With a bag of jewels in one hand, and a bag of plump helmets in the other, Shem traveled north. Passing through the shallow desert valley of the region, and through the dark pits and small villages, and into the seaside foothills full of fruit trees and pleasant breezes.
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Further he went, eventually reaching a hamlet by the name of Stickssinew.
There, at the edge of town, was a grand building, full of artifacts, and entirely abandoned. He found evidence of a recent traveler, and, more importantly, some kind of old sword. It was stained and covered in dirt, but lacked any sign of rust and seemed as sharp as the day it was made. Shem also found a pair of earrings of exceptional quality, and a silver flask engraved with the name "The Blood of Life." Aptly, the flask was full of a strange blood, something inhuman as it swirled with strange magic as it was emptied on the floor.
The blood failed to congeal, instead swirling faster and faster, forming into a strangely familiar pattern. Staring for a moment, Shem recognized it as a map of the region. The blood swirled around a particular point, over the eastern mountains, and seemed to suggest to Shem he should travel there.
Shem figured this was his payment for finding this cool sword, so whatever, he was game for a bit more adventure. It had proved lucrative so far. .
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The journey east was uneventful. Even crossing the mountains was a quick feat, and soon enough night was falling in the desert just north of the destination. Shem was still unsure what he would find, and as he fell asleep, propped up under a tall saguaro (the only plantlife growing in this region), he dreamt of jeweled cloth, yards of it, falling from the sky and smothering him.
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Shem woke the next day to a group of two vultures, staring at him, trying to deduce if he was dead or dying. He scared them off and began the climb. Only a few small shrubs clung to this bare, mountain rock. Soon, Shem came to the top of the hill, and looked east. A small stream ran down the mountain, past his vantage point and continued to flow north. No sign of anything amiss, no villainous towers or great pits of death. Just a few yaks.
Shem scrambled down the hill to the stream, and decided to double back north, following the water and searching amongst the low stone walls of the mountainscape.
Then, Shem looked up to a wall of literal fire. The trees ahead, at the foot of the mountain, were ablaze. It must have been recently lit as Shem had seen no smoke on the way up the mountain. But what could cause such a thing ?
There, perched on the stone, surrounded by burning, was a great, green Dragon. This dragon was staring right back at Shem, apparently curious but unconcerned. So Shem approached, and spoke out:
"How are you feeling, O Great Dragon?"
No response.
"How are things, O Great Dragon who towers over me?"
Still, no response. Shem tried a joke, then simply anything. No response. Not even to the plainest of compliments.
Shem grew bored of this. Obviously, he was meant to slay the dragon, and it wasn't his business if the dragon wanted no part in the fighting. A job was a job, even when the instructions came in the form of strange blood-swirls on the floor of a strange temple.
Shem took his time and, when the dragon looked most distracted, pounced at their neck and struck true.
Multiple more strikes were landed, with no real retaliation. A stab here, a slash there, the dragon was bleeding now and having trouble breathing. Shem was ecstatic!
Then, in his jubilance, he dodged when he should have blocked, and was throw off the small hill into the burning foilage below. The shock paralyzed him, giving the dragon time to land a burst of flamebreath, which melted Shem's left paw and left him weaponless. Horrifyed, he tried to crawl away... the dragon showed little mercy. First, Shem's arm was ripped from his body, and then those great teeth found their grip on his head and . . *crunch* . . . Shem was no more.
The dragon Cobim Brandsweltered the Luxurious dropped the lifeless bear-man to the ground, and carefully picked up the small cloth bag, peering inside at the pile of brilliant blue-red jewels. "These dumb adventurers finally brought me something interesting!" thought Cobim, before returning to his mountainside lair. It would take a year to heal from these wounds, but the dragon had time.
As for Stalkmatches? As Shem's corpse emptied of blood, a small trail formed on the ash-covered ground, and trickled down the hillside, to where Shem was first dis-armed, where that silver-steel sword now lay. And so Stalkmatches was sated with the blood of Shem, the bear-man clothier and late (mis-)adventurer.
And there the blade remains, buried in the ash at the foot of the dragon's lair, guarded by Cobim.
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thanks for reading, this swords remains OP and great fun. The dragon was dead to rights but then I got a bit lazy and auto-attacked, resulting in a really inopportune series of dodges/ failed strikes. And all it takes is one burst of fire to end you. That DAMN dragon lol
https://dffd.bay12games.com/file.php?id=15946Good luck to the next adventurer. I never got a chance to roll the chaos dice, oh well..
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Topic: Stalkmatches - The blade of many hands (Weapon Succession Game) (Read 24809 times)