Despite a pandemic and about four years of neglecting the https://charnwoodrpg.club website, we are still here (and I have even kept up the domain name subscription).
We long ago moved venue, but are still meeting in Quorn. However we now meet on Tuesday nights as of this week.
I’m interested to see if all of the stuff I set up years ago still works when I post this, and whether it will land up duplicated in our Facebook page https://facebook.com/charnwoodrpgc
Callous looked down on the damp-stained bar floor, still reeling. What now? The guards had taken the dead ones. Jana and Korinn had saved two who would have died without the healing spells.
My anger is very dangerous now. It has hurt my friends. It killed three in this bar. What kind of monster sets off a magical explosion in a bustling hostelry as a minstrel plays? Oh yes. Me.
In the wilds between Greycliff and Eldertree, with this group of adventurers around me? I was a nuisance. But the anger carried the battle; the company are resilient; and sometimes bursts of untrammelled magical energy help in a fight.
Not in a tavern though.
And the shock of it! The mad magical goblin’s pink rabbits springing around our feet and bounding every way. Except I knew they were not of the goblin. They came from the anger: through the anger and because of the anger. Which is to say my anger. My mad magical anger.
They leapt and sprang, the rabbits. As wild, pink, magical rabbits will. One through the window; one through Garron’s legs and out through the rear door; one into the midst of the skirmish with the owl-masked ones who had confronted us. They were the ones at whom my anger blazed. And one into the bar. And all four fractured as the magic force burst from them and tore the things around them asunder. And killed three dancing before the stage.
I must be wary of my anger. I shall try to make them fear me and flee. I hope they take the hint. Or I shall be in the midst of those I wish to harm before I unleash it.
Goblins *again*? Callous is beginning to dislike goblins. Callous knew this dell was too good an ambush site.
The rage begins to rise. Callous is a blur as they leap up the side of the ravine. Six goblins. Archers who haven’t met Callous. They are upon them before they know. Ha!
The rage takes over. Riding the familiar wave of fury, something is different. New.
Since the blast in the tunnel under Greycliff, Callous can sense the glistering of magic in the world. Now, though, it surges from within. It feels powerful.
The glistering surge reaches into the minds of the goblins. Some of them are not able to resist its pull. Three. The motes of consciousness surviving the rage note the glister is green this time. Their minds are open to Callous. Ha!
Callous sees their intentions. This is insanity. Certainly Callous feels crazier day by day since Greycliff. Certainly too, the glister of their minds is jagged enough to make Callous flinch.
Callous swings the falchion but the first goblin is fast enough to skip back. The others are flapping, dropping bows and grabbing blades. Callous kills one. Dodges, ducks, catches a small flesh wound. The magic in their minds tells Callous how to avoid the worst of it.
The glistering surge reveals another mind! The halfling, Dudo has caught up. He climbs swiftly, that one, Callous notes. Oranzil chose their guides well.
Dudo guts a goblin, who was, in fairness, distracted. Callous has a sense of the fear of the lightning-fast-striped-giant-death-devil-cat from the mind of the goblin before its thoughts are cut short by Dudo’s blade. Yes, Oranzil chose well.
Words from below. Words wrapped in orange glister. Orange. Noted. A goblin begins to laugh uncontrollably. Dudo’s friend Milton must have made a spell! Clever halfling. Yes, these two will be fine. Callous glimpses the elf racing around the edge of the clearing to come up the side of the ravine but two more goblins are there! Poor goblins. They think they’ve surprised him. Soveliss hacks one in half – the other, turning to flee, is cut down on the backswing. Bob waits in the dell. Too few for him to exert himself.
Dudo and Callous dispatch three more. The laughing goblin last. Ha.
Callous purrs.
Callous settled into the cleft of their sturdy branch in contentment, well secluded as the shadows lengthened. They’d been wise to leave swiftly. If the child had been candid about the tall, walking tiger in the kitchen, it no longer mattered tonight. They caught themselves purring and chuckled.
The dwarf’s enemies would have known of the rescue for a couple of hours. Oranzil was sly enough to deal with the hue and cry though. This job he’d suggested should keep Callous away from Greycliff (and inquisitive children) while things settled. Callous found the dwarf amusing. It felt good to have saved him, even though it was only because he owed them money.
The others though? Soveliss had finished the half-giant Goliath. Only Bob, Callous and the dwarf knew it had been Soveliss. So far at least. Elves were common enough in Greycliff. No-one would recognise or remember Soveliss. Someone might recognise Bob’s gigantic new great-axe though. And Bob’s cantankerous manner. No, the two of them would likely be safe until they all met again in the morning. Hopefully with the downpayment and some instructions. No children had spotted those two in the manor!
Callous absently reached into their bag. They could almost smell the magic of the things.
They didn’t know how that had come about. Ever since that wretched goblin beast had taunted them, the goblin’s magic had been chasing Callous. Even after Callous killed “him” the second time. That was the axe-throw of a lifetime! (More purring and the deep chuckling after).
And the glowing blue rabbits. (An angry, curling lip and a snarl).
Then, today, the Goliath’s magic bomb had not only blown the roof out of the sewer passage. It seemed it had left its mark on Callous. It felt like that time on the Stormfarer.
They pulled out the silver, rune-rimmed Jug. It had been just sitting there on the kitchen table calling to Callous. It had been cold to the touch when he’d grabbed it almost unconsciously. It still was now.
It felt? no. Smelt? no, not that either. It was tainted with? tingled of? sparked with? purple. Callous knew it was magical. A magic that changed things. Magic that changes things makes the things glister purple! Glister. That would do. Callous’ black wiry whiskers tingled as Callous revelled in the discovery of a word. As their thoughts turned to the box, they noticed the glow.
The whiskers were literally glowing purple. How remarkable.
Callous pulled out the small redwood box. Something inside that glistered gently too. The box had drawn him to it from inside its drawer as they searched the mansion for Oranzil. He looked the box over. A deft claw flicked the catch. Purple fabric. (No, not purple glister – mundane purple velvet). Wrapped within, a ring. Golden, and set with no large stone. Curious. It glistered indeed, but faintly and with no colour. “Missing, like the stone perhaps?”
Their whiskers glowed less. No longer with a colour somehow.
Callous stowed the ring and box. They turned the cold, purple, silver, rune-rimmed Jug in their paws as they stared at the inscriptions. “I wonder what it does.”
The sun began to set, as the sky dipped to a red; then a purple matching the Jug and the velvet.
Nightfall.
Charnwood Role Players Gaming Club 