Post by Firehead on Aug 11, 2020 21:14:09 GMT -5
This is a bunch a story/plot/one-shot ideas that have popped into my head over the years. They were too good to let slip away, yet too short to...well...BE. Until now. I'll add them as I get them polished up (ie, grammar, spelling, fleshing out obscure but important points, etc). Hope you enjoy reading these as much as I enjoyed dreaming them up.
------
(OOC: I've planned on killing Rab Streamflag off for a couple of years now. Not that he wasn't a good character--on the contrary, he was a great one--but he never seemed to get a break when it came to rollplaying, and I just didn't have the time for him. But I didn't want to say "he's dead, end of story". I felt he deserved a Hail Mary instead of fading away. So, here it is.)
Rab contracted the plague from the wound he received at the Norgate Ball Battle, but made a slow recovery. His health was permanently broken, and he took ill easily after that. During a worse than usual bout of ill health, he was killed by Scotti raiders, but took the entire warband with him. He ran out of arrows at the last minute, and seated with his back against a large oak tree, he fashioned a crude arrow from a nearby stick. His last shot was at point blank range, taking the last Scotti warrior in the throat, just as the Scotti split Rab’s head open with a battle axe.
His battle is legend-- among the Scotti as well as the locals-- both of whom believe that the Ranger’s spirit still resides near the oak tree. Indeed, they may be on to something, for every now and again , a band of Scotti will swing by the village when making forays into Araluan, but have reportedly started to give the oak tree a wide berth, claiming it’s haunted by the Ranger’s spirit. Any Scotti who approach the oak are killed by arrows, seemingly from the very tree itself, and Scotti have occasionally reported catching a glimpse of the Ranger’s oakleaf pendant gleaming in the shade. There have been, on rare occasions, locals or travelers present to witness the phenomenon of an arrow appearing mysteriously in midair, and then flashing across the intervening space to lodge in the forehead of a Scotti warleader. Thus, to the locals at least, this particular oak tree is known as the Ranger’s Oak.
-----
“C’mon, Kara! We’re almost there.” Stephen’s feet flew as he sprinted over the crest of the hill toward the great sprawling oak tree that crowned it. He darted forward, into the cool relieving shade of its branches, leaping nimbly over the tangle of protruding roots that arched out of the ground in abundance, skidding to a halt mere meters from the stout trunk itself. Kara, unprepared for his abrupt stop, piled into him from behind, sending the pair of them stumbling forward. She was about to issue a sharp word, when he jabbed a finger towards the base of the trunk, blurting out, “Look! You can still see his bones!”
Kara peered around her cousin’s back, and saw that amidst the tangle of thick bulging roots, there was indeed, the skeleton of a man, half-engulfed by the tree beneath which he had been seated, and which now grew around his bones. There was little left of him, beyond the bones and the tattered remnants of his clothing. But a short distance above his skull, which had been cloven near in two, was the weathered shaft of an arrow, buried over a quarter of the way within the bark of the tree, and dangling from it, hung the unmistakable silver oakleaf of the Rangers. It was a little worn and quite tarnished from exposure to the elements, but Kara thought that she could still see a kind of glow within the metal itself. She unconsciously reached out a hand to touch the pendant, but was jerked to her senses when Stephen barked out, “Don’t touch it!”
She snapped her hand down reflexively, a little shame-faced at having nearly touched a Ranger’s symbol. “Oops.” She rubbed her hand on the skirt of her dress, trying to rid herself of the unsettling feeling that she actually had touched it, studying the scene before her with a growing sense of dread. “Did they leave the other bodies here, as well? Like his?” She hated the thought that she might be standing on top of someone’s unburied bones.
“Nah, Just his’n. Pa said that they burned the Scotti in case any of them had the plague.”
“Why didn’t they burn the Ranger? Or at least bury him? It’s spooky how the tree’s wrapped around his bones like that.” She shivered at the sight, and hugged herself trying to ward off the chills.
“Cause, silly. You think anybody hereabouts wants to lay hands a Ranger? Even a dead one? ‘Sides, my uncle said it’s better to let the trees have him. See the shape of the pendant they wear? They got some kind of affinity with the oak, an’ since this’n is already under an oak, why move him? Uncle said the oak’ll bury him how it wants.”
Kara shivered again as she looked around once more. “So who put the pendant there? That’s his, isn’t it?”
