Hope’s End

This is a transcript of the actions of 4 player characters in my homebrew campaign set in Eberron. To read things chronologically, please click here.

[eberronstory]

THUNK.

An arrow flies true, right into its centre mass. Merc smirks. He is very pleased he made the shot. There is a cry of disbelief and pain from the dust mephit. It is again enraged.

The other companions look at Merc with disbelieving eyes.

[eberronstory]

With inhuman alacrity and grace, Ace leaps up atop a pile of overturned crates, and begins to dance. The dust mephit is confused, as is the DM and most of the rest of the party. A dim intelligence begins to take over the rage in its eyes, and in the moonlight, it almost seems to attempt to mirror Ace in her actions. It is oddly endearing, and as the mephit quiets, the dust begins to settle.

[Performance, 18]

[eberronstory]

Mi’resh is the first to react. Her eyes cloud over, and with a haunting cry, she gathers terrible innate power and flings her arms to the sky, employing druidcraft to summon.. .. a tiny cloud, with an accompanying shower of rain. It is much less impressive than it sounds, and the Dust Mephit now looks slightly damp and disheartened.

ID: A helpful drawing by the player herself.

[DM Note: I am aware that this is not how druidcraft works, but I was trying to encourage non-linear thinking and thus lowered the AC of the creature by 1 because it’s.. less obscured by the clumping, now-soggy sand?]

[eberronstory]

ID: [DM Note: it’s at this point that I’d like to remind you that I am not in control of my players’ actions. This first combat was intended to teach the simple mechanics of DnD 5e Combat to these first-time players. The actions they chose to take, however, were decidedly less combat-oriented. Be warned - there are hijinks. Major fuckups. Near death experiences. This is not a mechanically streamlined party, is what I am saying. I had no idea how to bridge the tonal gap between the setup and what happens next, so I got stuck writing this story for months. I have since given up. This is how things happened. I want to die]

[eberronstory]

The world was furious wind and angry sand, and harsh grit scoured the skin on her face as Ace shrieks in terror, cowering between Merc and Miresh in the supplies tent. 

The fire sputters out in the choking wind. In the other tent, Shrewd lay in inexplicable, motionless sleep. There is a moment of sudden silence - and it was as if the world held its breath. 

A twisted, clawed hand bursts through the side of the tent, revealing a roiling mass of gnashing teeth and flapping, leathery wings. Sand and dust burst through the broken flaps, and a rush of sound returned, with a sudden, animal scream. 

[Dust Mephit, Stealth, 20]

[eberronstory]

[Perception, 16]

Miresh stared at the stones by her feet, rubbing the fatigue from her eyes. 

There. Without a doubt, they were moving, rocking back and forth even as tiny gusts of wind blew dandelion tufts of dust around her toes. She realized, belatedly, that the camp was eerily silent - Shrewd’s snores had stopped. 

She rushes back to wake the rest of the camp, even as the wind began to howl.

[eberronstory]

“I’ll take the first watch.”

Merc offered, gruffly, as he got up from the fire. 

His voice softened. “You should get some sleep while you can, kiddo.” He nodded pointedly towards Ace, before heading out towards the camp perimeter. His eyes canvassed the horizon, following the crests of each rolling  hill until they reached the nearby ruins. They jutted like broken teeth into the night sky. 

A shiver went down his spine. Nothing good came to those who dug around these pre-war places - the sooner they were done with this job, the better.

Despite his misgivings, the four hours of his watch passed quietly. Merc padded over to where Miresh lay in her bedroll, and gave her a nudge. Her eyes snapped open. “Your turn,” he mumbled, before collapsing into his bedroll.

[eberronstory]

> Running systems diagnostic. Error. Error.

> Insufficient power.

> Executing reboot subroutine.. Error.

> Unable to locate subroutine archive. Insufficient power to maintain search protocol.

> Executing failsafe reboot.. Error. Insufficient power.

> Processor support prioritised.

> All systems shutdown.

