Game night March 8 – Cruising the zombie apocalypse in my Escalade

Our last session ended in a wild escape through a zombie infested World of Fun amusement park in an SUV packed full of 18 survivors, including a dozen children. In the process of rescuing the children, they discovered a hastily erected military base in the fields behind the park, using the flashing sounds and lights to conceal their true activities. In the course of the rescue, the survivor’s discovered stealth bombers landing and taking off like clockwork. long line of semi-trailers held huge bombs under tarp, two to a trailer, which were being loaded onto the bombers. The convoy of trucks was protected by soldiers in humvees and helicopters with spotlights.

The night began with a tank shell whizzing past the Escalade and exploding into a nearby clown tent, creating a meteor shower of flaming giant shoes and red flashing noses. Behind the wheel, Zooey Zubezu led them out of the park and into a mesa of concrete. The convoy of trucks blocked was an impenetrable line at the far end of the parking lot. She sped up and approached at an angle, hoping to find a break in the line. Suddenly the last semi came into view with a rear gaurd of troops. They stared open-mouthed as the SUV roared past, their fight with the walking dead forgotten for a moment at the strange sight of a beat up and bloody Caddilac careening out into the infested darkness at full speed. Even the zombies paused in their insatiable quest for brains to witness the event.

A humvee pulled out of the line and went after the survivors. the video store clerk was in the back, watching the headlights approach as the military vehicle gained on them. At the end of the lot, Zooey was forced to turn onto the highway onramp, even though they knew the highway to be clogged with stalled vehicles and hungry dead. Luckily, most of the indfected had abandoned the highway for the flashing lights of the amusement park, and Zooey was able to zoom along the highway, two wheels on the gravel of the emergency lane, steering around open doors, stalled vehicles, and other dark objects suddenly appearing in the beams of her headlights, while she tried to keep the vehicle from sliding down into the gully at the highway’s edge.

The night was dark, the sky an inky, roiling black, and the temperature was dropping. The gritty grey snow covered everything, fallout from the meteoric event. The rising, restless dead were another kind of fallout. Apocalypse had come to the world, by way of a nameless rock on an eternal voyage through space, and the strange radiation it emitted.

The video clerk heard a low thumping, the sound of a helicopter, though the sky was a void. “We’re gonna have company!” he shouted to the others. The softballer Mary-sue saw a flash in the sky behind and above them, and everyone heard the rocket streaking towards them. Zooey jerked the wheel to the right. They shot down into the gully, bouncing over the uneven ground. Jay the clerk had a plan. The SUV hauled a motorcycle on a small trailer, and they had connected it so that the tail-lights worked on the trailer. If they could disable the lights, they might escape. He had only a few second, so he shoved his wirecutters into the diminutive Italia’s hands, told her the plan and held her legs while she pulled aside the tarp and leaned out. They were bouncing and jouncing over the open ground beside the highway. Jay grabbed her ankles and down she went, trying to find the wires. It was a frightening moment but she pulled it off, and the escalade went dark just as the rocket blew up a stalled vehicle on the highway.

The car bounced over a curb and then they were driving nearly blind down an outer road that ran parrallel to the highway. They whooped in relief when they saw the helicopter circling the burning wreckage behind them. They had escaped. Looking down, Zooey realized they were nearly out of fuel, and they turned onto the next crossroad they found, which led to a small rural town. The power was out, and the main features were a pair of gas stations. The dozen children were all wailing to use the bathroom. They needed to get out and go, but no one was willing to use the public restroom so all the kids had to get out and pee around the car.

Aside: This might be the first time a basic bodily function became an element of play in a role playing game that I am aware. The fact that it was a bunch of freaked out kids in subfreezing weather, too afraid to use the public restroom was pretty jarring. I had to lighten it up a bit.

One kid couldn’t go. He said his mom always holds his hand, so Zooey takes his hand and say now go. He says he can’t because everyone else cansee him. She takes him behind the car, ]but he says he needs more privacy. Can they go behind this nearby tree? Zooey gets suspicious. Boy starts crying. Zooey looks around frantically. A screech from above and a green-glowing eyed gull sweeps down towards them.

Attack of devil birds is happening

The treetop explodes into a black cloud of hundreds more devil birds. The birds form up into a swirling cloud above the vehicle and begin divebombing the survivors.

Mary Sue was pumpling gas from a manhole cover into a 5 gallon gas can, while Zara Zhar was pouring another one into the vehicle. children were all around the vehicle doing their thing, Jay the clerk stood around watching over things, pistols holstered and a steel bar (or something) in his hands when the birds attacked.

Zooey holds off the first bird with her backpack. she feels wet warmth all over her shins as someone finally decides to go. (Too far?) The second bird lands on the SUV in front of Zara. She attempts to hit it with her karate, but doesn’t want to spill the gas, and misses her target. The devil bird leap in and plunges its beak into her left eye. Her last view (with that eye) is of a slightly opened beak and a long sharp tongue about to pierce her pupil. The bird pulls back, and with a gulp, her eye is swallowed. She screams in rage and pain, but does not spill the gas.

The next gull swoops down on Mary Sue who quickly shoves the fuel hose into the nearest kid’s hand and pulled out her trusty softball bat. The gull’s head explodes with a satisfactory sensation and she continues in a 360 degree arc to bust open the next bird to swoop down. They call for all kids to get in the vehicle. Italia holds off more and more birds trying to get thruough the tarp covering the open back window, and pulls her samurai sword. Jay has some sort of weapon he wields.

The next round two more birds swoop down upon each of them. Mary fills up the can and decides it is time to go. Three more apiece are right behind the two. As the survivors retreat into the vehicle, each must confront their personal demon birds. Zooey loses and eye. Jay loses anjeye, and comes an eyelash away from being blinded. One child is mauled by a zombe gull and loses both eyes, but it is later found (after a heated argument with an increasingly appalled player – my wife that is) that his eyelids were torn but his eyes were saved. (Still legally blind heehee)

Evil aside: Yes I go into realms of pure evil at times, and my players are loath to be there when it happens. Things tend to happen, like tonight’s blinding party. It was pure luck and chance that anyone has any eyes left after this debacle. The gulls had a 2 dice pool to pluck an eye, no modifiers, or if they could not reach an eye they did one point regular damage. Then when I started attacking and blinding children (I had gulls left over what could I do?) it reached a tipping point where some people (like my wife) started to complain. It is always fun and games, laughing and joking, but like a bad movie, almost exactly like a bad movie, I take things too far regularly. Since we have kids in the game, I have to reel things back at times. I will resist any attempts to cry foul or too far, but only for so long. I usually end up one toke over the line, as the phrase goes.

Finally the phantasmagorical horrorshow was over, and one-eyed, Zooey pulled out into the night, with a quarter tank of gas and a car full of bleeding moaning survivors. They were in serious trouble. Out of the darkness she spots a house off the road. It is surrounded by a tall fance with privacy bushes, and she spotted the yellow square of a open doorway at night. At the open front gate she spots a waving figure. They pull to a stop.

The person is gone but the gate and front door are still open. There is an inviting fire burning in the hearth. They make their way through the yard, leaving the car running, with the kids and Zooey still inside. The yard is covered in the same gray snow, but the walkway has been cleared. There are holes dug in the yard, possibly made by a dog, and they hear a whimpering as they ascend the front porch. Oh no, what’s with the animals? Is it undead or undog we’re fighting here?

Okay okay, Mary Sue looks under the porch and finds a scared whimpering dog with a spike collar. Its alive! They pull him out and name him Spike. He is cared and runs inside. They follow, make a quick search of the house, noticing a backdoor and a door to a dark cellar which they do not bother searching because it is obviously empty. There is a old half-eaten dinner on the table, and the fire is very low. Looking out the back door they see a long yard with a big tree at the far end. The yard has even more holes dug, maybe as many as a dozen. This dog must really love burying bones. Or digging up bones?

They tuck the kids into the three upstairs bedroom, and one after another the kids start crying that the see a ghost. Then they hear a sound from the front yard, and a face appears in the glass. It is the decayed face of a woman. Just then they see more undead decayed women wandering around the back yard. They look like dead prostitutes, and they realize they are in the house of a serial killer, and are seeing his risen victims. Just then the ghost of the serial killer shrieks that they will never leave his home alive. Zara and the kids are coming down the stairs and he pulls the rug out from under them, casing them to tumble down the stairs. Luckily no one was hurt.

Stepping outside the back door, the ghost slams it behind her. She sees a corpse hanging from the tree at the far end of the yard, and undead prostitutes filled the yard between her and the tree, but she knew she had to destroy the corpse or they were doomed. She sprinted across the yard, and climbed into the tree. The corspe started swinging around wildly and twice hit her full force, but she held on, until she could climb the limb under which it hung. She tried various methods of dispelling the evil spirit, including prayer which failed miserably. Finally she decided to burn the motherfucker and that worked perfectly.

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Game night Feb 15th – World of Darkness, Worlds of Fun

Step right up to the zombie apocalypse!

Each week the success of our zombie apocalypse survival horror campaign continues to amaze. There have been issues for sure, many of them related to the sudden shift out of heroic fantasy and into something more modern, gritty, and “realistic,” but despite these bumps, the game is providing tons of fun for me and, I hope, the players as well.

On the menu this post-Valentine’s was meat and bread, with optional cheese. More steaming, dripping, details would do well to spice up the savory meal, but that should be left to the reader’s imagination, as the story must go on. Let it be said that all present were well sated, and that with good company, good food, and good drink, good times must perforce progress. Even an incompetent zombie master such as yours truly is counted amongst the capable when such circumstances prevail — which said zombie master knows well, and is thus able to contrive his own success beforehand, thereby putting truth to the lie. Or something. On the other hand, it was the player of dr zara zhar who brought such bounteous meat, and that of buzz lombardo who supplied the loaves, so while the key to a successful evening might well be in the hands of the incompetent master of dungeons, the many doors and locks insure that real success lies in cooperation, in life as well as in a role playing game.

Enough philosophy, let us bust some heads.

When the survivors escaped from the Broadway bridge the previous night, Buzz Lombardo and Scarlet Harlowe were separated from the rest. Scarlet and Buzz made their way across the highway and to the swanky apartment of Scarlet, Briarcliff Meadows, which stood on a bluff overlooking the river and the city and the highway. As the night progressed, they had a view of the chaos spreading, and watched as the infected victims clogging the highway below turned into a maniacal mob. They could hear the screams as the thousands of stranded fought and struggled against the initial wave of green-eyed infected. The TV continued to warn of dangerous weather fallout, until local news switched after midnight to a call from the mayor for anyone without decent shelter to make their way to the center of downtown. Then the lights went out and they knew they had to flee.

Dressed in the warmest clothes they could find, they set out into the night on Buzz Lombardo’s motorcycle. The problem was that the apartment complex was surrounded on all sides by the highway system, which was crawling with crazed lunatics who seemed unimpeded by the frigid temperatures, though the skin of these unfortunate victims turned various shades of blue from the cold. The more they drove, the more zombies the bike attracted, until they found an underpass and made it into the nearby suburb of north kansas city. by this time they had attracted a large mob of zombies staggering slowly after them.

