Welcome to Scrivener: Getting Around

Welcome to Scrivener: Getting Around — Blue Ink Alchemy

Last week around this time I promised I'd be helping my fellow writers now deeply entrenched in NaNoWriMo by showing them how a little program called Scrivener can make things a bit more organized and smooth for them. I for one am the kind of person who feels the best way to get to know a piece of software is to roll up my sleeves and use the damn thing. Fortunately, even the beta for Windows comes with a tutorial built into it. What I like about this tutorial is, as you work your way through it, you're learning more about the software just by reading about what it does. It's extremely intuitive. So this is what Scrivener can look like. Feeling a little lost? Here's a short version on what you might be looking at.

The Binder

The biggest thing Scrivener offers a writer is a means of organizing, sorting and arranging bits of information and research all in one place. It's like having all the tools you need in one box instead of scattered all over your apartment and your parents' basement. Not that I'd know anything about that. The most obvious place to see this is the left-hand column called the Binder. This is where you will find pretty much every document you work on in a given project. You can navigate through them one click at a time, rather than hunting and searching through folders, flash drives and hand-written notes. When you start a new Scrivener project, you have folders for your draft, any research you want to include and trash. The neat thing about the trash bin in the Binder is that it doesn't destroy your work automatically. Unless you specifically empty the trash bin, the work is always there for you to reference, restore or copy-paste into a more viable document. The Binder allows you to break what may be a work with hundreds of thousands of words into smaller, more managable chunks that you can edit, reorganize and publish much more easily. I'll deal with all those things in upcoming posts.

The Inspector

While the Binder lets you physically organize your work, the Inspector provides organizational help from a data perspective. It first and foremost lets you specify a synopsis that will show up in Scrivener's Corkboard and Outline views. I'll get to that in a moment. The Inspector's additional powers deal with making searching for aspects of your work easier. Say you want to look for scenes from a particular character's point of view, or focused on a given subject. With the Inspector, you can add labels, notes and keywords that make these searches more comprehensive and easier to understand, rather than drilling through the entire document one search result at a time. You also have the option to add notes to the entire project through the Inspector. Last but not least, the Inspector lets you specify how a given document will appear in the final product, if it appears at all. You can exclude a passage from your final draft without losing its content, specify when page breaks should happen or set a document's status as finished, in progress or "a mess." The status of the document, like its labels, are totally customizable. Making Scrivener your own is about as intuitive as it gets.

The Corkboard

This is a matter of personal preference. Scrivener has two views that lets you see what's in your documents as you shift them around, how they're labelled and what their status is. None of this info shows up in the Binder. At least it doesn't in the beta I was working with. Anyway, these views are the Corkboard and the Outliner. The Outliner lays out the sections and sub-sections of a project in a very linear fashion. Not only do you see status and labels, but you also see when a document was created as well as when it was modified. It's chock full of information and very handy, but I, being somewhat more of a visual person, perfer the Corkboard. Maybe it's the idea of pinning things down to get them where I want them. Maybe it's the act of moving the cards around to get the right order. Maybe it's the way labels show up as big red stamps that makes me smile. Whichever view you choose, I hope you'll find organizing information in a draft as easy as I have. You can even use the Corkboard to navigate if you like. An option in the view allows you to control the document displayed in the portion of the editor not displaying the view you prefer. "Portion?" I hear you asking. "What do you mean by 'portion'?" I'm glad you asked.

Split Views & Scrivenings

Scrivener allows you to split the view in the main window. You can, in essence, have two documents open in the same window at the same time. If you felt you may have repeated yourself unnecessarily, this is a good way to check. Moreover, having the Corkboard or Outliner open in one part of the window while you edit in the other makes it very easy to keep track of where you are even if you have the Binder closed. You can move documents around and get right into editing them afterwards, to make sure your work flows properly from one snippet to the next. The other direction is the Scrivenings. This overall view lets you view multiple documents as a single, cohesive text. You can also edit it as you view it, which may make you feel like you're back in Word save for the fact that switching back to one of Scrivener's other modes takes just a click or two. It's important to see how the end result may look from time to time, and Scrivenings is a good way to do that without having to make the program spit out a sample "finished draft." So that's how Scrivener looks. But how does it actually work, and how would an author like myself work with it? Join me next week when I take my last coherent draft of Citizen In The Wilds and give it the Scrivener treatment.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Welcome to Scrivener: Getting Around

Welcome to Scrivener: Getting Around — Blue Ink Alchemy

Last week around this time I promised I'd be helping my fellow writers now deeply entrenched in NaNoWriMo by showing them how a little program called Scrivener can make things a bit more organized and smooth for them. I for one am the kind of person who feels the best way to get to know a piece of software is to roll up my sleeves and use the damn thing. Fortunately, even the beta for Windows comes with a tutorial built into it. What I like about this tutorial is, as you work your way through it, you're learning more about the software just by reading about what it does. It's extremely intuitive. So this is what Scrivener can look like. Feeling a little lost? Here's a short version on what you might be looking at.

The Binder

The biggest thing Scrivener offers a writer is a means of organizing, sorting and arranging bits of information and research all in one place. It's like having all the tools you need in one box instead of scattered all over your apartment and your parents' basement. Not that I'd know anything about that. The most obvious place to see this is the left-hand column called the Binder. This is where you will find pretty much every document you work on in a given project. You can navigate through them one click at a time, rather than hunting and searching through folders, flash drives and hand-written notes. When you start a new Scrivener project, you have folders for your draft, any research you want to include and trash. The neat thing about the trash bin in the Binder is that it doesn't destroy your work automatically. Unless you specifically empty the trash bin, the work is always there for you to reference, restore or copy-paste into a more viable document. The Binder allows you to break what may be a work with hundreds of thousands of words into smaller, more managable chunks that you can edit, reorganize and publish much more easily. I'll deal with all those things in upcoming posts.

