The Sketches and Tales of Giacomo Ilnes

[TheBrogueadier]

Who am I you ask?

I’m Jack, jack-of-all-trades you might say. Spelt strange thou, Giacomo. The folks were from Sembia, thought they’d keep the names.

As for what I do?

Well, I’m a bard, a thief, the good kind I may point out, more likely to steal a kiss than a purse. I’m not going to rob you or ought, although; miss if you’d care to accompany me later I could show you my finger work.

No? Ah well…

I’ve been in a few brawls and know how to handle myself well enough, but it’s the tales and paint that have my heart.

Epic tales you want? Well, I could tell you a few of others deeds, of dashing folks and fair maidens.

About myself? Sure, why not. Fix me a drink and I’ll tell you a tale of foolish men and cunning women.

Now, this happened some time ago, I was younger then, rasher you could say. But don’t think of me in a bad light, if I hadn’t done what I did this tale wouldn’t be being told. There always needs to be someone to tell afterwards doesn’t there?

Now this happened back on a visit a while back, I’d fallen in with this bunch of brutes who fancied themselves the bane of the walking dead, we’d been travelling for some time on rumours of a fancy bunch of vampires, some town called Raven-something, can’t remember where.

Anyway, we found the town and were welcomed like heroes, the place was pleasant enough in a rustic way; bit of a backwater but the beer was crisp and the barmaids buxom. They’d been plagued by those night ghouls for a while, coming in at night and snatching away the men folk, it was quite alarming to hear.

We found their crypt some way out of town, gothic place it was, all full of vines and the stench of decay, I’d imagine at night it was a creepy, unearthly place. But we weren’t stupid, only the daft go hunting vampires at night, we arrived at midday.

The crypt stank, but seemed unguarded and we quickly made our way inside, we found the coffins soon enough and the lads were in uproar, the four of them and me couldn’t believe our luck. Five coffins, five of us; we’d stick one each and be happy telling our tale at the inn in time for sundown. We grabbed the stakes and cracked the coffins.

Now, I’ll admit I’ve got a soft spot for the ladies, but it doesn’t normally phase me to much, and I’m not one to find a corpse attractive even if it can walk. But what we saw in those boxes. Wow. Each coffin had the most beautiful lady you’ve ever seen inside, wearing nought but a skimpy skirt; everything else was bang on show, and I tell you, it was quite the show. The men I was with were some tough nuts, but the bad boys those ladies had were something else. Biggest breasts I ever saw.

We got ready to stake ‘em regardless, skimpy clothes and fearsome bangers aside these were killing machines, not something you’d want to tangle with. Now, I dunno what happened, whether fate stayed my arm or I just got to staring to much, but when the other lads hit their stakes in I was still stood stock still. Now that’s something that saved my life.

Instead of blood pouring out of those dead chests something else surged out, splattering the lads and turning the air foul with fumes. Worse still whatever it was dissolved those stakes straight away! The lads set to screaming as it looked like their skin had started to melt, and those diabolic lasses started to sit up. I don’t feel good about it, and I’m not proud but the fear got me and I set to run, but a hand grabbed me!

The flame haired lass I’d been all set to stake had a hold of me. I thought I was done for, ready to become some vampires lunch but the strangest thing happened. She looked at the others having a supper of my mates and winked at me, patted my behind and bade me run. I’ve never run so fast in my life I can tell you.

Seems those wily ladies had cut open their breasts and stuffed them with pockets of acid. Guess it worked; made lunch of our group.

That’s my tale, but if you can fix me another beer I’ll think of another, maybe more cheerful this time.

A moral? You like a moral to your tales eh? That’s easy enough…

If you find yourself face to face with a beautiful big breasted lady, be gentle with her and she might just be gentle with you.

[TheBrogueadier]

The Strangest Love

(((Please consider these to be stories that Giacomo tells around the various inns and campfires. Feel free to comment, expand and heckle)))

Let me tell you a tale.

It’s an odd one, but a true one, something that happened to me some time ago.

It’s a tale of love, happy but sad, maybe melancholy but wise. It’s the tale of the strangest love I’ve ever known.

Now, you may remember how we learned to treat certain ladies? How staying my hand stayed my death. How I first met that vampire lady.

You do? Good. I’ll begin.

It’d been almost a year since the fateful events in that crypt when those fearsome ladies had claimed my mates, I’d tried to forget it; it was a tale to tell and a story for dark and stormy nights, nothing more.

I can’t remember where this happened, some things you want to forget.

I’d met some fine young friends, great musicians and artists to a fault, we’d formed a travelling group doing burlesques and songs for noble and common alike, one night we’re playing for a lord, the room is full of folk in masks, reeling and dancing like dervishes to the tunes we play. Mid jig I see it, a lady in a gown as white as snow, her skin almost as pale and her hair topping that curvy form like a burst of summer berries laid out in the frost. The jig moves on, and she’s gone.

