New OOTS products from CafePress
New OOTS t-shirts, ornaments, mugs, bags, and more
Page 26 of 37 FirstFirst ... 161718192021222324252627282930313233343536 ... LastLast
Results 751 to 780 of 1102
  1. - Top - End - #751
    Troll in the Playground
     
    mystic1110's Avatar

    Join Date
    Dec 2010
    Location
    New York, New York
    Gender
    Female

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Two generations ago

    [INDENT]The pup was born to a princess. She loved her majesty. Her lady was young, beautiful, and conniving. Despite the false curtsies and lies, her ladies conviction was strong - she meant to rule - and the hound knew. The Hound herself was called the Bitch of the Red Wizard, for she was sired by the Red Hound of War who served the Dark Wizard. The Bitch was not cherished in court, nor was her advice ever taken. They feared her, for her lineage, for her speech, for they considered her an unholy abomination, all but her lady. The princess argued against her father to spare the Bitches' life, and from then on she served the little princess.

    [INDENT]The princess ordered her to spy, and so she spied. Most people in the castle did not care for the dog, but as long as she kept her jaws shut, she was just another dog to them. The princess tied pink bows on her, and most could not even confuse her for the Red Hound's brood. And what people would say in the presence of dogs! The princess through her manipulations became the king's mistress, and further down the passage of history his queen and finally the Queen. For who thinks a dog could deliver poison to a man?

    [INDENT]One day however her mistress became bedridden, and she called to the Bitch and asked her to save her. There was no doubt, no fear, it was a command. And so she left the castle.

    [INDENT]A year went by, when she overheard rumors of a magic fountain, the waters of which could cure any being... even bring people back from the dead. It was called the Tears of Armanth. And so she journeyed to the fountain.

    [INDENT]The journey was harrowing to say the least. Marauding ghouls, treacherous mountain paths, venomous plants, deadly mistrusting locals. Yet when she reached the fountain, it was worth it. It was beautiful. It was hidden beyond a cavern, and the water flowed up from the ground to a shimmering pool of water floating on the ceiling of the cave. She felt the ancestral call and found bones on the floor of the cavern - her sire - the Red Dog. His left hind bone was broken, it had seemed he had simply succumbed to a grievous injury.... shame filled her, for he failed his master when he was so close, yet she eyed his collar - the word "Saluko" engraved on it, and she clumsily placed it on her neck. It was good not to be the Bitch anymore. She lapped up the water, yet did not swallow, and then ran back to her mistress. When she arrived she nuzzled her mistress' dying lips and let the water pour into her. Her mistress was saved - no one can doubt the loyalty of "Saluko," her families name was restored in her mind.

    [INDENT]Years past - she sired a son and gave him the collar - she was content to be the Bitch again, but by now she was the Queen's loyal Hound. Not every hound perished in the service of their master, her's was to be a peaceful life with her mistress.

    [INDENT]They died in bed together from what Saluko remembers. Pride comes in many forms - his mother died loyal - it made no difference that she didn't die in action.

  2. - Top - End - #752
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    AntiMatter101's Avatar

    Join Date
    Jun 2011
    Location
    Illinois
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Frellon’s path lay south. He knew that. Regardless of anything else, he must find the Titans, and they had gone south. It was just chance that the tracks of these murderers went south as well. So when the tracks veered east after two days, Frellon was faced with a choice. He could follow the tracks, and deliver justice upon those who would slaughter civilians, or continue south, find the Titans and deliver justice to those who slaughtered HIS civilians…

    Frellon turned his path east. After all, the Titans had had 50 years to hide from him, a few more days would not make it any more difficult to locate them.

    The trail grew fresher as the days went by. This was obviously a war-party of some sort, a large one. He had seen the type in the past. Often enough he had been forced to defend his people from such as these. Challenging them all to single combat never worked, around 4 duels in they cheated and all attacked at once anyway. Not that it helped them. This time though, Frellon had a different plan for them, each night he took out his bow. Keeping it limber was relaxing, and was important if he wanted it to last, which he did. This bow was a gift from his brother Haramholt, and as such he would treasure it.

    All too soon the chase ended, and Frellon caught sight of his prey.

    The orcs were armed to the teeth. They had crude shortbows, which they apparently kept strung, and some nasty looking spears with heads that must have been crafted by someone with exceptional skill for an orc. Frellon’s first arrow caught their warchief in the shoulder of his thick, leather armor. The massive orc grunted once in surprise, then roared a command to his troops.

    Frellon did not fire again until the first volley arced in his direction, many of their arrows fell short, as he had picked his place well, upon a small hill. He remained where he was, firing arrow after arrow, each one finding it’s intended mark, even as he ducked and weaved the growing storm of volleys.

    By the time the orc spearmen had climbed his hill, the volleys had stopped. He had killed all of the archers. Drawing his sword, he met them with a cry of vengeance, cutting the first down with such strength that the two halves of the body sent those behind him tumbling back down the hill.

    Then they were all around him, stabbing in at him, trying their utmost to pierce his defenses. Frellon was weaned on such odds. The pile of bodies around him began to grow too thick for proper footing. Then the chieftain was on him, and Frellon smiled a vicious smile. For the first time, he let these orcs behold his divinity, a golden aura flickered about his form and the battle stopped in its tracks. The orcs fell silent with fear.

    Frellon did not stop, however. With a simple flick, the Chieftan’s weapon was separated from him, and Frellon grabbed the orc by the throat from his mound of bodies.

    The orc was sweating and struggling in his unyielding grip. Frellon brought their faces close together, and spoke perfect orcish.

    “You are the one responsible for the atrocity I beheld. Before you go to your afterlife I want something made very, very clear. Wars are meant for warriors, and Warriors alone. You ordered civilians slaughtered.”

    The orc sputtered, but Frellon’s grip prevented him from forming words. He didn’t need a reply, Frellon could see the truth reflected in the eyes.

    “I am the Lord of Arms, the god of Honor; I judge that you have misused your position as leader. You deserve a worse death, yet I will honor you with the sword.”

    With his other hand, Frellon slid the Sword of Hero’s easily through the chieftains armor.

    “It is enough that you will never do so again.”

    So saying, he turned the sword inside the orc’s chest and cut sideways, severing the spinal cord and slicing the heart in two. The sword was glowing with the golden fire that seemed so characteristic of it nowadays, and the flesh of the orc blackened where the sword touched. He tossed the body of the chief onto the pile of corpses below him and looked around.

    The two dozen remaining orcs were running for their lives. He let them go. They were only a small fraction of what was before, and their clan still needed warriors for its own defense.

    He spent the rest of the afternoon retrieving arrows from the fallen, and gathering new ones from some of the better endowed archers. He did not sleep that night, he kept marching instead, he had a lot of ground to make up for.
    Avatar by Vrythas

  3. - Top - End - #753
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    TheDarkDM's Avatar

    Join Date
    Apr 2008
    Location
    Los Angeles
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    The Point of no Return?

    As Dasque wound north along the coast, she began to feel more than heard a rhythmic beat, as though a great heart was lurking just beneath the surface. But no heart could beat so regularly, or with such a staccato drive, and try as she might Dasque could discern no clear source of the sound. As she continued Dasque began to recognize the sound, began to feel the stirrings of memory, of duels in the Steel Cathedral, and the mighty anvils that forged the first weapons of the gods. Yet even the mightiest forge of the White City could never have produced such a clamor.

    The beach turned rocky, and now Dasque's every step was accompanied by the shriek of hot iron, the clash of the hammer. Ashen plains stretched from the sea beyond her divine sight, and looming before her was the source of the sound, the bristling wall of fire and rock that was the continent's volcanic north. Countless peaks belched cinder and soot miles high, wrapping the area in a sickly fume the sun struggled to penetrate. But Dasque was goddess of light, untroubled by the failings of the sun, and so continued on .

    Eventually, the first of the great volcanoes blocked the rest from her view. More than five miles high, its broad base was covered the jagged shards of old eruptions, granite and onyx forming a razor garden of black and slate-grey. The anvil beat was deafening here, so close to its source, and even as she watched Dasque saw a slab of old rock slide away in the vibrations. To ascend the mount and peer through the clouded apex of the mount seemed like madness, but it seemed a necessity before Dasque noticed a glow struggling to escape the volcano's side. Circling around, she saw a narrow crag awash in the color of flame - perhaps a way into the mountain's heart.

    A Helping Hand?

    As Jongo surveyed the abandoned camp of hir children, he began to hear a soft chuckle reverberating through the coral. The Band of Chaos jingled in alarm, and the chuckle came again, this time from just behind Jongo's shoulder. As she turned to face his unseen visitor, Jongo saw an incongruously dressed...thing, taking its ease against a coral wall. It was lanky, and tall, and dressed in a finery beyond any people of the disk, blue and silver silks woven subtly into an ensemble that gave the impression of a borealis viewed from beneath the waves, ever changing. It's skin was the sleek grey of a shark, but the most striking thing was its mask, covering the upper half of its face with cunningly worked silver.

    "Good day, lord of chaos, if daylight does still reign. It seems you've lost a score of pets, and caused yourself great pain. So strange it is to see a god of such great power bested, but I suppose 'tis but a sign that you are sorely tested. So answer me, oh childish lord, if you'll allow my prying - how will you save your children from most tortuously dying?"
    Last edited by TheDarkDM; 2012-09-12 at 02:00 AM.

    I was old when the pharaohs first mounted
    The jewel-decked throne by the Nile;
    I was old in those epochs uncounted
    When I, and I only, was vile;

    Spoiler
    Show
    Quote Originally Posted by apocalypsePast2 View Post
    ...one could possibly refer to you guys' elaborate dance of allies-to-enemies-to-suicide-of-the-universe as some sort of weird art form.

    If one were on drugs.
    Quote Originally Posted by VonDoom View Post
    Behold, the mighty slayer of strangely coloured mutant equines! The thwarter of forum woes! The! Dark! DM!

  4. - Top - End - #754
    Ettin in the Playground
    Join Date
    Jun 2010
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Death and the Digger

    The day's death was near, streams of yellow and gold breaking out upon the shading sky. The blazing sun's energy had been spent for the day, and it left to rest, slowly moving behind the mountains where somewhere lay its plush cotton blankets and pillows, until it rose to greet the dawn the next day. Dusty wind rolled by, and a man sat beneath an old, gnarled tree, offering him shade as he watched the sunset. He was firmly planted on a well-used stool, and as the shadows of the tombs grew ever longer, he began to lightly play an old, dark wood flute to himself. His melody was a somber one, reminiscent of times past and the life they carried, an even mixture of beauty and sadness, and like death, eventually coming to an end. As the singing wind stopped resonating through the air, his eyes looked to the horizon, as the sun had fully set and the entire world was split evenly between light and darkness. The man, who when standing could visibly be seen with a hunch protruding from his back, looked upon the beautiful sky. It was lit with bright splotches of orange hanging upon a purple and blue background, offset by black mountains far in the distance. And in this brief moment of bliss, the world was touched by the boundaries of the true twilight, where neither darkness nor light is the superior. There, spirits rose from their graves and danced in the dusk, slowly rising, blurring, and transforming into beings more reminiscent of birds and angels. However, from the reaches of the forest he saw the most of these spirits rise into the sky, allowing themselves to bathe and fade into the twilight; these were the spirits of Nature, both those animals and plants that had recently passed or simply needed an escape from the real world faded into the twilight, staying and returning respectively. Jethro saw all of this, and was at peace, for he knew that one day even he would come to that in-between world, merging with all of Nature and her beautiful process. He wasn't the Shaman of his village for nothing. He turned to look back at his home, his small cabin outlying at the forest edge. Near his home lay others, all a part of his world, and all equally important. He was their spirit guide, the one to commence their rituals of death, for theirs was a special one. It has been passed down to he and the Shaman before him that there are two worlds of death, one of hush and quiet, and another of eternal twilight. The land of eternal twilight lay upon the great borders of a cosmic wheel, stretching out into infinity. Within this infinity, Nature was a pure thing, and they would forever remain tied to it, for they were a people who revered Nature, taking only what they needed and making waste of nothing. To be tied to Nature and her inner working for all time... nothing greater could be wanted.

    And today, Jethro would be brought there rather abruptly, as suddenly the roiling of a storm could be heard overhead, and yet no clouds were in sight. Jethro found himself rising above the ground, high into the air, clutched by some creature of sorts. He looked up, and was being carried along the wings of a mighty and terrible black bird, with blue arcs of thunder and lightning bouncing from him. His feathers shone like starlight, and was nearly as black as night lit by a full moon. Rather disturbed by this sighting, and never actually having come in contact with a creature of the Twilight before, he tried to struggle and free himself from the mighty spirit's grasp. It was then that it spoke.

    "Creature of Man: do not struggle, for I am taking you on a journey."

    He was shocked all the more, but slightly more on the coherent side seeing that it had intelligence.

    "Who... what are you? Where are you taking me?"

    "Ha! Your people revere me as a guardian, and yet you do not recognize me? Man Creature, I am the spirit of a totem, I am the Thunderbird!" The great spirit cried, splitting the sky with lightning.

    "As to where I am taking you..."

    The mighty spirit hesitated, the light and dark of twilight unfading, falling further to the world of the betwixt and between.

    "...I am taking you to My world, a word which borders upon all others, overlapping, but never truly a part. Its power can be seen by all others at special times. Some always, some only partially. You saw it as you played your flute, and are seeing it now. I am bringing you, to Twilight."

    The man didn't mishear the great spirit, he was going to the Twilight. But... did this mean he had died? He couldn't be- and his thoughts were interrupted as the mighty being began to chuckle.

    "Do not fret, young one. You are still alive, and yet you will be walking to the lands of the Dead. Ironic, I know, but I have not the time to explain why, you must simply do what I tell you to."


    Immediately, its midnight wings flapped fervently, hovering itself in place.

    "Raise your shovel, young one, then swing it with all your might!"

    Jethro looked to his hand, where lo and behold, his shovel had remained. He must have clung to it tightly, but forgot it was there due to, well, sudden changes in scenery. He grabbed the shovel with both hands, and rose it to the air. Blue crackles of lightning struck its head, conducting through himself. Oddly, it did not hurt, but rather empowered him with the strength and speed of the storm. He swung, and suddenly found himself rushing with all haste akin to a wolf on the hunt towards the ground, faster than he could recognize. All he knew was suddenly he was in its claws, exploded, and found himself on slightly charred earth.

    ...was I... ...was I a lightning bolt?