The Inspector

While the Binder lets you physically organize your work, the Inspector provides organizational help from a data perspective. It first and foremost lets you specify a synopsis that will show up in Scrivener's Corkboard and Outline views. I'll get to that in a moment. The Inspector's additional powers deal with making searching for aspects of your work easier. Say you want to look for scenes from a particular character's point of view, or focused on a given subject. With the Inspector, you can add labels, notes and keywords that make these searches more comprehensive and easier to understand, rather than drilling through the entire document one search result at a time. You also have the option to add notes to the entire project through the Inspector. Last but not least, the Inspector lets you specify how a given document will appear in the final product, if it appears at all. You can exclude a passage from your final draft without losing its content, specify when page breaks should happen or set a document's status as finished, in progress or "a mess." The status of the document, like its labels, are totally customizable. Making Scrivener your own is about as intuitive as it gets.

The Corkboard

This is a matter of personal preference. Scrivener has two views that lets you see what's in your documents as you shift them around, how they're labelled and what their status is. None of this info shows up in the Binder. At least it doesn't in the beta I was working with. Anyway, these views are the Corkboard and the Outliner. The Outliner lays out the sections and sub-sections of a project in a very linear fashion. Not only do you see status and labels, but you also see when a document was created as well as when it was modified. It's chock full of information and very handy, but I, being somewhat more of a visual person, perfer the Corkboard. Maybe it's the idea of pinning things down to get them where I want them. Maybe it's the act of moving the cards around to get the right order. Maybe it's the way labels show up as big red stamps that makes me smile. Whichever view you choose, I hope you'll find organizing information in a draft as easy as I have. You can even use the Corkboard to navigate if you like. An option in the view allows you to control the document displayed in the portion of the editor not displaying the view you prefer. "Portion?" I hear you asking. "What do you mean by 'portion'?" I'm glad you asked.

Split Views & Scrivenings

Scrivener allows you to split the view in the main window. You can, in essence, have two documents open in the same window at the same time. If you felt you may have repeated yourself unnecessarily, this is a good way to check. Moreover, having the Corkboard or Outliner open in one part of the window while you edit in the other makes it very easy to keep track of where you are even if you have the Binder closed. You can move documents around and get right into editing them afterwards, to make sure your work flows properly from one snippet to the next. The other direction is the Scrivenings. This overall view lets you view multiple documents as a single, cohesive text. You can also edit it as you view it, which may make you feel like you're back in Word save for the fact that switching back to one of Scrivener's other modes takes just a click or two. It's important to see how the end result may look from time to time, and Scrivenings is a good way to do that without having to make the program spit out a sample "finished draft." So that's how Scrivener looks. But how does it actually work, and how would an author like myself work with it? Join me next week when I take my last coherent draft of Citizen In The Wilds and give it the Scrivener treatment.

---

Blue Ink Alchemy

Into the Nentir Vale: Part 3

Into the Nentir Vale: Part 3 — Blue Ink Alchemy

The Nentir Vale is a campaign setting provided to new players of Dungeons & Dragons 4th Edition. It's present in the Red Box and most of the starting materials. For a party almost all completely new to D&D and a DM re-familiarizing himself with the latest edition, it's a great place to start a campaign. This will be an ongoing recollection of what happens to the party as they make their way through the Nentir Vale. Enjoy. Previously: A dwarf "fortress", the town of Fallcrest and a sparkly cleric. I seem to have misplaced the quotes I scribbled down from our last session. Which means this recap will likely be somewhat dull. - DM They called it Kobold Hall, or Kobold Keep. Some of the more disgruntled denizens of Fallcrest called it Kobold Hole. It was a known nexus of activity for the reptilian raiders, but no individual or group had stepped forward to deal with the threat. Until now. The band of sellswords from Fallcrest made their way into the old ruin. At the base of what was once a guard tower, they found a trapdoor with rusty hinges. Tugging on the ring revealed stairs leading underground. At the base of the long stair was a dank room dominated by a pit of sludge and patrolled by kobolds. The guards bore spears and slings, while Andrasian hefted his Lifedrinker Battleaxe, Lyria drew her daggers, Melanie began casting spells and Krillorien hewed into the kobolds with longsword and holy words. Beyond the sludge pit was an ancient tomb converted into a shrine for the kobolds' twisted rituals. Krillorien bristled at the sight of such graven imagery as the party moved into the room. However, more than reptilians occupied it. The suits of armor situated in alcoves along the walls spat darts on anyone large enough to trigger the connected pressure plates. Lyria, being small and light, breezed over the plates on her way to deliver a series of stabbings to her foes. After the kobolds had fallen, they found the shrine in the corner was to Tiamat, the dire dragon goddess of greed and envy. The next tomb had been converted into a kobold playground. A large stone, covered in sludge, hung from the ceiling on the end of a long rope. Small animal skulls were arranged on the coffins in the room. The object of the game, it seemed, was to smash the skulls on the coffin - or those of any intruders. Avoiding the stone as it swung through the room was problematic for most of the party, as Lyria's size again gave her an advantage. However, Andrasian and Krillorien immediately took it upon themselves to spoil the game by severing the rope. Melanie's spells took care of the players as they made for the doors at the far end of the room. Lyria ran up and across a wall to reach one of the platforms from which the players had cast their ball, only to find a fearsome guard drake waiting for her. The fight that followed was pitched, but in the end the party survived. Awaiting in the adjoining chamber was a wyrmpriest of Tiamat and his cohort. As the sellswords rushed into the room, a giant boulder crashed out of the side of the room and began rolling towards them. A slightly depressed portion of the floor by an inner chamber kept the boulder rolling around, making positioning difficult. The wyrmpriest was a bit too eager to exercise his ability to breathe ice, and Melanie proved herself a superior spellcaster. For her effort, she found a staff of the war mage on the kobold's corpse. But the question as to why the kobold's ability involved cold breath was a somewhat disconcerting one... Next: Who's in charge of these kobolds, anyway? All locations, NPCs, spells and equipment copyright Wizards of the Coast unless otherwise noted.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Into The Nentir Vale, Part 2