Another month goes, and it’s almost slipped my mind, a figment of my imagination or a trick of the light. Another gig, another dancing reel where everyone has laughs and fun and maybe meets a love for the night. I’m in the crowd, teaching them that don’t know the steps, leading a dance across the floor as we switch dancers to and fro.

I’d swear she wasn’t there before, one moment it’s village folk and loud music, next switch it’s all gone. She’s got me in a clutch, one hand in hers, the other on her waist and hers on mine. Her skins as cold as it is white, that hair around her head like the deepest coals aflame, I can’t hear the music no more, all I know are those eyes, greener than the lushest field in spring, deeper than the sea. Then we switch, the music’s back and I couldn’t have missed a step for my next partner’s hands in mine and we’re off.

Another month goes and I’d taken with Alice, not the brightest girl but pretty and she could dance like leaves on the wind. We had lodging some place while we planned a show. But his lady won’t leave me alone. Many I night she comes to my dreams, taking Alice’s place at my side, her touch like ice in the night, each time I awake and it’s Alice beside me, sleeping sound and pretty.

Then she’s gone. Alice I mean, we go to bed at night, next day she’s gone. First I think I’ve upset her again, that she’s taken offence to my dancing the night before with another lass. But as hours pass the worries grow, we found her in the afternoon by a pretty stream not far from town, looks like she’s sleeping at peace but she’s dry as dust.

Now the panic gets me and I gets to drinking to calm my nerves. My mates try to console me but to no effect, can’t tell them I’ve got an undead stalker now can I?

Another town, and another girl gone, snatched from my side as I sleep, drained and left as if posed for a painting.

I can’t sleep now, every time I rest at night she comes, when I snap awake she’s gone. Then one night, she comes while I’m awake. Led out in bed I am, wishing for dreamless sleep. When the window goes, I hear a rustle, a movement softer than any cat but just as deadly when you’re the mouse. I can’t see her, facing the wrong way you see, but I feel the bed sag and cold fingers stroke my cheek. Quick as a jackrabbit I turn and grab her wrist.

Now, if there is a moral to this tale it’s don’t try to grab a vampire, it’s best to learn this lesson from me rather than to make this mistake yourself. Once I’d been bounced off the walls and most of the furniture in the room we fell to talking. It was either that or fall to a coma for me.

Seems the day we’d met I’d left something, my sketchbook must’ve slipped from my bag as I made my escape, this lass had found it. She showed it to me again, a small book of ideas is all, pictures and paintings, sketches and doodles all. But two stuck in my mind because this vampire lass, out of love she claimed, had posed the bodies of my lovers in the same way.

I’d had enough, and I told her so, scorned her for following me, scaring me half to death and for killing them who I held dear, she sat like a child, head held low and I swear she almost cried. She tried to claim she’d done it for me, but I bade her leave, told her never to come to me again.

A few months passed, and my loves came and went, though not fatally this time Sune be praised. Our troupe landed in some backwater somewhere at the orders of this Baron chap, fancied himself a patron of the arts. Well, the show didn’t go so well, as unfortunately his precious daughter found herself quite smitten with the artists so to speak.

We tried to flee, but got caught by his men a week later in another town, middle of the day they came, sunniest day we’d seen for days. Mercenary buggers the lot of them. We were artists, men and women. Six of us and those men cut us down like dogs. I was the last one standing of my mates, the rest dead or dying, three of them had fallen leaving five armoured thugs against yours truly. Now, if I say so myself I can turn a blade but in those odds I knew I was done.

Suddenly a blur comes, streaming smoke and flame like some falling star she came, passed though those five men, tearing two in half without breaking her stride. Her skin once so pure and white was black and blistered, pocking and bursting with sparks under that sun, her red hair now flamed for real, gouting bursts of smoke and all. She grabs me so hard it knocks the wind out of me and the world turns black.

I woke the next day in my old lodging, the one where I used to stay with Alice. The window was burst open and curtains a flutter in the breeze. The bed was covered in a quilt of ash, the shape of an arm over my chest and the look of a face on the pillow beside me, I swear it had the happiest smile I’d ever seen.

I don’t know if she lived, but she’s not visited since. Still keep some of that ash as a memento, something to remind me how strange love is.


Anyway, that’s the tale of the strangest love I’ve ever known.

[TheBrogueadier]

A tale of light verses dark

Another tale is it? Well, fill my glass and we’ll get underway.

This is an odd one, more of a tale that’ll be told in times to come rather than a tale from the past. It is however, a tale of brave knights, dashing maids and derring-do.

Now, I’m sure you’ve all heard the tale of Genum's Cube and how it was stolen, so I won’t regale you with that, and I’m also sure you know of the darkness in the woods, so I shan’t explain that either.

Now, for this tale we need to set the scene; picture the temple of Helm, the great abbot with his beard and flowing robes stands before a mix of folk, myself amongst them. The folks gathered are from everywhere, man, dwarf, elf and even teifling stood side by side to hear the great Abbot talk. And talk he does.

‘The cube that was lost to us!’ he says, and I’m sure you’ve heard the tale of how that happened ‘It must be reclaimed forthwith for it contains an avatar of the gods, an angry avatar, who struggles against its prison, the more it struggles the more it consumes, threatening our homes, our lands and our very souls!’