Outside the hardware store, the rest of the survivors were finishing packing necessities into the newly absconded Cadillac escalade sport utility vehicle. They heard the approaching motorcycle and were re-united with the co-passengers of ill-fated google flight 666 from the nigh before. Safety lay in numbers, and after all the escalade comfortably seats 10. Lombardo didn’t want to lose his harley though, and so he and Amber quickly found and mounted a small trailer as Lombardo’s mob of zombies began appearing at the end of the street. the survivors pulled out onto the street with time to spare.

It was 10 am, and as dark as 10 pm. The temperature was well below freezing, and the sky was a mass of roiling dark clouds, full of black ash from the passing asteroid. All night long snow and sleet had glazed the world in a dirty grey layer of ice and driving was treacherous.

The jazz singer Zooey Zubizu took the wheel and navigated the vehicle through town. Their goal was the local amusement park, Worlds of Fun, where Mary Sue’s church youth group were stranded. Unfortunately the softball star was ill in the back seat the entire episode, due to an unfortunate encounter with a meatball sub, but she, as well as the player who played her, were there in spirit. (The show must go on!)

Zooey pulled the lumbering SUV onto the main thoroughfare in front of the hardware store. The streets were abandoned, and power was out most everywhere. Cars were stranded in the road or on the side, many with their doors open or with shattered windshields. Occasionally they would spot a silhouette or two lurching along in the darkness. They did not slow or stop for any of these forlorn figures. Once or twice they spotted headlights down a side-street, until a big truck, a hummer actually, pulled up behind them and started flashing its lights and revving its engine.

Zooey was not about to stop, so Buzz Lombardo rolled down the window and was like ‘what?’ a man’s voice shouted for them to pull over. he was like, ‘i dont think so’ and the guy said ‘i want that harley’ and rammed into the back of the trailer with the harley. luckly, it was secured well, and rattled around but the trailer and the bike survived the impact.

Zooey accelerated as best she could as the hummer rammed them a second time. it was clear they needed to give fight or flight. Rummaging through the plastic tubs from the hardware store, the scarlet harlot found a nail gun. It fired five round bursts, and after a quick argument, she ended it by rolling down her window, and firing at the wheels of the hummer. incredibly two nails struck the tire and caused the hummer to swerve and slow down momentarily as he fought for control. then his window rolled down and a shot was fired. Two bullets tore through the back door of the escalade, one of the bullets grazing the thigh of Italia d’Italia. His next shot blew out one of the back windows, just above the crouching form of J the video store clerk.

All bets were off. Buzz and J both unleashed their guns on the hummer, and though most rounds missed, one bullet put a spiderweb of cracks through the windshield of their pursuer. it was all the Scarlet Harlot needed. she unleashed another five rounds of nails into the cab, blasting through the cracked windshield, and the truck quickly decelerated, turning away. Zooey did not give it a second thought but gunned the engine, leaving the stranger in their dust.

A few minutes later they were out of the town and overlooking the plains upon which Worlds of Fun was situated. Though the day was dark as a moonless night and most of the city lay in darkness, the amusement park was lit up in all its glory. Roller coasters, a giant ferris wheel, carousels, and all the other dazzling attractions of the fun park were on and turned to the max. Somehow even from this distance, they felt like they could see and hear the screams of children on that ferris wheel of doom. It was at this point that more than one survivor suggested abandoning the plan of saving the children and seeking shelter instead.

The goth chick believed she was in tune with the spiritual world, and tried to sense if there were safety or danger below. she got a big no on the safety and a big yes on the danger. Buzz Lombardo was not a fan of church groups, and besides, the chick who wanted to save the kids isn’t even here! They decided to save the kids but it was dicey there for a moment.

Then they noticed the odd site taking place in the fields behind the amusement park. A military base had been set up complete with an airfield, and lines of stealth bombers were landing and taking off. It was known that there was a secret stealth bomber base near the city, but that did not explain why they should be in this unusual spot. Besides the jets, there was a flurry of activity on the ground and there were guard towers and barbed wire strung around the perimeter and many soldiers. The camp was situated so that it was shielded from the city and the nearby highway by the amusement park, and they were using that as camouflage for their activities, or to keep the zombies away. The other thing they noticed was a long line of semi-trucks with flatbed trailers, protected by soldiers, waiting in a long line to be offloaded onto the bombers. Whatever large objects they carried lay hidden under tarps, two to a truck, two to jet.

They cautiously approached the highway, driving off-road, and found it to be heavily congested with dead vehicles, but very few if any people. they wove between cars, and saw the answer to where the people went as they crossed over to the other side and saw lines of infected individuals standing at the chain link fence that separated the amusement park from the highway. hundreds of people were lined up along the fence or staggering alongside, looking for a way into the bright and shining amusement park.

Many of the survivors knew their way around the park, and Didi the raver and Zara the scientist had a common friend who worked there, Jeffrey the technician.

They drove towards the rear entrance, which butted up against a neighborhood, rather than the main entrance which was surrounded by acres of parking lot, as well as heightened military activity. as they approached the padlocked gate, a nearby military guard tower spotted them with its spotlight. A voice told them to turn back, they were entering a dangeroud and off-limits area. Zooey ignored the sound advice and gunned the engine straight through the front gate, blasting it open as the escalade surged through and into the main courtyard. A machine gun from the guard tower chased them with its bullets.

From here they could see the ferris wheel at the long end of a winding lane full of fanciful fun. There were chidren on the ride, huddled up and screaming, as the wheel spun relentlessly around, for what must have been the past twelve hours. The evidence of that time of terror were visible in the form of a zombie, limbs torn from its body as it got caught in the turning struts or another empty car was filled with blood and gore, but no sign of child or zombie. below the children, staggering around were dozens of zombies. Many of these zombies were the parents of the children but there was no telling why the children should be left alone on the ride in the first place, while their parents became zombified.

The children being here at all was due to a special private party arranged for the youth group months in advance. Without warning of the asteroid until it was too late and the party was begun, the children were simply, tragically forgotten, and they had no idea of the sudden evacuation the previous evening until it was too late. It was also a fact known to the journalist Scarlet and J the video store clerk, that the missouri senator and previous mayor of kansas city, Emmanuel Cleaver, was holding a birthday for his grandchild here the same night. Many of the zombies looked too well dressed to be parents of a church youth group.

The plan was to turn off electricity to all but the ferris wheel, and then to find a way to get the children out and safe. To turn off the power, thy needed to go to the electric room, which, thanks to Jeffrey, zara knew to be in the back of the house of mirrors. This was the old ‘festhaus’ building on the map, which was close.

Aside – here a small argument broke out as a number of players mentioned that 1, there was no house of mirrors at worlds of fun, and that there was little chance the main power supply room is in either the actual festhaus or the so-called house of mirrors, and that nonetheless there would be a back door. I responded calmly that yes there was a house of mirrors and that yes in fact they were going into it. I added that it was directly across the street from the clown tent. clown tent? clown tent.

They pulled up in front of the house of mirrors. The eight of them emptied out of their vehicle in front of the clown tent, no sign of clowns, that was good. Zara was in the lead as they entered the house of mirrors.. (aside – she was the winner of the valentine’s day easter egg) As she wound her way through the mirrors, her head appearing large, then tiny, then suddenly she had huge feet a tiny waist and incredibly long ears, then there were ten of her, then she heard a groaning sound a a mirror near her wobbled and fell, she saw a dark form lurch behind it. she pulled out her bowie knife, from the hardware store, you know how they always have those knife displays, and she stabbed. she wasn’t very strong, or very good with a knife, and her wrist was grabbed in a big hot grip. she heard and felt heavy breathing on the side of her neck as a dark figure leaned in toward her.

‘Hey hey hey, you dont wanna go stabbin’ Jeffrey now do ya?’ he said before their eyes met and electricity flowed between them. zara remembered a time years back when she was a sophomore in college and finally went to a frat party which she always hated. this time was different and she met this handsome, charismatic, though rotund young black man named Jeffrey. They shared a bottle of wine and a night together, and she spent the next year at college trying to track Jeffrey down but never saw him again. until now. She saw the same memories flash through Jeffrey’s eyes. He lets go of her hand (do you continue to plunge the knife? um, no) and took her in his arms in a big bear hug. Zara! Jeffrey! Will you help us? Sure, can i come with you? sure!

inspired by zombieland

He mentions a second group of kids on the wooden roller coaster, the Timber Wolf, and he tells them how after midnight the military rounded up the people, put the kids on the roller coaster and the ferris wheel, as distractions, and left the parents to their fate as they cordoned off the area. They turn off power to tho park, and they leave power on to the rides with kids on them.

when the power is off, the speed off to the ferris wheel, crash through the low fence and Zooey starts running down zombies, and smashing them into the platform, then backing up and running down more, while the windows roll down and each of the survivors tries to take down as many zombies as they can. the scarlet harlot uses a nail gun, the video store clerk, low on ammo, uses hairspray and a lighter, and ends up fighting a flaming haired clown from out the back window.

guns fire, wheels squeal, zombies lurch, and Zara and Jeffrey leap out onto the platform. zara uses her kung fu skills to knock zombies off the platform while Jeffrey works the gears, first turning off the incessant music, then the lights, then finally slowing it so they can remove the kids and toss them through the open window of the escalade, until all eight kids are rescued.

Zombies have come up to the open windows of the escalade and grab for those succulent living within, but the survivors manage to fend off their attacks, taking out over a dozen of them before speeding off towards the timber wolf. in the sudden silence, they can hear the sound of treads tearing up the sidewalks of the amusement park. they catch sight of a rumbling tank as they zoom through a cross-path and narrowly avoid getting blasted to the moon. we wrap it up with them getting the kids off the timberwolf (hand waved, it was getting late) and rescued another four kids. There are now 12 kids between 8-11 in the vehicle, plus the 8 adults, that is a car full of twenty living bodies. Everyone has a kid on their lap, and kids are stuffed into every nook and cranny as they speed out of the park and into the parking lots surrounding the main entrance.

As they drive off, victorious, they catch sight of the semi trucks and realize that under each tarp is a massive nuclear warhead. there are hundreds of them. they must be the warheads from the nuclear missile silos dotting the mid-west, but what are they doing, loading them onto stealth bombers, and why now?

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Game night Feb 8th – Shopping for the zombie Apocalypse

So the game night fell on my 41st birthday, which was pretty cool. I got me some presents, also cool, and got to pick one of my favorite meals, choosing taco crunch, which is basically like taco salad but with tortilla chips. yum. Not as much gaming got done as
I had hoped but that was mostly my own fault, for having too much fun, oops. Thanks to my players, who keep coming back.

So anyway, we ended the last session with safety found, when the survivors arrived at the softball princess Mary-sue’s house, and foreboding, when she remembered that her entire church youth group was trapped at the local amusemment park, and must be saved. But first, they must wait out the night. Zooey was injured – a pretty deep scratch, and no one was prepared for what lay ahead.

They made sleeping arrangements and set up for the night. mary-sue, zooey and amber shared the one bedroom, and were kept awake by branches scratching the window. The curtains were drawn and furniture was piled against the window, but the scratching continued and eventually grew worse. a thump and something else was scratching at the glass. it was the corpse bride’s hand, scratching at the peeling wood around the edge of the windowpane. Mary-sue eventually filled a cooler with water and wrestled the hand into it. it was frozen solid the next morning, the cooler quietly thumping about.

