Hey guys, long time no post. I thought I would share some writing of mine which was recently recognized on a play-by-post forum that I'm a part of (RPGCrossing) as post of the month! It doesn't really mean anything, in the grand scheme of things, but I'm immensely proud.
The premise here is that our party is en route to the mysterious northern region of the world, known as the Expanse, to put a stop to the giant menace causing havoc in the Northern Pelagos. Before we reach our destination, the ship is attacked by a great beast known as Retribution, which is a flying Kraken. The fight isn't going particularly well, until one of our number slays the beast form the inside.
My character, Albrecht Sunderhurst, is trying his hardest to make a contribution, but isn't having much luck. As this story begins, he is about to be consumed by the beastie.
So, without further adieu...
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Stories tell of the horror that is the fetid breath of the kraken. The
mythical creature said to have feasted on a thousand souls, the corpses
still rotting in its teeth. A wave of this rotten breath across your
nostrils was said to be a fate worse than death.
As Albrecht was lowered toward the beast's maw, he couldn't help but
think that the severity of the stench was undersold. A wall of fetid air
hit him like a greatclub wielded by the gods, seeming to permeate every
fibre of his being and sicken him to his very core. He was glad that he
held a bar of soap in his offhand -- though he was paralyzed by the
completeness of the stench its very presence helped him feel the
slightest bit more sanitary. He tightened his grip on the bar, fearing
that without its presence he may simply be consumed by the filth.
The beast's teeth were another matter entirely. They loomed above him
with malicious intent, opening wide about the maw that prepared to
consume him whole. They were stalagmites of agony and despair, promising
only death and a world of bottomless pain.
They drew closer and closer, dripping with ooze and the blood of
countless sailors. The strix could do nothing. Even if the tentacle
around him lessened its grasp, the sheer magnitude of the beast's
frightful presence prevented his muscles from moving even an inch.
And then there was darkness.
He was vaguely aware that the tentacle around his waist was gone. His
senses were numb and his mind a blur while his life flashed before his
eyes. Every so often he would crash roughly against the beast's innards,
but he barely noticed. The strikes barely registered, unable to pierce
the veil of hopelessness surrounding him mind.
Surely this was the end. What did any of it matter?
Suddenly, an image of his mother flashed through his mind. He saw her
gentle smile; her confident demeanor and subtle grace. His father joined
her, his soft features belying the sharp mind and lightning reflexes
beneath. He saw Duskwing, his faithful companion, soaring on the breeze
high above the land. The sky wove through the bird's feathers with the
promise of a gentler world. All throughout, a single word rang through
his mind:
Freedom.
No, this is not how it ends.
The world came rushing back into his consciousness. He became keenly
aware of the of the deep rumble the creature; of the screams from the
few dwarves still unfortunate enough to have their lives; of the rushing
of cold air from within the beast; of the pain wracking his body as he
flew. Blood dripped down his face, obscuring his vision and stinging his
eyes. He assumed most of it was his.
He didn't have long to dwell on that thought before hitting the sloshing
mess of fluid within the creature. The sordid mix of acid and bile
sought out his wounds with a voracious intensity, stinging his tender
flesh. He struggled against the sloshing tide but the turbulence was too
much for him. He silently cursed his ability to fly, and all of the
time he spent ignoring the need to practice swimming. Eventually in his
flailing he collided with something solid, and grabbed hold for dear
life. As he was about to pull himself onto whatever he'd latched on to,
he was suddenly weightless.
The fluid rose around him. He caught glimpses of bones and bloated
corpses rising above the waves. Retribution was going down, and quickly.
The contents of its stomach, constrained by simple gravity, could not
keep pace. He had but a precious moment, and he used it to beat his
wings and position himself above his prize -- a boat, apparently. It was
worse for wear, but sufficiently in tact to provide shelter from the
beasts innards for a short time.
The kraken hit the ocean with a resounding crash, and the sudden change
in speed set its stomach's contents to roiling. The ship rolled on the
churning waves but stayed afloat, and Albrecht kept his grip with all of
his remaining might. When the liquid calmed, he realized that he was
not the only creature on board the vessel. The orc he had spotted
earlier lay sprawled opposite him on the deck. He did not appear to be
moving, but the ranger spotted signs of shallow breath and let free a
small sigh. The intake that followed elicited a sharp cough, sending
pain racing through his side. The air was thick here, and it burned his
lungs. He suspected that before too long it would suffocate whatever
creatures were still capable of drawing breath. For now, though, he was
still alive, and that was all that mattered.
It wasn't long before another black hand rose above the acid, grasping
desperately for the ship's edge. Xyclath pulled himself over the railing
as Albrecht struggled to his knees, coughing dark blood onto the planks
before him. He tried to will himself toward his companions, that he may
help them, but it was all he could do to move at all. Any attempts to
stand were foiled by the weakness in his legs and the occassional
torrent of ocean water streaming into their prison as the warden
consumed another limp dwarf.
Suddenly there was a crash. His mind didn't have the time to register
the sound before several more followed. Explosions rocked the inside of
the chamber and flaming chunks of flesh plummeted to the fetid bog
below. Xyclath, the first among them to orient himself, has loosed a
deadly volley upon their assailant, and the beast roared in both anger
and pain. A vortex appeared at one end of the creature's innards, now
expelling the contents of its stomach out into the open air.
Albrecht spun helplessly with the current, his grip on the ship long
since lost due to his violent acceleration. Darkness crept along the
corners of his vision as he became disoriented. The sky, so blue and
crisp in the cold air, was the last thing he saw before darkness
overcame him.
