviously such a benevolent force attracts the attention of the Dark Powers and Darklords alike but somehow she manages to escape unscathed. Currently, the tribe that cursed her parents are chasing her for reasons that only they know. What they plan to do if they finally succeed in finding her is unknown.
----------------------
I created this character with hopes of providing more positive influences in the dark realm. Her purity and positive attitude contrasts the constant "dark pasts", "twisted history" and "evil in disguise" that are pervasive in Ravenloft.
She is a simple character doing what she can in small ways, but more importantly she teaches and brings communities together. Unlike the benevolent adventurer who comes in and "cleans up" the bad, she is a more passive force which helps the communities in a different way.
The Bearded Nun
"From the tales I had heard, one would have imagined the woman to be quite different. My mind had conjured forth a statuesque femme fatale - something one could find in ancient depictions of Goddesses long forgotten. I imagined her to be subtly foreign, possibly tracing her roots to some far off land; exotic eyes and sharp, impossibly angular features.
Imagine my surprise when this stocky, squat little woman dawdled her way to my side. Her face was round and somewhat pale and surrounded by thick dark hair, like a beaming full moon in a dark sky. Odd as she may have looked, her smile was warm and genuine as any I'd ever seen. More striking still was her wispy beard. Short if not somewhat scraggly black whiskers surrounded the sides of her lips and chin leading me to wonder if perhaps I had been mislead.
She introduced herself with a distinctly foreign accent, one I could not quite identify. And upon reaching the borders, she casually began speaking in the local vernacular. She explained that she had a talent for languages and was an eager student of many of the land's lesser known ones.
Such an odd little person would surely attract much ridicule and uncomfortable stares, but the way she conducted herself and the sheer warmth of her presence seemed to make everyone forget what was in plain sight. I truly believe that I was as much in awe of this diminutive nun as I would have of the Goddess I had previously imagined.
Moreover, for a woman devoted to the teachings of Ezra, she did not speak much of her faith. Indeed, one could be forgiven for not knowing that she was in fact an emissary of the divine order.
I was tasked with accompanying her on her travels as a guard but somehow I don't believe she was ever in any danger. Everyone she meets becomes a friend. Witnessing her work in one community, I found it interesting how people were not only drawn to her but also how they built around her.
Upon leaving the last village, not only had they rebuilt some of the ravaged infrastructure, but they had set up a plan to pursue her work with a few locals gaining no small measure of confidence and leadership in the process."
"As a child, I remember meeting her once. She was a peculiar looking woman, that's for sure. But her presence was soothing. People just seemed happier around her.
She had come to look after me as my mother had fallen ill and my father was away. Being an only child and my family living far away, we really didn't have much in the way of help. I still don't know why she came to my house, but I will always remember her singing. I think her voice was that of the Heavens.
We don't talk about her as much, I guess. But she was good to us. I think we needed her to remind us that the world isn't always hard."
"Sh' lived'ere fr'while zai'recall. Called her the stump cuz she was short and looked like a tree stump. I'd say 'Good morn, Lady Tree Stump!' n'she juss laugh. Ne'er a hint a trouble with'er round, no sir. Juss laugh and laugh... She'd play tha'flute and th'cats n' dogs'd dance with'th'kids!
Not sure why left. Kinda miss ol' Lady Tree Stump."
"Yah, the beard eh... s'kinda strange fir a lady, I say. Buh's nah my worry yah know. She was a good woman. Took real good care of tha sick and tha old. That she did! A little angel comin' to help'us through a rough patch. Ya gotta think tha old an' sick got better cuz' ah her, yah know. 'S'not magic', she said, 'just good hands'. I don't believe it. Nah, ah don't. There was a little magic there, a little bit of it anyways.
Ah knew she was Ezra's girl, buh nah my worry yah know. She ne'er seid a word 'bout that yah know. Jus' smilin' an' helpin' like a little angel. Ah'm not special like her, yah know, but I hafta help out my kin. Yah learn to bind tha wounds an stuff like that with'her 'round."
