a piece I submitted to Fantasy Flight to get on their roster

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dusk1983
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a piece I submitted to Fantasy Flight to get on their roster

Post by dusk1983 »

. Arnalt awoke to the sight of a green canopy spinning above him and a scraping sound. Groggy still, it took a few moments to realise that he was lying on his back being dragged across the forest floor. Panic took hold and he tried to sit up or stop his momentum, unfortunately though both his hands and feet appeared to be bound. He shut his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts and piecing together what had happened.

. It was his first day. Arnalt inwardly groaned as he realised his disappearance would doubtlessly be viewed by Adeleheim the Burgomeister as a breach of his contract, and another would be drafted to replace the novice highway patrolman. At this alarming thought, Arnalt twisted his upper back to crane his neck around to see where he was being taken.

. He appeared to be on some form of litter, being dragged by his own horse, guided by a tall slender figure. The feline grace with which his captor moved betrayed him as an Elf, this close to Athel Loren doubtlessly of the Asrai.

. But what interest could an Elf have in him? More importantly, what interest so great that warranted the risk of plucking him from the *ahem* latrines, not five feet away from several of his well trained and well armoured colleagues?

. It didn’t make any sense. Then, Arnalt remembered the reason he’d been allowed to join the Highway patrol. Novice Highwayman Brandeis had gone missing last week, and Dietrich the week before that. Perhaps this elf was to blame for all the mysterious disappearances recently.

. A righteous rage filled Arnalt, and he began to struggle against his bonds, thrashing violently on the litter. The litter stopped moving and a second later an alien face riddled with elfin features loomed above him. Green Irises showed no emotion, but a spidery finger was raised to delicate lips in a warning gesture.

. Strangely the Elf’s voice nor features held malice as he said, “Silence, Child of man. For the sake of your life.” The elf reached down with a small brightly coloured vial, its contents pungent, and waved it in front of Arnalt’s nose.

. And then the face was gone again, and the litter jolted forward, now at such a pace to make it impossible to recreate his earlier contortions in order to ascertain what was ahead. Whatever contents, whatever foul sorceries, had been in the vial began to take effect and Arnalt felt his struggles weakening, even as his mind clouded with grogginess.

. For the remainder of the trip, Arnalt found himself dropping into and out of consciousness. Wherever their location lay, the journey took some time and soon the dappled shadows of the forest deepened, signalling the approach of evening. When Arnalt finally awakened with all traces of the grogginess gone, he found his hands and feet unbound and his captor nowhere in sight. A gibbous Morrslieb shone its yellowish light down upon the cliff face just beyond the forest’s edge where he lay, and not five feet from him sat a foreboding figure.

. Dressed in obsidian robes, the figure sat with legs crossed, the featureless cowl seeming to stare deep into Arnalt’s soul. The wind blew and a chill crawled its way up his spine. The wind was unnaturally chilly for a summer’s eve, and Arnalt knew that foul magic was abroad tonight.

. “Are you afraid?”

. The voice was muffled coming from deep within the hood as it was, but similar to the Elf’s tone earlier, it held no malice. Remembering the Elf brought Arnalt to his knees, scanning desperately to see where his captor may have gone. The elf was nowhere to be seen.

. “Please, Arnalt, you have nothing to fear. Elanidor is watching over us.”

. Arnalt turned back to the figure at the sound of his name, and his temper flared once more as it had earlier.

. “And who in the name of Sigmar is Elanidor?! And who are you?! And how do you even know my name?!” He stood as he said this planting his feet apart and gesturing wildly, the events of the past day wildly spinning out of control in his mind.

. The figure before him stood and to his surprise was a full head shorter than he. The cowl was thrown back and a young Reikland girl with golden hair stood before him, her expression stern. Arnalt’s breath caught in his throat at her unblemished beauty, and when she started to speak he thought his heart would melt.

. “I am Lilliana, priestess of Morr” she thrust out the black symbol on a chain around her neck like a badge of authority. Her eyes grew wider in the moonlight, shadows deepened under her eyes, and her tone of voice deepened. “And you will keep your thrice damned voice down before you kill us all!”

