Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 6:44 — 9.6MB) | Embed

Subscribe: Apple Podcasts | Email | RSS

Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with the final chapter in a wonderful story by enderandrew. It is entitled

The Green Rogue Volume V
Told by Joorus the Scribe

Background music “Reunion”, by Smartsound

Sir Greggor did not move quite as fast as he did in his youth. The various wounds from countless battles took their toll on him to the point where he wasn’t sure if he could keep riding on top of horseback another year. If he did not take Lord Zolaas’ offered promotion, he might be forced to retire early. The thought of that was just slightly more unbearable than the pain of spending hour after hour in a saddle. But age did have its benefits.

Years of falconry had made him a better hunter, even if he moved slower. Tonight it paid off. His men blanketed much of the woods near trade roads and his falcon flew high enough to see the bandits hiding in trees. His falcon directed him and soon enough he stood at the base of a tree where he could make out a masked bandit hiding.

He lit a torch and approached the tree. “Come down peacefully and you may yet live. I have not killed a man, and I would prefer not to. But we will not have our lands divided by brigands who hide in trees. I will burn the trees with you among them if I have to. Do not test my will.”

One bandit anxiously screamed in response “to arms” before the Green Rogue countered in command “no, wait! I surrender, but let these men live.” He dropped down to the ground at Sir Greggor’s feet. He dropped again to his knees, and then pulled down his mask. “I thought you died because of me and it has haunted me for years. I can’t fight you now. But leave these men. They followed me and fought in my name. The Green Rogue is the face of rebellion in these lands. Let them retire quietly in the night to their homes and families and no one will be the wiser. Claim me as your prize.”

This time it was Sir Greggor who dropped his blade. He looked upon Alex’s face. Though there were burns from the fireball years ago, he recognized it immediately. “I thought you were dead as well because of me. How is it that you’re alive?”

Alex stumbled on his words, his shame of prior cowardice burning at him now. “I ran when I should have fought alongside you. I left you to die and I ran. When they saw me run, they did not give chase. How did you live? You were overrun by Kobolds!”

Sir Greggor recalled his prior torment but wept in tears of joy. “They wounded me gravely, but then left. They told me they wanted me to serve as a warning. They wanted me to crawl back home, half dead to scare off others from venturing into what they considered their lands. But why not return home? Why are you doing this, robbing innocent people?”

Alex looked up defiantly. He was no longer a frightened boy. “I liberate more than coin. I liberate these people who are tired of living every day in fear of constant war. We do not wish to see more and more loved ones die in a battle we do not understand. Every one of my men and women in the trees have lost someone, and they would rob a thousand merchants if it saved lives.”

Sir Greggor looked to the trees and saw others. “No, as commander of this expedition, I see only one bandit. I’m ordering my men to leave. And while I thank the stars you are alive, it is time to bring you home to your father, as I promised I would years ago.” He places shackles on Alex’s wrists and then placed him on his horse. He would walk behind them on the long journey home.

Between two brave men, many tears were shed that night before returning to Lord Zolaas. Upon seeing his son, he wept as well. They caught up on lost years. Lord Zolaas revealed the challenge from Lady Vash that prompted everything, and how their family has now permanently lost those hunting grounds because Alex was branded a coward.

“But I would give up all my lands and more, I am so grateful that you are alive,” Lord Zolaas declared.

“Fear not,” Alex declared. He reached down into his boot, pulled out a hidden dagger and fell on it. “I am a coward no longer.”

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 6:29 — 8.7MB) | Embed

Subscribe: Apple Podcasts | Email | RSS

Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with the next instalment in a wonderful story by enderandrew. It is entitled
The Green Rogue Volume IV
Told by Joorus the Scribe
I am also delighted to welcome Sophi to the narrative team.
Background music “No More Regrets”, by Smartsound

Lady Vash put down her napkin, though she was still chewing and savoring the last bite of pork roast as long as she could. “Let me say again that I am truly sorry I never visited before your wife passed. I hear she loved to cook. But the cook you’ve hired is most excellent as well. That was a wonderful meal!”
Lord Zolaas set down his chalice with a grin. “I do not wish to be rude, but now that our meal is concluded, I hoped we could get down to business. I’m not a big fan of decorum when something is left unresolved.”

Lady Vash took a sip of her wine before responding. “You’ve gone to great lengths though, and I do wish to express my gratitude. How did you know I loved Midmaer wine so much? You rarely go to court in Valhold other than to dispute these lands, and you’re not one to pay gossips or spies.”

Lord Zolaas changed demeanor. The affable host in him was disappearing quickly. “There is no dispute other than what you make. You wish to steal my lands and I am supposed to just hand them to you with a smile?”

