Chance's leave

Chance smiles as he takes a last look around.

"Fun times, Zhents. Fun times."

He pulls out his secret token of Leira, grinning madly. He places the token on the ground. "Tymora guide..."

He walks off; the banker would notice Chance's rather large donation to a group called, 'Farmers'.
(He would give 75,000 gold to the farmers before starting over in a new town)

He heads south; and the shadows engulf him.

//I know this isnt a story exactly. But he was teh Coronal's TaleSpinner, and did so many amazing performances in SD and in the City of Song.

This is to honour him.

A package appears somewhere in the middle of the City of Song. How it got there is rather overhwelmingly odd. Nobody remembers who left it, those who saw say it was an elf in a funny hat.

The package is labeled, "To Everybody." In the package is papers with the following:

The Demon Within wrote:

Beginning demeanor: Helpless. Sad. Melancholy.

"Here I am. Darkness surrounds me, and all I can feel is an overwhelming sensation of heat. Odd."

Twirl. Wink at the prettiest lady in the audience. Make people blink

"Funny. I can't even remember who I am. I have no idea what's going on. But I do know one thing. Fear. It grips my heart and penetrates my soul, as I realize that I'm shackled to a table. I attempt to look around. All I see are flames surrounding me. But they do not engulf me. They give me a wide berth. But I do see somebody else...or...some<i>thing</i>."

Have shadows play with face.

"I ask what I'm doing here. Who he is. What's going on. But he doesn't answer. He doesn't respond. But he does turn to regard me. As he does, a wall grows from behind him. A wall full of torture instruments. This wall is so immense it would make the Zhentarim army blush. I cry, only just now realizing what's going on. I must be in the hells. For days, I'm just ignored. As if I don't exist. He sometimes prods me. But not with the instruments. Not just yet. He wants the dread to seep into every part of my soul. Until one day, it finally says something."

Demon voice.

"Shall we begin?"

Normal voice.

"And so we did. No matter how much I pleaded. Now matter how much I cried. I would be tortured to death, only to regain my senses to be tortured again. Every wound was fresh. My skin felt as if it knew no touch, every single time I was prodded or penetrated with an instrument. This went on for a few lifetimes. I could not get a breath. All that came from my mouth was screams. All I felt was pain, and every time I did, I felt as if I've never felt pain before. Every pain I felt was the worst pain I've felt in my entire life. Seconds seemed like years, and I was there for even longer than I had lived."

Pause here. Console anybody who looks too displeased, because it's not over yet. Kiss on a cheek, or a shoulder pat for a man who seems scared of a man's touch.

"All I lived in became a blur. But one day; years after it had started. Perhaps even eons. I do not know. I did not see the wall of instruments anymore. Instead; what the demon had in its hands was an orb. I asked what it was for; but in the usual fashion, he did not respond. Instead; he forced my gaze upon it. And as I did look into it, I began to remember who I was. Just some simple farm boy. I lived my life, and died. I was nobody. Did I truly deserve this?"

Pause again. Look around. Ask the audience again.

"Did I deserve this?" Note: If you're in Shadowdale, the answer will probably be laughter. Disregard with a joke at their expense, that will undoubtedly fly over their head.

"I found it refreshing at first. I felt no pain...again...at first. But seconds turned to hours. Hours turned to days, days turned to years. Years turned to lifetimes. I was forced to live every painful memory in my life that I've ever caused or had caused upon me. Heartbreaks. Broken promises. Unfulfilled love." Pause here for some sort of laughter, or an uncomfortable cough.

"I lived every moment again, and again, and again, and again." Get louder. Begin to cry.

"I began to hate myself! It's now wounds to my soul! The bare soul rubbed raw by every pain I caused! Again! Gods! Make it stop! Please! I begged for the torture devices. I begged for the physical pain. I begged the demon for anything."

Pause here with a fall to your knees. Until the tears clear from eyes. Keep your head down at this next part.

