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[Tully_Mars]

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Tully and the CoD


Tully Mars awoke from his slumber. His good friend, Frank Bama, had lent him a bed for the evening on the third story of his store. Frank had warned Tully that the store can get busy and have visitors at all hours but business must have been slow last night. Tully slept like a log.

"What to do, what to do" Tully thought to himself. The voices in his head were quiet today. Tully summoned his best mental strength to contact the voices and thought "Hola hola hola". Now when people have voices in their head, it usually means they're complete wackos, to use a scientific term of endearment. But Tully has learned to live with these voices that came ever since he joined with UWF. He even was starting to embrace them. He had asked Dragging Canoe what imparted these psychic gifts on the guilds. But DC would always just smile and chuckle and say "Somethings we just can't explain"
Sure enough a couple responses came back at him. "Hi Tully", "G'mornin" "Morning ya'll"
Less than usual but it was comforting to Tully that not only was he NOT crazy but he was not alone. Tully wandered downstairs to Frank's shop.

The vendors, who obviously had been up through out the night but Tully doubted it was purely working, greeted him lacklusterly. Frank kept them on a tight leash but being a bit of a screw up himself didn't mind the occasional card game or such to pass the time. The only one that seemed to really complain was the potion vendor. Evidently some large orders needed to be filled last night and his stock was all but depleted. "Note to self" thought Tully "Get TM Jr to make some more potions"

Again the problem of what to do today arose. Tully grabbed the Vesper Gazette and perused the tome.

"Hmm seems as if the Cavern of Discarded is being overrun by the clans again."

"Maybe I should head down there and re-teach them a lesson. Not quite a high-adventure but something to do" said Tully to the frazzled potion vendor who nary gave him a glance.

The Cavern of the Discarded was basically Britannia's dump. The people of the realms have become quite callous with littering. SO the powers that be hired a company to clean the streets. Tully always expected this company to be quite nefarious, something shady about some of these union companies. And when there is something shady, Frank Bama was usually involved. This time was no different and Frank had accepted a standing order to keep the dump and this process working. Being Frank's friend and technically business partner, Tully was obliged to assist.
Anyways, this company needed a place to throw all this refuse. With no city mayor offering any spots, they found a spot in the dark recesses of the Stygian Abyss dungeon that no one seemed to mind if they polluted. Not even the indiginous clans of ratmen. In fact they seemed to revel in the junk. But as with any action there is a reaction. The ratmen started to demand better quality junk. They even started tinkering with some of this trash and managed to make robot scorpions. So armed with their pet wolves and these clockwork scorpions, the clans began to bind together and start protecting their area. Every now and then a ratman would really make a name for himself, become renowned if you will, and try to lead an uprising or revolt.

To be continued...
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Tully fumbled with his book of runes. He had learned how to use it but was never really sure he would get the right results.

"Ah here it is, the house with the teleporter thingamajig" Tully said quite proudly as if flipping to the right page was an actual accomplishment. "This will save me some time and agony not having to run through those undead gargoyles at the tomb of the kings." Tully had many run ins with the guardians of the tomb and their damn silver serpents but he was quite happy to avoid this.
"Kal Ort Por"
There he stood in front of the Charnel Hill Cemetery owned by Darien Church. This place had a direct connection to the Stygian Abyss dungeon that he would use to get himself to the cavern with the least amount of hassle. The cemetary was starting to look like this connection had let some of the abyss out into the world. Overgrown with vines, bones strewed throughout the gravestones, dead willow trees that refused to topple. Tully even saw traces of blood. "Good thing it is daytime" thought Tully because though he was brave and faced many horrible creatures in his time, he did not prefer doing it. He prefered sitting on a beach with a bottle of ale watching the waves, but this place was about as far away from that as you could get.

"Why would anyone want to connect themselves to that place" pondered Tully deciding his final resting place will be nowhere near this cemetary

Tully wasn't sure if it was some strange fascination with the darkness of the Abyss or simply because the waste management company paid him well. But if someone's home (or cemetary as the case may be) was a window to their soul, then this Darien Church was up to no good either way.

"There it is" said Tully has he wandered up the steps and found the arcanic stepping stone and placed his body on it, preparing for the worst as always.

Within a blink of an eye Tully was transported to an outpost in the abyss. The outpost was curiously close to the Cavern of the Discarded, which leant credence to the theory of Darien Church being in league with the waste management union. For why else would someone build a home or outpost in such a dank dark dungeon. "Well, no sense in throwing stones" thought Tully "Because you yourself are receiving a check from this underworld company for you contributions to this scam" Tully sometimes had trouble dealing with his moral compass on such matters. Where as Frank's moral compass was always pointing to the dollar signs.

