Not a true sequel to the first, but it's in the same genre I guess. I hope you all like it.
Yet another dungeon.
It's not easy being an hero. Sure, you have a very exciting though unsteady job. You get to see places. But on the other hand, your job consists of slaying monsters who are more than keen on slaying you. Every day could be the day you die, and no matter how heroic your demise is, it will be what you will be remembered for; the hero who died on his quest for fame and fortune.
It's no surprise that many heroes quit before they reach their zenith to live a safer life.
Ragon Ironsteel was an exception, though. For not a single moment in his short life had he thought of quiting. Not that he could quit if he wanted to.
Today was his moment of glory. He had brandished his weapons, cleaned his armour and trimmed his bear. He was ready to end what he had begun a mere hour ago when he was placed upon the board. He had foughten across the board, battling ( plastic ) foes under the guidance of his creator, Hand ( he had named him so since it was the only thing he had ever seen of him ). He knew that, despite his skills and talent, this last battle could be decided by the single roll of a dice. He hoped luck was on his side today.
Ragon entered play. He moved three hexes to the west, ending up in front of the makeshift cavern in which his enemy slept.
A voice thundered over the board.
"You are standing in front of the Red Cave. You can see the entrance, but the interior is dark and there is nothing but blackness, safe for a few pairs of eyes, which you belief are owned by bats. A foul stench emits from the cave."
A second, slightly higher voice spoke.
"I lit my torch, and, with my hand on the hilt of my axe, enter the cave."
Ragon obeyed and took out his torch, which automatically catched fire. Though slightly puzzled, he shrugged the unnatural fact away and approached the entrance of the cave.
He could not smell the foul stench of which the narrator had spoken. He shrugged again and imagined it. He had learned during his short life that imagination was a powerful tool, and in his life it was more than a tool, it was a necessary part of life.
The narrating voice spoke again.
"You enter the cave. The fire of the torch fully illuminates the small interior of the cave. The walls are decorated with an array of texts and drawings of trees. There is an elf, who has been disturbed by your entrance, sitting on the ground in the middle of the cave in the lotus position."
"I charge the elf!"
Ragon roared as he sprinted towards the elf. As his axe made contact with elven skin, the sound of rolling dices echoed in the cave.
"Your 1d6 was not high enough to hit the elf. He rolls backwards, draws his bow and takes an arrow out of his quiver."
Ragon couldn't believe it. It was as if some mysterious force had stopped the blow of his axe, which was now hoovering mere centimetres from where the elf used to be. He was frozen in to place as the elf did what the voice described.
"Roll for iniative."
"Three"
"The elf goes first."
Ragon cursed. More dices were rolled.
"Woops. There he goes."
Three arrows impaled Ragon's plastic body. They did not hurt as much as the feeling of failure, though. Ragon could feel a single tear drop roll down his cheek as everything went black.
"Ah dammit. I was so close."
"Yeah, better luck next time. Shame about the shoddy rolls."
"Yeah. Hey, what's this? How did this model get wet?"
"Must have spilled some cola over it. Anyway, gotta go. Cya."
"Cya."
Hand inspected Ragon for a few more seconds before he dropped him in his box.
"Weird." he mumbled to himself.
The elf on the board snickered.
"Unimaginative boy. He should see what I think is weird."
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Topic: Asheron's stories thread - the sequel is here! - (Read 2261 times)