D&D Adventures: Our Heroes Emerge
Posted on Thu, 06 Aug 2015 at 05:09 PM
Introduction
Well, it's happened. I've started playing D&D again. This time it's 5th edition. So far we've discovered that 5e is quite a jump from old and comfy 2e (what we used to play) but it has been going well. I've done something like this before, but for those just tuning in, I'm going to try to tell the story, as best I can, of our campaign as we go through it. Mostly, I'm doing this because someone from our group asked for it, but I'm also doing it as a writing exercise since it gives me an opportunity to do some creative writing. I don't think these posts will make it into the main blog feed, but there will be a link on the archive to the entire series.
Well, without further ado, here we go.
Our Heroes Emerge
The trumpets sounded. The deafening fanfare almost knocked Brom off his feet. Their players were somewhere high in the stands, but that didn't matter. The whole structure seemed to quiver at their triumphant melody. Even from inside the underground competitors area, the fanfare was too loud for his liking. Some of the other competitors looked up. Above them stood a whole city's worth of people turned up for this one event. Brom wasn't really sure what he was doing here, but it didn't matter. He had to start getting ready now. They would be starting the competition soon. Brom inspected his gear, or what passed as his gear at least. His sorry pack, worn from overuse and undercare, sat on the table in front of him. Inside it, a worn spell book containing the remains of his notes from his time at the university, a pouch of bits he'd either collected or found useful for his art, and whatever rations he had left. He untied his purse from his belt and tucked it inside the hidden pocket of his pack. He'd need no gold where he was going. He tied his master's staff to the side of his pouch and put the whole thing in the chest he'd been given for his time in the competition.
"Attention," he heard someone call. It was the announcer. He turned to look at the man. Balding, and already hoarse, Brom wondered how he would ever be able to announce anything if he kept yelling down here.
"Thank you all for participating in this age old tradition. We thank you for your courage and your strength. With the competition about to begin, I wanted to give each of you the chance to meet your fellow competitors. My father always said that a man should know his enemy before facing him."
Various men spoke up. They went about the room telling everyone their name, hometown, reason for entering the competition, and whatever else they felt like spewing from their incompetent faces. Brom watched as a man introduced himself. He didn't catch the man's first name, the noise in the room drowned it out, but Brom did hear him call himself "The Salt King", though Brom couldn't see why a king, if indeed he was one, would be in such a competition as this. He was dressed head to toe in armor, and impressive armor at that, but it certainly wasn't royal armor, he was sure of that. Next, a bald man with a beard introduced himself as Señior Monk. Brom couldn't decide if the man was telling everyone his chosen profession, or his name, but he decided it didn't really matter. The rest of the group introduced themselves, then it was Brom's turn. He cleared his throat and introduced himself. No one seemed to care, and neither did he.
With introductions out of the way, the announcer started, "Well, if there are no further questions, let us get started shall we? Best of luck." He turned and left the room. A pale man with a book shuffled up and started to direct the group toward the doorway into the stadium.
For a town this big, the stadium was certainly too large. Brom couldn't see how any event could fill it. Even though the turnout for the competition was quite impressive, the stadium's seating was only half full. He walked over to the competitor's circle and stood silently already hoping that this whole ordeal would be over soon.
The first and second events passed so quickly, Brom couldn't even remember them. It seemed like forever ago, but it hadn't been more than a few hours ago now. All he knew was that this event would be seriously dangerous. In front of him swung five massive pendulums all with sharpened edges glinting in the bright sunlight. He wiped the sweat from his brow; his long hair was drenched in sweat. He watched as a few other competitors, including this King of Salt, or whatever, and Señior Monk make it past the first few blades and get suck between the third and fourth. He thought long and hard about his next move. He knew he couldn't possibly jump past these blades of death. That way lies madness. No, he had to try something else. The other competitors were trying their hand at strength, and speed, or like Señior Monk, their impressive agility, but Brom knew he was no match for any of them in that respect.
He wiped his brow again and whispered a few words to himself. The air around him shivered slightly, but he didn't think anyone would notice or just think it a result of the heat. He felt lighter now. He felt fast. He paused for just a moment to let the blade in front of him pass, then he launched himself, almost too fast, past one, two, three, four blades. He saw the last one swing toward him, but he was too fast now. He sailed past it and strode to a stop just past the finish line.
That was close, he told himself.
Señior Monk was just behind him, a suspicious look on his face. Brom had to admit, the man was agile. So called Salt King strode up next. Brom looked up at the sky as he heard the announcer start up again. The bald man got three words into his speech when Brom felt the earth rumble. There was a tense pause as the entire stadium fell completely silent. For a second no one moved, no one spoke. Then Brom heard a sound that men only dream of hearing, and when they do those dreams turn to nightmares.
