A gnome and his Vampire's Revenge can never be separated (BG1)

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First, let me explain a few things about Ceveren. He's the kind of person whose brain is capable of finding incredibly complex solutions to a problem, but always fails miserably when it comes to spotting the obvious ones. He's not the kind of person who gives up easily, despite the odds, and when he's decided to do something, he does it. He is also destined to find the sword 'Vampire's Revenge'.

Fortunately, he's also the child of a god, which means he has access to the reload function.


-----

Here's the character:

Name: Ceveren Suicidegnome
Race: Gnome
Class: Fighter
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral (while he is always extremely determined, his motivations and goals may change rather abruptly)

Ability scores (quite the powergaming character, but I'll most likely need it):
STR: 16
DEX: 18
CON: 18
INT: 19
WIS: 15 (INT and WIS mostly for lore purposes)
CHA: 3 (Heh. The impact this has on people's reactions actually surprises me. )

Weapon proficiencies:
**** Bow
** Small sword

Colours:
Hair: Bright orange
Skin: Default
Major clothing: Dark blue
Minor clothing: Bluish violet

Voice: Default male

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One day, Ceveren was sitting comfortably in a sofa in Candlekeep's uppermost library, watching TV. A film was on. He didn't know what film it was, for he missed the beginning, but it was about some halflings and a ring. And an elf. A cool elf. In fact, he found the elf so incredibly cool; he wanted to be just like him.

Then Gorion entered, telling him that he must hurry down to the inn.
“Awww, but can't I at least see the end of the film first?” asked Ceveren.
“No,” came the answer. “And it’s movie, not film.” Gorion had always, unsuccessfully, tried to make his foster son speak like an American.
“But why, it's so good!”
“Because I expect you to plan for an unplanned and unexpected journey... Err, did that make sense? No matter, I must impart hurried instructions for you to equip yourself for travel, hand you what gold I can spare, but give no clues as to why. Meet me at the steps of the library when you are ready.“
“Cool!”

Two minutes later, Ceveren emerged from the inn with a brand new shortbow, a shining splint mail, a horned helmet, a small, broad-bladed sword, some arrows and nary a spare gold piece. Yes, he was fast.
“Not quite like the elf, but it’s safest to protect oneself in the beginning,” he thought.
He went to the steps, and found that Gorion wasn’t there yet.
“Umm, sorry to keep you waiting,” he said when he finally arrived. ”I had to go to the bathroom, you see. Now let’s go.”

“Let’s hurry child, the night can only get worse…” Gorion said. He had been repeating the same thing for the last three hours now, and Ceveren only wished he would finally shut up. “…Don’t worry, I will explain everything as soon as there is time…” This time, however, he was interrupted. A huge armoured man stepped out from among the trees. His spiked suit of black plate glinted in the moonlight. Two ogres and a woman could be seen behind him.
“Wait, we are in an ambush!” Gorion stated.
“As if I didn’t know that already,” muttered Ceveren.
“You are perceptive for an old man,” said the man. “Now hand over your ward, and no one will… No, let’s cut that, okay? We both know we’ll come to blows eventually anyway.”
“Sure.” Gorion fired off some flashy spells. “Oh, and run away child.”
“Right.”

Ceveren ran off into the night.


[This message has been edited by Namuras (edited April 07, 2002).]

 

Hehe, this guy is going to rock Faerun. Like the funky hair.

 

The Gnome who wants to be an elf. The gnome with delusions of grandeur one moment and humble the next one. I admire him already

 

The morning came.

Ceveren looked upon the road back to Candlekeep, back to the place the walls of which "were no longer safe," as someone had expressed it. He knew they weren't, they had never been. No wall is safe in itself. Yet, he knew what he meant. He sighed. "I guess going back is not a very good idea. I just hope I find someone who taped the film. I really want to see the end."
He decided to heed Gorion's advice, and seek out these 'friends' at the Friendly Arm Inn. He started walking.

"Heya! It's me, Imoen!" a cheery voice said.
Ceveren stopped, and turned slowly around. "Oh no, it's Imoen!" he thought. Then it occured to him that the elf would never express it like that. He rephrased the thought: "Alas, it's Imoen!"

The owner of the voice, whose name was, incidentally, Imoen, walked up to him. She was clad in purple. Bright purple. The kind of purple that could give some people migraine. Ceveren was one of those people.
"Heya!" she said again. "Sorry I followed ya, but I never get out of Candlekeep and those monks…” Due to the exceptionally boring nature of this monologue, and because it takes up valuable space in the text, the editor decided it was best to skip a bit. Besides, it doesn’t really forward the plot.
“…Stick with you until you say otherwise, I will!”
“Otherwise.”
“Hey!”

