I call to you Bahamut
He who rests beneath the mountains in the land of Gods
He who is Lord of the Ancients
He who's blood and fire gave birth to magic
May your wings cast winds at my back
And your eyes shine light on my path
We shall walk in your shadow, and fight with your fang
For the weak of the word have no fire
And yours is everburning.
Your power is my blessing and your terror is my curse
I will tred with chaos in my step, and it shall fear me
I will guide your fires to the door of my foe
And I will cleanse the tainted in its light
This land speaks of no Gods
It's people without faith and without hope
Stand close with me oh King of Dragons
For your grace may save me
May save us all.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
Thoughts from the mind of Kogane Aelcaster, whilst being pulled between realms of existance.
Traversing dimensions is in itself, a very singular experience. Having no other words to describe it, I can only relate the sensation to that of being a tea blossom floating in a jade cup of clean hot water. Your dry shell absorbs all the burning hot liquid it can hold, and when it can hold no more, you rise to the surface and explode into a blossom of colors and life.... only to be gulped down and digested by the unseen mouth of reality.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Kogane Aelcaster: Sometimes life is funny. Sometimes it is not.
There was no two ways of looking at it. We were cursed.
I have only been in the company of this group for a short time now. They have proven themselves in the field of battle, for the most part, and now we find ourselves in the same faithful mishap.
The organization that employs us hunts down that which is controlled and created by the forces of Chaos. No so much a theory anymore, but a physical manifestation these cultists have found a way to extract for a terrible dimension. Oily silver viscous fluid made of pure unpredictable evil, and it now flows through our bodies. At lease we survived I suppose. Perhaps the lesser of two evils.
The noble concept of using this strange power against that which we hunt is fine in theory, but based on what I have seen from this substance, there is little we can do to control it. We are in fates hands now, and whatever action the brotherhood chooses to take against us is their rightful choice. I will accept any fate they lay at my feet with humility. Perhaps they shall put us to death. If so, then I await the embrace of Bahamut's eternal cleansing fire. If they let us live, then we will have to find a cure. That goes without saying.
I seem to recall telling the Minotaur he would be growing a second head. I should be careful of that which I joke.
I have only been in the company of this group for a short time now. They have proven themselves in the field of battle, for the most part, and now we find ourselves in the same faithful mishap.
The organization that employs us hunts down that which is controlled and created by the forces of Chaos. No so much a theory anymore, but a physical manifestation these cultists have found a way to extract for a terrible dimension. Oily silver viscous fluid made of pure unpredictable evil, and it now flows through our bodies. At lease we survived I suppose. Perhaps the lesser of two evils.
The noble concept of using this strange power against that which we hunt is fine in theory, but based on what I have seen from this substance, there is little we can do to control it. We are in fates hands now, and whatever action the brotherhood chooses to take against us is their rightful choice. I will accept any fate they lay at my feet with humility. Perhaps they shall put us to death. If so, then I await the embrace of Bahamut's eternal cleansing fire. If they let us live, then we will have to find a cure. That goes without saying.
I seem to recall telling the Minotaur he would be growing a second head. I should be careful of that which I joke.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Season Two: The Flame of Nyruken
The flames of mankind shed no true light. Only the Single Eternal Fire of the Sacred Ones can truly cut through the darkness of evil.
Ahead, the Sacred Temple of Seven Tranquil Pools loomed, blanketing the farming village of Mio'Gan in the shadow of its stone walls. They had requested my service two days ago, and I had put much ground beneath my feet since then to make it here so quickly.
The Master of the Temple sent word to dozens of nearby villages, and before long word finally reached me. They seemed surprised that the Oni were able to break into their holy sanctum. Perhaps if they practiced the teachings of a true deity, not some apathetic sun god, their enemies wouldn't sleep beside them. The place was swarming with demon spirits. I could sense them from here. It seems their God has forsaken them.
And so did the word of their troubles reach me. And so did I come, to serve my great lord Bahamut, and cleans the world of the impurities and evil forces that fall in my path. Where their Gods have failed, mine shall burn bright.
The temple had not been entered in days, and long since had the rows of lanterns been burned out. The hallways smelled half of death, and the darkness pulsed with urges to pull me in and consume me. I let them down. With a whisper I filled the palm of my hand with golden flame, and in fear the darkness retreated.
It was not long after I began navigating the hallways of the foreign structure that I came across the first servant of evil. A young woman, no doubt one of the young priestesses in training, shuffled out from what I had assumed was an empty room. A mask of incorporeal energy floated before her face, and sneered at me with its dark twisted features. She was possessed.
'Leave this place, and leave that girl alone Demon' I spoke, invoking the will of Bahamut to send waves of terror at the monster. She took a step back, but with a shudder continued towards me, now with more tenacity. They were stronger than I had anticipated. She broke into a charge.
I met her head on, grabbing her by the wrists and attempting to throw her to the ground. The demon inside her gave her great strength, and I found myself thrown back against the left wall. A few lanterns fell from the impact, and dust kicked up around me. She turned to face me and again began to charge. It was time to end this. As she drew near, I focused my will into the golden flame in my hand, and at my command the small ball of light extending into a gleaming blade of fire. It's edgeless form tore through her flesh, splitting her body from shoulder to hip. The demon was dead, and so was the girl.
At this point reader, I judge that you frown on me for killing the innocent young woman. For this I commend you. This tells me that you have a good heart, and respect life above all other things. It also tells me that you will never truly embrace the fires of Bahamut. She had been weak, and corrupted by the spirits of evil. To save her would be to spare the demon, and the life of one does not out-way the risk of hundreds of others.
I continued down the hall, my path now lit by the humming blade of fire at my fingertips. It had been weakened from the last strike, but it was still a lethal weapon. In my search for the den of evil within The Temple of Seven Tranquil Pools, I encountered several more possessed humans, and with great pride cut them down, sending their demons back to hell. More on this I see no need to mention. As I drew nearer the heart of this infestation I could feel the warmth of Bahamuts flames inside me. I knew my work was pleasing him. He gladly blew his flames into my soul, and kindled my faith time and time again.
I rounded the corner into the main hall of the temple. I witnessed for the first time, the Seven Tranquil Pools. Their once clear reflective water was stagnant with blood and floating entrails. Seated against an desecrated statue of the Sun God Taiu, rested a monstrous bloated Oni. The demon was surrounded by pieces of the humans he had fed upon, and the stains of blood ran all down the front of his glistening blue hide. His snores rumbled the stones of the foundation. I decided to act quickly.
Calling forth the blessing of the Great One, I called forth a new blade of fire, burning stronger than before. Wasting no time I ran to his sleeping frame and plunged the blade deep into his swollen bulbous stomach. He awoke.
One of his huge legs kicked out and flung me back across the room. The force rattled my bones, and made my thoughts swim. Rising to his feet he wiped away the wound I had inflicted to him. He then began to laugh at my attack.
'You are brave human, but your mortal fires will not burn my hellborn flesh' He uttered in a deep unnatural tongue. In two strides he was on my fallen form, and hefted me off the ground with one hand. His massive fingers wrapped around me and began to crush me in a death grip.
Calling on any force I could muster to help me with my hands bound up against my sides, I sang out to Bahamut, and again he gave to me his fire. From each eye a searing beam of heat shot out and struck the monster on the nose. I could tell the fire didn't burn him, but the surprise loosed his grip, and I broke free falling to the ground.
His laughter was cacophonous. 'Foolish weakling! Your magic feels like nothing more than a warm breeze to me!' Another kick sent my body crashing into the stone walls of the Temple. I was quite damaged now, and the blood coursing through me was thumping in my ears, deafening me. Despite the damages I had suffered, I rose to me feet. My legs shook under my weight. He was in mid stride towards me, to finish the kill. I met his eyes, and it seemed my leer gave him pause. He looked as though he saw something more than the broken frame of a simple human before him.
'You have yet to feel true fire, you soulless monster. My flames are not those of man, but the Golden Fire of the Dragon Lord. Now I will show you true hell.'
I was not met by praise and cheers as I re-entered the village, the victor. The citizens and priests simple looked on in disbelief. Some held back tears, other held back curses. I granted them the blessings of Bahamut, and left them to rebuild the fallen temple. The very stones had been burned away to ash, and all that was left of the Temple of Seven Tranquil Pools was a smoldering black heap. A simple building was a small price to pay to rid the world of yet another hellborn.
In the weeks that followed I traveled from town to town, as my practice dictates. On the dusk of the second week I received a strange letter. I was told simply that it had been delivered by a bird, and it had my name on it.
It told me of an organization, far far away. On the mainland of All That Is. They claimed to be in pursuit of a great evil. Greater than any the world had seen since ages past. They had men who knew about the world of dragons, but it was not enough. They were asking for my aid, for it is one thing to know dragons, and another to be of their world. Indeed sacred gold blood coursed through my veins, if even faintly, and I was one with the ancient ones. I decided to follow their call, yet reluctant to give my trust before more information was gained. I had wanted to visit the mainland since I was a boy. I longed to see the dragons of their world, and learn of their habits. I longed to spread the blessings of Bahamut further than the shores of Nyruken. It was time to leave this place.
I purchased a book of languages and left the next day on Longboat sailing towards All That Is.
