Let's make a story - WARNING: for PT maniacs only

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OMG, this is excellent! Please go on writing it. (Ok, maybe by posting this I'm interrupting the flow of the story, but....) I love writing and I'd love to add to this, but I'm only a putative PT player. I.e. I desperately want to buy it, after spending half an hour in this forum. ^_^ In any case, may I label myself an official fan.

 

As Dak'kon looked into the woman's eyes he could see that her face, and that of the baby, was an unhealthy grey pallor. The baby cradled in her arms coughed weakly. She spoke, sounding as though every word was causing her pain to speak "I asked the wisest zerth for counsel and they told me only you could help, for you are the cause of my dichotomy."
Dak'kon looked pained "me?" he asked, "How have I hurt you?"
The woman looked at him "I never said that you hurt me. When you were cast out, I heard the people calling you traitor, and a thousand other things. They said that you were not one of the People, that you walked in chains, that your weakness had killed many. I *knew* that to be true. But I also *knew* that you were my husband, and a good Zerth, and true. And so I became divided, and came not to *know* myself."
Dak'kon spoke to her. "*know* that I was once divided, and it spelt doom. *know* that a man saved me, and I am now chained to him through my debt. *Know* that with his help and guidance I have become whole. *Know* that I have never betrayed you, or the githzerai, but laboured that my weakness be undone. I can help you *know* yourself, as my friend helped me."
A light came into the woman's eyes. She looked stronger. She made as if to speak, but Dak'kon silenced her. "There is still much to learn, " he said, pulling the Unbroken Circle of Zerthimon from his pack. "This is the text my friend gave me, and it's spiritual guidance helped me find my unity. I shall help you interpret its teachings."
Dak'kon demonstrated to the woman how to unlock the first circle, which she did with trembling hands. As she read it carefully, pondering each word, Dak'kon turned the the party. "My wife, Shia'la needs my help. It may take time before she and the baby are healthy again. I feel that your destiny is to go forwards without me. The forces that move the planes are greater than any of us. It may be that we must all face our own personal torments, and the party will be sundered, but I feel we shall meet again, in the end when the master needs us. Our destinies are one with his..."
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I can't bump this, but if anyone reads this *please* continue the story, I don't want it to die out now.

[This message has been edited by Ironbeard (edited July 28, 2001).]

 

It doesn't seem like there are many people in this forum. Maybe we could try to recruit some others by posting a message in either the whatnots or D&D?

Named One was effectivily trapped as the 2 fiends closed in on him.
Both of them were only a few feet away,
and only the presence of the other held them at bay. He had to try something...and quick.
Sooner or later one of the fiends would attack. He tried to remember anything that could help him, and suddenly he couldn't control his thoughts. He was clearly hallucinating. It was like time itself had
frozen. He felt a sensation at the back of his skull. Everything faded...

He was now somewhere else.
He was standing before a shadowy figure.
It seemed famillar...yet he couldn't remember anything about it.
"...Rauxel and Cantor are currently attacking them directly. Now all you have to do is attack from above, and victory shall be ours."
The incarnation nodded.
" And then unleash my power."
" Of course."
The memory faded.

Now he was standing upon a bloody battlefield. There were literally mountains of corpses of both fiends and devas.
Probably millions.
The bastard had betrayed them.
Rauxel was dead, Cantor was dead, everyone was dead. He didn't care much though.
They weren't anything but deluded idiots.
Glory. Honour. Ha! They deserved to be sold to the fiends.
It had been a trap, and he had walked directly into it. The master had clearly wanted everything for himself.
But he could still get revenge. He still carried a part of masters power in him, as long as he lived. He would flee and ensure the master would never get it back.
But how? Sooner or later he would die.
Unless...

Then the memory faded and he was back in the cave again. Now he knew what to do.

 

As one of the fiends lunged at the other he over-extended and landed face flat on the floor, the other monster howled in delight and stood on his head.
The Named One saw this from behind his shelter, with great courage he clambered on top of the rock and jumped high into the air, bringing his mace down with ferocious energy onto the back of the fiends head. With a great roar the beast fell backwards and lay unconscious. The named one turned his new found energies on the beast lying on the floor, he repeatedly hacked and slashed at the beasts neck with Ravel's fingernail, holding his breath as the skin around the slices sizzled and melted away. With the job done he held the beasts head up and proclaimed his hate for the powers.
As he stared at the sky and screamed at the top of his lungs he failed to notice the seocnd fiend waking up behind him...