Ceveren continued on his way. After a while, he saw on the road ahead of him a man dressed entirely in red, and wondered whether he was just another nutcase. He hoped he’d prove a nice nutcase, at least. Like those last two, the wizard and the halfling, who’d given him potions of healing.
As the man drew nearer, he could see the long beard and pointy hat, and gave a surprised cry. “Gandalf! Hey Gandalf, you dyed your clothes?”
“Say what?” said the man. “Ah, no, I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
“Oh,” said the gnome, his disappointment almost visible.
“Hrrm, yes. Oddly enough, that has happened quite often the past few months. Don’t ask me why, though, I surely don’t know… Anyway, my heart tells me that I have a part to play in this, for good or for ill… ahem, I mean I’ll just play my part as the mysterious-old-man-who-suddenly-appears-out-of-nowhere-only-to-disappear-just-as-abruptly-a-moment-later-again.”
“Go ahead.”
“Well, ehhm, ho there, wanderer. Stay thy course a moment, to indulge an old man. Uh, so, what reasons dost thou have for, err, wandering alone on this here road?”
“What reasons have you for asking such a thing?”
“A most, ehh, satisfactory answer! Now, you’ll have to excuse me… Um, fare thee well!” The old man took out a pipe from under his cloak and walked away, blowing fancy smoke rings. Ceveren could swear he heard him mutter something about 'memorising the script better next time.'

“A nutcase,” he thought, and went on.


(Thanks for the encouraging words so far. Keep posting, people!)


[This message has been edited by Namuras (edited April 06, 2002).]

 

This is great stuff Namuras! Keep writing

 

Hihihi, funny so far... :gnome:

 

The night was dark and foggy, and Ceveren had wandered as far as his little gnomish legs could carry him. Along the road, he had been attacked by twelve gibberlings, four xvarts, a pair of kobolds, five wolves and a black bear (he had been counting), and all had met death with an arrow planted firmly in the forehead. He was starting to feel confident in his archery skills, yet something was missing. He knew what it was. He needed a new bow. A real bow.

He sat down under a tree and lighted a small fire, over which he roasted a bunny he’d shot earlier that day. The arrow was still sticking out from its body. He ate the rabbit, and was just about to put out the fire as something shiny caught his eye. Among the half-withered leaves by the trunk of the tree there lay a ring. He picked it up, examined it, and put it on his finger.
The world didn’t start looking strange.
A great lidless eye wreathed in flames didn’t appear out of nowhere.
A disappointed look did cross his face.
He put it in his pocket instead, extinguished the fire, and lay down to sleep.

When Ceveren opened his eyes the next morning, the fog had lifted, and he noticed that not hundred meters away were the walls of the Friendly Arm Inn. Slightly annoyed, he took his stuff and entered. He went to the temple first, for he was eager to know what his new ring could do. For a hundred gold coins, an old gnome lady gave it a quick glance and told him it was a Ring of Wizardry.
“Groovy!” he thought, but after a second’s reflection he added, “I don’t need no stinkin’ magic, not when I have a bow! Magic is for wusses!”

His thoughts were confirmed a moment later, as he met a weird black-robed fellow on the steps to the inn, who asked whether he came from Candlekeep.
“Yes, that’s true,” he answered.
“In that case, I shall have to kill you,” said the robed man, and began speaking an incantation.
“Shall you?” said a passing guard.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Ceveren, shot him in the chest, and entered the inn, ignoring the mage’s corpse and thus missing the bounty notice on it.

Ceveren walked through the inn to the counter. It was almost as high as he was, so he couldn’t see over it. “Anyone there?” he asked.
“Yep, Bentley Mirrorshade at yer service. My inn is open to all who behave themselves,” said a voice from behind it.
“How much do I get for a Ring of Wizardry?”
He put the ring on the counter. A hand lifted up a huge sack marked ‘Gold. Lots of gold.’, and placed it beside the ring.
“This enough?”
“Sure.”

Ceveren invested some of the money in a new bow, and put the rest in a Swiss bank account.

 

I love the way you twist the game. Finding the hilarious twists in BG, flavoured with LoTR! Wicked indeed

 

Four eyes observed the two gnomes perform the barter, and their owners couldn’t help but chuckle. The fact that both were too short to see the other made the whole scene quite comical.

