Fragments

[Nyarlathotep]

Here are some other short stories and story fragments i've had flaoting about for awhile...figuired I'd post the mbefore deleting them from my hard drive.

[Nyarlathotep]

The Resurrection Man

York concentrated on the gentle tinking of the spoon against the cup as he stirred his tea. It was a trick he had come to know well over his thirty years as a gravedigger and caretaker of Selgaunt’s most haunted cemetery. If one focused their concentration on the small everyday tasks of life it was sometimes possible to ignore the strange lights, howls, and moanings that all too often disturbed the silence of the night. Sometimes…but not tonight.

Try as he might his simple mental tricks were simply not enough to keep his nerves steady. It was all he could do to continue stirring and not drop the cup to the floor and dash madly into the night. In truth the only thing keeping his feet firmly planted upon the wooden planks of his small covered wagon was the knowledge of what was likely lurking somewhere in the dark. The wagon offered only meager protection but one could always hope.

The evening had started innocuously enough, quiet even. The dead had been rising more often as of late but they tended to wander into the sea these days. Once you got used to the smell and moans they were really not too much of a bother. As the midnight hour had rolled about he had been wakened from a pleasant dream involving some of the girls from the orchid, who sadly were currently residents under his care but his dreams were of happier days, by the sound of a great many voices chanting. Daring to peek out he saw a light bobbing down the path followed by a great many shadowed shapesheading towards the cemetery gates. Nodding to himself York made to go back to sleep, he had seen such processions many times before and now that he listened closely he could actually recognize some of the chants as familiar. It seems that the followers of Mask were coming to perform a midnight funeral for one of their fallen fellows.

He had finally been drifting back to sleep when he was called back to wakefulness by a snuffling at the bit of cloth that served as a door for his wagon. The snuffling had the aspect of a hunting dog curiously sniffing at a rabbit hole or some other interesting odor. Save that for any dog would need to be at least six feet tall at the shoulders to be able to reach the flap. York’s bowels turned to water as he watched the cloth push in towards him as whatever was out there made a lazy attempt to force its way into the wagon. He scrambled into the one of the far corners and tried to make himself look as small as possible. Closing his eyes he prayed to whatever gods who were listening to let this doom pass him by…and amazingly enough it did. For whatever reason the great beast at the door passed him by and moved on to other prey. Nevertheless York stayed huddled in the corner for several hours more until the chanting finally faded away and silence again reigned. Then he made himself a cup of tea and waited for Lathander’s return.

*************************************************************

Bleary-eyed from lack of sleep York gathered up his spade and shuffled out into the harsh glare of the morning’s light to repair any damage that may have occurred to the cemetery over the night. Most of his mornings were spent trying to fill in the graves of those residents who had decided to claw their way through the earth to walk among the living once more and if any of said residents were still about he would use his spade to conk them on the head and return them to their appropriate plots. Surprisingly enough this day most of the graves seemed undisturbed and there were no shamblers about at all. The presence of the thieves and whatever else had stalked the night must have kept the dead asleep beneath the earth for a change.

As he continued on his rounds he noticed that one grave indeed appeared to have been disturbed. Nothing to be done for it except to see that is was filled in before any of the gentle folk of the city came to see how their dearly departed were faring. It just wouldn’t do for them to know what really went on hereabouts. Not that he worried about their feelings, he worried about what the guard would do to him if they thought he was slacking. Strange though it didn’t look like this grave’s inhabitant had crawled his way out. Instead it seemed that someone had dug the body off and absconded with it. Well nothing to be too concerned about the resurrection men needed to ply their trade as much as anyone else. Besides if it weren’t for a little grave robbing here and there necromancers would be forced to search elsewhere for raw materials. As he filled the grave back in he happened to read the headstone and had himself a little chuckle. Stopping in his work for a moment he faced the stone and tipped his cap slightly, “Well Mr. Underhill may be what they call you good sir…but this is one hill you no longer dwell under.” Still chuckling at his little pun York returned to shoveling the earth back into the empty grave.

