The Broken (Forgotten Realms)

[Ford Prefect]

Okay, I know it says Forgotten Realms up there, but I really don't have that much background in it. As such, you can expect inaccuracies in terms of setting. Really, I'll do them on purpose.

However, they may be because this is supposed to be a funny story. If anything, it will be ... different. My thanks to Sir Nitram especially, who's advice has spawned this beginning. And so:


THE BROKEN
Strange Adventures in the Forgotten Realms
Chapter the First


“But I don't want to be devoured by the giant brain!” wailed Samael, his tentacles writhing. He squirmed in the grip of two remarkably beefy specimens of his kind.

“Now now.” chided Sadramu-het, stroking one of his two extra-long face-tentacles. He turned to face his struggling prisoner. “Don't be like that, Samael. In the end, we all become a part of the Elder Brain. Indeed, it is our greatest calling, to be assimilated, our 'self' absorbed by that great intelligence. To live on, immortal, as part of the distributed multiversal ganglia of Ilsensine. To become apart of the trans-temporal memories of millions, billions of others. To know Penumbra or the Outside or any number of other worlds so intimately it would be as if you had lived their your entire life. To be the mightiest, most far-reaching intelligence in the vastness of existence. To be immortal. That strikes me as a beautiful thing.”

“That's because you don't know what happens!” shrieked Samael, suddenly kicking and leaping with more ferocity than he had felt before. His guards redoubled their efforts and the three illithids pushed back and forth under a roof of solid stone. Sadramu-het watched for a moment then placed one hand over the aching part of his cranium. He reached forward and snared Samael by the tentacles, and yanked him forward. He almost instantly felt a sudden numbness in his hand, and quickly smacked his fist down on the back of Samael's head. The prisoner shook his captors off with sudden ease, and Sadramu-het became quite persistant in hammering his fist against the lunatic's skull.

It lasted for a good two minutes, and when he was done, Sadramu-het fixed his prisoner with the stare that paralysed brave men from sixty yards. It was known to kill at ten.

“Hear me well, Samael Soulswallower. Quite frankly, I've had it up to here-” he indicated an area above his head. “-with your quite frankly blasphemous statements. Did you know that you've hurt the Elder Brain's feelings with your claims? Younger illithids have contacted it incessantly about your 'destroyed personality' rubbish. It's rather depressed right now, and it keeps on sending me bad poetry. This in turn is making me very upset.

“Yet despite the fact you've been a total wanker to it, the Elder Brain in its ancient and rather impressive wisdom has decided to let you become one with it, to prove that you are gravely mistaken.” the ulitharid grabbed Samael by the collar, hauled him up and dragged him down the tunnel. “Really, you should be thankful that the Elder Brain is more developed than I, because I would prefer to pull your tentacles clean off.”

With a grunt, he swung Samael out so that his feet were on the edge of an outcropping of rock. Below, almost stewing in its pool of cerebral fluid was the mass of grey-pink of the Elder Brain. Its great fleshiness, its mass of folds, the zillions of neural pathways nurtured at the core of the city, looked up at Samael, despite the fact that it had no eyes. He began to panic. “Seriously, if you think it's such a great thing, why-” he was cut off when Sadramu-het shoved him off the edge.

“You suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” Samael howled, his voice trailing off as he fell. Naturally, this is absurd as Samael communicated telepathically.

The fall was a long one, lasting nearly eight seconds. The folds of squishy brain matter cushioned his fall, and Samael heaved an involuntary sigh of relief. Then there was a squelching, a wet sound that reminded Samael of the noise that brains made when he sucked them out of a skull. He felt himself moving, and he realised that the Elder Brain was trying to eat him

Desperately, he began to claw at yielding think-mush. Though he knew that the experience was to be unpleasant, he honestly hadn't expected that the Elder Brain would open up some of its folds and literally swallow him. When he found that his attempts at pulling himself out weren't doing anything, Samael began to flail, tendrils reaching up to wrapped around him. Inexorably, he slipped into reeking moistness. Inch by inch he went, and by the time he was in to his chest, Samael was calm again. He, like Sadramu-het, was given to stroking his tentacles when thinking, and he was stroking them furiously now.

He needed an out. When he found he had one, the Elder Brain dragged him in, swallowing him with such suddenness that it was as if he had teleported.

SO, WE HAVE YOU NOW SAMAEL SOULSWALLOWER, CALLED BY SOME THE DESOLATE ONE.

Small caps, thought Samael, impressed despite his situation. He couldn't seen anything except for the warm glow of the brain encasing him He found himself saying: “Only if you want to be rude.”

TRULY. 'RUDENESS' IS A QUALITY WHICH YOU YOURSELF DISPLAY QUITE FREQUENTLY.