. Arnalt quailed in fear, stricken with a mystic-inspired need to obey. Lilliana’s eyes flared briefly before they softened.

. “Now, that’s better. I’m sorry Elanidor didn’t explain, he’s never put much stock in words. But there was no other way. No time.”

. “No other way for what? No time for what?”

. “Look over the ledge, but make not a sound.”

. Still in awe of this slip of a girl, Arnalt crawled to the edge of the cliff and looked down and gasped.

. Beneath the ledge was a congregation of shambling corpses, perhaps ten, maybe twenty. Arnalt had never seen the undead before and was sickened to his stomach, but that was not the worst part. Amongst the roots of the great oak were five of his comrades, his colleagues.

. The Highway patrol.

. They stood out from the rotting masses of undead in their bright livery, but rather than fighting the creatures, they were kneeling away from them, their heads bowed in obeisance to the figure that stood by the great oak: Burgomeister Adelheim.

. The Burgomeister straddled atop a blood stained altar the sixth member of the Highway patrol. To Arnalt’s shame he could not remember the man’s name. Adelheim held a knife aloft, paused a moment and then plunged downwards, spraying his followers both breathing and not in a shower of gore. Arnalt gaped in horror even as he felt spidery fingers grasp his shoulder and pull him back from the grisly sight below, but the scream that pierced the night still painted a vivid enough image in his imagination to last a lifetime.

. The hand that had pulled him back belonged to his Elven abductor, once more having materialised apparently from nowhere. Arnalt instinctively tensed but then Lilliana was there whispering.

. “Necromancy, Arnalt. We have to stop it. Adeleheim will not stop until all the people of this region have been lured into his service. The place on the altar this evening was reserved for you. Thanks to Elanidor’s,” Lilliana gestured to the Elf who nodded. “Intervention today, Adelheim had to sacrifice one of his servants instead. Right now, you’re the only one we can trust besides ourselves. Will you help us?”

. Arnalt nodded and drew the blade granted to him earlier today by none other than the man he now sought to slay.

. Lilliana placed a hand upon his shoulder. “You have my thanks and the thanks of Morr.” Her gaze bored into his for what seemed like a small eternity. When she broke contact he felt renewed, vigorous. “Elanidor, fetch your bow. Tonight, we strike.”

. As if from nowhere, the Elf appeared attired for combat. He held in one hand a great elven longbow, the other an arrow with a length of rope attached. He exchanged a glance with Lilliana who nodded. Elanidor fixed a stern gaze on Arnalt and handed him one end of the rope. “Be ready, child of man.” The elf then grinned. “Tonight you learn to fly. “

. Understanding what was required of him Arnalt stood on the edge of the cliff holding the rope ready. Lilliana wrapped herself around him, holding tight and Elanidor fired his bow high into the Oak tree.

. Knowing the solid thunk of wood biting deep into wood would alert their enemies, Arnalt wasted no time, trusting to the reputation of Elven archery and swinging from the cliff down into the thick of the enemy.

. Before he and Lilliana were even halfway to the ground, two arrows had whizzed past his ear, taking down a member of the highway patrol each.

. Lilliana let her grip go a split second later to land firmly amidst the undead throng, landing atop a particularly large zombie.

. Arnalt reached his target next, the momentum from his swing granting him extraordinary power to the kick he placed to the chest of one of his ex-comrades. Upon contact he felt his opponent’s ribs crack, and he let go of the rope following through and barrelling over his now prone and unconscious foe, rolling to absorb the excess momentum, standing and drawing his sword in one smooth motion. Before him stood Adelheim, bloodied ritual knife clenched in gore spattered fingers and a manic grin plastered to the merchant’s usually jovial features.

. Arnalt wasted no time with banter and lunged forward his blade leading the way. The burgomeister cackled and sidestepped the blow, slashing downwards, but the blow was deflected by Arnalt’s leather jerkin.

. Turning to face his agile opponent, Arnalt noticed the final two Patrolmen advancing to protect their master, swords drawn and expressions grim. Neither took more than two steps before each had an arrow head protruding from their throats. Almost simultaneously, they sunk to their knees then fell forward face first into the ground. Bright blasts of energy were coming from where Lilliana had joined the fray, half a second after the patrolmen’s demise the head of a zombie, severed through the magic of some holy explosion landed at the Burgomeister’s feet.

