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#1 zombiegleemax Nov 04, 2004 8:54:05	Foreword: Like most of you, I began playing D&D when I was a teenager: thirteen years old to be exact. For my thirteenth birthday party, I had a bunch of friends over to spend the night, and we did our best to figure out how to play the game and make it through The Keep on the Borderlands. We had no clue what we were doing, but it was incredibly fun. With this story, I'm trying to recapture the innocence and joy we experienced playing D&D the first time, and I hope you all enjoy it. More chapters will come in the future. K. Chapter One His name was Jasper, and the parents of Cusp hated him. Just seeing him stroll coltishly into the town square, whistling in seeming innocence and swinging his long arms, was enough to send the prim and proper mothers and fathers of the village scurrying to get their sons and daughters indoors and out of sight. Perhaps ‘hated’ is too strong a word. They dreaded Jasper, they feared Jasper, Jasper caused them endless worry and countless, sleepless nights. “What if my son starts lollygagging around with him?” a typical Cuspian mother might fret as she hung her family’s newly-scrubbed laundry over a worn, wooden fence. “What if he takes a shine to my daughter?” panics a work-worn father as he lies in bed at night, struggling to embrace the Sandman. No, it wasn’t that they hated Jasper. He wasn’t a rotten boy, as far as boys went. There was never any malice in his actions as far as they could tell. Though he seemed to do a lot of wrong, it was never intentional. When Jasper (and his reckless cohorts, never forget them) burned down old Jonas’ barn, they were sincerely trying to kill the rats which had overrun and conquered the ramshackle edifice. When ‘the tousle-headed little outlaw’ (as he was known in some circles) invaded the traveling carnival late one night and freed ‘Gnarak the Orc-man’, challenging him to a duel, most of the townsfolk acknowledged that, though unutterably foolish, Jasper was acting out of an odd sense of honor. ‘Gnarak’ was shown to be nothing more than a hunch-backed old man in green grease-paint, and Jasper was severely disappointed, going so far as to demand his admission price be returned (though it is almost certain he never paid admission). The carnival avoided Cusp from that day hence. No, he was never malicious, but he was always causing problems for which other people paid a price If all be told, what truly crawled under the skin of Cusp’s parental population was merely that they could not control him. He was an orphan, so they thought, one of the many left-over children who were products of the hard frontier life in the Dymrak Forest. The Grand Duchy of Karameikos was but recently established. Those who moved to this ancient, untamed land, carving out a life and a future for their families, faced many struggles. Death was their ever present guest, his presence looming always over their shoulder. Many abandoned children were strewn like autumn leaves throughout the Duchy, the unfortunate consequence of giving birth to a new nation. As an orphan, they had no real claim over young Jasper, found difficulty in punishing him. This rankled deeply in the souls of those who found comfort in the relative peace and order of Cusp. This troublesome stray was a problem they could not solve. Unsurprisingly, Jasper claimed that he was most definitely not an orphan, that he had a father out there somewhere, who would return for him once his apprenticeship was finished. Basically, he claimed the thing every orphan claimed. His supposed apprenticeship was to one Ivan Topov, the tinker who traveled from village to village offering various wares and services. From the back of Ivan’s disreputable wagon one could purchase an iron pot in which you could cook your vittles or a rusty dagger with which to stab your enemies. Services ranged from knife-sharpening to horse-breaking to placing bets on almost anything. Ivan had an eye for the ladies, a hand ready to gamble and a throat ever thirsty for ale. Needless to say, Ivan wasn’t much help when it came to reining in his apprentice. When furious or distraught people came to Ivan to complain about the behavior of his young charge, he was as likely to belly-laugh and compliment the boy’s audacity as anything else. The untidy circumstance of Jasper’s existence could perhaps have been more tolerable had it not been for one simple fact: he was contagious. He carried no disease, but others often caught the wildness that ran through him like the plague. The other young folk of Cusp were fascinated by him, watching his every move with minute interest. Whether it was snide condescension or obvious admiration or drop-jawed astonishment, they watched him. And many of them followed. There was that time when he led all the school children in revolt and held their teacher for ransom. And that time he convinced the Ruttledge boys