    A final loud cry could be heard upon the sky, as the great Thunderbird flew above.

    "Go, Child of Man! Go, and meet your destiny!"

    The storm passed by, and the mighty Thunderbird moved on, leaving him in the Twilight. There was no single word which could sum up the whole of the Twilight's beauty. It was a realm of blur and motion, one of scintillating colors and black clouds. Here, all was spirit, save for the single corporeal thing which now existed as both spirit and body in this world.

    He rose from the ground, sore and worn muscles clenching and moving within a bent back, old, but strong muscles.

    "And yet I'm still a child... figures."

    His shovel was impaled into the ground, crackling slightly with lightning. Not hesitating, he grabbed the shovel, lifting the spade from this earth which wasn't earth, but at the same time was. He carried it in his hands, moving forward to whatever destiny he had been abruptly set upon.

    Oh how little did he know...
    Last edited by TechnOkami; 2012-09-14 at 03:45 AM.
    I've started streaming again.


    78% of DM's started their first campaign in a tavern. If you're one of the 22% that didn't, copy and paste this into your signature.

    I started my first campaign outside of an abandoned mine, just as soon as a meteor storm from the moon hits.

  5. - Top - End - #755
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Gengy's Avatar

    Join Date
    Aug 2005
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Quote Originally Posted by TheDarkDM View Post
    A Helping Hand?

    As Jongo surveyed the abandoned camp of hir children, he began to hear a soft chuckle reverberating through the coral. The Band of Chaos jingled in alarm, and the chuckle came again, this time from just behind Jongo's shoulder. As she turned to face his unseen visitor, Jongo saw an incongruously dressed...thing, taking its ease against a coral wall. It was lanky, and tall, and dressed in a finery beyond any people of the disk, blue and silver silks woven subtly into an ensemble that gave the impression of a borealis viewed from beneath the waves, ever changing. It's skin was the sleek grey of a shark, but the most striking thing was its mask, covering the upper half of its face with cunningly worked silver.

    "Good day, lord of chaos, if daylight does still reign. It seems you've lost a score of pets, and caused yourself great pain. So strange it is to see a god of such great power bested, but I suppose 'tis but a sign that you are sorely tested. So answer me, oh childish lord, if you'll allow my prying - how will you save your children from most tortuously dying?"
    Seeing the stranger at first, Jongo's emotions ran a bit wild. Finally, something to hit! Something to blame! But no. No, this stranger has information, and they are talking in a delightful manner.

    Jongo sighed, gathered his dragon-form underneath herself, coiling again and again, to make things more comfortable in the cave, and then spoke slowly, and with great care.

    "I thought I had finishing rhyming for the day.
    But standing before me is something truly fey.
    What style, what class, what panache!
    And this mode of speech has stopped me from doing something rash.

    Strange one, Jongo I am, and Jongo I shall always be,
    But today, right now... Jongo is also quite angry.
    So you tell me my children are dying,
    And I hope, for your sake, that you wouldn't consider lying.

    So in this vein of truth, answer questions three:
    What is the name of the one who talks so freely?
    What do you know of the Jongoscion's disappearance?
    And are you here to help, or here to run interference?"
    Spoiler
    Show
    BladeofObliviom said:
    I've only seen a character at anything resembling this level of absurdity thrive exactly once, and he/she/what-the-jongo had the advantage of being written by Gengy, who I look up to as a writer.

    "What-the-Jongo?"
    Before you insult someone, walk a mile in their shoes.
    That way, you'll be a mile away, and have their shoes!

    Got me a Real Job™ (yay!). Still busy (boo!).
    ~avatar by myself

  6. - Top - End - #756
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    The Succubus's Avatar

    Join Date
    Sep 2008
    Location
    UK
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    The First Torment

    There are no words to describe the suffering Khalen-Het experienced after he entered the First Torment. Perhaps if one were to show the nature of the realm he had entered, some inkling might be gleaned.

    No-one, not even the Lord of The Nightmare Realm, knows where the Torment Engine came from or how it was created. Time passes differently in that hellish place and it is possible that the Engine will be created in the far future and echoes of it carry backwards in time. It is comprised of three great rings, which spin and turn around a sphere of purest Void. Each ring is dedicated to a Torment and the largest of them, the First Torment, encompasses physical suffering in all its myriad and terrible forms.

    From an outside observer, the First Torment is a ring of rusted iron, piled highly with scrap metal, twisted wires and heavy iron blocks. The entrance is “guarded” for want of a better term, by a fallen prince cast down by Khalen-Het shortly before his own fall. Whenever a soul is damned to the First Torment, the fallen prince is torn apart, his still living flesh forming the entrance to the Labyrinth below.

    For that is the cruellest of all of the First Torment’s tortures – that which is cast into it can never die or be permanently maimed. Flesh, both ethereal and living, that is sliced or torn by the implements of the Torment regenerates and repairs shortly afterward. Yet this process is not the Blessed Art of the Fayheran, done with tenderness and with soothing oils and anasthestia. This is purely a mechanical process, whose sole purpose is to ensure that the flesh does not become numb to the next atrocity to be inflicted on it.

    Khalen-Het learned much of the nature of physical discomfort as he made his way deeper into the Labyrinth, being variously goaded by burning iron or dragged along by chains and wire. There is so much more than mere pain. With each injury came the repair of the flesh shortly afterward and with it the maddening itch of the body knitting itself back together. Any person that has suffered a broken bone or a deep wound will know of that horrible, burning itch as the body heals itself. Such did Khalen-Het experience over and over, almost to the point where fresh injury would be a relief.

    The Labyrinth was not a static thing but ever moving and shifting, its metal burning hot to scour the skin or so cold as to freeze flesh to its surfaces. To Khalen-Het, it began to feel as though he had never known anything aside from pain and anguish; an eternity in which he forgot his family, his desert tower, his golems, everything.

    At last, after the end of time itself, he found himself, crawling on his hands and knees, in a large circular chamber. Another of the Nightmare Princes, its face contorted in a hideous rictus of pain and laughter turned to glare at him. Its eyes lit up with the same blue glow that Khalen-Het had seen years and centuries ago.

    THE FIRST TORMENT IS COMPLETE. YOU STAND AT THE THRESHOLD OF THE SECOND TORMENT. THE LORD OF THIS REALM AWAITS IN THE FOURTH TORMENT.

    The floor opened like the iris of some colossal eye and Khalen-Het found himself staring into a swirling blue vortex. It sizzled and crackled, like a whirlpool of thunder and lightning. For the final time, the rusted chain that had seized and carried him into this realm wrapped around his neck and flung him into the abyss. As he fell, he heard the manic laughter of the Nightmare Prince behind him.

  7. - Top - End - #757
    Ettin in the Playground
    Join Date
    Sep 2008
    Location
    Imladris
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    What you must understand is that it hurt. In a way, she was wounded to death in the maze of glass; it might have been better if she had been stabbed through the gut and slain by the jealous spirit that claimed it. Shyreza knew, when she was focused upon a task, that being so dramatic was foolish, but in the dark just before dawn, as she sat before the tent, it was hard not to turn her thoughts down such dark paths.

    The horrible joke was that she was Gamesha Tekeza. At least, she half-hoped she was like him, for he had grown since the battle where they had died - in a matter of speaking. He was capable of confident strength and some measure of Saven's gentleness, and his muscles glowed in the forge's light when the three went traveling. Traveling - that was a thing that they had not done enough, ever since the battle. Only twice, and both times, they had all felt worried for Fayruz, and their journeys through the villages of the Fayheran had ended before their time, as they came back to the Olm in fear that Fayruz had sealed her tent or fallen into deeper despair.

    (Some whisper that if Fayruz ever sewed the entrance of her tent shut, then the sun would fail to rise in the mornings until she was coaxed out again.)

    But this was the joke, you see, this was the horrible joke: both of them, even as she'd hated him when she met him, had been saved by Fayruz, had been treated with mercy and with kindness, and had fallen in love with her. It wasn't her fault! Who wouldn't? Fayruz cared, Fayruz gave of herself, Fayruz was beautiful and her voice was wonderful to hear, and they both had realized that they never wanted to leave her side.

    But Gamesha was scarred and his boyish face was marred, and a barbarian's spear had ruined his thigh, as they said. And Shyreza, she was scarred, too. Her new eye was beautiful on its own, but the scar from her first loss still marred the side of her face, and who would love an ageless maiden with a dark eye and an eye of brightest blue, Fayruz most of all?

    It was then that Shyreza turned her head, and looked out across the desert in the glow before dawn, in the soothing not-light and the cold wind, and she saw the storm with one eye, a dark eye. With her other, she saw what came swiftly at its heart.

    For a moment, she was torn between her desire to get help and her desire to stay by Fayruz's side, no matter the cost, but reason won out - at the speed it was coming across the sand, she would have just enough time to awaken Gamesha and Saven. Shyreza silently thanked whichever of Fayruz's siblings wove the loom that held the destiny of all men as she ran, that she had seen and that her companions slept so close.

    The only problem, of course, was one that she realized only as she shook Gamesha awake. His sin had indeed come.

    ***

    That was a lovely dream.

    At least, compared to the ones she'd had before she'd left the Olm. Those were filled with shadows, mists and... other things. But climbing again? She could endure that. She had endured that, while trying to get to the Phoenix's nest.

    Fayruz rose silently, discarding the pale silk sash that she had worn about her shoulders. She preferred heavier clothing, but she'd left her fool's robes by the Riverfane. But, then again, she was Sonata's twin, she reasoned...

    A few moments after dawn, Fayruz was running a simple wooden comb through her hair, dressed in the colorful robes that her twin had preferred while living like one of the Fayheran. Green and blue were perfect colors for Sonata, even though Fayruz deserved simple white. She almost looked like one of the fine maidens of the Fayheran, even. But she'd return to her normal robes once she left to go to the Riverfane-

    At that moment, a young woman wearing leather-and-copper armor burst into the tent, wide-eyed. Her spear had been discarded, but a sling and a long sliver of glass still hung by her side. "Fayruz," she gasped, before clumsily falling into a kneeling bow. "My lady, please, the Heroes need- there's a, a great big, it's like the sea came to us, they need you and, and..."

    Fayruz, concerned, touched her shoulder. "At ease," she said, soothingly, and the sentry relaxed, breathing more easily. She moved on by, without a word to Sonata, and moved as quickly as possible to the edge of the Olm, to the small painted walls that were being built by the stonemasons of the Forgesquare, which would run around the Olm's border.

    And what she saw was this: a vast dragon, serpentine and stretched out before the Olm, by the farms of the Hallar. And her three beloved servants standing on the gate, with other members of the Council of the Olm coming down from the second wall to join them.

    And Gamesha challenging it. Oh, dear.

    Fayruz began making her way down to the gate, as quickly as possible.
    freedom in the flame

    Spoiler
    Show
    Quote Originally Posted by PhoeKun View Post
    Raz, you scoundrel! You planned this!
    Quote Originally Posted by BladeofObliviom View Post
    Great, and now I'm imagining what Raz's profile on a dating site would look like. "Must be okay with veils."
    Quote Originally Posted by Kasanip View Post
    I don't think there is such a time to have veils that it is not the fault of Raz_Fox.
    Quote Originally Posted by Dervag View Post
    It's a freaking Romulan dump truck. The Romulans are no more likely to build an unarmed warp-capable ship than they are to become a hippy commune.

  8. - Top - End - #758
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Gengy's Avatar

    Join Date
    Aug 2005
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    The Jongoborn Spread
    Written on caves within the Sea of Jongo by Gene, first Gwenie

    After Creator-Father-Mother had taught us enough, and deemed us ready, and after the many blessings we received from life, water, air, and others, many Jongoborn chose to attempt the difficult task of walking upon land.

    First to succeed was Roe, also know as the Quick. Roe traveled south, towards the fox-friends, and there walked upon the land that Creator-Father-Mother called the Valley of Gozan.

    Roe changed into a Fox, and has not been seen for some time.

    Second upon land was Samm the Stout. Large of frame, and a perfect defender of our people, Samm swam Northeast, to the lands of Markien, to seek out Creator-Father-Mother's brother, the noble Grassblade.

    Samm has sent back messages that marvel most, with tales of huts made of giant stones and Dorphs beyond counting.

    Third to leave, and to the most sadness of us all, was Dors, He Who Can Change. It is said that Dors was given a task by Creator-Father-Mother to find one of Creator-Father-Mother's siblings, the one known as Porcupine. Creator-Father-Mother sent Dors in the direction towards the land known as the Skrayling Marsh, with instructions to find the rest point known as Hastings.

    With Dors went several others, but they would leave him before he reached the Marsh-land. Given another task to seek out The Olm, and the Flower goddess, the best known from this group was Charlie the Chattering, gifted with unusual verbosity and ability to perfectly mimic tones and voices beyond even the regular Jongoghet.

    Erin, a skilled Gwenie, went to seek out the one known as Duckie. The waves carry her tales back to us, and she is learning many things about magic, she says.

    Rione the Friendly decided to go to Salus, to meet with Creator-Father-Mother's niece, Amanda-dear. Creator-Father-Mother constantly speaks of her and her shiny chest friend, to the point that Rione just decided to leave and see Amanda-dear.

    Those six names shall live now in these waters, carved in these caves for all time. May they Live Fully, and Find an Answer.

    -----------------------------------------------------------

    Lors
    A journal excerpt

    They call me The Unusual Shaman now. I used to just be the strange kid. Everyone liked me, mostly. But then, I kept out of everyone's way. It was the smarter thing to do.

    After all, I'm pretty much the only one to see The Colors like I do.

    I've tried to explain to many people what it is that I see. A shifting, never ending stream of the rainbow, each pointing to something important. Each a different aspect of something. But no one understands or believes me. Even my teacher, Old Man Thymm, did not believe me. He tried to teach me how to do things his way, but I always had to fake it.

    Which, I admit, was kinda fun. Hiding what I could do from him, I mean.

    I saw the Colors, and worked the Ways, and he thought I was doing Shaman things. I wasn't. It was just more Colors.

    The Flower Goddess - and I'm the only one to call Fayruz that - is bathed in whites and pinks, and the other colors dance around her and... I know her name is Sonata, but every time I see her, even from a distance, my mind just calls her Iris. Iris is otherwise infused with a light blue, the color of the rain. It drips around her, like a gentle mist.

    I can always tell where they are at all time, just by looking.

