Favourite Gaming Stories
Aug. 11th, 2005 02:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
velvetpageWhat follows here is a chapter from my first book. As many of you know, the book was based on the roleplaying campaign where I first learned how to actually portray a character. Captain Salvatore was created and played by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wggthegnoll. I was playing Annarisse, and redstorm created and played (and wrote a few scenes for) Baron Treeden.
My character has the flaw of Honourable. It took me a while to figure out why Honourable was considered a flaw, but this scene put it to very good use. Captain Sal's flaws are quite beautifully portrayed in this scene. We played it out, and Captain Sal does actually perform the penance before the end of the campaign. I admit, I daydreamed about the penance for at least a week between sessions before I actually got to play it out. Patrick played along quite nicely. :)
The Captain stared into the fire in the brazier and swirled his brandy in his glass. It was a tribute to his ability to hold alcohol that not one drop spilled, since he was already quite drunk. Though Annarisse had been peripherally aware of the drinking on the voyage, she had never seen Salvatore in a state she would call drunk, until now. She waited, not touching the brandy he had poured for her. She was in his cabin on his invitation; clearly, he had something he wished to talk to her about. She thought of their deal from earlier in the day to keep knowledge of certain parts of the treasure secret from the Baron, and wondered if she were here to cement it somehow. But no; the Captain’s mood was dark, depressed even, and she shivered at the naked pain on his face.
“Sister, will you hear my confession?” His words were loud in the silence of the cabin, though he had spoken softly.
“Of course, Captain.” She made her holy sign and blessed him. He did not kneel, though that was the customary position for a confession. She decided not to quibble.
“I killed them. I killed my own family.” The voice was dead, flat, belying the anguish of his expression.
“Did they die by your own hand, then?” asked Annarisse. She had a feeling she knew what was coming. She’d seen this kind of guilt before, in children at the orphanage.
He looked up, shocked. “Of course not! I couldn’t have killed them outright! I loved them!” He stopped, and buried his face in his hands. “But they’re dead because of me. I could have stopped it, and I didn’t.” He quaffed the rest of the brandy in his snifter, then reached for the bottle. He didn’t bother to pour it into the glass, instead dumping it straight down his throat. Annarisse winced. “I was at sea when it happened, but I knew there would be trouble. I should have protected them. I should have taken them to sea with me. I shouldn’t have left them to the mercy of the Rinaldi. It’s my fault they’re dead!” He picked up his empty glass and bashed it against the wall. The cheap glass shattered, leaving his hand cut and blood pooling on the floor. His shoulders shook with silent sobs. Annarisse stood rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but pity him. She had no prayer to cure his sorrows. No one did.
Without looking up, he said, “I don’t expect absolution. This was a mistake. Leave me.” His voice had gone dead again, and it chilled her to the bone.
She walked across the cabin, picked out a handkerchief from his open press, and went to him. Gently, she pried the remains of the glass out of his hand and cleaned the cuts. The brandy on the glass would likely ensure that they didn’t fester. She wrapped his hand and said a prayer of healing over it, closing the wounds. Throughout these ministrations, he leaned against the wall with his head bowed, his eyes on the rest of the glass on the floor.
Finally she dropped his hand. Gingerly she picked up the larger pieces of glass to wrap in another handkerchief. The little bits would have to stay; she had no broom, and she would not disservice the Captain by sending one of the cabin boys to see him in this state. The bloody bits of glass would go overboard as soon as she reached the deck. She stoppered the brandy bottle and put it back in the rack, which was full of other such bottles in varying states of depletion.
Then she straightened, and addressed herself to her supplicant. “By the Light of S’Allumer and by the example of the Saint, I absolve you of your sins. Go, and sin no more.” She made her holy sign in the air in front of her, going through the age-old motions with a deliberate reverence that was often lacking for more mundane confessions. “I am not going to assign your penance tonight, Captain,” she told him. Still, he didn’t look at her. “Having the blood of innocents on one’s hands is not a matter to be taken lightly. You will do a penance, and it will change your life and others besides. It will make you a whole man again.” His shoulders started to shake again; she waited it out. When he became still again, she said, “Get some rest, Captain. The Light has bleached away your sins, and they are no more. We will deal with your penance in the morning.” She turned and left, closing the cabin door behind her.
