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Thread: RealWittyAlias's Scribbles

  1. #1

    Default RealWittyAlias's Scribbles

    Just going to post fun little character backgrounds, stories, etc.

  2. #2

    Default

    Barding really is a great career; I get to see new places, hear new stories, meet new people… tick off new people and get chased by new people, and caught and shoved in a cage by new people…

    Maggie Hayhill taps on the wooden bars of her new abode.


    “This is good stuff right here, this wood. I mean, I managed to set that whole tree on fire, and the cage didn’t even heat up. Not one bit. Must have some strong enchantments on it. Seriously though, I’m freezing. Any chance you could pass some of that hot soup up here?”


    One of the elves guarding the cage shoots her a scathing look.


    “Prisoners don’t get soup. You are meant to be fearfully contemplating your fate while the shaman determines your punishment.”


    “I think this is punishment enough,” the Halfling retorts. “Honestly, you can’t just sit there and eat… what is that? Coconut soup? You can’t just sit there and eat that right under me without offering me any. It’s cruel and unusual. It’s also bad manners, for your information.”


    “Don’t you talk to us about manners!” the second guard shouts. “You who came to our village, accepted our gracious hospitality, and then compared us to a bunch of orcs!”


    “Hey, now, I didn’t compare you to anybody. I simply observed that your irrigation system was similar to that of a very civilized orc tribe I once had the pleasure of visiting in-“


    “You accused us of fraternizing with them! Of getting together and… and sharing ideas with them! As if we would ever deign to discuss intellectual subjects with those brutes!”


    “I guess that’s one way to look at it, yes. Didn’t think you’d be quite so touchy, though. Most elves I’ve met have been a bit less… horribly racist.”


    “Why, you-!”


    Before the guard can finish, a tall elf covered in mystical looking tattoos emerges from a nearby hut.


    “I have communed with the gods,” he says. “The prisoner is to be released and banned from our lands.”


    “Released! But-“


    “No buts. The gods have spoken.”


    The first guard grumbles and opens the cage door. The second scrutinizes the shaman closely. Maggie jumps out of the cage.


    “Are you alright, your holiness?" the second guard asks. "You sound… strange. Your voice is much higher in pitch than usual.”


    “A side effect of the sacred herbs. They temporarily alter your voice.”


    Maggie snatches her bag and a flask of soup and begins sidling towards the woods.


    “With all due respect, your holiness, I’ve never observed that happening before,” the guard says.


    Maggie speeds her pace to a brisk walk.


    “You impertinent fool,” the shaman growls. “You dare question the voice of the gods?”


    “No, of course not. I just-“


    “You just made the biggest mistake of your life! If you ever question me again, I’ll-“


    “Why was your voice coming from a rock just now?”


    “Oops,” the shaman says before wavering and disappearing. Maggie takes off into the woods at a sprint.


    “After her!” The second guard shrieks. “She’s a witch! An illusionist! She’s escaped! Oh gods, we’re going to lose our jobs for this. Why did you let her out, you fool? Idiot! Nimrod! Moron! Nincompoop!”



    Three Hours Later



    Maggie risks sticking her head out of the bushes to look down the trail for a minute.

    Looks like those idiots stopped chasing me. Stopped screaming, too, I think. Took them long enough. Must be past midnight by now.


    She makes a pillow out of the foliage and lays down.


    Oh, well. This is a nice enough place to rest, I suppose. I’ll start searching for a funner place to visit tomorrow… after I get some sleep.
    Last edited by RealWittyAlias; 01-30-2016 at 11:18 PM.

  3. #3

    Default Johnny McCool and the Graverobbers

    There once was a Halfling named Johnny McCool,who had many half thought out ideas, but no good ones. This often got him intotrouble, and he owed almost every business owner in town copious amounts ofmoney for damages to their property or goods. But nothing compares to thetrouble he got in on the night of HarvestMonth the 16th, in the year of 1162.

    The night started off normally for Johnny. He went to the bar and got drunk. Then he smoked foul smelling but expensive cigars with his friends. Finally, he set off to find some drunken mischief with his old pal, William Wilkins. They rambled through the streets for about an hour, finding nothing interesting to do. Eventually they came across the bakery.

    "I sure love me some bakeries from thepie," Johnny slurred. "Er... pies from the pie... pies from the… fromthe bakery."

    "Yeah. Too bad it's closed for the night," Willy said, scratching his prodigious nose. "I could have gone for a few cakes, myself."

    “Who cares if it’s closed? Let’s get some pastries!” Johnny replied. He picked up a stone and chucked it at the window. It missed the window completely, which wasn't helpful at all.

    “Here, you try,” he said to Willy.

    Willy’s throw was a bit better. His projectile at least made contact with the glass. But, as it was a pebble and not an actual rock, it bounced off and fell weakly to the ground.

    Johnny picked up a rock and tried one more time. He threw the stone at the window as hard as he could. It bounced off the window and hit Willy square in the jaw, knocking him backwards.

    “Well, that’s not good,” Johnny said, leaning over his friend. “Hey, Willy. You alright?”

    Willy didn't answer.

    Johnny checked for a pulse. He didn’t find one. He held up a pocket mirror to his mouth to check his breath. The mirror stubbornly refused to steam up.

    "Ah, shoot."