[Nyarlathotep]

A Conversation with Whiro Inguma

“Aaaah thank you I am feeling much better now. As you may or may not be aware we are something of a scholar. Sometimes in the course of research scholars such as ourselves unearth things best left buried. The effect such forbidden knowledge can have upon the enlightened mind can be quite unsettling.”

“Yes, yes. We realize that some of our actions as of late could be interpreted as extreme but we certainly would not label them mad. We merely had some difficulty in assimilating the paradigm that our experiences suggested”

“Barmy you say? Very well let us explain ourselves in more detail, in the hope that your feeble mind will at least be able to grasp the sequence of events that led to our recent behavior. Though we fear that any real comprehension of what we are about to describe lies well beyond the abilities of your meager intellect.”

"We had traveled to Waterdeep in the hopes of deciphering the meaning of a scroll that had recently come into our possession. Upon my arrival in the great city from our humble monastic life we were quite taken aback by its size and hectic pace. We determined that the most likely place to receive assistance in our task would be at the Enclave of the Thayan wizards. Unfortunately they were of little help, they did however provide us with some…herbs that would allow us to reach deeper within ourselves than ever before."

“Though we wouldn’t expect one of such limited spiritual development such as yourself to be aware of this but all things contain an animating spiritual force, all things are one in their final essence. Returning to our room we entered a meditative state that we had learned during our days in the monastary, using the herbs to assist in piercing the illusions of the world, we reached out the spirit of the scroll. The truths we encountered were nearly mind shattering, and lesser beings would have been unable to escape its vortex with their sense of self intact.”

"So as you see we have undergone quite a harrowing trial but through our strength of will we have triumphed and obtained spiritual growth. Sadly we must now be wary of the meditative state of our monastic training, the danger that we could lose ourselves once again is to great. We pursue knowledge and enlightenment no less feverently however, only now we must approach the gods as intermediaries rather than attempting to grab hold of the truths ourselves"

"Eye on me? No I don't have any eyes on me. Why would I have any eyes on me? I most certainly don't have your eye on me as it is obviously still ensconced quite comfortably inside your head. What a bizarre question. Eyes on me how...silly. Well then I really must be going, thank you for your concern captain."

"Does he know? What does he mean? An offer? Yes, yes he was making an offering...eyes, eyes everwhere looking, staring, prying. Pry. Pry out. Yes we need our pretties, yes we do. Mirrors of the soul they are or are they windows? no matter..."(trails off)

As overheard outside the Dripping Dagger several years ago as one of the watch has a word with Whiro Inguma shortly before his disappearance..

[Nyarlathotep]

On the Job with the Black Knights

Two Black Knights make their way down one of Selgaunt’s busy streets dragging a struggling figure between them. A grim faced sergeant walks a few paces ahead of them, fiercely clubbing any gawkers or looky loos who threaten to impede their progress. Despite the sergeant’s best efforts a large crowd soon gathers in the wake of this strange procession, no doubt attracted by the captive’s mad howls and wild gyrations. As they approach the prison the madman’s howling and thrashing begins to taper off into silence.

“Who is that man sergeant?”

Instinctively turning to club the speaker the sergeant stopped in mid swing as he realized he had almost broken the jaw of Larris Soargyl, one of the scions of the Soargyl merchant family and an important man in his own right. Regaining his composure and flashing his most ingratiating smile he answered, “Oh this pile of scum here milord…we found him in the Copper Alley’s. He was…um…aah…eating.”

“Eating. Why in the world would you waste your men’s time over something as trivial as some wretch enjoying a meal?”

Looking decidedly uncomfortable and aware of the growing crowd the sergeant answered softly, “Well milord it was what he was eating. He found him covered in gore and snacking on one of the local ladies of the evening.” The crowd drew back with a gasp, though Larris seemed more titillated by the sergeant’s answer than shocked.

The crowd went silence with the revelation of the man’s horrific crime. For a moment not a sound could be heard not even the barking of dogs or the yowling of alley cats. Then the silence was broken by the babbling of the captive.

