Tales of The Flying Bunyip (D&D 3.5)

Introduction: Knocking At Your Door

An introduction

It has been days… weeks… months…?

Maybe even years…

Your life has always been clear. That is, until a hood was put over your head and everything went black. As consciousness seized you once again, you were left with only rags and shackles as your new possessions. The wooden floor is made up of splintered logs, poorly sanded to be nothing more than a make shift jail cell. As your vision focuses on a few moving silhouettes, you find others in a similar state – some human, some not. By the look in their eyes, they were all taken without a choice. Eventually a screeching sound is heard and your attention is brought towards the large metal door behind you. A small opening at the base opens up and several trays of bread and bowls of water are shoved in. There isn’t enough for everyone though, and those who have the strength to stand/crawl make no hesitation to get what they can grab.

Time passes and the periodic sound of screaming and cheering is heard. It echoes through the hallways without any sense to it all. Occasionally the cell door would open and two large orcs step in, hooding one of the cellmates and dragging them out. An hour would pass, then another series of screaming and cheers are heard.

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On other occasions, the orcs would enter and pull a hood over your head. By the time you came too, you were in a new wooden jail cell. Fortunately your cellmates were still there. Unfortunately, that jerk you’ve come to know as Bob, is still there. He does like taking more of his share of food.

Time passes and the same routine repeats over and over again. Bread and water is pushed into your cell. It looks like there’s enough for everyone. That’s good. At least no one will have to go through the night starving. Bob’s still a jerk though.

Like before a pair of orcs open the door and approach you. In moments a black hood is put over your head and then darkness.

You wake up to the sound of battle.

You are no longer in your cell, but instead in a wooden cage that was being pulled by horses. It’s night and there’s a mixture of curses and commands made by various individuals but it isn’t clear on who’s doing what. As silhouettes run back and forth, clashing by a campfire, tents suddenly burst aflame and people begin to scatter. You could swear you saw Bob run off from one of the cages and into the forest.

Suddenly, an old beaten up man in rags makes his way to your cell, bloodied and out of breath. He’s unable to speak clearly but one thing drew your attention. He has keys. It takes only a few moments for you to look over to your 4 cellmates and realize that freedom was at hand. As your cell door swings open, the man is shot by an arrow from behind. Without hesitation, you and your companions rush out of your cell and seek cover.

Everything else is a blur. The other prisoners have been set loose: some running for freedom, others fighting their captors. Did you hit someone? Did you do nothing but hide? You can’t remember. It was like your body was moving on instincts alone. The one thing for certain, lady luck was by your side. By the time you ran away from the camp with your companions, you had managed to take some items with you. (Yay gear and starting gold!) There was no time to rest however, and the 5 of you ran. Ran as fast as you could. Ran with the wind against your skin. You just ran.

The body can take only so much before it gives, and the 5 of you slow down… eventually collapsing. Tired, exhausted, but free.

Morning hits and the birds chirp overhead. You slowly lift your head and look around. There, you notice that your companions are waking up as well. It seems that in your haste you had managed to find a comfortable bush to serve as your temporary bed. Well, except for that one stick that’s just jabbing you in the side… But you and your companions were safe. Not more than 10 feet from where you are however is a road that looks frequently traveled. As you look one way, then the other, you find a horse with a wagon slowly approaching. Driving the horse is an elderly old man with a pipe puffing away. He looks like nothing more than a farmer with a pile of hay behind him. A completely innocent old man with a pipe. Huf-puf-puf. He’s old. (And so begins your adventure! BTW, the old man isn’t Bob.)

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