As Tully stepped from the house he could see and almost feel his breath. The cold in this area was overwhelming. It was only exceeded by the stench of the nearby refuse piles. Tully resisted his urge to retch.

"Why the hell am I doing this again" Tully yelled out into the echoing caverns around him.

But despite his reservations, which increased the closer he got to the smells, Tully conitnued on. When he reached the outskirts of the cavern, he was greeted by rats.

"I hate rats." mumbled Tully matter-of-factly. Aye and these rats had diseases and were large. No doubt from the refuse piles that fed them incessantly. But with this plague these rats now preferred flesh! Human, gargoyle, elf, orc, it did not matter the race just that the meat was fresh. Tully drew his radiant scimitar and spinning it around like a whirlwind, quickly dispatched these foul rodents as continued farther into the cavern.

Tully stumbled on something. Looking back he saw a box in the middle of the floor no doubt left from the trash collectors. He peered inside. "Hey look a box full of spyglasses". Tully's mind raced back to something another of his friends had said. Billy Voltaire had told him of a person in the elvish town of Heartwood that was willing to trade for these. A quest for them if you will with the promise of elvish knowledge as the reward. "What was her name? Annoly, Anolly, or something like that? Maybe just An?" many elvish names eluded Tully. "Well no matter. Perhaps Billy could use these in his merchant dealings" said Tully seemingly to no one as he threw the box in his pack. It amazed Tully what you could find on the floor of this place. Sure you can call it trash picking but just last week he found a throw pillow and 5k worth of barbed leather just lieing on the ground. As Tully finished rustling in his pack he looked up to see some of the clan ratmen had gathered to ...umm...greet him.

Now you see Tully wasn't sure if those giant rats he dispatched earlier were just rats or future ratmen, but it didn't really matter. The clan before him was none too happy about Tully slashing and hacking what could be their offspring or at least distant cousins. And they were about to show him their disappointment with extreme prejudice.

To Be Continued ...
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It half occurred to Tully to try and talk to the Clan Ribbon members gathered before him... but he thought his message might be driven home better by the cold steel in his hand. So with uncanny quickness (which is unusual for a man that considers sloth and laziness as virtues) Tully began dealing with this onslaught. Slashes and hacks, whirlwinds and thrusts, sent these wand wielding ratmen and their pet rats to the grave. If he could do it quickly enough, he might not have to engage the other clans. More came out of nowhere, and they seemed to be progressively getting stronger. It almost seemed as they had set-up a ranking system or social order based upon strength. The first wave of ratmen seemed to be subserviant or willing to supplicate to the next wave. The next wave, for lack of better word, were more of the aristocracy or courtiers if you would. They were considerably stronger. But not strong enough A few cuts and bruises needed to be bandaged but the energy absorbed from hit radiant scimitar seem to infuse Tully with the life and stamina to continue. And just when he thought the battle near to the end, there it stood. Tully could not tell if it was male or female but from the pure size and anger it exhibited knew this to be their chieftan. The remaining ratmen started chanting "Vitavi! Vitavi!" as they banged their chest and worked themselves into a frightful frenzy.

"Well crap, this can't be good" thought Tully as he continued with his task of slaughtering Vitavi's minions. He ran one through in mid chant "Vita...arrgh". Tully flashed a satisfying grin as the last fell and he could be alone with this Vitavi fellow and have a few...pleasent exchanges. But Vitavi didn't have tea and crumpets on his mind. To tell every detail of the ensuing battle would give small children nightmares. It was not pretty. But suffice to say at the end, Tully stood over many corpses and the one on top was Vitavi's. Always the pragmatist, Tully searched the corpses for some sort of bonus to the payment he would receive from Frank Bama. The items seemed like common junk though the best of the junk it was. But he was surprised to find gold on the bodies.

"Now where would a garbage collector like you get gold" puzzled Tully. Something strange was afoot. Was someone paying these ratmen to riot? Was this blood money?

"Well you won't be needing that now." said as Tully snatched the satchel from Vitavi's corpse, "and what do we have here? Abyssal Cloth and Seeds of Renewal? What the hell is going on?"

Tully decided it was time for him to go. He had his "bonus" check so again fumbling with his runes he found the right one for Frank's store.

"Kal Ort Por" and with a flash he was in safer country again.

He went upstairs exhausted and ran his fingers of the abyssal cloth "Now what were you guys building with this?" His ponderings and musings were soon interrupted by the guild's psychic connection "Is there an emmissary on?" Terribly exhausted he managed to muster up enough mental thought to respond "I'll be right there. Meet me at guild headquarters." Tully thought to himself the life of an emmissary of UWF really is not his own.

The End (for now) feel free to critique.