“Please, steal is such a harsh word and I do not wish to fight. We both serve King Granus faithfully and we both want what is best for our vassals. Through the years, both of our families have laid claim to those lands. They have gone back and forth. If we wish our subjects to believe we can bring this war to an end, we must first demonstrate we can put an end to small internal feuds as well. That is why I proposed a final accord that we both agree will settle this for all time.”

“Why would I risk that which I already own and give you a chance to take it from me for all time? Do you think I’m a fool?” Lord Zolaas did not look pleased.

“No, I see a loving father and a grieving husband. There are those who question you in court, and your ability to lead men to victory when your heart is burdened with loss.”

“I’d cuff every one of them, smacking some sense into them! How dare they question my conviction after everything I’ve lost?”

Lady Vash very carefully set her drink down. “Please, calm yourself. I am not one of them. I am a friend, and your guest. I am here to support you and offer you an opportunity to prove yourself. This is a question of our families as much as ourselves. We need to prove for all time which family is best suited to rule and thusly claim those lands and leave no doubt. You can silence all your critics and secure your son’s future. Imagine if he never had to worry about land disputes and could focus solely on the war efforts?”

The thought of Alex seeped in. Lord Zolaas would do anything for him. “What would you have me do to prove our family worth? Whatever it is, I am up to the task. I do not fear failure.”

“I would never suggest as such, but it isn’t you. After all, we’re talking about our descendants for all time. My son has become something of a master archer, and I think those hunting grounds are well suited to my family. Some have said your son is burdened by loss and lacks the appetite for hunting. If so, then maybe this land would go to waste with your family.”

“I haven’t taken my son hunting yet. He is 14, and our tradition is to do our first hunt at 15. It is when we first celebrate a boy becoming a man. Do you wish him to hunt a bear to silence those who would call him a coward?”

“My political adviser urged against that. If I invited your son to hunt in these lands to prove his worth, I’m symbolically conceding the land to you by default. A Kobold however-”

“Are you mad, sending my son into combat at 14?”

“Is that not always the concern, that we might all face a Kobold at any time in this kingdom? What parent hasn’t prepared their child for that moment, just in case? Men need to follow him, not just because he can claim a pelt from some animal, but because they believe he can defeat the Kobolds in war. If you don’t trust in your son’s ability-”

Lord Zolaas was done with these polite insults. “I will hear no such challenge to his name or mine. Very well, we will silence these nameless critics. My family knows only courage and if we need to demonstrate that in Kobold blood, then so be it.”

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 4:58 — 7.4MB) | Embed

Subscribe: Apple Podcasts | Email | RSS

Hello everyone, this is Asclepius and we’re delighted to bring you a wonderful story by enderandrew, and narrated by Amber Raine, entitled

Not Like This

“Not Like This” By Zoe Marie the Bard. She could feel an ominous rush of wind as she ducked beneath the vicious cleave. The giant club would have pulverized her if it connected. But she emerged from her tumble thrusting her blade up into the calf of the monstrous giant before her. He dropped his club, but he stomped off quickly before she could pull out her blade. Scrambling to pull out a new weapon, she underestimated his rage. He pounded down with his fists, sending her into a daze. Then he picked her up and starting crushing her in his bare hands. Several ribs broke with terrifying cracks. Zoe Marie paused for dramatic effect. The patrons of Journey’s End leaned forward subconsciously, eager to hear what came next. “Not like this. I don’t die like this.” Zoe narrated, the hero coughing up blood with her words. The giant seemed dismissive of those words, throwing the hero’s body against the rock face. Her body slumped to the ground, limp and largely broken. The giant turned away, hoping to pick up his club again to finish the job. Her eyes were fading until a desperate spark sent them ablaze again. She channeled what little energy she had left to launch a dagger into the giant’s hand. He dropped the club once again. It fell with a menacing thud. The wound was minor, but the hulking beast was clearly agitated. He spun around in rage, glowering and howling. “This is how you die, with my foot crushing your puny skull!” There was no fear in her steely gaze. She was either prepared for death or she truly believed her claim, that she would not die like this. She was barely able to utter the words, but she blasted him back even further with a fireball, the black pearl and sulphurous ash crumbling in her palm as the spell consumed them. The giant’s body singed as flames licked at his flesh. This was no minor wound. His howls weren’t merely in frustration, but in excruciating pain. He gnashed his teeth before regaining his composure. Smiles spread through the crowd as tense apprehension gave way to cautious optimism. This was the part of these heroic tales they enjoyed so much, when the hero persevered in impossible circumstances over foul beasts and evil creatures. She could barely move, but she crawled to the edge of the cliff, reaching into her pouch. The giant stormed towards her at full speed. It was unbearably painful with the broken ribs, but she took in another deep breath. She knew better than to underestimate his speed this time around, but she had to wait until the absolute last moment. Then in a blink, she teleported twenty feet away, exhausting her body and the last of her reagents. The giant stomped down hard on empty air, tumbling over the cliff edge. He screamed, hitting rocks on the way down. But after the loud crash there was only silence. She knew the giant was dead. “Not like this” were her last thoughts before her body gave way for good. She succumbed to death despite her protest. A ghost rose from her still flesh as her mind fought off the fugue of pain. She stared down knowing that she would enter that husk and make it rise once more. And rise she did. She limped toward the encampment of giants knowing the town would not be safe until she finished her task. Zoe Marie finished her tale, speaking for our hero one last time. “I will not die like this, for I am an Avatar!”