“I crack open skulls to feast upon the goo within.” Samael sighed. “I think it would be highly unlikely that I was anything other than rude. Biologically speaking. I'm right though, aren't I. You're not going to incorporate my personality into a grand networked soul-god.”

INDEED. WE DO NOT INTEND TO DO SO. WE SHALL TAKE YOUR USEFUL INFORMATION AND MEMORIES, INCORPORATE THEM AND SPIT OUT THE BONES. YOUR PETTY PLAN TO DEFEAT US IN MENTAL COMBAT IS FOOLISH. EXCEPT THAT YOU ARE ... OH SHI-

Soulswallower was not merely a derogatory term, though Samael didn't think it was badass enough. Up until now he hadn't actually known if he could drain the soul of the Elder Brain, or if the Elder Brain even had a soul. Conveniently, it did. So Samael drew in its lifeforce, feeling it pound on his mental barriers. He felt weak, woozy, so he opened his mouth and began to eat the Elder Brain back. It thrashed its tentacles about, as though throwing a very strange tantrum. Cerebral fluid rose in waves, then churned to foam. Then it exploded, showering its meticulously cleaned chamber with chunks of smelly, thousand year old brain.

Samael emerged triumphant, waded through the pool and climbed onto the platform surrounding it. He unleashed a victorious cry, cut off as a voice from above roared: “SAMAAAAAAAAEEEL!”

“That's 'Mister' Samael, punk!” he shouted back, hurriedly extraditing himself from the chamber, shoving his way through a rank of shocked attendants.

*

Samael escaped from the Underdark after a full three weeks of being pursued by his vengeful city. That is to say, the whole thing – just over four hundred illithids, and several thousand thralls, monsters and constructs. Undoubtedly it would be very exciting to detail his frenzied escape from vampire squids in the Underdark waters. Or indeed, thrilling to relate the tale of Samael's daring when he tactically espionaged his squidy head through a drow city. Or his skillful ploys when he was captured by kuo-toa, only to be captured by a party of Dwarves. Or his fiendish manipulations when be started a Beholder war, and lured his pursuers, kuo-toa, dwarf and illithid all, into the midst of it.

Of course, that would take forever. Though he will not be pleased about it, Samael's exploits will not be chronicled. With those exploits nothing more than vague snapshots in his mind, the Soulswallower emerged into the sun. He slathered on a gooey gel to maintain his moisture, and examined his surroundings.

As far as he could tell, he was in what some called the 'Old Kingdoms' and what others called the 'Unapproachable East'. Samael didn't know the reasons behind this certain name, nor did he particularly care. On the other hand, he had no idea where he was exactly. He knew it was the eastern regions of Faerûn. That was fine. On the other hand, he only knew a handful of landmarks of that region, and none of them were in view. Samael picked a location and walked in it.

In the end, he walked for fifteen minutes before he came across a person, in this case a human. He had dark hair, dark eyes and was wearing a loose fitting robe tied with a sash. With incredible speed the man was on his feet and flipping Samael on his head. “What is your purpose, fiend!?” the man said, hands ready to fall upon Samael like twin moons.

“Mind crush!” Samael shouted, the world still spinning. The poor man collapsed, and Samael's tentacles twitched. “I'm a genius.” he declared.

[Shroom Man 777]

What...a...dick. He made a giant brain explode! Holy crap!

[The Grim Squeaker]

Fucking. Cool. .

I am going to like this, Illithids are among my favourite D&D monsters (After Dragons of course ).

A minor note, I know that this is comedic in nature but Illithids personally shoving one of their own into the brain-Collective is quite out of character, thats what idiot (And highly foul smelling) Slaves & Umber-Hulks are for

[The Nomad]

Am I nurturing groundless hopes, or are you going to write more of this positely exhilarating work of fiction ?

EDIT :

Chapter the First

Well, I got the answer. I'm a bit slow this evening .

[Ford Prefect]

A minor note, I know that this is comedic in nature but Illithids personally shoving one of their own into the brain-Collective is quite out of character, thats what idiot (And highly foul smelling) Slaves & Umber-Hulks are for

Let's just say that Sadramu-het ad a deep seated personal need to do it.

And yes, there will be more. I warn you though, it will get worse from here.

[Raj Ahten]

And yes, there will be more. I warn you though, it will get worse from here.

Worse in what way?

[Kuja]

*falls backwards laughing and kicking his legs in the air like a gnoll with a giggle fit*

[Shroom Man 777]

I can't help but draw parallels from this show

[Ford Prefect]

Worse in what way?

Just watch.