Into The Nentir Vale, Part 2 — Blue Ink Alchemy

The Nentir Vale is a campaign setting provided to new players of Dungeons & Dragons 4th Edition. It's present in the Red Box and most of the starting materials. For a party almost all completely new to D&D and a DM re-familiarizing himself with the latest edition, it's a great place to start a campaign. This will be an ongoing recollection of what happens to the party as they make their way through the Nentir Vale. Enjoy. Previously: Meet the sellswords. When Andrasian, Melanie and Lyria finally made it to Fallcrest, the wagon master greeted Sergeant Murgeddin heartily. After a brief conversation, the dwarven sergeant instructed the party to take their item to Marla of the Great Church, an institution dedicated to the worship of Pelor. Given the nature of the box's contents, the trio agreed that it was best to put it in someone else's hands as quickly as possible, and a holy priestess of the sun god seemed like as good a choice as any. They made their way through Fallcrest's winding streets to Moonstone Keep and found quite a few people waiting to see Lord Warden Faren Markelhay, from peasants to local lords. They politely waited in the queue... for about two minutes. They then moved to the front and asked the officious bureaucrat about the wait and attempted to convey the importance of their mission. The bureaucrat refused to grant them entry, unwilling to even consider it unless he knew what was in the box. After one blow-off after another, Andrasian finally showed the bureaucrat the ghastly contents. Turning white as a sheet and uttering nervous prayers, the bureaucrat let them pass and promptly found the nearest latrine. Within the keep's throne room, Markelhay looked over maps, scrolls and laws. The thone's dias was unoccupied, the Lord Warden occupying a simple chair behind his cluttered desk. To one side, Marla spoke with another priest of Pelor, a young eladrin who had come to the Lord Warden to validate the deed for his manor. It was a stout, dwarven building a few miles south of Fallcrest which the cleric's father had won in a game of Three-Dragon Ante with a dwarven companion. Dwarves kept the grounds and halls clean and safe, and after spending the night there, the cleric had come to ensure no other lord or well-to-do businessman could claim it. He introduced himself to the trio as Krillorien.

"In the words of Sookie Stackhouse, 'I'm a fucking fairy!'" - Ben, introducing himself to the group.

When Marla was presented with the box, she thanked the trio and conveyed some of her concerns, which were not unrelated. Rumors of a death cult had compelled her to look into the whereabouts of a demented priest calling himself Kalarel. Unholy rituals within the land of the Nentir Vale unnerved the priestess, and she had discussed it with Krillorien prior to their arrival. The group agreed to investigate, and Krillorien volunteered to join them. Before departing, the group decided to look around Fallcrest for new equipment and armor. The Halfmoon Trading House and Sandercot Provisions yielded nothing of note save some energetic haggling, but Naerumar's Imports was another story. Operated by the gentlemanly tiefling Orest Naerumar, he assured the incoming patrons that magic was all around them.

"I don't know about this guy. That line sounds pretty gay." - Danielle

Lyria's attention was caught by a nondescript bag hanging in the corner. Orest told her it could hold far more than it seemed, and he was willing to trade her a favor for it. An associate of his in Winterhaven by the name of Valthrun the Prescient was corresponding with him on the subject of alchemy, and the last letter indicated the sage had broken one too many of his flasks. Orest asked Lyria if she would kindly deliver a masterwork alchemy set to Valthrun, and in exchange she could keep the bag of holding. The halfling agreed. Meanwhile, Andrasian looked into new equipment at the smithy. Jovial Teldorthan Ironhews was happy to see a warrior come into his shop and asked if the lad had ever used a hammer. Andrasian showed the smith his axe and inquired about fresh armor. Teldorthan related that he had come into some dragon hide he intended to craft into a suit of scale, but kobold raiders had made off with the prize. He'd last heard they were using a ruined manor called Kobold Hall as their hideout. Andrasian told the smith he'd recover the hide if the smith would, in turn, craft armor for him. Ironhews was delighted to accept. Dressing Melanie was a more straightforward task. On recommendation from Orest, she and Lyria went to House Azaer, Fallcrest's premier importer and finest clothier. Upon seeing the two and being told that Melanie was in need of clothing, tiefling and landlady Amara Azaer called for her tailor, Rodney Grant, who appeared from behind counter, gasped at the sight of Melanie's near-nakedness, took her by the hand and pulled her into his workshop for an immediate fitting. Equipped and fully stocked, the party set out for Winterhaven. On the way, however, they were ambushed by several kobolds. Krillorien proved himself immediately, his lances of light paring down the enemy numbers.