When they were done, Khalid addressed one of them. “Something about you is f-familiar, child,” he said. “Your manner reminds me of a sage I know, b-by the name of Gorion.”
“It is almost a slight on him. You’re sure it’s not the hair you see?”
“Jaheira! M-mind your m-m-manners! This must be…”
“’Only gnome in Faerûn with a bonfire for a head,’ remember? If Gorion’s description was at all accurate, this is his child.”
“Y-yes, that’s what I would’ve s-s-said, though I personally find h-his hair rather, err, funky.“
“I did not say otherwise. Still, that doesn’t mean I agree with you.”
“Ehhm, Jaheira, you needn’t b-be so… so… ahh.”
“Insufferable?” thought Ceveren. If these were the friends Gorion had mentioned, he didn’t want their company. He didn’t like them. That half-elf woman was slightly too obnoxious, and the elf, well, he just seemed too dang wimpy, and not cool at all, like the other elf. The other elf. That reminded him again that he hadn’t seen the end of the film. He went up the stairs to see if this inn had a TV.
“Insufferable?” said Jaheira.
“Yes, yes, that’s definitely it!” replied Khalid.
“Hmm, right. Anyway, we are old friends of your adopted fa… Hey! Where’d he go?”
“I d-d-don’t rightly know, dear.”
“He buggered off!”

The inn didn’t have a TV. Ceveren very soon became aware of that fact, and after being mistaken for a maid by one guest, and told that he smelled like orc by another, he wondered if this was not in fact an asylum of some sort, and not an inn at all. For, he didn’t smell like orc, now did he?
He decided to leave the Friendly Arm Inn as soon as possible and head for Beregost instead.


“What do you need? Need directions? You seem…”
“Nope.”
“…a friendly sort, so… ah, okay.”
Ceveren sauntered down the streets of Beregost. This town seemed nicer, somehow. At least, the inhabitants were helpful and didn’t comment on his smell. Not that he cared about their help, but still.

Suddenly he heard a familiar voice, and he was filled with hope.
“So hard to find decent folk nowadays…”
Firebead Elvenhair. Completely idiotic name, and always repeating that same phrase to himself, yet Ceveren was quite fond of the old chap. Perhaps it was because he couldn’t help but wonder at his endless enthusiasm for books and tomes. Perhaps because he used to cast cool spells on him. Perhaps because he was simply a nice fellow.
Or perhaps it was because he was one of the biggest dealers of illegal, copied software and films on the Sword Coast.
“Hey Firebead!” yelled Ceveren.
“Ah, you’re old Gorion’s ward, the lonely kid of Candlekeep!”
“Yeah, yeah. Listen, there’s a film I want to see the end of…”
“What’s its name?”
“I don’t know, but it’s about four halflings and a ring. You know it?”
“Of course! I currently don’t have it, but I know where to come by a new copy of that wondrous film. Follow me, and we’ll download it!”
“Sure.”

The two went to Firebead’s house, and sat down in front of his computer.
“I had to sell my old scrying ball to afford this baby,” the old mage explained.
After a few hours, everything was ready, and he started the film.

But alas, just as it was about to begin, the machine suffered a fatal hard drive crash.


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(Thanks for the comments people. I'll be away for a few days now, so I won't be able to write for some time. Well, in the meantime, keep spamming!

Edit: Looks like you'll have to wait some days yet, as I have other things to do. Bloody chemistry exam!)

[This message has been edited by Namuras (edited April 13, 2002).]

 

Thehehe. I have a foreshadowing feeling about "vampire's revenge". I can't wait to see him face all those pesky ignorant Bounty hunters and bandits everywhere. And his visit to gullykin will be one to remember

 

Applause, Applause, Applause. Fabulous. Very creative. I like the twists and turns in this most amazing tale.

 

Heh.
That was wacky!
The hair is a really gonzo colour.


So sorry, riding on my Attack of The Clones fever right now

Seriously enough, I await the continuation of this story.
(What I'd really like to know is what the secret of posting this much this often is. It took me two weeks to write the last part of my story! Any tips?)

 

Ever since the tragic accident at Firebead’s place, the gnome had wandered aimlessly, devoid of all hope and barely aware of the flow of time. He found no comfort in the words of the old mage; “I’ll try to get things up and running as soon as I can”.
He hadn’t been idle, however. No, he had been doing things he imagined the elf would have done, which basically involved killing nasties, helping people in need, practising archery and a good deal of lying under some tree, wondering at the beauty of the world – or at least try to.