 

Cheers guys, I'm sorry, but I can't resist keeping my own ideas going. As I'm not the most familiar with the Planescape setting, please feel free to correct any rubbish I spout (I'll fix it in my posts)
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As the named one held Cantor's head aloft, he failed to notice Rauxel's recovery. With a mighty roar the Tan'naari lunged at him, tentacles snaking tightly around his arms and legs. He dropped the head which rolled bleeding over the grey dust and hacked ineffectually at the fiendish flesh with Ravel's fingernail. Dozens and dozens of poisoned barbs sprang from the tentacles and bit into his flesh. He grunted in pain and let the fingernail slip from his hands. The three heads leered close, the named one gagging and choking in their fetid breath. They gabbled incoherently, amidst snatches of crazed laughter. Amidst the cacophony he thought he could make out the sentence "You have done the Abyss a great favour, Captain..its lords will wish to express their gratitude in person." As a tongue of flame washed over him, the named one turned his head and saw Cantor's flaming sword lying on the ground. With a great effort, he tore his right arm free of the tentacles, great chunks of his flesh ripping off as the tentacles tightened and the barbs cut deeper. He grabbed the twelve foot sword, his hand blistering from the great heat, and, grunting and sweating, dragged it ove to his feet. The flames leaped up, and with a hiss the tentacles withdrew. With both hands free, the named one took a two handed grip on the sword handle, and attempted to wield it like a pike. The heat and flames scorched his arms, and he struggled to hold its weight. A powerful blow from Rauxel knocked it from his hands, and he was left scrabbling in the dirt for Ravel's fingernail. Rauxel bore down on him, then both froze as a number of gates opened in front of them. Unbeknownst to either, Cantor had spilled a handful of tokens on the ground as he died, which had now burst into the gates from which battalions of Cornugon shock troops were pouring. Cantor's head rolled on the ground, still animate, barking orders to the knights of Baator who served as officers. "Imperator, Malleus - take thy forces and encircle the Tan'nari! Vindicare - capture the oathbreaker!" The knights nodded their assent as the named one snatched up the fingernail and ran...

[This message has been edited by Ironbeard (edited August 23, 2001).]

[This message has been edited by Ironbeard (edited October 17, 2001).]

 

Hoody hoo! Good work!

Lothar flew up from his chair. Someone was in there. The skulls screamed in either fear or joy as someoned systematicly destroyed them. He quickly prepared a devasting spell and hurried towards the sounds. There was no one there.
Over there! He quickly spinned around and hit a wererat who immediatly turned into a smoldering heap. The other wererats quickly threw themselves at the floor.
" Master! We did our best! Someone was destroying your skulls!"
"Who?" he calmly asked, his voice quivering with restraint.
" I don't know master."
" Then THEY must know it..." he said and began muttering the words that should assemble them. Nothing happened. Screaming with rage he toppled the shelves.
Then suddenly someone laughed.
A laugh unlike everything he had ever experienced before. The wererats looked like they were freezing. Abd what was that feeling? NO! That was impossible! How could HE... Lothar... master of bones experience fear? Then suddenly the source of the laugther appeared before him. It was like a shadowy skeleton clad in what resembled a mages robe.
It missed both a hand and its' head.
" The book..." it whispered. " Give me my book..."
" NEVER!" screamed Lothar. " IT IS MINE!"
It laughed again. "I can be...MOST persuasive."

 

A disconcerting *quiet* seeped into all of Sigil; a *lack* of noise perceived only by a "few". The "few" trembled as their blood ran cold. The incessant hammering had ceased, and the quiet was most certainly cause for alarm. Inhabitants in the vicinity of the Siege Tower fled as perceptions clicked. The Tower was silent. Coaxmetal was perplexed, then saddend. He clearly heard the call, but the only answer was his own. Never envisioned his participation once more, much less alone. With a deep sigh, he picked up the hammer he'd thought never to wield again. The very ground trembled and split as the ore screamed in pain...

 

As the Named One fled, his memory resurfaced. These grey canyons were familiar. He had been down this way before. After the battle on Oinos, he could see himself, running as he did now, at the head of a ragged column comprised of survivors and deserters from countless legions. All encumberance was discarded. Their armour had been deemed worthless long ago, being to fiendish claws as paper is to a sword. The injured, or slow were left for the pursuers, their screams rent the air, and chilled the blood of those who pressed on all the more desperately. The tattered banners of their fallen companies lay by the wayside. Servants of the Taan'nari and Baatezu mixed indistinguishably in this company, which bore no banner and held no alliegance. Their only thought was escape. The named one followed the course by instinct, turning where he had turned before, so many centuries ago. The Grey Sisters had powerful wards here, wards the Baatezu could not pass. He allowed himself a grin, as he heard the harsh cries of the Baatezu officer and thought he could hear desparation as they fell into the distance. But he could not stop, the wards were about a mile off yet. As his feet pounded against the grey dust, he melted back into the memory. He could no longer tell if he was living in the present or the past. All things, the smell of blood and dust, the terrified hammering of his heart in his chest, the warhorns and drums of pursuing armies. His instinct guided him. He had no time to think about anything. His eyes caught something which jolted him firmly into the present. Winged shapes like miniature dragons wheeled in the skies above him, as if preparing to dive. He thought he could make out tall lances held in their claws. The realisation washed over him. The officers cries hadn't been cries of despair. They had been orders - to the outriders who had flanked him and were closing in for the kill....
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Really sorry guys, this is the last I'll say about TNO for a while. I'll let him develop according to someone else's ideas, like I said I would two posts ago