The Captain stood where he was as her steps faded down the causeway and gave way to the silence of wind and wave. Finally, he crumpled to the floor where he was and slept, with the tiny shards of glass pressing into his flesh and reminding him that no priest could force him to forgive himself.
wggthegnoll. I was playing Annarisse, and redstorm created and played (and wrote a few scenes for) Baron Treeden.My character has the flaw of Honourable. It took me a while to figure out why Honourable was considered a flaw, but this scene put it to very good use. Captain Sal's flaws are quite beautifully portrayed in this scene. We played it out, and Captain Sal does actually perform the penance before the end of the campaign. I admit, I daydreamed about the penance for at least a week between sessions before I actually got to play it out. Patrick played along quite nicely. :)
The Captain stared into the fire in the brazier and swirled his brandy in his glass. It was a tribute to his ability to hold alcohol that not one drop spilled, since he was already quite drunk. Though Annarisse had been peripherally aware of the drinking on the voyage, she had never seen Salvatore in a state she would call drunk, until now. She waited, not touching the brandy he had poured for her. She was in his cabin on his invitation; clearly, he had something he wished to talk to her about. She thought of their deal from earlier in the day to keep knowledge of certain parts of the treasure secret from the Baron, and wondered if she were here to cement it somehow. But no; the Captain’s mood was dark, depressed even, and she shivered at the naked pain on his face.
“Sister, will you hear my confession?” His words were loud in the silence of the cabin, though he had spoken softly.
“Of course, Captain.” She made her holy sign and blessed him. He did not kneel, though that was the customary position for a confession. She decided not to quibble.
“I killed them. I killed my own family.” The voice was dead, flat, belying the anguish of his expression.
“Did they die by your own hand, then?” asked Annarisse. She had a feeling she knew what was coming. She’d seen this kind of guilt before, in children at the orphanage.
He looked up, shocked. “Of course not! I couldn’t have killed them outright! I loved them!” He stopped, and buried his face in his hands. “But they’re dead because of me. I could have stopped it, and I didn’t.” He quaffed the rest of the brandy in his snifter, then reached for the bottle. He didn’t bother to pour it into the glass, instead dumping it straight down his throat. Annarisse winced. “I was at sea when it happened, but I knew there would be trouble. I should have protected them. I should have taken them to sea with me. I shouldn’t have left them to the mercy of the Rinaldi. It’s my fault they’re dead!” He picked up his empty glass and bashed it against the wall. The cheap glass shattered, leaving his hand cut and blood pooling on the floor. His shoulders shook with silent sobs. Annarisse stood rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but pity him. She had no prayer to cure his sorrows. No one did.
Without looking up, he said, “I don’t expect absolution. This was a mistake. Leave me.” His voice had gone dead again, and it chilled her to the bone.
She walked across the cabin, picked out a handkerchief from his open press, and went to him. Gently, she pried the remains of the glass out of his hand and cleaned the cuts. The brandy on the glass would likely ensure that they didn’t fester. She wrapped his hand and said a prayer of healing over it, closing the wounds. Throughout these ministrations, he leaned against the wall with his head bowed, his eyes on the rest of the glass on the floor.
Finally she dropped his hand. Gingerly she picked up the larger pieces of glass to wrap in another handkerchief. The little bits would have to stay; she had no broom, and she would not disservice the Captain by sending one of the cabin boys to see him in this state. The bloody bits of glass would go overboard as soon as she reached the deck. She stoppered the brandy bottle and put it back in the rack, which was full of other such bottles in varying states of depletion.
Then she straightened, and addressed herself to her supplicant. “By the Light of S’Allumer and by the example of the Saint, I absolve you of your sins. Go, and sin no more.” She made her holy sign in the air in front of her, going through the age-old motions with a deliberate reverence that was often lacking for more mundane confessions. “I am not going to assign your penance tonight, Captain,” she told him. Still, he didn’t look at her. “Having the blood of innocents on one’s hands is not a matter to be taken lightly. You will do a penance, and it will change your life and others besides. It will make you a whole man again.” His shoulders started to shake again; she waited it out. When he became still again, she said, “Get some rest, Captain. The Light has bleached away your sins, and they are no more. We will deal with your penance in the morning.” She turned and left, closing the cabin door behind her.
The Captain stood where he was as her steps faded down the causeway and gave way to the silence of wind and wave. Finally, he crumpled to the floor where he was and slept, with the tiny shards of glass pressing into his flesh and reminding him that no priest could force him to forgive himself.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-11 06:21 pm (UTC)I promise to feed you.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-08-11 06:23 pm (UTC)