to run naked through the town square. Don’t forget the time he talked the girls of Lord Morridon’s household (daughters included) to sneak out for a private rendezvous with him during the Feast of Revels. No doubt about it, the boy was a menace to the well-being of everyone. The wise parents of Cusp quickly severed any connection between Jasper and their own progeny. Those caught even speaking to him were sentenced to extra chores or a sound whipping with a leather belt. Every avenue of access to Jasper was hunted down, discovered, and broken. He was no longer allowed at the tiny school, of course. He was disallowed from entering the Karameikan temple. At the many festivals and hootenannies celebrated by the small community, Jasper was watched like a fox peeking through the henhouse window. However, some parents were not so wise. Yakov and Magda Petrovich foolishly let their youngest boy run amuck with Jasper. But they were originally city folk, and there was no accounting for those types. The grey dwarven smith, Atur, was too free with his boy too, though few knew the name of his reticent son. Atur himself was somewhat of a mystery to the Cuspians. He was the only dwarven member of the town, and though he did excellent work with their horseshoes and other smithing needs, he kept very much to himself. The fourth member of Jasper’s patchwork crew was an undersized lad named Coy, an altar boy from over at the Traldaran temple. He spent more time in the temple’s stable than the altar. Like Jasper, he was orphaned, and was taken in by his people’s temple to raise. Jasper and his band of brigands were considered the terror of the sensible little town. Therefore, it was considered one of the great tragedies of Cusp’s uneventful history that, on one fateful day in early spring, Rufus Darizen, a nice boy, a respectable boy, son of Roddy and Emma, two pillars of society, entwined himself with Jasper and his dubious companions.. Here is how it happened. Rufus was desperate and desperately searching. His father was gone, and they needed him back. Over a fortnight ago, Rodikus Darizen traveled with his brother to buy supplies for their farm; an awl, a plow, other odds and ends they couldn’t find in Cusp. The trip should have taken no more than a week, there and back, yet fourteen days passed and they had not returned. Eight days after his father departed, Rufus’ mother became a bit worried. Ten days and she was scared. Eleven days and she was frightened to her core, and that fear transferred itself to her children. Rufus was the oldest son, almost a man at his sixteen years, so he took it upon himself to find his father and bring him home. They had no other kin in Cusp, so Rufus went to the men who were friends of his father. When Rufus told them what they were well aware of, that his father had not returned, they responded in one of two ways. The younger members of the community laughed hesitantly and assured Rufus that his father would return soon. Rufus felt the hollowness and fear in their laughter. The older heads, those who had hacked and slashed into the heart of that dank wilderness, who had peered more deeply into the horrors of the Dymrak, merely shook their heads regretfully and walked away. Those encounters spurred Rufus’ growing fear into a blind panic. Of course, Rufus approached the few soldiers who were stationed in Cusp. Brusquely, they told the farm boy that they had better things to do than chase down drunken old farmers. His father would probably crawl out of the *****house where he was holed up and come home when he sobered up, Rufus was informed. Closer than any other time in his life, Rufus almost assaulted the armed and armored soldiers, but instead he turned and hurried away, angry tears in his eyes. He went to the church to beg their aid and succor. Benignly, the priest who received him said that he would offer prayers for good Roddy, even venturing to light a candle for his well-being if Rufus could donate a copper or two for the glory of the church. Rufus told the priest that, although prayers and candles were good, he wanted someone to go with him to find his father. A bit befuddled and put out that his pale palm was not yet filled with copper, the priest told him that the Immortals didn’t work that way. Prayers and faith (and donations) were the work of the church. Rufus left the holy edifice feeling a little ill. Pursuing all those dead ends took the frantic farm boy a few days. He expended every option he could think of, even attempting to gain an audience with Lord Morridon. This too failed, and Roddy’s boy was at the end of his rope. Frustrated beyond hope, Rufus crumpled, sitting in the dust of the road, numbly watching people walk back and forth in front of him. With increasing dread, he realized that he would have to go alone to find his dad. Raised on a farm outside of town, he had never traveled more than a day or so away from home. Should he take his brother