"The diminutive woman known as the Bearded Nun was quite secretive about her affiliation with the Church of Ezra and certainly made no effort to promote it or her beliefs. On the contrary, she deftly changed the topic when I inquired to a point where I felt somewhat guilty for my intrusive questioning.
Obviously her prowess at the healing arts is the object of much discussion and as a medical expert I must admit that these were in no way exaggerated: The woman is as gifted at medicine, if not more than most established practitioners I have met.
I remain however skeptical at her claims that she merely has 'good hands' and suspect there may be some mystical origins to her more astonishing work.
Be that as it may, the woman was a blessing and I for one would welcome a return visit."
"I've tracked the comings and goings of the woman known as The Bearded Nun for many years. I even asked various clergies for more information. Given her appearance, it goes without saying that she cannot hide easily, yet actual information about the woman is hard to find and it took me some time to gather these records of her life.
As stated before, my research included visits to major churches of Ezra and I managed to briefly discuss the matter with higher ranking members. While none had any criticisms or indeed a bad word to say, they also felt that she was a bit of a mystery.
So far, it seems as though the woman was originally an orphan girl from Borca with most agreeing that she was indeed possibly born with facial hair as the earliest records of her presence at the orphanage obviously made it a point to note this unusual trait. I suspect this may be the cause of her parents abandoning her.
Be that as it may, she was raised to serve Ezra and decided quite early on to devote herself to caring for others. She was the youngest recorded healer in their ranks and she rapidly grew in skill. Upon reaching her late teens she felt she told the others at the orphanage that she couldn't bear taking more of their time and meager resources, opting to travel the land in some form of spiritual journey.
From this point onward, her relationship to the church became more distant and I had to rely upon various accounts from locals who had received a visit from her.
In all cases, she stayed for a few days up to a few weeks; often following the spread of disease or destruction or some other calamity. She would assist the locals in various capacities and has demonstrated an uncanny gift for learning languages, which I'm sure is of great help in her work.
She also seems to be proficient at music, alternatively playing the flute, lute, harp, and small percussion instruments. Children are especially drawn to her and various witnesses claim she had the uncanny ability to calm distressed children with her smile alone.
Everyone talks of her facial hair and diminutive stature but this is second to the fond memories they have of her stay. After reading and hearing so much about her, I couldn't help but feel a little jealous and secretly wished to meet her in person.
Still, the true mystery is how she finds the hamlets and villages she resides in. No doubt she uses the mists to travel as records of her travels suggest a rather haphazard itinerary but no one has ever seen her in the presence of the Vistani. Does she possess some manner of other worldly ability to navigate the mists?
Lastly, it has come to my attention that at least one tribe of Vistani is currently tracking down the woman for purposes that remain shrouded in mystery."
---------------------
The Bearded Nun was raised by followers of Erza in a Borcan orphanage. She was christened Myrna and offered the typical upbringing one would imagine from such an institution.
Despite her appearance, she is in fact "planetouched". Her father was himself planetouched and engaged to a suitably attractive (albeit not planetouched) local beauty. The couple were notoriously vain and proud but also a generally positive force with both engaging in various community-focused initiatives to aid locals in need. Beautiful inside and out, as they would be described, but also somewhat obsessed with making the world as beautiful as they were.
Alas, they came afoul of the Vistani and their vanity caused them to ruffle the feathers of the Rauni who lay a curse upon the couple - their first born child would not inherit their beauty, on the contrary, the child would be born ugly.
As per the curse, the girl was born with facial hair and oddly stubby limbs. The parents could not bear to look at her and gave her up for adoption.
Despite her odd appearance, her celestial blood somehow gave her a few unnatural traits such as a calming, uplifting aura which is especially effective around domesticated animals and young children along with an uncanny ability to learn new skills - including, but not limited to, medicine and languages.
Her naturally cheerful and humble demeanor may be due to her celestial blood or the care she received growing up, either way her presence alone is enough to raise morale and accelerate the process of healing.