THE BROKEN
Strange Advantures in the Forgotten Realms
Chapter the Second


Near the shore of the Eastling Reach, half a pumpkin bobbed to the surface. From her vantage point, Jack could see it, floating in the muck. As it rolled and ducked beneath the surface, she recognised that it was at least three thousand times more interesting than this little party being thrown in honour of the merchant prince. If she had the choice, she would not have been present; naturally of course, she didn't have anything approaching choice. She had been sent at the behest of the Shadowmasters, and she didn't really want to argue with the big bosses.

Also naturally, as a named main character, Jack was beautiful. She had dusky gold skin, and soft features. Her hair and eyes were dark. She had, much to her own chagrin, caught the eye of the prince. And though he was young, handsome, very rich, charming and all round a nice guy, Jack really didn't like him. She couldn't help but think about what his angle was. How did he intend to profit by communicating, or attempting to communicate, so intimately with her? She worried that he might have realised her position amongst the guild controlling Telflamm, and wanted to use her as chip in some perverse political game.

Obviously, the perverse games that the prince wanted to play had nothing to do with politics. Or gambling. They weren't really games either.

It would be safe to say that Jack was somewhat clueless. Everything for her came down to monetary profit or fiscal loss, or, gods forbid, loss of life. So as the prince approached in his glittering silks, Jack's fingers slipped back into her sleeve and grasped the tiny knife hidden there. His eyes flickered to the exposed swell of cleavage and he leaned in close. “Hello, my dear.” he drawled. There was wine on his breath, much as there was wine on everyone's breath. Except the dwarves, who had ale.

Naturally.

“Hello, your highness.” Jack's pink lips spread in a convincing, pretty smile. Her eyes sought his jugular. He leaned in closer. Jack fell over the edge of the balcony.

“This always happens to me.” he muttered, walking away.

*

Samael had been rubbing his hands together constantly over the past two days. His brilliant plan was, well, brilliant. He had taken the nameless monk on as a thrall, and intended to use him as a bodyguard. Of course, he hadn't really known at the time how useful Nameless would have been, but he looked like serious cheese. He still didn't know, but at least the monk knew where they were, and the directions to the closest city. So Samael had his new slave lead the way.

To Telflamm.

Of course.

“So tell me Black Belt.” Samael mused, pausing in his hand-rubbing to slather on a new coat of moisturiser. “About your 'temple'.”

“Why boss?”

“I must know these things.”

The monk frowned, and rubbed his forehead. “We were trained to bind not-quite-dead things to our bodies, to grant us supernatural talents.”

There was long pause, which Samael broke. “That's it? That's your entire character history? 'We were trained to bind not-quite-dead things to our bodies, to grant us supernatural talents'? That's crap.” his tentacles fluttered. “Seriously, what are your motivations? Why are you in Faerûn? What makes you the person you are and so on and so on. You'd think that there'd be more to you than your class description.” Samael hummed, tapping his fingers together. “Well, you don't actually have a name, and only a vaguely defined appearance. I suppose it's a little much to expect you to have much of a personality.”

With a heaving of air through teeth, the monk rubbed his head. “This is going to get real old, real fast.” he whirled on the illithid. “So boss, why are you here? What's your story?”

Samael held up one finger and was silent for some time. “Well. I discovered that in actuality, the core philosophy of my people is nothing but a lie. I came across the information when I encountered an Alhoon; that is, an illithid lich.” his tentacles spread in something which might have been a smile. He was on a roll. “He wasn't very forthcoming at first, but I kicked his ass. He explained the whole thing. Of course, the others didn't take very kindly to my attempts to reveal this lie. So, they tried to feed me to the Elder Brain, and I made it up blow up.”

“How?”

“I have ten dots in the 'Explode' sphere.”

They were silent again, until the monk pointed out that they were nearing Telflamm, and that other travelers should become readily apparent. Samael began to rub his hands together again. A city like that might make any pursuers think twice about attacking. In all honesty, he didn't think Sadramu-het would be put off by a city, yet denial was a powerful force. Being in the city would be reassuring. Naturally, the people of Telflamm wouldn't be impressed with his presence, but he had a huge hooded cloak designed to hide his betentacled face and purple flesh. The lesser creatures wouldn't notice – they'd come up with their own pleasant and reasonable excuses for it.

As the monk had said, there soon were whole parades of peasants and their beasts and wares. Despite the huge number of living brains, none were palatable. Not one. Samael found himself sighing heavily.

*

“You promise to not make a fuss right?”

“I can't make that promise.”

“Please Jules, it's embarrassing.”

“You're just going to have to keep your chin up, Ves.”