Ahead, the Sacred Temple of Seven Tranquil Pools loomed, blanketing the farming village of Mio'Gan in the shadow of its stone walls. They had requested my service two days ago, and I had put much ground beneath my feet since then to make it here so quickly.
The Master of the Temple sent word to dozens of nearby villages, and before long word finally reached me. They seemed surprised that the Oni were able to break into their holy sanctum. Perhaps if they practiced the teachings of a true deity, not some apathetic sun god, their enemies wouldn't sleep beside them. The place was swarming with demon spirits. I could sense them from here. It seems their God has forsaken them.
And so did the word of their troubles reach me. And so did I come, to serve my great lord Bahamut, and cleans the world of the impurities and evil forces that fall in my path. Where their Gods have failed, mine shall burn bright.
The temple had not been entered in days, and long since had the rows of lanterns been burned out. The hallways smelled half of death, and the darkness pulsed with urges to pull me in and consume me. I let them down. With a whisper I filled the palm of my hand with golden flame, and in fear the darkness retreated.
It was not long after I began navigating the hallways of the foreign structure that I came across the first servant of evil. A young woman, no doubt one of the young priestesses in training, shuffled out from what I had assumed was an empty room. A mask of incorporeal energy floated before her face, and sneered at me with its dark twisted features. She was possessed.
'Leave this place, and leave that girl alone Demon' I spoke, invoking the will of Bahamut to send waves of terror at the monster. She took a step back, but with a shudder continued towards me, now with more tenacity. They were stronger than I had anticipated. She broke into a charge.
I met her head on, grabbing her by the wrists and attempting to throw her to the ground. The demon inside her gave her great strength, and I found myself thrown back against the left wall. A few lanterns fell from the impact, and dust kicked up around me. She turned to face me and again began to charge. It was time to end this. As she drew near, I focused my will into the golden flame in my hand, and at my command the small ball of light extending into a gleaming blade of fire. It's edgeless form tore through her flesh, splitting her body from shoulder to hip. The demon was dead, and so was the girl.
At this point reader, I judge that you frown on me for killing the innocent young woman. For this I commend you. This tells me that you have a good heart, and respect life above all other things. It also tells me that you will never truly embrace the fires of Bahamut. She had been weak, and corrupted by the spirits of evil. To save her would be to spare the demon, and the life of one does not out-way the risk of hundreds of others.
I continued down the hall, my path now lit by the humming blade of fire at my fingertips. It had been weakened from the last strike, but it was still a lethal weapon. In my search for the den of evil within The Temple of Seven Tranquil Pools, I encountered several more possessed humans, and with great pride cut them down, sending their demons back to hell. More on this I see no need to mention. As I drew nearer the heart of this infestation I could feel the warmth of Bahamuts flames inside me. I knew my work was pleasing him. He gladly blew his flames into my soul, and kindled my faith time and time again.
I rounded the corner into the main hall of the temple. I witnessed for the first time, the Seven Tranquil Pools. Their once clear reflective water was stagnant with blood and floating entrails. Seated against an desecrated statue of the Sun God Taiu, rested a monstrous bloated Oni. The demon was surrounded by pieces of the humans he had fed upon, and the stains of blood ran all down the front of his glistening blue hide. His snores rumbled the stones of the foundation. I decided to act quickly.
Calling forth the blessing of the Great One, I called forth a new blade of fire, burning stronger than before. Wasting no time I ran to his sleeping frame and plunged the blade deep into his swollen bulbous stomach. He awoke.
One of his huge legs kicked out and flung me back across the room. The force rattled my bones, and made my thoughts swim. Rising to his feet he wiped away the wound I had inflicted to him. He then began to laugh at my attack.
'You are brave human, but your mortal fires will not burn my hellborn flesh' He uttered in a deep unnatural tongue. In two strides he was on my fallen form, and hefted me off the ground with one hand. His massive fingers wrapped around me and began to crush me in a death grip.
Calling on any force I could muster to help me with my hands bound up against my sides, I sang out to Bahamut, and again he gave to me his fire. From each eye a searing beam of heat shot out and struck the monster on the nose. I could tell the fire didn't burn him, but the surprise loosed his grip, and I broke free falling to the ground.
His laughter was cacophonous. 'Foolish weakling! Your magic feels like nothing more than a warm breeze to me!' Another kick sent my body crashing into the stone walls of the Temple. I was quite damaged now, and the blood coursing through me was thumping in my ears, deafening me. Despite the damages I had suffered, I rose to me feet. My legs shook under my weight. He was in mid stride towards me, to finish the kill. I met his eyes, and it seemed my leer gave him pause. He looked as though he saw something more than the broken frame of a simple human before him.
'You have yet to feel true fire, you soulless monster. My flames are not those of man, but the Golden Fire of the Dragon Lord. Now I will show you true hell.'
I was not met by praise and cheers as I re-entered the village, the victor. The citizens and priests simple looked on in disbelief. Some held back tears, other held back curses. I granted them the blessings of Bahamut, and left them to rebuild the fallen temple. The very stones had been burned away to ash, and all that was left of the Temple of Seven Tranquil Pools was a smoldering black heap. A simple building was a small price to pay to rid the world of yet another hellborn.
In the weeks that followed I traveled from town to town, as my practice dictates. On the dusk of the second week I received a strange letter. I was told simply that it had been delivered by a bird, and it had my name on it.
It told me of an organization, far far away. On the mainland of All That Is. They claimed to be in pursuit of a great evil. Greater than any the world had seen since ages past. They had men who knew about the world of dragons, but it was not enough. They were asking for my aid, for it is one thing to know dragons, and another to be of their world. Indeed sacred gold blood coursed through my veins, if even faintly, and I was one with the ancient ones. I decided to follow their call, yet reluctant to give my trust before more information was gained. I had wanted to visit the mainland since I was a boy. I longed to see the dragons of their world, and learn of their habits. I longed to spread the blessings of Bahamut further than the shores of Nyruken. It was time to leave this place.
I purchased a book of languages and left the next day on Longboat sailing towards All That Is.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Break 7 - Taran Ullivarn
Honor thy father.
The warmage sat in a quiet room above the tavern at a small table. Across from him sat a ghost from his past. His father, the great Dragonslayer Terrath Ullivarn, was there. Flesh and blood, alive and kicking.
...and when I woke up, I was here. I managed to...
His father continued to talk and while Taran half-listened, his attention was specifically elsewhere.
Taran had remembered the tears in his eyes and his prayers to Boccob at his father's death. How he heard his mother's sobs through the thin walls of their house in Meeran's Dell. That moment of insight and determination that had caught Boccob's eye. The need to destroy that which had taken his father from him and his family - to slaughter every dragon in All That Is!
And now? Taran didn't know how to feel. His motivation for all these years - the endless training, the tiresome studies, working his fingers in scale mail until they bled. All for the memory of a man who was now no longer a memory. All this new information, plus the urgency of their quest, caused Taran's head to pound painfully.
...and then during the Brothers' war, the dragons came to their aid...
There was no time. He needed an army to fight against Coleworth and all the agents of Chaos currently surrounding Bastion. Rhys and he had gathered a front, but they wouldn't stand up against.... - Wait! What did Dad just say?
The warmage sat in a quiet room above the tavern at a small table. Across from him sat a ghost from his past. His father, the great Dragonslayer Terrath Ullivarn, was there. Flesh and blood, alive and kicking.
...and when I woke up, I was here. I managed to...
His father continued to talk and while Taran half-listened, his attention was specifically elsewhere.
Taran had remembered the tears in his eyes and his prayers to Boccob at his father's death. How he heard his mother's sobs through the thin walls of their house in Meeran's Dell. That moment of insight and determination that had caught Boccob's eye. The need to destroy that which had taken his father from him and his family - to slaughter every dragon in All That Is!
And now? Taran didn't know how to feel. His motivation for all these years - the endless training, the tiresome studies, working his fingers in scale mail until they bled. All for the memory of a man who was now no longer a memory. All this new information, plus the urgency of their quest, caused Taran's head to pound painfully.
...and then during the Brothers' war, the dragons came to their aid...
There was no time. He needed an army to fight against Coleworth and all the agents of Chaos currently surrounding Bastion. Rhys and he had gathered a front, but they wouldn't stand up against.... - Wait! What did Dad just say?
The greater good, and all that...
A nice warm breeze blows. Sitting in the grass near the spring is very relaxing. Crosslegged in the grass the archer contemplates. Focus, that is what it is all about. The priests of the wall scrambling about, Rhys shoutting orders to this grunt or that one were all zoned out. All ignored. Focus.
“So it seems that you are following in your father’s footsteps afterall, eh Jeth?”.
“Dad?” the archer asks surprised. Spinning around to look at his father, exactally as he remembered him nearly 10 years ago. The image starts to shimmer out of existance.
“Focus, Jeth. Keep focus.”
The image solidfied.
“So you found of the order of the bow. I never told you, but i was an agent of the order. May of the times when I told you I was out performing, I was out on missions, fighting the greater evil and all that. Just follow the teachings, keep focus, and know I’ll always be with you, guiding your aim.”
With that the image vanished.