    I've tried to get in and speak with them, in person, but The Flower Goddess has always been busy with healing people and helping them. She tries to see everyone. And I do mean everyone. I guess there just hasn't been anything pressing that has made me want to go hug see her.

    And something happened to Iris that made her light just... disappear for a while. It's back, but it was just... gone.

    I didn't know the Colors could do that. Disappear like that. I haven't seen it happen again - not to Iris or Flower - so I think it's a Goddess thing.

    There are quite a few things that are... Goddess things.

    Things I can't explain.

    Things that I've tried to look at, while I wandered the Olm. But I've never been able to explain them.

    So I just dealt with them as best I could.

    My previous entry in this journal details it better, but as I write this, I'm reminded of the Sand Bats that descended on the Olm one year. They came in the night. No one saw them. No one else knew they were coming. And it was a large flock, sure to be able to do damage to the city and the people here. But I saw their inky blackness. The Colors warned me of their approach.

    I tried to tell mighty Gamesha, but getting in to see him is almost as hard as getting in to see Flower Goddess. She's only more difficult because of all the supplicants who want to see her AND Gamesha blocking the way. Regardless, Gamesha still barely even knows I exist. He didn't feel that my Shaman status -- if that's what I have to be called -- warranted enough to bother him when he was busy dealing with whatever emergency had popped up that day.

    I don't even remember what it was, but it must have been important. I left him to it. I had to deal with the Sand Bats myself. No one else would believe me that they were already in the city, hiding in Old Man Thymm's old home. It's lucky he passed away the week before, Flower Goddess rest his soul. He would have been the first victim otherwise. Him or whoever moved into his house. Well, my house now. I moved in after dealing with the Sand Bats.

    It seemed appropriate.

    I've dealt with other things, now that I think of it. There were the River Baracuda -- no one believed the spirit of the Olm would allow them in her waters -- which had been eating goats, and the Colors showed that that swam in the water like moving Blood Red dots. Three weeks of fishing, non-stop, and they were finally gone. I still feel bad for the goats.

    The Strange Ravens. I still don't know what they were. Just a flock of weird black birds. But they glowed with an icy black. Still, capture them in a net, and they made for good eating. Much better tasting then the Baracuda.

    Oh. And the Shadow. I still need to deal with that thing. It shows up occasionally, but as soon as I see it, it just disappears. Gone from my sight, like Iris was. It hasn't done anything -- yet -- but it feels wrong. It's not really black, but it's not grey either. It's like there was a Color that was in a dark room, and cast a shadow onto the floor of the room. That's what it feels like, at least. So, the Shadow is what I call it.

    I've tried -- several times -- to tell guards about it. As a boy, they wouldn't listen to me because I was too young. As a man of nearly 58 years old, they just see me as... Unusual. Another weird Shaman. Every guard seems to know me by sight now, and while it's nice that they nod and listen, no one seems to pay attention.

    They can't see what I see.

    That's fine. I know it's there.

    So I'll keep doing what I can, and protect the Olm in my own way. Maybe one of these days, they'll treat me seriously.

    And maybe one of these days, I'll figure out why I can see the Colors.

    And why, every time I see the Flower Goddess, I want to rush up and hug her.

    I have to stop writing now. I see a very large color at the front gate. It's a mix of deep blues and primal sky colors. I better go see what it is.

    If the guards will even let me past.
    Last edited by Gengy; 2012-09-12 at 10:09 PM.
    Spoiler
    Show
    BladeofObliviom said:
    I've only seen a character at anything resembling this level of absurdity thrive exactly once, and he/she/what-the-jongo had the advantage of being written by Gengy, who I look up to as a writer.

    "What-the-Jongo?"
    Before you insult someone, walk a mile in their shoes.
    That way, you'll be a mile away, and have their shoes!

    Got me a Real Job™ (yay!). Still busy (boo!).
    ~avatar by myself

  9. - Top - End - #759
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    Tychris1's Avatar

    Join Date
    Jul 2010
    Location
    Mt. Ebott
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    When Chaos Reigns

    Contragh sat glumly on his throne, tightly moving his hands over the grooves and spikes along it. His advisors had been warning him of several things recently. The first, and most threatening of them being the sudden disappearance of scouting party 20, which consisted of 3 soldiers, 1 Phagos mounted commander, and 4 Revenants. The only indicator of them even existing being the wrecked remains of their armor and the bones of the human commander intertwined with his Phagos. Contragh had little to no idea what had struck his outskirts, but it was powerful and clearly a threat that needed to be handled. The Dragon King even went as far as to fly by the point himself, only to quickly beat a hasty tactical maneuver in the opposite direction after sensing the mere residue of the power that was unleashed there.

    Contragh was a warrior, a mighty and powerful general, and a god. But he was not omnipotent, he knew he could not fight this threat on his own. In most circumstances he would mobilize his army and send it forth to stomp the mountain flat, but darkness crept in from all sides, even within. As a sign of good faith Contragh issued the nobles as a class among the citizens and have them property in the government district, even going as far as to let nobles who participate in the government a piece of land and there own Revenant guards. Almost all of them accepted the proposition. Yet despite Contragh's skill on the battlefield, he is terribly inadequate in the art of politics. The nobles themselves have since managed to garner more power then Contragh intended, one in particular bothered him the most. Triton Kilsen, the son of a peasant who threw himself in the line of fire to guard Contragh from an impending arrow to the face. For his act of bravery Triton's father was deemed of royal blood and thus his son inherited the title Noble from his bloodline. At every opportunity Triton was given he tried to convince people that Contragh's laws were unfair, that being ruled by a god is unspeakable, that only man should rule man.

    This truly infuriated Contragh, and he wished to execute Triton in the center of the city and have it be a public celebration as the kiddies took time to kick the bastard in the gut before the coup de grace. Yet Triton picked up the art of politics quicker then Contragh could, and has already set up a sizable web of supporters who would be enraged if there hero were to be executed in public. Yet simply making him disappear wouldn't work either, as his popularity means his absence would soon be noticed and the first person to be blamed would be Contragh, which would lead to a revolt. Exactly what Triton wants. If it were not for the fact that the threat of a revolution hangs in the balance over Contragh's head he would dispatch his army to handle this new found threat. But the absence of a sizable chunk of his forces would be the perfect time to strike. Contragh has been pinned between a rock and a hard place, faced with a normal mortal who has set up a system where he is viewed as a hero and can slander Conteagh's name, and pressed against a spontaneous destructive force with enough power to leave residue of it.

    Contragh sat on his throne, contemplatin the two problems that he had to manage. He sighed deeply, looking around the spartan throne room. He had sent Wraith's out years ago as Scout's to keep contacted with his siblings. He had learned quite a bit from there reports, he was pleased with the way there civilizations were going. Perhaps Fex would not have to stand alone against the waves of darkness? Thinking harder Contragh remembers his Scout's report that many of his siblings banded together to fight some great and terrible beast who inhabited the sands themselves. Only by binding together were they able to overcome the beast. He sighs again, looking up to the roof and realizing he needed the assistance of one of his siblings to atleast stand a chance and lessen the stress. Lifting himself off the throne he grumbles out angrily "Jongo......" and heads out the exit.

    The gathering of Wraith's was easy enough, they were fanatically loyal to Contragh and were to his side in a heart beat. Those available to him were a scant 15-20, which pleased him when he considered that the Wraith's have slowly gotten bigger in their size via Revenant's proving their mettle and having several Wraiths imbue their energy into the Revenant. The lack of them dying helped as well. Contragh looked the Wraiths over, nodding to Miranda as she quickly took the lead, sword and shield in her hands. Stopping mid pace he says "Today, we do a diplomacy mission of the most utmost importance. We will recruit my brother Jongo and his ilk to assist the kingdom of Fex in it's removal of parasites." this plan got several murmurs from the Wraith's, for they were raised to think of Jongo as the chaotic boogey man who only wished to disrupt civilization and be an annoyance "Be careful, Jongo will approach you with a pleasing and unassuming form. Do not let it fool you, she is a corrupting influence and a being of pure anarchy. Only let me talk to Jongo, I have resisted his temptations time and time again and will be able to handle long periods of exposure to his.... Ways. Understood?" he finishes, and is quickly met with a chorus of "Ahrooh!" and other grunts and noises of approval. Turning into his draconic form he leaves behind a contingency of his most loyal and highest ranking Revenants to manage his kingdom whilst he is away.

    Contragh and his host of wraiths would proceed rocky towards the Sea of Jongo, their large, shadowy forms blotting out the light above them and casting a shadow of death upon those underneath them.
    “I’m a Terrorist not an idiot.” - Me
    ░▄▀▄▀▀▀▀▄▀▄░░░░░░░░░
    ░█░░░░░░░░▀▄░░░░░░▄░
    █░░▀░░▀░░░░░▀▄▄░░█░█
    █░▄░█▀░▄░░░░░░░▀▀░░█
    █░░▀▀▀▀░░░░░░░░░░░░█
    █░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█
    █░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░█
    ░█░░▄▄░░▄▄▄▄░░▄▄░░█░
    ░█░▄▀█░▄▀░░█░▄▀█░▄▀░
    ░░▀░░░▀░░░░░▀░░░▀░░░

  10. - Top - End - #760
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    AntiMatter101's Avatar

    Join Date
    Jun 2011
    Location
    Illinois
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    At the last light of the sixth day after the death of the orc chief, Frellon made his bed under an old and withered tree. He arranged his gear around himself and rested his eyes. His sword was drawn and lay on his chest as he drifted off to sleep.

    In his dream he stood surrounded by enemies, but no matter how many times his blade struck them down, they got back up, gaping wounds and all, to resume their assault. He fought and fought, but they closed in again and again. Master swordsman though he was, eventually he tired, and one of the things managed to bite his hand. Golden Flames bubbled up out of his wound, and the thing hissed in recoil.

    In his fury at being injured, he struck with his bare fist, his own blood splattered over the zombie, to his surprise his blood was eating through their flesh like acid. No, that wasn’t right, the Golden Flames were burning through its flesh.

    The dream ended in a flash of bright light and an inferno of all-consuming Golden Fire.

    When Frellon awoke the next morning, he was shocked to discover a scar on his hand where there had been none the night before. It was in the shape of a bite mark. Disturbed by this, he nonetheless packed up his gear and continued south.

    He was making good progress; the miles flew by each day under the unrelenting march of a god. Even so, He had taken a similar trip once before and it had taken much time as well. The disk was truly massive. Still, this time he doubted a living ship would come and whisk him away to his destination…


    Part way through the day, an idea came to Frellon. Inspired by his nights dreaming, he drew his sword. He knew from long, long experience that the sword housed the memories of those who had once wielded it. He had relived those memories, finding much wisdom and knowledge. Now he sought to use them for something else.

    He placed his hand upon the blade and drew out the memories of an orc warrior who was as honorable as he was skilled, they took form as a swirling blue mist in his left hand. Then Frellon called upon his spark, and immolated the memories in divine energies of life. The mist seemed to ignite into golden flames, and took a roughly humanoid form.

    Frellon repeated this process as he traveled that day. A few dozen spirits trailed after him. Eventually he stopped and turned to face them. They were faceless, featureless, transparent. They were still little more than mist, yet they were glowing with a soundless golden fire that cast long shadows in the growing twilight.

    At length, one of them addressed him.

    “Lord?”

    Frellon looked at the one who was formed from the memories of a wise orc chieftain by the name of Mertaag. He needed to know…

    “Who are you?”

    “I… I do not know. Do you need something from us, Lord?”

    Frellon was almost disappointed. It was better that they did not inherit the memories they were birthed from, but he would have liked to converse with an old friend if they had.

    “Yes. Do you know who I am?”

    “You are my lord. What else is there to know?”


    “My name is Frellon. I am the god of Honor, the Lord of Arms. You are spirits I have created to be my messengers. You are incarnations of Honor itself. You may call yourselves Orunta, after an Honorable people I once knew. Now, I have a task for some of you.”


    “The Orunta will do as you ask, Lord”

    “Good. You three will travel south, to a city by the name of Markien. If you can find it, come and report to me as to whether or not it still stands strong and as to whether my brother, the god Carolinus, resides there still.”

    “Yes my Lord.”
    Without wasting a heartbeat, the three spirits darted off south, vanishing into the side of a hill, flying straight as an arrow.

    “You others will store yourselves in this sword until I need you.”

    As Frellon thought, the Sword of Heroes easily accepted the memories back into itself. But the memories were more alive, and he could summon the Orunta directly from his sword as he needed them. It would be useful to have messengers that did not need sleep, or food, or survival skills. He had been cut off from his siblings for far too long.

    He made his camp for the night, right at that spot. For it was dark.

    I wonder if I will have strange dreams again… perhaps the next one will tell me where the Titans are hiding…



    Spoiler
    Show

    1 Minor Act: Create some lesser servants: The Orunta are spirits of pure Honor, given form by the residual memories of honorable orc warriors from the Sword of Heroes. They are limitedly intelligent, certainly no brighter than Frellon is, and have great difficulty interacting directly with the physical world, though they can.

    Correct me if i'm wrong:
    3 Major Acts, 3 minor Acts, 3 Ceremonies Remaining
    Last edited by AntiMatter101; 2012-09-13 at 12:00 PM.
    Avatar by Vrythas

  11. - Top - End - #761
    Troll in the Playground
     
    daelrog's Avatar

    Join Date
    Dec 2009
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Journey into Fire

    Dsque hesitated for but a moment. What was she doing? Why had she come to this place? Her heart yearned to go forward though, and so she did, moving closer to the mountain, towards the scar in its side.

    Her spear rested on her back. She had yet to actually use it in combat, or even in training. It was far too dangerous, the ability to strip a victim's of its mind was a terrible power, one which she questioned herself, until thought of the Puppetteer surfaced. Dasque would return some day and finish that fight, bring death to the foul creature, but not yet. No, she needed strength, she needed wisdom. That is what drove her to ascend the mountain part way, and to slip into the opening, and into the mountain.

    Dasque's inner light dimmed as she descended so as not to bring attention to herself when she found the source of the drumming, of the fire and ash.

  12. - Top - End - #762
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Kasanip's Avatar

    Join Date
    Apr 2008
    Location
    Japan
    Gender
    Female

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    (Turn 3)

    The death of the only one song of Aria, Aria Nnoi, the death of the only one song of Elysia, Elysia Nel, the repeating melody of the only one song of Aria, Aria Ji, the repeating melody of the only one song of Elysia, Elysia Nnoi, and the founding of Shiraaoa with the only one song of Tenoi.