"Sparkles!" - Ben's method of invoking Lance of Faith.

They made short work of the lizardlings. Among the ruined bodies they discovered a half-soaked map with directions marked and notes made in Draconic. Adjusting her glasses, Lyria made out the scrawls and revealed the map showed the way to Kobold Hall. Considering how close they were and with the sun nearing its apex, the party decided to head for the kobold hideout with all due speed... Next: Kobolds play in old tombs. All locations, NPCs, spells and equipment copyright Wizards of the Coast unless otherwise noted.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Into The Nentir Vale, Part 1

Into The Nentir Vale, Part 1 — Blue Ink Alchemy

The Nentir Vale is a campaign setting provided to new players of Dungeons & Dragons 4th Edition. It's present in the Red Box and most of the starting materials. For a party almost all completely new to D&D and a DM re-familiarizing himself with the latest edition, it's a great place to start a campaign. This will be an ongoing recollection of what happens to the party as they make their way through the Nentir Vale. Enjoy. Trade caravans often travel the King's Road in the Nentir Vale. With bandits, wild animals and monsters roaming unchecked throughout the countryside, traders attempting to bring much needed goods to the town of Fallcrest and beyond often welcome the company of adventurers. They're not always paid, but even the most inexperienced sword or spell can ward off unwanted attention. This was the situation on a sunny afternoon. Traevus, a wagonmaster coming north through Harkenwood, had a few young adventurers with him when his wagon was beset by goblins. The adventurers sprang to his defense and managed to drive the goblins off. A distant rider shook his fist in contempt of his failed minions and rode off. None of the travelers was seriously hurt. However, a valuable box was stolen from Traevus' wagon, and he commissioned the adventurers to bring it back. Andrasian wasn't about to let thieves escape without facing justice. He also was looking forward to not being so close to so many humans. Their city-folk ways put him a bit ill at ease. He was a warrior of the wilds, and his simple greatsword thirsted for more blood of the wicked.

"Like my Dalish character in Dragon Age, but with a Y chromosome and actually nice to some people." - Mike, Andy's player

Melanie Good-Melons, on the other hand, couldn't care less what the goblins stole or why. The offer of payment, however, persuaded her to join the party. A seer had seen Mel as an infant and predicted both her arcane inclination and her voluptuous body shape. Not one to hide her assets, Mel made it a point to wonder why Lyria wore such tight, dark leather. "The body is something that should be cherished," she said, "instead of hidden in disgrace."

"A magically voluptuous freelance adventurer with a taste for danger and minimal coverage." - Eric, Mel's player

Lyria, for her part, didn't want these goblins giving honest thieves like her a bad name. Stealing from a fat nobleman who pissed on the peasantry was one thing, but stealing the goods of a struggling merchant just trying to make it as far as Fallcrest? She wasn't having any of that. A lithe halfling that moved like a dancer and always had a dagger handy, Lyria seemed interested in the adventure as much for helping Traevus as for the promise of treasure.

"Think Bayonetta, only three feet tall." - my comment on Danielle's description of Lyria

The three interrogated one of the remaining goblins. Before expiring, the goblin confessed to the rather intimidating elf asking the questions that he came from a ruined, half-buried temple deep in the woods. Andrasian lead the ladies down the indicated path without incident. They came across the ruin and made their way inside, finding two corridors leading into the rock. They chose one and came across a surprise. Instead of goblins, the trio encountered a cadre of kobolds wandering the halls of a section of the temple. The kobolds chatted amongst themselves as to how to deal with the intruders. Not wanting to betray that she speaks the language of dragons, Lyria kept quiet as Andrasian asked to be taken to their leader. The kobolds' master turned out to be, rather than the disgruntled rider, a fledgling white dragon named Farallax. Farallax told the trio that he saw the temple as his, and the human who they'd seen, Malareth, was an intruder. If they drove Malareth and his goblin cohorts out, he'd reward them. Considering he was both sitting on a pile of treasure and looked poised to wipe the floor with the party if they refused, the adventurers agreed. The dragon pointed to a door that would take them to Malareth. Beyond the dragon's lair was a storage area where goblins milled about. The trio sprang into action. Andrasian met the goblins head-on, Lyria snuck and danced around the fight looking for the best angle at which to stab a given opponent, and magic missiles flew from Mel's fingertips. A hulking bugbear with a nasty-looking greataxe entered the fray. It took a coordinated effort between the three adventurers to deal with the captain of Malareth's guard, but despite being bloodied and bruised, Andrasian found the heft of the bugbear's axe rather satisfying, resolving to take it with him. Malareth's lair was a dark laboratory full of bubbling vials, moldy books and a few skeletal servants. Out of the corner lumbered a stitched-together monstrosity, a huge zombie that was not likely to fit through a standard door. Malareth dismissively told his servants to deal with the intruders. Mel's spells kept the zombie at bay, pushing it back and causing it to tear the arm from one of Malareth's skeletons in its rage. Andrasian's new axe hewed into bone. Lyria played with her opponents, often slipping in for the killing blow as the fighter's strength put them off-balance. Malareth's dark powers often froze the adventurers in their tracks and repaired the damage to his minions. For a while, the fight could have gone either way. Then Lyria leaped onto the shoulders of the zombie and stabbed it in the base of the skull, severing the connection between its rotting brain and animated muscles. The beast toppled to the floor in a heap of body parts, the magic animating it draining away and its stitches coming undone. Malareth stood alone against the party, and despite his affinity for the magic of death, he was no match for them. Melanie eagerly claimed his staff for her own. The box that had been stolen from Traevus sat on the necromancer's table. It contained an immaculate skull that radiated dark energy. The trio discussed the possible ramifications of this on their way out. Farallax thanked them for taking care of the pesky human, reached into his pile of gold and treasure, and pulled out a suit of leathers for Lyria. The party found their way back to Traevus, who explained the artifact was being taken to a monastery deep in the mountains where it could be destroyed or, at the very least, kept safe. Satisfied for now with that explanation and paid for their service, the trio of adventures kept the rest of the trip incident-free all the way to Fallcrest... Next: A dwarf "fortress", the town of Fallcrest and a sparkly cleric. All locations, NPCs, spells and equipment copyright Wizards of the Coast unless otherwise noted.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Into the Nentir Vale: Part 4