Jeth now knew what was driving him. Knew why he was on this crazy quest.
“So it seems that you are following in your father’s footsteps afterall, eh Jeth?”.
“Dad?” the archer asks surprised. Spinning around to look at his father, exactally as he remembered him nearly 10 years ago. The image starts to shimmer out of existance.
“Focus, Jeth. Keep focus.”
The image solidfied.
“So you found of the order of the bow. I never told you, but i was an agent of the order. May of the times when I told you I was out performing, I was out on missions, fighting the greater evil and all that. Just follow the teachings, keep focus, and know I’ll always be with you, guiding your aim.”
With that the image vanished.
Jeth now knew what was driving him. Knew why he was on this crazy quest.
Skin and Bones
Of all the hundreds upon hundreds of animals Anteel had deftly skinned and tanned in his years as a hunter, this by far was the strangest. He wasn't even sure if Dragons really counted as animals. He didn't know of any weasels or hawks that could breath fire, or that cast spells for that matter. He had never owned or even seen anything made of dragonhide before, but judging by the way it turned his blades as he had danced and slashed on its back during the battle, it would be worth the effort.
He had gathered some important tips from some townsfolk (Who had lived with dragons all their lives) before setting at the task at hand. His enchanted gloves helped keep the intense heat from scalding his nimble fingers, and the edge of his mithril blade was honed and sharper than sharp. The smell alone was like burning tobacco, spiced cachaca, and rotten meat. It poured out of each cut and made his head spin. Inch by inch he carved and peeled, careful not to let unwanted heat out, and to keep as many scales attached as possible. By the end of his first hour he had removed most of the skin off a leg. This would take a while. And they didn't' have much time.
He took a break to wipe clean his tools and soak his upper arms in some cool water from the endless spring on Meriths Island. He had done a good job of keeping himself distracted for most of the time, and after his friends had finished with their short business in town they would be heading off to the last temple. Speed was of the essence, but Terran had meet an old friend or some such in town, and was probably learning of the temples exact location. His busywork had kept his mind off the next task at hand, and what had happened in the past few hours. His body was still a ball of nerves. "Anteel, the Dragonslayer.." He spat and chuckled to himself.
In all of Ezras stories there was a great climax, usually what was delivered right before the old man had to say goodnight to the excitable children. Whether he was about to face a great evil demon, or come face to face with some all powerful wizard, something big happened at the end. He could feel it in the air. Something big was about to happen to him and his friends. Something that would change them forever.
He decided to go into the town for one last drink before they left. It might be his last.
He had gathered some important tips from some townsfolk (Who had lived with dragons all their lives) before setting at the task at hand. His enchanted gloves helped keep the intense heat from scalding his nimble fingers, and the edge of his mithril blade was honed and sharper than sharp. The smell alone was like burning tobacco, spiced cachaca, and rotten meat. It poured out of each cut and made his head spin. Inch by inch he carved and peeled, careful not to let unwanted heat out, and to keep as many scales attached as possible. By the end of his first hour he had removed most of the skin off a leg. This would take a while. And they didn't' have much time.
He took a break to wipe clean his tools and soak his upper arms in some cool water from the endless spring on Meriths Island. He had done a good job of keeping himself distracted for most of the time, and after his friends had finished with their short business in town they would be heading off to the last temple. Speed was of the essence, but Terran had meet an old friend or some such in town, and was probably learning of the temples exact location. His busywork had kept his mind off the next task at hand, and what had happened in the past few hours. His body was still a ball of nerves. "Anteel, the Dragonslayer.." He spat and chuckled to himself.
In all of Ezras stories there was a great climax, usually what was delivered right before the old man had to say goodnight to the excitable children. Whether he was about to face a great evil demon, or come face to face with some all powerful wizard, something big happened at the end. He could feel it in the air. Something big was about to happen to him and his friends. Something that would change them forever.
He decided to go into the town for one last drink before they left. It might be his last.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Break 6 - Taran Ullivarn
When castles fly!
The island! It all made so much more sense now, the warmage thought as he referenced his map against the new books found in the small cottage and the knowledge of the small patch of "Garden" currently floating over All That Is. With this new information, he had been able to pinpoint the locations of the last two temples of Mereth and his companions and he were currently headed to the closest one, located fairly close-by in the nearby mountains, just a bit northwest.
But the excitement of figuring out this mess was dulled by the sense of urgency behind it. The undead legion they saw, formed under that damned Coleworth, was set to attack Bastion any day now. Which reminded him...
Taran got up and rummaged around his stacks of information until he found the only book he had left his homeland with, his journal. He sighed for a moment before ripping the book in half, the binding split, and a scream escaped his lips as the magical mark on it activated until the only thing that remained in tact was the leather cover.
He wiped a small line of blood from the corner of his mouth and gave a quick prayer to Boccob, feeling the pain lessen to nothing in just a moment. A single spell was written on the hastily crafted leather scroll that Deacon Farthus had had made for him before leaving the Tooth.
"In case of emergency..." Farthus had said. Well, this certainly counted as such. Taran traced the letters and worked the words out in his head very carefully, making sure that he understood every tiny movement before finally calling the spell into power.
With the power filling him, he picked up a piece of chalk and wrote on the wall of the cottage, each word having a slightly blue glow to it:
Archmagus,
Times are grim. A force of legendary chaos set to attack the town of Bastion.
This information has been confirmed several times over. I require every available warmage and cleric available there immediately. You know as well as I do that if Bastion falls, the rest of us are not far behind.
As for other matters...
Taran continued to scribble on the wall, intensity showing on his face. He would not be made a fool of! He was a warmage! The words began to glow brighter as his focus turned to anger.
No man, dragon, or force of chaos would prove him wrong!
The island! It all made so much more sense now, the warmage thought as he referenced his map against the new books found in the small cottage and the knowledge of the small patch of "Garden" currently floating over All That Is. With this new information, he had been able to pinpoint the locations of the last two temples of Mereth and his companions and he were currently headed to the closest one, located fairly close-by in the nearby mountains, just a bit northwest.
But the excitement of figuring out this mess was dulled by the sense of urgency behind it. The undead legion they saw, formed under that damned Coleworth, was set to attack Bastion any day now. Which reminded him...
Taran got up and rummaged around his stacks of information until he found the only book he had left his homeland with, his journal. He sighed for a moment before ripping the book in half, the binding split, and a scream escaped his lips as the magical mark on it activated until the only thing that remained in tact was the leather cover.
He wiped a small line of blood from the corner of his mouth and gave a quick prayer to Boccob, feeling the pain lessen to nothing in just a moment. A single spell was written on the hastily crafted leather scroll that Deacon Farthus had had made for him before leaving the Tooth.
"In case of emergency..." Farthus had said. Well, this certainly counted as such. Taran traced the letters and worked the words out in his head very carefully, making sure that he understood every tiny movement before finally calling the spell into power.
With the power filling him, he picked up a piece of chalk and wrote on the wall of the cottage, each word having a slightly blue glow to it:
Archmagus,
Times are grim. A force of legendary chaos set to attack the town of Bastion.
This information has been confirmed several times over. I require every available warmage and cleric available there immediately. You know as well as I do that if Bastion falls, the rest of us are not far behind.
As for other matters...
Taran continued to scribble on the wall, intensity showing on his face. He would not be made a fool of! He was a warmage! The words began to glow brighter as his focus turned to anger.
No man, dragon, or force of chaos would prove him wrong!
Jeth Jones - Entry Five
I’ve always thought the stories of the artificer war were just that, stories. Even while we’ve been gallivanting around All That Is, fighting undead and abominations, I figured it could just be some very wacky cultists. I mean, I’ve heard of creatures not unlike Bobo around the Academy when I was younger.
Now I do believe. I have to believe. I’m driving a house through the air.
It’s a nice house, too. Has a nice little garden, decent view (depending on which way I aim it), and it has an amazing turn radius…ya know, for a house.
So we’re on our way to get a piece for the house’s armory. I’m not sure why it was not with the house, but I’m sure there were some crazy events happening hundreds of years ago to make it so hard today. The piloting system is in the basement, and I’m often down here alone, driving. It’s nice to be alone with my thoughts for a bit. Also it’s nice to have snagged the bottle of spirits that was left in the cupboard before Anteel found his way to it. I can’t say a lot of good things about orcs, but one thing I can say, is that they make a mighty fine batch of spirits.
I’m not sure why we’re going to go rummaging through a temple at this point though. There is an army of undead, come from the bowels of hell, guided by a master plan for complete domination of the world in civilized lands. Even if we get in, get this piece, and get out, there is still one more piece that we believe is in yet another temple. Unless this other temple is on our way, I think that this army is going to do some very bad stuff. On the other hand, if we don’t get the weapons up, how are we going to stop an army that large? It was suggested that we get some priests off the wall, but I don’t think there are enough priests up there to defeat this undead army. Well, I’m going to just drive the house. I’m sure my companions have a plan. I’m just a dumb botanist who shoots a few arrows.
Caught between the anvil and the hammer.
Now I do believe. I have to believe. I’m driving a house through the air.
It’s a nice house, too. Has a nice little garden, decent view (depending on which way I aim it), and it has an amazing turn radius…ya know, for a house.