The undead her obviously repulsed by her to various degrees and even more powerful types such as vampires may feel uneasy in her presence. Lesser undead may either opt to ignore her or, in some cases, even flee.
Her "faith" is mostly for show by now as she has more or less cast off most of her religious baggage in exchange for a more neutral form of humanism. She pays lip service to Ezra but never makes any overt references to the church.
She is also a community builder. People rally around her and begin forming stronger bonds which lead to strong communities better able to fend for themselves and, in some cases, repel the darkness whatever form it may take.
Obviously such a benevolent force attracts the attention of the Dark Powers and Darklords alike but somehow she manages to escape unscathed. Currently, the tribe that cursed her parents are chasing her for reasons that only they know. What they plan to do if they finally succeed in finding her is unknown.
----------------------
I created this character with hopes of providing more positive influences in the dark realm. Her purity and positive attitude contrasts the constant "dark pasts", "twisted history" and "evil in disguise" that are pervasive in Ravenloft.
She is a simple character doing what she can in small ways, but more importantly she teaches and brings communities together. Unlike the benevolent adventurer who comes in and "cleans up" the bad, she is a more passive force which helps the communities in a different way.
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Mistmaster
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 1141
- Joined: Fri Feb 19, 2016 5:27 pm
Re: Random hooks thread
I think such a character will be often visited by a nice old bespectecled man in black garners riding a wagon offering her some books. (See Archibald Everlast Qtr 24)
Re: Random hooks thread
The citizens of Immol are reporting ghost sightings in the nearby woods, claiming to have seen a glowing see through specter, moaning about a return. Rumors abound as to who it could be: The lost soul of a Terg who still yearns to return to his home soil, one of Lysa von Zarovich's many dead lovers, or a victim of a vistani curse.
The truth is that the ghost is no ghost at all, but the disembodied spirit of a power Thaani mystic. Using ectoplasm to create a mental construct of himself in order to leave his own body, his disembodied spirit cannot find his body. His body was mistaken for a corpse and taken by body snatchers who planned to sell it to a medical school. If he cannot get his body back soon, he will be stuck as a spirit forever
The truth is that the ghost is no ghost at all, but the disembodied spirit of a power Thaani mystic. Using ectoplasm to create a mental construct of himself in order to leave his own body, his disembodied spirit cannot find his body. His body was mistaken for a corpse and taken by body snatchers who planned to sell it to a medical school. If he cannot get his body back soon, he will be stuck as a spirit forever
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Zettaijin
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 667
- Joined: Fri Apr 11, 2008 2:30 am
- Gender: Male
- Location: Himeji, Japan
Re: Random hooks thread
The impossible adventures of Lord Windham - Taming the She-Wolf
"Ah yes, the She-Wolf! I remember taming the woman many moons ago during my first and I do hope last visit to Verbrek. I swear by Ezra, it isn't the wolves and whatever dark creatures roaming the land that will do you in but the sheer monotony of it all! I do believe we spent nearly a week, yes a whole week following the trail of that elusive she-devil in what I feel may have been the most dreadfully tedious chase.
Of course, I knew she was infatuated with me and through that she would perhaps rouse my interest through some game of cat and mouse through the wild, untamed woods - or perhaps it was more like chess. No matter, she was clearly lusting and upon reaching the final scene of this interminable play I chose to 'give in' to the primal urges and engage in a little private duel - foul beasts be damned; I knew at least some of them would be around to witness the She-Wolf being brought to her knees by a real man and that was all I needed to spur me onward.
And so I showed her, those peeping beasts peering from behind the trees and those men who had not yet foolishly ran for their lives at the thought of Verbrek's local fauna hiding in the bushes. Yes, I showed them all what virility is! Clearly the She-Wolf was smitten as she wasted no time in lunging forward and straddled me. I dare say she was the second most hirsute woman I'd ever seen - remind me to tell you of the giantess Holga whose hairy legs could have been sheered and the hair made into winter garments.