Vesu'veus Tuun'guska scowled and squashed her red, wide-brimmed fedora down on her pale blonde head. She glanced up at her towering companion, shrugged her shoulders and followed him out into the sun. The warm light light gleamed off his bald, dark head, glinted from his armoured fingers and thighs. The both wore long coats, but where hers was red and fashionable, his was black and heavy. He rubbed his chinstrap beard with fingers and thumb, the other hand on the hilt of his longsword. Out of absolutely nowhere, a young man as dark as Jules wearing lenses of smoked glass on silver frames. He carried a sheathed dagger in one hand, and held the enlarged pommel near his mouth.

“Who's the black private dick who's a sex machine with all the chicks?” he spat enthusiastically.

Up and down the street, peoples of a dozen different races all turned as one. And as one they raised their voices in reply: “SHAFT!”

“I need a drink.” Ves sighed, pulling her hat further down over her face. As the young man with the dagger began to sing, she tried to drown him out with a scream. Jules patted her on the head, then placed his hand on the bard's shoulder.

“I think that'll do Vincent.”

“Oh, right you are bro!” he shouted, hurriedly backing off. “Seeya Shaft!” and with that, he disappeared just as quickly as he had come. Jules turned back to his companion, leaned down and lifted up the brim of her hat. She glared at him with one emerald green eye. Pointed ears twitched in annoyance

“You're buying me that drink.” she snapped, gathering her coat around her. Together they strolled down the street. “Every gods damned time.”

“I remember,” said the tall knight, his lips curving upwards “That back in the day, you used to sing my theme song.”

“I gave up that nine levels ago. And I am very pleased I did.”

Jules' rich laughter filled the air, and Samael Soulswallower listened very closely from his position in an outdoor tavern. He lifted his glass of sugar water so that he could grab the straw with one tentacle. The duo were playfully jostling each other now, and the exiled mind flayer considered them very carefully. The monk stared at his lord, then vehemently took a swig of his drink. Caressing his tentacles inside his hood, Samael leaned forward, and gestured for his thrall to do the same. Reluctantly, the monk leaned in, till he could see his master's shadowed, ugly face. The illithid glanced from side to side and started to speak.

“They say this cat Shaft is a bad mother-”

“Shut your mouth!” snapped the general patronage.

Samael reared up and spread his arms, palms up. “But I'm talkin' 'bout Shaft!” he replied, half-indignant. The monk immediately down his drink.

“Then we can dig it.” they all agreed, and went back to their drinks, meals, games of chance and daylight murder. The monk clutched at his head, and put his weight on the table. When Samael looked back to his thrall, he could see a vein throbbing visibly on his temple. Thinking for a moment, he reached out and patted the monk on the hand reassuringly.

“So,” the monk said, clearly resigned to his fate. “Do have something else completely asinine to reference?”

“Actually Black Belt, I have a plan.” Samael said proudly, leaning back in his chair.

“Well, that's ... that's a something. A plan.”

“Yes. A plan. A plan involving a man I've never met before, and who's reputation I know only through the cryptic words of blind traveling minstrel.” the monk opened his mouth as if to object, but thought better of it. “A plan that will save us both from the wrath of a half dozen races out of the Underdark. A plan of such fiendish complexity and meticulous detail that not even I know what it is actually about.” he paused to raise his glass of sugar water. The monk waited for a moment, then raised his empty tankard. Samael downed his refreshing beverage. “Yes indeed. I am a genius.”

[Shroom Man 777]

Dear. Motherfucking. God.

*facepalm*

[LadyTevar]

.................

I should shoot you for that one.

[Shroom Man 777]

No. Strangle him with a string of sausages.

[Ford Prefect]

Yes. I am a genius.

[SilverWingedSeraph]

Yes. I am a genius.

An evil, evil genius, but a genius none the less. I eagerly await the next installment!

[SirNitram]

What the fuck have I created?

[Imperial Overlord]

Keep it up Ford.

[Academia Nut]

You sir, are not a mere evil genius, you are evil and genius wrapped about one another in a recursive, N-dimensional fold such that it is impossible to determine the extent to which your evil ends and your genius begins without invoking dark, eldritch gods to come forth and draw a diagram explaining it to those of lesser minds.

And as a question to everyone reading this, how many people are planning on making their own "Shaft the Paladin", complete with followers doing the theme song? Be honest now.

[Ford Prefect]

What the fuck have I created?

Something wonderful indeed. I can't really remember ever writing anything so hopelessly bizarre and contrived in my entire life. It's ... refreshing. Indeed, even a little liberating.


