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batkevin74

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batkevin74

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batkevin74

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batkevin74

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batkevin74

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https://comicvine.gamespot.com/forums/fan-fic-8/make-a-party-challenge-story-2130823/

No Caption Provided
No Caption Provided

Borovar was up when the rooster crowed alerting those within the Challenge Forge tavern that the sun had risen. He knelt and gave praise to the Platinum Dragon he served before heading into the adjacent barn for his daily exercises. As he entered, he saw the stone dragon Saturn going through what could only be described as slow-motion fighting.

“MORNING!” Borovar called. “TIS RARE THAT I HAVE COMPANY DURING MY MORNING CALISTHENICS.”

Saturn paused, bowed in the paladin’s direction and returned to the slow and deliberate moves. Borovar watched for a while before shrugging and began doing sets of pushups and sit-ups. After about an hour of exercises both stopped and caught each other’s eye.

“You seem as if you’d like to ask me something?” Saturn said.

“HOW DOES BEING SO SLOW HELP YOU IN BATTLE?” Borovar asked as he wiped sweat from his face, bald head and neck.

“It would be easier to show you than attempt to explain,” Saturn said.

“YOU WISH TO BRAWL? WELL, THAT IS MOST EXCELLENT MY DRACONIC FRIEND!” Borovar stated as he cracked his knuckles. “FOR THE GLORY OF THE GREAT DRAGON!”

__

Inside the tavern the other party members made their way downstairs. It had been quite a night of getting to know each other, singing songs, and drinking the copious amounts of ale and wine Fenkenkabradon kept getting sent over to the table.

“I feel like a bugbear did a sh…” Orlaith didn’t finish her sentence as she dry wretched. The one-eyed bard, Ulrich Rockson, smiled as he raised a fresh tankard of ale.

“Best way to avoid feeling like that, is to keep drinking,” He laughed.

“Never fear friends,” Ptolemy Shatterdeep the gnome alchemist hopped up onto the table and began tossing pinches of powders into a bowl. “I can fix what ails you in a few moments. Um I need some lard and a raw egg. Excuse me, miss!”

The bar wench wandered over to speak to the gnome when Fenkenkabradon Silverstreak sauntered down the stairs with a woman in a red hood with cape, red and silver armour, with a whip and shortsword on her hip. “Oh, I apologize for my lateness, I am still reeling from our celebrations of yestereve! But allow me to introduce to you all another member of our group…what was your name again; I do beg your pardon.”

No Caption Provided

“Lady Red Hood.”

“Lately Re Dude.”

“Lady Red Hood,” she corrected as she helped the dragonborn to the table. “Good morning.”

“M’lady,” Arry tipped his cap and the pair locked eyes. She tapped two fingers onto her left hand, which to everyone didn’t look at all abnormal but between the two thieves, it spoke volumes. She nodded at the old thief who cracked the joint of his right pinky then flicked the nail twice.

“Righto, this elixir will help all who feel poorly,” Ptolemy said as he raised the bowl of stuff he’d concocted. It snapped and hissed as if porridge had been made out of snakes.

Bombastic moaned “Over here, anything to stop the buzzing in my head!”

Tadgh reached over the goblin and took up the bowl, slurping down several gulps.

“Hey! That’s for everyone to share!” Ptolemy cried. “Don’t be greedy!”

Tadgh lowered the bowl and couldn’t help but smile, an unnatural thing for him. “Wow!” he muttered. Orlaith snatched the bowl off her brother and also drank and within a few moments the once hungover party was as fresh as daisies.

“You are a wizard, my diminutive friend!” Frank said to Ptolemy who blushed a little at all the praise. Suddenly the door burst open and in hobbled Borovar and Saturn, each holding the other up. Their faces were slightly red but also slightly bruised from the morning’s friendly fisticuffs.

“GOOD, I SEE WE ARE FINALLY ALL AWAKE!” Borovar laughed. “SHALL WE DRINK OR SET OFF?”

__

The eleven strong party rode off to the west after breakfast. Fenkenkabradon rode up the front with Borovar, Vincent, and Tadgh close behind. Then Bombastic, Lady Red Hood and Ptolemy, then Ulrich, Orlaith, and Arry behind them with Saturn bringing up the rear. The clatter of hooves and the talk between the group meant they were anything but subtle or quiet. Their ride was uneventful and by nightfall the large group made camp on the edge of B’rgami Woods.

“My friends,” Frank pulled his horse up. “This looks like a good enough place to rest before the sun leaves us. Let us make camp, tell stories and enjoy a night under the stars.”