Only two things happened during that time that are worth telling. Only a few days after leaving Beregost, Ceveren found himself overseeing some silly excavation, and ended up being attacked by a big dude with a cool flaming sword.
He shot him.
The arrow bounced off.
He shot him again.
This arrow bounced off too.
He thought, “Bows are no use here!” but fired one more arrow anyway.
It bounced off.
He chickened out, making a mental note to return once he was sure of his abilities.

Then, some days later, the gnome had strayed quite far north. He came upon a large, insect-like creature apparently bent on covering him with something that resembled, but were not quite like, green dung. Ceveren did not appreciate its efforts, and pumped it full of arrows. Not five steps away, another insect-thing tried the same.
“Why do they keep up this irrational behaviour?” he asked himself as he finished it off with a well-aimed shot to the eye. “I mean, nobody likes being soaked in goo, and they should know they’ll only get themselves killed, right?”
As he observed the twitching corpses a thought struck him. Finally he knew how he would solve the appearance problem without sacrificing protection!
He gathered one of the shells and sent it to Beregost by mail, as it was too heavy to carry.


The day was still young, but the sun was shining brightly in the sky, and it was quite warm. The birds were singing and the streets were full of people. The gnome known as Ceveren Suicidegnome was heading for the town’s smithy to retrieve his new armour. According to his own personal calendar, the date was 21 A.C.*
He entered the shop, and came out again a few minutes later clad in some strange green thing, but with 4000 gold coins less on his bank account. Yet, he was content. This was a small step for gnomekind but a giant leap for him. In this moment of optimism he reminded himself of Firebead’s words, and decided to pay him a visit.

He strolled off towards the wizard’s home, but as he drew nearer, he felt that something was wrong; a shadow and a threat was growing in his mind. Then he noticed that the shadow was caused by a cloud. Well, only a threat then.
He rounded the corner, and his gaze was held: maul upon maul, battleaxe upon battleaxe, black, immeasurably strong, mountain of iron, blades of steel, towers of adamant, he saw it: an escort of elite Flaming Fist soldiers, taking away old Elvenhair’s computer. All hope left him.
The old mage himself was standing in the doorway. “So hard to find decent folk nowadays,” he said in a low voice, sadly shaking his head.
Then they took him too.

With heavy heart Ceveren hit the road again. He had only walked for half an hour - though it had felt like an eternity – when he found himself encircled by bandits. They shot at him, though their aim wasn’t the best.
He drew his bow and fired back. Standing in the centre of the circle, he picked them off one by one with only one arrow each.
“Heh, I’m getting the hang on this!” he thought.

However, even as he thought that, he was hit by four arrows simultaneously, and died.


*A.C. = After Crash. The calendar is quite primitive really; it simply counts the number of days that have passed since the Big Hard Drive Crash.


(Sorry for the delay, folks. I'm afraid that the updating of the story will be quite slow, at least for a while, but I will keep writing as long as you keep spamming.
Also, I feel that this particular episode isn't quite as 'good' as the previous ones. I'll try to improve that. )


[This message has been edited by Namuras (edited April 25, 2002).]

 

Go Namuras! this is great Keep up the good work.

 

Ceveren loaded the autosave.

This time he avoided the bandits, however. He walked east, and came to the halfling village of Gullykin. Halflings. He rather liked the little fellas; they were helpful (though again, he didn’t care for help) and nice, and they somehow gave him new resolve in his quest for the film. And they weren’t taller than him.
“Well met traveller,” one of them greeted him. “Gandolar Luckyfoot, at your disposal. To what does our little village owe the pleasure of your visit? Off to Durlag’s Tower? Or have you already been, and now ye need your…”
“D’you have a TV somewhere?”
“Eh, pardon? Ah, well, yes, Alvanhendar at the Temple of Yondalla has one…”
“Thank you,” Ceveren said and walked off to the Temple.
“…but it doesn’t… Ah well.”

“So this is it,” thought Ceveren as he read the sign on the, for being built by halflings, rather large house. He strode up to the door. He took a deep breath, and entered.
A halfling in priestly robes stood in the corner. Ceveren guessed, correctly, that it was Alvanhendar, so he walked up to him and asked, “Where’s the TV?”
“Eh? Who’s this then? More intrepid fools on the… ‘Scuse me, what did ye say?”
“Where’s the TV? Someone told me you had one.”
“Yeah, it’s downstairs, but…”
“Thanks.” He sped down the stairs, but could hear the little priest shout after him.
“But stand ye away from them barrels of ale!”