    (Summarily title [About Hymmnoi of Gozan, and the Expansion of Sonata's People])


    Spoiler
    Show

    Of the Hymmnoi, though they have been mentioned in saga before, they had not yet been revealed to the world outside of Ecchr and Girasasa. Of the Hymmnoi clans, who were arranged and named in order of seating: Aria, Ciela, Elysia, Tenoi, Presia, Partih, and Sarla. And the only one song of Aria, who was known before as Nel, had led dutifully and respected, since she was the first and blessed by helping Sonata, who had created the Hymmnoi through her.

    However, to sing the divine song of the white city and the disk, of all the creation and it's memories, and so to preserve it truly the experience and time, it is too much for mortals. The Hymmnoi who were created by the Goddess of music, who taught such an Ar Maen to the Hymmnoi first, and of any mortal, they alone can match like the great choir of the White City, where Fayruz and Sonata once sang and played harmoniously. But on the disk, to sing with such a passion and power burns life quickly, and so as the 50 years passed in which Sonata traveled and spent time with her sister, so too it was the passing of the first songs of the Hymmnoi, succeeding in the plan of Sonata in her absence.

    So it was that Aria Nnoi called forward the Hymmnoi and Aria Ji was told to attend to Aria. In this way, the song of the life of Aria Nel recorded in her jewel was passed on, so too did the lineage and memories of Aria Nnoi continue, and so Ji became the only song of Aria, continuing it's melody.

    So it was that from Girasasa to Ecchr came Elysia Nel, and called forward the Hymmnoi and Elysia Nnoi was told to attend to Elysia. In this way, the song of the life of Elysia Nel recorded in her jewel was passed on, so too did the lineage and memories of Elysia Nel continue, and so Nnoi became the only song of Elysia, continuing it's melody.

    In the time the Walasye had expanded, and though it was the foxes who played with Jongosians the most, so also were Walasye growing, so that the five towns of Gozan around Ecchr and Lake Madako were beautiful, and people moved to the north to the coast near Girasasa, and many small towns became founded at this time, and this country was called Irea, to be the [Country of Echoing of Waves and Singing Seagulls]. So it became the province of the north of Gozan.

    But while Aria Ji understood completely now, all that had come of Aria Nel and Sonata, who had left Ecchr when Nnoi was only a child, and whom Ji knew by her inherited song, now Aria Ji and Elysia Nnoi turned to her foxes and to the council of foxes who served Renard, the chief fox, and asked their advice.

    "Noble foxes of Kodama, the echo of the song of Heaven, our Lady Sonata has been gone for long, and now that the song of Aria has repeated twice.
    And now the Hymmnoi continue our tragedy and joy, what is the command of our Lady? We ask the noble foxes, who always have stood fondly with silver and gold coats."

    So it was that gold and silver foxes of the council talked and fox-danced, and answered.

    "It is the opinion of the foxes of Kodama, who love our Hymmnoi sisters, that such a question is important to Ecchr and Kodama and Girasasa, and so to Gozan and Irea, so that the Walasye and all of Gozan should know such an answer. Our Chief, Renard who is with Sonata, returned such a message with the Golden Aria fox, to expect the return of Lady Sonata. But to prepare properly, to spread the song of the White City to the southern territory, we suggest the Hymmnoi of Tenoi to pursue this agenda."

    So, it was done that Tenoi Nel, the first and only song of Tenoi, with the Tenoi foxes, was sent to the southern forests and plains. Here the people remembered the travel of the Fox Goddess, who was Sonata, when she had left 50 years before to travel to tame the lightning wolf.

    And Tenoi Nel, who was a Hymmnoi and so the fox-like human jewel, sang the [Ar Maen] and taught the ways of Sonata to these people, and they accepted and honored the foxes and Hymmnoi, and joined the Walasye people. This south territory became such a province, to be called Shiraaoa for it's beauty of plains and forests.

    Acts
    Spoiler
    Show


    Organize Coast territory

    In 50 years Walayse expand around Girasasa on the coast. And so this province is called Irae.


    1 Minor Act - [Create a city or several towns] Organize the lands to the south/tribes who worship Sonata as Fox Goddess

    The Hymmnoi Tenoi Nel travels with Tenoi Foxes to the south of Gozan to organize this province to be called Shiraaoa.

    1 Minor Act - Strengthen Magic of Ar Maen in Ecchr/Walasye [Teach a Population]
    These are Sonata's followers, and with the Ar Maen, they are the only and masters of [Ar Maen], the Hymmnoi. This is to show the continuing of Hymmnoi influence to help bless and improve Sonata's followers.


    3 Major Acts, 1 Minor Act, 3 ceremonies remaining.

    Kasanip's Sketchbook 2 Thread
    It is difficult to speak English, please excuse mistakes kindly m(_ _)m

  13. - Top - End - #763
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Vesth's Avatar

    Join Date
    Dec 2011

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    The bells pealed throughout the city, a sorrowful tune that spoke volumes of the state of its people. For the last 12 days, it has echoed through the streets, marking the death of King Mulligan, the just and wise ruler of Carne.

    In the cold and lifeless stone hall of the palace, a lone man just out of his childhood sat, his head in his hands as he took in the death of his father. He was definitely upset that his father was dead, but the weight of rulership hung heavily upon his shoulders, a feeling that smoldered him, crushed him as he pondered about it.

    He was no leader. He cared not about the affairs that his father tried to teach him, and he had spent most of his life a carefree man who wanted little more than to savor all that is delicious and edible...and he still did.

    He looked up at the sound of the heavy door opening, to reveal one of his guards. Perhaps a feast can calm his nerves.

    "King Mu- King Vorax, you asked for me?"

    "Yes. Prepare a farewell feast tonight, to mark my father's passing"

    "In all due respect...we just had one 6 days ago...and another when King Mulligan di-"

    "JUST DO IT!" Vorax snapped.

    The guard stiffened, surprised by his new king's attitude, but did little more than to bow and leave, setting off to carry out Vorax's orders.

    Vorax slumped back in the throne, looking blankly at the walls that surround him.

    "When this feast is over, I'm going to pull myself together, and run the kingdom the way it's supposed to be run. No more procrastinating like 6 days ago..." he muttered to himself.

    "No more..." he said as he fell asleep, escaping to his dreams, where nothing mattered but delicious, glorious food.
    Avatar made by Matthias2207


  14. - Top - End - #764
    Ogre in the Playground
    Join Date
    Apr 2012

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Khrith sat on a rocky beach looking over the ocean. After a time he reached into his throat and pulled out a seed, holding it in his hand. The people in this land glide over water on their ships to places he could not swim to; this world was vast and if he was to travel it he would need a sail of his own to fly across it. The men who made those ships took great care, fitting the sail to the boat they placed it on, if he were to use their arts he could do no less. He glanced at the seed in his hand and, returning his gaze to the ocean, began to speak.

    “They say many infants spend their first moments near death, taking their first breath only by intervention of happenstance. It is possible I was near death before I can remember, most people were it seems. Therefore, do not be surprised when I say I do not recall all those times where I was near death.

    Those who knowingly approached death and touched it from my experience feel either a feeling that surpasses fear and the constraints of words or one which surpasses resignation with the same mannerism. Possessing a recollection of such you might declare these instances indelible and unforgettable, you would be wrong.

    If you feel a fear beyond words it is because your soul fears that it was wrong, and you will die. If you feel a resignation beyond words it is because your soul it resigned that is right, and you will die. Some speak of this resignation and mean despair, I have not felt this, but a similar truth holds. These things are not special to deaths touch; they are wordless because all the emotions of the soul are wordless.”


    Khrith plunged one hand deep into the rocky shore and made in it a large furrow into which he placed the seed and covered it with debris.

    “You hear the voice of your impulses in your silence and use it to think about yourself as if it is you, but there is a deeper, stiller you beyond those words.

    Your deeper self does not speak for you to hear, it evokes and you know its nature, when you call from your center and ask “is this how you should be?”, when to feel all the great emotions which the emotions of your words seek to emulate from memory, tales, and observation during your common meandering days, sometimes, by happenstance, when you are near death’s throat.

    I find the last to be woefully reactive, but neither man nor god can seek out all the changes in the world, and men don’t always survive being sought. Perhaps gods are the same, although if I drew my wisdom from the people around these shores I would never expect it.

    If you care to know the times I spent with death upwind, I will tell you, so far as I recall, but I hear what you tell, not what you say, and if you ask to know all the times I have almost died, I wonder what your perspective will allow you to gain from it.”


    With that Khrith sat in silence as darkness fell.

  15. - Top - End - #765
    Titan in the Playground
     
    HalfTangible's Avatar

    Join Date
    Aug 2010
    Location
    The Primus Imperium
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Ouran

    I don't remember what I was when she began.

    The first memory I have is of a single moment, something I feel was only one of many. The woman had released from her mouth what I now knew was a scream of frustration, throwing flames from her arms to strike the wall of my cell. She turned to me, livid, and just glared angrily at me for a few long minutes. She then grabbed a vial full of a pulsing green potion and poured it on me. I felt the elixir's power surge into me, and I thrashed my tentacles about. I had one slimy eye that didn't stop burning all throughout the process, and as it settled, I felt my limbs fall limp.

    She glared at me, still disapprovingly, and duly said, Speak, abomination.

    My eye widened and I tried to speak, but only managed a wet gurgle. Her eyes suddenly lost their dark glare and began to sparkle with interest.

    I later learned that the
    ability to speak wasn't important - what was important was that I'd reacted at all. It showed I was now aware, and she was thrilled to finally be getting results.

    Her name was Althra, she told me as she petted my wretched form. She was a wizard - or more accurately, apprenticed to a wizard. She had spoken against him in her hubris, and so he had given her a task they both knew was impossible: to create life from nothing, and surpass the gods themselves.

    But she took the assignment seriously, she told me, despite it's utter impossibility. For reasons I still do not understand, she decided that the first step would be to create a new form of life from one that already existed. That was me - I was to be her template, what she began her plans with...


    -----

    It had been many months since that first night.

    Ouran knew his name now - Althra whispered it to him as she stroked whichever form her elixirs had given him. Right now, he was some strange, chitinous creature with six legs and a head mounted on a stalk. Ouran opened the mouth on his back, breathing in deeply, as he opened the mouth on his stalk so he could see out of his one massive eye in the back of his throat.

    As the various concoctions (and occasionally full-blown rituals) Althra subjected him to became more complex, he found his intelligence and strength slowly growing. As they had, however, he also felt a desire to escape build within him. Before him lay the wooden door that had barred him all his life. Ouran knew that the door would repel him magically if he tried to attack it, he'd tried before, and his current form had nothing else to offer. No limbs to open the door, no magical abilities to bring to bear, nothing.

    He wondered how long it had been since Althra had last come. Some days it felt like she'd never left. Sometimes she stayed gone for so long, he began to wonder if she might just let him starve. He 'blinked' his eye and then sat down again.

    It would be many hours before Althra brought her next concoction. She poured it down Ouran's mouth without ceremony and simply stared at him. For a time, nothing happened. Then he convulsed as his form began to shift, to change once more.

    Althra eyed what he was now with distaste. Ouran had shifted into a four-legged, slightly brown potato... THING with ears twice the size of it's body. It had an ugly, half-smashed face and it's legs were hooved and stumpy.

    Still no limbs. Still no magic.

    Thu-thump. Thu-thump.

    ...But he could hear Althra's heartbeat. And his own... and... oh, he could hear so MUCH...

    ... That's not right... He's supposed to be blue... Speak. She commanded.

    urrrrrrrrrrrrrgh... Ouran moaned.

    She sighed. Well, at least you can make sounds now, that's something. She turned to leave. Perhaps something less complex is required here... If I could just... She walked up to the door and whispered something.

    Raitres.

    The door shut behind the arrogant apprentice. Ouran smirked.

    -----
    Two weeks later

    Ouran's form had not stopped shifting for a week now. He smirked with a fanged mouth he wouldn't have for much longer as he pulled back from the old wizard's tore up neck. He ran for the door...
    Hate me if you want. But that's your issue to fix, not mine.

    Primal ego vos, estis ex nihilo.

    When Gods Go To War comes out March 8th

    Discord: HalfTangible

    Extended Sig

  16. - Top - End - #766
    Troll in the Playground
     
    mystic1110's Avatar

    Join Date
    Dec 2010
    Location
    New York, New York
    Gender
    Female

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    The Ascension of Saluko - The present Generation...

    [INDENT]Saluko was born and given the grand iron collar worn by his family. He was too young for it, but he took it graciously and departed trying to find his master. His journey took him far from the lands of Carolinusm into the disputed lands where vagabonds and monsters ruled through fear. It was hear that Saluko hoped to find a worthy master. And yet a worthy master found him.

    [INDENT]One day while he was hunting a dear, right when his jaws were about to enclose on the succulent meat, the beast fell down - shot with an arrow of light. Saluko turned on his haunches to face a large lean man holding a bow made of pure light. The man was a Hero, not the greatest - for no legend of his shall pass through this night - but a hero. Stories like to go in circles. His familial name was Luren and the bow he carried was named Luciastra. And so the Saluko spoke to the man, he remembered, vaguely of a man similar to this one. The man leveled the bow at him, for whoever heard of a talking dog. Yet Saluko had a charm of his own - their are many who would want to be his master. Eventually the man lowered the bow.

    [INDENT]Years past.

    [INDENT]The man was an outlaw and a vigilante. He defended the people living in these woods from the law and from danger - his only belief was freedom. And so Saluko lived with him... hunted, protected, stole, saved.... They had adventures. If an ancient treasure made by spirits was his masters wish, his servant shall retrieve it, no matter how difficult the battle is to do so. If the daughter of a chieftain whose fortress is made of wood that does not burn and is guarded by many bright copper spears pleases the eye of this man, his servant shall fetch her for him, even if she has many guards and is frightened of the coal-black hound whose eyes are bright as stars. It was a good loyal life given to a worthy master full of conviction and mirth.

    [INDENT]But life comes to an end. One day, an army came into the forest, they came for the man with the bow... he was an outlaw after all, so they fought with teeth and guts, yet numbers have meaning and the man was on the verge of being brought low when a man covered in black and red robed came upon them. His eyes were blood red as well. The man smelled of corpses and fire. He was the leader of the army... he was the leader of most of the surrounding domains. He was the tyrant that Luren had fought so hard against. The man was almost a god.