So we’re on our way to get a piece for the house’s armory. I’m not sure why it was not with the house, but I’m sure there were some crazy events happening hundreds of years ago to make it so hard today. The piloting system is in the basement, and I’m often down here alone, driving. It’s nice to be alone with my thoughts for a bit. Also it’s nice to have snagged the bottle of spirits that was left in the cupboard before Anteel found his way to it. I can’t say a lot of good things about orcs, but one thing I can say, is that they make a mighty fine batch of spirits.
I’m not sure why we’re going to go rummaging through a temple at this point though. There is an army of undead, come from the bowels of hell, guided by a master plan for complete domination of the world in civilized lands. Even if we get in, get this piece, and get out, there is still one more piece that we believe is in yet another temple. Unless this other temple is on our way, I think that this army is going to do some very bad stuff. On the other hand, if we don’t get the weapons up, how are we going to stop an army that large? It was suggested that we get some priests off the wall, but I don’t think there are enough priests up there to defeat this undead army. Well, I’m going to just drive the house. I’m sure my companions have a plan. I’m just a dumb botanist who shoots a few arrows.
Caught between the anvil and the hammer.
Practice, Precision, and Produce
In the cool dark branches below the tallest tree in the garden he danced.
Anteel had come to discover that Merith had in fact not stored away a secret satchel of old spirits, or a collection of ancient coins anywhere on the premises of his cottage. Anteel had looked into this carefully, then checked twice more to be sure. Anteel began to like the legend a bit less.
With all his bottles back with the wagon, he had to find something else to occupy his mind. So he danced. Sometimes with blades, sometimes without. He just liked the control and mesmerizing swiftness he found in his limbs when he let everything go. From branch to branch he rolled and twisted like a scarf in the wind. Climbing, falling, cutting and leaping.
A pile of fruit and vegetables cut to tiny pieces littered the shadows below the huge tree. They all grew from the same tree, and no matter how many times he cut them down, they were back again. Some had bites taken out of them. Some were almost indistinguishable as something organic. He had been in his tree for 9 hours now.
A huge swollen grapefruit, larger than a human skull, hung defiantly amongst a patch of apples and what appeared to be avocados. He decided to finish today's dance with a move he had been working on. He moved around the obese fruit, circling it on the thin branches. Once he found himself behind it, he lashed out, throwing both his swords. If the fruit had contained a skeleton, the blades would have hit right below the rib cage. It began to plummet towards the ground. Blades up, it landed with a juicy splat, just before he landed on top of it. He landed hunched like a cat, Legs straddling the citric foe. As he had reached the ground his hands found the hilts, and he tore them in opposite directions. The rended grapefruit exploded into pieces, and plummeted further down. Down off the edge of the island, for miles and miles.
Anteel stood on the edge, watching it fall. A deep evil laugh began to build up within him. A laugh that had made many men pray to their gods for mercy. He let it below out over the landscape he now overlooked, blades dripping wet with stinky juices.
"COME AND GET ME YOU SPINELESS BASTARDS!"
It was the laugh of a man who had taken the road of resistance, away from any goals he had placed, yet found his salvation in a foreign dream.
Anteel had come to discover that Merith had in fact not stored away a secret satchel of old spirits, or a collection of ancient coins anywhere on the premises of his cottage. Anteel had looked into this carefully, then checked twice more to be sure. Anteel began to like the legend a bit less.
With all his bottles back with the wagon, he had to find something else to occupy his mind. So he danced. Sometimes with blades, sometimes without. He just liked the control and mesmerizing swiftness he found in his limbs when he let everything go. From branch to branch he rolled and twisted like a scarf in the wind. Climbing, falling, cutting and leaping.
A pile of fruit and vegetables cut to tiny pieces littered the shadows below the huge tree. They all grew from the same tree, and no matter how many times he cut them down, they were back again. Some had bites taken out of them. Some were almost indistinguishable as something organic. He had been in his tree for 9 hours now.
A huge swollen grapefruit, larger than a human skull, hung defiantly amongst a patch of apples and what appeared to be avocados. He decided to finish today's dance with a move he had been working on. He moved around the obese fruit, circling it on the thin branches. Once he found himself behind it, he lashed out, throwing both his swords. If the fruit had contained a skeleton, the blades would have hit right below the rib cage. It began to plummet towards the ground. Blades up, it landed with a juicy splat, just before he landed on top of it. He landed hunched like a cat, Legs straddling the citric foe. As he had reached the ground his hands found the hilts, and he tore them in opposite directions. The rended grapefruit exploded into pieces, and plummeted further down. Down off the edge of the island, for miles and miles.
Anteel stood on the edge, watching it fall. A deep evil laugh began to build up within him. A laugh that had made many men pray to their gods for mercy. He let it below out over the landscape he now overlooked, blades dripping wet with stinky juices.
"COME AND GET ME YOU SPINELESS BASTARDS!"
It was the laugh of a man who had taken the road of resistance, away from any goals he had placed, yet found his salvation in a foreign dream.
GM Downtime - The Hunter
The man stood, staring at the sky, and cursed. He had been tracking his prey now for weeks. He had nearly had them in the woods near Terrandin, before they had taken Brother Eredrin their captive and gone back to the city. When he had reached the city, it had taken him a day to find them again, and by that time, they had left, teleported away to this gods-forsaken place.
His investigations in the city had only been marginally fruitful. While bribing the guards that watched their wagon while they were away had been easy enough, it had done him little good; the door was locked, and none of his tricks had served to open it. The gossip around town hadn't been of much use either. Half the town thought the men had summoned some sort of zombie dragon, and half seemed to think they had put such a creature out of it's undead misery. Finally, he had had to resort to his contacts within the tower, who identified the place the men had been transported to, and arranged to have him sent to the same place.
From there, he had found a nearly empty orc village. The few that remained there, toothless old matrons, had told him that some of the villagers had followed his prey southeast, toward what they called "the garden," while the majority had gone northward, to join up with some sort of attack force. The man had thanked them, and then followed the road.
And now, here he was, standing in the pit at the end of the road, staring up at the floating island that was rapidly diminishing into the sky. Once again, he had been just too late. He cursed his luck.
Something moved beneath his robe, crawling around his body to the place where the robe opened in the front. He stroked the silvery scales as they passed his hands, and looked down into the set of lenses that made up the face of the metallic thing. He placed his hand so that the legs of the thing could gain purchase, and it crawled up and around his arm.
"Soon enough, my friend." He looked up at the sky again. Based on their direction, and the places they had already been, and what was close... "Soon enough." This time, he would not miss them. This time, he would be waiting for them.
His investigations in the city had only been marginally fruitful. While bribing the guards that watched their wagon while they were away had been easy enough, it had done him little good; the door was locked, and none of his tricks had served to open it. The gossip around town hadn't been of much use either. Half the town thought the men had summoned some sort of zombie dragon, and half seemed to think they had put such a creature out of it's undead misery. Finally, he had had to resort to his contacts within the tower, who identified the place the men had been transported to, and arranged to have him sent to the same place.
From there, he had found a nearly empty orc village. The few that remained there, toothless old matrons, had told him that some of the villagers had followed his prey southeast, toward what they called "the garden," while the majority had gone northward, to join up with some sort of attack force. The man had thanked them, and then followed the road.
And now, here he was, standing in the pit at the end of the road, staring up at the floating island that was rapidly diminishing into the sky. Once again, he had been just too late. He cursed his luck.
Something moved beneath his robe, crawling around his body to the place where the robe opened in the front. He stroked the silvery scales as they passed his hands, and looked down into the set of lenses that made up the face of the metallic thing. He placed his hand so that the legs of the thing could gain purchase, and it crawled up and around his arm.
"Soon enough, my friend." He looked up at the sky again. Based on their direction, and the places they had already been, and what was close... "Soon enough." This time, he would not miss them. This time, he would be waiting for them.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Break 5 - Taran Ullivarn
Nothing concrete.
Taran sat next to Ezra, in the old man's small room, with his map and several of his books spread out before him.
"It just doesn't make sense," he said to no one in particular as he spat onto the floor. He rearranged markers on the map again and again, with cursory glances back to this book or that, but still nothing.
Taran broke his concentration to stand up and, chanting a small prayer to Boccob, toss a bit of healing energy at the everlasting wound in Ezra's chest. "It's like the points keep changing! Nothing concrete!"
He scratched a few more lines into his personal journal on coordinates and reference points and began to pack his things together before heading back to his rooms. Morning was already approaching and he needed his own rest. Besides Rhys would be up soon to take over.
With a quick flick of the power in his holy symbol he trimmed the still-lit wicks and excess wax off of the two burning candles. "I wasn't supposed to be a scholar. I was to be a mighty dragonslayer. But the Gods have their own plans, and we all play a part, right? Still, I sure wish you were up and about, Old Man. Maybe you could make sense of all of this insanity." He stubbed one of the candles before returning to his rooms and another too-short sleep.
No one was around to hear the single word whisper come from the old man's throat.
Taran sat next to Ezra, in the old man's small room, with his map and several of his books spread out before him.
"It just doesn't make sense," he said to no one in particular as he spat onto the floor. He rearranged markers on the map again and again, with cursory glances back to this book or that, but still nothing.