The world is dim, and you would be content, if you could feel contentment. You are a tiny speck of fading consciousness afloat in a black sea of the void. You are a leaf in the wind, buffeted about by the sands of time as the years pass.

There is a ripple, light years away. You feel the waves of change propagating over the inky black, observing it distantly, as though you were only a satellite to yourself. Ripples happened, isolated strands of fate colliding with the web of dying neurons that made you, you.

Another ripple, closer now. Intentional.

Something is changing. Someone comes.

[eberronstory]

The spirits were restless tonight.

You could feel it in the way the air crackled with nervous energy, in the tiny billows of wind that threatened to put the sputtering fire out.

It was the voices. Every creation had a spirit, and a voice, and a name; and tonight each tree and rock and creature seemed to howl into the night. It was nearly audible, a dulled chorus that you could almost hear and understand if only you’d prick your ears and listened hard enough..

There were more voices than usual, and not just in the spirit world. You look over to where the dark, brooding young man and his young companion huddle by the fire. You sense the fear and the running, but you know it’s not your place to ask. Besides, you’ve had your own fear and running to grapple with.

The young girl stares at you, unblinking. It is slightly disconcerting. You try a disarming smile - and she smiles back, and for a moment, all is as it seems - a tiny girl, a young, grumpy man, and you, gathered around a warm fire on a cold night.

[eberronstory]

The shapes were so pretty.

Flickering tongues of fire dance and leap into the air just an arm’s length away from you. Here and there you catch glimpses of perfection - the seductive arch of a spine, the flawless curve of a nose bridge, the sinuous nape of someone’s neck. In the fire was a myriad of possibilities, all for the taking...

Next to you, Merc suddenly stands up and stamps his feet, before walking away. Weeeeeirrrrddd.

You shrug. Weird was just somebody else’s normal, anyway. The fat man’s snoring drifts in from the nearby tent. You can almost imagine the constricted passageways of his nasa cavities, just from the abrasive sound. You shudder - what a horrifying aesthetic.

The woman, however. There was someone you wouldn’t mind taking. You look over to her, only to see her staring back at you coolly with piercing light eyes. Very nice eyes. You make a mental note of how they seem almost as hard and cold as marble in the firelight.

Almost subconsciously, you reach for the necklace draped around your neck, playing with its familiar cold metal. You accidentally rouse Deuce, who sniffs curiously at your questing fingers before deciding that no food is coming, and he promptly goes back to sleep on your shoulder.

“Sorry, Deuce,” you whisper at him.

The pretty lady smiles at the exchange. You wonder what she’d look like if you cut her mouth out, and smile back.

[eberronstory]

Another day, another job.

This time it’s escorting this miserable oaf of a man to some purported archaeological find of the century. Pfagh. Treasure, gold, artifacts - it all ended the same, in death and disappointment.

And dust. There was always the dust. When you’d left your home to become a sellsword all those years ago, you never quite imagined that sand and dirt would be as much a part of your life as it does now.

A loud crack from the nearby campfire shakes you from your rumination. You look over to where Ace is huddled beside you, silent and captivated by the fire, eyes wide like infinite pools of black water. You smile a rare, soft smile, before smothering it in a cough - that girl is not what she seems.

Hunggggggggeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrr.

The voice beckons, unbidden. A slight tightening around your finger, and a sharp, stabbing pain as it burrows itself deeper. You’ve learnt to ignore it, for the good of those around you. It’s been getting louder lately, more insistent; beckoning calls of wanton savagery, images of pure bliss and guts and blood and entrails dripping, cries of ecstasy qand caustic pain.

You stand up abruptly and stamp your feet, moving away from the fire. It shakes that druid woman from her slumber, and she starts and stares at you with unsettling milky eyes. What was her name again? Mirrors? Mash? It didn’t matter - caravan guards came and went. That was just the way it was. The only things that stayed the same were Roach. And Ace.

You rinse your mouth out and spit into the fire.

And the fucking dust.