“She rises upon black wings of blood…the night prepares for a feast”

Scowling the sergeant backhands the prisoner knocking him into unconsciousness. Cursing fiercely he turns to his men, “Get your arses in gear you bloody dogs and get the prisoner to the jail. This one has a date with the noose tonight.”

[Nyarlathotep]

The Hard Life of Cyrus Savard

I do not know why I write this as it is highly unlikely that any civilized man will ever see these words. Nevertheless I feel the need to record my experiences in this last final testament. I pray that gods are merciful and allow this record to be recovered so that my sons and wife will know what has become of me.

My name is Cyrus Savard and I am a sell sword in the Company of the Black Hyena. My most recent contract was to assist the Zhentarim in protecting the Black Road from the incessant raiding of the Bedine savages. Its hard work tis true and I be mighty grateful for the dwarven spirits that take the edge off the sounds that come from the Zhent’s tents as they interrogate any captured Bedine. The Bedine are savages true enough but no man should ever make the sounds I hear coming from those tents and when the Zhents get a hold of one of the Bedine women…well now lets just say I drink enough of the spirits to fell a ogre on those nights and leave it at that.

I’ll not be making any apologies fer working for the Zhents. I’m a sell sword and their gold be as good as anyone else’s and Tempus takes the red coin due him whether it be from a black armored Zhent or some silver cavalier from the Marches. I earn me coin and leave it to Tempus to measure the worth of my deeds.

So it was that I find myself standing guard outside the Captain’s tent as he “interrogated” a lass we took prisoner during a recent raid on a Bendine camp. I was humming a marching tune I had picked up in Sembia in a somewhat futile attempt to drown out the sounds coming from the captain’s tent when it began. One minute I was watching Raiz and Jerl dice for a Bedine’s robe and the next I was looking at a pair of dice clatter to the ground with no sign of either man. They just vanished. I was not the only man to notice and soon the camp was in chaos as we tried to make sense of what had just happened. Then the Shadows came.

It was as if the night beyond our campfires had come alive and were bent on murder. I saw men die in ways that I could never have conceived of before that night and I’m ashamed to say that the sight unmanned me and that I fled into the night with the screams of my fellows condemning me as a coward.

The morning found me far from the camp and still alive by the mercy or cruelty of the gods. Despite my cowardice I knew I had to risk returning to the outpost. Even if they did execute me it would still be a more merciful death than dying from lack of water among the dunes of the Anauroch. When I reached the outpost I found that the shadows had also paid a visit and that nothing remained to even mark that it had ever existed. I only knew that I was in the right place because of a distinctive rock formation that had once stood outside the outpost’s gate. I had no choice but to place my life in the hands of the gods and try to find salvation.

It was not salvation that found me however but the Bedine. By day the desert savages hounded me and by night I huddled close to a fire and shuddered at the strange and eerie piping that the desert wind made as it whipped about the dunes. It soon became clear that the Bedine were herding me to some secret destination for what black purpose I cannot imagine.

Their pursuit ended at a strange stone marker covered in a language unknown to me. As I fled past it I hazarded a glance over my shoulder and saw that the Bendine had halted as if they had come against some invisible wall. Neither advancing nor retreating they watched me, their black abas billowing in the desert wind giving them the seeming of a flock of crows patiently waiting for me to succumb.

I figure that crossing the marker must violate one of their superstitious taboos so it seemed that I was finally free of them. Nevertheless I quickened my pace until I came upon a rift leading beneath the ground. Desperate for shade and hoping that perhaps I could find some water I climbed into it and found myself in the ruins of some ancient civilization. There was even a small underground pool within and at first I thanked the gods for my salvation. However night is falling and in the deeper recesses of the ruins I hear a dry scraping sound against the stone floor like the scales of some great serpent and I fear I am not alone….

[Brokenbone]

A Conversation with Whiro Inguma

Now if THAT isn't an homage to HP Lovecraft, I don't know what is.

Cool story.