Taran broke his concentration to stand up and, chanting a small prayer to Boccob, toss a bit of healing energy at the everlasting wound in Ezra's chest. "It's like the points keep changing! Nothing concrete!"
He scratched a few more lines into his personal journal on coordinates and reference points and began to pack his things together before heading back to his rooms. Morning was already approaching and he needed his own rest. Besides Rhys would be up soon to take over.
With a quick flick of the power in his holy symbol he trimmed the still-lit wicks and excess wax off of the two burning candles. "I wasn't supposed to be a scholar. I was to be a mighty dragonslayer. But the Gods have their own plans, and we all play a part, right? Still, I sure wish you were up and about, Old Man. Maybe you could make sense of all of this insanity." He stubbed one of the candles before returning to his rooms and another too-short sleep.
No one was around to hear the single word whisper come from the old man's throat.
Jeth Jones - Entry Four
Vengeance lost.
As we've been going on this crazy journey, learning more and more about this tangled mess we've been dragged in, I've come to realize in the back of my mind that our group and the elf are on the same side.
I didn't want to admit it to myself, I made the others force it on me. It is the right thing, though, and I suppose I'm glad I didn't get to finish my job.
So here we are, about to jump headfirst into the single worst place in all that is. There is a underlying force pushing us, I cannot put my finger on what it is. It is more than just Ezra, its more than trying to get back at Coleworth, its even more than just doing whats right because no one else can or will. I feel like we are stones on a board being played by forces that we can't fathom, like characters in a play that is being written as we go.
We do what we must.
The List:
there is no more list
As we've been going on this crazy journey, learning more and more about this tangled mess we've been dragged in, I've come to realize in the back of my mind that our group and the elf are on the same side.
I didn't want to admit it to myself, I made the others force it on me. It is the right thing, though, and I suppose I'm glad I didn't get to finish my job.
So here we are, about to jump headfirst into the single worst place in all that is. There is a underlying force pushing us, I cannot put my finger on what it is. It is more than just Ezra, its more than trying to get back at Coleworth, its even more than just doing whats right because no one else can or will. I feel like we are stones on a board being played by forces that we can't fathom, like characters in a play that is being written as we go.
We do what we must.
The List:
there is no more list
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Journal Entry 3- Anteel
It seems to me that during the past few weeks, in which my life has consisted of being hunted by evil cults, battling all manner of abomination, and dragging the half dead body of my childhood mentor all over bloody All That Is, I have neglected to take things seriously. During the past trials all this talk of The Firsts, and Seconds, and Thirds, and Keepers and Chaos, has been just that. Talk. I've left the research, planning, and scheming to my allies, and childhood friends. I fight with them, and help protect them best I can with my blades. That was my roll...Well that and driving the bloody wagon. But now I can no longer simply sit back and let these things happen around me, ignoring all relevance. Things have come too far. Enemies have been named, and real tangible goals have been set. This is now very real.
For the first time I am starting to see the evidence that all the fairy tails of our development were actually skewed tellings of a dark and terrible history, that now against all reason involves myself. So they think we are planning on opening some ancient gate and releasing the evil forces of the fallen brother. They believe it so much they are doing everything in their power to kill us. So our plan? Travel to the most vile and uncharted reaches of the land, battle the monsters that reside there and find THEM an amulet THEY can use agains US (for all we know). Not only that, but we are escorting the very fool that first tried to kill us, and poisoned Ezra, back home to the bleeding headquarters of this souless cult!
All feelings of freedom and peace of mind at being away from the path of danger are gone. Now I have put myself directly onto the road of least comphort, dwelling entirley in the realm of "Quite possible could die today". The hands are dealt, the stakes are high, and we are going all in. But will they be able to call our bluff? Or will they fold us and sweep us under their carpet of lies? Sif help me, I can't stop smiling.
For the first time I am starting to see the evidence that all the fairy tails of our development were actually skewed tellings of a dark and terrible history, that now against all reason involves myself. So they think we are planning on opening some ancient gate and releasing the evil forces of the fallen brother. They believe it so much they are doing everything in their power to kill us. So our plan? Travel to the most vile and uncharted reaches of the land, battle the monsters that reside there and find THEM an amulet THEY can use agains US (for all we know). Not only that, but we are escorting the very fool that first tried to kill us, and poisoned Ezra, back home to the bleeding headquarters of this souless cult!
All feelings of freedom and peace of mind at being away from the path of danger are gone. Now I have put myself directly onto the road of least comphort, dwelling entirley in the realm of "Quite possible could die today". The hands are dealt, the stakes are high, and we are going all in. But will they be able to call our bluff? Or will they fold us and sweep us under their carpet of lies? Sif help me, I can't stop smiling.
Friday, January 16, 2009
[A letter intercepted from a transport raven]
In the outer edges of Peron, a man sits quietly. He detaches a small rolled parchment from the still twitching leg of a large raven and reads, intent on deciphering the small elysiac script.
"To High Priest Gareth ap Carteret,
Lord of Summerhold,
Peron
As was requested of me when I set out some months ago, I find it necessary to inform Summerhold and the priesthood of the events currently happening. I fear they may have a severe impact on us, and the home lands especially.
My last letter, detailing the false priestess we uncovered, seems to have been incomplete. In our further wanderings to find Ezra's cure, we've uncovered further evidence of what must be a well established cult of the First. We traveled to Thaumhame, the mage academy in Terrandin, hoping to find someone knowledgeable on fate-steel; while one of our party was at first successful, the man was slain before we could discern any real solution.
This event, coupled with finding undead lurking in the school's walls, convinced us to look after a teacher that night, one "Coleworth". We caught him engaged in various dark practices, culminating in a brief encounter with an hydra seemingly created from corpses by the man. Pelor's light quickly dispelled the beast; I'll never understand why necromancers would practice their blasphemous arts in a city boasting its own temple of Pelor. The man was quickly brought down, but managed to escape our interrogation by creating a planar gate. Our resident mage, the godtouched Taran, confirmed that it was most likely an entry point into the realm of Chaos itself. I can only hope that this man has met some fitting end for a worshiper of the unformed darkness.
The conclusions I have drawn from this are, however, worrying to me. While a much more advanced breed, the hydra creature seemed frighteningly familiar in its way. The shambling creatures that crawl out of the Fein have a very similar aura of corruption to them. It hasn't been unusual in past years to stumble upon some half-melded chimeric abomination, but the prevailing thought that the more primitive intelligences, or a few hedge-necromancers, were responsible no longer seems as trustworthy as before. I strongly urge that the guard of Stronghold be on high alert; while these things have the capacity for fearsome strength and arcane magic, the brilliance of Pelor has, thus far, reduced them to nothing but clean ash. We can hope that the First's creatures do not learn too well from their mistakes, but cannot plan on it; of course, I will send any further sightings as they may come.
We should be in Thaumheim for several more days on personal business. Our next berth looks to be the city of Bastion. I will look for word from Summerhold regarding these issues.
On a better note, I recommend highly that the priesthood look into an armoring process known, to the layman, as "flow". In essence, the armor is contained in an amulet, and released to cover the bearer completely in hardly more than the blink of an eye. Too many lives have been lost waiting for an army to be supplemented by our men due to the necessary time of putting on one's armor, not to mention the taxation of the horses' strength carrying our men at a full gallop.
All glory to the Light,
-Rhys ap Cadfan"
A cold light sputters out on the man's table, leaving him to shadows and cold. Beneath the stone floor of his sparse room, there come sounds, a cacophony of scraping and mutterings, choppings and screams.
The man stands, and his eyes shine like a beast's in the waning moonlight. With a sharp grin, he stalks his way to the laboratory below to make use of his new knowledge.
"To High Priest Gareth ap Carteret,
Lord of Summerhold,
Peron
As was requested of me when I set out some months ago, I find it necessary to inform Summerhold and the priesthood of the events currently happening. I fear they may have a severe impact on us, and the home lands especially.
My last letter, detailing the false priestess we uncovered, seems to have been incomplete. In our further wanderings to find Ezra's cure, we've uncovered further evidence of what must be a well established cult of the First. We traveled to Thaumhame, the mage academy in Terrandin, hoping to find someone knowledgeable on fate-steel; while one of our party was at first successful, the man was slain before we could discern any real solution.
This event, coupled with finding undead lurking in the school's walls, convinced us to look after a teacher that night, one "Coleworth". We caught him engaged in various dark practices, culminating in a brief encounter with an hydra seemingly created from corpses by the man. Pelor's light quickly dispelled the beast; I'll never understand why necromancers would practice their blasphemous arts in a city boasting its own temple of Pelor. The man was quickly brought down, but managed to escape our interrogation by creating a planar gate. Our resident mage, the godtouched Taran, confirmed that it was most likely an entry point into the realm of Chaos itself. I can only hope that this man has met some fitting end for a worshiper of the unformed darkness.