Strong words I’m sure you all agree, but how to do it? How to find this cube and return it to those who would remove it? Well… The abbot has a plan.

‘The valiant and brave gathered here shall be the hands of the gods’ he proclaims ‘Three hands, three tasks. Each one difficult, each one rewarding’ I was confused by this I’ll admit, having three hands strikes me as odd but I suppose gods can have what they want.

‘The tasks are set, one must research, an eye to find knowledge. The second the hand that wields the blade of the gods, they shall strike at those who stole the cube. The third the heart that pumps lifeblood, supporting and strengthening the hand and eye with words and deeds.’ A change from three hands, but noble enough in sentiment.
We’re set our tasks and we know what to do, for destiny, family and love we’ll do our part. Not on our watch will Sundren fall.

‘Dark times face us dark shadows commit dark and dastardly deeds!’ The abbot has a thing for darkness I thinks, but he’s soon proved right enough. No sooner than the brave lads and lasses who’ve pledged to defend Sundren get out the temple door when we’re set upon.

Dark things that ripple with evil attack, screaming blue murder like some tortured soul bent on taking the living with it. We battle them across the city, those brave boys and girls giving it everything they’ve got. The magic’s flying, swords are a slashing and these things get pushed back, forces out of the city an into the woods.

Well, if you’ve been to the woods you know how strange the shadows can be, this night they were stranger still, leaping away from the trees that cast them they joined the fray, siding with those blubbering things and trying to tear at the very souls of the Heroes of Sundren.

Undeterred by the very darkness attacking them they push on, Yashia and Cirion, brave warriors both, get torn down. Others push in, chopping and spell casting a way clear to drag those fallen to safety while the devoutest of souls get to healing and mending, binding their wounds till fit enough to fight again.

Deeper into those poisoned and danger filled woods we went, joined by some strange elves who seem to flutter with darkness In a moments respite from these elves had a tale to tell themselves, they claim the avatar in the cube is one of Selune herself, trapped for who knows what reason.

Before we fall to too deep a conversation we fall to battle once more, more shadows dance and flitter, those ungodly wailing things fight with them again. But the beacons of Sundrens light shine on, all of them, be they the fearsome druid called Kataklysm calling down destruction on his enemies, the so called criminal Karthus who turned himself into a blistering maelstrom of winds and fury to do battle against the threat to Sundren, the axe wielding maid of Auril plunging into those ranks with rabid fury, Hano and Tamryn fighting with all the might and fury of great Torm himself. All the paladins and druids, fighters and spell casters fought to their last drag so you all here could carry on as you are.

The light of those heroes pushed the shadows back; weapons of light cast in to a great rift of darkness saw the shadows snuffed away. Sundren was saved once more.

Of course, the end isn’t written yet. The cube is still to be recovered and it’s fate sealed. But for now Sundren lies safe, its heroes may be many and varied but all should be revered for what they are.

[TheBrogueadier]

Where have I been?

Well, now that’s a story, but one I’ll happily tell...

Let me tell you my most recent story, of the woman who loved me, and of a heart so recently broken.

It all begins with the breaking of a phial, and the spilling of blood.

[TheBrogueadier]

Oh Sally, my dear, I wish I could wed you,
Oh Sally, my dear, I wish I could wed you,
She smiled and replied, then you'd say I'd misled you.

If the young girls could sing like blackbirds and thrushes,
If the young girls could sing like blackbirds and thrushes,
How many young men would go beating the bushes?

If all you young girls were hares on the mountain,
If all you young girls were hares on the mountain,
How many young men would take bows and go hunting?

Oh Sally, my dear, it's you I'd be kissing,
Oh Sally, my dear, it's you I'd be kissing,
She smiled and replied, you don't know what you're missing.

If all the young men were ducks on the water,
If all the young men were ducks on the water,
How many young girls would undress and dive after?

If all you young men were hares on the mountain,
If all you young men were hares on the mountain,
How many young girls would take bows and go hunting?

If all you young men were hares on the mountain,
If all you young men were hares on the mountain.


“They say at Schild the grass grows fat and full. And red.”

“They say that when it rains on that mountain, it's the gods themselves shedding tears for the fallen. That Ilmater weeps for the carnage below and Hoar himself angers at the slaughter.”

“The sun that shines on those slopes is not warm with the hope and blessing of Lathander, but as cold and empty as the smile of Bane, happy at the suffering his servants are causing.”

“In the war between the Legion and the Veritas, there is only one winner. The Black Hand.”

The bard smiles, his face more worn and weary than when he first entered the valley, with a grunt he swaps his mandolin for a hurdy gurdy and starts up a rolling, dancing tune.

Got a field in the back where the angels grow,
There's a hooded man with a red light on,
On and on and on they go...


(((Song lyrics from 'Hares on the mountain' by Jonny Kearney & Lucy Farrell and 'Under the Influence of Jaffa Cakes' by Jokers Daughter)))