    [INDENT]The man, injured fired his bow of light, but to no avail. He dark wizard shook off the attacks and deflected the arrows. He laughed and made mysterious references to the man's ancestors... but the more mysterious messages were for Saluko. He said that he had failed. That his father failed. That he didn't desrve that collar. That he should serve him. Again? That he should redeem himself...

    [INDENT]Saluko lunged at the tyrant, but when he bit into his flesh he tasted only decaying meat. The man laughed and kicked Saluko away. Then using his dark magic he cast upon darkness onto the forest. And left the hero, the dog and even his own army to their fates... and he was gone... with the whisper that ... it was over.

    [INDENT]The man lay dying from his wounds. In the darkness his last request was for Saluko to survive and to find a new master, but not before he rended the tyrant apart in his strong jaws. And Saluko told him that he would do so to honor his memory and so after his masters death, he feasted on his corpse, because to survive the darkness as his master asked he needed energy. Little did he know that history has granted the seed of divinity to the man. A small seed but a seed non the less, the man was a paragon - all it needed was a spark. Thus renewed with his masters flesh Saluko fought the darkness, the twisted forest of the tyrants magic. The denizens of the forest were warped... blackened and charred, deceased and possessed. And he fought tooth and nail, till he emerged in the light...

    [INDENT]Years past...

    [INDENT]Adventures and close encounters led to this moment. They were bitter enemies. His master's flesh had given him some protection against magic... and in the numerous encounters with the Tyrant, he had save numerous people and even came close to killing him. Once he doused the man in water and watched him shriek in terror. Other times he was near death, brought low and nursed back to health when thought dead by beggar women. It was years. For the first couple times the Tyrant told him of his ancestor the Red Dog of War. Other times he told him to join him... and he would have, for the man's conviction was glorious, but his last masters wish was this man's death... and he would ensure it.

    [INDENT]So it led to this dramatic meeting. The two of them, talking hound and corpse dragon trapped in human form. On top of a tower, with lightning providing the background. Feints and spells, bites and swords slashes, screams and growls, howling and roaring. It was an epic fight. Blood bathed the top of the tower, the smell of rotting meet and fresh wounds. In the end it was the wizard who was grabbing onto the ledge with the black hound standing over him, his paw on his hand... and the man laughed... and told him he would still just be a dog...

    [INDENT]Yet...the wizard was a god wrought creature, and he ate the fruit of the godswood... small sparks gather like fireflies and create a light. And over the years the wizard went after legend and legend to become a god...yet this hound ate the flesh of a paragon and was himself a paragon... in this moment... the two of them, together were as a god... and then...

    [INDENT] The hound lowered its head down from the top of the tower, opened it's jaws, larger than any mortal hound could or should. As a snake. Enclosed the wizards head in it's jaws... a bite down. The headless body stumbled down from the tower and smashed against the rocks on the bottom. The hound lifted it's head and swallowed the head, the blood of the corpse dragon entering him, the sparks coalesce... and the top of the tower shines bright. Half the continent could see. A new god was born.

    [INDENT] And it wanted a master.
    Last edited by mystic1110; 2012-09-16 at 10:14 AM.

  17. - Top - End - #767
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Ladorak's Avatar

    Join Date
    May 2007
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Spoiler
    Show
    With apologies for absence


    Carolinus stepped forward, several long strides were enough to bring him into the Titans shadow, to feel as dwarfed as any man who looks up to see the sun blotted out. He bowed deeply, with all the stiff elegance he could muster after more than a century away from the White City. Despite the massive distance between them and the Titan's towering height Carolinus' parade ground voice easily carried upward 'I am Carolinus. Appointed protector of Markien. Knight of the White City. The Watchman. These are the titles I claim.
    'Where first meetings are made such litanies are matters of courtesy, of honorable conduct amid those unknown to us. In this case my introductions herald far more than simple deference to common custom.'


    When he said next was hard for him. To yield even slightly in his faith in his father seemed a betrayal of his life with Cireo, to bend even slightly in his conviction in some way invalidated much of the happiness he had felt with her
    'I do not name myself son of Baz'Auran, nor by the title the people of Markien have placed upon me, Carolinus'Ka'Baz'Auran, a title I never desired. It is true, yes, I am my father's son. I am the child of he who committed a great crime against you. I have seen the deadlands, they were harrowing. They winnowed away much of the faith I had in my father's justice. There is no mistaking the very-real emotion in his voice, as it quivers with restrained rage and sorrow, doubt and fear. It is the voice of Baz'Auran's most loyal son suddenly realising his father's imperfections. It is the voice of a man who has been fighting the mounting realisation that he no longer believes in that for which he has sacrificed everything.

    'I did not know what happened here, I swear it. Had I known I would have decried my father every day until your punishment was reversed, even if the cost of such disloyalty was death. Your sorrow is great, none may gainsay it. Your anger is understandable. His next words were as iron, firm and unyielding, allowing no doubt or contradiction Yet I am not he who wounded your people so, nor are the people of Markien culpable for such transgression. The guilt lies on only one pair of shoulders, and they are large enough to carry the burden alone.
    'The oaths I swore are unequivocal, and my duty to them unmitigated. This I cannot change. I cannot be other than what I was made to be... But that does not mean there must be war between us. It does not mean I do not understand what was done to you.'


    He held out a hand, not knowing if the huge eyes far above him could even make out such a gesture of friendship 'I am Carolinus, the Knight of the White City. I was made as a shield, a thing to be sacrificed. I was created by my father to fall in place of his more beloved kin. Others who did not have to pay so high a price for their creation, others who paid no price at all. But I am no longer in the White City, and it has been many and more years since I have seen the majority of my kin. I swore other oaths, aside from oaths of duty and loyalty, aside from oaths of sacrifice. I swore to protect the people of the Great Disk, without prejudice.

    He raised his voice and powered on, stepping closer to the Overlord as he spoke 'The First People are of the Disk. The First People are honorable folk, I have seen much in your Eye and in Khar Melkar that I have seen in myself. We are of a kin, we are honorable warriors in a world without nobility.
    'This war, it is unnecessary. I see now, having witnessed the horror of my path to come before you, that your ire against me is not unfounded, for to you I was only the son of Baz'Auran. But I am more than that. I am Carolinus, and I would choose a higher path, a better path. Please allow me to choose that path. I would have kinship with the Titans, I would bring you under my protection. I would die for you if required. But I cannot allow the rape and pillage of Markien. Those people are already under my protection. With all my heart I wish friendship with to Titans, to begin undoing the terrible wrongs my House has done you, but on this I am unbending. Markien must be spared or there must be war between us.'
    Last edited by Ladorak; 2012-09-16 at 03:43 PM.
    Spoiler
    Show
    The Human Spirit by kpenguin. The Raynnverse lives!

    Vagrant and Seal by Smuchmuch. This depiction of Seal is so s'much like Smuchmuch

    Sentient #6 Avatar by kpenguin. Clearly the best picture of a M&M character named after a Nevermore song there has ever been.

  18. - Top - End - #768
    Firbolg in the Playground
    Join Date
    Mar 2011
    Location
    Australia

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    "It's Something Unpredictable, But in the End is right. I hope you have the Time of You Life."

    As Kalandor travelled further southwest, his divine spark slowly quieted, until it vanished all together. It was simply something one got used to doing, and it avoided the annoying moments with those people sensitive to it, and, somehow, people seemed more at ease when he let it quiet. By no means was he unreachable however, those who were 'his' priests and shamans could still reach him through prayer (but they all knew of the rarity of his answers) and often in his sleep while his body rested he chose to (rather quietly) let his mind slip into the realm of dreams, often watching those who were once part of his flock go about their duties, or watch some of his favoured dream, without notice. A few of those that ran the 'realm' knew he visited and could find him when he did so could, were they knowing his presence were needed, but it was information they kept to themselves, something they held just as dear as the roll they played. They served two gods, and there was room in their hearts for both.

    Travelling amongst the various tribes dispensing the occasional mortal nudging, Kalandor finally reached the coast, the rickety cart that was part of his current forms disguise slowly creaked to a stop, much to the enjoyment of the mule leading it. Were someone present, they would soon be surprised from the brays coming from the man’s mouth, as his wrinkled face looked to the ocean, and deep blue eyes stared out to depths equally clear as blue, a calm sea with waves slight.

    "It is time to part, Pack-Mate."
    "It has been honour aiding. Well Wish."
    "Well Wish."

    The language of most animals was simple, vocally, but it was all Kalandor could say for now, as he got out of the rickety cart, undoing the mules bindings, the parts of the body he needed to slowly transformed to that of what could be considered the mules mirror.

    "You have my deepest thanks for your hard-won help. May your paths be soft and the others seeing of your greatness."
    "They will. You Blessing Traveler, that I may live safe."
    "You have it, you have it a thousand times over."
    And it was true, Kalandor imparted the tiniest sliver of himself. It would grant the Mule a great deal of luck over the short period of its life, one of the greatest gifts it would ever have.

    The rickety cart would stay as it was, where it was, until it broke down into a pile of what may look like drift wood. Perhaps a fisherman might stumble upon it and recognise 'The Oldest Man' had been here, but Kalandor doubted it. It was a rare face he wore in these parts, preferring 'The Helpful Lad', or 'The Gull', both being the one and the same.

    Slowly, Kalandor's well measured steps became ground devouring strides as he ran towards the ocean, diving in. This time his form shifting was not slow, but swift, and Kalandor was as a fish, travelling towards some irresistible pull.
    Last edited by Erik Vale; 2012-09-17 at 08:26 PM.

  19. - Top - End - #769
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Kasanip's Avatar

    Join Date
    Apr 2008
    Location
    Japan
    Gender
    Female

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Sonata at The Olm

    Sonata dreamed also. But she didn't hvae a dream like Fayruz. Her dream was of the garden and fountain of the White City. Of opening her eyes to see Fayruz to sleep peacefully next to Sonata. Or of the banquets, the laughter. The orchestra of singing spirits. But most was the feeling of the flute, to play the wind while the harp of Fayruz pulled vibrantly. There wasn't anything else but divine music without lyrics. But in the music Sonata heard the song which she had captured in her heart. Or maybe, this was the song that she shared with Fayruz. A song of twins.


    For Sonata who had been Kis in a human coat, and had dreamed Fayheran dreams of sand and desert, and whose dreams of her sister had been of glass and desperate hope a mortal places in her deity, such a return to the divine was relief. So it was that the nostalgia was not bittersweet.

    That was a lovely dream.

    Sonata woke when Fayruz had risen. The Fox princess and divine musician's ear of course could hear even that. But Sonata did not stir for this moment, but allowed a lazy and fox-like attitude, to let her sister prepare first.
    And as Sonata stretched and began to prepare. The morning silence always important. Such a rest in music is important. For two sisters to prepare silently, there is unspoken rythmn, and for Sonata who had missed this nostalgia, and to just be near Fayruz, who seemed even more radiant and beautiful now, it was a joy.

    Fayruz wore the green and blue, colors of life that were good for Fayruz, who could wear any color, Sonata thought. But after her time as Kis, to wear the Fayheran robes and veil, she did not approve of her sister to do so.

    But a silence is a holy time like this, so Sonata only frowned and combed her own hair, setting the rainbow crown again and wrapping about the red and golds and jewel accessories, and wearing the rainbow coat again. Such a posture was idle, and yet relaxed, and though with a fox expression and eureka, she watched Fayruz-

    But such a time was not now. There was work, and the people needed Fayruz. And Sonata who had relied also on Fayruz even after saving her, knew that her sister was devoted and reliable. And this time she did not desire to interfere, but would save her fox thought plan and dream.

    Sonata let Fayruz walk some distance and then stood up and followed. From the shadow of the sentry, Renard the Chief Fox appeared walked beside Sonata.

    For once the fox was silent, but that was because foxes are cunning to know when to speak. For now, to dutifully present. Seeing the dragon and Fayruz's servants, Sonata sighed and spoke her first words this morning.

    "Oh my. Come Renard. We will go down to watch how Fayruz speaks to this. Maybe you will learn some manners of politeness."

    The fox laughed and hopped to the shoulders of Sonata.

    I have always had manners
    but every fox knows
    it is rude to be a guest
    so early in the morning!

    "It is not un-fortuitous to arrive in the morning. Even I arrived to you at night. Surely your fortune has improved."

    Yes, Renard and the foxes
    grew greatly because of Lady Sonata
    but can it be said for you
    Such a night was so lucky?

    Sonata glared at Renard, and the fox laughed again as the arrived to watch.
    Kasanip's Sketchbook 2 Thread
    It is difficult to speak English, please excuse mistakes kindly m(_ _)m

  20. - Top - End - #770
    Firbolg in the Playground
    Join Date
    Mar 2011
    Location
    Australia

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    “As you grow, learn that not all things are as they first appear.”

    "As Kalandor has shown us, just because it bears claws does not mean it wishes to rend. Nor Horns gore or Fur live wild."
    Words of a Human Cacka-don Clan Cheiften



    Kalandor swam through the ocean waves, lost in thoughts as he headed towards a tiny island. Particular amoungst them was how 'star dust' was still falling, days after the meteor had fallen from the sky. Occasionally drops would fall to the ground, part of its tail after being thrown down by Baz'Auran some time ago.
    Years, Millenia, who knows.
    He just wanted to contemplate. He felt a lesson on the tip of his tounge.

    The Island he arrived at was little more than an Atoll, sand covering a coral build up with a few tufts of some sort of sea grass, ecking out a living, with the occasional birdsnest. Seeking to find a slight deppression as water slid off his currently hydro-phobic form, soon returning to his own. It had been a while since he had been him.
    How did Jongo do it? Kalandor thought to himself.

    When he found the slight depression, he was surprised to find a small crater in its center. Within this, lay a small stone, no larger than the palm of a childs hand, shaped roughly like a stretched out sphere, which was at once smooth and rough. Somehow it was still warm to touch, and was of a great weight, obviously being very dense.
    Feeling the stone, Kalandor felt that lesson he sort to recall come to him, as a waking dream.

    -----

    There is only one true god, and you are not Him.

    It was a childish question, but a useful one, and a inquisitive one, that Kalandor asked the spirit of Knowledge named Anatar.