. Adelheim saw this and threw his head back and howled in frustration. Arnalt gave a mock salute with his blade before resuming the attack. Unarmoured and alone the Burgomeister was no match for Arnalt’s superior reach. Adelheim attempted to parry the sword with his dagger, but Arnalt merely twisted his blade and sliced the Necromancer’s hand off neatly at the wrist. The necromancer screamed as blood gushed out from his bloody stump, staring at it in horror.

. Arnalt stepped forward and thrust his blade deep into Adelheim’s gut and twisted the blade.

. The necromancer slumped to the ground, sliding off Arnalt’s sword.

. Elanidor had joined Lilliana amongst the zombies and the pair were just finishing the last one off. Arnalt grinned and gave another salute with his blade. Lilliana though pointed behind him.

. “Arnalt! The altar!”

. His stomach dropped. Arnalt spun just to see Adelheim finishing crawling his way weakly within reach of the altar, Arnalt raised his blade for a final blow as the necromancer touched his own lifeblood to the altar and whispered some quick incantation. The blade fell and the Burgomeister of the dead breathed his last breath.

. The ground began to shake and the altar began to glow white hot from the point the necromancer touched outwards. Arnalt took a step back, shading his eyes from the glow.

. The great oak split apart down the middle and something began to stir within.

. Something old.

. Something angry.

. Elanidor and Lilliana were then either side of him. Elanidor nocked an arrow to his bow, and Lilliana began to mutter an incantation. Looking at each of them in turn, Arnalt shrugged and brought his sword up once more.
...So if you're addressing me direct, just call me Lance or Dusk, no 1983 please.
Chaos dwarf tactica: http://www.asrai.org/viewtopic.php?f=8&t=23535
Chaos dwarf plog: http://www.asrai.org/viewtopic.php?f=2&t=23159
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dusk1983
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Re: a piece I submitted to Fantasy Flight to get on their ro

Post by dusk1983 »

so as the title to this thread suggests this is a (slightly edited from the original) piece I submitted to fantasy flight games back in 2011 to get registered with them as a 'freelance writer' for WHFRP. They even accepted me. however since 2011 when i was 'officially' put on their books, I havent heard anything from them at all, no requests to write anything etc. so I'm happy to put this out.

Please excuse the full stops at the beggining of the paragraphs, I have no idea how to indent the beginning of a paragraph in the forum.
...So if you're addressing me direct, just call me Lance or Dusk, no 1983 please.
Chaos dwarf tactica: http://www.asrai.org/viewtopic.php?f=8&t=23535
Chaos dwarf plog: http://www.asrai.org/viewtopic.php?f=2&t=23159
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Billthesurly
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Re: a piece I submitted to Fantasy Flight to get on their ro

Post by Billthesurly »

I like it. So when do we get the rest of the story? (He said, arms crossed, impatiently tapping his foot.)
So it's no longer the BRB, now it's the DERB. (Digital Edition Rule Book) I am all in for 9th Age.
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dusk1983
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Posts: 875
Joined: 27 Jun 2010, 10:46
Armies I play: Tyranids, Tau, Blood Angels and Wood Elves
Location: brisbane australia
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Re: a piece I submitted to Fantasy Flight to get on their ro

Post by dusk1983 »

Thanks Bill! Appreciate the time you took to read it.

Don't think there will be anymore especially seeing as our heroes are about to get splattered by a cthulu-esque undead chaos beast thing (except of course for the Elf. He'll survive. Asrai are cool).

And if i had time to write amidst my myriad multitude of hobbies, distractions, work and temporal vampires, I'm afraid this wouldnt the project i'd choose to devote my time to.

The sentiment is appreciated though. :nod:
...So if you're addressing me direct, just call me Lance or Dusk, no 1983 please.
Chaos dwarf tactica: http://www.asrai.org/viewtopic.php?f=8&t=23535
Chaos dwarf plog: http://www.asrai.org/viewtopic.php?f=2&t=23159
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