Fumbl Comic Strip

This is the front cover of the upcoming Fumble comic strop by my amazing girlfriend. Please tell us what you think.

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Vampire Short Story

This is the start of a character background I have been working on it has gone through multiple rewrites, I hope to post a chapter each week until its done. Please leave any comments below.

After the First Crusade recaptured Jerusalem in 1099, many Christian pilgrims traveled to visit what they referred to as the Holy Places. However, though the city of Jerusalem was under relatively secure control, the rest of Outremer was not. Bandits abounded, and pilgrims were routinely slaughtered, sometimes by the hundreds, as they attempted to make the journey from the coastline at Jaffa into the Holy Land

Part 1

The old man looked at his ring, thoughtfully. He was standing by a Portcullis, in the misty fog of Valettan streets rolling and wafting all around. It was winter. He wore suitable clothes, a long woolen coat and and simple robes underneath. In his hand, he held a cane.

He was leaning on it slightly, listening.

Occasionally a peasant would pass this small street, with it’s close Shanty Houses. He looked to be the timeless Spanish Lord, standing there, perhaps waiting to hail a coach, or maybe waiting for a lady to arrive.

Patient, reserved, predestine, in a calm collected manner.

His eyes were a deep green, his hair, Auburn and slightly graying but neatly kept. Clean shaven. Respectable in every department.

A long black coach, pulled up beside him. One the horses began to rear, the old man gazed into its eyes and it came to rest. The structure made one of those annoying creaking sounds that irritated him. But he ignored it. A face loomed out of the darkness.

At first, the gentleman forced a sharp intake of breath. The face of a woman, beautiful, like a marble statue is beautiful. And the color of ivory.

“Mr Hanlon Lees?”, asked the very pale woman.

Beautiful, he thought, but dangerous. He regained his composure almost immediately,

“Forgive me dear “, he said quietly, ” I am indeed the same Hanlon Lees.”

“Please, Mr Lees, step into my car, we have a lot to talk of. The night is … young yet” she spoke softly, elegantly. Enthralling tone of voice.

The man opened the door quietly and looked around, making sure that he was not followed. All he saw was the mist.

He stepped into the cab and quietly it pulled away.

In the shadows above, a man stood on a nobles balcony, somehow cloaked in the shadow itself. He was tall, philistine, and possessed a look of dedication. Undoubtedly, he had seen battle, such was his build and his stance. Suggestive of a warrior.

He looked into the deep air for no more than a few moments.

He whispered something quiet to himself, clenching a fist. He too was pale like the woman, though not as white.

Quietly, he lowered himself down to the street, and went over to a near boy dressed in bedraggled messanger clothing.

“Tell the Lord that she has taken one to speak with. They must be stopped, for the good of everyone. God be with you”

Part 2

My Name is Vittorja Elanua, “I am justicar of the Camerilla”. He gazed down at her eloquate flowing dress, crafted from the finest of silks in Scarlet Red, with simple flower petals embroided into the design She layed her hand upon her lap.

“We have been watching you for some time”, Hanlon did not seem surprised. “We have been fighting an invisible war, not just against the Sabbat but another threat to all Kindred kine, you have been charged to abrogate this mennace”

“But what of my loyalty to my prince” He protested, motioning to stand up,but unable to in the the confined space of the cabin. “Your Prince has come to an understanding” She reached to wooden box below her seat and pulled out large object wrapped in dirtied linen

“You will need this to complete your task”

He reached over and carefull placed the object on his knees, it seemed to hold no weight for something so large. He delicately began to unfurl the linin, it soon became apparent to him that this had not been seen by a mans eyes in generations.

He could feel a heat build up from inside the wrappings, although it did not burn he felt a warmth that he had not felt since his days as mortal. He further unfurled the wrappings, a handle began to appear, crafted from fine leather and silk, in a crimson not unlike that of Vittorja’s dress, a pommel in the shape of an anque, with wings of a predatory bird inlaid with a fine jewel. It was of a metal he had not seen before but the craftsmanship was sublime and yet so precice. It reminded him of a time when he worked as a smith, when he could take pride in his work. The angles and edges on this pommel were so precice it could not have been crafted by a mere man.