I will give her this - she was certainly more err enthusiastic than I had anticipated. The clawing and biting was drawing blood and she was not listening to my directions - but yes, of course the fairer kind do tend to be willful and sometimes unruly. This, however, was a woman driven mad by lust and she would have perhaps ended me were I not always prepared.
My second-in-command burst onto the scene to wrestle her from my body while the others helped me up. Not that I needed their help, mind you, but sometimes a wise leader lets his troops feel as though their are necessary to as to boost morale. Seeing the She-Wolf and Agar fighting was embarrassing for all involved, so I decided to save face and merely leave him to finish his business alone. Of course, my troops were concerned about leaving him behind, but I assured them that my second-in-command was the best of their lot and thus capable enough to handle this wild woman.
The beasts had had enough stimulation for one night, I said. And with that ordered them to cover my rear - literally as my pants lay near the She-Wolf - and headed back to more civilized lands; where wild-eyed savages and unnatural beasts do not spend their nights cajoling each other. It goes without saying that my group included some less than trustworthy types from the southern lands - you are all very well aware of their reputation - and as you would expect from these individuals of looser moral they had pilfered some valuables hoarded by the She-Wolf. I admonished them for their thieving ways and took their ill-gotten gains in return for not handing them over to local authorities once we reached the sanctity of civilization.
My second-in-command never returned and I wondered aloud if perhaps, in a moment of weakness, he had not succumbed to the charms of the wild She-Wolf; as unsavory as such a thought may be, there are men who could find themselves duped by the feminine wiles of such creatures. Still, for a moment, I proved that even the wildest woman could be tamed by my steady hand and surely the She-Wolf would think twice of crossing over into the world of civilized men."
------------
Lord Winham is a dangerous blowhard who fancies himself an adventurer and spends much of his time telling his wild tales to the ruling classes of the enlightened core. He is a misogynist and frequently looks down upon what he deems to be "lesser" men, making no effort to hide either of these traits.
Despite his multiple brushes with death, he lives, while his associates rarely seem to have such good fortune. Indeed, few will survive his ill-fated and ill-advised adventurous journeys. Yet, his considerable wealth and even wealthier friends means he is able to continue daring fate and leaving behind the corpses of foolish individuals who bought into his overwrought stories.
He encountered a vampire taxidermist who was attempting to create an army of undead beasts from fossils found in the Amber Wastes. In the end the entire lab burned down with many of his hired help going down with it while he fled like a coward.
Here he chased after the so-called She-Wolf who, in fact, is a powerful werewolf who is currently vying to take over Verbrek. She had been accused of stealing some valuables from a rich collector who was actually a double-dealing mage trying to steal back magical artifacts he had sold to her. He enlisted Windham to deliver justice in the name of civilization. Windham saw this as an opportunity for profit and perhaps a little more. The She-Wolf was indeed toying with him and would have killed him had Abar not intervened.
Abar is long dead now, as are a number of men hired by Windham. He will state, as he often does, that the cowards "fled" and he thus feels no desire to know of their whereabouts.
As for the other werewolves in the story, they have a tense relationship with the "She-Wolf". She seems to have some ability to affect transformations in werewolves within Verbrek and members of the Timothy clan in particular. Some are considering defecting to her side but doing so may lead to a civil war of sorts. So, as of now, they stay back and observe. Devouring the fleeing men, however, was fair game.
"Ah yes, the She-Wolf! I remember taming the woman many moons ago during my first and I do hope last visit to Verbrek. I swear by Ezra, it isn't the wolves and whatever dark creatures roaming the land that will do you in but the sheer monotony of it all! I do believe we spent nearly a week, yes a whole week following the trail of that elusive she-devil in what I feel may have been the most dreadfully tedious chase.
Of course, I knew she was infatuated with me and through that she would perhaps rouse my interest through some game of cat and mouse through the wild, untamed woods - or perhaps it was more like chess. No matter, she was clearly lusting and upon reaching the final scene of this interminable play I chose to 'give in' to the primal urges and engage in a little private duel - foul beasts be damned; I knew at least some of them would be around to witness the She-Wolf being brought to her knees by a real man and that was all I needed to spur me onward.
