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9/18/2024 Update:
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Hello Everyone.  Here is a great story by Browncoat Jayson.

Music: Eliot Corley – Water Temple  Eliot Corley – Water Temple

Here is the text:

Kings Wharf by Browncoat Jayson

A Page from an Outlander’s Journal

Author Unknown

 The ship that brought me here was little more than a dinghy with a mast. Seven days it took, riding up breakers and crashing down to surf, to get from Port Graff. Now mining gems is a backbreaking life, but you are less likely to be killed by an errant storm while underground. From stories I expected an idyllic place of farmers and sheep, not the dreary port that awaited me. I don’t know which lord this Kingsport was named for, but I imagine he was an enormous rat in a crown — king of the wharves, indeed! I was a fool to leave Port Graff, and now I wish for nothing more than a way to return.

The Vale, ’twas said, was a place to go where the Oracle’s eyes would not follow. Those mechanical monstrosities send shivers up my spine. The whole mainland is infested with the things; I hoped here would be better. But an hour off the water, sitting outside the Hearth of New Britannia, I watch one of the multi-legged things crawl up through a sewer grate.

I’m not a nosy sort, you understand, but after a few minutes I crawled down the nearby rungs and pulled open the grate, entering the dark recess beneath the docks. It was black as pitch, but a nearby box held a dozen torches so I borrowed one and ignited it from a handy sconce. The sewers branch, seemingly at random, so I picked a direction in the same manner, soon coming upon a pool. From the debris within, I have a sense that the rat-king’s privy may be located just above this area, so I turned to leave the way I had come.

Music: Alexandr Zhelanov – https:/soundcloud.com/alexandr-zhelanov-Steeps of Destiny

A dozen feet from me stood what was once a man.

The beast still wore scraps of cloth, and the rusted head of its mace swung just inches from the stonework. However, no flesh showed beneath the gaps; indeed, the entire dermis was missing, yet the bones stood as though still encased. Its jaw dropped into a rictus grin as it raised its weapon. Had I my pickaxe, I might have stood a chance against even such a perversion, but I was unarmed. As it swung, I darted to the side, narrowly avoiding a fatal concussion, and ran as fast as my legs would carry me.

Music: Alexandr Zhelanov – https:/soundcloud.com/alexandr-zhelanov-Escadre

Once I reached daylight I went immediately to the guard, but they dismissed my tale. I even went to the mayor, having to interrupt his seemingly endless chat with the local guildmistress. For my troubles, I was escorted from the premises and told to lay off the ale. The nerve!

I found brief employ at a warehouse, which earned me enough to stay for the week in one of the hovels near the waterfront. As soon as a seaworthy vessel makes port, I’ll be aboard, and begging Ol’ Graff to take me back. It can’t be long…

Posted by Lord Baldrith - Email Author
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9/16/2024 Update:
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Hi Everyone.  A great story by Womby here submitted in the Tales from the Vale thread on the Shroud of the Avatar forums.  A story entitled Tablets.

Here is the Text:

Tablets by Womby

Tablets The inscriptions were in a language that Lucas did not recognise. Apart from those strange hieroglyphics the surface was mostly featureless, save for two tiny glass insertions near one end. He turned the small, smooth tablet over and examined the front. Some craftsman had gone to considerable effort to seamlessly insert a glass pane in the other side, although the reason for this was a mystery.

“It’s a smartphone” said the Traveller, apparently suffering from the misconception that this description was in some way helpful. “You can surf the net, play games, all sorts of stuff.” Lucas was having difficulty understanding how this small tablet could be a useful aid to fishing, although it could possibly be part of a board game of some description.

“Where is the rest of the set?” Lucas replied. “Unfortunately I left the charger behind” replied the Traveller. Lucas imagined a small carved figurine depicting a jousting Knight, and was disappointed that the rest of the game was missing. Still, what he saw had a certain novelty value, and would make a fine conversation piece. “I’ll offer you two carrots for it.” “Done!” replied the Traveller.

Music
Wilderness 128 by Avatar Acid (Ultima VII Remix)
Love A Virtue by Avatar Acid (Ultima VII Remix)
Seedy Bar by Avatar Acid (Ultima VII Remix)
Harpsicord Tune by Avatar Acid (Ultima VII Remix)

Posted by Lord Baldrith - Email Author
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9/7/2024 Update:
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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with two great short stories from Rune74. Background music “Time Traveler”, by Smartsound.

Field Observations for Thad Trowall, Tower Electrical field Apparitions

I begin my studies of the rare phenomenon of ghostly apparitions being linked to the towers that are prominent in many of our cities and towns. I preface these comments with the knowledge that to date these stories have not been validated by any in the science community and is viewed as fringe science at best.

I have taken the liberties to gather a few posts from reports filed with the town guard, which you can find in annex A.

Suffice it to say, the one defining feature found within all the reports is that it only appears in the darkness of night. The guise it takes is of an electrical ghosting, for lack of a better term, of a figure walking to or from the tower. It usually last no more than a few seconds before disappearing, leaving behind a few glowing foot prints that soon disappear as well. This leaves no evidence of any of this actually occurring however, so these findings are non conclusive.

Now, as for the actual disposition of the “Ghost”, it is said to be of light blue, shimmering being. The odd thing is the reports vary in the actual sex of the ghost, this could possibly be due to the interpretation of the viewer’s psyche. As to what they were wearing or what length of their hair, these too vary in the reports.

There was a phenomenon linked to the sightings, crackling sounds emanating from the tower and the ghost itself. Of note, these crackling sounds have been verified by others in the town of Owl’s Head. I believe it bears further study in this regard.

I am currently en route to Owl’s Head to do some first hand investigation of the tower. This appears to be the strongest lead I have and would like to take the time to actually do some first hand observations.

Thad Trowall

The Hunter

One heart beat.

He slowly pulls back on the string of his bow, his muscles tensing under the strain of the string between his fingers. His focus shifts through the branches and bushes between him and deer standing peacefully in the shade of the poplar trees.

Two heart beats.

He senses a moment of peace, embracing the feel of sureness that courses through him. He can feel perspiration on his brow, as if he too was covered in dew like the plants around him.

Three heart beats.

Slowly he brings his focus down upon the deer, nothing exits around him. He is alone, the world shifts zooming in on the frightened animal. Tonight, his family would eat.

Four heart beats.

He releases the arrow, giving flight to the hawk feathered shaft as it races towards the beating heart of the deer. Innocence and fate streak through the air in an unavoidable collision. He lets go of his focus and lowers his bow.

A solid thunk is greeted by a short exhale of pain from the deer. He has shot true, it was swift and just. He stands and gathers his cloak, warding off the sudden chill he feels as he walks towards the life he has stolen.

Kneeling by the deer, he mumbles a small prayer, giving thanks for the nourishment the deer will provide. He cleans and gathers the animal, shouldering the small lifeless body and makes his way home to his family; a hunter returns.

Posted by Asclepius - Email Author
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9/1/2024 Update:
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Hello everyone, this is Asclepius, with a couple of great short stories written by Womby. Musical background “No More Magic”, by HorrorPen, at www.opengameart.org.

The Gift

Slowly, ever so carefully, Feldring secured the final gem in place. The ornate cloak had taken several months to craft, and represented the culmination of his skills in textiles, tailoring and alchemy.
All that remained was the final step. Once completed, the cloak would cause its wearer to age rapidly, proving fatal within the hour. After two hours, all that remained would be an easily disposed of skeleton.

Feldring summoned all the skills resulting from many years of alchemy and completed the cloak.
Tomorrow he would present it to his wife for her fiftieth birthday, and the day after he would be able to invite the attractive wench he had secretly been seeing to take her place.
He had lost a lot of sleep working on this project and now, overcome with exhaustion, he collapsed onto the makeshift cot in his workshop and fell into a deep sleep.

Shortly after, his wife Portia tapped on his door to inquire if she could bring him some food. Hearing no reply she tiptoed in and saw him lying unconscious on his cot.
“Poor dear” she thought, “he works so hard.” The window had been blown open by the wind, making the room bitterly cold.
With loving care Portia laid the newly completed cloak over Feldrings sleeping body, and quietly tiptoed out.

The Perfect Crime

It should have been the perfect crime.
An informant had told Gratnor that Sir Ewan Masterton had the most impressive collection of gemstones in the entire Vale.
He also told Gratnor that Sir Ewan spent every Friday evening in the Hearth Inn after sending his only servant on a weekly supply trip to Owl’s Head. His Knight Marshall tower keep should therefore have been unoccupied.

The entry was ingenious. The powerful stealth potion had been obscenely expensive, but Gratnor considered it a worthwhile investment as he managed to slip inside unnoticed when Sir Ewan left for the evening.
Once inside, he headed straight for the hidden room that would surely be the place where valuables were kept.
Entering the room proved no obstacle for someone who had spent many years honing his skills as a thief. Surprisingly however the room was empty, save for a trapdoor that apparently led to a basement of some kind.

Cautiously Gratnor descended the ladder into the basement. Not wishing to alert any person or creature he might encounter, he felt his way along the wall in the dark.

After several twists and turns Gratnor came up against what felt like iron bars. A loud clanging sound behind him caused him to freeze in his tracks, and he suddenly found himself locked in a cage on the edge of a large room, as various people in robes lit torches.
In the centre of the room was a large altar.

As one of the people in robes approached his cage he recognised the face of his informant, who smiled at him, then turned to his colleagues and said “It is time. The sacrifice has arrived.”

Posted by Asclepius - Email Author
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