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 4:45 — 5.5MB) | Embed

Subscribe: Apple Podcasts | Email | RSS

Hello everyone, this is Asclepius. We are delighted to bring you a wonderful story, written by Deloria, and narrated by Cordelayne Valkaris. Background music is “Swamp Mists”, by Smartsound.

A Rabbit Hole

Written by Deloria

There is a tree. We can start with that.

At the foot of the tree is a rabbit hole, and in that hole lives a rabbit, of course.

The tree is old. Very old. Gnarled and twisted and alone in the way that old things tend to be alone when they get ignored or shoved aside or avoided altogether. There are no other trees near, though this is the deepest part of the forest – it sits in a clearing all by itself. And if you had to guess which type this tree was you would win a safe bet on “The kind that other trees avoid”, if trees ever got to have the choice in the matter.
Probably not, but it’s a wierd old tree.

The rabbit hole then. Bigger than you’d expect and easily mistaken for a badger den or something like that, but cosy obviously. Rabbits don’t usually need the sort of headroom this particular rabbit hole seems to be offering. The closer you get to it the larger it becomes – until suddenly you stand there right next to it and the hole is bigger than you are, even though the tree is still the same size and shape.

Or is it? Something about the way it leans – almost like a new angle in its branches – twisted and heavy and creaking and different. leaning over you. But that might just be the light. That tree though – You need to tilt your head to see it all up this close. Tilt and look up. Look up. Look sideways. Look again.

The light in this glade is strange by the way. It never quite gives you the whole sense of the tree or pulls it out from its own shadow – which is what light is supposed to do. It can’t even manage to pierce the hole nestled at its roots, although the sun is direct and scorching on your back. Not surprising though – that big black hole just digs too deep into the roots. Funny. It really seems too big to be a rabbit hole after all. You could fit through it yourself. Step closer and see.

So hard to see down there. All the way. The light just doesn’t… it doesn’t seem right. For a start it’s too bright. Hurts the eyes.
And too warm. The sun on your back like burning fur and the whole place is too just warm and the only place where you wouldn’t bake under this hot green canopied light would be in that snug little hole.

Not so little then, but probably snug. Green light hurts the eyes. It would be better there.
And cool. Maybe there’s water? That would explain it. That explains the hole. And everything really. Cool fresh water in the well at the bottom of the rabbit hole. Away from the hot green sun roasting your back.

Makes perfect sense. It makes your nose twitch. You can almost smell it: Cool water to quench a maddening thirst – this sudden itchy thirst. Your ears twitch – you can almost hear it, the cool dripping moisture deep in the roots of the tree, your home.

Find the water in the hole.
Your hole.

Find the water, little rabbit.

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 3:42 — 4.5MB) | Embed

Subscribe: Apple Podcasts | Email | RSS

Hello everyone. This is Lady Adnor, with the conclusion of The Diary of Eva Grace, written by enderandrew.

The Diary of Eva Grace – Vol IV
Told by Eva Grace

I do not know what brought us there, but it seemed a few other wayward souls kept making their way to this small town, unsure how they stumbled upon it. Rift’s End indeed. I met more and more outlanders. We talked and swapped tales of our experiences. A handful had died like me. Others weren’t quite so eager to do so themselves with no absolute guarantee they too would return from the dead.

But I found people who spoke my language. We needed to learn this new world and how to fit in. But we remembered the same Earth. I didn’t feel as crazy anymore. I knew my memories were real. There was a place I needed to somehow find again.

But equally I felt there was a reason we were all here. This so-called prophecy called for an outlander to be an Avatar. There were enough of us here that I was content to allow another to volunteer for whatever that might entail. It just so happened this town needed a barkeep.