“Pa says he thinks one of the Scotti was trying to figure out who they were fighting--or trying to loot the body. Figures that one of them took it off, but then keeled over before they could do anything more.” Stephen took a quick glance around, noting the darkening sky. “It’s almost evening--we should head back.” So saying, he pulled a wooden whistle out of his pockets. It was rough, as he had just started on it earlier that day, but he laid it on the ground before backing away, towing Kara with him. “Wouldn’t want to make either of ‘em angry.” he justified to her, as they hurried back towards the village.
----
In the Year 664,
To: Ranger Commandant Crowley
From: Baron Walter Finnbar
Concerning: The Fief Ranger, Rab Streamflag
My good sir,
It has come to my attention over the years that there is a small...issue...with my fief’s Ranger. It’s a rather difficult matter to address, so I’ll simply relate everything I know, and hope that you will understand.
1. Ranger Streamflag has been stationed at my fief for the better part of the last ten years. I have never had a problem with him. He makes his reports regularly, and often (whenever possible).
2. The village of Wayfair was beset upon by a Scotti warparty some four years ago, but there were no losses, due to Streamflag’s timely intervention just outside the village itself. If I recall the details correctly, it was a band of roughly 30 Scotti warriors. Streamflag took the warparty out, right down to the last man. He was, however, seriously injured, and as a result of that and a bout of ill health, was confined to his cabin for quite some time afterward. During his convalescence, he still made his regular reports--by letter.
3. It was after this incident that people began asking me when we would be getting a new Ranger in to replace Streamflag.
4. People move around, change places of abode, and so on, as is normal. The people of Wayfair are no different. People talk--that is normal. The people of Wayfair are again, no different.
Here’s the problem.
5. My entire fief is convinced that our lovely little corner of this wonderful nation is haunted.
6. By the Ranger.
7. Whom the people of Wayfair are very adamant is very, very dead. And has been for the past four years.
8. The cause of the Ranger’s death is the battle at Wayfair. Witnesses--reliable witnesses--say he was killed by a Scotti war axe splitting his head open. Like a melon, I believe were their exact words.
9. No one has seen the Ranger since.
10. I am reasonably certain that Streamflag is still alive, and that it is he writing these reports, as his handwriting has not changed one bit in the ten years he has served my fief.
11. I would ask Steamflag for a complete confirmation, but I haven’t seen him either, although he has been making regular reports by letter.
12. He has mentioned in his reports that he attended the last four Gatherings, so I would like to know--have you seen him?
I should dearly like to put these rumors to rest. Please respond as soon as your time permits.
Concerned,
Baron Finnbar
----
Year 665
To: Ranger Commandant Crowley & replacement Ranger
From:Ranger Gilroy
To Whom It May Concern:
This cabin is haunted. It's that or someone is very, VERY good at remaining unseen. I leave the cabin in the morning and come back late at night to a roaring fire in the hearth, a hot meal waiting for me on the table, correspondence written, everything neat and tidy, etc. It gets worse. If I don't take Bucker with me, I turn him out to graze whilst I'm gone. I come back, he's in the barn, fed, watered, and groomed. My horse is good, but he's not THAT good.
Every Day, Every Night.
I can't take it anymore, Crowley. I'm too doggone old for this. Give me my gold leaf. And if y'all want to make fun of me, GO AHEAD!
Apologies for the Inconvenience,
Ranger Gilroy
PS: As far as the fief goes, it's pretty calm and peaceful right now. No raiding. Low crime rate. Worst crime I've faced in three months is someone taking the wrong cow in for milking.
--------
The Ranger drew up outside the small cabin, and looked it over. It had been unoccupied since Gilroy had taken leave of it some six months ago, yet it looked as though someone still occupied the premises. The Ranger's horse had made no sound, indicating that it had not sensed anyone--or anything--suspicious. The Ranger swung down and, leaving the horse ground tied, stepped through the doorway.
The welcome smell of coffee swept round the Ranger in an all-to welcome embrace. A look showed that two mugs and a pot of the still steaming beverage were placed at the table. One chair had been shoved back as though someone were seated there, and one of the mugs was in such a position that someone might have just put it down as the Ranger entered. The other mug was placed at an angle where one might expect to take a seat across from the first, and it was filled to the brim with good, hot coffee.
The Ranger took a seat, and sipped appreciatively from the mug. "That's good coffee, that is." The Ranger considered the empty seat across the table. "I've been sent to replace you. Well, actually old Gilroy. Seems you scared the poor fella half to death. Now I reckon you didn't plan on that--you was just trying to make life a little bit easier on 'im. You're free to go now, Ranger Streamflag. Rest easy, old friend."