Michael? He was only thirteen years old. Wouldn’t it be better to leave him at home? But Rufus didn’t want to go it alone. Could someone give him directions to the next town? Would he have to buy a map? How much food would he have to bring? What would his mother do while he was gone? A torrent of questions and worries flooded his mind, and with a groan, he threw himself back upon the dusty road and covered his face with his hands. Presently… “Um. Excuse me. Excuse me? Um, friend? Are you, you know, entirely well?” A small voice cut through Rufus’ moment of despair. “’Cause if you’re not,” it hesitantly continued, “I could maybe, you know, help or something.” Slowly, Rufus spread his fingers and peeked between them. Over him, and upside down from his viewpoint, stood a small figure wearing a much oversized, woolen jerkin. This inquisitive creature restlessly chewed his lip and brushed the dark hair from his eyes, waiting for a response. His voice muffled by his hands, Rufus replied, “Who are you?” Shifting from one foot to the other, the boy said, “I’m Coy. You’re not cursed or anything, are you? If you are, that’s fine by me, but it might take us more time to deal with, if you know what I mean.” He continued knowledgeably. “These types of things aren’t just all cake and pie you know. Not that we can’t handle it, you know, ‘cause we could, but I’m just telling you it would take more time.” Rufus was a bit bewildered, and all he could stammer out was a weak, “What?” “Well, I’m just saying not to expect any miracles right from the outset. Not that miracles don’t happen or anything; I’m definitely not saying that. But trying to predict them can be tedious and shaky and really, we just don’t know do we? It could happen or maybe not. We’ve just got to go ahead with things, don’t we? Yeah, we do. But if so let me know and I’ll talk to the fellas, if that’s by your book.” Now completely lost and a little riled at his slight fit being interrupted, Rufus sat up and stared at the boy, wittily replying, “What?” The boy named Coy drew his eyes together in a discerning stare. “So, you’re cursed?” he asked a bit hopefully, “Or are you just simple? That’s fine, too, but I don’t know a thing we could wring to make that a jot better, you know? So that’s it, eh? Or is it something else?” Very slowly and carefully, Rufus rose to his feet and stood face to face with the curious boy. Proceeding with caution, he said, “I’m Rufus. Rufus Darizen. I’m not cursed that I know of and only occasionally simple. I’m just in trouble that’s all, and no one will help.” He felt a tremble in his voice at the last so he shut his mouth. The other boy nodded sagely. “Hmmm. Trouble, eh? Well, come with me then. That seems to be our expertise, or at the very least,” at this he shook his head ruefully, “our constant companion,” and, spinning on his heel, he marched off down the street. Surprising himself, Rufus hurried after, trying to catch up. “Where’re we goin’?” he huffed. The smaller lad set a quick pace. “Well, we’re going to meet with the fellas. Lucky for you we’re getting to gather today. Or blessed really, you’re blessed. Don’t really believe in luck. Maybe we can help out with whatever your problem is. We meet up just outside of town. But,” and the dark-haired boy stopped abruptly and wagged a finger in Rufus’ face, “you definitely can’t tell anybody where we are, you know? Wouldn’t amount to much of a hide-out, then, now would it? Everyone knowing its exact locality and all.” And he returned to his blistering pace. Rufus didn’t have much time to wonder why he followed. Really, he could think of nothing more productive to do. The boy who called himself Coy took Rufus straight out of town and onto the road that led back to the Darizen farm. After a little more than a mile, he dove into the brambles on the southern side of the road, Rufus close behind. They ducked into a small path leading through the underbrush and into the forest beyond. This section of woods was dense and the ground rocky, unsuitable for productive farming. Picking their way between the trees, they encountered a shallow stream and leaped over it. Clawing their way up a slight embankment, they plunged into still deeper woods, the canopy of leaves above blocking out the intense sunlight. Rufus felt the temperature drop as they tromped through the wilderness. “My dad told me not to get too far off in these woods,” he said, feeling a little cowardly as he did. “Yeah,” Coy responded gravely, “It’s not a good idea. No tellin’ what could happen if you got lost back up in here. Don’t you worry, though. I know the trick,” and he continued steering a path through the tree trunks. Soon, the forest thinned and Rufus could see a small row of hills in the distance. Hopping two more creeks, they drew near to the low-lying hillocks. Coy stopped when they crossed the second creek and raised his hands to his lips. “Keee-yoi! Keee-yoi!” He made a sound like some kind of