Game Design and Project Resources: The Workshops Quarter > Norbayne

Norbayne Short Stories

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Phoenixguard09:
Okay, I have a few ideas for shorts stories jumping around in my head, but it's too late to put them down on electronic paper tonight.

What I would appreciate though, knowing you guys as a creative bunch, is if you could give me idea on just what you'd like me to write. What bits of Norbayne would you like to see covered in a narrative fashion? Or failing that, perhaps just a theme and/or event or something. I don't know really, that's what I'm asking you for. :P

I'll be putting stuff up soon, just wanted to get this in tonight so I could have a look at it tomorrow and hopefully have some requests. ;)

Cheers,

Pentagathus:
Stuffs. All of the stuffs.

Clockwork:
Love/hate sarcastic relationship between a feartabh and a danann who are sent to stop a mildly inconvenient wizard at the behest of their barkeep.

Phoenixguard09:
Already begun on it, and have about 1000 words. Should have it up pretty soon. ;)

Anything else guys? :D

Phoenixguard09:
Okay, here's the first part of it. Thanks for the suggestion Rob. ;)


--- Quote from: The Mountain and the Shadow ---The Red Bull Inn had a cosy atmosphere, a warm fire blazing in the hearth, a talkative and numerous clientele and, tonight at least, a half-decent minstrel. The last few had been pretty shocking as Banfred reminisced to himself, but this one tonight wasn't too bad at all.
"Must remember to give him an extra chunk of bread when he collects his meal," Banfred said to himself as he dried an empty tankard and watched the wandering musician perform.

The clientele of course loved the music, good, old-fashioned and lively country songs. None of that 'tragic' crap that was all the rage in the palaces and courts. No, in the Red Bull, only classic tunes which spoke to the hearts of the common people could be heard tonight, songs of love won and lost, songs like, How Can I Miss You If You Will Not Go Away? and You Are The Reason Our Children Are So Ugly. Not the most high-brow of entertainment, and Banfred would be the first to say it, but the village of Trenhurst needed as much diversion as possible in these times.

After all, several kingdoms in the immediate area were at war, rumours told of dark happenings in the south and to make all that worse, now some blasted sorcerer has taken over the old fortress on the hill north of Trehurst, practicing his dangerous craft, summoning up monsters and scaring away the locals. To top it all off, it was shaping up to be a hard and cold winter. In the last week, three families had relocated to other villages and the trickle looked to become a flood.

Thinking about the families which had already departed, Banfred's gaze was drawn to his daughter who was waiting on the villagers with practiced ease. A young lass of just fifteen summers, she looked just like her mother with her curly auburn hair and willowy figure. She was all he had left now, just his little Lyrin and his Red Bull Inn. He put the tankard down with a sigh and leant on the bar. Yes, the people needed a diversion, but a diversion from these woes was just a temporary solution, and Banfred knew he needed something more than that. And the best way for him to safeguard not only his livelihood, but that of his daughter, was to find a way to be rid of these menaces.

Brokering peace between kingdoms, fighting off a horde of monsters from the south and changing the weather of the world, well that was probably a bit beyond him. But this sorcerer? Him, Banfred could take care of. In later years, when retelling this story, Banfred was in fact just about ready to close up the Red Bull and prepare himself for the hike up to the old fortress when the doors flew open, letting the bitterly chill night air inside.

Framed in the doorway was a massive figure, easily eight foot tall, crowned with four long, heavy horns. His shaggy grey pelt was frosted with snow, as was his thick dark green cloak. Clad in a heavy chain hauberk with a thick leather jerkin over the top, the Feartarbh cut an imposing figure, accentuated all the more so by the broad-bladed greataxe on back.

All eyes drawn to the first arrival, most missed the slightly-built figure behind him. But upon close inspection, the second arrival was not diminutive by any stretch, tall and whipcord-lean. Features shrouded by a large, hooded cloak, the second figure was at least six foot tall and armed with an assortment of blades and a longbow at his back, the fletching of at least a score of arrows visible from the top of his quiver.