A soft sigh seemed to ease through the cabin, and the Ranger's horse bobbed it's head, pricking it's ears, before returning to it's casual grazing. The Ranger in the cabin felt a little lonelier than before.
------
(OOC: I've planned on killing Rab Streamflag off for a couple of years now. Not that he wasn't a good character--on the contrary, he was a great one--but he never seemed to get a break when it came to rollplaying, and I just didn't have the time for him. But I didn't want to say "he's dead, end of story". I felt he deserved a Hail Mary instead of fading away. So, here it is.)
Rab contracted the plague from the wound he received at the Norgate Ball Battle, but made a slow recovery. His health was permanently broken, and he took ill easily after that. During a worse than usual bout of ill health, he was killed by Scotti raiders, but took the entire warband with him. He ran out of arrows at the last minute, and seated with his back against a large oak tree, he fashioned a crude arrow from a nearby stick. His last shot was at point blank range, taking the last Scotti warrior in the throat, just as the Scotti split Rab’s head open with a battle axe.
His battle is legend-- among the Scotti as well as the locals-- both of whom believe that the Ranger’s spirit still resides near the oak tree. Indeed, they may be on to something, for every now and again , a band of Scotti will swing by the village when making forays into Araluan, but have reportedly started to give the oak tree a wide berth, claiming it’s haunted by the Ranger’s spirit. Any Scotti who approach the oak are killed by arrows, seemingly from the very tree itself, and Scotti have occasionally reported catching a glimpse of the Ranger’s oakleaf pendant gleaming in the shade. There have been, on rare occasions, locals or travelers present to witness the phenomenon of an arrow appearing mysteriously in midair, and then flashing across the intervening space to lodge in the forehead of a Scotti warleader. Thus, to the locals at least, this particular oak tree is known as the Ranger’s Oak.
-----
“C’mon, Kara! We’re almost there.” Stephen’s feet flew as he sprinted over the crest of the hill toward the great sprawling oak tree that crowned it. He darted forward, into the cool relieving shade of its branches, leaping nimbly over the tangle of protruding roots that arched out of the ground in abundance, skidding to a halt mere meters from the stout trunk itself. Kara, unprepared for his abrupt stop, piled into him from behind, sending the pair of them stumbling forward. She was about to issue a sharp word, when he jabbed a finger towards the base of the trunk, blurting out, “Look! You can still see his bones!”
Kara peered around her cousin’s back, and saw that amidst the tangle of thick bulging roots, there was indeed, the skeleton of a man, half-engulfed by the tree beneath which he had been seated, and which now grew around his bones. There was little left of him, beyond the bones and the tattered remnants of his clothing. But a short distance above his skull, which had been cloven near in two, was the weathered shaft of an arrow, buried over a quarter of the way within the bark of the tree, and dangling from it, hung the unmistakable silver oakleaf of the Rangers. It was a little worn and quite tarnished from exposure to the elements, but Kara thought that she could still see a kind of glow within the metal itself. She unconsciously reached out a hand to touch the pendant, but was jerked to her senses when Stephen barked out, “Don’t touch it!”
She snapped her hand down reflexively, a little shame-faced at having nearly touched a Ranger’s symbol. “Oops.” She rubbed her hand on the skirt of her dress, trying to rid herself of the unsettling feeling that she actually had touched it, studying the scene before her with a growing sense of dread. “Did they leave the other bodies here, as well? Like his?” She hated the thought that she might be standing on top of someone’s unburied bones.
“Nah, Just his’n. Pa said that they burned the Scotti in case any of them had the plague.”
“Why didn’t they burn the Ranger? Or at least bury him? It’s spooky how the tree’s wrapped around his bones like that.” She shivered at the sight, and hugged herself trying to ward off the chills.
“Cause, silly. You think anybody hereabouts wants to lay hands a Ranger? Even a dead one? ‘Sides, my uncle said it’s better to let the trees have him. See the shape of the pendant they wear? They got some kind of affinity with the oak, an’ since this’n is already under an oak, why move him? Uncle said the oak’ll bury him how it wants.”
Kara shivered again as she looked around once more. “So who put the pendant there? That’s his, isn’t it?”
“Pa says he thinks one of the Scotti was trying to figure out who they were fighting--or trying to loot the body. Figures that one of them took it off, but then keeled over before they could do anything more.” Stephen took a quick glance around, noting the darkening sky. “It’s almost evening--we should head back.” So saying, he pulled a wooden whistle out of his pockets. It was rough, as he had just started on it earlier that day, but he laid it on the ground before backing away, towing Kara with him. “Wouldn’t want to make either of ‘em angry.” he justified to her, as they hurried back towards the village.