Into the Nentir Vale: Part 4 — Blue Ink Alchemy

The Nentir Vale is a campaign setting provided to new players of Dungeons & Dragons 4th Edition. It's present in the Red Box and most of the starting materials. For a party almost all completely new to D&D and a DM re-familiarizing himself with the latest edition, it's a great place to start a campaign. This will be an ongoing recollection of what happens to the party as they make their way through the Nentir Vale. Enjoy. Previously: Kobolds play in old tombs. They took time to rest. Melanie reflected on her spells, Lyria sharpened her daggers, Andrasian practiced his swings with the axe and Krillorien recited his prayers. When they were ready, they delved deeper into the so-called Kobold Hall, wary for trouble and unnerved by the caverns' growing chill. They walked into an open chamber with pillars and a frozen pool of water. Guttering torchlight cast dancing shadows along the stone walls. The party kept their eyes on the darkness for any potential danger, with the exception of Lyria.

"Oh my, is that a hangnail?" - Danielle as Lyria, getting surprised by Szartharrax

From behind the largest pillar in the room, a large winged shape pounced upon the party. Covered in snow-white scales and fixed on its prey with beady eyes, the white dragon Szartharrax announced his presence with a blast of cold breath and a palpable miasma of fear. The party was quick to respond, Krillorien blessing them with his prayers as Melanie assaulted the dragon with the vision of an imposing ogre. The dragon seemed unimpressed, however, and swiped at the humanoids with its massive claws.

"Why do we roll shit when we get all these bonuses?" "Because RNG hates your guts." - Eric & Danielle

The dragon did not have the advantage of surprise for long. Lyria, forgetting all about her apparent hangnail, sank her blades deep into its side as Andrasian kept it at bay. Krillorien's sword sang the battle hymn of Pelor as Melanie conjured the terrifying image of a mind flayer. Set on its scaly heels by the assault, Szartharrax struck back, only to overextend its reach and leave itself open to a counterattack by the cleric, who unleaded a brand of righteousness upon their foe.

"It misses like a champ." "Then I kick it in the balls." - DM & Ben

The dragon quickly found itself on the defensive. Another flurry of blows from the halfling sent it into a mad frenzy, causing it to breath cold once more. This time, the sellswords were ready for it. Spells and strikes meant to shatter bones and cleave limbs came into play, even if every blow did not land as intended.

"RIGHTEOUS BRA- oh, a 7. Nevermind." - Eric, on Ben's Righteous Brand roll

Szartharrax had begun by attacking Lyria and Melanie in an apparent bid to rob the party of its lighter-armored members. Now, it focused all of its attention on the elf in scale mail. Perhaps the metal scales reminded it of some metallic foe of its past. Perhaps the elf's blows were the most telling. Whatever the reason, Szartharrax lashed out at Andrasian, first with its claws and then, unsatisfied, snapped out to bite the elf. Andrasian felt the cold teeth sink deep, but struck back at the dragon with all his might.

"It's okay, I still have Elven Accuracy just in case. *rolls a 4* ...I use Elven Accuracy..." - Mike

The dragon was clearly beginning to feel its wounds. Its movements slowed but were still deadly. Melanie reached deep into Szartharrax's juvenile mind, pulled out its deepest fear and made it real with her phantasmal force. The metallic dragon that suddenly appeared roared at Szartharrax, giving it pause. That was the opening Lyria had been waiting for. With a running start, she sprang onto the white dragon's snout, somersaulted behind its horns and bent to bury her dagger in its eye up the hilt. The white dragon squawked in surprise, then toppled to the ground.

"YAAAAAY WE DID IT! *claps like an infant*" - Ben

Among the dragon's hidden belongings were the bit of dragon hide Teldorthan had asked Andrasian to recover, a sum of gold along with a decent-sized pearl, a longsword with a handle wrapped in black leather with a small silver skull for a pommel, and a letter written in Draconic offering an alliance to the kobolds from Irontooth, the goblin warlord wishing to conquer the Nentir Vale. It spoke of taking the long-unoccupied dwarven manse south of Fallcrest and using it as a staging point for the invasion of the town. Krillorien realized that was why the goblins kept attacking his house. The party left Kobold Hall, returning briefly to Fallcrest before making their way south to Winterhaven. While they had ended the threat of Szartharrax and his kobold minions, the ominous portents of the letter and word of a death cult beyond the southern hamlet meant their adventures were only beginning... All locations, NPCs, spells and equipment copyright Wizards of the Coast unless otherwise noted.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Fiction: The Haunting of Pridewater

Fiction: The Haunting of Pridewater — Blue Ink Alchemy

Blizzard quietly announced the winners of their 2010 Fiction Contest mid-October. I wasn't among them. So now, I can give you fine folks my entry, The Haunting of Pridewater. It wasn't good enough for Blizzard, but maybe someone who passes this way will enjoy it.