He contuinued slowly unsheathing it revealing the hilt, mirroing the predatory wings on the pommel.

“Only those of true faith may gaze upon its blade” Vittorja recounted. Mezmorized by it beauty he continued revealing a long but perfectly balanced blade, The decisive killing tool” He Silibated.

He traced a finger over the Rhunic writing that was inlaid with precious metals on the blade He did not recognize the script despite being a scholar of languages.

“With this you will be a weapon of the Camilla”

The Man And The House Short Stroy by Poul Matras

Samson gazed at the moon.

Normally he wasn’t one to place too great weight on the moon. Not as a symbol. Not as a Big old rock hanging in the sky. Not at all. But tonight it made him feel a bit melancholic. A tiny shard of emptyness and lack of meaning pierced his heart as he glared on the perfectly round silver coin that was hanging in the sky.
He gritted his teeth. He couldn’t sit here sobbing. He had work to do and he had to be on his toes and alert, otherwise it would mean a lot of trouble for him and his mates. He looked at the house at the botom of the hill. It was a calm, beautifull and all in all lovely little house. Samsom shook his head. Nothing that lovely could last, he knew that, there was always a snake somewhere in the garden to ruin the fun for everyone else.
The weather was clear and the air was as calm as it was cold. There was nothing to distract him, and still his mind wandered. The moon laughed silently at him and taunted him for being sentimental. The stars joined in a choire of laughing voices mocking this one moment of sentimental thought.

Samson regained focus and looked at the house again. Nothing had changed. The same peacefull, little house stood at the bottom of the hill.
He thought about what would happen tonight. He shuddered. It wasn’t the cold. Even though it was freesing, it was something else that made him shudder. He tried to find alternatives, but it was all one long fight to avoid the enevitable. It was all in vain. And he knew it.

The Gentlemen had tried to acomplish what needed to be done, the way the would like it to be done. Emanuel had offered a significan amount of money for the house and the grounds. It had been politely refused. Ninefinger Jack had tried to gamble the owner into a debth do severe that he would have to sell the house. But the man had resisted all of jacks charms and stopped when he started loosing. The Gentlemen had failed.

The lady had tried. Yssabelle had spared no trick from the great book of female cunning. She had worn enough sensual magnetism in her to seduce a dosin priests in front of god himself. But she had failed. The owner had bowed politely and said that he was spoken for. The Lady had failed.


The Boys had tried. Sam had vandalised the mans car and left messages of hate on his doorstep. He had pulled every scool bully trick to make this guy find an other neighbohood to live in. No result. Jason had pulled his strings with some local gangs. They had pelted the house with eggs and rotten fruit. They had fired weapons and shouted warnings. But the owner would not sell. The Boys had failed.
And now Samson knew what had to happen. He knew the drill, he had seen it all before. When the Gentlemen failed, the Lady tried. When the Lady failed the Boys tried. And when the Boys failed, The man had to get out of his comfy chair an get the job done.

He knew that he could not walk away. He knew that to much rested on his shoulders. He wasn’t a quitter and never had been. And now was the time to show it. Time to show that no matter how shitty the job was, the Man would get it done. Time to show who the Man really was.

A light was lit in the house below. Someone had come home. Samson looked upon the moon a last time. It seemed so calm. And he felt calmer as he whatched it. He knew what he had to do. He shot the peacefull house a bitter look, loaded his gun and started down the hill.

A Dream of the Past 10 A short story by Poul Matras

The third article from the Dark Whipers, series A short Vampire story by Paul Matra
If it had not been for the familiar faces in his dreams, he probably would have felt alone, the cell was dark and dank. A smell of rot and carrion lay heavy in the air, but of course that was to be expected from a torture chamber under a graveyard.
Anthony had recognised the place the first time he set foot there, he had seen it more than once in his dreams and he had even been able to distinguish which cell he would be held in, and almost precisely when his sleep would be disturbed by his holders.
This place had been explicitly vivid in his dreams, he had not just seen it, he had stood there in the cell and felt the damp air and the horrible smell of the graves above. He had touched some of the bloody knives and manacles and felt the cold merciless steel of which they were crafted. He knew that when his visions were this vivid they were important, the things they potrayed were crucial for the fate that was intended for him.
He had always known that someone planned his fate, he had been led through his entire life by a dark hand with an unscrupulous sense of humour and a plan incomprehendible for the mortal mind. And now it had led him to this cell, where he knew his life would take a turn for the darker… Darker than ever before.

