View From the Bushes

First off, for those of you who don't read the comments, there was one from Rizzen, who happens to run www.neverwinterconnections.com. I went over and checked it out, and it's a very cool site. I don't have the time to play multiplayer NWN over the net, but if I did, this is the place I would start with. They have tutors, which for a guy like me who is basically completely clueless about stuff like how to find servers and etiquette and stuff like that, would be invaluable. In other news, I started my Midnight PBP campaign the other day, so I thought I'd post the opening of the campaign here in the blog (yes, you got me: I'm recycling content to fill space). It's rather long so I'm going to break it up into two parts (see what I did there two days of content I don't have to think about).

-------Campaign Opening----------

The days since your capture are an endless blur of constant pain, incomprehensible exhaustion and soul-crushing despair. During those few moments when you've been able to summon the strength to reflect on the journey, the strangeness of it is all too apparent.

You expected to be killed immediately, or sent off with a group of other slaves to work the iron mines, or build temples to the Dark God. Instead, the journey started with just you and a dozen orcs, and rather than a short journey to the dungeons, torture and interrogation, you've been on a long overland journey that has lasted the better part of an arc (a month).

You remember nights in the chilling cold, and days locked in a small cage in the middle of a field of mud, deep in the slums of a conquered city. It was during one of the latter occasions that you first realized that the group of captives was growing larger. The orcs seemed to be assembling an ecclectic mix of races for some mysterious purpose. The fact that the orcs had taken elves as prisoners rather than slaying them immediately was perhaps the greatest mystery yet.

Somewhere in the journey you crossed the Sea of Pelluria. You can't remember if it was before or after you noticed the others, but knowing how much the orcs hate the open water added one more piece to a puzzle your hunger-clouded mind had no chance of putting together. With the exception of the landmark of the sea you have no idea where you are and only a vague sense of what direction you're heading. And even the sea gave up very few clues since you spent all of your time chained below deck.

But finally it appears that your journey is drawing to a close. By now your group numbers nearly 60 orcs and several legates. Which once again strikes you as an excessive number to be charged with the guarding of only maybe a half dozen or so underfed, barely conscious prisoners. The realization that you have reached your destination arrives in tandem with the realization that they have brought you here to die. An argument takes place on the steps of what appears to be a newly constructed temple to the Shadow.

"...they must be sacrificed tonight, at midnight...there have been some delays...assembled from all corners of the land...first time on this scale.." At first the voices seem to be one of the many, many waking nightmares you've endured. But suddenly you realize that it is not.

"What do you mean it's not done!" Shouts one of the legates who accompanied you to another legate standing at the top of the short flight of stairs leading into the temple.

A huge black vulture flies low and screeches. That must be the Astirax of the legate who's shouting, you think, remembering the vulture from the journey and thinking at that point that it was tailing the group waiting for you to die.

"A few more days, Gray One, a week at most." The legate on the steps says in an obviously deferential tone. The confrontation has kindled what few remaining embers of curiousity you still posses and you strain to see past the broad backs of the orcs surrounding you.

The Gray One must have gotten his name from his robe, which as the first element to actually make sense, was hooded and gray. You're not sure how you knew this but you are pretty sure that it is magic as well. Other than his larger hooded robe you can see nothing else about him. In fact even his voice sounds strange, as if you are hearing him from a great distance. This unusual quality makes it so you are unable to even venture a guess as to what race he might be.

The Gray One says, "I must be in Highwall before the helial zenith. I don't have a few more days..." He says this very deliberately with almost a hiss at the end.

This last pronouncement obviously frightens the local legate, and he begins to immediately genuflect while a stream of apologies pour from his lips. The Gray One turns to the Orcs, "Take them below." You try and see what manner of face lies beneath the hood, but just then an orc, moving to obey the order, blocks your view.

Carpe Diem Quam Minimum Credula Postero
Ross