And so I showed her, those peeping beasts peering from behind the trees and those men who had not yet foolishly ran for their lives at the thought of Verbrek's local fauna hiding in the bushes. Yes, I showed them all what virility is! Clearly the She-Wolf was smitten as she wasted no time in lunging forward and straddled me. I dare say she was the second most hirsute woman I'd ever seen - remind me to tell you of the giantess Holga whose hairy legs could have been sheered and the hair made into winter garments.
I will give her this - she was certainly more err enthusiastic than I had anticipated. The clawing and biting was drawing blood and she was not listening to my directions - but yes, of course the fairer kind do tend to be willful and sometimes unruly. This, however, was a woman driven mad by lust and she would have perhaps ended me were I not always prepared.
My second-in-command burst onto the scene to wrestle her from my body while the others helped me up. Not that I needed their help, mind you, but sometimes a wise leader lets his troops feel as though their are necessary to as to boost morale. Seeing the She-Wolf and Agar fighting was embarrassing for all involved, so I decided to save face and merely leave him to finish his business alone. Of course, my troops were concerned about leaving him behind, but I assured them that my second-in-command was the best of their lot and thus capable enough to handle this wild woman.
The beasts had had enough stimulation for one night, I said. And with that ordered them to cover my rear - literally as my pants lay near the She-Wolf - and headed back to more civilized lands; where wild-eyed savages and unnatural beasts do not spend their nights cajoling each other. It goes without saying that my group included some less than trustworthy types from the southern lands - you are all very well aware of their reputation - and as you would expect from these individuals of looser moral they had pilfered some valuables hoarded by the She-Wolf. I admonished them for their thieving ways and took their ill-gotten gains in return for not handing them over to local authorities once we reached the sanctity of civilization.
My second-in-command never returned and I wondered aloud if perhaps, in a moment of weakness, he had not succumbed to the charms of the wild She-Wolf; as unsavory as such a thought may be, there are men who could find themselves duped by the feminine wiles of such creatures. Still, for a moment, I proved that even the wildest woman could be tamed by my steady hand and surely the She-Wolf would think twice of crossing over into the world of civilized men."
------------
Lord Winham is a dangerous blowhard who fancies himself an adventurer and spends much of his time telling his wild tales to the ruling classes of the enlightened core. He is a misogynist and frequently looks down upon what he deems to be "lesser" men, making no effort to hide either of these traits.
Despite his multiple brushes with death, he lives, while his associates rarely seem to have such good fortune. Indeed, few will survive his ill-fated and ill-advised adventurous journeys. Yet, his considerable wealth and even wealthier friends means he is able to continue daring fate and leaving behind the corpses of foolish individuals who bought into his overwrought stories.
He encountered a vampire taxidermist who was attempting to create an army of undead beasts from fossils found in the Amber Wastes. In the end the entire lab burned down with many of his hired help going down with it while he fled like a coward.
Here he chased after the so-called She-Wolf who, in fact, is a powerful werewolf who is currently vying to take over Verbrek. She had been accused of stealing some valuables from a rich collector who was actually a double-dealing mage trying to steal back magical artifacts he had sold to her. He enlisted Windham to deliver justice in the name of civilization. Windham saw this as an opportunity for profit and perhaps a little more. The She-Wolf was indeed toying with him and would have killed him had Abar not intervened.
Abar is long dead now, as are a number of men hired by Windham. He will state, as he often does, that the cowards "fled" and he thus feels no desire to know of their whereabouts.
As for the other werewolves in the story, they have a tense relationship with the "She-Wolf". She seems to have some ability to affect transformations in werewolves within Verbrek and members of the Timothy clan in particular. Some are considering defecting to her side but doing so may lead to a civil war of sorts. So, as of now, they stay back and observe. Devouring the fleeing men, however, was fair game.
