Session 8: A Rat's Tale - A Different Perspective from Guest Writer Jon Chappell!

One of the things I love about getting together every other Wednesday with my Gaming Group, informally known as the Trunk Monkeys (long, bizarre, basically unintelligible story) is how it inspires the creativity in all of us.

Following Session 8, which you can read my write-up for here, fellow Trunk Monkey, former Hollywood screenwriter and current screenwriting professor Jon Chappell felt compelled to express the events of the night through his character’s eyes. And nose.

Jon plays Dank and if you have been following along, Dank is a fellow orphan in the guild and also a wererat who spent a good portion of his childhood as basically a pet/toy thing to the wererat guild. He’s a bit dark, a bit emo and a lot damaged.

Jon is an incredibly talented writer, the Master of Puns, and I am thrilled that he not only shared his perspective but allowed me to share it with all of you on the blog.

Enjoy!

A write-up of our biweekly Dungeons & Dragons campaign from the perspective of my character, Heyou, a teenage elf barbarian. Heyou was kidnapped at a young age by bandits. His family was murdered and his face disfigured, including the almost complete removal of his ears, before being sold to the orphanage where he grew up. Orphanages are big business in our fictional world as they produce the laborers that power the economy. The disfigurement means it was impossible for any extended family to identify and claim him. As a result, Heyou has a very jaded world view but also sees the ability to make money by perpetuating the kidnap-and-sell scam. He is not very bright but considers himself so and thus he frequently uses words incorrectly. Heyou and several of his fellow orphanage mates have reached the age where they must leave and go find jobs in the fields they have trained all their lives, however they have chosen a different path and have overthrown the thieves guild that once ran their small corner of town.

Session 8: A Rat’s Tale

Panting.  Scrambling.  Hind paws splash through a fetid puddle in the gloom.

That smell… burning?  No.  Unfamiliar.  Not burning.

I stick out my tongue.  Ears twitching.  Catching the faintest sound or smell.  Acrid?  Was that an alley cat meowing somewhere?

My forepaw feels the silvered arrow tip in my shoulder.  No organs – just sinew.  Meat.  With a silent huff I yank out the arrow.  One of three tonight. Somebody knows who I am, and somebody’s going to pay.

 Dank, this is my… friend.  He’s going to be staying the night with us while your papa is away.  Can you go into the latrine and play the game.  You know the one.  That’s right.  Close your eyes, hum to yourself softly, and imagine what we’ll get.  Food.  A bit of cheese, perhaps?  Now just crawl into the bowl.  *Laughs*  I don’t think he’ll take long.

I emerge from a trap door on the rooftop of our city.  My city.  Our city.  My brothers and sisters are under attack.  My whiskers twitch in the light breeze, eyes still adjusting from the tunnels of the sewer. 

Getting bearings…

There.  A cloaked figure with a bow at the edge of the building’s nearby promontory.  Good.  I came out right where I planned – behind him.

This is our turf, fucker. 

Something in his posture doesn’t sit with me.  Unnatural.  A smell.  Unfamiliar, and yet oddly reminiscent, like something from a far-off dream.  A mix of frankincense and cat dung? 

It’s no matter.  Nothing matters.  I choose the most hidden path.  Little shadows this time of day, but he’s distracted.  I try.

I leap -- spanning between the two buildings -- to land silently. 

He doesn’t respond.  Knocks another arrow.  Fuck you.  You won’t hit any more of us tonight.

As I creep closer, I know that I’ll only get one shot at him.  Better make it count…

“Dank, what the hell is wrong with you?”  SLAP!  “Do you want your mother and I to starve to death?  She can’t work if you’re sniveling and whimpering down in the shitter.  Do you want us to hobble you like the beggar’s children down on dung street?  So help me gods, I will smash your little fucking ankles with a brick if you ever, ever, interrupt your mother when she is entertaining!  Just give me a fucking excuse.  You should have been aborted just like the rest of them, the old woman was out of Mugwort.”

My dirk slices in an uppercut intended for his liver.  At the last minute, he sees me.  IT sees me. 

Orange and black stripes. 

Slitted golden eyes like a snake. 

Holy shit, a weretiger! 

When I was with the Pete’s Ratsassins outfit we heard of the competition, but they were a supposed to be myth.

Fuck!  Dropped his bow.  He’s on me. He’s got scimitars.  Two of ‘em.  A glint of silver on the edge. 

Shit shit. 

I’m cut again.  I can feel the blood drain from the stinging, fresh gash in my thigh.

I spin away to get some distance, breathing hard and staying low.

“Eat shit, kat-piss Neverclean,” I spit at him.  Better to go down defiant. 

His only response is the low crescendo of a growing growl.  He sprints upon me, pumping his blades like two metallic fangs about to pounce…

“Danky darling.  This is John.  He’s going to be paying us well tonight.  I’m going to need to undress, and your job is to rub his back while he’s on top of me.  That’s all for tonight -- unless he pays extra.  Don’t cry sweety.  I want you to smile while you rub his back.  But don’t make it creepy.  Just think of how happy Mommy is making him, and how many golden coins we’ll have.  Do you remember that toy in the store that you wanted?  The mouse?  What was his name?  Mickey something?  Well, you do a good job and I’ll buy you the mouse tomorrow.  Just don’t cry.  It’s perfectly natural and normal.”

I drop flat as the billowing cloak filled with another lycanthrope sails over me.  Wait.  What?

He wasn’t even intending to get me!  He’s on the other rooftop, grappling in another skirmish.

Head swooning.  I’m suddenly light headed. At my hind paws is a pool of blood, drops adding to the tint.  Priorities. 

I scan the battlefield.  There’s an actual tiger-tiger on the scaffolding across the way, fighting Jillian.  There’s something you don’t see every day.  She looks like has it under control. Gotta love that girl. 

I hear Heyou is raging somewhere.  His sound -- all pluck and bullshit aplomb.  He’s the acting alpha and he sounds like he’s in it to win it.

Shit.  My head is spinning. 

Priorities.

Through the transom of my mind, I still can smell the burning of the orphanage yesterday.

The orphans!

From my vantage, I count the weretigers in their green cloaks.  One, two… there’s four them.  Was there another?

The orphans.  Shit.

 he hands me the stuffed mouse with the big round ears and shit-eating grin.  I’m very small.  Maybe five.  “You earned this, baby.  The gentleman caller paid us extra.  You can help Mommy any time and get extra treats like cheese and more toys.”  I hug the little mouse.  He’s so cute and sweet.  But he wasn’t worth it.  Not with how sore I feel and that terrible taste still in my mouth.  She tells me that everything will be okay. 

 ack in the basement of the orphanage.  How did I get here?  They are cowering in the corner, but they know me.  The little ones must be protected.  I whisper to them to shut the fuck up and keep quiet.  Everything will be okay.  But it never is. 

I stand, crouched in the shadows, daggers braced.  Myself between the orphans and whatever comes down those stairs.  Ready. 

Now that I’ve their smell locked, I’ll know if it’s the weretigers, or my friends. 

Come what may, I will murder each and everyone who hurts our orphans or my friend.  And I’ll probably die in the process. 

I am Dank, and this is my story of rotting emptiness and darkness.