This night he did not dream of the present or the future as he usually did, he dreamt of the past, his own past. That had never happened before, and in the dream he was surprised, for he was used to seeing places his waking eye would later recognize and living people whom he had never met before, yet he knew they were real.
But tonight he saw his mother screaming as she gave birth to a child. A darkhaired browneyed child, with none of her husbands features. He saw how the child as three years old witnessed his father screaming that his mother was a whore and a liar. He saw how he struck her when she objected and he saw the father leave.
“So my father died in the war?” He thought and sighed in his sleep.
The vision jumped forward in time and showed his school, the classroom filled with children busy in their chatter not sparing him a second glance. The teacher never recalled his name and he never felt welcome in class, so his vision shifted to his place of happiness in this sad and solitary time: the library. He followed his own evolution from a six year old to a ten years old, he saw the bruises gained whenever he showed his head outside the library, he saw how other kids found it funny to tackle him if he did not make his way through the school yard fast enough, and he saw how he never felt welcome anywhere but in the library, even at home his mothers stressed disposition made him long for his books.
And then he saw the fire. The fire that scorched the library, destroyed his books, and filled his lungs with a thick black smoke making him sick for weeks thereafter, he still had a nasty cough as a result.
The visions grew dark with smoke, and when the thick black layer lifted, he saw the twelve years old Anthony practicing gymnastics in the break, in stead of playing with the other children, he saw his skill grow and he saw the joy of the accomplishment in the child’s eyes. And then he saw the same child limping home not able to walk probably due to the damage to his leg. He remembered vaguely the fat boy who had jumped on it while he was lying on the cement of the schoolyard, pushed over by one of the bullies.
He saw a woman barely recognizable, in two years his mother had grown ten years older, with the strain of her work and the stress of her dark thought of how little chance her child had in this dark world. He saw how her heart broke when the same child limped into the room crying his brave tears.
The doctor who looked at the leg, was busy and hurried over the details, the young Anthony tried to remember everything he said, but it was to fast and the pain was great, so in the end he had to return two months after, having strained his leg. This time the message was clear; “you better avoid gymnastics in the future.” The child did not cry, he had known it would get worse; he had grown used to losing everything he loved.
Nothing was left to make the child in the vision happy, nothing but the worn out, sad and worried woman who was his mother. Anthony tried to close his eyes to block out what would happen next, but he knew already that this was not possible, he was forced to see the one person he had loved die. He watched in silent agony as the car hit her, and he did not get angry when the driver sped away. He contemplated the futility of his mothers last struggle to reach home before she passed out, and he pitied the boy who desperately struggled to remain calm enough to call an ambulance. He watched as the younger boy watched his mother die, both of them unable to change the cruel will of fate.
Once again time shifted forward and launched the sad and lonely boy into a new home in an orphanage. The room he slept in was cold and void of pleasure, his mind was forced to work only with what it could devise itself, for even though he shared the room with three other boys the younger Anthony was alone, in this cell he had been gifted by the pity of the world.
The boy grew, through years of solitude in the middle of a crowd. He learned the lessons of his schoolbooks and he slowly became more and more like the Anthony who was silently watching him. The boy had always dreamed, but in these years I grew in intensity and regularity, and soon the boy seemed to recognize every face, which drifted by him in his pitiful existence.
The vision finally reached the night, where Anthony had drifted on the streets not wanting to return to his prison, and by the hand of fate had been led past a graveyard he recognised. He knew who dwelled there, and he knew they would be attacked. The older antonym shook his head when his former self braved the graveyard gate and trod onto the once holy soil. A dark figure approached the now grown boy and spoke the sentence that had rung in so many of his visions: “coming here tonight will prove to be the most interesting mistake you have ever made.”
And so the boy was led by guards into the darkness under the graveyard and down till the cell. It was a cell which would inspire fear in any mortal, it was a cell that had undoubtedly taken many a life, but at least it was a cell of his own.
And now as his dream had caught up with him, Anthony saw a figure he knew and cherished, a figure that had been in the dreams he both feared and loved, the person who would kill him.
Anthony saw him scaling the steps downwards, passing through the hallways and entering the prison and Anthony’s cell.
He was not sure if he was awake or still dreaming when the man caressed his chin, nor when he whispered strange words in his ears. But he anticipated the final act, he longed for this moment of decision where fate would finally give him the last crippling blow and rob him of the world he had come to loath.
Only when the long, pointed fangs sank into his neck did he realise the trick fate had played upon him: the man who would bring him the gift of death was also to bring him its curse.
Anthony died with the unbearable knowledge that he would go from being the one whom fate tormented to being yet another of fates instruments of torture.