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Zettaijin
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 667
- Joined: Fri Apr 11, 2008 2:30 am
- Gender: Male
- Location: Himeji, Japan
Re: Random hooks thread
Hard to believe it's been over a year...
Guess I should make it a tradition to post once a year, huh?
Two sides of the same coin
Ignace and Indigo are their names. They are an odd and quite exotic brother and sister pair from a far away land who are rapidly ascending the ranks of polite society in Dementlieu. Odd because, firstly, they bear little resemblance to one another, and second due to one very curious habit - Ignace speaks only during the day while Indigo only at night. Yet, despite the silence, the siblings claim to have a special bond that allows them to understand each other without the use of words thus enabling one to speak on behalf of the other.
Obviously this eccentricity has caught the attention of doctors and scholars as well, but the pair remain adamant that this is an ancient custom from their homeland festooned upon siblings born under particular circumstances.
In any case, Ignace is a lean individual whose face seems to have been carved from the purest, whitest marble. With dark eyes that seem full of complex emotions and an ever warm, knowing expression, he strikes everyone he meets as something of an angel. And yet his pale complexion and long jet black hair is a stark contrast to his sister's tan skin and blue eyes. Indeed, Indigo does not at all mirror her brother with a somewhat softer, less defined figure but still displays a powerful musculature. She keeps her hair tied in a variety of braids, rarely letting it loose.
They've adopted local fashion if only out of necessity and when asked about their homeland and home customs, they remain evasive. Their mastery of the languages of the "north" is nothing short of astonishing given how little time has elapsed since their arrival. More surprising still is how readily people have welcome them.
They make pleasant conversation with all and seem rather well versed in many topics. Needless to say, their attractiveness have made them the object of many's interest but these passions were tempered by rumors that the brother and sister will never stay apart and indeed will not even stay in separate rooms. Again, a peculiarity they have explained away as a defense mechanism stemming from their youth.
Ignace is more of a cypher than his sister and known to be more of a listener as well. This isn't to say that he cannot be an active conversationalist or is without any personality, more that he is the type of man who seems to be perpetually imbibing information and quietly calculating how and when best to speak. Indigo is more active and friendly. She will gladly engage in games and drinks, and notorious for bursting into a contagious laughter. She seems most at ease with groups of people rather than a few at a time.
Obviously, the darklords of the northern lands know the truth: The twosome are outlanders and clearly playing some kind of game, but what is their goal?
----------------
Ignace and Indigo are the two facets of a fiend's fractured psyche. Two identities once taken on by a single entity.
These identities were necessary disguises that the fiend used in order to better infiltrate and seduce mortals but the shock of being summoned into the dread realms brought the two back to the forefront along with tearing them apart. The original entity still slumbers within each identity while they go about their business. Why Ignace and Indigo? Surely the fiend had taken on its fair share of identities in the past, so why is it limited to those two?
The Dark Powers have their reasons.
This being said, while Ignace "exists" during the day, only Indigo is "present" at night. That is to say that whenever one identity is active the other becomes a mute, passive "shadow" made of flesh. It follows and can even mildly interact (always silently) with other people if the other pair wills it by briefly forcing the mind of the inactive sibling back into its physical shell for a few moments at a time.
The active sibling will share the same sensations as its pair's physical shell including, but not limited to, pain and pleasure, loud noises, tastes and other sensations. Also, the other is never far behind - much like a shadow. In fact, there is no possibility of privacy for them as the other will always be within a certain distance of the other. Forcefully pulling them apart is likely to cause the other to seek out its pair through any means necessary.
As the pair suggested, they can "hear" each other speaking even when one is mute. While the physical form may be but a meat puppet of sorts, the siblings live on inside the mind of each other. This isn't to say that they cannot "hide" their thoughts. Again, the active sibling must communicate orally with his non-active sibling which communicates through the former's mind.