I had found my new home. The people here understood my tales of both Novia and Earth. They shared my fears, my concerns and my aspirations. Each one is so different. If we were called here for some purpose I’m not sure why we don’t all fit the same bill. Maybe this was all just random happenchance, some cosmic event masquerading as fate that we couldn’t possibly comprehend. Or maybe the powers at play were people, but equally enigmatic.

I finally found a place to stop and rest, fittingly in a bar named Journey’s End. Not all journeys end here, and some just begin as brave fools full of mead plan their next grand adventure. But for me, something brought me here and here I shall stay at least a while longer.

I thought it best to write down my thoughts and memories before they slip away again. Maybe I never find my way home. Maybe this new town and world define me. Maybe we will always turn to dust with our stories becoming myth to whatever follows us in the footsteps of time.

Truth be told, I have no answers for myself or any other. All I have to offer is my story thus far and a cold ale. Speaking of such, I need to stop writing. I hear a new visitor approaching. I wonder who has found their way to Journey’s End now?

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 5:22 — 8.0MB) | Embed

Subscribe: Apple Podcasts | Email | RSS

Greetings Avatars – here for your enjoyment is the second short play presented by the NBTT on the opening weekend of R17, at the beautiful theater in Paxlair. Enjoy!

We now present our second play, entitled

“Regulations”

Written by Womby

Produced and directed by Asclepius

Director of Public Relations Amber Raine

Cast
Lord Baldrith as the narrator and Official 1
Asclepius as Official 2
Music by Smartsound

NARRATOR
Few people are aware of the thankless tasks carried out by our loyal public administrators.
Let us take a moment to listen in to two such faithful public servants as they go about their daily duties in a back room somewhere in Owl’s Head.

OFFICIAL 1
I hate this job.

OFFICIAL 2
You say that every day.

OFFICIAL 1
That’s because it’s true every day. Take the case of this weirdo south of the river.

OFFICIAL 2
What weirdo?

OFFICIAL 1
You know, that drunkard who built a monumental eyesore out of wardrobes and giant chess boards on his village lot. He even has a hot tub in there somewhere.

OFFICIAL 2
Ah yes. I remember processing all those public complaints. If I recall correctly I sent an inspector down there to order him to take it down. What happened with that?

OFFICIAL 1
The inspector returned with a message, and then promptly quit. Said he had better things to do with his life.

OFFICIAL 2
That’s odd. What was the message?

OFFICIAL 1
It’s a statement.

OFFICIAL 2
OK, what was the statement?

OFFICIAL 1
No, no, that’s what the message said. It said, and I quote, “It’s a statement.”

OFFICIAL 2
It’s a statement? It’s a freaking statement?
This unemployed drunkard builds a house out of giant chess boards balanced on wardrobes, violating every city ordinance and construction regulation in the book,
and all he has to say for himself is “It’s a statement”?

OFFICIAL 1
Well, he has point.

OFFICIAL 2
What do you mean, he has a point?

OFFICIAL 1
Have you seen the number of identical buildings springing up?
It’s these Avatars. They turn up, disappear for a week, and suddenly they have a plot of land with the most expensive building possible on it.
It’s suspicious, it’s unfair and it’s downright nauseating.

OFFICIAL 2
Look, I’m not saying I disagree with you, but regulations are regulations. Who knows where such chaos will lead. Did you issue him with a summons?

OFFICIAL 1
Nope.

OFFICIAL 2
Why not?

OFFICIAL 1
I didn’t issue him with a summons because he wasn’t doing anything wrong. While doing research to fill in the appropriate paperwork, I discovered that his plot is zoned as “Parks and Residential”.

OFFICIAL 2
So?

OFFICIAL 1
Well, it turns out he has officially declared that his lot is a park, and his structure is a sculpture celebrating the inventor of beer.
He has generously donated his sculpture to the city, but is now claiming the annual artist’s grant for public works.
The one that nobody else has applied for this year.

OFFICIAL 2
Oh no!

OFFICIAL 1
Oh yes. We have no choice but to award it to him since he is the only applicant.
That isn’t all, however. In fact, here’s where it gets really interesting.
The city is legally obliged to appoint guards to patrol all public structures, and that includes his sculpture, which is now owned by the city.

OFFICIAL 2
A costly nuisance, yes, but why is that interesting?

OFFICIAL 1
Our drunken friend has applied for the job to guard his sculpture.

OFFICIAL 2
That crafty devil! The rules force us to award the position to the person best suited for the job, and since he lives inside the sculpture, he is the obvious choice!

OFFICIAL 1
Exactly. [PAUSE]
Want to knock off early today? I could do with a drink.

OFFICIAL 2
Absolutely!