    There was no use calling for a doctor. Willy was definitely dead. Johnny sighed wearily and hefted his small partner in crime over his shoulder.

    “We might as well find you a resting place. I can’t exactly leave you in the middle of the road, can I? And I’m certainly not bringing you to the undertaker. He’d ask how you got in this condition, and I don’t think ‘I accidentally killed him in a robbery attempt’ would be taken well. So. Where should I take you?”

    Once again, Willy gave no answer.

    “Right. I think I’ll take you to the cemetery, then.” Johnny lugged Willy down the dark streets and up to the large cemetery gate. After a few tries, he finally managed to get Willy over the fence. Johnny soon followed, although he climbed rather than getting thrown. He was carrying the body towards the center of the cemetery when he heard voices and a soft clunking sound. He dove behind a large gravestone, dragging his burden with him, and hid while he tried to figure out who else was in the graveyard at this late hour. He perked his ears up and listened.

    “This is hard,” said the first voice. “Why don’t you take a turn digging?”

    “I’m the boss,” said a second voice. “I don’t dig. I tell you lot to dig, and you dig. Ya dig?”

    “Stop complaining. Do you want to eat this guy’s bones or not?”

    Johnny’s eyes widened as he slowly poked his head out from behind the gravestone. Thirty feet away, two tall figures were digging up a grave. Well, one of them was digging up a grave. The other was leaning on another gravestone and reading a book. It was hard to see through the fog, but both figures appeared to be at least seven feet tall, and very skinny. And when they spoke, Johnny caught a glimpse of sharp, sharp teeth.

    “Of course I want to eat his bones," the first voice said.

    “Well then, keep digging.”

    “All I’m saying is, you could help out a bit every now and then. All you ever do is sit around and read, and it really-“

    “Shut it.”

    “Don’t you tell me to-“

    “No, seriously, shut it! I heard something.”

    Willy, who so far had been doing an excellent job of leaning quietly against Johnny’s back, had suddenly toppled over, bringing Johnny down with him and making a loud ‘bump’ in the process.

    The tall figures strode towards the Halfling and the corpse of the other Halfling, and reached them before Johnny could so much as squeak in fear.

    “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” asked the taller of the two grave robbers. In addition to being tall and sharp-toothed, it appeared that both creatures were a sickly gray color and had bright red eyes.

    “I think it’s one of those little men,” the other said. “Halflings, they’re called. And he’s got another one with him, only that one’s dead.”

    “I know what they are, you dullard,” the first figure sighed. “It was a rhetorical question.” He grabbed Johnny by the collar and set him back on his feet.

    “What’s a little Halfling doing dragging a body into the cemetery in the middle of the night? Don’t you folks usually have special ceremonies for that, with flowers and suits and whatnot?”

    “W-well…” Johnny stammered. “Usually we do, but this was a… it was an insitufat… a tinutating… it was an extenuating circumstance.”

    “Oh, of course. I see. So you killed him, then?”

    “Well, that’s not… I don’t… it was an accident!”

    “Yes, I’m sure it was. And now you’re trying to get rid of the evidence?”

    Evidence is a bit of a strong word. It’s not as if I murdered him. Like I said, I just... it was an accident!”

    “Of course. Well, if you’d like, we can get rid of this… accident,” the first figure said.

    Johnny hesitated before speaking again.

    “Can... can you really? How?”

    “We’ll eat him,” the second one said cheerfully. “Well, we’ll eat his bones. We can bring his skin back home for sewing, and I’m sure his organs will make a nice treat for our dogs.”

    Johnny blanched.

    “You can’t eat Willy! He’s my friend!”

    “Can’t have been a great friend, if you killed him,” the second figure said.

    “It was an accident!”

    “Right. Well, you can go ahead and spend the few remaining hours of the night digging a nice little hole for him to rot in, which we’ll probably dig up tomorrow when we get hungry, or you can hand him over now and save yourself a lot of work and the possibility of one of your cheese-men-“

    “Police men?”

    “Yes, those. They might find the body of your ‘friend’ tomorrow, and I’m sure you wouldn’t like that. Or you could let us help you out and get rid of him for you.”

    “And eat his bones!”

    “Yes.”

    “Well… well, I’ll have to think about it.”

    “Oh, of course. Take all the time you need.”

    Johnny sat on a gravestone and thought. On the one hand, the terrifying creatures had a point. He didn’t want to be arrested. On the other hand, giving his friend up to carnivorous hell-fiends intent on munching his bones would be just about the most vile thing he could do. On the other hand, he really, really didn’t want to be arrested.

    “Alright, you can have him. Just as long as I don’t have to watch.”

    “Fine by me,” the first creature said. “We don’t like people watching us eat, anyways.”

    “We’re a bit shy,” added the second creature. “That’s why we don’t just eat you all alive. Don’t want you judging us while we’re trying to enjoy a good meal.”

    “You aren’t going to judge us, are you?” the first creature asked, narrowing his eyes.

    “Wouldn’t dream of it,” Johnny squeaked. “You enjoy your meal. I’ll see you… well, never, hopefully.”

    And with that, he ran out of the cemetery to the sound of tearing muscles and crunching bones, down the street, and into his own bed. He never spoke of that night to anybody. But when he died a hundred and three years later, he had his body cremated.
    Last edited by RealWittyAlias; 01-31-2016 at 12:14 AM.

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