The television continued to warn of dangerous weather fallout from the meteoric event, with plummeting temperatures and dark skies. local news broke in after midnight with the mayor proclaiming that the downtown area was being converted to a safe zone and that anyone who could, should make there way within the perimeter, naming off the streets where all police officers, firemen and other rescue workers should report. This however , was all happening south of the river, and the bridges were all impassable. At 3 am the station stopped transmitting, and bad weather prevented satellite and cell phones. They were cut off but thankfully still had power.

The next morning, rifling through mary-sues closet revealed boxes of matching pink and purple sweat suits advertising 8 years of Bible Thump Baptist Youth Camp. thus they set out. a corpse groom staggered down the middle of the street, his rotting top hat still clutched in a skeletal hand as it dragged its feet slowly along. though the world was covered in a grey sheet of ice and it was at least 20 below freezing, the flesh of the corpse was blue and moved as if it werent frozen, what little remains. the cracking of its bones could be heard from the front porch.

Before going to worlds of fun to rescue a dozen screaming kids, the survivors needed to equip themselves. in the neighborhood was a small convenience store, named chang’s, and a tavern called the winchester. At the end of the street was a cadillac dealership, a pawn shop, and a westlake’s hardware.

chang’s was a funny incdent. a bunch of corpses outside the door but the open sign is lit up. ding-ding, they enter to see an old chinese man with a shotgun behind the counter. ‘no shirt no shoes no life no service!’ he shouted. They bought gloves and some snack food and went on. about this time I gave up and let them go shopping. first of course was the escalade, then came the guns in the pawn shop, and a radio. they tuned to the local stations but could only hear confused shouting between emergency workers about containing a riot.

Then they moved on to the hardware store, and whatever crazy thing they thought up I had them make a survival + attribute check to find. there was some pretty good stuff,which i made sure they wrote down – if it isnt written down you don’t have it! Of course they all thought that meant whatever they wrote down they had. That is the kind of players I have.

Oh at some point they raided the subway next door and made 24 footlongs, and a crate of 50 uncooked sandwich hoagies. Mental note – next week should be footlong week.

One funny thing, Italia’s player was like, yeah I want a chain with nails in it! And i was like, ok you can get length of chain and a bunch of nails, then later on you can put them together. and she was like, oh…

They got all sorts of stuff, loaded up the back of the escalade, which seats 9 comfortably, and then we ended, since we managed to waste a whole session (or half of one really since we started so late) on such shenanigans. Still fun though.

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Game Night Jan 18th – Zombie Apocalypse on the Broadway Bridge

Broadway Bridge at night

Dec 21, 2012

The day has been hectic as planes try to evacuate as many people as possible from the city before the impending arrival of the meteorite. Dubbed Meteor Z by the media, it was expected to safely pass by the earth until it passed between the earth and moon and gravitational forces caused a chunk to break off. Now its trajectory has changed, and it is projected to skirt the upper atmosphere right above a swath of the united states from Washington state to Washington DC. Evacuations are being attempted in the affected areas with only twenty four hours before the meteor streaks across the night sky. Chaos and anarchy ensue.

The midtown airport is just across the river from downtown and it is choked with people trying to leave. Every little plane and jet is being crammed full. Other planes fly in to take on passengers, but never enough. It is chaos, no security, but people can only take small handbags with them, no luggage.

A small galaxy class passenger jet with a big Google splash painted across the side is the next to be loaded. It holds 30, with 10 on one side and 20 on the other. The players all end up on the same single seat side. The other side quickly fills up. There are 2 first class seats, facing toward the rest of the cabin. after take off, the lead character Bunny McGunny realizes that the seat in front of her is taken by none other than bill gates. (weird story that) Suddenly another 20 people cram into the aisle and the pilot pulls away from the van-stairs before the plane can be swamped with more. It has trouble gaining altitude and the pilot comes on to say that now would be a good time to start praying. everyone else, buckle your seat belts. do they? they do.

It makes it into the air, but just barely, and points its nose on a steep trajectory as it banks towards east, giving the players a view of the nightime city: emergency lights at every corner, streets congested and crowds everywhere. Then there is a flash a green flash, so deep, yet so bright, the same instant the plane seems to drop 50 feet. More flashes in a strobe-like affect lasts a few seconds as the chunk of meteor bashes its way through the upper atmosphere, emitting a sickening green light as it twists and spins across the vault of the night scar leaving a dark expanding scar in its wake.

The people in the aisle crash towards the player characters, knocked out, bleeding, and in pain. Rolls for bashing damage. Miraculously the plane tries to regain altitude, heading towards the broadway bridge. The twenty passengers on the right side of the plane all appear unconscious or dead, while most of those who were not strapped down are knocked out or crying out in extreme pain. Bill gates is speaking quietly to himself, his lips moving, his face serious and still as he grips the chair with all his strength. a single google employee/stewardess was in the other first class seat, and she and somehow switched her loyalty from google to microsoft the instant she finds out who he is.

Then the wing clips the bridges first span and is torn off, the plane crashes into the second span and slide across and down into the valley between the second and third span, cables and beams snapping, tearing gouges in the walls and shattering the windows. Miraculously no player character is injured, but a beam slashes into bill gates thigh, injuring him severely.

The plane is 10 turns from crashing into the surface of the bridge, nose first from where it hangs a hundred feet above. Every turn more cables and beams snap and it shifts. anything not held or strapped down has a chance of falling towards the front of the plane. the door is closed and it is near the tail. the windows are too small for any but a child to fit through. lights are flashing, a fire in the cockpit and in the engine on the remaining wing. The bodies of the previously standing passengers are piled in phantasmagoric motley of limbs,bodies, and heads, sealing the cockpit.

What do you do?

The first thing that happens is a round of triage. The hardboiled ambulance driver takes one look at bill gates gashed leg and decided he had 5 minutes to live. meanwhile, the dead passengers were beginning to writhe and grasp out with their insanely strong hands. Their eyes glowed a pale green. The charcters each began climbing over seats, towards the rear exit. Italia the cat burgler was able to open the emergency door, and a rubber slide deployed fifteen downward towards the deck of the bridge fifty feet below. She then supplied a rope which allowed them to climb down to the bridge.

Once they got down, they had to decide to run north or south. The downtown area was jsut south of the bridge, or they could go along the south side of the river towards a firestation. To the north, one side was the airporst they recently departed, still with thoudands waiting for evacuation. On the other side was a trainyard. They chose the trains, but had to spring between two hundreed feet of cars clogging the bridge.

Each of them was sujected to a zombie attack when they ran between the lanes of cars towards freedom. The first to be grabbed was the spunky reporter known as the scarlet harlot, whose upper-arm was wrenched in a painful bruising death grip. Dr Zara Zar in her trainers attempted to leap from car to car, but a zombie, I mean crazed, green-eyed car occupant who may just be tripped out on angel dust, grabbed her by the foot.

The singer/songrwriter Zooey grabbed her daughter Ambers arm and together they rthreaded their way,but Zooey was grabbed. She tol her daugter to run,but A,ber tried to stomp the arm grabbing her mother with her doc martin boots (are those still a thing?) The video store clerk and the ambulance driver each pulled out their pieces and blew a couple heads to pieces, saving the women, and they rushed to the edge of the bridge.

For some reason, throughout the whole of that escape, the only morality check I enforced was the one against Bunny McGunny the ambulance driver, who, after seeing the arm holding the reporter get shot and still maintain its vicelike grip, and who watched as the man in the car pulled her arm towards its head, she took her hunting knife (cause everyone carries a knife like that one since the crocodile dundee movie) and literally purlverized this dudes head, with six successes. His head popped like a melon. So yeah, she passed a manslaughter roll, but I dont know why, thats the only one time I called for a morality roll. I should be more enforceful of that.

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Game Night Jan 11 – Nightmare at Hill Manor, a Prelude to the Nocturne

In a hi-rise apartment building in Kansas City one group of friends were riding out an unusual January thunderstorm with their usual Friday game night. The storm became increasingly fierce, but the television was tuned to the national news channel which showed never-ending footage of an upcoming near miss with an asteroid.

Zooey and her daughter Amber lived on the sixth floor, as did the video store clerk Jay and the paramedic Bunny. Besides these four, Zooey had invited her friend, the legendary Jazz singer to the game, and Amber had invited her best friend Italia.

Then there was Janice. (think annoying new jersey accent, Chandler’s girlfriend in Friends). She heard that Zooey played dungeons and dragons and “Wanted to know what all the hoopla was about.” Aside – given the chance to role play characters who are role playing characters in a game, in a game, who could resist the temptation? I stopped short of actually having their characters roll up characters, and instead had them explain to Janice what she should do.

Soon she left to get food from her apartment on the 5th floor. While she was gone, Bunny tried to get the elevator to return to the 7th floor without Janice. She heard the elevator start to return then they all heard two gunshots, from above, followed by a pause, then another gun shot. Then the elevator door opened and it was Janice saying something about the fifth floor.

Everyone reached for their cell phones, but there was no reception. They tried the emergency phone in the elevator, but no dial tone. It could have been the storm, or interference from the asteroid, but when Bunny could not get her emergency radio to work, she knew something was wrong

Jackson and Amber stayed in the apartment while the rest went towards the stairwell. first they came to Jay’s room, and he picked up his matching pistols, and then they noticed an open door further down the hall. It was Keenan’s room, a quiet unassuming fellow, but his room was a mess with crazy things written in the walls in blood. Obviously the room of a madman. His bedroom was empty but for a bed and a dresser. on the dresser was a small shrine to something with candles and a little velvet stand, but whatever once sat there was now gone. They left the apartment and continued to the stairwell.

They bypassed the 7th floor and continued to the locked steel door to the penthouse. Janice had suggested that the maintenance men on the 5th floor had a master key, but they had Italia d’Italia, master thief. even though it was a difficult lock (-3) the high class thief managed to open the door.

Italia’s story. she is the daughter of wealthy, snobby parents. one day Italia became disgusted with her parents and told them she didnt need their wealth, she was going to strike out on her own. She then began staging daring cat burglaries against her parents wealthy friends. She had a lockpick, and sprung the door to the 8th floor.

The hallway was marble tiled and nicely decorated, but dusty with age. It was bare, but for the man slumped against the wall, with brains and blood dripping down behind him. It was Keenan. There was a blood trail into the open penthouse, which turned out to be the apartment of Brian Sullivan, the eccentric old man. He lay in a pool of blood with two bullet holes in his chest. again Bunny rushes forward to detect a pulse, and this time is surprised to detect the faintest flutter. blood is pumping from a hole in his heart,and she reaches in and pinches closed his torn aorta.

Old Man Sullivan opens his eyes and whispers “there isnt much time.” Looking at his wound, Bunny grits her teeth and mutters agreement. “No,” he says, “never mind me, the ghost.” Zooey is like “the what who now?”

He gasps out that a ghost of Jonas Hill haunts the place and he has escaped and is bent on destruction and his watch must be destroyed by attaching it to the lightning rod and that Keenan stole it. He is a pretty good last-gasper, but eventually the spurting heart slips out of Bunny McGunny’s blood-slick fingers and he croaks. Searching Keenan reveals no watch. Not even pulp fiction style. Though he has been dead less than an hour, rigor mortis is already setting in.