The conclusions I have drawn from this are, however, worrying to me. While a much more advanced breed, the hydra creature seemed frighteningly familiar in its way. The shambling creatures that crawl out of the Fein have a very similar aura of corruption to them. It hasn't been unusual in past years to stumble upon some half-melded chimeric abomination, but the prevailing thought that the more primitive intelligences, or a few hedge-necromancers, were responsible no longer seems as trustworthy as before. I strongly urge that the guard of Stronghold be on high alert; while these things have the capacity for fearsome strength and arcane magic, the brilliance of Pelor has, thus far, reduced them to nothing but clean ash. We can hope that the First's creatures do not learn too well from their mistakes, but cannot plan on it; of course, I will send any further sightings as they may come.
We should be in Thaumheim for several more days on personal business. Our next berth looks to be the city of Bastion. I will look for word from Summerhold regarding these issues.
On a better note, I recommend highly that the priesthood look into an armoring process known, to the layman, as "flow". In essence, the armor is contained in an amulet, and released to cover the bearer completely in hardly more than the blink of an eye. Too many lives have been lost waiting for an army to be supplemented by our men due to the necessary time of putting on one's armor, not to mention the taxation of the horses' strength carrying our men at a full gallop.
All glory to the Light,
-Rhys ap Cadfan"
A cold light sputters out on the man's table, leaving him to shadows and cold. Beneath the stone floor of his sparse room, there come sounds, a cacophony of scraping and mutterings, choppings and screams.
The man stands, and his eyes shine like a beast's in the waning moonlight. With a sharp grin, he stalks his way to the laboratory below to make use of his new knowledge.
Break 4 - Taran Ullivarn
...And your little Hydra too!
Well, I guess Rhys IS occasionally useful in battle other than patching up wounds. If we never see another creature or ANYTHING twisted by this damn Chaos juice again, it'll be too soon! The damn thing was torsos! Human torsos! Hydras, I get! Hydras, I understand! But making undead ones out of human torsos? When does that get fun?
I managed to counter one of it's blasts and sizzle it a bit with a blast of my own, but the thing just kept flinging those spells at me. Luckily, Rhys had some sort of Holy moment and the thing just sort of ashed to pieces, like a bit of paper standing up to dragon's breath. A bit anticlimactic if you ask me, but effective. I appreciate effective.
Of course, we never would have found that thing if they hadn't been rummaging around unasked in other people's offices in the Gods-be-damned Tower of Thaumheim! You don't mess with a mage's personal possessions unless you know what you're getting into! But it all turned out for the better, I suppose.
Speaking of better, I "borrowed" a few books from the Tower's Library under the pretense of being a student there and between those and the books that Rhys fixed up from the Jade Temple, I've narrowed down a few more points of interest in relation to the Brothers. Apparently there are three Temples. We found the first, but the other two are to the deep south. One east, the other west - closer to the Tooth if my calculations are correct at all. I'll keep working on it and see if I can't pinpoint them sometime in the next few weeks. Would be interesting to see what's been left behind there and see if the metallic sparrow can further this strange story any further.
As a matter of fact, I should show the sparrow the map and see if it has any input. Hmmm...
Well, I guess Rhys IS occasionally useful in battle other than patching up wounds. If we never see another creature or ANYTHING twisted by this damn Chaos juice again, it'll be too soon! The damn thing was torsos! Human torsos! Hydras, I get! Hydras, I understand! But making undead ones out of human torsos? When does that get fun?
I managed to counter one of it's blasts and sizzle it a bit with a blast of my own, but the thing just kept flinging those spells at me. Luckily, Rhys had some sort of Holy moment and the thing just sort of ashed to pieces, like a bit of paper standing up to dragon's breath. A bit anticlimactic if you ask me, but effective. I appreciate effective.
Of course, we never would have found that thing if they hadn't been rummaging around unasked in other people's offices in the Gods-be-damned Tower of Thaumheim! You don't mess with a mage's personal possessions unless you know what you're getting into! But it all turned out for the better, I suppose.
Speaking of better, I "borrowed" a few books from the Tower's Library under the pretense of being a student there and between those and the books that Rhys fixed up from the Jade Temple, I've narrowed down a few more points of interest in relation to the Brothers. Apparently there are three Temples. We found the first, but the other two are to the deep south. One east, the other west - closer to the Tooth if my calculations are correct at all. I'll keep working on it and see if I can't pinpoint them sometime in the next few weeks. Would be interesting to see what's been left behind there and see if the metallic sparrow can further this strange story any further.
As a matter of fact, I should show the sparrow the map and see if it has any input. Hmmm...
Jeth Jones - Entry Three
I am not a violent man. I do not typically wish harm onto others, this is not who I am.
I am however a perfectionist.
As i am not as well attuned to my bow as my father was, one thing he taught me is to never miss. There is never a reason to miss. ever. If a shot can be taken, there is no reason why you shouldn't hit your target.
The elf has thrown off my personal inner calm by making me miss. He has disturbed the bond between me and my bow. Not only did he make me miss, but then he ran away like a coward. I shall have him, within the next couple of days.
In other news, there is a new player in the mix. A follower of the first.
Also a very rude man.
We were having a nice, jovial conversation, which may have involved the removal of a few of his knuckles. He left mid-conversation! He just...left. Not only is plane shifting very illegal, but to do it in the middle of a conversation is just plain rude. I did however give him a permanent wound in his hand with the fatesteel arrow. Which is funny, since he is a planeshifter that follows the ruler of the elemental plane of chaos, and if he ever visits, his hand will explode. What fun. Also I will always be able to pick him out in a crowd as he has a gaping wound in his hand that will never stop bleeding.
The List:
The Elf With One Eye
Coleworth
I am however a perfectionist.
As i am not as well attuned to my bow as my father was, one thing he taught me is to never miss. There is never a reason to miss. ever. If a shot can be taken, there is no reason why you shouldn't hit your target.
The elf has thrown off my personal inner calm by making me miss. He has disturbed the bond between me and my bow. Not only did he make me miss, but then he ran away like a coward. I shall have him, within the next couple of days.
In other news, there is a new player in the mix. A follower of the first.
Also a very rude man.
We were having a nice, jovial conversation, which may have involved the removal of a few of his knuckles. He left mid-conversation! He just...left. Not only is plane shifting very illegal, but to do it in the middle of a conversation is just plain rude. I did however give him a permanent wound in his hand with the fatesteel arrow. Which is funny, since he is a planeshifter that follows the ruler of the elemental plane of chaos, and if he ever visits, his hand will explode. What fun. Also I will always be able to pick him out in a crowd as he has a gaping wound in his hand that will never stop bleeding.
The List:
The Elf With One Eye
Coleworth
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Break 2 - Taran Ullivarn
Order in Chaos
As Taran threw his last fire orb at the remnants of the shimmering gray chaos liquid on the ground, watching it hiss and crackle before harmlessly evaporating, he slumped his back to a nearby wall and slid down to a sitting position.
Cleanup. Figures.
He huffs a couple of breaths in the cold air and pulls out a small cup from his hip bag, mumbling a few small words to Boccob, and watches it fill with pure clean water. "There are a few benefits to this whole divine thing", he thinks as he takes a small sip, letting the liquid roll slowly down his throat.
This might not be Dragon Slaying, but it's definitely interesting. These things, twisted by Chaos, were certainly new. And this First thing, well...fairy tales aren't supposed to come true and the more he read through and deciphered the book, the more likely it seemed that they were.
He managed his way to a standing position and made a last glance around the dark, cold room before he trudged his way up the stairs and made his way back into his personal rooms inside the wagon that was bigger in than out.
He had managed to pickup a few other small books relevant to this particular tale from the "Priestess" quarters in the Church of Pelor, and after blessing away any taints on them, he began as only a military tactician would. He picked up a map at a local market and started plotting points of interest and rumor. Each book only really gleamed a few bits and pieces, but amidst this heavy feeling of powerlessness and reaction, it was something.
Gods be damned, but he was tired.
As Taran threw his last fire orb at the remnants of the shimmering gray chaos liquid on the ground, watching it hiss and crackle before harmlessly evaporating, he slumped his back to a nearby wall and slid down to a sitting position.
Cleanup. Figures.
He huffs a couple of breaths in the cold air and pulls out a small cup from his hip bag, mumbling a few small words to Boccob, and watches it fill with pure clean water. "There are a few benefits to this whole divine thing", he thinks as he takes a small sip, letting the liquid roll slowly down his throat.
This might not be Dragon Slaying, but it's definitely interesting. These things, twisted by Chaos, were certainly new. And this First thing, well...fairy tales aren't supposed to come true and the more he read through and deciphered the book, the more likely it seemed that they were.
He managed his way to a standing position and made a last glance around the dark, cold room before he trudged his way up the stairs and made his way back into his personal rooms inside the wagon that was bigger in than out.
He had managed to pickup a few other small books relevant to this particular tale from the "Priestess" quarters in the Church of Pelor, and after blessing away any taints on them, he began as only a military tactician would. He picked up a map at a local market and started plotting points of interest and rumor. Each book only really gleamed a few bits and pieces, but amidst this heavy feeling of powerlessness and reaction, it was something.
Gods be damned, but he was tired.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Scene- "Three cups and a song"
Master Dulier had suffered his fill of sniveling apprentices for one day. He sought refuge in one of the many taverns that cling to the great skeleton that is the Mage's Academy. A few pints of dark ale would give his mind a rest, and this bar had the best in dark ales.