    "Why do the stars fly accross the sky? Or fall to land?"
    "Because it is Baz'Auran's will. Each star is a orb of his power, existing for an individual purpose, sometimes they must move?"
    "But why fall? And sometimes become stone?"
    "This is about the stone you found the other day, isn't it?"
    "Yes wise one."
    Predictably he rolled his eyes. Why did the smart people always know so much but ask such dome questions?
    "Well, not all stars are content with their position. Some seek more power, and occasionally they rebel against Baz'Auran."
    "Why would they do that?"
    "No one but Baz'Auran knows, however they do need the will they are infused with. Now, when they do this, Baz'Auran simply quiets them. They emit no more, and then he pushes them wherever else he wants them before making the corrections required to keep the univers running. Sometimes, as these stones break as they are laughed at by others stars, the decay and fall into planets, loosing more of their power as they break up."
    "And then?"
    "Then they are bound to that world, and don't return again to the sky. Each is told that this is their punishment, but should they return to the sky, then they can stay, and travel as they want."
    "So, I should give this stone to Baz'Auran, or return it to the sky?"
    "You could."
    Suddnly the spirits eyes changed a little, then refocused on Kalandor.
    "I think you should keep it, perhaps try and return it to the sky."
    "I think I will. Father would have stopped them before they can cause too much harm, and everything should be allowed to move."

    ------

    Everything Changes, and yet Everything is the Same

    Kalandor was no longer so naive, but he recognised when he was being told what to do, even through time. He would need this, he had no clue how to do it, much like before. However, there was still the pull, perhaps this would help. No, it would help, he knew it.
    From the stone he felt a sliver of hatred, and a sliver of yearning, the stone felt mixed about Kalandor, for he was a child of Baz'Auran, but he wanted to help.

  21. - Top - End - #771
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    TheDarkDM's Avatar

    Join Date
    Apr 2008
    Location
    Los Angeles
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    A Storm at the Gates

    As Fayruz and Sonata hurried towards the gates of the Olm, Gamesha raged against the risen specter of his shame. Standing in the very shadow of the great dragon, he hurled obscenities as though they were javelins, every syllable coated in venomous hatred. But for all his anger, the dragon remained motionless, simply watching the small gathering of the Olm's luminaries gather together on the parapet. Finally, its eyes flicked to focus on Gamesha.

    "Enough."

    The beast released a snort that struck the walls like a hurricane, throwing the mortal leaders of the Olm to the ground and nearly flinging Gamesha from the walls entirely.

    "None of you possess the wisdom or the power to raise this city in so little time, and I grow tired of your fool's ramblings. Present your true leader, or prepare to face my..."

    The dragon paused, lightning crackling in its eyes as Fayruz strode through the city gates, standing defiantly in the morning sun.

    "Ah, a child of Baz'Auran. I see."

    The dragon's bulk shifted, releasing a roll of thunder as it's head lowered down to appraise Fayruz.

    "Greetings, godling, and welcome to the Disk. I am Szenzaria, All Mother and Dragon Lord of the southern Dragonflight. One of my children was sent to this region as punishment for his brash temperament, but I have not heard his song in some time. Do you know what has befallen him?"

    The Earth's Heart

    Ash swirled around Dasque's feet as she proceeded into the fissure, the heat emanating from the volcano striking with as much force as the hammers within it. It was only a short descent before the passage opened onto a wide ledge overlooking a massive cavern, the gaping mouth of the mountain barely visible in the black smoke. More than a hundred feet below Dasque boiled a pool of glowing lava which seemed to churn relentlessly with some eldritch current. Yet as she peered closer, Dasque saw that it was not the lava that moved, but rather creatures moving within the lava. Though it was difficult to make out details in the shimmering, smoky air, she saw they were roughly the size of a human, but where a human's body was composed of flesh and bone these things seemed carved from glassy obsidian, the rough angles of their chests reflecting wildly in the light. Their bodies were jointed like armor, and whenever a seam moved it revealed a writhing firestorm. The creatures' heads were less faces than helmets, long curved things that revealed only two embers of eyes whose furious glow blazed even at the volcano's heart. Tracking one as it moved to the edge of the lava pool, Dasque saw that they possessed no legs, instead moving about atop a whirling twister of fire and molten rock. Her chosen target moved further into the thick smoke, and seemed lost, until a fortuitous blast of hot air revealed the truth of the scene, and the source of the pounding drums.

    The walls of the cavern were carved into dozens of ascending levels, each flickering with hundreds of the fiery creatures. Massive black anvils sat before each one, and as Dasque's target reached a free one it threw down its gathered shard of molten iron and began working it with a hammer of glossy obsidian. Each blow was echoed a thousand times, as the creatures beat the very fabric of the Disk into wicked halberds that lay neatly stacked on the periphery of their tiers. But there were far more weapons than there were creatures, enough to arm them all a dozen times over, and the truth behind the shaking earth began to dawn on the goddess of light. So engrossed was she in the scene that she almost didn't hear the rasping breath behind her, but she was a warrior trained by the highest spirit of war, and she was not surprised. Spinning, she saw a crimson shadow detach itself from a shelf far above her to come gliding down towards her. Ruby wings flecked with gold and bronze spread wide over the fiery abyss, bearing aloft a proud, sleek body. As the dragon landed beside Dasque it made no motions to attack, instead regarding her with eyes of molten gold that sat beneath a rising crown of golden horns.

    "Fascinating, are they not? We have never known them to work so urgently on so violent a task. Something is very wrong."

    Dealings with Titans

    As Carolinus concluded his passionate plea, the last few syllables echoed through the vast hall, answered only by silence. Long heartbeats passed, but finally the Overlord leaned forward into the light. No longer shrouded in shadow, Carolinus could see his face was old, impossibly old, marked as a statue that has stood too long against the storms of time. But for all the weathered marring upon his once-proud face, the Overlord's brow was strong, his jaw firm, his gaze unwavering.

    "You come to my hall, Knight of the White City, to offer peace where your father once brought ruin? I would think this naught but a cruel jape, but you have won the belief of Khar Eltraya, and I trust her judgement above all..."

    The Overlord sighed, and suddenly it was not a statue sitting before Carolinus but a weary king, long ground beneath the weight of his throne.

    "We Titans were a peaceful people once, Lord Carolinus. We warred against the Beasts of Chaos, but within our domain there was prosperity and enlightenment. Our offence was singular, but to defy the edicts of Baz'Auran warrants only the harshest punishment. Knowing this, you still offer us your hand in peace? You would risk your father's blazing wroth to prevent mortal bloodshed?"

    The wonder in the Titan lord's voice was undisguised, and it occurred to Carolinus that perhaps the Titans had never considered peace, had thrown it aside as a tattered and obsolete remnant of their fallen empire.

    "If that is the case, Lord Carolinus, your coming is a boon none could have hoped for. If there is a place in Markien for my people, and those taken under our protection, we might have peace."

    Dances of Wits

    The starlit eyes of the stranger sparkled as Jongo answered, and as they did so the Band of Chaos jingled along. A catlike smile spread across his face, the Lord of Weal and Woe leaned towards the draconic Jongo.

    "'Tis strange to meet another god who so unwisely threatens, though I begin to see that you've not yet been through lessons. But far from me to teach you the wisdom brought with time, and I'm content to sit here and converse in purest rhyme. The Lord of Weal and Woe I'm called, though my name it is not truly, and I'm happy to reveal what has made you so unruly. Kraken is the lord you seek, and we are far from friendly, but his interest in your people has proven truly deadly. He seeks to know your whims, you see, for you have roused his ire, and soon you must arrange his fall, if peace is your desire."
    Last edited by TheDarkDM; 2012-09-20 at 04:47 AM.

    I was old when the pharaohs first mounted
    The jewel-decked throne by the Nile;
    I was old in those epochs uncounted
    When I, and I only, was vile;

    Spoiler
    Show
    Quote Originally Posted by apocalypsePast2 View Post
    ...one could possibly refer to you guys' elaborate dance of allies-to-enemies-to-suicide-of-the-universe as some sort of weird art form.

    If one were on drugs.
    Quote Originally Posted by VonDoom View Post
    Behold, the mighty slayer of strangely coloured mutant equines! The thwarter of forum woes! The! Dark! DM!

  22. - Top - End - #772
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Gengy's Avatar

    Join Date
    Aug 2005
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Another god? So he's met more? My siblings, maybe? Jongo frowned and stared carefully at the Lord of Weal and Woe, unsure if he was here to be friendly or just be meddlesome. The Band of Chaos was at equal times on the defensive, but also giddy; this man in front of Jongo - or at least, his image, as Jongo wasn't sure if the Lord of Weal and Woe was really there - held a great deal of potential for chaos. It was... off-putting and intoxicating at the same time. A part of Jongo's mind was giggling at the prospect of being this person's friend. But that was a small part.

    The rest of Jongo's mind wasn't sure that she liked this Lord of Weal and Woe. Yet... it paid to be polite.

    "Forgive my words if an insult was what you heard.
    I did warn you that my ire had risen due to what has occurred.
    My temper is short right now, though it I'm trying to contain.
    If the Kraken is the cause, then allow me to speak plain.

    The Kraken seeks my downfall; has made me it's enemy.
    I don't wish to fight; but I shall protect my family.
    You know my stance now, oh Lord of Weal and Woe.
    I'll deal with the Kraken, if it truly wants to lay me low.

    What remains, however, is questions most important.
    I must know, before my children, off to their deaths are more sent,
    are you here as just a messenger, with your warnings true?
    And, more pressing... if I fight the Kraken... what is in it for you?"
    Spoiler
    Show
    BladeofObliviom said:
    I've only seen a character at anything resembling this level of absurdity thrive exactly once, and he/she/what-the-jongo had the advantage of being written by Gengy, who I look up to as a writer.

    "What-the-Jongo?"
    Before you insult someone, walk a mile in their shoes.
    That way, you'll be a mile away, and have their shoes!

    Got me a Real Job™ (yay!). Still busy (boo!).
    ~avatar by myself

  23. - Top - End - #773
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    The Succubus's Avatar

    Join Date
    Sep 2008
    Location
    UK
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    The Second Torment

    Madness is the scourge of the mind and thus the corruption is purged.

    The vortex spun and crackled around Khalen-Het as it pulled him downwards and soon the rusted metal of the First Torment was lost to sight. His sight began to blur and everything turned white. He could feel nothing, no warmth, no cold, not even the movement of air. Just...whiteness.

    Flash.

    The whiteness immediately turned black.

    Flashflashflash.

    Colours. Red, green, blue – all appearing and disappearing in a fraction of a second. Another colour slowly filled Khalen-Het's vision. It was a bright shade of pink and it seemed to flow and move in a way that made him feel nauseous. Other colours seeped in, mixing in droplets and globs, bright oranges, dark greens. The net effect was aesthetically offensive.

    A deafening crack of thunder and the colours vanished. Khalen-Het found himself falling once again and he saw the approaching ring of the Second Torment. A living band of electricity that spun and turned above the swirling mist ring of the Third Torment. All this passed by in a handful of minutes before he was consumed in searing energy.

    ****

    Spoiler
    Show
    The beings of the White City were ancient and primordial, their motives and mannerisms too deep for mortal comprehension. Yet on this day, the Spirit of Music found even its infinite patience being tested by its latest pupil.

    “Again, from the beginning of the piece please Khalen.”

    The great hall was filled with all manner of instruments. Harps, drums, musical horns, and even some instruments that there were no words for, but played lovely sounds all the same. Its gilded walls and roof echoed with the sounds of the orchestra.

    Held with precise care, from hours of practicing, Khalen gripped the conductor's wand, and rapped it thrice upon the podium in front of himself. The instruments came to life and as the baton swayed, a bow sang across a taut string and as his other hand rose and fell, a drum kept the beat with expert timing. Yet still the Spirit sighed despondently.

    “You do not understand Khalen.”

    Khalen also found his patience being tested. “What have I failed to do? I have performed the piece exactly as it is written before me with every note and beat accounted for.”

    A small figure in an oversized nightshirt wandered in unnoticed as the Spirit replied. “And therein lies the problem. Music should be a thing of spontaneity, it should have life, a soul. These things cannot be transcribed onto a page. Each song should be unique, with an echo of that person's personality appearing between the notes. Yet when you play, you merely see it as a collection of numbers and symbols that leave no room for creativity or improvisation. Your music is dull and boring.”

    As Jongo tittered, Khalen turned and glared at his disorganised and chaotic sibling, before turning his ire back to the Spirit of Music. “Very well. You wish for spontaneity? Then I shall grant it to you. Jongo, perhaps you would like to perform for us?”

    Khalen chuckled to himself as Jongo leapt up on to the conductor's platform. He knew the mind of IT, random and chaotic; the hideous cacophony that would soon ensue would show this foolish Spirit the error of its ways.

    A baton poked out of a long, floppy sleeve, paused in the air and suddenly the music blossomed in the room, each note as sweet as summertime. Khalen found his mind filled with images and feelings conjured by the piece and he was dumbstruck. Where were the chaotic notes, the irregular tempos? The music continued yet softly flowed into a different form, the song becoming lively and chirpy when it should have been slow and steady. A fast beat bounced along with the music and Khalen involuntarily found his foot tapping with the rhythm.

    Finally, the song finished and Jongo wandered away. As Khalen looked at the Spirit of Music, he saw tears in its eyes and a rapt and a joyous expression on its face.

    “I do not understand.”

    The Spirit sighed happily. “No, Khalen. You do not.”

    ****

    The Second Torment spun Khalen-Het as though he were a leaf in the midst of a hurricane. A sensation of blinding speed the only constant in an ever changing assault on the senses. Colours, a thousand thousand colours, blurring and flashing before his eyes. The colours turned to images, places, peoples, memories plucked from his own mind, each appearing and disappearing in a fraction of a second. He screamed and tried to shut his eyes.

    For a few brief moments, there was nothing but the dark world behind his eyelids. Then he heard a noise. A faint ringing, like the chiming of some distant bell or a musical note. The noise became louder and louder until it was almost a physical presences boring into his skull. Khalen-Het clapped his hands over his ears.

    Again, a very brief moment of respite. Darkness and silence for a mere handful of seconds. He sniffed. A strange smell, musty and damp carried to his nose and intensified until he found himself gagging on it. As he cough and wretched, he involuntarily opened his eyes and the colours and images seared into them again. The ringing sound became a buzzing sound; which became a pulsing beat, shifting in tempo and volume. Soft as falling snow one moment, the roar of Baz'Auran himself the next. Khalen-Het screamed as the madness continued...