While they portray an apparently loving and protective pair of siblings with "odd", "foreign" traits, they are in fact quite hostile to each other. Neither truly knows or understands the full nature of their condition but each of them has some deep seated belief that it must somehow "suffocate" the other in order to be truly free.
They are playing a complex game indeed with the end goal being the death of the other.
By forcing the inactive sibling to briefly inhabit its mortal shell without much control over it or any ability to communicate, they attempt to concoct plots to eliminate the other. So far, it seems as if these attempts are always failures as the sibling will not succumb to fatal injuries due to their otherworldly origins.
Their otherworldly abilities are weak and quite limited with some amount of capability to charm as well as provoke emotions in mortals. They are also superhumanly strong, agile, and resilient. Furthermore, they have an innate ability to communicate in almost any language, albeit imprecisely unless given sufficient time to gain fluency.
What would happen were one of the two prove successful? How could the dormant "original" personality re-emerge?
Guess I should make it a tradition to post once a year, huh?
Two sides of the same coin
Ignace and Indigo are their names. They are an odd and quite exotic brother and sister pair from a far away land who are rapidly ascending the ranks of polite society in Dementlieu. Odd because, firstly, they bear little resemblance to one another, and second due to one very curious habit - Ignace speaks only during the day while Indigo only at night. Yet, despite the silence, the siblings claim to have a special bond that allows them to understand each other without the use of words thus enabling one to speak on behalf of the other.
Obviously this eccentricity has caught the attention of doctors and scholars as well, but the pair remain adamant that this is an ancient custom from their homeland festooned upon siblings born under particular circumstances.
In any case, Ignace is a lean individual whose face seems to have been carved from the purest, whitest marble. With dark eyes that seem full of complex emotions and an ever warm, knowing expression, he strikes everyone he meets as something of an angel. And yet his pale complexion and long jet black hair is a stark contrast to his sister's tan skin and blue eyes. Indeed, Indigo does not at all mirror her brother with a somewhat softer, less defined figure but still displays a powerful musculature. She keeps her hair tied in a variety of braids, rarely letting it loose.
They've adopted local fashion if only out of necessity and when asked about their homeland and home customs, they remain evasive. Their mastery of the languages of the "north" is nothing short of astonishing given how little time has elapsed since their arrival. More surprising still is how readily people have welcome them.
They make pleasant conversation with all and seem rather well versed in many topics. Needless to say, their attractiveness have made them the object of many's interest but these passions were tempered by rumors that the brother and sister will never stay apart and indeed will not even stay in separate rooms. Again, a peculiarity they have explained away as a defense mechanism stemming from their youth.
Ignace is more of a cypher than his sister and known to be more of a listener as well. This isn't to say that he cannot be an active conversationalist or is without any personality, more that he is the type of man who seems to be perpetually imbibing information and quietly calculating how and when best to speak. Indigo is more active and friendly. She will gladly engage in games and drinks, and notorious for bursting into a contagious laughter. She seems most at ease with groups of people rather than a few at a time.
Obviously, the darklords of the northern lands know the truth: The twosome are outlanders and clearly playing some kind of game, but what is their goal?
----------------
Ignace and Indigo are the two facets of a fiend's fractured psyche. Two identities once taken on by a single entity.
These identities were necessary disguises that the fiend used in order to better infiltrate and seduce mortals but the shock of being summoned into the dread realms brought the two back to the forefront along with tearing them apart. The original entity still slumbers within each identity while they go about their business. Why Ignace and Indigo? Surely the fiend had taken on its fair share of identities in the past, so why is it limited to those two?
The Dark Powers have their reasons.
This being said, while Ignace "exists" during the day, only Indigo is "present" at night. That is to say that whenever one identity is active the other becomes a mute, passive "shadow" made of flesh. It follows and can even mildly interact (always silently) with other people if the other pair wills it by briefly forcing the mind of the inactive sibling back into its physical shell for a few moments at a time.