The TV was a big one, far too big for only one halfling to carry, and Ceveren was impressed. There was even a VCR, and on it lay a tape. The gnome examined its label, and became happy. No, happy is not the right word, euphoric’s more like it.
He put the tape in the VCR, pushed ‘play’ and, lastly, he pushed the TV’s ‘ON’ button.
Nothing happened, so he pushed it again, but nothing kept happening.
He went up the stairs again.
“Doesn’t work,” he said to the priest.
“Oh I know that, thank ye very much! I was goin’ to tell ye, but ye just burst downstairs as if the world was about to end! Adventurers be a strange breed, I say. Anyway, the ‘ON’ button has been broken e’er since we got the bloody machine. Come to think of it, the guys who delivered it looked strangely like kobolds… It works with a remote control, though…”
Ceveren’s eyes lit up.
“But we don’t have one.”
“Doh! ehh, alas!”

Next day Ceveren left Gullykin. The halflings had been nice enough to let him borrow the tape, and for that he was grateful.
He went to try his luck against the Doomsayer again. He didn’t have any luck. He tried several times, but in vain, so he went to High Hedge to buy lots of acid arrows and some oil of speed, rescuing a talking chicken on the way.

This time his luck was better.


(You know what to do... )

 

Great stuff! Keep up the good work Namuras!

 

Some Einsteinian travelling takes us to a few hours after the first part of a certain gnome’s destiny was fulfilled.

The night was clear, calm and starry, but Ceveren was troubled in his sleep by strange dreams. Visions flashed across his mind. He saw the blade he’d purchased for the cheap price of an idol of some forgotten power and that old armour he found in a halfling-hole. He saw the ghost’s grinning face. He saw the figures of a thousand people, laughing and pointing at him. He saw things that were, things that are, and some things that have not yet come to pass.
And then he saw someone standing in the glade he was resting in, leaning against the trunk of an elm tree. It was a young man, tall and slender with semi-long hair, clad in peculiar yet simple black clothes. The gnome leapt to his feet.

Then the man spoke.
“Okay, listen up,” he said, “I have a few things to say to you. Wonder not who I am; that’s not important, and you may learn in time anyway. What’s important is that you have something to do, something you are bound to do…”
“Cool!”
“…And it’s not seeing the end of some film…” Ceveren gave him a disappointed look. He continued, “…though you may find the time for that as well.”
The gnome sighed with relief. “What must I do?”
“You’ll know that soon enough, if you go to Nashkel. But there is this matter of your new sword. It is a dangerous thing...”
“It’s a sword! It’s supposed to be dangerous!”
“It’s dangerous to you, dammit, not to your foes! And it won’t let you wield anything else! You should know better than to trust a sword handed out by a ghost. But there are some things that may help you…”
He told Ceveren of a few special items, their locations and how to use them. He also suggested that he use them sparingly.
“OR,” he concluded, “you might want to try a Rem…” But before the man could finish, the gnome felt a small object hit his head. He awoke. Looking upwards, he discovered two things, the first being that it was morning and the second a giggling squirrel on a twig.

At first, Ceveren dismissed the man’s words as merely a dream, but then, when he held the blade he got yesterday at the old Ulcaster school in his hand, the hilt opened and a note popped out. It read:

Damage: 1D8 +1
THACO: +1 bonus
Special: Inflicts damage upon the wielder and heals the target.
Special: Affects intelligence in a negative manner...I think...duhhhhhh
Damage type: slashing
Weight: 4
Speed Factor: 4
Proficiency Type: Large Sword
Type: 1-handed
Requires: 6 Strength
Not Usable By:
The Lucky Ones
Druid
Cleric
Mage

As well, the text on the blade itself changed from Vampiric Sword to Ha! Fooled you, sucker!
Despair came over him, but it changed swiftly into a strange resolve, a resolve to prevail.
But then, reason got the upper hand, telling him it was impossible.
Determination wasn’t defeated yet, however. It fetched its Hammer of Argument Crushing +5 and smashed reason right down Ceveren’s body to his toes. It remained there.
He went to obtain the items: a ring, a necklace, and a cloak.


(I intended to make this episode quite a bit longer actually, but thought I might just as well post this as it is. Also, sorry for the Einsteinian jump, but you’ll have to live with it.

Things to ponder while waiting for the next episode: Who’s the mysterious man, what’s he doing in this story and how come he knows so much? To be continued…)

 

Aaaaaaaaaaaargh the mysteries, too much

 

Is it by any chance someone from Sorcerers Place? Or is it he from in the game?

 

Nooooooooo! The story can't just end here. Write more. I need to see who this mysterious man is.