And through his mind ran a single word which, despite everything, brought a smile to his face.
Freedom.
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BONUS: The above post was the one that won, but I think the follow-up post has a lot of merit. We had just closed out the chapter, which is why so much was going on, and so that post served as a summary of sorts. This one is the first of the new chapter, and now that our party is split up things are going to have to change. For the record, my character uses a ranger archetype called Falconer, and so I have a falcon as an animal companion named Duskwing. It was difficult to fly due to the storm aura that Retribution gave off, so I commanded him to stay inside the ship, and so was inside when the Kraken came crashing down.
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Albrecht awoke slowly, as if the hand of some unseen force had taken
hold of his fitful dreams and refused to relinquish it. In the end it
was the pain that roused him. The impact of a phantom squid's mighty
tentacle against his side brought to the fore the very real ache of his
bruised ribs, which slithered itself between the clutching fingers of
his captor and forced the dreamworld's tenous grip to be lost.
The result was a dreary and unpleasant consciousness. Despite the rest
he got, he could not remember a time when he had been more exhausted.
Pain -- dull aches, tender wounds, and discomfort all around -- served
as a welcome reminder that he was still alive, and that all of his
battered limbs were still intact. He gingerly tested each of them,
straining to move his head so that he could see them move and assure his
tired mind of the reality of the thing.
All here, he thought. Well, except my dignity...
Eventually he worked up the courage to open his eyes, and what he saw
surprised him. Above the group the sun peeked shyly through the clouds,
sending a light sprinkling of rain from the heavens. The sky, though
obscured, was vibrant, and the wind was cold, but not bitter. As he
reached out beside him, grains of sand graced his fingertips. Simply
put, it was nothing like the frozen wasteland he expected to find here.
His homeland of Cambria, far to the south, was far colder than this as a
general rule. In comparison, this place was a paradise.
At least, it would be, if not for the smell. Its source was obvious
enough, with Retribution's bloated corpse lying a stone's throw away
from where they lay. After having tasted the Kraken's breath he was
almost desensitized to the overwhelming stench it gave off. He
unconsciously squeezed the bar of soap still clutched in his hand,
hoping on some level that it would protect him from the rot, but in the
end he knew it was hopeless. He cast a forlorn look to the ocean and
made a mental note to wash himself as soon as he was able to move.
The other surprise awaiting him was the fire beside him. He and his
companions were covered with thick fur blankets that staved off the
cold, and the fire, crackling strong despite the rain, radiated a
welcoming warmth that seemed to make his injuries seem less severe. He
also took note of the bandage wrapped around his skull, soaked red from
the deep gash on his forehead. Someone had cared for them. He saw that
Xyclath wasn't with them, so perhaps the other strix had prepared the
camp, but remembering the wounds that all three had sustained it seemed
highly unlikely. His doubts were further solidified by the red stains
covering the empty blanket beside him. They were all hurting from the
battle. Frankly it was a miracle they survived.
He sighed. Some mysteries were best left unsolved -- at least for now.
In the meantime he was simply happy to be alive, though a rumbling in
his stomach reminded him that if he lay there forever he might not be
for long.
Hunger... It's been a long time since I've suffered that particular burden. Now I know how Duskwing feels. Duskwing...
His eyes widened.
Duskwing.
His falcon had been inside the ship when Retribution fell from the sky.
Suddenly all of his pain and weakness seemed like a distant memory as
panic flooded into his brain and overwhelmed his senses. He roughly
threw his blanket aside and shot to his feet, searching desperately for
his pack amongst the wreckage. Spotting it nearby, he leaped toward it,
using his scaled wings to gain a burst of speed in the process. A cloud
of sand rose around him as he collided roughly with the ground, not
bothering to show even a modicum of grace in his scramble. His fingers
seemed unable to work the clasp, shaking from the strain and the
emotion. To his annoyance he realized he was still clutching the bar of
soap, and angrily threw it behind him. It hit the broken ship with
remarkable force, shattering to be scattered on the sand below, but he
paid it no mind as he frantically dug through his belongings. Finally, a
cool metal tube found its way into his waiting fingers, and he yanked
it from the bag.
His signal whistle.
Letting his pack sprawl alng the beach, he kicked off the beach and shot
into the sky, leaving a cloud of sand and dust beneath him. Fighting
back tears he used his momentum to force air into his lungs until he was
set to burst, and with a mighty bellow blew into the whistle. Its
piercing tone rang out over the ocean and danced in the wind. Over and
over he blew, hoping with each shrill cry the beady eyes of his
companion would suddenly appear before him. He knew it was hopeless, but
he also felt that he could not give up; that somewhere beyond the
horizon his friend was searching for him.
He wasn't sure how long he hovered; how many times he brought the
whistle to his lips. He blew until he had no more breath, but panting
desperately he would keep trying. After a time it became impossible, his
exhaustion and his sobs preventing him from filling his lungs. He had
to hope that it had been enough, and after taking a moment to collect
himself he floated back down to the beach. Muzdul stood at the edge of
the beach, silently watching him as he descended, but he paid it no
mind. As his feet touched the ground his wings sunk with the rest of
him, dragging through the sand as he quietly collected his belongings.
The rest was all a daze. He sat staring into the fire, taking no joy in
the meat he had been provided but knowing that without it he would
surely die. At some point in his daze Xyclath had returned, and the trio
was joined by someone he did not recognize. For now, he didn't care to.
All he could do was wait.