THE BROKEN
Strange Advantures in the Forgotten Realms
Chapter the Third


Taverns are dingy, badly lit, smoky affairs primarily for reasons of atmosphere. However, there are actually socioeconomic reasons for the classic tavern. A badly lit tavern is one that cannot afford large windows or good candles; or rather, it cannot afford a well insulated building, so that large windows would make it cold. Such a place is invariably cheap, and attractive to a certain class of person: the proletariat of a city, the battered adventurer or party of adventurers, broody loner half-elves obsessing on how 'different' they are. Essentially, those with little money, who cannot contribute to improving the classic tavern. Pipe-smoking is popular with these lower classes, sometimes inexplicably because of the price, sometimes in imitation of more sophisticated, sometimes because they're dwarves. The badly kept, half-lit tavern in a constant haze of pipe smoke is nothing more than the end result of a society with vast quantities of its people living in virtual poverty, carefully being swindled by the petty bourgeoisie of the merchant class.

Or so Jules had tried to explain to Vesu'veus as they sat in the comfort of a well-built, well-lit building. She could appreciate the irony of using her quantities of money – she was from rich parentage – to enjoy this 'bourgeoisie comfort' even as Jules derided the system upon which it was built. She smiled and nodded and became steadily more drunk as time went on. When the black paladin put his hand over her glass, she turned away.

“What's the matter with you?” he asked.

“Oh,” she began, turning back to face him. Her hand was raised to admonish him, but looking at the concern clear in his dark eyes, Ves couldn't manage it. “It's just ... really depressing at times. The way you talk about the rot in the system and the shadow of oppression hanging over the lower classes and the failure of the upper classes to do their part etcetera etcetera. I actually find myself caring at times.”

“Don't worry about that.” Jules said with the hint of a smile. “We're going to change it, eventually.”

“Yes, I've heard.” Ves mused, half-frowning. “But then again, you're a heretic follower of Bane. I suppose it would be worse if your god was, I don't know, Cyric or Talos or something, but still. Bane. And you sometimes wonder why the Hammers of Grimjaws pursue you.” Jules held up one hand, as though his pockets were empty. Ves shook her head and stood. “I'll be in the little maiden's room. Should we be attacked by a cadre of angry paladins, please leave me be.”

He chuckled and turned to his drink. There was a noise that was something like feeding a cricket bat into a food processor; the sound which Jules recognised as an illithid clearing his throat, politely. Jules stood, and Samael could not help but notice that Jules was almost eight inches taller than him, and Samael was tall. And looking at him, Samael's mouth would have watered if it was possible. The elf had reeked of a delicious intelligence, but one soured by certain traits that he found undesirable. Jules Shaft however represented something else – intelligence, yes, but also reasoned determination and striking honour.

Samael realised with something approaching a familiar horror that Jules Shaft was a paladin.

“Are you alright?” Jules ventured, and Samael held up his hands. He had donned his most human-like attire for this meeting, including straight hemmed trousers.

“My apologies. Please, may I join you?” Jules gestured to a seat at the table, and the Soulswallower cackled inwardly. Just as planned, he smirked, only barely avoiding putting on his thematic headset.

“This is ... different.” Jules said, and Samael nodded.

“You are Jules Shaft, and I have heard ... things ... about you.” he laced his long fingers together. “I know this may seem a little bizarre-”

“You're damn right.”

“-but I could not help but approach you. You strike me as a man of conviction and of principle.”

Jules leaned his considerable weight on on fist. “So you've heard of my quest?”

“Only in rumours. I came to you to understand.” Samael said, projecting, his words punctuated by the expression of all the false confidence he could muster. Bluff bluff, bluff the massive paladin! He sang in his head, a jumble of nerves, laughing silently and hysterically. Jules cocked an eyebrow, then closed his eyes. He lifted his head and sat back in his chair. Samael's hands tightened.

“Let me buy you a drink.” Shaft said finally. Samael's tentacles curled happily.

Vesu'veus emerged fanning herself with her fedora and immediately noticed the illithid talking quietly with Jules. Her eyes narrowed and she took a big stride forward, but a hand on her shoulder made her pause. She tensed slightly; dangerous when the person in question only had to wink to blast you to atoms. A man's soft voice calmed her, but there was something of threat there. “The boss just wants to talk with your big friend for a little while. He thought that while you waited, I could buy you a drink.”

“I am totally into that action.” Ves said, brightening.

Jules watched Ves be lead away by the monk, and then turned back to Samael. The illithid was taking his glass of sugared water. It seemed that Samael was a man of action and preparedness. Jules liked that. “I suppose you understand the dangers that swell in this world?” Samael nodded. “I'm not surprised. And I'm sure you understand that this continent is controlled by too many disinterested persons. Indeed, some are downright evil. Ultimately, Faerûn is too divided, and too weak. For years I struggled with this fact; though I have an answer now, you must know that I still question it.