The bartender at THE TOMB AND TANKARD was a wisp of a man who's smile seemed to weigh down his whole frame. He smiled that woeful smile and greeted Dulier as he did every night.
"Another long day at the books, eh Master?"
"Peh! Another day shouting at miserable first years that could enchant a wax candle to give of light, even WITH a matchstick." Dulier harrumphed as he gestured to the wooden keg labeled in a dwarven script that roughly translated to Stout of the Night Wanderer.
The tavern was full of regular faces that nodded in repsect to the renowned teacher, as he found his way to his fireside tabel. His eyes were drawn to a group near the window as their voices all raised. A group of third years were gambling and laughing with a man Dulier had never seen before. He had a thing for remembering faces. He payed it no mind and muttered to himself about the practicality of using tuition silvers to gamble with outsiders.
By the time his third drink and second heel of bread swam comfortable in his stomach the bar had managed to filter down to but a handfull of patrons. He was about to make note of the glorious absence of the youthful noisemakers when the chair across from his found itself filled.
The outsider gave him a hollow smile as he set down his tankard.
"I've spent a bit of time asking around these parts, and believe it or not, every person I asked to recommend the finest enchanter in all the city..why they all tell me 'Find Master Dulier'. Yes, they all sang the same sweet tune. There is no doupt in my mind you are the man I am looking for. You have exactly what I need my good Master."
The quick and precise way the man talked gave Dulier pause. It had been a long time since someone had come to HIM in such a bold way. While he held a great reputation for magical enchanting in every form, from axes to armchairs, there were few that came to him for his "special practices". He use to have keywords, or special winks people would use when trying to seek the kinds of magic other mages frowned upon. It had been a while indeed.
"I understand you are skilled in many trades" The stranger continued. "Perhaps you could even write me a song? Oh I do so love ballads. Tell me, could you write me a good long song? One to float in the air. A dark song that would even make an elf cry?"
Any doubt that this man was seeking illegal enchantments had vanished at that. 'A long song' meant he wanted a weapon. 'To float on the air' must have meant an arrow. 'To make an elf cry'...Who was this man, and how did he know these things?
"You are mistaken lad. I am a teacher of the magic arts, not some court magician. You have the wrong man."
A smile broke on the mans face.
"Oh no dear Dulier. I have made sure to select just the right person for this task, and you are he. Come now. Let us have a nice intelligent talk. We are both people of intelligence after all." His voice was heavy with mockery.
"Intelligence? You? You must be joking. Let me tell you a little something about intelligence young man. I have seen into the very eye of existence. I have read enough tombs of history to fill a library the size of this bar. I have spent decades climbing to the rank of ArchMagi, and YOU want to compare intelligence with ME?" Dulier chuckled and gulped down the last drops of his stout.
"Dear master, I meant to offence. I wouldn't dream of comparing my feeble brain with the all knowing that is your arcane mind. But there is something to be said for intelligence after all. It's a precious commodity in these hard times. You are no doupt a rich man in these treasures."
He was no stranger to flattery but Duleir nodded and smiled sheepishly. He felt stupid afterwards. Perhaps it was the ale...
"My good man, I have a splendid idea! I wish to witness you intelligence first hand, if I may?" Without waiting for approval the stranger produced some items from his pocket. Three tin cups and a glass ball. He set them on the table between them, the continued. "How does this sound. You and I play a simple game of Three Cups. Three times I hide the ball. You tell me where it lies, and you win. I hide it from you, and I win. You win twice, I'll leave you alone and never speak your name to anther soul. I win and you consider writing me this song I am dying to hear."
Dulier was not a gambling man, but this fellow amused him. It HAD been a rather long and painful day of dealing with students and their follys. A little game of wits sounded so very tempting.
"Allright then, I'll play your game. You win so much as once and I'll admit that I am indeed a scribe of fine musics. You win twice and I'll even give you a splendid discount." With the spells Dulier lived his very life by this game would be a mockery.
"Very good Master! Very good!" Without skipping a beat the man places the cup on the flat wooden table, and places a tin cup over it. The other two were placed on either side of it, and thus the game began.
The cups began to shift carefully under the strangers hands. It was a simple display. One hand over the other. First left, then right. Forward, then back, then reverse. Any common welp on the street would have lost track when his speed first increased, but Master Dulier had eyes that could read ancient scripts, and look into far of planes of existence. These cups were no challenge. Abruptly the cups stopped and the man places his hands on either side. Without hesitation Dulier lifted the right cup and out rolled the glass ball. The strangers face went a little white. Dulier chuckled to himself.
"Now now young man, you still have two tries. I say, I just got lucky is all. Lets try this again. Don't hold back for an old man like me." Dulier was beside himself at the taste of these sweet taunts.
"Right then" The man said unsure and a bead of sweat dripped from his brow. He began with the cups again in the same way. Dulier watched with amusement as he attempted to trick his eye. He followed the cup ball effortlessly. Just then a cup jumped off the table at the flick of the gamblers wrist and the ball flew up into the air.
"What is thi-"
Dulier was cut off as a second cup slashed out and scooped the ball out of the air, while the third was tossed up. The two cups now on the table danced back and forth. The empty one rolled over the mans palm with a spin and the second was tipped up to reveal the ball again. The airborn cup was snatched and came crashing down on the ball followed by the other two cups stacking on top o fit. All three were now off the table being shifted around right side up with the ball jumping back and forth like a drop of water on a layer of scalding oil. A twinkle sparked in the strangers eye that distracted Dulier for a split second, but in the instant he lost focus the cups were slammed down, and the strangers hands slowly moved away.
Shocked by the display of dexterity, Dulier looked down hesitantly. He was sure he had kept the ball in sight despite the juggling, but there was a shadow of doubt in his mind. Reassuring himself he reached out.
"Your quick lad, but no mere cup can hide from me this..." The cup he raised was empty.
"Now dear master, about that song? Or would you rather play the last round before you tell me what I want to hear?" The stranger had a cold apathy in his eyes that reminded him of some jungle cat, yet his lips curled into a grin.
"Oh, we will play again" Growled Dulier "But this time the cups are mine, and it is YOUR eye that must stay keen!" He was almost barking as he snatched the cups and the tiny ball.
A look of fascination washed over the mans face.
"Now that does sound like a bit of fun good Master." He folded his arms and stared at the Duleir with that hunters gaze.
Dulier was past being made a fool by this commoner, and knew just how to set him straight.
He placed the cups down, and put the ball beneath the middle one. Moving his hands slowly and carefully, Dulier began to whisper something under his breath. The speed of his hands increased without warning. The muttering sounded like no more than breathing, but as the cups swayed and shifted the spell completed. He left the cups at rest and chuckled to himself as he pulled his hands away. He looked up and to his shock he realized the stranger had never broken this gaze. His eyes didn't even appear to be on the cups. His hand reached out and he placed his finger on the middle cup.
"This one" Said the young man without the slightest pause.
Dulier could hardly keep his laughter in. This fool had no idea that right now the ball was somewhere in the southern kingdoms, smoking from the magical teleportation.
"You sound so sure of yourself young man, but I'm afraid to say that you-"
He was cut off
"I KNOW the ball is under this cup dear Master, and I will tell you why." Never taking his finger off the cup, his other hand moved forward and grabbed the cup on its left. "I know its under this cup because it isn't under this one..." He knocked the left cup over idly revealing nothing "And it isn't under this one" he flicked over the right cup revealing no ball. "So unless my dear Master wants me to believe the ball simply vanished, it simply MUST be under this cup." He never lifted it or broke eye contact.
That night Dulier complained to himself for hours as he toiled to put the final touches on the magical arrow that could cost him his job, if ever was discovered.
"I can't believe I gave him the gloves so bloody cheap...." He harrumphed as the sun began to rise.
The bartender at THE TOMB AND TANKARD was a wisp of a man who's smile seemed to weigh down his whole frame. He smiled that woeful smile and greeted Dulier as he did every night.
"Another long day at the books, eh Master?"
"Peh! Another day shouting at miserable first years that could enchant a wax candle to give of light, even WITH a matchstick." Dulier harrumphed as he gestured to the wooden keg labeled in a dwarven script that roughly translated to Stout of the Night Wanderer.
The tavern was full of regular faces that nodded in repsect to the renowned teacher, as he found his way to his fireside tabel. His eyes were drawn to a group near the window as their voices all raised. A group of third years were gambling and laughing with a man Dulier had never seen before. He had a thing for remembering faces. He payed it no mind and muttered to himself about the practicality of using tuition silvers to gamble with outsiders.
By the time his third drink and second heel of bread swam comfortable in his stomach the bar had managed to filter down to but a handfull of patrons. He was about to make note of the glorious absence of the youthful noisemakers when the chair across from his found itself filled.
The outsider gave him a hollow smile as he set down his tankard.
"I've spent a bit of time asking around these parts, and believe it or not, every person I asked to recommend the finest enchanter in all the city..why they all tell me 'Find Master Dulier'. Yes, they all sang the same sweet tune. There is no doupt in my mind you are the man I am looking for. You have exactly what I need my good Master."
