Our Slow Grow League is reaching its culmination. Here are some of the stories that are being told through the recent bloodshed in Venice.
They are not only hobbyists, painters and gamers. They are also storytellers. I’m of course talking about our fantastic Carnevale players, and this is a tribute to them and their creativity.
It’s all fun and games… – Cliff B.
The air was heavy with thick poisonous smoke drifting from the Ospedale. A man stepped out of the fog and collapsed. The Venetian noble and his party of revellers laughed at the unfortunate wretch. Coins were passed back and forth between two Barnabotti as they gambled on which strangled gasp would be his last. As the man stopped breathing the wind picked up. The party would have to move on or share the man’s fate.
As they headed off they saw other figures to the east. A group of Rashaar were also moving to stay ahead of the fog. Laughter broke out in the party. Wouldn’t it be fun if something were to slow them down a little?
The two groups raced towards the large plaza. For a moment, the nobleman and magi stood in full view of each other. But the magi was too far away for spellcraft, and the noble was unwilling to open fire yet, more concerned with shepherding his group to solid ground and an advantage over the fish folk.
An advanced hybrid and a brutal Ugdru suddenly burst from the waters below. The patricians held their discipline though and fought them back into the canals leaving the Rashaar to face the swirling mists behind.
The mascherata surged on to meet remaining Rashaar on the plaza. Both groups were within reach of escape, but unwilling to let the others off easily. A church enforcer surged into the patricians mob, and threw the venetian noble into the middle of the Rashaar. As the nobleman landed he could see an eldritch glow of a spell settling around a giant Raadru, who was suddenly consumed with a savage bloodlust. The noble could have easily chosen to leave, but instead he threw himself at the Rashaar.
The noble paid for his show of strength as the Raadru tore into him. However, before succumbing he dealt a blow to the Rashaar troupe and as he fell it was clear that the plaza now belonged to the patricians.
The Rashaar Magi could only curse as he marshalled the few followers he could to safety. The fog had claimed the rest…
A True Magi – Jon BW.
“You let the Nobleman escape!” hissed Rha-Yigorrh at the other Magi.
“What does it matter?” Spat Arlach, back at his rival.
“We got the rest of them!”
“You fool, you were supposed to STOP them from reaching the docks! Not only does he now know something of our true intentions, he has access to further armaments!”
Before Arlach could retort, a scrawny urchin burst into the chamber.
“Excuse me Sir? Ma’am? Some clergymen and soldiers with fire on their swords are approaching the church and trying to take some of the congregation!”
“You stay here, Arlach, you’ve caused enough problems! I’ll take one of the Raadru and a few others to see them off.”
Rah-Yigorrh spun round and marched out the door, grabbing her barnacle-encrusted trident from where it stood against the wall. Splashing through puddles towards the church doors, she turned to the urchin scurrying along beside her.
“Lead on girl, I’ll show this fool how a true Magi protects her domain!”
Fury of an Angel – Ed B.
The electricity crackled and spewed forth, with its green light bathing everything around him. In that moment he remembered the words of his instructor, Dotore Massimo,
“If you do not maintain control, you will die, and your corpse will be carried away by a carrion crawler to become fish food in the lagoon”.
He had to strain to stay under control and deliver the killer voltage to the nobles, diseased and blood crazed, but he had not expected this. Time stood still. The chaos and mayhem seemed to fade away as he looked on…
There she stood, frying pan in hand, drawing the electricity away from her as if she was its master. Not once, but twice, she had stood firm. Now, as she bathed in rent light and electric charge, she looked like an Angel. 4ft tall and in her 60s, but an avenging Angel nonetheless.
He would never forget this night. Not due to the bloodshed, nor the sight of an unleashed madman. It would be the frypan lady that would haunt his dreams from now until his dying breath.
