Friday, December 7, 2012

New Arrival

Abel hadn’t been dead for very long, but so far it wasn’t too bad. He was resting on his back in the grass, gazing up at an incredible spire. It had to be several hundred feet in diameter and miles high. At the top was a ring of stone, with what looked to be a city on the interior edge. How could such a thing exist?

     Abel didn’t think too hard on that; he just tried to relax and to take it all in. He wasn’t sure how he knew that he was dead. It was just something he sensed. He wasn’t in any kind of pain or emotional distress. Curiously, he could not recall anything concrete about his former life. As he watched the city rotate at the top of the spire miles above, fleeting images passed through his mind.   

     There was the kind face of a young, elven male, a curvaceous human female and finally a stern-faced, elven woman. Who were they? As their faces flitted though his mind he felt a mix of sadness and joy. More immediate was the realization that he had no idea where he was at the moment, but he wasn’t bothered by it. There was an overriding sense that all was well and exactly as it should be.  

     He soon drifted off to sleep. While he slumbered the details of his death played out in stunning detail. In life, Abel could really take a beating. That fact came to him as his dream self stood toe to toe with a giant. What an ugly son of a bitch! Abel stood his ground – sword in hand, shield broken, as that big bastard charged him. Why would he stand there like that? Why didn’t he run? He didn’t run, however, and that’s how he ended up dead and laying in the grass next to an impossibly high spire.  

     Abel jolted awake as the giant’s club came down upon him with terrifying speed and force. He heard hooves approaching. He immediately sat up and his warrior’s instinct – yes, he must have been some kind of warrior he realized – caused his hand to reach to his side for a sword and scabbard that weren’t there.

     Whatever and whoever was approaching would have to be faced with Abel’s most basic weapons – foul language and a cocky attitude.

Abel Artone, Petitioner; Level 0; Human Armor Class: 9 (-1 dex); Hit Dice: 1d6; Hit Points: 8; THAC0: 20; No. of Attacks: 1; Damage: 0*; Move: 12; Alignment: Neutral 

Abilities: Strength 16 (+1 dam), Dexterity 15 (-1 AC), Constitution 17 (+3 hp), Intelligence 9, Wisdom 10, Charisma 8 

Saving Throws: Paralyzation, Poison or Death Magic 16, Rod, Staff or Wand 18. Petrification or Polymorph 17, Breath Weapon 20, Spell 19 

*Abel is currently unarmed.

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