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You must awaken. Time is running out. One of the sundered bulkheads on the battlecruiser's command deck slid against the deck plates, causing a grating noise as it moved. The hand that pushed it aside flickered as if it struggled to remain in existence. The survivor pulled himself free of the wreckage, only to immediately collapse. A secondary explosion deep in the spacecraft's drive section nearly drowned out his soft groan of pain. It was the only human sound being made throughout the ship. Human. "I heard you the first time. Shut up." He tapped the side of his helmet, trying to get some sort of response from his hostile encounter suit. After a few attempts, he yanked the goggles off and tossed them away. He had no idea how badly he was hurt, but as far as he could tell, he was the last living terran in the combat zone. Acrid smoke carried the stench of burning flesh and wiring through the battlecruiser's wreckage. He shut off his personal cloak, trying to conserve his power. The suit would try to patch him up, but it was only a matter of time before the zerg were all over the crash site like freeloaders at a Mar Sara barbeque. Indeed. As I said, time is... "And I said shut up. Get out of my head, while you're at it." My withdrawal would not help either of us. I am Melponia, advance scout of the protoss. I observed the approach of your task force and the defense mounted by the zerg. You did not stand a chance. "Well, ain't you just a big ol' ray of sunshine." He rolled over onto his back and pushed himself up against the wall. He tried to get a better idea of his wounds, examining them in the light cast by the fires and guttering light fixtures of the command deck. His left leg lay at an unnatural angle with the rest of his body, a dead weight of seeping blood and pulverized bone. The suit was putting painkillers into his bloodstream, but being unable to use the leg would make escape difficult. He tasted blood in his mouth and felt nauseous. His insides felt like a bag of broken glass. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, tried to remember his training. "I'm a ghost," he said, "and I still have a job to do." You are in no condition to do battle. "If I didn't know better I'd think you were my mother haunting me from beyond the grave. Are all prote dames such nags?" I don't know. Are all human males stubborn, sarcastic and rude? "Most of the ones I've met, yes." The ghost sifted through the wreckage and found his C-10 rifle. The magazine had been smashed,and it only held a single canister in its chamber. It was an armor-piercing round. It would only deter one assailant. Two, if one stood directly behind the other and the one in front was smaller. "What do you want, anyway? I'm assuming you didn't come here just to chat with me." I did not. I am, as I said, an advance scout. We detected the warp rift that brought the zerg to this planet and observed the staggering rate at which their hive has grown. By the next rotation, they will overwhelm your colony. "Fifty thousand people live on Pridewater. There's no way we can evacuate all of them in time. They've got a few personal defense weapons, nothing to hold back a major zerg attack. It'll be a massacre." They are not my concern. You are. "Now, why am I such a concern to you?" The ghost struggled to stand, keeping his hand on a broken console to steady himself as he slung his rifle. "I ain't prote, and I can't be sure you are, either. This could be some zerg trick." The response was a harmonious burst of ancient music. Behind his eyes, he saw soaring spires, glowing pylons and sparkling cityscapes. Just as he was realizing just how awestruck he was, there was a flash, and it was all on fire, the music becoming a mournful requiem. The vision faded, and he touched his fingers to his eyes. The tears on his fingertips caught the light from the fires nearby. Such things are part of my memory, and that of every protoss. Such things do not exist within the imagination of the zerg. The ghost shook his head. The music stayed with him, faint background noise behind the crackling of fires and groans of fatigued metal. The wreckage is unstable. You must make your way aft if you wish to survive. "You still haven't told me why you care so damn much." The last time one of your potential fell into the clutches of the zerg, the Queen of Blades was born. Another catastrophe of that magnitude I will not allow. "Then nuke the site and be done with it!" The ghost pulled himself along the console towards the hatch leading aft. He had to push the hand of a corpse out of his way. The body of the technician fell to the deck with a wet thump, impaled on a shards of her viewscreen, open eyes staring at nothing. "What's with the 'distant guiding voice' routine? I'd think you were a field commander if I didn't know better, safe and secure up there with your overhead perspective while the real men do the dyin'." I have not yet ascended to such a rank. And Pridewater will indeed be purified when the main force arrives. The ghost stopped. "Define 'purified.'" Half a dozen protoss carriers will use concentrated weapons fire from orbit to eliminate the zerg threat. "Takin' the terran colony out with it." A small price to pay for preventing the spread of the swarm. "I came here to save these people, not have tea with a protes while their homes are reduced to slag, their fields turned to glass." You will die with them if you do not accept my aid. "Give me one good reason why I don't limp into the zerg hive just to spite you." Very well. Give me your name first. "I'm Ghost #24815, attached to the Nobunaga task force out of Waystation Bravo." No. Not the designation given by your masters. What is your name? The ghost blinked. He'd made it as far as the ventral corridor, which sloped away from him due to how the battlecruiser had come to rest on the rocky terrain. He kept his grip on the safety rail, struggling to remember the name his parents had chosen. Or his parents, for that matter. You can't, can you. "Shut up. Gimme a second." Let me help you. "Wait-" Before he could say or even think another word, she was fully in his mind. She pulled his consciousness away from the brokenness and pain of his body. He was adrift on unseen eddies, floating above a sea of shadow. A lithe form appeared nearby, peering into the darkness. She turned her eyes to him and the feeling that