“It seems that the only way to save Faerûn is to install a benevolent dictator with the ability and willingness to protect all the peoples of this continent.”

“He's a total lunatic.” Ves said, slamming her glass down. The monk did not move to refill the glass “Jules is the Lawful Good paladin of a Lawful Evil deity trying to install an endless dictatorship to rule the land.” she ran delicate fingers through her hair and eyed Nameless carefully. “It might be a great idea in theory I suppose. Who am I kidding? It's just not a good idea at all. Exactly who could he get that would work?”

“How about me?” Samael said with a laugh. Jules laughed himself, then frowned. “What's the matter?”

“You strike me as being different to the rest of your kind, Samael.”

“You're not actually considering me, are you?”

“There's no such thing as coincidence in a fictional narrative.” Jules replied. “And really, you demonstrate certain traits which I think are required for the Perfect Tyrant. You show foresight and restraint, yet you have a peculiar kind of honesty and initiative. I have been searching for a suitable candidate for some time now. There is sacrifice involved. There will be danger. I am willing to follow you through it all and make sure you come out unscathed. Some may fear your people, but I believe that you being an illithid can be used to garner support. To step past the stereotypes that abound regarding the illithid species.” He stood up and extended his hand. Samael stared at it as though it was some horrific aberration from the lightless depths of the Underdark, then stood up himself. The shake was firm. “Together, we can change the world.”

“I sense a plot contrivance.” the monk said, helping Vesu'veus to her feet. Hung on him limply, and he scowled. “You've had two drinks. Two. Gods.” he helped her stumble over to where man and illithid were making a world changing pact. Jules raised his eyebrows. “What can I say? She's no Legolas.”

Jules half-smiled, as though he'd seen it all before. He extended his hand and the monk took it in a warrior's grip. “This is my associate, a monk from far off Kozakura. He has been cursed by his forbears and has no name.”

“Well, actually-”

“I do not intend to hold it against him. I have known him for some time now, and he is loyal, tenacious and a fine man all 'round.” the monk rubbed his eyes. Jules took this as an indication that he was tired, and he invited both he and Samael to stay with him in his rented abode. There was sharply nodded agreement from Samael, and the monk automatically gave his assent. At this moment, the roof gave way, and a human woman came falling through in a shower of shingles and dust. Jules caught; she looked about stunned, bruised and scraped. She glanced up at her saviour.

“Hi there,” Jack said, sweeping dark hair out her eyes.

“Are you alright?” the paladin asked, setting her down.

Testing her weight, Jack shrugged. “I suppose. I've been falling for, like, two chapters. Other than that though, I'm pretty good.” she glanced over to her right. “The owner doesn't look too happy though.”

And indeed, the owner was not.

[SilverWingedSeraph]

Hrm... seemed not to have as much funny as previous chapters, but stiil it was made of win. I suppose you need to tone back a bit of the humour for plot, sometimes.

"I've been falling for, like, two chapters." Made up for it, though. Breaking the fourth wall always makes for fun.

[Shroom Man 777]

His name is Jules Shaft. My god.

[The Grim Squeaker]

Most awesomeness

Bluff bluff, bluff the massive paladin!

Does he also have a Good twin?

[Ford Prefect]

HOLY SHIT GUYS.

I'VE BEEN TOTALLY OUTDONE.

I MEAN WOW.

[Kuja]

*continues laughing hysterically*

[Ford Prefect]

Okay, it took me a while, and again it seems as though it's just flopping back and worth like a thrashing, porpoise, but hey.


THE BROKEN
Strange Advantures in the Forgotten Realms
Chapter the Fourth


The Earth-shaker knelt in prayer, illuminated by stray shaft of moonlight seeping through the boughs and shifting leaves of the trees above. By his side stood the slim, yet ludicrously curvy form of a female priestess. Even upon his knees, he towered above her by almost a full twelve inches. The bulk of one armoured thigh was almost as great as that of her expansive hips. The hammer resting in his hands was so large, so massive that a halfling could have stood behind it unseen. Everything about Norin the Earth-shaker spoke of mass and size – like a living mountain, a vast presence hewed from stone.

Fanning out through the trees knelt other armoured men. Some, like their leader, bore hammers, others keen edged great swords. All had their heads bowed. With one bare foot dangling in the river, Rutger Kezmet peered out from beneath his broad-brimmed hat. They were always like this. Elvira would speak prayerful words in her soft, firm tones and the fifty or sixty paladins would all be silent for close to an hour. Their devotion was ... something commendable, Rutger was sure, but he was no follower of Tyr. Indeed, though they worked together, Rutger was not interested in Bane's Paladin – nay, he hunted the elf.