They search the penthouse for liquor (finding wine) and more information, finding books full of old newspaper article. They all hear a scream on the 7th floor, and taking the info, head down to investigate. Upon entering the 7th floor, it feels strange, like vertigo. the hallways are very long and narrow, with ceilings almost 18 feet high. suddenly Bunny, in the lead, spots a prone body on the floor. she sees a big bowie knife embedded in his chest, and blood dripping upward to form a pool on the ceiling. After a few seconds of vertigo she shakes her head and realizes the body is pinned to the ceiling and the blood is pooling on the floor beneath it.

The five meet back up on the sixth floor, where Amber has made survival bags for everyone in case the power goes out. The droning news report anounced that the gravitational forces between the earth and moon had caused a part of the asteroid to break off, changing its trajectory which scientists were scrambling to predict.

Janice mentioned that Keenan was friends with Orlando, the son of the maintenance man, on the fifth floor, so they head down. Upon opening the door to the fifth floor, a madman comes rushing at them with a knife, another bowie knife. Bunny holds the door closed while he slams into it, then she lets him get an arm through, taking a grazing slash with the knife, before injecting him with a powerful tranquilizer from her medkit. The man falls unconscious and they drag him into the first open room to tie him up, where they find another mad man beating at a bedroom door. It was Orlando while a voice from the other side screams “I’ll kill you zombie fucks!” Orlando has three long bloody gashes and the room is a mess.

Italia leaps in with a karate chop, but fails to take him down, so Amber swings at him with a baseball bat, and also misses. Jackson Jackson steps forward with a left and a right hook, and finally they knock him out and find the pocket watch in his back pocket.

We had to end, so I quickly narrated how they went to the roof and Italia stepped out into the fierce storm to fasten the watch to the constantly struck rod, but a ghostly figure of a man in burning clothes rose up before her, so they fought and eventually she managed to get the watch hung up. It was destroyed and soon after the storm abated and the skies lightened with dawn. Most of the carnage from the night before was gone, just a hallucination, but for three dead bodies, Keenan. Sullivan, and Orlando, who it was said afterwards, were caught in a sick love triangle.

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Walking with the Dead – The Cast of Characters

This upcoming game night debuts a new campaign, set in our own world and time, and even our home town of Kansas City, in which a zombie apocalypse threatens to destroy all humanity. This is the tale of one band of unlikely survivors.

Zooey Zubizu, almost famous lounge singer – She wears a sequin dress and heels, and carries a .38 in her clutch. She loves to sing and to drive fast cars. Her heart is full of charity, but her vice is sloth. She is addicted to alcohol and cigarettes.

Jackson Jackson, legendary horn player — With a suitcase and his sax, Jackson j came to Kc looking for a place to crash. He found it and the crash found him. He wants only two things, a good time for him, and for those around him.

Bunny McGunny, alcoholic paramedic — Talented, level-headed and disillusioned, she keeps getting pulled back into the world of people, a world she cant stand.

Dr Zara Zhar, University astrobiologist — a curious line of research for this aloof, egg-headed wonder woman who also knows kung-fu. She has a greed for knowledge, and for a bigger lab, and more test subjects, and more field studies…

Jay Jambunathan, video store clerk — with a video camera, the complete DR Who box set, and a pair of .45 calibur pistols, Jay is ready for anything. He cheats at gambling.

Amber Zubizu Zass, first year art student — Daughter of Zooey, Amber turns everything she touches to gold, except for rotting corpses. She is full of hope, and of pride. She also has a book-bag and a tablet computer.

Italia D’Italia, high class thief — This young woman is the daughter of rich parents who struck out on her own and became a cat burglar for the thrill of it. She always has her cell phone, and a silk rope.

Donna Belladonna, goth chick — She can sense the spirits of the dead. Now more than ever. With the power of wrath and an evil eye, and occasional hallucinations, Donna has faith that destiny will find a way for her to survive.

Buzz Lombardo, party FREAK — He is addicted to all drugs and desensitized to most, immune to others. He lives to party and has a lust for the ladies. Oh and when he has to do something useful, he knows computers, IT whatever that means. Chicks dig his bike.

Scarlet Marlowe spunky reporter — This gal always knows the scoop or where to find it. Scarlet has contacts, allies, and resources in every city in the tri-state area.

Ripley, lost little girl — This poor girl has seen the worst, her parents killed, but her deadly curiosity drives her on a never ending search for her mommy and daddy. She can sense the dead and hide anywhere.

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Modern Zombie Apocalypse Survival Campaign kicking off 2013

As the last game session of 2012 wrapped up on Dec 21st, we discussed as a group what we would like to do in 2013. Perhaps the apocalypse was in the air, for it was the end of a baktun, and we all agreed a zombie apocalypse survival campaign would be great.

The excellent TV show (and comic) The Walking Dead was the original inspiration for this. additionally, the idea occurred to me to slowly introduce supernatural elements into the game, via events and learned or acquired abilities, akin to superpowers, gained by the survivors. The TV show Heroes was the inspiration for this, which featured regular people realizing they had superpowers, only instead of suddenly having far-reaching powers, the player characters (or “cast members”) would discover glimmers of something special, developed over time, by surviving through the apocalypse.

The campaign would be “save the world” and would include all manner or surprises along the road to ultimate salvation or destruction. It would begin as a gritty survival horror, where instant death was waiting around every corner, and actions had far-reaching, often fatal consequences. The objective of the campaign is in no uncertain terms to gather as many survivors as possible and rebuild society. An impossible task, to be sure, but anything less noble would descend into anarchy and nihilistic destruction in short order.

The original idea was for each of the players to create an “idealized” version of themselves, and the game would begin as we were seated around the table one Friday night for our usual game night. However this received some negative feedback from a few players, whom I suppose do not relish the idea of having to visualize themselves being torn apart by ravenous ghouls. There could be a high turn-over of “cast members” during the first few sessions, as the apocalypse unfolded in gory detail. After that, survivors would tend to keep surviving. the game will begin in our home town, and in a dramatic departure from my “Luke’s Diner Rule”, which states that no electronic devices are allowed around the table, the players will be able to use devices, like google street view, to inform their choices, so long as the cast members have access to such devices in good working order.

Those survivors would begin to uncover the causes of the apocalypse, and hopefully find or discover a cure, or at least a way to end or diminish the rising dead from overwhelming the planet. The plan is to allow players to play themselves, or to pick a pre-made “archetype” to use. This “normal person” will be their player character until such time as they choose another amongst survivors, or create a character to use.

The first question as the game master, was to decide on a game system. It was quickly apparent that no version of dungeons and dragons could quite capture that level of horror and danger that the genre required. rules for wounds, fatigue, both mental and physical were required. Nor was the alignment system appropriate. An over-arching goal (save and rebuild civilization) allows a base-line for judging characters actions. This game was going to be as much about the interactions of the survivors, as it was about defeating mindless hordes. Having a cast member’s “personality” become a factor in the role playing is an important part of a character driven story. to that end, d&d just didn’t cut it, unfortunately.

A benefit of this campaign is that we get to try out a new game system. Having only played the last three editions of dungeons and dragons, our focus has been pretty narrow. For the modern zombie apocalypse I was looking into three game systems: D&D Modern D20, a modern take using the same rules we are familiar with, with the same drawbacks described above, as well as being very technical and excessively rules-oriented; The World of Darkness, a storyteller game about ghosts, vampires, and werewolves amongst us normal folk; and All Flesh Must Be Eaten, a zombie survival role playing game.

Ruling out Modern D20, left two great choices, each with plenty of reasons for choosing it, and I was lucky enough to acquire the core rulebooks for both systems. At first glance, it seems like All Flesh is the natural choice, because it deals with the subject matter directly. It even has rules for minor supernatural abilities, or “miracles,” which align well with some of my own ideas on gained abilities. It presents a number of game-worlds, from the traditional Night of the Living Dead, to aliens, to an undead crusade in the dark ages. The ideas presented in the book are well though out and well presented.

I have only perused the book and will more than likely devote more time to going over all its wonderful qualities, but in short, it has almost everything I am looking for in this game, except for a complete lack of rules for morality and personality, two areas of focus for the upcoming campaign. It also has very little in the way of character advancement as play progresses. I do not think the leveling system pf D&D would be a good fit, but something more robust than adding a few skill or attribute points is definitely needed.

Finally, we come to the third game on the list, and the one i finally chose to use. Having realized I actually own the World of Darkness Quickstart adventure Nightmare on Hill Manor, and have the core rulebook arriving in the mail any day, I realize it has the perfect element of morality (consisting of the virtue and vice that every character possesses) and personality merits and flaws, the game is geared to run a horror styled genre, which is exactly what a zombie apocalypse would be. it is not a perfect fit, and to that end I will attempt to convert as much from All Flesh Must Be Eaten as possible.

So what do we know about the campaign so far. Well, I have the introductory encounter planned out, as well as a prelude, both of which I hope to present on the opening night of the campaign. Here is what we know. A sudden, fast moving comet is approaching the earth. its velocity, as well as its trajectory made it impossible to discover until it is a week away from bisecting the earth’s orbit and blazing through the upper atmosphere before skipping back out into space. The comet is on a ten thousand year orbit around the sun, and is filled with all manner of nasty gamma rays and such.

The Nightmare at Hill Manor is a ghost story/horror move adventure that deals with being trapped in a haunted apartment building. The wonderful beginning casts the characters as a group of friends meeting at one friend’s apartment for poker night. As a prelude to the zombie apocalypse it will be modified to fit into the larger campaign, and will take place one day after the comet is discovered, and six days before the near miss.

After the introductory adventure, the players will have the option of keeping their pregenerated chaacters, or of making their own, and then we will continue on to the main kick-off. once the prelude is done, and the weird night in the apartment is over, the group sets off together on a vacation, a trip to a gaming convention. The tickets are already bought, and so even though pandemonium is happening as the world awaits the arrival of the comet, the cast of characters are busy fulfilling their gaming duties.

The next scene is six nights later. returning from the convention the night the comet is supposed to arrive, the plane has difficulty landing at the main airport due to freak electrical storms. it diverts to the tiny municipal airport and while banking, the comet is seen above as a bright flash as it slams through the air directly above the city. the pilot is blinded or killed, as are all the passengers on one side of the plane as it overshoots the landing strip and crashes onto the main bridge connecting the airport to downtown.

Mayhem ensues.

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The Blade of Sharia

The blade of Sharia was struck from a plate of obsidian, chipped to a razor’s edge, and magicked to be impervious to harm. The blade knew the hand of its owner, would come when called, and would turn in the hands of a stranger. It even had a self-developed semi-sentience incomprehensible to those who lacked the sense: to cut.

In the eons since its forging, the knowledge to create or destroy such items was found, lost, regained, and finally fled forever. Unbreakable, able to cleave any substance, and poisoned by time immemorial, its smallest cut slew the living. If annals of its deeds survived, they would tell the story of a million year old sword wielded by murderers, thieves, kings, and despots. In its time, the sword helped save the world, and helped cast it down, before its square-edged hilt found its way into Princess Sharia’s hand.

During its long and tortured history, the earth grew ever more exhausted by the depredations of its dwellers. As the sun darkened with age and exploitation, the earth cried out, but yet another round of savage warfare amongst the callous denizens drove the post-apocalyptic world to its last gasp of life. The air itself became a weapon in this final war until it too was burned up in unbounded wrath, stripping the earth of its protective embrace. The blade was lost during this time. It sank under the sands that drowned the doomed city of Nazerak when its last wielder, the mad Despot Zagnazerak fell at last into ruin and death.

What few survivors remained after this burning war trod a world inhospitable to life. They turned inward, and dug deep into the bowels of the earth, where fires burned eternal, and here they held onto a pathetic simulacrum of their former lives, rooting out a meager existence. Bent by the weight of destruction above, bowed by the cloistering caverns of their new life, and forever peering into the dangerous darkness that bound them, the survivors struggled for many long generations before feeling the diminished caress of the faded sun on their faces. When they emerged at last into the light of day, the world was an unrecognizable, inhospitable red desert, with barely enough air to fill the lungs, and a dark red sun blazing above. It was infinitely better than the tunnels they left.

A flame haired fey princess was born into that cursed world, in the ruins of a city itself cursed by transgressions of civilizations long-since turned to dust, her own fore-bearers chief among them. Her own royal family, most cursed of all, was doomed to spend eternity squabbling still over the deserted city against the descendants of their revolutionary foes.

Two folk, more alike than different, fought forever for control of a dusty ruin called home. What drove them but the sandy blood soaked streets, infused with countless generations of noble sacrifice? In these dark end-times, with a world wracked beyond all normalcy, where the laws of creation and the rules of existence were twisted beyond recognition, mystery was solace, ignorance strength, knowledge could mean death. Cursed by magic, blind to a better path, the descendents of Nazerak fought each other with the same passion as their ancestors without even knowing why.

Sharia the flame haired princess tore down the wide avenue, her sandals kicking up plumes of dust and sand behind her. Her eyes rolled and a smile was plastered on her cheeks as she dove over a fallen column and rounded a stone hovel, sparing one worried glance at the black yawning windows and the doorway spilling forth yet more red sand. She found herself in a sand-choked courtyard lined with ancient crumbling buildings. The sun above abolished all shade from the square. Behind her, the incessant thumping tread of the war dromedaries kept her running, searching for escape. In one hand she held her bent bone bow and her single remaining arrow, her quiver lost during the flight. Behind her three furious knights rode her down. The fourth lay in a pool of blood far away down the avenue, an arrow lodged in his eye. He was the young princess’ first kill.

It was madness to explore so near the enemy, and Sharia silently cursed her over-active curiosity for getting her into trouble. Her youthful vibrancy gave her strength, both real and imaginary, but it was a barrier to wisdom – and she was impetuous. A warrior of Nazerak needed to be bold, even a warrior princess, and she set out that morning to prove herself. There was no higher honor than to slay an enemy of her people, and when the squadron of enemy cavalry appeared, her instincts took over (whether by curse or by evolution, it mattered little) and she let fly before fully calculating the ramifications.

Now she found herself chased, hemmed in, and with no easy escape from the crowding ruins. Beyond the close-packed staring husks of the courtyard, the Ziggurat of the Tyrant rose with stepped sides high up into the afternoon sky to a broad flat top, marking the city center. Scanning ahead, Sharia saw no escape except to hide in the gloom of a ruined building. She chose the closest yawning entrance. Her legs pumped furiously to send her into the shadows, but before she passed into the shade, she heard the stamping dromedaries enter the alleyway behind. War harness jangled as her enemies leapt from their tall-backed steeds and drew their heavy blades.

The coolness of the interior enveloped her as she passed under a tilting lintel and skidded to a halt in a sand-choked chamber. She turned to face the doorway and raised her bow, fighting to rein in her heaving chest as she took aim at one of the three cavalrymen. Slowly she backed further into the gloom while watching the troopers indecision. Her fingers itched to loose her last arrow, but with exhaustion came the realization of her dire predicament: she was cornered by three enemies, with one arrow left. The bone knife strapped to her thigh would keep her from selling her life too cheaply, but any price was too cheap for her. She was Sharia, a warrior princess!

Inching backwards, concentrating on her foes, her heel slipped in the sand behind her. She lost her balance, lost her grip, and the arrow shattered against the stone ceiling with a loud crack. She fell backwards, and her last view of the sunlit surface world was of three enraged warriors stalking towards her.

There was no more frightening place in cursed Nazerak than the dark and shadowy places. A nightmare world existed beyond the reach of the old sun’s faded rays, and fearsome creatures inhabited that domain, intent on destroying the sun-loving denizens of Nazerak. By day, Sharia’s people were compelled to make war amongst themselves, but at night, they fought terrors greater and more profound. Coming from the darkness, they feared deep in their bones a return to that benighted place.

She landed – hard – on her back at the bottom of a stone stair. Dropping the now useless bow, she rolled onto her stomach and lifted herself on hands and knees. It was dark, and she paused for her eyes to adjust, catching her breath as she reached back to massage her bruised back-side. Slowly a five pointed red star revealed itself in the sand. It was her hand. Sharia began to see its heat signature as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Soon she could make out shapes, detected cool breezes wafting past her from the darkness beyond the stairwell.

Behind and above Sharia was a fog of reflected light, dimming as three shadows rose up to block out the light. Before her a dark corridor stretched onwards. She stumbled up onto her feet and stalked forward. She heard the shouts of her adversaries. “You cannot escape! We are coming for you, foolish girl!”

Sharia ground her teeth, and halted her long strides to turn back and reply, “Come and get me then!” before setting off once more down the long dark hall. Sharia was without fear, but her hand holding the knife was trembling and all her senses screamed for her to get out of there. The same evolutionary mechanisms that allowed her to see heat traces in the darkness instilled a fear of dark subterranean places impossible for her to quell, but she would master it. Swallowing her fear with a gulp, she strode on. Her hands stopped shaking.

The featureless corridor, hewn from sandstone and gritty to the touch, sloped ever downwards while curving in a spiral that sent her deeper underground with every step. Tendrils of sand fell from hairline cracks, making the floor treacherous, but her long legs sped her journey downwards without difficulty. Behind her, the cavalrymen lit a lamp to help guide them through the darkness, but Sharia relied on her senses and stayed well ahead of the light they cast, fumbling through the dark descent. It was a test of courage, and if she could best them, she might live.

At the start of her descent she could hear the clinks and mutterings of her following foes. The sound became muffled then silenced as her heedless gait drove her onwards. A few times during her descent she passed open archways with similar corridors beyond, but they were generally choked with sand or had such awful stenches emanating from them that Sharia passed by without consideration. In places the corridor itself threatened to end in a cave-in of sand, but she always managed to push through and onward.

Eventually the spiraling sandstone tunnel unwound into a long straight corridor. The air was extremely dry and stung her nostrils with every breath. She had caught her breath back, but now thirst became her worst enemy. Her lips were cracking in the dry air, and like her muscles, her clothes were stiff from recent exertion. The silence was overwhelming, seemed to buffet her ears with expectation, but for what, she knew not.

The hallway widened and her footsteps made a peculiar ringing sound with every step. Brushing away some loose sand with her foot, she saw that the floor was carved of natural rock salt to resemble tiles. Soon the corridor opened up into a large circular chamber with a high-domed ceiling of sandstone. A dozen equally spaced doorways led into the room, but the most striking feature was the enormous statue of an armed warrior taking up the center of the room.

He wore armour of ancient design, with a plumed helm that nearly brushed the ceiling. He held a sword outstretched, though the blade lay shattered in the sand. The other hand was held palm out with three fingers extended – the sign for peace amongst Sharia’s people. The horizontal planes of the Hero of Peace were caked with centuries of drifting sand.

Ignoring the statue, Sharia made a quick circuit of the chamber, sticking her nose down every corridor in hopes of detecting the scent of fresh desert air. Like earlier, none of the passages were promising: either choked with sand, dead of any breeze, scent or sign of life, or else they contained vile stenches that turned Sharia’s stomach and made her skin crawl. Returning to the corridor she arrived in, she could hear the far off ringing of footsteps approaching. She brushed away her footprints in the sand covered floor, then she walked with exaggerated steps toward the foulest smelling passage. Near the doorway, she pulled her knife and cut a buckle from her sandal. She tossed it into the doorway where it would be noticed, then ran to crouch behind the statue.

Sharia did not have long to wait. Soon enough the ringing tread of her adversaries assaulted her ears, and a few seconds later the three warriors burst into the room with wild staring eyes. Sharia held her breath and pressed up against the leg of the statue. The leader motioned one warrior to go left while the other circled around the right, checking doorways as they went. He then raised the small oil lamp he carried, and strode towards the statue, looking up at its massive frame and trying to decipher its enigmatic expression. Just then a warrior shouted and held up the sandal clasp.

“Go Get her!” he who must have been the captain shouted, and motioned to the hallway. The two warriors looked at each other and cautiously entered the corridor to disappear down its length. Sharia could not see the captain from where she crouched, but she heard his footsteps as he came nearer. She knew he would be able to detect her soon enough, and gripping her bone knife she prepared to pounce.

Sharia heard the captain mumble something under his breath as he came closer. Then his blade whisked out and struck the statue, first a tap on the chest then a scratch on the leg. She saw its edge dig a groove in the rock salt, and knew her chance had come. She leapt.

Sharia caught the outstretched arm of the statue, and used the momentum to swing her legs up and plant her feet solidly on the warrior’s chest. He flew backwards with a grunt and landed on his back in the sand, his sword dangling by the thong around his wrist. Sharia let the thrust carry her forward and landed on her feet straddling the surprised soldier. She couldn’t help but smile at her success, then her lips curled in cruelty as she prepared to plunge her knife down into her enemy. Her almond eyes blazed in anticipation of the kill.

The captain was not so easily defeated. He glowered up at her. “You shade-loving wench!” he shouted, as he found his heavy blade and swung it up and across his body, forcing Sharia to leap back. Instead of slamming into the sand on his other side, the captain used his formidable strength to change the trajectory of the blade, and heaved it around to scythe across his body in hopes of catching Sharia across the knees. She was forced to take another step back, and the captain regained his feet in a fast and fluid manner, despite – or due to – his carapace plate armor. Armed and armored, he was a formidable foe, and Sharia lost her advantage as quickly as she found it.

Three sweeping slashes in quick succession, right, left, right again, forced her back, until she felt the statue behind her. The fourth swing would have disemboweled the princess, but she swerved, and he struck the statue again, gouging deep into the earlier scuff. The Hero of Peace gave her a second chance and Sharia lunged forward and upward with all her strength, knife first. She aimed her slender shard of bone for his pale bobbing throat, but he pulled back and the blade bit into the curled edge of his of his breastplate and it snapped.

The captain chortled with glee. Savoring the moment, he used his free hand to slap Sharia across the face, while trying to pry his sword free. “This place is cursed, and so shall you…” he began, but was interrupted by a growl from the princess.

She was no longer smiling, with a thin river of blood trickling down her swollen lip to drip from her chin. Her lips curled into the snarl of a wild animal and she launched herself at him, fang and claw. Her wide eyes rolled and she fought like one possessed, arms flailing, teeth champing. The captain suffered for it, and red slashes appeared on each cheek, but Sharia could not bring his armored bulk down and he finally let go his stuck sword to aim a blow at her face that sent her sprawling backwards, eyes blurring and nose exploding in bloody pain. With a sickening crunch, the back of Sharia’s head struck the hard stone belt buckle of the Hero of Peace.

She heard ringing in her ears and did not know whether it came from the returning knights or her traumatic head injury. Slowly she sank to her knees, her strength fleeing in defeat, strive as she did to hold on to it. The knight advanced, madness gleaming in his eyes, hands like talons. Then he stopped.

They heard another sound, a grinding all around them, echoing up through the floor. Sharia’s blurred vision returned to acute focus and she met the captain’s eyes and in each they saw mirrored the terror the other felt. For a moment the blind desire to kill one other was replaced by a deeper, more insistent instinct, one they shared. Fear of the underworld. For the first time in her short life, Sharia felt no desire to kill this stranger, these brethren, and she and he silently, suddenly saw a different way, an end to the senseless ceaseless slaughter. Then he was gone.

Sharia rocked forward and stumbled to her feet, and found an open pit where he once stood. Far below, the captain lay in a contorted jumble. She looked back to see the belt buckle, smeared with her blood, and noticed a small jewel, a ruby perhaps, depressed in its center. The ringing grew louder and she looked up to see the two remaining knights come stumbling down the hallway, clutching at each other like children, arms and armor momentarily forgotten. When they saw the princess they found their swords and their courage, and their eyes hardened into flashing diamonds in the flickering lamplight. Here was a foe they were worthy to face.

With a shake of her head and a sigh, Sharia’s gaze dropped back to the floor, and she noticed the handholds. Without thought the girl threw herself down the ladder. At the bottom a similar red gem created another grinding of gears and the trapdoor closed, thankfully before the two knights made it across the room. Yet Sharia knew it was only a matter of time before they discovered the ruby belt buckle of the Hero of Peace.

***

“Two down,” her sick mind informed her sardonically as she stepped over the corpse of the captain. She bent to pick up the little ceramic lamp and filled it with oil from the captain’s flask. When the lamp flickered to life, she found she was in a room shaped much like the one above, except this one was carved and polished rock salt. Shining like crystal, the chamber was a faceted dome with the stone ladder descending like a column down the center. Four carved archways, spaced equally, led from the room. There was a tinkling sound coming from each, and Sharia gasped to see small streams of water running down the center of each hallway to splash through grates at the threshold of each as they entered the chamber where she stood. She had lost her sense of direction, and so turned to the nearest.

Hundreds of ancient runes representing the phases of the moons, Lune and Satellite, adorned the arches, but Sharia took little notice and instead knelt to scoop up a handful of cool, crystal water, only to spit out the brine a second later.

“If only!” she muttered to herself, shaking her little fist in fury at the water. For once her composure threatened to break, and Sharia stamped her foot in anger, splashing water everywhere. It was cool on her hot pink flesh, and she sighed in pleasure in spite of herself with every splashing step.

Then she looked down to see her loose sandal and her scowl returned. The sandal flopped with every sodden step down the corridor and threatened to come off. “Just what I need,” she muttered, wishing she had grabbed the captain’s boots. Thoughts of returning to get them were quickly replaced by worry that the two remaining soldiers would find the trigger that opens the trap door. She held the lamp aloft and examined the walls of the corridor as she walked. The walls and ceiling were engraved with more symbols and frescoes. The majority of the carvings depicted crude scenes of battle and strife on the streets of Nazerak, and they were cut very deep and savagely into the rock salt. Looking closer, Sharia noticed the rough ravings obliterated earlier, shallower wall engravings that depicted a different city than the one Sharia knew, a beautiful place with tall buildings and smiling crowds.

Sharia found the engravings unsettling, and she concentrated on the path ahead until finally she saw another open doorway. A crystal salt portal once closed off the chamber within, but now lay shattered against the wall. She entered another chamber carved entirely of crystal salt, this one much smaller than the last. Benches and niches were carved into the walls, and in the center of the room was a long low slab of the same polished crystal.

Though the room flickered in the light of her lamp, Sharia could see a dull pink glow emanating from within the salt crystal table, exposing a deep crack within. The unnatural coldness of the table appeared to darken the room around it, and droplets of water condensated to drip from its sides and pool around its base, eventually trickling off down the hallway Sharia just traversed. Yet it was the figure lying stretched out on the table that captured her attention.

He was long and lithe like her, naked but for a thin sheet. With his long tapering ears and wide set eyes, she recognized him as one of the people of Nazerak, the first born. By his features and by the rough scar where one of his eyes should be, she recognized him as her first kill. By his pallid flesh, colorless hair and eyes, and his threatening expression, she knew him to be a shade, one of the terrors of the dark, and an enemy of her people: their curse. They called themselves her people’s dark cousins, and claimed that it was their duty to escort the living to the underworld, by killing them. A sinister grin crossed this one’s face as it regarded Princes Sharia with evil arched eyebrows.

“Hello cousin,” he smiled, rising on his elbows to regard her. “Who could ask for a better welcome than to be greeted by my slayer!” he laughed with glee, and rose to a sitting position on the table. His eyes cast about for something, and Sharia saw them alight on a bundle tucked into one of the niches along the wall.

“I slew you while you lived, I will happily slay your shadow,” Sharia swore, glancing about the room to see exits in the walls to the left and right of her, besides the one she entered through.

“Now, now, why such anger?” the shade spoke reasonably. He spread his hands open on his lap. “I just want to talk.”

“Your kind has nothing to say to me.” She eyed him suspiciously, deciding on her course of action.

“But we are alike, you and I. This is where you were meant to be, down here with me.” He leaned forward and began stretching atrophied muscles. “Let me help you.” His malignant smile showed he was bating her into a rash act, or stalling for time. Sharia did not care what his motives were, she wanted to get out of this place.

Before the shade could react, Sharia raced towards the nearest exit, grabbing the bundle as she ran past. The shade was slow to pursue, and Sharia ran out into a hall much like the others except the floor was dry. As she ran, she looked back but did not see her pursuer, so she slowed down to examine the bundle. It was a silk cloak, and wrapped within were a suit of leather clothing, all spikes and buckles, a ceramic jug of sickly sweet wine, which Sharia stopped to quaff without hesitation, and a pair of steel daggers, a real treasure. She tied the bundle of clothes over her shoulder. They would make an excellent trophy if she survived the day. She dropped the empty jug and kept the daggers.

Metal was all but gone from the world, and what remained had to be constantly cared for to prevent rapid corrosion. Many shades wielded these steel daggers, and it was a mystery where they got them. Even seeing a shade rise from the man she killed only increased the mystery of their origin.

Common wisdom said a shade rose for every one of her folk killed in cursed Nazerak (and uncommon wisdom whispered that no new babe was born to her folk until a shade was killed.) These dark cousins, confined to shadow by the poisonous touch of the red sun’s rays, were demented creatures and evil mirrors of their once living twins. Legends of their cunning and brutality made them the most feared of Nazerak’s inhabitants. Myths told of a time before recorded history, when the world was uninhabitable, and her progenitors had to fight and hide deep in the bowels of the earth beneath their city while the shades hunted them for cruel sport.

Sharia had no inclination for such contemplation and continued down the hallway, alert for any sign of pursuit. Knowing that the shade would be following, she tried to stay ahead of him without exhausting herself. Already she ached from running and fighting, but the wine gave her strength, and hopefully robbed the shade of the same. The thought of the wine made her grin, or maybe it was the wine itself. Her sandal continued to give her trouble, and she stopped to remove them and tie them to her bundle. Sharia spent the rest of her time in that dungeon barefooted.

Before long she heard the sound of a shattering bottle echo down the hallway. “You drank my wine! I will teach you manners!”

“Leave me be!” she hurled over her shoulder, and limped onward, but the shade kept pace, staying far enough back to follow without being seen.

Eventually he spoke again. “Let me have my clothes, I have no sun down here to warm my cold flesh!”

A few seconds later, she heard a reply – in front of her. “Cousin, is it you?”

She heard sounds of approach from ahead and froze. It was the captain, and his voice had a cold, calculating edge it lacked when she fought him before, while he lived. She had just decided it would be best to turn and confront the enemy she knew (and whose weapons she held) when she spied rubble strewn across the hallway ahead. Chunks of rock salt littered the floor in front of a collapsed section of wall, beyond which was emptiness.

Sharia the flame haired warrior princess stepped into the vast open area just as a third grinding echo reverberated through the rock salt dome. The fools above had found her bloody clue and opened the trap door to their doom, she realized. Two more lives, though they counted her an enemy, rested now on her narrow shoulders.

Once beyond the rock salt corridor, the sound quickly diminished into funereal silence. Casting her oil lamp high revealed a vast chamber of unknown dimensions beyond her little circle of light. The floor was of mosaic tile, so ancient and dust covered as to be completely indecipherable. Occasional columns of the same mosaic rose up into the darkness overhead.

She put out the lamp and continued blindly through the dead space, her previous foes left behind and forgotten for the moment as she continued on with a building sense of dread growing inside her breast. She walked towards her doom leisurely, and had time to catch her breath, to rest her aching thighs. For awhile, an insubstantial light danced around the edges of her vision, a green glow that settled and began to grow as she moved towards it. A set of wide stone stairs crossed her path and she found herself atop a raised platform. At each corner a green globe faintly glowed above a slender staff, but the center of the dais was enclosed by rows of close-set columns holding up a stone slab roof. It reminded Sharia of a shrine.

Curious, Sharia slipped between the columns to inspect the central nave. She found another rock crystal table, with a corpse laid atop. Once richly dressed and draped, time had reduced it to little more than a pile of dust so that it was only by recognizing the silhouette of a body that Sharia knew it what it was: two thin sticks for legs with knobby lumps where the knees once were; skeletal fingers clasped upon its breast; and a grinning skull rising from the dust of ages, eye sockets full of sand.

At its feet lay two swords crossed, heavy scimitars with wide cruel blades. Each was hewn from a plate of obsidian and knapped to a razors edge. Both were covered with a thick layer of dust, and whatever hilts, pommels, and sheathes once adorning them were gone with time, leaving the blades alone intact.

At the head of the sarcophagus sat rows of tall ceramic urns, broken and crumbled. The arrangement gave the impression of vast age. Only the strongest elements – obsidian, crystal, and petrified skin and bone remained of a rich entombment.

“I wonder who he is – er, was.” Sharia asked herself, as she moved towards the swords, hand outstretched.

She felt more than heard a thrumming coming up through her legs as she approached, and if it weren’t covered in a thick coating of dust, silt, and sand, she would have seen the crystalline block glowing from within as its nascent energies built up after uncounted eons of inactivity. Sharia couldn’t know this, but as soon as the girl stepped through the broken wall into this ancient tomb, arcane energies of antiquity began building within the sepulchre.

The prehistoric engines that drove the subterranean world beneath Nazerak woke Sharia’s deepest, instinctive fears, like the trapdoor before, and now the subtle energy of the tomb. She paused with her fingertips just brushing one of the blades, and looked closer at the heap of ruin stretched out on the slab. Were her eyes playing tricks, or was the dust around the corpse moving? As she watched, thin tendrils of dirt, silt, and sand began slithering up onto the desiccated corpse, filling gaps, adding girth to fleshless limbs.

Sharia watched in horror, and took a step backwards. Magic was at work here, and she had no love of magic. Sharia put her trust in things she knew: herself, her strength, her intuition. Her senses were screaming at her to leave this benighted place, but they had been telling her that non-stop since her first painful foray down those sandy steps. Now like then, she was trapped with no escape.

Suddenly a voice boomed, filling the cavernous chamber. Sharia was shaken by the sound, reverberating through the underground expanse to slam into her from above, below, and all sides. She staggered back another step and watched with disbelief as the corpse rose up off the slab, dropping bits of matter even as the tendrils of silt began twining up the floating body while it tilted to an upright posture.

“Whoso dareth disturb the slumber of the immortal Zagnazerak?” The words were a dialect so ancient Sharia could barely make out their meaning, but she knew the name. Zagnazerak the Cursed. Zagnazerak the Traitor, the Mad, the Destroyer. The last lord of a dying world, long, long dead.

Where the body lay on the table was outlined a broken crust of matter, and the white glow emanating from the crystal bathed the corpse floating above it in light. Bones were knitting back together. Clumping sand formed musculature as she watched. Swirling dust began to solidify into a golden skirt about the waist of the emaciated corpse.

Its eyes flashed to life like a pair of blazing fiery beacons, and it trained them on the warrior princess. “No mortal shalt behold my visage and suffer to live. Abase thyself, slave!” the voice commanded.

“I am no slave!” Sharia shouted, and raised her stolen daggers to charge. For the third time that day, Sharia prepared to sell her life dearly. To herself she mused, “This day cannot get any worse.”

“If thou dost live, bow to thy overlord,” the corpse intoned. “Mine awakening hast come. And so the world must be rid of all mortal life. Art thou, worm, the last of thy kind?”

“Not even close!” she retorted, and hurled a steel dagger at the specter. It slammed into Zagnazerak’s chest to the hilt. Sharia readied the other. The red globes shifted downward to momentarily cast their radiance on the knife, then the ghost of Zagnazerak raised his hands and his pair of swords flew into them, one black as night, the other pulsating with the same red light as the eyes of the dead king.

“I am undying and thou art dead already!” the dead king said, flinging a blade at her, faster and with more power than Sharia thought possible. She had just time enough to raise her dagger, but the glowing sword sliced through her steel like it was paper and through two columns behind her as it whizzed past. She heard it clatter to the floor far out in the darkness behind. She also heard the groan of the shifting weight of tons of rock overhead, as the slab roof settled on two less supports than before.

The corpse of Zagnazerak raised his empty hand high and called forth “Simak!” Then he cast the other blade.

The black blade flew towards her, and Sharia had the speed, agility, and presence of mind to bend backwards while striking upwards with the pommel of her sundered knife. She struck the blade on its flat as it flew towards her, and altered its course just enough. Rather than taking off a third of her skull, the flat of the blade – instead of its edge – struck her forehead. Sharia and the blade crumpled to the floor together.

Bleary-eyed, Sharia tried to focus as the first blade came careening back from where it lay out in the darkness beyond, shattering another column in its path to Zagnazerak’s open hand. Skeletal fingers closed about the hilt, and the glow of the blade intensified, sword and eyes pulsating in rhythm. Sharia reached for the blade that lay atop her. She found the rudimentary hilt of obsidian, which bit into her fingers when they closed about it, drawing blood as she gripped the sword with all her strength. Though she couldn’t focus her eyes or her thoughts, she somehow managed to drag herself to her feet.

Zagnazerak pointed at her and shouted “Skarn! To me!” the hilt began sliding through her fingers and with sudden fury she screamed “No!” The blade listened. It settled into her hand. “Skarn,” she whispered through battered lips.

Sharia squared her shoulders and took the heavy blade in both hands. Her eyes slowly raised to face the fiery orbs of her foremost foe, and she glared at him balefully. “Your time has come,” she spoke slowly and took a step forward.

“Ingrate!” the ghoul bellowed. “Thou wilt pay for thy folly!” and he hurled his glowing obsidian blade at the warrior princess. Filled with righteous wrath, Sharia side-stepped and batted the sword away mightily. An explosion of light and sound blasted forth when the two swords struck one another, and Simak went twirling through the air while Skarn held firm. This was not the first time the two blades sparred, nor would it be the last.

The red scimitar struck another column on its flight, and this time a groan erupted from above, followed by an avalanche of sand. The whole platform tilted as massive weight shifted.

Sharia the warrior princess had a single minded drive to destroy the evil before her. Ignoring the distressing signs around her, she leapt up onto the crystal table. Even as the re-animated corpse of Zagnazerak flung out an arm and shouted “Simak!” the blade of Sharia was slashing the space between them to separate his arm from his body.

It fell to the table twitching, foetid dust spilling from severed arteries.

Sharia wasted no more time on the outraged corpse, but leapt from the table and chopped through two more columns on her way out. The red glowing twin of the blade of Sharia, Simak, flashed past her on its flight to Zagnazerak. Both sword and master were buried under the collapsing stone roof when the few remaining columns crumbled to dust.

Sharia ran back the way she had come. She knew not whether she had defeated her supposedly immortal opponent, and did not care. She was ready to feel the crimson rays of the sun on her skin, and nothing now could stop her from returning to her home, to the desert ruins of Nazerak, to the world above.

She was surprised to find her two dark cousins had abandoned their hunt, and flew past the break in the wall towards the exit. Her bare feet splashed through the trickling water as she returned down the hall towards the exit. No longer the hunted, Sharia raised her blade in anticipation. She heard sounds of conflict ahead and dashed into the rock salt vault to see the pair of shades attacking their erstwhile allies. They each had a steel dagger and were passing a pot of wine between them as they backed the over-matched and terrified warriors into a corner.

With a screech Sharia descended upon the shades, and they had no chance. Her fury was matched only by the impossibly sharp edge of her blade, and soon two more corpses littered the sandy floor of the chamber. She looked up to see the terrified expressions of the two warriors, and noticed again how young they were. She smiled, not without warmth, through broken, bloody lips, blackened eyes, and with a purple bruise on her sun-pinkened alabaster forehead that would fade over time but never fully vanish. She called it her first kiss.

“It is your lucky day.” She spoke with calm certitude. They eyed her warily, bleeding from dozens of shallow cuts.

“Know that Sharia, warrior princess of Nazerak has spared your life this day.” So saying, she turned her back on them and left the underworld for the sun above.

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The Garden

The ship came thundering out of the darkness of deep space, decelerating past the big outer gas giants to swing into orbit above a green and blue marble, streaked with white. The crew of the interstellar ship was alien to the star system, and had eagerly crossed the shoreless expanses of space to meet a fellow sentient race in a lonely universe. Unfortunately, before they had even crossed half the gulf, the planet went dark – no communication interceptions, no energy read-outs, nothing to give any evidence that the planet was inhabited or inhabitable.

The first team to descend to the surface returned in dismay. The people of the planet had destroyed themselves in the last thousand years. The cities were in ruins, and even the plant and animal life on the planet was reduced to a subsisting minority of the planet’s rich past. Saddened, the mission changed from one of first contact, to one recording for posterity the cousins they would never meet.

It was during the first few months of research into the planets demise that a surface team returned from the radioactive slag heaps of a major metropolis with a find of enormous importance. They were tracking down the few erratic energy sources still functioning in hopes of finding some remnant of survivors, when they discovered a functioning reaction generator in the cellar of what was once a medical facility.

The alien known as The Instructor strode forward with a wide smile on his face. Pinched between his digits was a small glass tube, shimmering opalescent with a stasis field. He held it up for The Councilor, the nominal commander of the mission, to inspect. “We have found a frozen embryo, viable and untouched by the apocalypse that devastated the race.”

“Yes,” the Councilor hissed, his eyes widening in surprise as he gazed into the yellowish fluid. “Our mission has changed once again, Instructor.“

He was speechless with shock, and a momentous weight seemed to settle on him. Three times in his life had he felt this way: the first, when grainy transmissions from halfway across the galaxy were first detected. The second feeling of destiny struck him as he surveyed the burned out husk of a once thriving alien world. Now this. It was almost too much to bear, if the news wasn’t so unbelievably wonderful. One way or another, they were going to meet a sentient alien race.

The team of medical technicians worked feverishly to bring the embryo to fruition, while the cultural liaisons spent every moment scouring the blasted lands for authentic components for the habitation sphere they were building. Coordinating the efforts were the Instructor and the Councilor, who learned all they could of alien society and physiology. The Instructor took charge of the embryo, while the Councilor oversaw the creation of the habitat in the least damaged region of the planet, on the edge of a vast desert.

It was important that the alien maintained cultural and societal ties to its species, and in the beginning, the two devised a wild plan to use artificial simulacrums to raise the offspring in an imitation of the ruined civilization they found on arrival. Enough records remained to paint an accurate picture of domesticity for the strange suicidal people, and when the babe was brought forth squalling, a warm-skinned mother was there to comfort her new son.

Within months, the simulation began to show weaknesses and the Instructor was amazed that such a youngling could be so perceptive. It had seemed in the beginning that creating a “mother” for the child would be easy – they had an entire world’s history of a people to draw upon, and their technology was advanced to the point where few boundaries remained uncrossed for long. Nonetheless, by six months old, the infant would begin wailing, and no amount of robotic motherly cooing could calm the child. In the end, the Instructor himself donned the garb of the aliens and took charge of the babe personally.

The habitat was based on an immense garden uncovered by the cultural liasions. With brooks of fresh water, walking paths, and colorful birds in the trees, animals in the grass. It was domed, and large enough that when the growing boy was old enough to walk and play on his own, he would spend hours going from one end to the other. The walls were made to look like impassable terrain, except for the access to the visitor’s Land Station, where the boy would come every day to listen and learn from the Instructor or the Councilor. The great data handling machines of the visitors had devised a language that was a microcosm of all known languages, and it was this they taught.

For many years the boy learned and grew, and was content. The visitors learned much about the world, and much about its destruction by mapping the psychology of the living specimen. On one point the Councilor was clear: no mention should ever be made to the boy about the fate of his species. The consequences of learning this knowledge were unknown and based on temperamental studies, could well be dire.

The boy however, was not so easily dissuaded from asking difficult questions, and from the time he entered puberty, he asked why he was always alone, and if he could ever have any companion besides the Councilor and the Instructor. In the beginning they demurred, but the Councillor knew that he was dealing with a social species, and studies showed that without companionship, the species tended to underperform, or even work against the greater good of society. When the Instructor came down in favor of a companion, the Councilor acquiesced, though he had doubts, and there was a nagging sensation, that another toll of the bell that rung for destiny sounded at the decision.

A sample of the boy’s genetics were taken, and they were manipulated to create a female embryo, which came to term and spent its first six months with the lonely mothering robot before being taken to the garden. The boy was elated and instantly took to the baby girl. He spent his every waking moment with her, and when she was old enough to walk, they would spend hours walking around the garden, pointing out the sights. They gave names to each of the wondrous birds and other animals they came across, and the Councilor came to call them by the same names.

The pair continued to grow, and early on the girl showed a wilder streak than the boy. Eventually she came to adolescence, and like the boy before, her body underwent changes and the two marveled at how alike, yet how different each were. The girl asked if all people showed such divergence, but the Instructor was quick to point out that while each person was unique, they all shared traits with one of two sub-types, male and female. But whenever the conversation came too close to the apocalyptic end of the species, the Councilor would always interject that there would be a time for that instruction later, but now was not the time.

One day, when both the boy and girl were well into their young adulthood, they were playing games near the visitor’s access. For a long time, they had tried to catch glimpses of what lay beyond the door, but the Councilor was adamant that they may never leave the garden. To leave meant to know death, and here was a new concept for them to contemplate.

The Councilor was away much of the time and it fell more and more on the Instructor to educate the wards. He was more lenient with information, and part of him believed they should be told the truth. The Councilor continued to decline. The visitors were learning more and more about this world and its erstwhile masters every day, and no mistakes must be made.

Meanwhile, the girl was in a wild mood and demanded more and more questions from the Instructor. She asked him about death, about birth, about other of her people. He declined to answer, but acknowledged they were worthy questions. This filled her with wrath, and she pointed to the door and asked what was beyond. He told her she could not know, but admitted it was right for her to wonder.

In anger, she demanded to know why they could not leave the garden, was this all the world? He admitted it was not, but that the wide world was barred to them at this time. She asked why, and he could not give her an answer, though he tried. She became merciless in her inquiry, rushing through a litany of questions that had gone unanswered over the years.

Finally, she asked the question that had been on her mind the whole time. “Do you know why my stomach is bulging, just so?” And the Instructor looked on aghast. The fifth moment of destiny tolled, and he saw then a future stretched long and far from this moment, ending perhaps in a world again wreathed in flames. He lurched forward, unstable, to clutch at her alabaster shoulders. He was falling and could not stand. She backed up instinctively, raising her hands to protect herself.

The boy, looking on with dull eyes, suddenly sprang to action. He scooped up a rock and brained the Instructor with it. Where the rock struck, the flesh tore away, and underneath was a hard yet flexible gray shell. The girl screeched and dug into the visitor with her claw-like nails, gouging great handfuls of flesh that parted to show something strange under a skin like their own.

The boy and girl bled when they were cut. But the flesh of the visitors sloughed away to reveal a chitinous insectoid body. It had two sets of eyes, one above the other. The upper eyes could gaze out long distances, but the smaller lower eyes were positioned just above a mouth surrounded by waving tendrils, for detailed scrutiny of close up objects. As the Instructor revealed his true form, the youths were spurred to ever greater violence, and the girl picked up a rock and together they beat the instructor into the ground.

Soon the Councilor arrived, and hurried to intervene, beseeching his children for calm. He too was struck down and revealed to be a vile alien. They made short work of him, and when it was done, the boy took the girl’s hand and led them from the garden, into the great old world. On the edge of a lonely desert they made their home, and never saw another living being until their first child was born.

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Sharia and the Curse of Nazerak – The Paladin Princess of the Spirit of the Flame

Chapter 2

Sharia galloped on the wings of the storm through the empty boulevards of cursed Nazerak. Fine red sand soon covered her. The dromedarian ran blind, his drooping face turned to the side, trusting in Sharia to guide him. The flame princess exulted on the wild ride into the blowing storm. Her hair blew free, trailing long streamers of crimson sand behind her like a slashing wake in a roiling ocean. Her face was covered by a rune embroidered veil of thin silk. Through it she could breathe and see the world with silk-softened edges. The fury of the storm threatened to tear her veil away, but she paid no mind, and drove her steed on, for she was Sharia the Princess Paladin of the Spirit of the Flame, and she was fearless.

She rode through the abandoned city, following the wide expanse of the avenue of White Palms, as it passed through plazas large and small. She held her sword Skarn before her and it cut through the storm-shadows with burning light. The blade was long and curved, since its back edge was made from a bent rib-bone of a black sand shark. Embedded into the rib was a wide blade of glassy obsidian, with a mirror finish and a razor sharp chipped edge. Its pommel was hammered bronze and rubies.

From the blade’s edge, where it cut through the boiling storm of sand and dust, a creature of flame clung, nose to the wind, and its long fiery fur wreathed her blade in living flame. The spirit of the flame loved nothing more than to ride Skarn when Sharia would wield the blade. He was a sinewy creature, about as long as Sharia’s fore-arm, with a fuzzy corona of flame for a coat and a flickering tail as long as his body. He never burned Sharia, only her foes. He could disappear at will, and was known to speak on occasion.

Into the broken city center they passed. Soon the Ziggurat of Zagnazdiak loomed out of the roiling sand-clouds to her right. The avenue of the White Palms continued north to the city’s edge and beyond, but where it passed Zagnasdiak’s tomb was a battlefield sacred to her people. Sharia herself had fought here at the crossroads, leading her Jalalabar chargers against the traitorous Eldar of Albrion, but never had she approached the haunted Ziggurat itself. It was a stepped structure with a square base, composed of stone blocks. Each level was smaller than the one below, and impossibly green gardens grew on the uppermost terraces. Even in the throes of the windstorm, Sharia caught the heavy scent of its blossoms.

Sharia had a mind to give the tomb a closer inspection, and her mount responded by slowing to a walk. Sheathing her blade through a thick loop of braided hair at her waist, the spirit of the flame ran up her arm on four coal-black feet to nestle into her hair, invisible. She dismounted and gave the dromedarian a comforting pat on the rump to let it wander. The wind was shifting to sporadic gusts that told her the storm was playing itself out as quickly as it had begun. The light was changing from the burnt orange of the storm to the lighter crimson of a late afternoon. Above her, rents in the clouds formed through which the indigo sky glowed.

The stepped pyramid stretched upwards, with a stone tiled staircase cutting though all seven levels to the gardened top, whence it was said a doorway lay into the cursed tomb. From there a pathway of winding madness led to the shadow city beneath Nazerak where the dark reflection of her people dwelt, known as the shadow-eladrin. One day she would enter that door and bring battle to those cursed souls, and as she looked up tier upon tier of the pyramid rising over her, she thought the day may have come.

A low wall of crumbling sandstone surrounded the pyramid and Sharia paused at the corroded gateway into the grounds and watched the last eddies and dust devils chase each other across the boulevard. She bent to brush the red sand from her lithe limbs, then to shake the dust from her untamed hair. Her skin was pale ivory under the dust, with a rich patina of sun-stained pink cupping her musculature. Her limbs throve in the fullness of youthful vigor. She was long and curvaceous both, and her tenderest parts were armored in the mirror-burnished shell of the desert ynix, over which a flowing cloak of white and orange was cinched about a waist with a belt of gold coins whose mintage spanned millennia long gone.

Sharia was a warrior princess among a war-like people, and her poise was tall and straight, with a sharp chin up-thrust, and high tapering ears. Her eyes were wide ovals in a heart-shaped face. Her thin red lips curled up at the corners, giving her a look of perpetual amusement which was reflected in her glittering eyes. She had no fears, no worries, and no desires, other than to test her mettle against the challenges of each day anew.

After kneeling to remove a pebble from her sandal, Sharia tucked her veil down under her pointed chin, the better to sense the world around her. She was just rising, when an arrow from behind slashed past her, drawing a line of pain across her shoulder blade, and severing the leather thong that held her shell shoulder piece in place. It was aimed at her left temple, and may have ended her life, had she not started to rise just as the arrow was loosed.

Instead Sharia instinctively leapt forward while drawing her blade. She scrambled around the low wall just as a second arrow followed the first. It shrieked against the stones above her crouching form. She never saw her assailant who struck from behind, but she recognized the ivory arrows of her foe, the Albrion.

The flame princess bared her teeth at the audacity of the attack, and raised her blade to check her surroundings in its reflection. She had just time enough to see the streaking form of the third arrow as it crossed the wide open plaza from a dark doorway. She saw a puff of dust swirling around the door where the archer must be hiding. In that instant, the speeding arrow arced suddenly up and over her wall to plunge fletching deep into the sand between her legs. A rolling wind then passed over her.

“Wind strider!” she growled through grinding teeth, then crawled on hands and knees along the low wall as three more arrows peppered her last position.

There was a pause after the sixth arrow thrummed into the sand when Sharia knew instinctively that her only chance of survival was upon her. Without conscience thought her muscles flexed mightily and she leapt up and over the wall. Her long arms strained together to heave her scimitar up over her head as she leapt, and Skarn blazed like a beacon in the gathering gloom. She came down on one knee, and her heavy blade was moving so swiftly on its downward stroke that it caught the seventh arrow and split the shaft before it could split her skull.

Bouncing up and vaulting forward with her grounded blade, she ran, not for the dark doorway as she first thought, but for a narrow alleyway between two brick walls.

Her assailant was an Abrion Wind Strider as she suspected. The traitorous Eldar were a scourge in ruined Nazerak, and the two factions had been at war since the eve of Nazerak’s destruction. He wielded a bone bow, curved and recurved, and his arrows were slender darts of ivory. His clothing was distinctive, and it was told that through their clothing, the wind striders commanded the power of winds. Seeing him before her, Sharia did not doubt.

The sleeves of his jacket and the legs of his pants ended in bell shaped cuffs, large and rippling with an unknown wind. Faster than Even Sharia’s elvish eyes could follow, the wind strider pulled and loosed. His sleeves seemed to gulp up the desert breeze and then expel a churning gust that carried the arrow in its way. The arrow ripped towards Sharia in a curving arc, and she had to skid to a halt in the hot sand and slam her scimitar into the sand beside her just as the arrow slewed around on its wave of foul wind to shatter against her blade.

Again she was up and running. Ten long strides away from her quarry, her glare matched the fiery blaze of her sword, wrapped in spirit flames. She held the blade close to her cheek and where the flames ended and her hair began was hard to distinguish in that wild flight. Her foe chose to flee rather than face that wrathful aspect of righteous fury.

The eladrin wind strider crouched and leapt lightly upwards, and as he did so his cuffs snapped and exploded into the sand at his feet, creating a huge dust cloud that propelled him upwards to the top of the wall to Sharia’s left. Her velocity carried her into the cloud just after he vacated it, and it was then that another arrow from the edge of the plaza cater-corner sought Sharia as its target. It was the long range and the dust cloud that saved her, its buffeting winds causing Sharia to skitter to the side and narrowly miss scraping her bare shoulder against the cobble wall. Instead of striking her, the arrow struck the wall in front of her at an angle, snapping the slender ivory shaft.

Sharia ran down the alleyway, away from the archers. The plaza was triangulated to their advantage, and she was chagrined to turn from such odds. She came to a wider lane at the end of the short alley, and turned to her right. She ran the length of the plaza down this side lane, and after going far enough, she called to her mount. With luck, the dromedarian would be shielded from the archers by the ziggurat, if there were only two of them. She continued to call for her mount Jubul in the high pitched warbling Jalalabar chargers used to speak with their animals.

Another lane bisected this one and she slowed her pace and rounded the corner. Running down this lane, she caught glimpses the plaza through the ruins. Sharia saw her mount galloping towards a connecting alleyway ahead and she broke into a sprint. Old ruined buildings of cobble stones with gaping black windows and doorways created a narrow passage between them, and down this Sharia turned, and was caught by surprise by being caught in fact by two strong hands.

Wrinkled, long, and bony, the nut brown hands hid a powerful strength. They clapped about her arms just above the elbows, slamming her to a stop instantly and she looked up with a blank open mouthed expression into the face of her leering captor. At the other end of the alley, her mount Jubul was wrestled into submission by two more.

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