“Wonder wot’s for dinner,” Arry mused as he dismounted which caused Frank to look quizzically to the sky.

“Um, yes, food,” Frank tapped his chin. “Perhaps I should catch us dinner.”

No Caption Provided

“I bet that dopey lizard forgot to pack rations,” Orlaith said to her brother who let out a guffaw. The party went about making their camp so Ulrich pulled out his lute to play when Frank pulled Vincent aside.

“Vincent, my fine friend. Do you have a bow?”

“No,” Vincent said. “I am a Bladesinger, bows are not my forte.”

“But you have magic, yes?” Frank asked hopefully.

“Yes…”

“Excellent! Come with me, as we are upon dinner duties.” Frank threw an arm over Vincent and they walked towards the woods. “Back soon friends.”

To be continued

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“Igor!”

The cybernetic man-beast bolted upright at the harsh tone of his master, Professor Töröttkar. He quickly closed all the tabs of kittens and cat memes on his laptop. “Yes master.”

“Where are the Chernobyl strawberries that I left on the bench?”

Igor gulped and shut his laptop. “Um…”

Professor Töröttkar seethed as he exhaled. Slowly he stalked towards the creature he created with his own two hands and looked deep into his eyes. “Igor…where are the strawberries?”

Igor quivered in fear and lowered himself towards the ground. “I’m sorry master.”

“WHAT DID YOU DO?”

Igor curled up into a ball and rocked back and forth making nonsensical sounds. Professor Töröttkar stood over him and waited. He contemplated kicking him but all that did was make a mess. After a while, Igor had regained his composure.

“I took them, master.”

“Why?”

“For your birthday.”

Töröttkar was taken aback by the statement. “My birthday?”

“Igor wanted to do something nice for master, as master is always nice to me.”

Töröttkar felt a rare twinge of guilt as he wasn’t always nice to his creation, nor to anyone else for that matter, but from Igor’s point of view he was.

“Igor took the strawberries to the shop as Igor has idea but no skill to make master a cake like the Ainstagrom videos master watches in the bubble bath.”

Töröttkar was a little annoyed that Igor knew what he did in the bath but was also touched by the monster’s sincerity and generosity.

“The shop will deliver the cake on your birthday on Friday,” Igor said. “Igor is sorry he took your fruits.”

Professor Töröttkar patted Igor on his shoulder. “You are…what do you mean fruits?”

“Igor also used the pineapple and the apples too!”

Töröttkar clenched his fists. “The Bikini Atoll pineapple and the manchineel beach apples from the Bahamas!”

“Yes master.”

“AND YOU HAD THEM MADE INTO A CAKE FOR MY BIRTHDAY? ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME YOU STUPID, IGNORANT MISH-MASH OF ANIMALS?!?”

--

Professor Töröttkar sat in the passenger seat of the black XJ-220 Super Jaguar as a bloodied and beaten Igor drove the incredibly fast machine to the cake store.

“I’m very sorr…”

“Shut. Up.” Töröttkar snapped returning the car to silence. The GPS showed it would take nineteen minutes to get there; nineteen silent minutes where he could contemplate how stupid his cretinous creation had been. Igor had taken several of the most poisonous & toxic fruits from the lab that were intended for use on the upcoming G20 summit and sent them to a baker to make a birthday cake. These fruits combined with there three pretty coloured potions Igor had also given the baker; namely Human Growth Hormone, Cobalt Thorium K and Polymethylditetrahydrofuranic Acid, meant the cake was possibly the most lethal baked good on the planet.

“How could you…” Töröttkar stopped himself and just glared at Igor for the remainder of the trip into Portland.

--

“Oh no!” Igor said as they stood in front of the exploded cake shop. Professor Töröttkar reached into his pocket which made Igor cower but luckily it was simply a scanner. He waved it around collecting and collating data when a glowing figure hovered up from the ruins.

“I am The Boulanger!” said the glowing man. “I created a dozen cupcakes and when I tasted one, it transformed me into a living super powered pastry chef. Evil doers beware!”

Professor Töröttkar looked at Igor and raised his hand causing Igor to flinch. But there was no slap or punch. It became a hug.

“Do you know what you’ve done Igor?”

“No master.”

“You have created for me a brand new enemy to fight. Someone for me to play with, confound, and ultimately defeat. This is the best birthday present an evil genius could ask for!”

“Igor did good?”

Professor Töröttkar smiled. “Igor did very good. Excuse me, Pastry Man?”

“I am The Boulanger!”

