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Nightwings Campaign
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Vroomfogle was a player of mine that originally appeared in a campaign on the world Landrin. It was a very unsual campaign that was both silly and fun. Here are several bizarro stories written by the various group members and the GM. At first there was Lord Mythalnorin, Malvidicus the Damned, and Vroomfogle but later it was just the unstoppable duo, Malvidicus and Vroomfogle.
Abandon all hope if you delve into these twisted tales. The best of the lot is “The Bloated Catfish”. Read it, if you dare.
With the storm…
Black clouds boiled on the horizon. The wind, which had been a pleasant spring breeze only moments before, ferociously whipped his hair and stung his eyes. As King Treebreaker adjusted his purple wig, he looked at the approaching thunderheads with increasing unease. Is this the storm that the wise ones fortold? He absentmindedly plucked a roach from his ear and ate it. Pink lightning laced the edges of the clouds, and the thunder seemed to sound like it was echoing across his consoiusness. It rattled his pointed teeth, and made his jewelry jingle. The storm moved ever closer. It seemed to even command the ground to tremble. THUD! THUD! THUD!
Deathreaper
It was a dark and stormy night and as the rain pelted the thick stone walls of the decaying fortress Deathreaper stared blankly into the large gem he was holding. Lightning flashed outside and as the thunder rumbled down the long empty coridors the gem began to glow with a pale green light. This was the time of reckoning for the leader of the death goblins. All of his warriors had been slain and he was the last goblin alive in a world of aliens far more violent than any he had encountered in his two-hundred years as master of the deathgoblins.
The Bloated Catfish
A young boy sat on the wharf, fishing well into the night. His luck had been bad recently. Actually, that is a major understatement. His parents were killed in a shipwreck, the house burnt down when he tried to cook dinner on his own, and he lost one of his shoes just a minute ago as it sunk into the lake. He had been surviving by catching a few fish and trading them for other goods at the marketplace. The last few days he had not caught anything. His stomach growled with contempt.
Arto-beela-choota
Arto-beela-choota the assassin crept silently through the underbrush. His black silk jumpsuit rustled silently as he stalked the slim elven woodsman as he picked his way towards the valley that the small green creatures had fled to. He had been searching for the home of the little green people for nearly a month now but things were not going well at all untill the other night when he overheard the elf saying that he knew the location of the “goblin” village. Arto snapped back into reality as his back spines rasped against a tree and realized that the elf had stoped moving and was whispering into the forest in front of him.