washed over him defied description. He'd seen holograms of protoss before, clad in their eldritch armor and piloting war machines with designs terran analysts called "ill-suited for the battlefield." Here, before him, he appreciated their esoteric beauty for the first time. Melponia held out her hand to him. Your name awaits. Take my hand and I will help you find it. He obeyed. In the next split second, darkness and noise enveloped him. He felt Melponia's grip on him, but his sense were otherwise overwhelmed by the chaos. Through the maelstrom, he heard Melponia singing. He recognized some of the images. Voices in the storm became familiar. Some of the memories were recent recollections of conversations with Bravo's commandant or the Nobunaga's captain. In addition to the familiar faces and words, however, were those that chilled the ghost to the bone. They weren't frightening in and of themselves. In fact, the face of the young woman smiling at him as they sat in a field under the stars was so beautiful to him he wanted to cry. The frightening thing was that, despite being unable to place the faces and voices in proper order or match them with names right away, he felt he knew them. Searing pain. A sense of nauseating vertigo. Being forced to let go of something precious. These sensations came next, along with the memory of a cold metal table and a needle in his arm. Waking the day after the procedure, his head had ached horribly despite being void of all but his training and his duty to the Dominion. The Dominion had done this to him. They'd stripped him of who he'd been. The final memory was of standing in the barracks bathroom at the Academy on Ursa, the morning before they'd wiped his mind. He remembered emerging from the shower and looking into the mirror, telling himself he was doing his duty, doing the right thing. He did not, however, the slender alien standing directly behind him. Your mind is strong, terran. "Lawrence." He blinked, and he was back in the darkened corridor of the Nobunaga. "My name is Lawrence Crockett." It is a pleasure to meet you, Lawrence Crockett. I owe you 'one good reason' for taking you away from Pridewater, if memory serves. "You've got at least one, considering all the stuff the Dominion made me forget." Crockett pushed himself to his feet and continued his painful journey towards the aft section of the wreck. The suit had run out of painkillers to dispense while he'd been out. Indeed. The fear of another Kerrigan emerging from your ranks prompted your betters to geld your mind. Their work was sloppy and ineffective. "Sarah Kerrigan was corrupted by the zerg. It wasn't her fault." Yet it was her mind the swarm wished to possess. Bodies they have in multitudes. It is logical to assume minds with similar training would also appeal to their goals. Crockett shook his head. "Logical or not, it's stupid to let 'em do this to us. It's my mind. It doesn't belong to anybody else." I can help you repair the damage, Lawrence. Reclaim all you have lost and show you how to become so much more. "My mother called my Lawrence. My friends call me Larry." Am I your friend, then? "I ain't settled on that yet. You helped me kick down the doors in my head, and I'm thankful for that. But I still don't know for sure what your endgame is here." I do not have an endgame short of taking you away from this planet prior to purification... Larry. "Next thing you're gonna tell me is that I won the lottery on Mar Sara." That world has already been purified. "Yeah, I heard the reports. That's what makes it a joke." He shook his head. "We're gonna keep talkin', I'm gonna have to learn you a thing or two about humor." I am afraid we may not have the time. "Spoilsport." At last, Crockett had arrived at his destination. The armory was a darkened cavern, some lights flickering in the vast compartment where the Nobunaga's ammunition and that of any passengers was stored. He didn't know if the zerg had any interest in non-biological equipment aboard, but letting them get the claws on terran nukes was a chilling thought. "How close are the zerg to the crash site?" A mere handful of kilometers. By terran reckoning, you have ten minutes before they arrive. "That's plenty." Groping for handholds as much as he could, the rifle slung across his back heavier with every move he made, Crockett made his way through the spilled racks of anti-air missiles and loose capacitors for energy weapons to the locked cage where the warheads awaited him. My sublight engines do indeed have enough thrust to bring me close enough to- "That ain't what's on my mind right now, Mel." A single light remained on steadily in the cage. He took hold of the door and pulled. Somehow, the lock had survived the crash. The door wouldn't budge. The yellow and black labels warning of the weapons' radioactivity seemed to mock him from behind the cage. Crockett stepped back, brought his rifle down from his shoulder and steadied himself against the broken rack behind him. He knew that once he pulled the trigger, he'd be defenseless save for the knife in his boot and the brain in his skull. What are you doing, Larry? Melponia's voice was calm, unassuming. "I'm afraid, ma'am, that I'm gonna have to respectfully decline your offer." The rifle kicked like a mule when he fired. The recoil almost dislocated his shoulder and he dropped the weapon immediately. He slid to the deck and came close to passing out, but he felt Melponia's presence, her song washing away the pain if just for a few moments. Remain conscious. If you fall into darkness you may not emerge again. "You just might be the sweetest protoss in the cosmos, carin' as much as you do." I bet you say that to all the 'prote's. He smiled in spite of the pain. "See? That was sarcasm. You're learnin'." Larry, you owe those brain-butchers nothing. Crockett blinked, regaining his senses. His shot had torn the door almost completely off of the cage, leaving one hinge intact and obliterating the lock. Reaching up with his good arm, he pulled the door open and crawled inside. "Nope, I don't. But those kids, here on Pridewater, ain't the brain-butchers. And I'm not gonna leave 'em to die just to satisfy a grudge. The pencil-pushin' bastards on Ursa will get what's comin' to 'em, I'm sure. But I have to deal with what's in front of me, namely fifty thousand of my kind who'll end up a zergling's lunch, or vaporized by protoss lasers, if I hop on