"Then one day; I realized that the demon was gone. I realized I was alone. The shackles that held me were gone. I was just living those moments on my own at that point. In front of me, which I seem to be hiding, is that old wall of torture instruments. I remember as if it were yesterday. Those memories almost seem...fond. I look around, and realize there's somebody behind me; shackled to a table. I hate him. With every ounce of my body; because he knows nothing of what I've experienced. So I will show him."

Lift head. Change voice.

"Shall we begin?"

Taleteller's note: I spent a day in jail for telling this story in Shadowdale. If anybody sees him, tell that old Weavemaster that Chance says hello...if he's not dead, that is.

There are many, many copies of this story.

At the bottom is just a letter.

"C"

//I just have to say this is absolutely magnificent. I enjoy reading this again and again.

((Oh. Thank you! It's inspiration is from a story I heard early in my childhood that my Dad told me.))

A package is delivered to Myth'Drannor, addressed to the Coronal.

The tale of Lorri Porri and Dorri wrote:

There were three halfling adventurers. One's named Lorri, who is brother to Porri, and a good friend of Dorri. There was Porri, brother of Lorri, who liked Dorri, and there was Dorri, a family friend of Lorri and Porri."

Pause here. Likely nobody will get it at first if you just continue. Give it time to sink in, with a smirk.

"Lorri, Porri, and Dorri were out near Amn when they stumbled upon a lost village; forgotten and hidden from the rest of the world; they just want to be left alone. As they entered the Village, the villagers hid away and shunned them. Aside from one. An old gnome."

Dance around a bit to keep up the visual stimulation. If it's dark begin dancing the shadows around the campfire.

"They spoke with this friendly gnome, and he explained how the town was afraid of the curse of the beast. One upon a hill out in the distance. He knows about it because his father went into that cave. His father loved to play games, eat, and drink merrily." Begin to look out and away from them; cascade your hand up in the air. Begin to speak dramatically. "And in that cave inside that hill; a treasure of vast wealth."

End the dramatization. "Well. The halflings were adventurers. And what do adventurers like to hear about?" Pause. If somebody says treasure, dance violently toward them and around them.

"So the halflings gear up, grabbing their hand-me-down weapons, their backpacks, a bit of food (for a halfling), and more importantly; their torches." Cast light upon three of the prettiest women, if you aren't in a hostile area.

"Eventually, they make their way up the hill, and they find a cave. In the cave, they begin to walk. And walk. And walk. And walk..." Pause. "Andwalkandwalkandwalk!" Begin spinning slightly. "They make their way down cave after cave. Turn after turn. But then they realize it..." pause.

"They're lost."

"As soon as they realize it, they hear a voice." Change voice to a monsterous voice. "You have entered the cave, and cannot leave. The only way to leave is to play the game."

Pause, look around. If you're around children (or Lathanderites), comfort them.

"Immediately, a giant hand comes from the darkness, grabbing Lorri and snuffing his torch." Dispell the prettiest person's light that you cast.

"The wait begins. In the darkness, their friend was taken. They run for what seems like hours. They tire and eventually need rest. As they rest, they begin to cry when they think of their friend that they've abandoned to the cave. This wretched cave." Attempt to be angry through tears.

"After what seems to be days, the voice returns; Frightening Dorri and Porri." Change voice to a mosterous voice, but attempt to be slightly different. But not too different. "Porri and Dorri? Who is next to play my game?"

Return to the normal voice. "The two weep, and Dorri-the coward-kicks Porri in front of himself. The voice growls angerly." Monsterous voice, "Dorri, you snivelling whelp. So be it." Normal voice. "The hand comes from the darkness, and grabs Porri, snuffing his torch." Dispell another light, leaving only one left.

Look at the only light left, walk toward her slowly and soften your voice. "Now Dorri is all alone. He does nothing but weep. To betray his friends so, took too much out of him. He lays down in the cave, and cries." Pat her head as if to soothe her.