And they were near. When their prayers were concluded, the paladins would summon their mounts and leave the Lethyr Forest, heading towards Telflamm. At this thought, Rutger smiled and rubbed the snout of his softly snoring Tyrannosaurus.

*

“So, you plan to replace the prince with the boss” the nameless monk mused, rubbing his chin. He reclined into the piled pillows. “And then have the boss proclaim the prince as governor.” he frowned. “Will the prince be happy about that? I mean, armed revolt in his city ... usurped by a – no offence – tentacle faced psychopath ... he probably won't be interested in being a good governor.”

Shaft shook his head. “That's not how it's going to the work. I'm not going to walk into his palace, murder all his soldiers and tell him to get off the throne. It would be faster, but it wouldn't work for long.” he rummaged in his purse and pulled out a gold coin. “Telflamm is ruled by a merchant prince. So we're going to buy the place from him.”

“Buy.” Samael repeated, glancing at his thrall.

“An entire city state?” the monk whistled. “You're a bigger loon than I thought.”

With a rich laugh, Shaft flipped the coin across the stout little table. The monk caught it, and watched as the big man reached down and picked up his coffee. “We're going to start with a single trading company, use our unique talents to increase its profit further, then buy another company here.” he sipped at his drink. “And from there, we'll keep going until we own every industry and business in this city, then use the Samael Corporation as our major bargaining chip. We'll offer him a sizeable cut of the profit to abdicate.”

The monk cupped his face with one hand. “That's a rather ... capitalist solution.”

“I have ten ranks in Grey Guard. I'm willing to do anything to get the job done.”

Samael's tentacles were frothing. “It's a good plan, but won't it take, well, years?”

“I'm willing to do anything to get the job done.”

In another room, Vesu'veus was awaking to a headache of positively mountain-sundering proportions. Squinting her eyes against the harsh morning light, she rose from her bed and staggered out into the main room. She immediately sighted Shaft, and then some nameless mook she didn't recognise, and finally Samael. “Jules,” she yawned, stretching until her spine popped. “Why is there an illithid on our couch?” she sat down next to the paladin and took his coffee. After a long draught, she peered at the purple-skinned ... thing. “It's a little ...” she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to recall something from the previous night, and failed. “Why is it here? And who is it?” she finally managed.

“This, Ves, is Samael, and he is the best candidate for the position of Perfect Tyrant.” cocking one graceful eyebrow, Vesu'veus looked from Shaft, then over to Samael, who raised a hand in a measure of wave. She shrugged and her shoulders and slumped back into the couch. “I was just explaining my plan.”

“Which won't work." All four turned their heads towards the sound of Jack's voice. She was taking a bite out of an apple, and when she spoke, it was muffled. “His nibs is just a figurehead. This city is really controlled by the Shadowmasters – the thieves guild.” Jack swallowed. “So ... buy Telflamm if you like. You won't have really changed anything.”

Shaft tapped his nose. “Then, we'll just have to install the prince, then take his state away.”

Jack paused mid bite, then pulled her teeth out of juicy apple. “Install the prince? As in destroying the nigh-omnipresent shadowy conspiracy that runs this entire place?” she put the apple in her mouth, then began to count on her fingers. The fruit dropped to the floor. “Sweet Waukeen!” she through her arms around Shaft's neck and hung over the couch. “Please let me help you. I work for the Shadowmasters, so I have all sorts of useful that I can sell you. Please. Please.”

Shaft patted her on the forearm. “Sure. You can help.”

And in Jack's head there was the sound of a dinging cash register.

*

Rubbing gel onto his glistening scalp, Samael followed his new paladin. Shaft had forgone his armour and coat, though he still carried his crimson-sheathed longsword. At Shaft's suggestion, the illithid had worn his three piece suit, and the paladin had given him a dignified silver pocket watch to string across his purple velvet vest. 'It will make a good impression', Jules had said. He glanced behind at Nameless carrying along a darkly wooded chest, then took a long step forward so that he was level with Shaft. “I have a few reservations about 'hiring' a thief to work towards this ... most noble of goals.”

“Some might have had reservations about choosing a person from a race who all eat brains to survive.” Jules replied, without breaking stride. “I think we can look past these differences and move towards a united world.”

“Peace in the Wastelands,” the monk squeaked out in a female voice, a few paces behind. Then, normally, he finished with a 'right?'. Shaft snorted, then laughed heartily along with the monk. Samael looked between the two and started laughing himself, though he had no idea what was so funny.

