Thursday, 26 April 2012

WFRP Genre Fiction

It's hard to believe but my last campaign game for WFRP was nearly 3 years ago.

At the end of that campaign the daughter of one of the players joined the group playing a Dilettante name Siassa Jean-Aubry of Bretonnia. I loved the idea of the character so much I started some fiction based on her introduction to the group. I completed a "first chapter" of about 1500 words.

Here's a teaser. Tell me if you think you would want read some more.

A disjointed chorus of screams carried on the warm, humid wind reached the battlements of Castle Bordeleaux. The purple sunset in the west cast a long shadow below Saissa, over the long knoll upon which the castle set. In Bordeleaux proper the streets and alleys were pitch from the shadows and made darker still by the thick columns of black smoke that hung over the city. The tallest buildings seemed to clutch at the sky hoping to keep the sun from setting, the spires beacons of orange light against a rolling black curtain.

Saissa scanned the rooftops of the city looking for the more affluent merchant quarters of Bordeleaux. A merlon and arrow loop blocked her view to the south. She thought better of leaning out over the embrasure, then looked to her right where the wall made a graceful turn to look over the city and its southern reaches. If not for the battlements, she would then be able to see parts of the warehouse and docks.

Saissa turned and made a quick crouching dash to the right hoping for that better view. A door burst open ahead of her and more than a dozen men spilled onto the wall-walk. She stood upright and whispered, “Manann protect me.” 

“TAKE YOUR STATIONS YOU HONORLESS MAGGOTS! THE TREE LINE IS A DEAD LINE! YOUR TASK IS SIMPLE! NO MAN, WOMAN, CHILD, OR BEAST APPROACHES THIS WALL!” the landed sergeant-at-arms screamed as each conscripted peasant archer ran in file past Saissa. Each archer ignored her, or at least only glanced in her direction for the briefest of moments. Was that one’s eyes swollen red with tears? Yes, but he was behind her before she could get a better look. She turned quickly to see the next man push Red Eyes forward as he stumbled. 

She turned back to look into the tabard of the sergeant. He was a full head taller than Saissa. 

“Deylaud! remove this WOMAN from MY wall!” The sergeant was a very strong man and his order was not to be questioned. The sergeant’s hand, callused from training, grasped Saissa’s shoulder. In a sweep to his left, he pressed forward and she was pushed into the two handed grasp of Deylaud. Deylaud was equally strong and Saissa felt as if she fell into brick wall. The sergeant was now shouting at each archer taking positions in the merlons and loops, stacking quivers and stringing their longbows.
Posted by caffeinated at 8:45 PM in d10

W is for Warpstone

Known more commonly in the Empire as wyrdstone, warpstone is an extremely dangerous mutagenic substance. It is an extremely rare ore said to be solid magic.

Its appearance in raw form is said to be varied, even shifting, in shape, but all accounts state that it possesses an inner glow of a sickly yellow-green. Scholars suggest that raw warpstone is the manifestation of all winds, or colors, of magic, constantly absorbing and radiating magic back into the environment. The property of absorbing magic appears to be its most dangerous aspect. Left to absorb, undisturbed, it becomes solid Dhar, or Dark Magic, and thus conveying its reputation as a mutagen.

While rare, it is highly sought after by magical scholars in study, often heretical study, alchemists in the transmutation of mundane elements to gold, and by the Skaven whom use it both as a drug and a tool in dark experiments biological and martial. The rarity, legend, and demand, make even small amounts highly valuable.

Whatever the origin--or availability--of wyrdstone, one only needs to know that it is highly toxic to all things, save the Skaven. No one curious about wyrdstone need look very far for written stories of those that have encountered the substance growing an eye in the palm of the hand touching it, or new mouths, or simply becoming a shifting mass of boneless flesh, sinew, and fluid. Fates all but possibly the last soon find their body and soul cleansed in fire, often tied to a stake.
Posted by caffeinated at 12:01 AM in d10