As soon as the doors swung open, the music had died and the pair, of them mainly the Feartarbh, had drawn the eyes of everyone in the tavern. And not many of those eyes were friendly. But not those of Banfred, for in those two figures he saw something no one else did. Opportunity. Here were two obviously experienced adventurers who could do what he was planning to do himself. And, if he thought about it honestly, they would probably be more successful than he himself. But that feeling was not one he would recount in his retellings.

The Feartarbh, in the face of this silent hostility turned to his companion.
"Well they do not like the look of you. Maybe you should stop eating children?" the Feartarbh suggested, a deep chuckle breaking through his false sternness.
"Shut up Fortus, you great snowball, they actually believe I'll do that around here. Brush that armadillo off, you look like a seabear threw up on you," the Danann growled back, throwing his hood back away from his face and exposing his angled features, pointed ears and clan tattoos, a stylised black lion's head marring the right side of his face, his eye sitting in the lion's mouth.  Moving towards the bar and ignoring the staring clientele, the Danann stared down Banfred as he approached in a similar manner to how a snake mesmerises its prey. Before the bartender knew what was happening, the Danann's slender fingers rested on the top of the bar and he was leaning forward in an inquiring fashion.

"Do you own this charming establishment?" the Danann asked, his tone laconic.
"Uh, ye-yes. I do," Banfred responded, pale and fumbling for a tankard. Up close, he could see the Danann's pointed teeth and pitch black eyes.
"Well then, my companion and I would like some food," the Danann responded, one eyebrow raised.
"Of course sir, right away. Anything to drink?" Banfred asked, wringing his hands beneath the bar.
"Yes, a tankard of mead and a barrel of ale if you please," and with that the Danann turned, dismissing Banfred from his attention and joining the Feartarbh at a table in the corner. As the two new arrivals took their seats, the minstrel struck up his tune once more and found his voice and the rest of the room found themselves dismissing the two wanderers, though the attitude in the tavern was certainly far more subdued than before.

The Danann smirked to himself, watching the barkeep attempting to scrounge up something for them to eat. The chair beneath Fortus creaked with discomfort.
"Get off that thing you oaf, you are far too heavy."
"It's not my fault that the people around here cannot work wood properly," Fortus responded under his breath.
"Fortus, you are fat."
The shaggy grey Feartarbh shook his heavy head.
"Scatha, you are blind. I am not fat, I am just not built for this environment."
Scatha was just about to respond when the chair finally gave up its fight and Fortus fell to the floor amid the splinters.
"Fortus, you are fat," Scatha stated with a grin. Fortus just grunted in response, conceding the point and deciding instead to just kneel at the table.

Lyrin had grabbed a broom and was about to sweep up the mess when Banfred held out his arm to hold her back.
"No sweetling, let me," he said and took the broom from her. Waiting on the regulars was one thing, but these two were clearly dangerous. He took the broom up and walked over to the two strangers. When retelling this story, Banfred would always tell this part differently, but this is what he actually said to the two mercenaries in his tavern that night.
"Would you two, um, be looking for work?"
Fortus looked at the man, nervously sweeping the pieces of the broken chair aside.
"What kind of work?" the Feartarbh asked, massive fingers stroking the fur under his chin. Banfred hesitated.
"Well, your kind. I would imagine," he replied, hesitantly.
"And what, barkeep, would you imagine our kind of work to be?" Scatha asked, lounging back against the wooden wall.
Fortus laid a hand on the Danann's shoulder.
"Easy Scath, he's already shaking."
"I am not shaking, thank you very much, I am just cold!" Banfred replied angrily. "And you are mercenaries, are you not? Or do you just carry around those weapons for no real reason?" Immediately he raised a hand to his mouth, and began inwardly cursing. Any moment these two vagabonds would stand up and dismantle him, his tavern, his village and worst of all, his daughter and it was all his fault.

And then he heard the most peculiar sound. A deep, gruff chuckle from the Feartarbh followed by a darkly humorous snigger from the cloaked archer.
"Ah Fortus, you always manage to rile up the natives," Scatha laughed, sharp teeth glinting in the firelight. For his part, Fortus continued to chuckle. "Peace my friend," he said, turning to Banfred, "Yes, we are mercenaries, and I am sure you will find that our prices are very affordable. What do you need dead?"
--- End quote ---

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