“Of course you are.” Töröttkar pulled a ray gun from his pocket and began to engage him in combat. “Igor! Make sure you record EVERYTHING! I wish to know about his powers, weaknesses, EVERYTHING! Well done you magnificent mongrel!”

“Yes master!” Igor the cybernetic man-beast clapped his hands in delight and began to record as his creator and a flying man powered by superpowered cupcakes did battle. Laser blasts and cream-filled rays flew back and forth. “Happy birthday.”

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batkevin74

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Background: This is the story version of a challenge that occured on the Hero Forge Creators Guild page where you made a miniature on the site and posted it to the FB group and people would join. This is what my brain came up with.

No Caption Provided

Fenkenkabradon Silverstreak, the silver dragonborn, tapped his taloned foot as the bearded bard with an eyepatch plinked his lute in a manner he’d never seen or heard before. The patrons of the Challenge Forge tavern were curious about this loud rhythmic music emanating from the stage but mainly they were here for ale, gambling and potential work. The song ended with thud. Fenkenkabradon clapped appreciatively, several other gave polite claps and the room returned to chatter.

“I’ve been great!” the bard yelled across the room before stepping off the stage and into three eager ladies waiting nearby. Fenkenkabradon started over to him when a half-elf with piercing green eyes in a purple jacket stepped in his way.

“The barkeep tells me you’re looking for help?” He inquired.

“That is an amazing coat!” Fenkenkabradon exclaimed. “Yes, my friend, yes. Come let us sit and chat. I am Fenkenkabradon Silverstreak.”

The half-elf raised an eyebrow. “Fen-ken-ka…”

“Frank! Easier to say Frank,” the dragonborn smiled. “May I feel your coat? Is it fur?”

“It’s a…”

“Sit, my friend, sit. Ale? Wine? Water?” Frank guided him to an empty chair at the large wooden table.

“Just a…”

“Your eyes compliment your coat!” Frank stated. “Your colouring is amazing. Now ale, wine, water, cheese? What can I get you…I didn’t catch your name?”

“Vincent. Vincent Taryth.”

Frank shot out a clawed hand and took Vincent’s. “Very nice to meet you, Vincent. I am assembling a group to help me seek out…” He paused and looked around. “The Ashen…

“You have to be the weakest looking dragonborn I've ever seen!”

Frank paused and turned to the woman’s voice; Vincent placed a cautious hand upon his sword’s hilt whilst readying a spell. Standing near them was a woman with grey-white hair dressed in green while lurking nearby looked to be one of her relatives; a man with white hair, axe strapped to his back and an aggressive stance.

“You’re hiring for a job?” She asked.

“Yes!” Frank stood up; hand outstretched. “Fenkenkabradon Silverstreak, but please call me Frank.”

“I'm Orlaith.” She spun a chair around to sit upon it backwards. “That is my brother Tadgh. We come as a package deal. You hire one of us, you hire both of us.”

“Ooooo,” Frank clattered his claws together. “Two for one, that is most excellent.”

Orlaith began to protest. “I didn’t say th…”

“BARKEEP!” Frank yelled. “Ale for my new friends!”

“You’re not listening lizard-breath!” Orlaith growled.

“Ev.ning! Got a spare groat for the 'omeless?” said the older man who’d sidled up to the table.

“Beat it!” Orlaith snapped at the old man.

“Don’be lyke that.”

Tadgh stepped forward and grunted at the scruffy man, who smiled, bowed and tossed a small blue bag onto the table. “Best cat burglar in five towns, ne’er been caught. Should keep yer valuables secure missy.”

“That’s my purse!” Orlaith yelled as she snatched it back.

Fenkenkabradon stood up and applauded. “Oh, most excellent sleight of hand and pickpocketing my elderly ally. I could use a nimble-fingered gent. Your name sir, what is your name?”

“'Arry 'Oudin,” He doffed his cap and sat at the table. “Gettin' outta tight spaces the game.”

“Do that again to me ever again and I’ll chop your head off and my brother will stomp it into paste!”

“Welcome to my growing band, Arry. This is Vincent, you’ve met Orlaith and her brother and I am Fenkenkabradon but call me Frank. I was hoping for a few more…”

“Um yes, hello!”

The table paused and looked around for where the voice was coming from.

“Down here.”

Fenkenkabradon stood up to see a gnome standing close to the table, almost hidden from view by the table edge.

“Well, hello down there.”

“Very pleased to make your acquaintances,” the gnome clambered up and got up onto the table. Oh...wow, everyone here is so tall... My name is Ptolemy Shatterdeep, but you can call me Tommy if you like. As you can tell I’m…”

“A gnome!” Orlaith snarked.

“An Alchemist. I'd be happy to join up on this quest,” Ptolemy threw his hand up and a puff of raspberry smelling sparkles danced through the air. “But what are you looking for?”

“Excellent showmanship my diminutive friend,” Frank slid a tankard of ale in the gnome’s direction. “As I was about to tell everyone, I have recently acquired a map to the whereabouts of the Ash…”

“DON'T WORRY, BOROVAR IS HERE!” The table rocked as a large man slammed what could only be a custom-made tankard upon the wood. “I AM BOROVAR BOULDERSHOULDER; WRESTLER, WEIGHTLIFTER AND MIGHTY PALADIN OF THE PLATINUM DRAGON, AND YOU MY FRIEND LOOK A BIT LIKE HIM ACTUALLY.”

“A paladin,” Frank mused. “Muscles, loudness and holiness, yes that could be a useful addition. Welcome Borovar. This is Ptolemy, Vincent, Orlaith, Tadgh and I am Fenkenkabradon Silverstreak.”

“PLEASURE TO MAKE YOUR ACQUAINTANCE,” Borovar raised his large ale. “TO HEALTH, MUSCLES, AND THE GREAT DRAGON!”

Frank sipped his ale; the others joined the odd toast. Up on the stage the one-eyed bard resumed his spot and started singing another heavy but catchy ditty.

“So, Frank,” Vincent leant forward. “You were about to explain what you needed us for.”

“Yes, yes, sorry, but I do love this tune, I feel like joining in with my fiddle.”

“HAVE I TOLD YOU THAT I ALSO LIKE TO SING?” Borovar added.

“Perhaps the minstrel will let us accompany him?” Frank mused aloud. “Oooo would you look at that lovely creature at the bar.”

The group turned to what had caught Frank’s attention. Standing at the bar chatting to the barkeep was another dragonborn but unlike any they’d ever seen before. The barkeep pointed at the group and slowly the dragon walked smoothly towards them. It bowed slightly. “I hear you are looking for adventurers. You may call me Saturn.”

“You have exquisite colouring, my friend. I have never seen anything like you in my life,” Frank gushed. “You are quite simply; beautiful.”

The stone dragon seemingly blushed at the compliment. “Thank you. My mother was a silver dragon, my father a dao. I am the first stone dragon.”

“Amazing!” Frank stood up. “BARKEEP! ALE FOR MY NEW FRIEND!”

“RIGHT!” The roar came from the stage as the music halted. “COULD YOU SHUT UP?!”

The group looked at the rather angry bard glaring at them.

“I’m trying to play!”

“Oh, I am dreadfully sorry my cycloptic fellow, I do apologize. I am organizing a party to aid me in a quest for The Ashen Crown.”

The bar went silent. All eyes fixed upon the dragonborn.

“Why didn’t you say so. Ulrich Rockson, it's a pleasure to meet me! Sounds like fun, I’m in.”

Frank clapped his claws together. “How excellent! You must teach me that interesting style you play.”

“Ashen Crown you say?” A goblin in black cloak approached. “That’s where you’re going to need a goblin’s touch. Bombastic I am, the best tinkerer you would have on your team. You need explosions? How about magic items? Walking ballista? I've got you covered. And I speak goblin which you’ll need.”

Frank looked around at the now full table and smiled. “A bladesinger, a stone dragon monk, two fighters, a gnome alchemist, a goblin tinkerer, a muscly paladin, a one-eyed bard and an old rogue…what a fine assortment!” Frank unfurled a map from his sleeve upon the table. “This is my new friends is what I seek.”

The group drew near around the parchment.

“The Ashen Crown. Deep with the goblin lands is this ancient artifact, a crown of immeasurable worth and power according to legend.” Frank ran a claw over the map. “We are here and have to travel here. It won’t be easy friends, but I can guarantee it will be an adventure. So, let us drink then rest and set off upon first light.”

“HUZZAH!” Cheered Borovar. “TO THE WARRIORS OF THE CHALLENGE FORGE!”

“HUZZAH!”

--

As Fenkenkabradon Silverstreak stumbled up to his room after a raucous night of bonding, singing, drinking and some punching. As he pushed open his door a figure stood in the entry way; mysterious and clad in red.

“Greeting Silverstreak, I've heard you're in the market for some adventure?”

“And w-who might yoube?” Frank slurred.

“They call me Lady Red Hood.”

“Eggsellent, your hired!” Frank stated before promptly passing out in front of her leaving the assassin of note somewhat puzzled.

The End?

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