The quick and precise way the man talked gave Dulier pause. It had been a long time since someone had come to HIM in such a bold way. While he held a great reputation for magical enchanting in every form, from axes to armchairs, there were few that came to him for his "special practices". He use to have keywords, or special winks people would use when trying to seek the kinds of magic other mages frowned upon. It had been a while indeed.
"I understand you are skilled in many trades" The stranger continued. "Perhaps you could even write me a song? Oh I do so love ballads. Tell me, could you write me a good long song? One to float in the air. A dark song that would even make an elf cry?"
Any doubt that this man was seeking illegal enchantments had vanished at that. 'A long song' meant he wanted a weapon. 'To float on the air' must have meant an arrow. 'To make an elf cry'...Who was this man, and how did he know these things?
"You are mistaken lad. I am a teacher of the magic arts, not some court magician. You have the wrong man."
A smile broke on the mans face.
"Oh no dear Dulier. I have made sure to select just the right person for this task, and you are he. Come now. Let us have a nice intelligent talk. We are both people of intelligence after all." His voice was heavy with mockery.
"Intelligence? You? You must be joking. Let me tell you a little something about intelligence young man. I have seen into the very eye of existence. I have read enough tombs of history to fill a library the size of this bar. I have spent decades climbing to the rank of ArchMagi, and YOU want to compare intelligence with ME?" Dulier chuckled and gulped down the last drops of his stout.
"Dear master, I meant to offence. I wouldn't dream of comparing my feeble brain with the all knowing that is your arcane mind. But there is something to be said for intelligence after all. It's a precious commodity in these hard times. You are no doupt a rich man in these treasures."
He was no stranger to flattery but Duleir nodded and smiled sheepishly. He felt stupid afterwards. Perhaps it was the ale...
"My good man, I have a splendid idea! I wish to witness you intelligence first hand, if I may?" Without waiting for approval the stranger produced some items from his pocket. Three tin cups and a glass ball. He set them on the table between them, the continued. "How does this sound. You and I play a simple game of Three Cups. Three times I hide the ball. You tell me where it lies, and you win. I hide it from you, and I win. You win twice, I'll leave you alone and never speak your name to anther soul. I win and you consider writing me this song I am dying to hear."
Dulier was not a gambling man, but this fellow amused him. It HAD been a rather long and painful day of dealing with students and their follys. A little game of wits sounded so very tempting.
"Allright then, I'll play your game. You win so much as once and I'll admit that I am indeed a scribe of fine musics. You win twice and I'll even give you a splendid discount." With the spells Dulier lived his very life by this game would be a mockery.
"Very good Master! Very good!" Without skipping a beat the man places the cup on the flat wooden table, and places a tin cup over it. The other two were placed on either side of it, and thus the game began.
The cups began to shift carefully under the strangers hands. It was a simple display. One hand over the other. First left, then right. Forward, then back, then reverse. Any common welp on the street would have lost track when his speed first increased, but Master Dulier had eyes that could read ancient scripts, and look into far of planes of existence. These cups were no challenge. Abruptly the cups stopped and the man places his hands on either side. Without hesitation Dulier lifted the right cup and out rolled the glass ball. The strangers face went a little white. Dulier chuckled to himself.
"Now now young man, you still have two tries. I say, I just got lucky is all. Lets try this again. Don't hold back for an old man like me." Dulier was beside himself at the taste of these sweet taunts.
"Right then" The man said unsure and a bead of sweat dripped from his brow. He began with the cups again in the same way. Dulier watched with amusement as he attempted to trick his eye. He followed the cup ball effortlessly. Just then a cup jumped off the table at the flick of the gamblers wrist and the ball flew up into the air.
"What is thi-"
Dulier was cut off as a second cup slashed out and scooped the ball out of the air, while the third was tossed up. The two cups now on the table danced back and forth. The empty one rolled over the mans palm with a spin and the second was tipped up to reveal the ball again. The airborn cup was snatched and came crashing down on the ball followed by the other two cups stacking on top o fit. All three were now off the table being shifted around right side up with the ball jumping back and forth like a drop of water on a layer of scalding oil. A twinkle sparked in the strangers eye that distracted Dulier for a split second, but in the instant he lost focus the cups were slammed down, and the strangers hands slowly moved away.
Shocked by the display of dexterity, Dulier looked down hesitantly. He was sure he had kept the ball in sight despite the juggling, but there was a shadow of doubt in his mind. Reassuring himself he reached out.
"Your quick lad, but no mere cup can hide from me this..." The cup he raised was empty.
"Now dear master, about that song? Or would you rather play the last round before you tell me what I want to hear?" The stranger had a cold apathy in his eyes that reminded him of some jungle cat, yet his lips curled into a grin.
"Oh, we will play again" Growled Dulier "But this time the cups are mine, and it is YOUR eye that must stay keen!" He was almost barking as he snatched the cups and the tiny ball.
A look of fascination washed over the mans face.
"Now that does sound like a bit of fun good Master." He folded his arms and stared at the Duleir with that hunters gaze.
Dulier was past being made a fool by this commoner, and knew just how to set him straight.
He placed the cups down, and put the ball beneath the middle one. Moving his hands slowly and carefully, Dulier began to whisper something under his breath. The speed of his hands increased without warning. The muttering sounded like no more than breathing, but as the cups swayed and shifted the spell completed. He left the cups at rest and chuckled to himself as he pulled his hands away. He looked up and to his shock he realized the stranger had never broken this gaze. His eyes didn't even appear to be on the cups. His hand reached out and he placed his finger on the middle cup.
"This one" Said the young man without the slightest pause.
Dulier could hardly keep his laughter in. This fool had no idea that right now the ball was somewhere in the southern kingdoms, smoking from the magical teleportation.
"You sound so sure of yourself young man, but I'm afraid to say that you-"
He was cut off
"I KNOW the ball is under this cup dear Master, and I will tell you why." Never taking his finger off the cup, his other hand moved forward and grabbed the cup on its left. "I know its under this cup because it isn't under this one..." He knocked the left cup over idly revealing nothing "And it isn't under this one" he flicked over the right cup revealing no ball. "So unless my dear Master wants me to believe the ball simply vanished, it simply MUST be under this cup." He never lifted it or broke eye contact.
That night Dulier complained to himself for hours as he toiled to put the final touches on the magical arrow that could cost him his job, if ever was discovered.
"I can't believe I gave him the gloves so bloody cheap...." He harrumphed as the sun began to rise.
Journal Entry 2- Anteel
The captain told the crew to get below deck so the wind and waves wouldn't put any lives at risk. The sails were tied down, the mast locked, and hatches bared. Everyone was safer in the ships womb. Yet one foolish man, one who often turns a deaf ear to authority and safety remained up top.
Anteel was balanced barefoot amid-ship being pummeled by heavy rain and tearing winds. His arms and legs bound in tight wool. The two swords in his hands were also wrapped in thick heavy layers of wool and burlap. The wet fabric pulling each down with extra pounds of weight. His friends sought guidance in their books. They looked to history. They looked to their spells. They looked to tradition, and they looked to their gods. He looked simply to the sea, and to his blades. Through them he found himself, and through him they moved with a dark beauty. In chaos he danced.
Anteel- Journal Entry Two
The sea. It seems I may have found a new friend in this endless blue world. All this time I have been running, hiding, and lying from city to city, to avoid those that choose to pursue me. All this time there has been a whole new world for me to take refuge in. A world of wood and waves. Out here I am still Anteel. Out here there are no laws or judgments to hold me higher and lower than any other man. Out here we all simply survive and try not to fall in. I feel very at peace in this knowledge.
Perhaps its just the water itself that gives me this feeling of safety. When it is calm and smooth as glass, It is like I can see forever. When it is angry and tearing with turmoil I can do not but stare in awe at its terrible dance. Looking at it I can feel it entering me. I am the water. I will be calm and reflective. Without warning I will enter my dance of death, unpredictable and terrible. I will dance like water. I will perfect this, and strive to learn the true steps to the song my blades sing.
Anteel was balanced barefoot amid-ship being pummeled by heavy rain and tearing winds. His arms and legs bound in tight wool. The two swords in his hands were also wrapped in thick heavy layers of wool and burlap. The wet fabric pulling each down with extra pounds of weight. His friends sought guidance in their books. They looked to history. They looked to their spells. They looked to tradition, and they looked to their gods. He looked simply to the sea, and to his blades. Through them he found himself, and through him they moved with a dark beauty. In chaos he danced.
Anteel- Journal Entry Two
The sea. It seems I may have found a new friend in this endless blue world. All this time I have been running, hiding, and lying from city to city, to avoid those that choose to pursue me. All this time there has been a whole new world for me to take refuge in. A world of wood and waves. Out here I am still Anteel. Out here there are no laws or judgments to hold me higher and lower than any other man. Out here we all simply survive and try not to fall in. I feel very at peace in this knowledge.
Perhaps its just the water itself that gives me this feeling of safety. When it is calm and smooth as glass, It is like I can see forever. When it is angry and tearing with turmoil I can do not but stare in awe at its terrible dance. Looking at it I can feel it entering me. I am the water. I will be calm and reflective. Without warning I will enter my dance of death, unpredictable and terrible. I will dance like water. I will perfect this, and strive to learn the true steps to the song my blades sing.
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