The active sibling will share the same sensations as its pair's physical shell including, but not limited to, pain and pleasure, loud noises, tastes and other sensations. Also, the other is never far behind - much like a shadow. In fact, there is no possibility of privacy for them as the other will always be within a certain distance of the other. Forcefully pulling them apart is likely to cause the other to seek out its pair through any means necessary.
As the pair suggested, they can "hear" each other speaking even when one is mute. While the physical form may be but a meat puppet of sorts, the siblings live on inside the mind of each other. This isn't to say that they cannot "hide" their thoughts. Again, the active sibling must communicate orally with his non-active sibling which communicates through the former's mind.
While they portray an apparently loving and protective pair of siblings with "odd", "foreign" traits, they are in fact quite hostile to each other. Neither truly knows or understands the full nature of their condition but each of them has some deep seated belief that it must somehow "suffocate" the other in order to be truly free.
They are playing a complex game indeed with the end goal being the death of the other.
By forcing the inactive sibling to briefly inhabit its mortal shell without much control over it or any ability to communicate, they attempt to concoct plots to eliminate the other. So far, it seems as if these attempts are always failures as the sibling will not succumb to fatal injuries due to their otherworldly origins.
Their otherworldly abilities are weak and quite limited with some amount of capability to charm as well as provoke emotions in mortals. They are also superhumanly strong, agile, and resilient. Furthermore, they have an innate ability to communicate in almost any language, albeit imprecisely unless given sufficient time to gain fluency.
What would happen were one of the two prove successful? How could the dormant "original" personality re-emerge?
-
brilliantlight
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 1003
- Joined: Sun Jul 19, 2009 8:02 pm
Re: Random hooks thread
The Detective
Aran Hillside is a detective with a great reputation. His reputation is almost a excellent as Alnik Ray. Unlike Ray he tends to wander the Mists giving his investigative assistance on any recent outbreak of crime. His reputation allows him to charge high fees and he spends his money on the best a domain can offer. He stays at the best inns and travels in his private stage coach. When investigating he says little . He claims questions interrupt his chain of thought. He has a near 100% success rating and is well thought of as a result.
What nobody knows is he is actually a dread doppelganger who sets up these crimes in advance to coming to town . A few weeks or months before he officially arrives he finds out who the gang boss is and whacks him and then takes his place. He arranges for a bunch of crimes to happen and takes his cut. After a while he bugs out and comes back as "The great detective Aran Hillside".
The reason he doesn't talk much is that he has only slightly more than average intelligence and is someone who is really bright might figure that out if he makes incorrect "deductions" in front of them. If he says little more than "hmmm" they can't figure that out.
It isn't just the money he likes, but the fame and attention. He is the "Great Aran Hillside" and thus gets a lot of attention. If he hears Alnik Ray is anywhere near the area he finishes off quick and leaves. He knows Ray by rep and thinks he could figure out everything is not as it seems.
Aran Hillside is a detective with a great reputation. His reputation is almost a excellent as Alnik Ray. Unlike Ray he tends to wander the Mists giving his investigative assistance on any recent outbreak of crime. His reputation allows him to charge high fees and he spends his money on the best a domain can offer. He stays at the best inns and travels in his private stage coach. When investigating he says little . He claims questions interrupt his chain of thought. He has a near 100% success rating and is well thought of as a result.
What nobody knows is he is actually a dread doppelganger who sets up these crimes in advance to coming to town . A few weeks or months before he officially arrives he finds out who the gang boss is and whacks him and then takes his place. He arranges for a bunch of crimes to happen and takes his cut. After a while he bugs out and comes back as "The great detective Aran Hillside".
The reason he doesn't talk much is that he has only slightly more than average intelligence and is someone who is really bright might figure that out if he makes incorrect "deductions" in front of them. If he says little more than "hmmm" they can't figure that out.
It isn't just the money he likes, but the fame and attention. He is the "Great Aran Hillside" and thus gets a lot of attention. If he hears Alnik Ray is anywhere near the area he finishes off quick and leaves. He knows Ray by rep and thinks he could figure out everything is not as it seems.