“You shouldn't be laughing, monster.” hissed a voice from the shadows, and all three turned their attention to the cloaked figure just ahead. “Or perhaps you should, be-”

There was a resounding crack, and the figure toppled over, leaking blood and brain matter. Samael stared dumbfounded at the smoking pistol in Shaft's hands, as the paladin moved to clear the breech and reload. “You ... shot her?” the illithid watched the gun disappear, then peered up at the paladin's face. “Why?”

“She was drow. Dangerous, deadly and evil.” he remarked. Using one foot, he pulled back the hood, and sure enough, the figure was female, white haired and obsidian skinned. On her face was a set of smoked lenses in delicate wire frames set askew – one lens was shattered. “See. Drow.”

“Yeah, but that's not a good reason to shoot someone in the face.” the monk said, putting the chest on one shoulder. “I mean, they're Chaotic Good rebels, dissatisfied with the evil nature of their society, but entirely incapable of doing anything to change that. The perfect tragic hero race. Seriously man, you shouldn't have killed her.”

“That's right, murderer.” hissed another voice, again from the shadows. “But we'll make you pay.”

At once, a round eight drow (presumably) in cloaks emerged from the darkness, blades glittering in the sun. They approached in a rough line, and Jules shook his head. “I'm sorry, it's just that she was threatening my friend here. I might be a little behind the times, but I just thought she intended to harm him. I couldn't have that.” he spread his hands. “I apologise if that isn't the case.”

“I'm afraid that it is!” screeched one, leaping forward. His hooded cloak flapped in the wind, and his glimmering scimitar whistled on a course to bisect Shaft's head. There was a hum, a click and the cloak turned to shreds, and fine mail rings spilled across the street. The drow warrior tripped up over Shaft's swinging ankle, and fell to his knees. The monk flipped him onto his back, unconscious. The rest of the party took a few steps back as Shaft held up his longsword.

“Do you see this, my Swell Typhoon?” he pulled back into a loose crouch, right hand hovering above black-bound hilt. “Come at me all at once. You have no chance otherwise.”

The seven remaining drow began to fan out, taking at first tentative steps, then stronger, firmer ones. The monk moved to take a step forward, but Samael put his hand on the man's arm. As one, the drow fell upon shaft in a torrent of flashing blades and blurred speed. Shaft shifted back from a downward swing and drove his sheathed blade backwards, doubling an attacker over. He stepped around strikes and lashed out six times, breaking faces and leaving them staggering or on the ground. One, her hand clamped over her bleeding mouth and crushed nose, watched the big man walking forward and she struck out, tracing a fine silver arc towards Shaft's throat. She crowed in triumph as she struck him, but the noise was cut off as the hilt of his sword struck her under the chin.

Feet a foot above the ground, the drow woman crashed against the stone wall of a house. One of her comrades was leaping down on Shaft, and the paladin sidestepped. Razor-edged blade breezed past his arm, and the sheath lanced over his shoulder in a bloody streak. It smashed teeth out of the warrior's mouth, and the drow's amber eyes bulged. Jules whirled, grabbed the stunned drow by the collar of his leather armour and drove him into the ground.

The last four charged forward, and Shaft's hand flicked out, launching his scabbard into a velvet black forehead. The blade slid home, and he pushed against the drow's head, thrusting him into the road. Fine blades in trained hands fell into pieces. The drow fell to their knees.

Jules approached his companions, and they golf-clapped. Running a hand across his bald head, Shaft glanced back at the drow and shrugged. “I'm not so sure I feel like doing business this afternoon. Gentlemen?”

“I hear that.” the monk said, striding back down the street. Samael glanced over at the stunned and unconscious drow, then up at Shaft.

“You know, I'm kind of hungry.”

“Go for it.” Shaft replied, following the monk.

Yet as Samael picked from this unexpected elven buffet, he was watched. A smile touched dark lips. A dark figure got to his feet atop a distant rooftop. Then turned to his female companion. She was frowning. “He took apart our people so easily.” she peered past. “And one of them is going to get illithid'd.” the smiling drow put his hand down upon her slim shoulder.

“Calm yourself, Dalil. I expected that. I made our first move with nought but pawns, testing the strength of his defenses. Seeng how he would react to my play.” he started to laugh softly. “And their sacrifice has not been in vain, for now we know how this man places his pieces on the board.” he gestured back towards where the attack group had been reduced by one member. “Look! He strikes quickly, yet his goons leave our men alive! His tactics are erratic, as though he is only thinking of this turn, and not five ahead as he should.” snow white teeth shone on the black face.

“But Rasiter ...” Dalil said, and her leader ignored her words.

Rasiter's smile grew broader. “Checkmate.” he said.

[Shroom Man 777]

Those Drow are sooo gonna get motherfuckered. Except for half-naked Drow ladies, I despise Drow. Mmmm...Drow ladies.