"After hours upon hours, the voice returns." Change to monsterous voice, but slightly different once again, "Dorri, you pig-loving horse-eater! Come pay for your betrayal!" Normal voice. "And from the darkness, the giant hand comes, snuffing his flame."

"It's completely dark, but he can feel himself being dragged for minutes. He tries to resist, but he is not strong enough, and eventually, he is sat down and something put in his hand."

"Wh-wh-what's this?"
"A dart. You must hit the target to win the game. If you win, you are able to leave."
"And if I fail?"
"You will not leave, as it's always been since this curse was made."
"But I cannot see."
"That is your problem."

"After crying for minutes, Dorri attempts his best straight shot, and is met with laughter. But oddly, the room begins to not be as dark, until at one point he can begin to see objects in the room, and he also realizes that he is growing. He looks around and sees..."

"A troll!" Yell it to attempt to scare somebody.

"However, the troll is shrinking....and changing...until eventually, it turns into Porri, and oddly-Porri disappears."

"Don't leave me!" Begin screaming in the monster voice. "Porri! Where are you!? I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

'Then he realizes that he is now the troll...and he must win a game to leave this cursed cave. But now...there's nobody left in the cave. His kicking Porri forward sealed his fate." Disappear in the shadows and leave before people can clap.

Another pad of parchment arrives.

Quote :

My dearest Myth'Drannor,

Passion of all kinds loses its flame after some time. I wanted to tell you a story about a place I've been.

My attention had become focused on an old man in a tavern. I was near the Sword Coast in a small Hamlet. The man for three days in a row and come, drink by himself, say nothing, leave, then come back that night.

On one particular night, I decided to follow him. We left and began our journey. I should mention at this point that the human was rather old. He needed a cane to walk, and had trouble on the journey. He would stumble around at times, as the ground was uneven. He needed to take many breaks. But five miles we walked. I stayed in the shadows, and made sure my presence wasn't known. The old man would speak as he walked; talking to somebody whom I had not found out about yet. He would spout off memories of some of the places we saw, and ask whomever he was talking to if she remembered.

We finally make it five miles out of town, on a rather harsh trip. The roads weren't kept in trail shape. Nobody has seen to it except for his own feet for quite some time. The overgrowth made it hard on him. The end was the top of a tall hill, where a gravestone laid. He stood there for quite some time. I didn't interrupt his ritual. All I did was scout around to make sure he was safe. Dispatched a wandering Goblin, but nothing more than that.

Near the gravestone were ruins of a house. A fire had burnt it to cinders, and the forest reclaimed it. Rodents of all sorts now used it for their home. This must have been his place?

After an hour or so of silence, he said aloud a prayer for his deceased wife; to no God in particular. He asked nothing, and just hoped that she was content. Happy. She was loved when she was alive. This in particular took my attention. The trip left him drained, but he turned to head back-likely to make the same journey again tomorrow until the journey took the best of him.

I interrupted his trip back, allowing myself to be seen from a tree where I was awaiting him. He looked up to me, and I smiled.

"You said your wife was loved when she was alive. Is she not, still?"
He shook his head to me, "No, my friend. The waves of timed snuffed that flame out long ago."
"If that's the case why make this journey?"

He paused, collecting his thoughts.

"Friendly elf, I shall say to you this; though love may have died out, the importance of that love remains constant. The love I had for her is not endless-this I know, now. But it was no less important than any other part of my life. The strife of this trip that I feel I must take makes at least that much clear to me."

I smiled, and whispered a, "Thank you" before disappearing.

I then realized passion of all kinds does indeed lose its flame after some time, but the loss we bear stays with us as long as we walk these paths.

It makes me think of this. We worked so hard to free Shadowdale. All of us. We lost friends, family, lovers, and strangers. Let us take another moment to remember and not lose sight of this. Though our passions might have died for the freedom, let us speak the name of somebody we lost. My thoughts will be with Lanius, the evening I write this. May the Gods embrace you tightly.