your spaceship with you for a romantic getaway." Melponia scoffed. You presume much, if you think I find you attractive, human. "Feeling's mutual, sweetheart." Looking at the warheads, a plan began to form in his mind. "Look, squishy lovely feelings or no, I do need your help. I need to know if this is going to work." It will fail unless I assist you. You cannot brute force your way through those defenses. "Well, then." Crockett drew the knife from his boot and began prying off one of the warhead's access plates. "Guess I'm gonna need your delicate, feminine touch, then." It was five minutes later when the sound of rending metal washed through the battlecruiser. A dark, misshapen creature slid into the wreckage, mandibles clicking softly as it scented out its prey. The hydralisk slithered through the twisted hallways of the wreckage. The cerebrate compelled it to find the psychic signature glowing in the middle of the ruined battlecruiser like a newborn star. Moving over corpses and fallen bulkheads, the zerg warrior slid into the arsenal. Within the cage at the aft end of the room, Lawrence Crockett sat near some conical devices marked in yellow and black, not moving. The hydralisk hissed triumphantly. It moved towards the inert form of Crockett. The terran didn't respond to its approach. The cerebrate, exhibiting a sudden surge of urgency, ordered the hydralisk to prod the dark-clad human with one of its arms. The hydralisk moved to obey. Now! Crockett sprang to life, grabbing the extended zerg arm with his bad hand while his other stabbed the hydralisk in the chest with his knife. The hydralisk screamed, Crockett too close to stab with its scythes. It tried to launch a volley of spines, but something was keeping the mental command from reaching the muscles. There was a presence in its brain, something other than the cerebrate. The hydralisk glared down at Larry, who was gritting its white teeth. A blood-covered circuit board lay nearby. Several wires connected the board to one of the nukes, while others disappeared into Crockett's helmet. I have it distracted, Larry. The cerebrate is in direct contact. Address it directly. "I know you can hear me." The cerebrate recoiled in shock. "Yeah. You. The cerebrate of Pridewater. I feel you here. I know you're looking through this thing's eyeballs at me. Well, I hope you enjoy the show. It'll be the very last thing you see." Panicking, the cerebrate screamed at the hydralisk to slay the human. It struggled to obey, trying to back away from Crockett. But the human maintained a grip on his knife, staying close to the hydralisk. It is trying to cut the hydralisk off, Larry. I will maintain the link as long as I can, but zerg minds are slippery... "I'm wired into this nuke stockpile behind me. You know what that means? It means if my brainwaves stop, this whole place goes up in a white-hot flash. I figure I'm close enough to your hive that it'll fry a good few of your little zerg friends. But then I thought, that ain't near good enough." Crockett struggled to stand, unsteady on his shattered legs. He continued to stare into the hydralisk's eyes, close enough for the hydralisk to smell the blood on he breath. The hydralisk knew its victim wasn't going to live long even if it didn't slay him as the cerebrate was now begging it to do. "I figure, you're hooked into the brain of every zerg on this planet. If I get hold of your mind, get nice and cozy with you, I'll take your mind with mine when I die. Not only will I blast your hive to kingdom come, every single zerg on Pridewater will suffer such a psychic shock it'll either drop dead on the spot or be left a drooling, quivering mess that any farmer's son can finish off with an antique rifle. All I gotta do is find my way through this hydralisk's excuse for a mind and ride its connection right to your consciousness. Are you scared yet? Do you zerg bastards even get scared?" Larry, there is no more time. It will... "I know it, woman. Get out of our heads while you can. I'm in too deep for it to stop me now!" Larry... "Melponia! Go!" The hydralisk was overwhelmed with the orders, the urge, the need to kill the human. It roared, yanking itself back off of the knife and raising one of its scythes. Crockett, in spite of the fearsome sight that had caused battle-hardened marines to soil their power armor, grinned, his eyes lit with an intense mental fire. "Ah-HA! Here you are, you invertebrate stinking alien son of a...!" The hydralisk brought its scythe down into Crockett's skull. The bone weapon sank through muscle and brain as the cerebrate suddenly changed its mind. Its last command had been for the hydralisk to stop. It'd been a cry of desperation, an unexpected and frightening turn of events. But now there was only silence. The silence was filled with white light for a split-second, and then there was nothing. Some time later, the task force appeared in the void on the outskirts of Pridewater's star system. The half-dozen protoss carriers were loaded for bear, ready to cleanse the planet of its infestation, primed for purification. Scout Melponia. Task Force Command awaits your report. Melponia respected the fact that her commanders did not probe her thoughts. She was still processing all that had occured, the residual scans of Pridewater and the odd sensation her mind experienced when it turned to that planet. "The planet is free of infestation, Command. Long-range radiological scans detected a nuclear detonation consistent with the stockpile of a terran battlecruiser. It is logical to assume that a survivor of the Dominion task force set off the stockpile to protect the colony. No zerg life signs remain on the planet. Preliminary data suggests some form of attack on the psychic level, possibly a sympathetic echo from so many dying at once in nuclear fire." This is an astonishing turn of events. How did this come to pass? "The data suggests..." We are no longer interested in the data. What do you think happened down there? Melponia turned to look out the canopy of her scout vessel towards Pridewater. The sense was definitely still there, the impression left by a mind she had touched. It lingered there, quietly contemplative, a silent guardian. "A ghost inhabits the planet of Pridewater." We do not understand. "Pridewater is haunted, Command." Her gaze didn't break from the planet. "Haunted."

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Blue Ink Alchemy