----
In the Year 664,
To: Ranger Commandant Crowley
From: Baron Walter Finnbar
Concerning: The Fief Ranger, Rab Streamflag
My good sir,
It has come to my attention over the years that there is a small...issue...with my fief’s Ranger. It’s a rather difficult matter to address, so I’ll simply relate everything I know, and hope that you will understand.
1. Ranger Streamflag has been stationed at my fief for the better part of the last ten years. I have never had a problem with him. He makes his reports regularly, and often (whenever possible).
2. The village of Wayfair was beset upon by a Scotti warparty some four years ago, but there were no losses, due to Streamflag’s timely intervention just outside the village itself. If I recall the details correctly, it was a band of roughly 30 Scotti warriors. Streamflag took the warparty out, right down to the last man. He was, however, seriously injured, and as a result of that and a bout of ill health, was confined to his cabin for quite some time afterward. During his convalescence, he still made his regular reports--by letter.
3. It was after this incident that people began asking me when we would be getting a new Ranger in to replace Streamflag.
4. People move around, change places of abode, and so on, as is normal. The people of Wayfair are no different. People talk--that is normal. The people of Wayfair are again, no different.
Here’s the problem.
5. My entire fief is convinced that our lovely little corner of this wonderful nation is haunted.
6. By the Ranger.
7. Whom the people of Wayfair are very adamant is very, very dead. And has been for the past four years.
8. The cause of the Ranger’s death is the battle at Wayfair. Witnesses--reliable witnesses--say he was killed by a Scotti war axe splitting his head open. Like a melon, I believe were their exact words.
9. No one has seen the Ranger since.
10. I am reasonably certain that Streamflag is still alive, and that it is he writing these reports, as his handwriting has not changed one bit in the ten years he has served my fief.
11. I would ask Steamflag for a complete confirmation, but I haven’t seen him either, although he has been making regular reports by letter.
12. He has mentioned in his reports that he attended the last four Gatherings, so I would like to know--have you seen him?
I should dearly like to put these rumors to rest. Please respond as soon as your time permits.
Concerned,
Baron Finnbar
----
Year 665
To: Ranger Commandant Crowley & replacement Ranger
From:Ranger Gilroy
To Whom It May Concern:
This cabin is haunted. It's that or someone is very, VERY good at remaining unseen. I leave the cabin in the morning and come back late at night to a roaring fire in the hearth, a hot meal waiting for me on the table, correspondence written, everything neat and tidy, etc. It gets worse. If I don't take Bucker with me, I turn him out to graze whilst I'm gone. I come back, he's in the barn, fed, watered, and groomed. My horse is good, but he's not THAT good.
Every Day, Every Night.
I can't take it anymore, Crowley. I'm too doggone old for this. Give me my gold leaf. And if y'all want to make fun of me, GO AHEAD!
Apologies for the Inconvenience,
Ranger Gilroy
PS: As far as the fief goes, it's pretty calm and peaceful right now. No raiding. Low crime rate. Worst crime I've faced in three months is someone taking the wrong cow in for milking.
--------
The Ranger drew up outside the small cabin, and looked it over. It had been unoccupied since Gilroy had taken leave of it some six months ago, yet it looked as though someone still occupied the premises. The Ranger's horse had made no sound, indicating that it had not sensed anyone--or anything--suspicious. The Ranger swung down and, leaving the horse ground tied, stepped through the doorway.
The welcome smell of coffee swept round the Ranger in an all-to welcome embrace. A look showed that two mugs and a pot of the still steaming beverage were placed at the table. One chair had been shoved back as though someone were seated there, and one of the mugs was in such a position that someone might have just put it down as the Ranger entered. The other mug was placed at an angle where one might expect to take a seat across from the first, and it was filled to the brim with good, hot coffee.
The Ranger took a seat, and sipped appreciatively from the mug. "That's good coffee, that is." The Ranger considered the empty seat across the table. "I've been sent to replace you. Well, actually old Gilroy. Seems you scared the poor fella half to death. Now I reckon you didn't plan on that--you was just trying to make life a little bit easier on 'im. You're free to go now, Ranger Streamflag. Rest easy, old friend."
A soft sigh seemed to ease through the cabin, and the Ranger's horse bobbed it's head, pricking it's ears, before returning to it's casual grazing. The Ranger in the cabin felt a little lonelier than before.