Ironworks Gaming Forum - View Single Post - The Flight Of The B;ack Dragon

kiwidoc · 06-04-2001, 01:15 AM

This is a novelised version of my D&D game. It was initially set up as a short scenario, for which I wrote level 9 characters with physical descriptions, personalities and quirks. These were assigned randomly. I challenged the players to write bios that explained all of this – and the material in their bios will gradually become apparent. This was supposed to be a test of how all our styles meshed and how they coped with me as a DM and vice versa. We are having such a good time we are going ahead with a full campaign

The prose is mine, though I have used the themes and adapted the prose material in Lapsyngs posts a lot as they were much more full than the others. All the dialogue is pretty much as the players wrote it and I think you will agree they did an excellent job.

Assan = Tarencil
Ceylar = Milamber from Elysium and Abyss
Da’arjeel (Da’ar) = Aivanther
Errol Gray = Initially Prince Legolas; later Lord Shield
Kyan = Mageman
Lapsyng Sho = Initially Warlock aka neo Warlock; later Rude Dawg
PG = Iwishao Wazahero
Twai = Grojlach

The author retains all rights to the material posted here, including publishing rights and copyright. Reproduction of this without her permission is forbidden.

Flight Of The Black Dragon

Chapter One: The Black Dragon Inn - Part One

The sun beat down on the long dusty road that wound over the rolling hills, meandering its way to the nearby town of Eshpurta. It was a warm day for spring, and insects buzzed lazily over the wildflowers that dotted the verges of the road. The chirping of cicadas made a sleepy counterpoint to the distant sound of a lark flying high above the field. It was early evening, and the gradually sinking sun was turning the fields and distant hills so to shades of purple and gold.

A lone figure stood at the crossroads, peering at the ancient moss encrusted milestone. She was a lithe, slim young woman with short-cropped brown hair revealing the graceful up swept lobes of a half elf. Under her long blue cape glimpses of armour could be seen, black leather and occasional flashes of brass studs showed in the late afternoon sun. Suddenly she straightened, flicking her cloak back over her shoulders to show a serious looking long sword hanging from her right side. She had clearly decided she couldn’t make Eshpurta by nightfall and began the dusty trek down the side road following the signposts to the village of Bandjur.

Bandjur was a small village, more a hamlet really lying about two miles north of the main road to Eshpurta. It was a bedraggled looking place that had obviously seen better days, with a few shabby wooden houses badly in need of new paint and one single heavily rutted street. The only cobbles were in a small area in front of the town’s only inn, and in the large courtyard at its rear. Tired villagers walked in from the fields, their faces as washed out and worn looking as their clothes. They turned to stare at the half elf as she walked past, but none spoke.

The light was just starting to fade when she reached the inn itself. The “The Black Dragon Inn” looked somewhat out of place here. Unlike the rickety wooden buildings that made up the rest of the village, it was solidly built and well painted. It was obviously very old, and had grown and been altered many times over the years. The walls were made of soft coloured river stone; and the slate tiled roof was a maze of odd angles and joins. Parts of the building were two stories high while the centre was three storied. There was a long ranged lean-to at the back that doubled as a stable and storage area.

The sign was a little faded but was of recognisably fine work. It showed a single, magnificent black dragon, whose lines flowed so beautifully and impressively the half elven woman couldn’t help but wonder if it had been drawn from life. And what an odd thing to name an inn after, a feared and hated black dragon.

There was nothing fearful about this inn. The shutters were all open, and well-tended flower boxes sat below each window. On the cobbles near the door a huge horse trough overflowed with a brightly coloured array of flowers. Light spilled from the black leaded windows, and the heavy door of black wood studded with polished brass stood ajar in an open invitation to enter.

The blue-cloaked woman entered the door and glancing down she noticed how generations of feet had worn a dip in the centre of the steps. The common room was brightly lit, airy and very clean. Ancient black beams were hung with sparkling brasses, fresh flowers rested in pottery vases on the well polished oak tables and an impressive array of pewter tankards hung over the bar. The walls were decorated with a range of woodcarvings, wrought iron and the odd mirror.

She found her eyes drawn almost immediately to the one solitary painting - on the wall by the stairs. It was old, the once rich colours of the oils now muted and faded. The painting showed a man standing in front of a peaceful, gentle landscape depicted in swirling soft greens and browns. The man was neither impressive in build nor handsome, but his black clad body had a kind of lithe grace in repose. But it wasn’t this that drew the woman’s gaze. His startlingly dark eyes seemed to leap out of the canvas and follow her around the room. She shivered suddenly.

“Looking at the old dragon lord himself are ye?”

A cheerful face appeared behind the bar, over a plump body wrapped in an enormous white apron. The gnome eyes twinkled at her as he grinned. “They say that he’s the one that built my old inn all those years ago. But I’m getting ahead of myself here. The name’s Banny Butterburn, and welcome to the Black Dragon.”

[This message has been edited by kiwidoc (edited 06-04-2001).]

[This message has been edited by kiwidoc (edited 06-04-2001).]

[This message has been edited by kiwidoc (edited 06-16-2001).]