    On and on it went, relentless as the grinding wheels of the First Torment. Time was meaningless in that terrible place and Khalen-Het lost his mind completely. The sensual atrocities devoured his mind and he would spend time crying, giggling, screaming and pleading with people that were not there, phantasms and illusions. The Torment would then recede just enough for him to rebuild his shattered mind before beginning all over again. This was chaos in its truest form and during one of his more lucid moments, Khalen-Het's thoughts turned to his sister/brother...

    ****

    Spoiler
    Show

    Khalen glared at the head on the table before him and it glared back with a comical expression on its face. Its tongue was poking out, a gesture that made it look utterly ridiculous. The fact that it was his face did little to help matters.

    He knocked the papier-mâché bust on the floor and looked ruefully at the now empty covers of the textbooks. They could be replaced, fortunately, but it was still a waste of time and resources for no good purpose. Khalen knew the person behind the joke and sighed as the Spirit of Knowledge walked up behind him.

    “Why does it do these things? What does it hope to achieve?” he grumbled.

    “By “it”, I assume you are referring to your sibling, Jongo,” said the Spirit. “As it will take me a little time to replace the books, I think perhaps your lesson today should teach you of value of logic and reasoning. Find the answer to your questions and bring them to me as the sun sets this evening.”

    And so Khalen set off into the White City in search of answers. His immediate thought was that if any being in the City knew what Jongo was, it would logically be the one that created him. He entered the Great Hall and bowed before the imposing figure of Baz’Auran.

    “Father, I have been tasked by one of the Spirits of Knowledge to seek the answer to a question. What is Jongo?”

    “A spark of the newborn universe, bound and sculpted into my child. As are you all,”

    Khalen frowned. The answer was a description of Jongo but did not answer his questions. Baz’Auran gazed at his solemn son and spoke again.

    “The answer you seek lies with another in the city.”

    Khalen bowed again and left.

    Sometime later, he came up on Fayruz and Sonata sitting by the fountain in the city gardens. Both seemed to enjoy the company of his chaotic sibling; perhaps they might know the answer?

    “Good morning dearest sisters,” he said politely “I have been tasked by one of the Spirits of Knowledge to seek the answer to a question. What is Jongo?”

    They both giggled at the stiffness of Khalen’s words but then Fayruz smiled at him and spoke. “Jongo is family,” she said.

    Sonata also chimed in. "He is a song, like all of us. But he is cacophony. Such an exasperation, but joyful too. I wish he learned how to sing better."
    Khalen nodded. These were closer to the answer he sought but still incomplete. Thanking his sisters, he strode away.

    The sounds of metal on metal carried through the air as Khalen made his way to the sparring grounds. His brother Contragh was engaged in a duel with one of the lesser Spirits of War. Contragh’s greatsword flashed down towards the Spirit and was met with a parry by the Spirit’s own weapon. With snake like speed, Contragh’s boot lashed out with a vicious kick that sent the Spirit sprawling on the floor. He nodded as the Spirit stood back up again and lowered its weapon.

    “Well fought, brother. I have been tasked by one of the Spirits of Knowledge to seek the answer to a question. What is Jongo?”

    Contragh grimaced at the mention of Jongo’s name. “A parasite. An amusing one who has his uses, but in the end he is nothing more then a leech that sucks on the society and order I build only to warp and corrupt it."

    Khalen certainly agreed with Contragh’s assessment but still felt the answer lacked something. The clash of swords filled the air as the bout resumed.

    The sun was setting as Khalen entered the library, frowning with irritation. All day the answers from his siblings had been the same. They had described what Jongo was but Khalen felt he was no closer to understanding it.

    “Hello Khalen-Fishy!”

    He stared at the figure in the white oversized nightshirt. What on earth was Jongo doing here? Had it come to vandalise his books again?

    “Why are you here?!” demanded Khalen.

    “You’ve been talking to everyone else today, Fishy. I was feeling left out.”

    “What are you?” said Khalen.

    Jongo looked puzzled. "That's a silly question, Fishy. Jongo is me. And I am Jongo. If you were Jongo, you would not be Khalen-Fish. If I were not Jongo, I would be... something else. I can change what I look like, how I act, what I say to others, but deep inside, under it all, no matter the exterior, I will always be."

    And Khalen understood at last.

    ****

    The Engine must have caught the thoughts in Khalen-Het's mind. The swirling colours stopped, the noise faded and smells and taste faded away. A glowing whiteness surrounded him. Had he reached a conclusion to this horrific nightmare? A mocking, yet familiar laugh told him otherwise.

    As the glow faded, Khalen-Het stared in abject horror at his surroundings. All around him was Jongo. An infinite number of mismatched eyes stared from an infinite number of childish faces. Some melted and merged into others, some were deformed, some old, some little more than newborn babes. Yet the eyes were always the same.

    “Silly Khalen-Fishy!” said one of the faces. A ripple of laughter carried across the Jongos. Others repeated it and it soon turned into a chant, repeated over and over like children in a playground.

    “Silly Khalen-Fishy! Silly Khalen-Fishy! Silly Khalen-Fishy!”

    “SILENCE!” screamed Khalen-Het and a roar of laughter like a howling storm was his reply.

    All of the Jongos were laughing at him now. From girlish titter to huge roaring gales, the sound was unimaginable. He screamed, he commanded, he wept, he pleaded and still the laughter continued. Minutes segued into hours, hours blurred into days and days became years. Sometimes the Jongos would laugh, sometimes they would cry along with Khalen-Het, other times a million different conversations would assail his ears. And all the while, the glare of those two mismatched eyes.

    The wall of Jongos distended and became one huge, yet considerably different, face. The twin blue glowing eyes of the Nightmare Prince stared at the gibbering wreck that floated in mid-air before it.

    THE SECOND TORMENT IS COMPLETE. THE THIRD AND GREATEST TORMENT IS BELOW. THE LORD OF THIS REALM AWAITS IN THE FOURTH TORMENT.


    A gaping maw the size of continents opened before Khalen-Het and a tongue slowly wrapped itself around him, its touch both abhorrent and sensual at the same time. It pulled him down into darkness and the great mouth of the Nightmare Prince closed behind him.

  24. - Top - End - #774
    Ogre in the Playground
     
    Ladorak's Avatar

    Join Date
    May 2007
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Carolinus let out a great sigh at the Overlord's words 'I cannot overstate my relief in finding you as reasoned and as honourable as your kin. From when I was separated from my love, over a hundred years ago, to now, I now call this the high point of my life.
    'It would have wounded me to spill Titan blood before I saw the deadlands. Now it would reave my heart.'
    He paused for a while, lost in thought despite the magnitude of the moment.
    'This is not easy for me to say, but it needs to be said. Should the day come when my father's wrath falls upon you once again, I will stand between you. I cannot promise it will make any difference, but it is all I can do. For other mortals, this is a thing I would never do. But the Titans have suffered enough, have suffered unjustly. All this at the hands of my House. This is all I can do for you, but I swear I shall do it.'

    He sighs again, shrugging aside the heaviness of that promise in one breath. Instead embracing the joy of this moment. 'I say yes Overlord, I say a thousand times yes. You are welcome in Markien. I have but one law, one that all Titans must swear to. Do no harm to your neighbour. Keep to that and none will meddle in the affairs of your people. All in Markien are equal, and you will be treated equally. You will be free to roam the lands, and to work them. You will be free to maintain your own form of governance, or integrate into Markien's. You will be free to join our armed forces, and would be welcome indeed!
    'Nothing will be denied to your people, unless it is denied to all.'
    Last edited by Ladorak; 2012-09-20 at 06:41 PM.
    Spoiler
    Show
    The Human Spirit by kpenguin. The Raynnverse lives!

    Vagrant and Seal by Smuchmuch. This depiction of Seal is so s'much like Smuchmuch

    Sentient #6 Avatar by kpenguin. Clearly the best picture of a M&M character named after a Nevermore song there has ever been.

  25. - Top - End - #775
    Firbolg in the Playground
    Join Date
    Mar 2011
    Location
    Australia

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Be thankful for your past, it blesses your future.

    Kalandor woke with a strange string of words in his head.
    'La Lune Lust, Sinning Solarus Shant Summount.'
    The weirdest line of gibberesh he could think of. But a good vocabulary and some time could figure it quickly.
    And as Kalandor rose from his sleeping place at the edges of an islet, he had time to think, heading ever towards what seemed to be a beacon.
    "La... The. Lune is moon... Lust, Desire.. Desires. Sinning Solarus, that has to be the meteor, Shant means will not, and Summount is plane.... As the moon desires, the meteor won't arise.... Well, at least I can decode dreams."
    Underwater, Kalandor's laughter was little more than a stream of bubbles, even as a aquatic animal. He had been alone for quite some time, it was almost as if fish avoided the area.
    All the faster.

    When Kalandor arrived at his destination, the feeling dropped off to a comfortable as you will. No pull. No nothing.
    Odd. Normally when something called him there was something obvious, often some sort of sign, however rare.
    There was nothing for it. Just himself and a small platau like... He didn't have a word, like a finger. Comming off a larger area, he knew there was a continent to the east of him, and he thought it probably joined on sometime out of sight.

    Walking across the rock, Kalandor stopped suddenly. Something was moving.
    But nothing was.
    And then he shifted a little.
    He knew what it was. It was resonating within him yet spreading out.
    It was a peice of Baz'Auran's power. Or something... Kalandor knew not, this was Faden's area of expertise. And the source.... It was far gone. This was just like... A river of it.
    But it was similar to the way Kalandor used magic, perhaps if he... Tapped into it.
    Reaching out with his senses, Kalandor touched the Lay Line, and withdrew quickly. He had touched going against the flow, and blindly fumbling at that.
    When he came to his senses, he was laying face down on half submerged in the rock a little bit away. And something made him think he glowed.
    Slowly morphing himself out of the stone, Kalandor rose. It was a uncomfortable sensation, seeping out of the cracks... But the blow triggered ideas. He woundn't seek the source, but he would camp here a while... Perhaps this could be useful.

  26. - Top - End - #776
    Troll in the Playground
     
    daelrog's Avatar

    Join Date
    Dec 2009
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    The Earth's Heart

    "Indeed they are." Another of Father's lost creations no doubt, one that she had not seen in the tomes of the White City. She regarded the dragon respectfully. Intelligent, powerful, and known. Three things she appreciated in a people, three things Baz'Auran's vaunted humanity did not seem to show.

    "I was drawn to this place, I could feel the ash and fire in my heart from the central continent. With whom do they seek war? Why do they seek it, or is there another they act for?" Her eyes scanned below, she could not tell if these creatures of obsidian and fire were of intelligence or simply forces of nature. She wanted to learn more, but caution suggested otherwise.

    Flashes of the Puppet Master flickered through her mind. What horrid secrets did these creatures hold? How many more fell things had Baz'Auran created?

  27. - Top - End - #777
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    The Succubus's Avatar

    Join Date
    Sep 2008
    Location
    UK
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    The Third Torment

    Sorrow is the scourge of the heart and thus the corruption is purged.

    Mists. Cool, swirling mists stretching in every direction.

    After the horrific mental tortures of the Second Torment, Khalen-Het wondered briefly whether he had finally died and had passed on to the next realm, whatever it may be. The cold, implacable words of the third Prince reverberated in his mind and he knew that his ordeal was not over.

    This was the Third Torment, the greatest and most terrible of the three, yet there was no pain, no voices, no images – just mist. He felt as if he were floating, the floor beneath his feet insubstantial and dream like. He walked forward. The mist seemed to glow in places and as he walked in the direction of one of the glows, a small object loomed out of the fog. A small wooden torch, sticking up from the ground, glowed brightly, its small flame seeming to exude warmth and comfort.

    Khalen-Het shivered. The coolness of the mist was beginning to feel unpleasant; cold and clammy. As he walked towards the torch, the flame seemed to sputter, getting weaker and the mist around him getting darker before the torch failed completely…

    ****

    It has been two days since the “accident” and he is disconsolate. He has not eaten or slept, the words of Baz’Auran’s refusal to help save his sister weighing like iron on his soul. All he can think of is Elanna’s face, her tears streaming down as she is captured by swirling darkness. A figure walks over to him, their footsteps soft and gentle. For a moment, he thinks she has returned to the White City and to him but his heart falls again when he realises it is Fayruz.

    “Khalen, we are worried about you,” she says. “We all are.”

    “You lie or jest,” he replies bitterly. “I know that there those amongst the Brethern that also miss Elanna and hold me responsible.”

    She rests a hand on his shoulder. “Khalen, what happened was an accident-“

    He rises to his feet and whirls around to face her, his hand striking her face and knocking her to the ground. “I ABANDONED HER! I LED HER AWAY FROM THE WHITE CITY AND I LEFT HER TO THE HORRORS OF AN UNFORMED WORLD! LEAVE ME!” he roars and Fayruz flees, weeping.

    It is later the same day and the bell above the Great Hall rings for the evening feast. He climbs the steps to the great bronze doors and opens them. All conversation in the room ceases and his brothers and sisters are glaring at him in disgust. He looks towards the seat of Baz’Auran and sees Fayruz, one eye puffy and bruised. He turns to leave and as he does so, she turns and looks at him. Her expression is different from that of the others. She is looking at him with sadness and with pity. He bows his head, utterly ashamed of himself and walks away to his lonely tower.


    ****

    Khalen-Het awoke from the vision with a start. The mists seemed to have grown thick and behind him the fog stretched into darkness. The mist was cold, seeping through his skin. He saw another torch far in the distance and walked toward it. His footsteps were heavy, as though he were walking through mud. He had to reach the torch, for he feared the darkness behind him and it seemed to be creeping and closing in on him.

    As he approached the second torch, its heat seemed almost searing and the brightness hurt his eyes, yet both were a welcome respite from the fog. But once again, as he drew closer, the torch flickered as though in a heavy wind before being snuffed out…

    ****

    The Weaver is the latest sibling to try and break through the impenetrable wall Khalen has built around his heart. He hopes that by seeing Khalen create something, he can derive some meaning from the works his brother shapes. Yet Khalen refuses. After the failures of painting, song and weaving, The Weaver thinks he has found something suited to his brother’s temperament – stone carving. Slow, precise, exacting.

    He gazes at the block of stone before him and that is all it is to him. He sees no hidden shapes inside it, no imagination to guide him and The Weaver finds his patience being tested to the limit.

    "Khalen, you have such a beautiful mind, such a powerful imagination! Why don't you use it?” he says. “I know you are grieving over Elanna! We all know how it consumes your thoughts! But it's been years! You have to let go! Or are you as dead inside as the lifeless block before you?”