Star wars saga edition/first game

 

This week I started playing a campaign at my local gaming group and is being run by nook. We had a choice of games to play including, warhammer and abberant but star wars won out.
This is the first time I’ve played the saga edition having extensively played the previous d20 edition and d6 editions. So far we don’t seem to have had game mechanics problems and it seems to run very smoothly, however that could also be down to a good gm.
The caharacters so far are, a Twi’lek Jedi,  Zabrac Scoundrel\Pilot (myself) and a Human Soldier we’re all starting at Level 1, and it’s set during the Clone Wars. We were sent to the planet Trandosha,  to escort a Jedi  Master on a diplomatic mission with the Trandoshanshians. It started out well with the first roll being a pilot check and me rolling an incredible 1! luckily the ships captain Erin Resh took over, and managed to land us safely.
We were left with the ship whilst the Jedi master (NPC) went off to negotiate. After a short while preparing the ships engines, and getting the R2 unit to start refuelling. We were interrupted by a group of battle droids, the Jedi Padawan started out by using the force to lift a crate and crush one of the droids, the Clone trooper and Soldier then opened up on a further two. The Scoundrel decided to try and trick the droids by telling one of them that one was a Republic Infiltrator, not very successfully unfortunately, but hey they are dumb droids. Instead he opened up with his pistol and dropped another one. The remaining droids opened up in retaliation, wounding both the scoundrel and the soldier, and setting fire to the fuel truck that was currently connected to the ship The padawan continued squashing droids with the crate.Taking out another swarm of them, during the commotion the fire started by the droids started spreading to the refuelling line. The R2 unit went about whirring and complaining as it attempted to uncouple the fuel hose to prevent the ship from exploding. The scoundrel ran to uncouple the ship and help the R2 unit. and succeeded in controlling the refuelling cart towards the droids stopping the ship from exploding. After all the droids were down the group set about with minor healing, the padawan sensed the force and foud her master was unconscious and conveyed this to group so they could head in the right directions. with some maps from the R2 unit and guidance from the zabrac pilot the group headed out. The whole complex was under attack with droids roaming the halls and blaster shots heard through the halls. They approached the lifts they needed to get to the ambassadorial rooms. but they noticed that this would be a prime location for a ambush against them.
They halted briefly and got ready, the scoundrel hid in a prime location of a crevice in the wall. The solider set up behind some crates and the padawan stood back. The clone trooper was sent in first to see if there was anyone there, as he rounded the corner they noticed a pair of battle droids, who had yet to see him. He swiftly took them out before they had a chance to retaliate.
The lifts nearby suddenly started moving towards their floor, the rest of the party moved ino position to attack. The Padawan ran to the gap between the two lifts to get a surprise attack.
The doors opened with a swooping motion and three battle droids stepped out and one super droid. The Clone trooper took one down before they knew what was happening and the solider shot at another and missed, narrowly missing the padawan. Who jumped on the super droid, dealing damage with her lightsaber. The scoundrel narrowly missed the super droid, and then the droids got a chance. All missing.
The clone trooper then took down the super droid with another blaster shot, the padawan took down another droid, with the scoundrel taking the last one out.