06-04-2001, 01:15 AM	#4
kiwidoc Zhentarim Guard Join Date: May 31, 2001 Location: UK Posts: 385	This is a novelised version of my D&D game. It was initially set up as a short scenario, for which I wrote level 9 characters with physical descriptions, personalities and quirks. These were assigned randomly. I challenged the players to write bios that explained all of this – and the material in their bios will gradually become apparent. This was supposed to be a test of how all our styles meshed and how they coped with me as a DM and vice versa. We are having such a good time we are going ahead with a full campaign The prose is mine, though I have used the themes and adapted the prose material in Lapsyngs posts a lot as they were much more full than the others. All the dialogue is pretty much as the players wrote it and I think you will agree they did an excellent job. Assan = Tarencil Ceylar = Milamber from Elysium and Abyss Da’arjeel (Da’ar) = Aivanther Errol Gray = Initially Prince Legolas; later Lord Shield Kyan = Mageman Lapsyng Sho = Initially Warlock aka neo Warlock; later Rude Dawg PG = Iwishao Wazahero Twai = Grojlach The author retains all rights to the material posted here, including publishing rights and copyright. Reproduction of this without her permission is forbidden. Flight Of The Black Dragon Chapter One: The Black Dragon Inn - Part One The sun beat down on the long dusty road that wound over the rolling hills, meandering its way to the nearby town of Eshpurta. It was a warm day for spring, and insects buzzed lazily over the wildflowers that dotted the verges of the road. The chirping of cicadas made a sleepy counterpoint to the distant sound of a lark flying high above the field. It was early evening, and the gradually sinking sun was turning the fields and distant hills so to shades of purple and gold. A lone figure stood at the crossroads, peering at the ancient moss encrusted milestone. She was a lithe, slim young woman with short-cropped brown hair revealing the graceful up swept lobes of a half elf. Under her long blue cape glimpses of armour could be seen, black leather and occasional flashes of brass studs showed in the late afternoon sun. Suddenly she straightened, flicking her cloak back over her shoulders to show a serious looking long sword hanging from her right side. She had clearly decided she couldn’t make Eshpurta by nightfall and began the dusty trek down the side road following the signposts to the village of Bandjur. Bandjur was a small village, more a hamlet really lying about two miles north of the main road to Eshpurta. It was a bedraggled looking place that had obviously seen better days, with a few shabby wooden houses badly in need of new paint and one single heavily rutted street. The only cobbles were in a small area in front of the town’s only inn, and in the large courtyard at its rear. Tired villagers walked in from the fields, their faces as washed out and worn looking as their clothes. They turned to stare at the half elf as she walked past, but none spoke. The light was just starting to fade when she reached the inn itself. The “The Black Dragon Inn” looked somewhat out of place here. Unlike the rickety wooden buildings that made up the rest of the village, it was solidly built and well painted. It was obviously very old, and had grown and been altered many times over the years. The walls were made of soft coloured river stone; and the slate tiled roof was a maze of odd angles and joins. Parts of the building were two stories high while the centre was three storied. There was a long ranged lean-to at the back that doubled as a stable and storage area. The sign was a little faded but was of recognisably fine work. It showed a single, magnificent black dragon, whose lines flowed so beautifully and impressively the half elven woman couldn’t help but wonder if it had been drawn from life. And what an odd thing to name an inn after, a feared and hated black dragon. There was nothing fearful about this inn. The shutters were all open, and well-tended flower boxes sat below each window. On the cobbles near the door a huge horse trough overflowed with a brightly coloured array of flowers. Light spilled from the black leaded windows, and the heavy door of black wood studded with polished brass stood ajar in an open invitation to enter. The blue-cloaked woman entered the door and glancing down she noticed how generations of feet had worn a dip in the centre of the steps. The common room was brightly lit, airy and very clean. Ancient black beams were hung with sparkling brasses, fresh flowers rested in pottery vases on the well polished oak tables and an impressive array of pewter tankards hung over the bar. The walls were decorated with a range of woodcarvings, wrought iron and the odd mirror. She found her eyes drawn almost immediately to the one solitary painting - on the wall by the stairs. It was old, the once rich colours of the oils now muted and faded. The painting showed a man standing in front of a peaceful, gentle landscape depicted in swirling soft greens and browns. The man was neither impressive in build nor handsome, but his black clad body had a kind of lithe grace in repose. But it wasn’t this that drew the woman’s gaze. His startlingly dark eyes seemed to leap out of the canvas and follow her around the room. She shivered suddenly. “Looking at the old dragon lord himself are ye?” A cheerful face appeared behind the bar, over a plump body wrapped in an enormous white apron. The gnome eyes twinkled at her as he grinned. “They say that he’s the one that built my old inn all those years ago. But I’m getting ahead of myself here. The name’s Banny Butterburn, and welcome to the Black Dragon.” [This message has been edited by kiwidoc (edited 06-04-2001).] [This message has been edited by kiwidoc (edited 06-04-2001).] [This message has been edited by kiwidoc (edited 06-16-2001).]