bird with his mouth. Immediately, he was answered back with another “Keee-yoi!” Nodding his head, Coy plodded forward, Rufus in tow. They approached a thick stand of trees growing at the foot of a hill. Raising some branches, Coy slipped under and disappeared. “What have I gotten myself into?” Rufus asked himself as he meekly followed. Ducking under the branches, he found himself enveloped in darkness and it took his eyes a moment to penetrate the gloom. Between the hill and the branches, the sun’s light was almost extinguished. Noticing what appeared to be a small deer-trail, Rufus stumbled forward awkwardly. His perplexing guide had vanished. “Coy? Coy!” he called hopefully, fear creeping into his mind. The trail wound around and around, but eventually, Rufus could see a bit of light ahead. “Coy? Are you there?” he called again, hurrying forward. Panting a bit, he stumbled into a small, well-lit clearing. The branches above the open space had been thinned out and sunlight streamed through. The light blinded him, and he raised his hand to shadow his eyes. Just as he did, he felt something whoosh past his head. Jerking aside, he lost his balance, slid on a loose rock, and sprawled flat on his back. “Well, now. That was a nice bit of acrobaticry, wasn’t it?” A tall figure stepped over him and walked past. “Didn’t know farmboys was so talented. Hey, Grotto?” This query was answered by a noncommittal grunt. As Rufus’ eyes adjusted to the light, he saw the figure stride over to a thick tree-trunk and try to jerk a knife from its gnarled bark. Apparently, that same knife had just skimmed within inches of his face. The vague outline of a human body was painted on the tree in red, and the blade was sunk in deep somewhere in the area of the armpit. Rufus sighed as he lay in the soft soil of the clearing. He seemed to be spending a lot of time in the dirt today. “Leave him be, Wink. He’s not well.” Rufus looked over to see the dark-haired Coy sitting on a stump and shoving a loaf of bread in his mouth. “Cursed, maybe. Can’t tell yet, though. We got to hear him out.” The boy walked over and extended his hand down to Rufus, pulling him to his feet. Rufus judged him to be a couple of years younger than himself. “Anyway, he’s in need of some help, so I brought him here for us to hear.” The knife-thrower, who was apparently Wink, retrieved his blade and stepped off ten paces from the tree. He reached back and threw, this time stabbing his target in the right thigh. Frowning, he sallied, “Wonderful. Bring back every stray from the village. Then everyone will know where our hideout is. Maybe they could bring a bunch of sacks and haul off all our loot while they’re at it.” Then he glanced sideways at Rufus and true to his name, winked, breaking off a bit of a grin. Rufus looked around and got his bearings. He stood in a circular clearing, no more than fifty feet around. The remains of a bonfire lay in the approximate middle, ashes scattering outward. The sun streamed through thick overhead branches which had been pruned and trimmed, either to let in the light or to see through to the stars. Wink, a gaunt scarecrow of a boy who looked like someone had just shoved him out of bed, measured off his paces for another throw. Coy had returned to his stump and was chewing contentedly on his lump of bread, smiling encouragingly in his direction. On the very edge of the clearing, in the shadow of the trees, Rufus found the source of the grunt he heard before. There stood an open lean-to with a small fire built under it. Bending over the fire was a squat, stocky man, the color of baked earth. His hair and short beard were the color of new iron. In his hands he held a straight dagger and was testing its edge on his thumb. Awareness washed over Rufus like a cold waterfall. “A dwarf? Wait! And you,” he pointed a finger accusingly at Wink, “You’re that Petravich boy, aren’t you? Hold on just a minute,” and he turned to Coy, “You’re that boy who lives at that Traladaran temple aren’t you?” Wink frowned again and Coy chewed his bread. The dwarf looked on enigmatically. Rufus shook his finger wildly at all of them. “Oh! I shoulda known, I shoulda known! What was I thinking?” His mother would work him dusk to dawn just for talking to these people. “Oh, no. If you’re them, then where is…” The creaking of heavy branches was his only warning as someone or something swooped over his head, blocking out all light before landing lightly not five feet from him. There, holding a rope tied to an overhead branch, stood a too-innocent looking teenaged boy, the object of Cusp’s fear and chagrin. “Where is Jasper Barbarosa?” the rascal asked, grinning crookedly. “Right here in all his glory,” and he laughed deeply at Rufus’ crestfallen face. Then, he grew suddenly sober. “And you, Rufus Darizen, are in a whole heap of trouble.”
#2 Hugin Nov 04, 2004 18:15:00	Interesting story. Looking forward to more... and to finding out about Jasper!