    He stiffens and takes the hammer from his brother. Its weight feels good. Heavy. Powerful. He utters no cry of rage or anger. He swings the mallet and the beautiful slab of marble splinters into a thousand fragments.

    As he drops the mallet on the floor of the sculpting room, he hears The Weaver speak again. “Wait, Khalen, I didn’t mean-“

    He walks away. He knows that The Weaver meant every single word. And that it was true.


    ****

    On and on it went. The mist grew ever colder and thicker, biting and gnawing into Khalen-Het’s very soul, his world growing darker and darker. Another torch brought an ever briefer respite and another cruel reminder of his failings as a person, the words of his “friends” and “family” bringing harsh truths home to him.

    The darkness was almost complete and despair overwhelmed Khalen-Het as the first torch he had seen in several years loomed out of the darkness. This one was different – it seemed to be hovering at the end of a larger shape. Dragging his feet, crawling through the thick miasma, he gazed up at it. It was a statue of himself, dressed in fine robes, holding aloft a great torch. A plaque at the base of the statue simply said:

    THE LAWBRINGER


    Yet, as with all the others, the torch began to flicker and his tears mingled with the droplets of mist as the torch went out and the darkness closed in…

    ****

    He looks over his shoulder and sees the White City falling back into the distance as he is borne aloft by a Spirit of Baz’Auran. Three other Spirits fly with him and he looks in wonder at the Disk below. The party touches down onto the Disk and it seems to warp and change beneath their feet as they walk. There is a blur of movement and something wraps around his waist. It is a living shadow and it crushes him tightly. He screams for help. He looks up and sees more of the shadows flying down toward him. Desperately, he looks toward the party. The four Spirits are flying away, along with…himself? No. He realises that it is not his eyes he sees through. He feels Elanna’s eyes fill with tears and her voice go hoarse as she screams and calls for him. But he does not heed her and darkness closes in…

    There is a blurring sensation and he finds himself in a cave overlooking a desert. He is naked, his tattered garments long since discarded. He can taste the blood in his mouth from the meat he chews, its owner having screamed and begged for its life as it had wandered, lost and alone. So alone…so weak…so vulnerable. A thought crosses his mind and he turns away from the desert and gazes into the cave, a twisted smile forming on his lips. He slowly walks towards the small figure at the back of the cave, her own garments tattered and soiled but she is still beautiful. She is looking up at him in fear and he drinks in the sensation, delighting in it. His hand closes around her slender arm and his other sweeps aside her clothes. He senses movement behind him as his brothers return, also hungry and waiting. He hears her cry out in loathing and despair as the darkness closes in…

    Time blurs again and once more he finds himself in the cave. His body feels sore, but it is an ache he has known for many, many years. He knows that his “Princes” are sleeping heavily at the moment, tired after nightly activities. He looks into a pool of water beside him and the face that stares back is still beautiful but it is a hard beauty, cold and cruel as the slopes of this wretched mountain he has called home. Home…He feels nothing, thoughts of the White City abstract and meaningless and all notions of warmth and love have gone. His thoughts turn to him and for the first time in years, he feels something. Sorrow…and anger. Anger at his abandonment. Anger that he has not suffered like this. His hand closes around a rock. It feels hard and cold and heavy. He lifts it and walks silently to the side of one of the Princes and brings it crashing down upon him. The scream of pain fills his soul with joy and turning gracefully, strikes another Prince, again and again. Blood flows over him and he exults in the agony. Soon the Princes lay bruised and broken on the floor, astounded at the swiftness and brutality of his assault. They fear him now and he delights in it. He speaks to them and speaks of the future. He will never know the White City again but instead shall claim a part of this world for himself, its pains, its pleasures, all shall be his now. He is no longer a child of Baz’Auran. He is forsaken and the darkness claims its own.


    ****

    How long Khalen-Het wept in the darkness will never be known but the Torment Engine had done its work and he was utterly broken in body, mind and spirit. He drifted in the darkness for decades, centuries, millennia…until a light slowly shone in the darkness and the mist returned. The glow in the distance was not that of a torch but instead of a warming fire. Its light shone through the windows of a small cottage with a path leading to a open door. Yet as he made ready for the final journey, a shadowy figure appeared before him, barring his way.

    THE QUIET LANDS WILL NEVER BE FOR THE LIKE OF YOU, KHALEN-HET. THE LORD OF THIS REALM AWAITS IN THE FINAL TORMENT BELOW.

    Khalen-Het dropped to his knees and did not even try to resist as he was drawn into the heart of darkness.
    Last edited by The Succubus; 2012-09-21 at 04:08 AM.

  28. - Top - End - #778
    Ogre in the Playground
    Join Date
    Apr 2012

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    With the first light the first small speck of green worked free of the ground where Khrith sat. After peering out at the horizon, Khrith lay down and began to speak.

    “My first memories were closer to death than any I have had since then. In those early days the forest was unassailable by my efforts and I wandered through it temporally and metaphysically lost.

    I think, in fact, that is what death is like: a senseless immutable realm in which your actions place no weight upon the world. When a crippled or adrift creature has such an existence the journey to death is short and downhill. I have seen many men and creatures died in such a state, because I watch such descents, I have seen them more than most beings. To climb up from such a slope you need to dig into the hill itself for handholds.

    I wonder at the faded realms that I and many others have climbed from death yet so few from behind walk among us.

    If my first memories were of a time near death in a work strange to me, I would soon scratch death along a path that aligned too straight. Cold is like hunger, once you’ve really felt it you never really stop. I have taken winter as my face and hide, looking to frost as a time of deep violence. I wonder where my fear went?

    I crawled on my side that first winter, to ease the pain of cuts that froze and blood that started to climb back up. The things that were my fears in those days don’t perk their ears outside me.”


    The sun rose to midday and this mornings plant grew wood and branches, but Khrith neither left its shadow nor practiced speech.

    The march of noon saw him prune branches with a clamshell. At dusk he spoke again to a slender tree that curved and swayed gently like a cat’s tail.

    “While I was wandering through human lands I slew a dragon. The people in the area were frenzied with fear and rings of ways to hide it, so I went to see why they had left their minds over some sheep carcasses and dead relatives. I killed the creature to study why they worried about it. It was just a large scavenger that hunted human lands out of foolish pride. The local humans could have studied it and slew it themselves if the issue had mattered for them, but they found it easier to river about and take their deaths as a toll to be paid to avoid inconvenience. Those people gave their lives away without a true one lost. My study to their fear was a lesson on watching fools. One of my only real lessons, as a matter of fact.”
    The shells around Khrith’s neck rattled softly in what was probably the young god beginning to discover laughter.
    “With truly fearsome creatures it is pointless to run around because you must drive them off before they strike. They have no limit or delay to slaying you, and no location they move will change that. When such a creature plans to kill you and doesn’t without ever having considering the fact that they didn’t, they deserve fear. Men and wolves are such creatures; that’s what makes them so terrifying.

    Through my act to tell you all the times I was near death, I did not mention, I plan to kill you tomorrow. In a way you are me, so this might be my closest occurrence.”


    Khrith not so much climbed as alighted into the trees upper points, apparently content for a long while to lean against the trunk and hold in place with his ankles.

  29. - Top - End - #779
    Firbolg in the Playground
    Join Date
    Mar 2011
    Location
    Australia

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    Would that you would plan some more.

    Kalandor had spent a few days near the lay line, observing it. He noticed that near the water it went deeper, and appeared to weaken though it did not weaken. An oddity for later.

    However, now as he sat, flicking the small meteor between his fingers, he let his mind wander.
    The stone didn't speak much, it didn't like the lay-line, but it liked the thoughts Kalandor sent it. Finally he asked it-

    "Well... Shall we try?"

    Moments ticked by, stones where rarely fast to respond.
    And then, he got a feeling of warmth and agreement.
    That was all he needed.

    Kalandor returned to the lay-line, moving to a small section that he had mentally mapped out.
    Turning, he began to run down it, and slowly he tapped it.

    Who says you cant fight destiny.

    The Lay line felt itself tapped, and began resisting. That was expected.

    Slowly Kalandor's arm began spiralling, piling on muscle while keeping the joint smooth.

    The Lay line, however, was being tapped in it's direction, and guided up instead of into Kalandor (he had learned).

    Forward, he could sense the pilar of energy, and his swings changed, becoming faster, yet they would reach a certain point at just the right time.

    The line arced up, pointing up into the white city, on it's nightly orbit.

    Kalandor's hand his the line, and he willed it to go, and he pushed as much power from himself and the Lay line as he thought he safely could.

    He was wrong on that point.

    His hand let go, hurling the stone high into the air as one thought struck it with a mass of divine power. Up, but as this happened, Kalandor slumped to the ground.

    Nature Sees all, impassive but improving, seeking only to better itself, ignoring our plight.

    The very air crackled around the stone, and Kalandor, tapping into his own ability to move sent his magic.
    And as he fell unconscious, something wonderful and horrifying happened.
    Space itself folded.
    The air around the stone turned into a image of where the stone was transported to, even as the space around where the stone landed showed its origin, as the stone flew high past the disk, perhaps to the white city, perhaps not.

    The stone was changed in its unnatural flight, yet, so where all the planes.
    The veils between worlds thinned, Elders close to death had their souls slip through quietly, screaming men crying out in their body death throws where silent.
    The Eldest shamans of the bestial, tapping into a world they barely knew, slipped through. A world of nature and fey uncaring.
    Dreamers fell comatose, as those seeking the advice of the unconscious mind, would forever be in contact with it.
    Those with the sparks of power, flared into strength, and Mages seeking their power tapped it.
    Everywhere, beings seeking found, and doors opened beyond what they should have, for better or for worse. Whether or not it would return to normal... That was a different question.

    ((Acts))
    Spoiler
    Show

    1 Major: Create the Levelling Stone. A smoothe meteoric stone, it is infused with a combination of the power wielded by the God of Travel, the Will of Baz'Auran, and that of the void. It seems to act as a leveller of will, in it's presence destiny and free will have equal influence, and magic is lessened increasing the power of 'brute' force. It also happens to weaken the 'skin' between planes with it's presence, making inter-planer travel (marginally) easier.

    1 Minor: Send the Levelling Stone the the White City, or somewhere in the void, as per Dark's Wishes (undisclosed)


    "All Men Are Born As Many Men"
    And in the moment Kalandor lost conciousness, something strange happening.
    Falling into unconsciousness, Kalandor split.

    His soul, his essence, went with his damaged mind into the world of dreams, with the noise created in the real world, and severely weakened, he was simple as another dreamer, just another powerful one. He had attracted no notice yet, and it would be a little while until those that managed this plane took note.

    His body however, went somewhere no god made, or knew of yet, where fey creatures rule, looking on at this world with detached interest. Whether or not the body drew attention was of no mortals knowledge, as it tumbled through undergrowth, coming to rest amongst the leaves of an oversized tree, comatose.

    ((Remaining Acts for Table Update))
    Spoiler
    Show

    3 Ceromonies, 1 Minor.

  30. - Top - End - #780
    Ettin in the Playground
     
    The Succubus's Avatar

    Join Date
    Sep 2008
    Location
    UK
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Heroes of the Fall

    A Death In The Darkness – The Final Torment

    Oblivion is the scourge of existence and thus the world is reborn.

    The wreckage of a man floated in the endless void of the Torment Engine. A end to all sensations, thought, light and life extinguished.

    YOU WILL STAND.

    No. No more.

    YOU WILL STAND.

    Strands of thought wove themselves together and a consciousness became aware. There was nothing else here.

    THIS IS THE HEART OF THE TORMENT ENGINE. IT DEMANDS A SACRIFICE TO BEAT ONCE AGAIN.

    What else was there left to give? The Engine had claimed everything.

    NOT EVERYTHING.

    A knife floated in the darkness in front of him. There was no filigree or engravings on the hilt or blade. All it was was a cold shard of iron.

    YOU WILL TAKE IT.


    The conciousness reached out for the blade and held it.

    PROCEED.

    A series of steps appeared from the darkness and a light shone at the top. The man climbed slowly and reached the top.

    A stone altar with a figure chained to it. The figure was a young woman, stripped bare, a cold iron manacle fastened to each limb.

    Elanna.

    PROCEED.

    No.

    SLAY THE WOMAN OR PASS THROUGH THE ENGINE A SECOND TIME.

    Pain. Madness. Suffering. No. Please. No.

    SLAY THE WOMAN.

    A crash echoed behind him. The first step crumbled away, revealing red and black miasma. Hungry chains crawling up towards him.

    Elanna staring up at him in fear. Pleading. Begging.

    Another crash.

    The knife flashes down. A scream of pain. Blood.

    THE DISK IS IMPERFECT.

    Slash. Another scream.

    SINFUL.

    Slash.

    CORRUPT.

    The knife slashes down. The stairs continue to fall. Tears. Agonized sobs.

    THE ENGINE SHALL PURGE CORRUPTED SOULS BUT THE LIVING WORLD MUST ALSO BE PURGED.

    Slash.

    PUT ASIDE MERCY. PUT ASIDE FORGIVENESS.

    Slash.

    THE CORRUPTION MUST BE PURGED.

    The corruption must be purged.

    THE CORRUPTION MUST BE PURGED.

    The corruption must be purged.

    Blood washes down the steps and the figure on the altar is still.

    YOU KNOW YOUR DUTY.

    The world was broken. He would slay the sinful. The corrupted would be cast down into agony. No forgiveness. No mercy. No pity.

    ****

    The spinning rings of the Torment Engine slowed and synchronised with each other. The spherical void at the heart of the infernal machine pulsed and a gargantuan shockwave rippled out from it.

    All over the world, sleep is plagued by nightmares. Of dreams of chains, of falling and agony and madness. From the Olm to the Sea of Jongo, from Diskborn to Child of the White City, people dream of suffering and pain.

    All the dreams end the same way.

    Two red eyes open in the darkness and people wake up screaming.

    ****

    As the Lord of Suffering surveyed his new domain and the world that lay beyond, a figure chained to a slab shimmered and blurred. The black flowing tresses turned silver and soft feminine curves became scarred muscle. The body of Khalen-Het faded into a spark of white light.

    And then that too, faded away.

    Spoiler
    Show
    Act Expenditure

    Gain Domain: Punishment (1 Major Act)
    Create Realm: Torment (2 Major Acts)

    Remaining Acts - 6 Minor, 2 Ceremonies.
    Last edited by The Succubus; 2012-09-24 at 05:22 AM.

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •