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The Graveyard
As the skeletal hands reach out sloooooowly to grasp her throat, she screams shrilly.
The little girl sprints recklessly across the room, abandoning Lyssa her baby doll.
The darkness behind her continues to pursue her as she stumbles across the room tripping
over only-the-Creator-knows-what until suddenly the door before her bursts open. She
falls to the floor, screaming and wailing hopelessly as a figure steps before her.
A small oil lamp is pulled quickly above the figure's head to illuminate Mother's worried face,
scanning the room for her daughter, and any danger as well. "Cassie, calm down. It was only
a dream.", she says. The daughter only then starts to breathe again, with barely the slightest
sign of any relief.
"I miss Daddy. He's supposed to tell me a bedtime story till I get sleepy. He's been gone
for days now, and I'm scared for him," Cassie sobs. Mother smiles reassuringly ..... but
transparently. Tension lines across her brow speak many scores more, and only feed Cassie's
deepest fears. "Father is a good man with a strong heart, and he loves us very much. He is
being strong for us now, and he needs us, the two of us Cassie, to be strong for him too."
'What more can I tell her without upsetting and worrying her even more?', the Mother wonders.
Her husband seems to be the same loving, stable man ...... usually. But recently he has deeply
sunk into a very dark mood, muttering almost inaudibly at even the most mundane events. But
then shamefully bites his tongue and clenches his jaw, when noticed by his loving wife and
daughter. The filthy taint seems to be starting to actually linger on him noticeably, both
emotionally and physically. How many times has he sliced up any food that he forces and fights
down his gullet? How long has she been telling herself that it was his reaction to the violent
bloodshed and gore that he faces, and not due to the evil taint of the Nameless One on the Source
itself? But he said he must go on a very special quest, facing even more Shadowspawn for the
opportunity to be 'reborn', hopefully with a soul clean of the taint. Overall, it would be safer
for him, her, and most of all for their daughter.
"Father will return to us soon, Cassie." she settles for saying. "Let's put a candle in your window
to make the darkness in here less scary, and also to let Father see the light to help him find his
way back to us all the sooner." A tall, tapered candle of tallow is placed carefully upon the
windowsill and lit to illuminate the room and it's floor strewn with countless dolls, toys, and
her favorite wooden flutes. An angry barn owl, just outside the window on a branch, hoots twice
at the violation of candlelight on his hunting perch and flies away into the night.
Cassie is lovingly tucked back into bed with another hug and kiss and watches Mother leave the room
slowly, with a wink and a reassuring smile at the door. Cassie lies in bed staring around the room
at dim silhouettes that quickly start to play upon her fearful imagination again. Is that a Trolloc
under the bed? Or a Forsaken in the corner? Where could Father be? Is he ever coming back? Fresh,
hot tears run down her face. Finally, she gathers her resolve and steps onto the floor, terrified
of a trolloc arm grabbing her ankle and pulling her under the bed. Walking purposefully across the
room to the door, she can't even look into that dark corner. After all, the Forsaken can do horrible
things without even touching you. And death is actually a mercy to any of their victims.
As Cassie tiptoes quietly past her Mother's room, she gently opens the latch and slips out the door.
She jogs as quickly as she dares, under the dim illumination of the moon, along the narrow deer trail
leading westward to the King's Road. Suddenly, a lone wolf bays at the moon somewhere behind her,
prompting her to sprint heedlessly. Briars and thorns seem to be drawn magnetically to her dress
and legs, as she realizes that she's lost her way from the path. The loud growling and barking of
several dogs draw her attention to a large overgrown gate labelled simply Briargate Manor. Now she
finally slows as she sneaks past to the King's Road.
The sight of the night sentry at the Northern Gate, finally reassures her of at least human company
as she reaches New Manetheren. Gathering her composure, she walks meekly into town. The streets are
almost barren this time of night, but she walks determinedly towards the graveyard. As she gets
closer to her destination, the area becomes colder, darker, and devoid of all other life as she
finally reaches the Graveyard.
An old, rusty gate now stands between her and all the remaining people she has ever known in her
life. Slowly, the absolute hopelessness of her situation starts to overcome her, but she feels
the bond to her father even still. Which now seems to feel more focused as she follows in his
last footsteps to the Cathedral. Drunken muttering from the other side of a mound of earth,
warns her of the presence of the crazy old gravedigger to her right, so she crawls to the left
from the cobblestone path leading to the great stone Cathedral. Suddenly, a wet *POP* erupts
from the other side of a headstone, and a gnarled figure grunts and growls as it drags its trophy
arm from a now desecrated grave. Cassie just barely contains her retching response to having just
witnessed the beginning of a ghoulish feast.
Her heart thunders within her feeble ribcage, threatening to deafen her as she approaches the
huge, oaken double doors hanging ajar between tall, broken stained glass windows. The dark,
stone wingless figures of gargoyles seem to watch her as she approaches, just waiting to pounce
down upon her from their pedestaled perches. She jumps the last few feet to dive into the crack
between the doors, as dusty rubble sprinkles her bare feet. A tall, gaunt figure sits entranced,
channeling dark energies of necromancy towards a smoking brazier, from which a spirit starts to
coalesce with glowing eyes. Cassie slips back into the shadows and sneaks past the figures towards
a dimly lit altar at the end of the corridor.
A loud moaning erupts from the spirit behind her demanding blood sacrifice to sate its pain and
hunger. The Necromancer slowly turns towards the altar and she quickens her pace to attempt to
hide behind it. Creeping further and further behind it she get crammed farther and tighter until
she can barely breathe. She cries helplessly as the Necromancer cackles gleefully as he attempts
to reach her, in vain. But the Necromancer would not be so easily foiled, so he started to drag
the edge of the altar from the wall to expose her from her hiding place.
The altar shifted and lurched as the Necromancer pulled at it, but suddenly her footing gave way
and she fell. The Necromancer screamed shrilly but fruitlessly above her, as she fell into
darkness, spiraling towards a red pentacle with five glowing points. But what caught her attention
was an immense, horned statue with infernal eyes glaring at her. As she slowly realized that this
was no statue at all, the pentacle beneath her surged with a blinding flash and she found herself
lying in mud, surrounded by a dense, endless fog.
She now wanted nothing but to go home to her warm, safe bed or even Mother's bed. She wiped the mud
and tears from her face, as much as she could with a bit of the clean, but now tattered border of her
bedgown. Cassie just sat and cried for her Father, Mother, and even her favorite doll Lyssa. She
was surrounded with an endless swirling fog, and had no way to retrace her wondrous tracks. The
lip-clop of a horse, jolted her awareness back to her present peril. She looked around with fearful
hope, to a great mounted knight in ancient armor of a Knight of Justice, bearing a glowing sword in
his hand! She ran forward, calling to him, her Hero! But as she approached, she skidded to the
ground as she smelled the fetid rot, and now saw the almost fleshless countenance beneath his
raised visor.
Northward she ran blindly from the walking, armored corpse. She fell over a headstone and tumbled
down, crying and wailing to the very shore of a dark fetid river. A tall, dark figure standing at
the aft of a dark boat stepped upon the shore before her. The calm figure dressed in a ratty old
gray robe and a hood pulled over his face, soothed her with her father's voice, as it reached for
her with yellowed skeletal hands.
Cassie screamed with primal fear and pain and lurched.... upright in her bed, next to Lyssa.
Gasping in relief, she grabbed Lyssa and hugged her desperately against her chest. Mother burst
through the door of her room once more, reminding her that it was only a nightmare. Cassie nodded
tearfully at Mother, pulling Lyssa up for a kiss. But stared dumbly at the doll, which was now
covered lightly with dust and cobwebs, and a dark, blood-tinged golden sovereign tied around its
neck.
Kromwell
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Silent tendrils reached out across the sky. Skeletal fingers of darkness plucking the colors of
dusk from their celestial seat above the sins of the earth. The night was coming. The beasts,
great and small, knew it. So did the trees of the forest whose bark melded with druids old and
legends that carved their wood like storms.. and the wary people of Myska knew it too.
Their homes slowly closed to the streets. The cobble roads emptying of crowds or creatures that
breathed their life's scripts into history. The light of lampposts kindled by the watchman and
lighter before they too sought their sanctuary. Families sought the refuge of home, hearth and
a hearty meal that would await them on their tables. A meager fare and yet the town was happy...
if they stayed home at night. Of course... not all knew that... no... not all.
The traveler walked the winding road from the dark haunted moors to enter Myska's town walls. No
one watched, but the moon who rose into the heavens taking its majestic throne, its visage
framed by the glory amidst the star blanketed sky. A good companion.. yet an eerie one. The
traveler walked on, his feet silent upon the cobbled streets, clean but for the streams of water
and muck that flowed between the tiny cracks on the worn stone, flowing into the underground
sewers. The being looked up, turning his features to regard all that surrounded him sending the
light of lanterns scattering over his young face... What he saw was not much... not much at all...
After entering the towngates, greeted by no guard, peculiar as it was he didn't question what
was foreign, he walked slowly into the empty market place. The stalls were still there yet closed
for the night.. the refuse of the day market's haggling were strewn all over the ground whereupon
the night shone it's sinister light. Which cannot be criticized.. it was All Hallows Eve after
all. A sigh escaped his parched lips in a spiritlike mist breathed from his heart. Turning
around he saw naught alive. The doors of silent structures were barred and foreboding... as
were the inhabitants to strangers these eve. Tipping his hat forward, he sent the shadows
drifting over his eyes like a veil before he continued on his way. His gait not slackening
though he was tired from the journey passed. A sack slung over his massive shoulder carried
his only worldly possessions... A vagabond it would seem. Wandering the streets of Myska he
turned to an alley. The darkness permeated from the walls like the mosses over the moist surface.
A mist seeped through the bars of an underground canal, rising up like ghosts, the soft sounds
of the sewer whispering their painful mourning. Yet he trudged on, kicking an empty bottle of
liquor against a wall, the glass shattering against its surface, scattering shards upon the the
ground. The sound echoed through the night like a proclamation of his presence... yet none
answered him... but a laugh. It came out of nowhere... a soft tittering of a laugh like a
child. He looked around, searching for the being that dared intrude in his dark wandering of
the night. Yet saw none.. the laughter was there. Childish.. soft.. yet empty. As he walked
on the sound faded after echoing softly against the walls of the buildings that surrounded him.
Buildings which seemed to cave into the alley. Looming beasts that regarded him from empty dark
windows, admonishing for the sins he has committed... where shadows move unmarked.
And then... a church.
The bell softly tolled the 12th hour... midnight. Soft... as if buffeted by the darkness which
seemed to manifest within this city... choking it. He regarded the building before him. Once no
doubt a grand structure now regarding its dying days... its whole side were crumbled heaps of
boulders and the skeleton of the church reached to the sky like tendrils, reaching for the heavens
where it was promised its now damned glory. The traveler stopped, standing on the road... no ...
a square... before the church. The stone street turned to dust as it reached the towering building,
sands of the crumbled rock worshipping the feet of the church. The crying of the bell disappearing
into the night, was swept away by lone winds, along with it the sanity of the day. Replaced... by
a laugh.
Twas there again... the soft sound, parted from a child's mouth. Annoyed for the game that was being
played, he looked around, his face twisted into a horrid scowl to scare the child. He saw her...
but didn't move. She walked into the eerie glow of light from a nearby lamppost, a tiny moppet
of a creature. Her pudgy fingers dirtied by the moss she crumbled against her palm. Her bare feet
peeking out from the hem of the peasant's gown she wore. No taller than his thigh he realized.
Beneath the tiny mobcap of dirty yet white lace, hid her copper curls, framing her tiny visage
like a doll. He watched her... and she him. She walked closer... he stepped back. She laughed softly.
A hollow sound which slithered from her mouth. The hem of her dress dragged upon the muck of the
road. She watched him and ever so slowly began to skip around him. First pressing one foot on the
ground then the other, humming a soft tune.. she didn't sing.. yet the words came to him in hollow
whispers.
Why not laugh,
Why not smile,
Take a chance,
Or wait a while.
Come and play,
Know the game?
For who is lost
And who is sane.
I look at you,
Shame on thee.
To your house
You did not flee.
The laughter didn't pass her lips yet it was heard upon the winds that caressed his sculpted cheek.
Her eyes turned up to him, revealing depths of an untouched iniquity... pools reaching to the abyss
of unknown entities. She smiled ever so softly to him... a sweet smile which puckered her little
rosebud lips... and slowly she skipped away into the church, continuing to hum the soft tune.
Disappearing behind the door of massive oak she vanished... and it was to that door he stared...
and then followed. The song playing in his head like a creature eating into his being.
Entering the church he pressed the door to the side to be only met by the light of candles set upon
racks at the sides of the wall. They flickered within the darkness, the hope and prayers of possibly
some of the townspeople who take the pilgrimage to this forgotten church each day... he continued to
seek... yet he did not find the child who graced him with her haunting song... he ventured further
into the darkness...
It watched from the darkness of the rafters. Claws digging into the wood as it held its vantage point
over the creature. The tail slithered like a serpent over the wood, curling over as the taste of flesh
aroused the hunger that burned in the belly of the beast. It held its vantage point, a hunter over
a prey. Its moist tongue lapped over its maul and in doing so revealing the fangs which hid behind
the folds of its lips. The strands of midnight black hair prickled, standing to attention. Wings
slowly unfolded, shading its eyes from the light of the candles for but a moment... Eyes of golden
whiskey, burning a hellfire light within the darkness, rest their gaze upon the being below. Teeth
revealed, saliva dripping from its maul like thin threads of silver, burning the wood beneath with
the taint of hunger. Darkness cloaked it like a guardian, keeping watch over its brethren... A soft
growl emanated from its throat, a deep thundering rumble which acknowledged its presence to that
below... who only looked up... death was his only vision...
Blood stained the furniture and the corridor of the church.. the scent was everywhere. A choking
poison that tainted the essence of what was holy... Slowly she picked herself up, pressing her hands
against the floor to push herself upright... she brushed a few curls from her shoulders and then
nonchalantly rearranged her tiny apron and mobcap. It was still dark out.. no doubt the remains of
the wanderer will be seen in the morning... come all those who visit the dead on November 1. Slowly
she walked into the inner chambers of the church, humming her soft tune, leaving the carcass to
smolder half in the fire of the hearth, half in the light of revealing... she walked to the
waterbowl... Turning to the mirror behind the porcelain piece she saw him. His eyes darkened by the
crossover, haunted and seeking. Lips parched, desiring to quench the eternal thirst. He wore the
chains of his sins upon his wrist, the metal whispering its wicked master as he reached out to her...
begging... a soul always begged... she looked away and washed his blood from her mouth humming
softly...
Why not laugh,
Why not smile,
Take a chance,
Or wait a while.
Come and play,
Know the game?
For who is lost
And who is sane.
I look at you,
Shame on thee.
To your house
You did not flee.
Mansir
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Carnage
It was around that time when the sun's intense effluence was beginning to disappear behind the
horizon. The moon was coming into its own, and its dim, faded light would soon be the only
illumination available in the wilderness. How hollow it seemed, like some poor, martyred soul
who would forever walk in the shadows. Ahead loomed the Fortress. To call it huge could never
do it justice, the sheer size of it was enough to terrify even the bravest of men. How ironic
that such a beautiful sunset was occurring between its towers.
The stories were common in most taverns in Manetheren, although one should be careful to believe
something coming from the mouth of most of the drunks drowning their souls in those hellish
'establishments'. The tales told of valuable armors, gold, and magical devices of great power.
They also told of dead bodies piling a hundred feet into the sky, some without heads, others
stripped naked, flayed, even skinned completely.
He preferred to ignore the latter, trusting that they were nothing more than stories told to
scare children, and to give old men, who were finally realizing how little they had achieved,
something to boast about. Heh, how many times hadn't he heard about some or other toothless rot's
escape from the fortress? Humans seemed so obsessed with achieving things, failing to appreciate
the possibilities of life. Necromancy was heavily frowned upon, but he could never quite understand
why. Who were they to say he hadn't the right to raise whichever soul he wished? He had taken
their life, and he could damn well raise them back if he wanted.
He was drawing close now, maybe three hundred feet from the entrance. He took his time; the night
was but a sapling, with so many possible branches, so much fruit to bear. And then he saw them.
Nearly a hundred foot tall they stood, gigantic statues, carved from what appeared to be marble.
Bloodstains covered them completely, no wonder from some or other thief decided to bash his
partner's brains out after finding something valuable.
Suddenly, without prompt or warning, a huge blow struck his left side. He looked up, finding
himself staring straight into the eyes of the largest known gargoyle in existence. Its facial
features were like those of an imp, a prolonged nose, and an evil smirk on its face. The huge
boulders of teeth looked ready to shred his body into such tiny fragments as would prevent any
kind of re-incarnation. Fresh blood was dripping from the razor sharp claws crafted into the hand
of the beast.
It took a while for him to react, more because of sheer amazement than anything else. The road
was a long one, and the vile creatures would surely outrun him. As another huge arm swung down,
as if to cleave his head from his body, he nimbly stepped aside, and rushed through the door.
Surely the beasts could not fit through, large as the door was.
After healing the huge gash in his side, he looked up to survey the huge corridor he found himself
in. The walls towered higher than he could see in the dim. They were carved from rough dolomite,
and were seemingly the Dark One's version of a mural artwork. Entrails, other organs, and in places
even entire arms and legs, stretched as far as he could see.
He backed away, moving back toward the door, when he suddenly found himself falling backward. With
a thud his head hit the cold stone floor, and as he slowly raised his head, and made eye contact
with those empty, hollow eyes of a corpse. Then it rolled toward him. Despite all he thought he
knew, a nightmarish scream echoed through the halls, as he tried to rush down the corridor, after
tripping over the decapitated body for a second time.
He ran frantically, almost blindly, into the corridor, when he suddenly ran into a human figure.
Dressed in a plate of finest Stygian steel. Raising his head to look the man in the eye, his face
met with a mound of sickly rotting flesh, with maggots growing out of the left cheek. It smiled.
With hindsight he may have appreciated it as an excellent piece of necromancy, but as it drew a
sword from a rusty old scabbard, tied to the waist with a flap of old skin, he had other things
on his mind.
Having more time to react than before, he began chanting in that evil tongue known only to the Dark
One's followers. As he was recalling the old incantations, a dark, toxic mist began surrounding the
creature. With all the fury and anger he could raise, he attempted to rip the creature's very soul
apart, scattering it among the void.
For a second time a scream echoed through the great halls, but this time the wail was of such a
terrifyingly evil nature, it shook the very walls of the great structure, as the nightmarish
shriek of the soul doomed to undeath echoed in his mind. As the dark blade came swinging through
the air, he neatly stepped aside, and the bladed clinked harmlessly against the wall.
For a second time he hurled vast magical energies against the very essence of his foe's being,
and such was the utter despair which overwhelmed the creature that it began clawing at what was left
of its eyeballs, ripping its own flesh asunder. With a single, well-timed blow he struck the point
where the skull is joined to the neck, and as the mist guided the staff into the most crucially
vulnerable point, the staff shook violently in his hands, and with a loud crack the creatures head
fell to the floor.
Grabbing the blade of the corpse, he heard the sound of numerous footsteps approaching. From the
smell they could only be undead. A door to the north presented itself as the only viable option,
not feeling up to the task of ascending up the stairs in the room. He had long known that it was
much simpler to move through the door than to find the key, and with a short incantation he was on
the other side.
In the center of the room was a corpse, not a day old by the smell of it, with its chest cut wide
open, and skull split down the front. A figure was hunched over the table upon which the body was
laid, no doubt the necromancer responsible for his earlier fun and games. As the head slowly rose
from the body, the onyx black eyes gleamed with sheer hatred. Obviously he wasn't going to get any
answers.
The priest had proven much more capable than he had thought. Likely a member of some warrior sect
following Cadrach, the priest had cut open his chest with a single flash of his claw-like nails,
and made a deep incision in his stronger arm. He would have to wait a while before magically
restoring his physical strength, he had relied more heavily on his magical talents than he had
originally expected, and had spent all his reserves.
The priest certainly had some strange intentions for the corpse on the table, he realized, as he
stared into the exposed entrails of the body. By the look of it he had been trying to extract the
contents of the organs without getting any blood into the solution, and the body was dry. By the
sound of things a storm was raging outside. A huge crack of lightning shook the building, damn
weather.
The skull had been… from no where a huge claw had implanted itself firmly into his left shoulder,
severing tendons, sending his crimson blood splashing onto the floor. His entire body was pushed
forward, his face shoved through the open skull, into the victim's brain. His reflexes once again
saved his life, and he squirmed of the claw as another huge one cut straight through the skull,
where his head had been. Lifted his gaze from the blood on the floor, he saw an image of shear
terror. The demon before him seemed to breathe fire, with a thick, black hide. He knew its kind.
Fully rested he would have taken please in gutting the balrog like a fish, but weak as he was, he
realized he had no chance. He could only run. The door through which he had come was strangely
open and he charge through at great pace. The body of the creature he had slain previously had
drawn much attention, and a number of similar creatures were poking at it evilly with their blades.
Suddenly an old skull cracked beneath his feet, and the gaping maws of rotting flesh look up at him,
not wasting an instant before blocking the corridors.
Remembering the stairway hidden in the shadows, he charged up, away from the death that awaited him
at the end of those dark blades. Strangely the creatures didn't seem to follow him; maybe they had
turned their attention to the demon that came rushing in after him. The stench in the place was
unbelievable; it stank of the corrupted bodies of an entire army. As he moved his lantern about
the room, he saw before him a sight that cause his heart to give up all hope of surviving this
expedition. Those blasted old men were speaking the truth, as he looked up at the pyramid of dead
bodies. Easily an entire army worth of soldiers, brutally disfigured, maimed, skinned. Some even
had parts of their bodies (especially the stomachs) eaten away, and the bottom few bodies were
providing some food for a number of rats.
He heard the creaking of stone rubbing on stone, and looked up into the face of the largest statue
he had ever come across. The thing could only be described as a colossus of the most terrifying
persuasion. As if drawn toward the light of his lantern, the creature moved with incredible pace
toward him, and he was lifted into the air. The huge arms tore his body in two, some of his organs
falling out of the cavity there created, and splattered on the floor below. He was flung head first
onto the pyramid, as the dark crimson blood trickled over his elven features.
As thus came about the demise of Gad, arch-prelate of the Lord of War, ripped to shreds, and tossed
onto the pile which made Carnage such an appropriate name.
Gad
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Evil Destroys Evil Destroys Evil
I peered through the crack in the wall into pure darkness. Only, it wasn't natural darkness. This
darkness was caused by something evil. Something that would chill your bones if you got near it.
Something more evil than I. So evil that I, a Dreadlord even, was set to destroy it. Shadowgate.
Sucking in a deep breath, I stepped through the hole in the wall, the pure evil sucking the air out
of my lungs. I took a few steps forward, and something darted in and out of my vision. In a swift
motion, my dual hand-bows were raised and nocked, the only sound a shuffling and a small 'click'.
But even in those few seconds, my prey had escaped me. I lowered my weapons a bit, keeping them
ready, and proceeded.
I slowly moved forward, my hands brushing against the walls in this close chamber, searching for a
trap or a door. After a few minutes, I found a door to my left. I quickly scanned my area, deeming
it safe, and proceeded to pick the lock on the door. After a moment it finally came open and I
stepped through the door, the movement of the large door kicking dust into my face. I quickly
stifled a sneeze and continued.
After a moment or two of walking I heard a loud, low growl coming from the southwest. I followed the
growling, as it got steadily louder. Another shift in the darkness. Something's following me... Or
waiting for me... But I'm here for a reason... I proceeded. A minute later, I felt a chill run down
my spine and I spun around, firing bolt after bolt at the darkness. My efforts were eventually
rewarded by a slight groan.
Ok... So it isn't just my imagination...
About 5 minutes later I came to a pit. The growling was echoing out from there, and I could see
something slithering about in the darkness. I took a deep breath then I hopped down the hole. The
serpent slithered over to me, growling a bit, then it began to speak to me in a tongue I could only
partially make out.
"Tell me... Do you enjoy life?"
I stuttered a bit, answering, "Y-y-yes..." What is this thing? Is it going to kill me?
The reply came as, "Well then, you must solve my riddles. If you do, you will gain treasure, if
you don't..." I could swear that even in the darkness I could see a grin spread across it's face.
I glared at where I thought it was. "Give me your worst!" It was a bluff of course. I was scared to
death, but ready to die if that was what it took to destroy Shadowgate.
It laughed a bit. "After you give it, you must keep it."
I thought hard for this. My life depended on it... "Um... L-love. N-no... Um... A secret...
No... A promise!"
"Haha! You are correct." There was a slight clicking sound. "I have unlocked two chest for you.
They contain valuable treasure. But there is more! Answer me this! By naming it, you break it."
"I am not interested in your treasure. But..." I thought to myself for a minute, knowing that it
would probably become impatient very soon. After a moment I had a break through. "Silence! By
saying it's name, you break the silence!"
"Haha! That is correct, but you will never get my treasure!" It slithered through a distorted
portion of the stone, which turned out to be a portal. I followed it through.
I entered it's true lair, which contained an elegantly crafted and decorated chest. The serpent
motioned toward the chest with it's tail. "In this chest is what you seek. But to retrieve it,
you must first kill me!"
I grinned a bit. "Gladly..." My bows raised to my sides with a click, and immediately a rain of
bolts fell upon the beast. It slithered towards me with blinding speed, biting at me. I quickly
switched to my Katar, stabbing it in the back several times.
The beast hissed and growled madly. "Noooo! My treasure!" There was a click as it unlocked its
chest and grabbed for the treasure. I stabbed it once more in the back and it fell silent. I opened
its chest and reached in, pulling out a golden scepter. The Scepter of the Sun... To destroy the
Shadowgate... I slowly turned and then walked out, climbing back out of the pit. I walked back the
way I came.
After a long time of walking, I came to a room with a ghost floating in it and a book on the table.
The ghost was moaning, "My name...what is my name...?" I studied the book for a moment, hoping for
a clue.
I found what I was looking for. "Are you... Gestevan?"
"Yes! I am Gestevan! I was killed by the Shadowgate's evil... You must use the Scepter of the Sun
and destroy it... Take the black medallion from it's guard and the keystone from the Shadowgate
itself. Take them to the Holy Shrine and destroy them! Avenge my death!"
I slowly nodded. "Ok. It shall be done. How do I find the Shadowgate?" He gave me a path and I
followed it quickly, my mission renewed in my mind. I eventually came to a well that filled my
body with intense heat. I muttered a few words, shielding myself from the heat. I climbed down
the ladder and saw a demon radiating fire and heat. I wasted no time in firing upon it.
It took quite an assault before it managed to find me in the darkness, but when it did, it started
scratching and clawing at me. At one time it ran back and breathed a ball of fire on me. After
several minutes of intense fighting, we were both worn down. I started a quick chant and with a
quick gesture of my hand I destroyed what was left of it's soul. After it was dead, there was a
clicking sound and the door unlocked. I opened it and stepped out of the heat.
After I was out, I spread my arms to my sides, closing my eyes and chanting. My body felt renewed
as I infused myself with Nature's own touch. I proceeded onward. After a few minutes, I came to a
wall of shadow. It covered an opening in the marble walls. I wasted no time in beginning a full
scale assault on it.
As it had to guard the opening, it couldn't attack me much, but it did get in it's share of big
hits. I eventually managed to dispatch it. I can't take much more of this... I hope it isn't very
much farther...
The wall faded, revealing the opening. I walked through it and was immediately blinded by a magical
darkness. I could make out a figure standing in the darkness though. He seemed almost human, but
shadowy tendrils were wrapped around his body. He immediately began attacking me. I began shooting
at him immediately, but he overwhelmed me. I had to run. Fortunately, he didn't chase me.
I rested for a long time, catching my breath and preparing myself, now knowing my enemy. After a
while, I ran back in, instantly raining fire upon him with both of my bows. After several minutes
of fighting him, I had to run again. Once again I rested, returning to fight him, but he was gone...
I looked around, then suddenly dropped to my knees at a slash from him, spinning around and standing
up to shoot him once again. I started chanting steadily, tearing his soul several times. After a long
time, he finally fell to my onslaught. I grabbed the medallion from his dead body and proceeded to the
next chamber.
A shiver enclosed my whole body as I stared, awe-struck, at the Shadowgate. I had finally made it.
I finally recovered and grabbed the Scepter. I pointed it at the Shadowgate, and a pillar of Light
enclosed it, destroying it completely and utterly. It shattered and I grabbed the keystone.
I ran back the way I had came, to the Ghost, Gestevan's chamber. "Where is the Holy Shrine?" He gave
me the directions and I rushed there. I placed them both inside it and the ground began to shake
violently. After a moment it stopped and I heard a click from the chest at it's edge. I opened it and
took the sword from there. The legendary long sword 'Wyrmsbane'. I had done it... I destroyed the
Shadowgate...
As I stood there thinking about what I had just done, I saw that a spot on the ground looked
distorted. A shadowy figure stepped out from it. After a moment, the shadows faded and it revealed
itself to be a Balrog Demon. It leapt at me, slashing wildly with it's sword, it's body covering my
entirely, drowning out my screams...
Apollo
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To Die That All Are Served
The breeze that parted the autumn air smelled of ripening apples, and where it touched the fallen
leaves, there grew a multicolored maelstrom of seasonal rebirth. Garbed in the last shadows of
the nighttime, yet somehow made ethereal by the light of the rising sun, one man stood alone to
greet the new day. The waters of the fountain behind him were blessedly still, and for once, all
of New Manetheren was hushed. Uttering a brief thanks to the Patron of the Morning, Aromere
Lightbringer at last turned his eyes from the eastern sky.
Peering into the fountain, the warrior from the plains allowed a sigh to escape his lips. The face
that stared back at him was covered in blood, with matted hair hanging across its brow, and cuts
that numbered beyond the point where counting had any worth. All that marked the man as living was
a tired sort of intelligence, somewhere just beyond his gray eyes. The face in the waters of the
fountain was weary, but if the fountain spoke of fear lingering from the night before, surely it
told vicious lies.
Touching one thick finger to the surface of the pool, Aromere watched as his reflection ripple-warped
and changed. When the water cleared, the face was young again, staring at him from the night before.
That face had not hunted, yet, bless Talen. Bless all the Patrons, thought he, as he remembered...
The men who gathered in the square sat atop their horses, filling the air with nervous chatter and
false bravado. Aromere had seen their like before, for it seemed that everywhere men lived in cities
there were sheep like these. Young, untrained, foolish sheep. They would follow, yes. And they
would die, if the gods wished it. It was for this reason that the warrior from the plains avoided
the cities, avoided this sort. He moved with the hunt, though, and he was not such a fool as to
refuse the aid of the willing.
Cuthric had spoken on the night of the new moon, telling tales of Trollocs moving through the
Mountains of Mist. Far worse, he spoke of a stronghold to the north and east of New Manetheren.
Evil left unchecked would only fester, said he, until it oozed like pus down the face of the world.
Aromere had agreed to go, with the moon of Solace upon him, for he had dealt with Trollocs before.
He would travel through the town to the lair of the beasts, and he would smite them there, blessed
be Talen for making the hunt.
Arriving in the town, the streets were alive with rumors of Trollocs raiders. It was said that
their leaders fought with the ferocity of animals, moved like elves, and thought with the minds of
men. It was disconcerting; the Trollocs that had wandered through the plains had been little more
troublesome than marauding herds of horses. But still, the crowd gathered by the fountain. Having
heard of Trolloc raids, they thought to break some of the hold the Dark One and his Nae'blis on this
world.
Uneasy looks passed between the hunters, and their glances toward Aromere betrayed their discomfort
at the company of a barbarian chief. It was with the reluctance of the untested that they asked if
he would join them. The warrior agreed, with a shrug and a noncommittal grunt. Horses were fetched
from the stables, while Aromere stood by the fountain, watching the masses of people with a marked
discomfort. After a seemingly interminable wait, they set off. The horses trotted from the northern
gate of the city, and Aromere ran beside them.
The journey was long; the tainted woods were oppressive as they passed, and had Aromere stopped to
consider what kind of madness might be ahead, he might have-turned back? Of course not. Prepared
himself, though. Surely that. The howls of wolves marked their passing, and the occasional moan of
the undead was carried to their ears on the winds. The journey took them away from the light of the
harvest moon, far beneath the ground. Most of them would never see the moon again.
Down and down they went, into he belly of the world. Nearing the base of the winding stairway,
Aromere's keen ears picked up the guttural banter of Trollocs. Hearing their snarls and clattering,
he could scarcely believe that they were dreaded raiders, or even much more than large poachers.
Aromere moved ahead of the group, moving with the stealth of a hunter.
The first guard had barely turned to face them by the time a massive iron ball crushed his face, and
the second had only drawn his sword before he was bashed to the ground and eradicated by forces of
Order. A rusty key was taken from the corpse of the first guard, and the door to the north of the
stairway opened with a squeal. These were just animals, thought Aromere, unable to put his finger
on the feeling of foreboding that plagued him.
Caverns below the earth might seem a dreary place, but there is a magic in them that those in the
world of sunlight seldom know. Far from being a place of darkness, the entryway into the tunnels
seemed nearly... inviting. The stone walls were lined with torches, and moisture clung to the
earthen floors. Where the firelight fell upon the dew, there seemed to be a million golden sovereigns
at their feet, with Nevron himself playing the world's philanthropist. There was something darkly
beautiful about the place; a place so clearly spoiled, and yet crafted by the gods themselves.
Aromere drew in his breath as he stepped into the tunnel, taking in all he saw with a young man's
surprise. Wistful dreams ended with that first drawing of breath, when the stink of the place filled
his nostrils. The place reeked of rotting flesh and stagnant pools. The moans of human prisoners
carried through the stone halls, lamenting the fate that made them a meal for Trolloc teeth to grind.
Trollocs preferred living flesh, of course, and for the prisoners captured from the Saldean caravan,
time was short indeed.
Trolloc hunters and warriors patrolled within, their heavy feet crunching on the bones that littered
the floor. Like all of their kind, they were indolent and kept little watch. Aromere moved to the
front of the crowd, drawn by the hunt to destroy the wicked. He would kill, and that was well.
The greatest gift of the storyteller-perhaps the only gift-is the ability to allow the passage of
time when words cannot describe the depths of the darkness. There are places from which mortal
hearts and mortal minds should be shielded, and for the servant of Talen, this first trip into the
tunnels was one of those. The weight of the air in the tunnels weighed heavily upon him as he drew
away from the doorway, and he moved ahead with an uneasy mind. Occasional screams and the grinding
of metal accosted his ears. He was afraid-perhaps for the first time-- but compelled to battle the
chaos for the glory of his Lord.
Suffice it to say that Aromere moved, and he killed, grinning a bit more with the death of each hunter
and warrior. The floors were sticky with blood, and footprints through the gore marked his path. The
group that followed in his wake was worse than useless; they stank of dread, and vomited at the stench
from atop their horses. The barbarian killed the spawn of the Dark One, taking what little they had of
value, and lusting for Nevron's justice to condemn the fallen. He moved for minutes that seemed like
hours, and Order ruled his world.
The men that followed Aromere fell far behind him as he moved, as if he was a harbinger of doom to
all those near him. Had any of them survived the night, they would have whispered to their kinsman
about the way the plainsman talked to himself, about the mad giggle that came with each fallen foe.
None of them spoke to their kinsman, though; none spoke more than a final scream and some garbled
prayers. The screaming came from Aromere's back, and he whirled to face the source of the
destruction.
The Trolloc that turned to face him was built as powerfully as Aromere himself, his misshapen
muscles bulging beneath his vest. The beast called Hanom tore through horses and humans alike,
glorying in the river of blood that flowed past his feet. Aromere's blood joined the river, for
the beast moved with the speed of a cobra. The pain from the dozens of cuts upon his body blurred
his vision, but to stop fighting now was to die. Blood flowed down his brow and into his eyes as he
shielded himself from the worst of the blows, but this was a fight he would not win. With a
desperate kick, Aromere disengaged himself from his foe, and for a moment, met the gaze of his
executioner.
Aromere's blood continued to flow, down his cheeks and to his lips. He could smell his own blood,
then-and it was delicious. Licking his lips, the blood was salty and somehow metallic. Somehow
perfect; and he lusted for more blood, coursing like the fire in his veins, wet like the blood at
his feet. Aromere felt the terror leave him. He knew only a barbarian's rage.
Hanom was swift with his blade and brutal with his attacks, tearing horrible chunks from the
warrior's flesh, but Aromere only howled and charged forward. His ball and chain was slick with
blood, but he kept striking with fury through the long minutes of his madness. Blood filled his
eyes and the stink of the enemy filled his nose, and still, he attacked. There was no pain, then,
for Aromere was lost to himself.
When the molten life cooled in his veins, Aromere wondered how many times he had struck the fallen
corpse of the Trolloc before him. The last of the foam flew from his mouth, landing in the pool of
blood.
And the pool was great.
As his eyes faded from hellfire red to the gray of a storm, Aromere looked past the bodies of the
fallen townsman. He saw the shadows of other forms in the distance, and as he slipped into the
shadows, more Chieftains of the Trolloc hordes rounded the corner only a dozen feet away.
Standing before the chieftains, moving like the shimmer of hot air on a cold day in the hills, was
a Myrddraal.
The trip back to New Manetheren Square was neither glorious nor triumphant. Aromere ran until his
lungs burned, half-wishing that some distasteful magic could be used to return him to town. He did
not know if he was being followed, but he ran until he could run no more. When he stopped to walk,
the barbarian heard the noises of the world, and for the first time, was troubled by them. Hours
after he left, just before dawn rescued the land from the dreadful night, Aromere stumbled through
the northern gates of New Manetheren.
The corpses of the fallen he left behind, so that all might be served; as they had died in Talen's
hunt, so they would be consumed by Lord Azakhet's maggots and locusts. Let all the gods have their
will, for he wanted none of that battle today. Darkness had found the land around New Manetheren,
and it would not be quick to leave.
The waters of the fountain rippled again, and when they cleared, the reflection within was haggard
again. It looked back at him with sunken, bloodshot eyes, exhausted from a night spent awake,
fleeing from death that traveled on swift feet. It would take many of the warriors of his tribe
to destroy the menace-but that time would come.
They all had their fill that night; Lord Talen had his hunt, and perhaps Nevron would mete out
justice. The Lord of the morning saw the end of the struggle-or its beginning. Perhaps Meldron and
Azakhet had the greatest fill of all, and gorged on the death until they ached.
Perhaps none were served, and it was all for naught, mere mortals caught in the web of the gods.
Let the Wheel Weave as the Wheel Wills.
Aromere
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Midsummer's Eve
The sun was setting as Perian and I rode into New Manetheren. Both of us and our mounts were
exhausted after the long day's ride through the Haon-Dor, and the sight of the inn at the center
of town was a welcome one. As we drew near the town square, the sound of laughter, music and talk
fed our starved ears. These sounds as well as a soft glow of light were emanating from a door labeled
above as 'The Stag Crown Inn.' It was towards this destination we rode, anxious to get off of our
horses and into a warm bed. Once in front of the building, we dismounted and tied our horses to a
nearby post put there for that purpose. "Finally..." Perian groaned as we stepped through the doorway
into the inn. I just nodded my agreement as we were immediately surrounded by warmth and noise. The
common room was completely packed with patrons of all races. There didn't seem to be an empty chair
in the whole place, some elves were had even sat down on the hearth of the massive fireplace
dominating the west wall. "Doesn't look too promising!' Perian shouted in my ear above the noise. I
nodded at him again as we made our way carefully among the tables to get to the counter in back, where
the innkeeper greeted us with a friendly smile.
"What can I do for you gentlemen?" He called out.
"Do you have any rooms available?' I called back. We were only a few feet apart but it was still
necessary to raise our voices to be heard, which of course only added to the noise. The man
regretfully shook his head, "Sorry, we're all booked up for the midsummer's festival this week!'
Dismayed, we shoved our way back outside into the cool evening air.
"Damn!" Perian swore.
"Well, that would explain all these people" I commented while motioning with my arm around me. And
it was true, even after the sun had set the city still teemed with life. Torches flared against the
building lining the streets, children played on the fountain and groups of people were milling about
the square.
"Yeah but now what are we going to do?" Perian asked with an exasperated look. "I'm exhausted!" and
so was I. We went to retrieve our horses.
"Well, there has to be more than one inn in a town this size, maybe they aren't all full" I said
hopefully. He just shook his head, and with that we started off down the street with our horses
in-tow. The crowds were making the equines nervous, so we turned off onto the less populated side
streets. After a few minutes of traveling in this manner, a dark figure suddenly stepped out from
around a corner and stopped in our path.
"Excuse us." Perian said as we approached what turned out to be someone shrouded in a heavy gray
cloak. The figure made no reply until we had stopped in front of it, then a deep male voice slipped
out from under the hood.
"Pardon me good sirs, but I couldn't help but notice your plight, as it is quite similar to my own."
He paused for a moment to make sure we were paying attention then went on. "My name is Jarek, I came
here a traveler such as yourselves. But I'm sure you don't wish to hear my story as it is very long
and dull, so I will get to the point. Every inn in New Manetheren is full for midsummer's eve as you
may have already discovered, but I have found a man who is renting out rooms in his mansion just
outside of town for an emergency such as this. I will be staying there and I can lead you there as
well if you wish, it may be your only option." At this point all we cared about was a good meal and
a roof over our heads, so we readily agreed. We had been on the road for a fortnight already and had
at least as long to go in our journey to Timelan.
Jarek was at least eight feet tall and moved at the pace of our horses in a canter, so I figured he
was one of the aracoix. That could explain the cloak, the bird people were elusive and not seen much
in public. He lead us back to the main road and headed north. We mounted just outside of town and
spurred our horses on to keep up with Jarek, who seemed tireless. It was only a short while down
the wide cobblestone street when we came to a large intersection and turned off to the right. The
road was quickly swallowed in deep forest, narrowing into nothing more than a dirt path. I moved
my horse closer to Perian's nervously as the howl of some beast echoed faintly in the distance. It
was now fully nighttime, and the canopy of the dense trees closed overhead and plunged us into
darkness. We could barely make out the form of Jarek leading us on, and I was just about to call the
whole thing off and turn my horse around when Jarek stopped. I looked around us and noticed a pair
of large gates that had emerged from the trees to our left. Hanging from a nearby branch was a sign,
but it was unreadable in the darkness. The wrought iron gates groaned loudly in protest as Jarek
pushed them open and led us down the trail that was now accessible.
As we moved along the trail, more of the howls we had heard before sounded, and closer this time.
The horses shied a bit as the bushes around the trail rustled occasionally. Luckily it was no time
at all before we reached what was apparently our destination. A huge structure suddenly loomed out
of the trees, it appeared to be abandoned. The stonework was loose and the wooden shutters were all
but rotted away, leaving gaping holes as if the walls were screaming. Perian and I exchanged
incredulous looks, but Jarek walked right through the front door without hesitation, so we just
shrugged and followed him in.
Once inside the atmosphere changed completely, and both of us breathed a sigh of relief. Several
oil lamps lined the entrance hall which was carpeted in red velvet. It smelled slightly dusty, and
there were cobwebs in the vaulted ceilings, but it was shelter and was certainly much less ominous
then the exterior of the place.
"So where is the master of this place?" Perian asked Jarek who had stopped for a moment to wait for
us to catch up.
"He'll be arriving shortly I'm sure, I told him I would be bringing more guests. Anyway I will
be retiring to my quarters, I will see you gentlemen on the marrow." With that said, Jarek
vanished down the hallway and around a corner, leaving Perian and I standing there looking around
nervously. We stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity before finally we heard footsteps
approaching from around the corner. We braced ourselves for what was to come, but it turned out to
be Jarek again. "The master of the house bids you welcome, but sends his apologies. He is busy at
the moment but asked me to show you to your rooms.' We nodded and once again we were following Jarek
down the hall. We passed many heavy oaken doors but they were all shut tight. The oil lamps lit our
path. Finally Jarek stopped beside a pair of doors that looked identical to all the rest. "Here you
are, make yourselves at home." He waved towards the door,s then turned around and walked back down
the hall the way we came.
"Where are you staying?" Perian asked, but Jarek was already gone.
"Well, which do you want, left or right?" I asked my friend.
"Hmm... i guess left, since I'm left handed!" we grinned, but quickly broke into yawns, which only
made us laugh.
"All right, well goodnight Ian." I said.
"Goodnight Jaq." I opened the door to my room slowly and looked inside. It turned out to be
immense, with rich (although somewhat ragged) tapestries adorning the walls, and a large ornate
bed dominating the center of the room. When I opened the door a rush of stale air washed over me,
as if the room hadn't been used in a long time. I went in and dropped my pack beside the door. I
lit a lamp I found beside the bed, then closed myself in. Suddenly, I felt very small and alone in
that large unfamiliar room, and so I rushed back to my bed and got in. I was about to blow my lamp
out when I had a nervous shiver ran down my spine, so I left it on while I fell asleep...
Sometime later, day or night I couldn't tell, I was awakened b the creaking of my door. My lamp had
gone out and it was pitch black in the room. I sat straight up in bed and gathered my blankets around
me as a crack of light appeared in the doorway. Suddenly the door swung completely open and I was
temporarily blinded as light flooded into my room. Shielding my eyes with a hand while they adjusted,
I made out the figure of Perian standing in the doorway. I let out my breathe, which I hadn't
even realized I had been holding. Perian took a step into the room and I then noticed his features.
His skin was very pale and taught, his eyes stared forward hollowly, and he was trembling slightly.
"Ian? What's wrong?" I asked, a sense of foreboding coming over me. Perian staggered forward then and
I leapt out of bed as he fell to his knees. "Ian!" I shouted, and he collapsed face first and was
motionless. I looked up, horrified, to see another figure standing in my doorway. At first I thought
it was Jarek because of the dark cloak it was wearing, but its hood was thrown back and a horror
was beneath it. It's pale face was a window into its dark heart. It grinned evilly at me, showing
its narrow, long teeth. Its eyes burned a deep crimson, its tongue stained red.. from what I dared
not think. "What did you do to Ian?!" I screamed at it. But instead of answering it lunged into the
room, arms outstretched. I dodged aside and bolted for the door, leaping over Perian's body. I ran
out into the hallway, not even looking back, and headed for the exit. Unfortunately the lamps
previously lighting the hallways had gone out and I had to keep my hands out in front of me in the
darkness to avoid hitting obstacles. Mad laughter echoed throughout the house and I quickened my
pace, going as fast as I could given the lack of vision. All the doors were open now, hollow maws
in the wood waiting to swallow me whole. I heard shuffling and creaking of floorboards from all
around me as I ran, a sickly sweet stench was in the air. There was one last corner to turn and I
spun around it full speed, and came crashing into something! Surprised, I stumbled back and and
discovered it was Perian standing before me! My shock almost made me forget my plight as I stammered
"Wha.. What? Ian? I thought you were dead!"
"This is no time for explanations!" he shouted, "Let's get out of here!" and he was right, so we
both turned and fled out the front door. It turned out to still be the dead of night outside as we
ran down the path towards the gate. Our horses were nowhere to be found, and the howls we heard
earlier were all around us. I was breathing hard already and didn't know how much longer I could
run like this, but when a huge black wolf lunched out of the undergrowth behind us, I got a boost
of adrenaline. It chased after us, snarling and drooling, its eyes flickering with a feral light.
The forest around us seemed alive, thrashing around, and I knew there were many more wolves. Finally
we reached the gates. "Close them!" Perian shouted, and we turned around and each grabbed a gate.
The wolves were gaining fast, more and more joining the hunt, so we shoved the gates closed with all
our strength. They groaned in protest but slammed shut just in time and the wolves crashed into them,
barking and howling in frustration. The gates creaked and bent under the weight of the wolves throwing
themselves against it, and we weren't about to stand there and wait for it to break. As we took off
down the trail, I glanced back and noticed the sign again, it read 'Briargate Manor.'
We ran back towards the main road, and kept running past the intersection and didn't stop until we
were deep into the hills on the other side of King's Road. Then we both collapsed on the side of the
road, panting and gasping for breath. Our clothes clung to our sweaty bodies and our sides ached, but
we were free. With that thought I spent the last of my strength to set up camp, and we ate a little
of our rations. "I guess I'll take first watch." Perian offered. I had no objections, the past events
and resulting flight had taken their toll on my already exhausted body. It was disappointing to not
have a real bed to sleep in after all that, but I was far beyond worry. Curling up on the ground
with my bedroll, I drifted off to sleep...
An hour or so later, I was suddenly awakened by a large weight hitting my chest. My eyes opened
with a start and I came face to face with Perian who was lying on top of me.
"What are you doing Ian?" I asked somewhat groggily.
"I just wanted to say" he hissed, "that nobody escapes the Master!" Then he smiled, revealing a
row of razor sharp teeth. I gasped and tried to move, but he was already on top of me and it was
too late. The last thing I saw before his fangs sank into me was a pair of puncture marks at the
base of his neck...
Lefty
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The Long Trip
Cold night at the Finger of the Dragon, extending into the Sea of Storms.
A fallow walks on the beach, picking up pieces of dead meat with its beak. The beach looks like a
disheveled cemetery, bones lying everywhere, a few corpses not yet disintegrated by the weather and
animals eating away at them.
Suddenly the earth shakes, and the fallows fly away, startled. The bones rattle, and waves crash onto
the beach. The earth shakes, as from enormous footsteps, and skulls crunch under gigantic feet. As the
deafening roar startles the birds three miles away, the earth calms down, and all is back to peaceful,
treacherous silence.
Bright, crisp morning of a cold winter day.
The port of Tear bustles with activity, and a huge A'tha'An Miere ship is standing at harbor. The
people fill the harbor, some getting on the ship, some getting off, and most trying to sell their
wares to potential customers. The busy crowd slowly gets split, as people give way to a towering
giant, with large wings protruding from his back. Joas. The proud shoulders, the mighty chest make
people uneasy to stand between him and his destination.
Worried murmurs fill the harbor, discussing this dragon, wondering why he chooses to walk in human
form. The crowd slowly rejoins behind him, clearing the way between him and the ship.
Growl. He tires of their useless chatter. Annoyed by the uncomfortable feeling squeezing his whole
body, he walks on.
Slowly, Joas boards the ship, carefully trying not to break the wooden plank under his feet. The ship
casts off, and he tries to get some rest on the main deck, too big to occupy any of the ship's rooms.
His destination is Tyzin, from where news arrived of a massive army attempting to occupy the little
island.
Snarling, he thinks of all the corpses he'll make of those Seanchan warriors. He sighs, remembering
the curse, temporarily preventing him from taking dragon form. The memory returns of the curse, and
the pressure it causes upon his body, squeezing it from all sides. The mind is tired, and Joas
drifts to sleep.
Half-awake…
Hears of humans in the nearby rooms, discussing scary stories of ships disappearing near the Finger
of the Dragon, calling the area possessed, trying to imagine what kind of scary demons could inhabit
the place. Filled with contempt at their childish imagination and quick fear…
Drift back to sleep…
SUDDEN JOLT, SCREECHING SOUND.
He awakes, quickly standing up. The night is dark, but the stars are not visible, the sky covered by
thunderous clouds. The tall, black waves shake the ship from side to side. The sea is angry, he nods,
and settles down back to sleep.
ANOTHER JOLT.
Angrily, he awakens once more, his eyes widening in surprise, seeing the mast falling down on him.
Just as he avoids a ton of wood and metal from falling down on him, another strong jolt shakes the
ship, followed by a crashing sound.
His calm face watching the frantic ship crew running around from place to place, he observes the
situation. The waves are big, and the wind is strong, but nothing powerful enough to cause damage
to one of the great A'tha'an Miere ships. From a corner of his eye he notices a massive tail among
the waves. Frowning, he dismisses it, attributing it to his lack of sleep.
Huge lightnings split the sky, and thunder roars in the air. Black waves rock the ship stronger
than ever.
CRACK. The ship suddenly screeches, it's side suddenly rising, but not falling down afterwards. A
few moments later, the side rises even higher. The ship has a hole, Joas concludes. It is sinking.
Growl. Humans and their devices. Never strong enough, never reliable. Even little underwater rocks
crack their ships.
A reflection of a huge steely wing appears in the water for just a second. Thunder crashes down upon
the ship, and another massive CRRRACK sounds, as the ship splits in two. Slightly alarmed, Joas
laments his fate and the curse, preventing him from taking full dragon form. Snarl. If not for the
curse, he'd be out of here in no time. Grabbing on to one of the sides of the sinking ship, he shakes
his head at all the humans falling into water, most dead, some dying.
Another crashing thunder deafens his ears, slowly overcome by an even more horrendously loud roar.
This is no simple storm, he nods. His weapons and items in the cargo bay, now lost, he holds his
only sword in his hands. The remainder of the ship slowly starts sinking in. There are large pieces
of wood in the water, and Joas jumps to grab onto one. Growling, he holds onto the wooden board, the
freezing water numbing his body. Shivering he struggles to hold on, his mind slowly getting fully
alarmed.
The violent waves suddenly split, and a huge scaly head appears from within. It rises, followed by a
long, scaly neck. The neck keeps rising, for what seems like an eternity, until the body and wings
show under water. The scaly head opens the mouth to release a roar so loud, most humans lose hold of
their wooden boards, slipping into the water, frantically waving their hands.
The massive creature picks off bodies from the crashing waves, some dead, some still kicking,
stopping their screams as it tears its teeth into their bodies.
Growl. This is the cause of his interruption, a dragon.
Holding his wooden floating board with one hand, he raises his word with the other, and screams at
the dragon.
Pausing his meal for a second, the dragon takes a moment to notice a man floating in the water, his
body notably larger than others. Probably tastier too. The crashing waves break against his neck, as
the dragon heads for the thrashing man.
Joas realizes the folly of his action, his numb mind frantic of the situation. Quickly, he tries to
swim away from the approaching scales, knowing that this is the real possibility of death. He tries
to ward off the freezing water with the warm memories of his female friend back home. She needs him
back, alive. He struggles on, the huge scales getting closer.
The waves getting bigger, he tries to hold on, as his board flies 10-20 feet up and down in the water.
Deftly, he throws his sword at the approaching grim head of scales, hitting the nose of the creature.
The ascent of the scales pauses for a second, as blood covers the violent sea, and Joas swims on,
battling the enormous exhaustion of a tired body.
Suddenly he feels ground by his feet. Raising hope in his chest, he stumbles onward, hoping that the
beach will be his haven. He slowly crawls out of the water, but his hand slips on a wet skull, and he
falls on his back. The waves rise up, revealing a massive scaly body emerging from the water. The neck
in the sky, gigantic wings stretching out, the dragon approaches the small body lying among bones and
bodies of the beach. The dragon bends down to eat his prey.
Zzaapp!!
The creature feels a painful shock of lightning strike its nose. Screeching, the dragon raises his
head in the sky, roaring with pain. Looking back down on the ground, the body is not there anymore.
As it slowly raises its head, the eyes glance upon sparkling scales of gigantic feet, huge torso,
enormous wings, tall, massive neck, and a scaly, stone face. A face of a dragon. A storm dragon.
For a long moment, the eyes meet, the two creatures standing still, looking at one another. A fire
emerges from one mouth, a huge ball of red death. Quickly, it fizzles in the rain, leaving a thin
trail of smoke. The rain drops fall on dragon scales, making them glisten in the moonlight. The
dragon that is Joas waits a moment, reflecting that the freezing water must have dissipated the
curse. He raises his wings, his head high in the air, towering against his enemy just as the
enemy towered above him a moment ago. Slowly, almost lazily, Joas releases a thick bolt of lightning
upon his wet enemy.
A few seconds later, a charred, smoking corpse crashes upon the ground.
The birds many miles away fly into air, startled, as a thundering victorious roar shakes the earth,
the trees, and the sky. The fury of a storm dragon.
Joas
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Snog
In a far away keep, the renowned mage, D'Khotan, wrapped himself in his elegant gray robe; he always
did his best thinking when being fashionable. For the first time in awhile, he took a good look at his
surroundings. The solid obsidian walls of his room enclosed him and there was little light, making him
unable to distinguish any other aspects. Maybe there was a reason he didn't see it that often. It
wasn't until he noticed the lack of vile stench of his pet demon that he realized Baestyxiles was
missing. What was this nonsense? The usually obedient, clumsy monstrosity couldn't have possibly
escaped by himself. It seems the mage's sexual gratification would have to wait.
The days went by, and D'Khotan conjured all sorts of fantastic creations, orbs of fire, miniature
tornadoes that he could hold in his hand, a ring made entirely from sand, and others. However, these
distractions did not prevent him from going insane. Therefore, it was necessary to create a new
creature that combined a contempt for all living things except for its master. He justified his work
to the other subordinate casters in his vicinity as simply out of his need for protection. Logical as
this may sound, they all knew the true reason, to fulfill his bizarre desires. After months of
intensive work, it was finally time to tear the creature from the realm of the unknown and bring him
to this world!
A brief "Boink" announced the arrival of the mage's greatest creation. (Everyone knows that Scientific
Progress goes Boink.) The monster quickly acquainted himself to his environment, then went for a snack.
He burped as the last of the D'Khotan's body was devoured.
And so, the snog had been introduced to the land.
He staggered forward and was thrown into the Khas Room by some surly specters. The constant shaking
and unpleasant noise caused him to pursue a new location. Next he reached the Dusts of Hell, an
equally uninviting abode. By the team he reached the Cube Room, his entire body was encrusted in
dust. Shaking himself violently in attempt to remove the unwanted substance, he noticed that the
walls reflected his own image! What a gorgeous specimen to regard! Due to his obsession with his
luscious body, he remained there for several hundred years, staring and uttering his name, 'snog,'
as that was cute in itself.
In the floating citadel of Argos-Xir, far away in the dense forests past the Mountains of Mist,
Elghinn grew impatient. He had heard news that Baestyxiles was running amuck in the woods, chomping
people's heads off and then dropping them in front of the Old Man of the Woods' hut. Quite the
obedient servant indeed. However, Mr. Lei was quite perturbed when the stench of fresh blood permeated
into his room. Daily, he chucked the severed heads at the nearby academy, reminding them that they
promised to take care of this dreadful beast. While he enjoyed the carnage the monster invoked,
Phaedra might banish Elghinn from the citadel once and for all if she knew that he was behind the
abduction.
After several failed attempts to pacify it - by putting a collar on it, feeding it delicious snacks,
petting it (well, making someone else pet him) - he did not know what he should do. Therefore, he
decided it was time to return him. He had stolen him out of contempt for the D'Khotan, his rival
when it came to creating beasts (they disliked calling them toys, a more accurate description). The
feeble Stormdrake hardly compared to the snarling beast of the Demon Keep. Preferring losing face to
the mage than being disemboweled by that brutish woman Phaedra, he opened up a massive portal
extending from the Shattered Sphere to the D'Khotan's Summoning Room to return Bestiality, or whatever
that dumb creature's name was. Elghinn's eyes glowed with a sick, azure flame, his body shaken with
pain from the exertion of power. Alas, he could not contain so much of the One Power and he collapsed
quickly, soon to join the ranks of the undead, leaving the flows of air and fire incomplete.
Danyael, who for conveniences's sake will be a female in this fascinating story, content with her
nifty boy toys, the handsome lords of Tear, strutted around town, attracting the looks of many jealous
citizens of New Manetheren. However, her true love was Captain Slag (she found him appealing with his
nonsensical poetry).
"Shoo, go away before Slag sees me with you guys!" Danyael implored of her bodyguards. After a brief
argument, they sullenly agreed. She dropped a thin, portable hole - and suddenly, a huge snarling
creature stepped out of it! He smelled of rotten eggs and had unsightly layers of skin growing over
his forehead, almost completely covering his eyes. Shining, ivory teeth jutted out from its pale,
yellow mouth, and she caught a whiff of his horrendous breath. It was love at first sight.
Sir Melias had tried to warn her when he noticed a strong, blue glow emanating from the portal,
suggesting that a powerful mage or artificer might have tampered with the teleportation system, but
she was entirely consumed with this stunning being. As the sun started to fade into oblivion and an
uncomfortable chill fell upon the city, the Tairen lords begged the silly Satyr to return to her
modest abode. Unfortunately, she was preoccupied with snogging the snog. Now this was just getting
out of hand!
"Weren't you saying something about being embarrassed about being with other men around Slag?!" a
somewhat jealous Sir Hearne inquired. This question was met only with a faint muzzled noise emitted
by their master, in her tenth hour of nonstop snogging. Futile attempts to regain her attention were
performed. The knights even resorted to dressing up in bright purple robes they had torn from some
drow votaresses and they had a tea party. Surely this unexpected feminine display would get her
attention; no one had ever seen such odd behavior out of these normally reserved, stoic men!
It was obviously that they got carried away when a few locals could hear them loudly singing their
favorite operas. Later, after a long, harsh struggle over who should get to wear the pretty pearl
necklace they had found on their travels, they managed to kill each other. The blood from their
once strong bodies slowly slid into the larger pile, where Danyael's disembodied corpse lay. The
murderous snog was nowhere to be seen, and no one knew what actions had transpired...
News of this tragic day, deemed the Night of the Unattentive GirlyMen by the inhabitants of the city,
was spread throughout the land, although no one knew who the bard's slayer was. Soon, the snog
procreated with Shire pigs, resulting in a new, even more fatally attractive species. Workers in the
outskirts of New Manetheren found themselves being cornered by these irresistible monsters. They
would passionately french kiss the snogs until the beasts grew weary and tore their jugular out of
their throats.
"LOVE NIBBLES. THAT ALL." the seemingly wise box declared, followed by, "ERROR. CONTAMINATION AND
WILD, CUTE MOOSE RUNNING AROUND DRUNK IN FAL'DARA." No one doubted that this machine that Phaedra
had created had a few loose circuits, and they frequently looked to it for wisdom. So, when it
announced that snogs were harmless, people allowed themselves to go nearer to them, and once within
100 feet, the temptation was irresistible. This terribly sad trend of passionate deaths continued
for ages. Sad bards lamented the fate of humankind in their emotional songs. Even the leaders of
the community fell into the trap of the snog's one-night stand. And so, society crumbled, and snogs
conquered the lands; the supreme beings prevailed. Let this be a lesson to all adventurers - show
restraint when snogging snogs, lest you be saddened by this sorrowful strife that seeps through
society.
Completion of Esbet's Somewhat Accurate Pornographical History of the Realm - Volume 1.
Upcoming Literature:
Volume 2: The Hoard of Blue-Green Hippocampii and their Minotaur lovers. Coming soon to
Zaverin's bookshop!
The End
Esbet
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"Much as I likes the excitement of hangin' over a pit o' spikes by me tail," I bellowed, "I'd
appreciate any help you could offer, boss!"
Ainvar looked down at me and smiled faintly, then uttered the words 'gjwwai' and I found myself
suddenly standing at his side. Me stomach lurched as if I'd just eaten one o' me grandma's Sylvan
stews, but I kept it all down. That little elf may look like a moll to a bonecrushin' ballbuster
like myself, but I assure you that in an emergency-type situation, he is just the boss you want to
have around. At this point youse is probably wonderin' what the hell I's is talkin' about. Let me
backtrack a bit, for those o' youse who prefer your stories spoon-fed to you in the standard,
chronological-type order.
My name is Vercingetorix. Some call me Verc or Vix, but those people usually end up havin' a
permanent speech modification applied to their jaws which makes me full name easier to pronounce.
I's a bodyguard. My boss, Ainvar, me rescuer in the aforementioned predicament and in countless
similar excitin' escapades, is the only authority-type person who has me full respect and obedience,
as his is the body I's has sworn to guard.
Our latest escapade started when me boss determined he really needed to get himself a moll. Bein'
the gangster boss that he is, he wasn't happy with just a normal-type elven maiden or five bought on
the black market in Tar Valon... No, me boss's moll had to be the most beautiful elf in the world.
Not that I has anything against most-beautiful-type girls, but it seems to me that me boss would have
been better off investing his money in a harem of slightly-less-but-still-beautiful broads. But it's
his money (or, more precisely, the Dandrell armory's money) and he's the boss. So we set out from New
Manetheren one morning in the middle o' winter (the Boss gets his ideas at the most uncomfortable
times) headin' towards Fal'Dara, to consult with the witch Mirimar and her crystal ball. Our first
stop was Thaelix the Ferryman, and I flashed him one o' me most kind and generous grins. I guess me
friendliness was addictive (or me smile was broader than intended) for he returned the kindness by not
chargin' us nothin' for a toll... Now, I's is not a superstitious or easily cowed dragon (as me chosen
profession implies) but I admit this city kind of gave me the creeps. In addition to the usual greedy
merchants and backstabbing darkfriends I has become accustomed to in me career, the place was crawlin'
with witches and wizards, and a warrior-druid or two. I was glad to get out and head towards the
Steddin' Galamiel. Besides, I was gettin' hungry, and Ogier sounded better than Tar Valon witch. Our
journey through the Steddin' was relatively uneventful. Suffice to say I was considerably less hungry
and me boss was a black sapphire ring richer when we emerged in the peaks near Fal'Dara.
After trudgin' through the peaks for hours, I's was ready to call it a day. Me usually red scales
were turning purplish-blue with frost, and me usual fire breath was startin' to feel more like
Puff-the-Magic-Dragon breath. But then, off in the distance, we spied a door into a large complex.
I's is not exactly sure why, but this construction looked very invitin' to me. Ainvar muttered
somethin' about "Will stop for the night and continue to Fal'Dara tomorrow," and we entered.
The temple that we entered was odd. Inside was crawlin' with silly little humans dressed in cultist
outfits of black and white, and was positively teemin' with guards in dragon emblazoned gear. Before
anyone spied me I shifted back to human form, so as not to be noticed (if you call's bein' a
giant-sized human in shinin' plate mail inconspicuous amongst a bunch o' lunatic, scrawny cultists
in black and white.)
"Ya thinks we can just ask for a room for the night in here, boss?" I asked Ainvar. The boss
grinned evilly in reply, and created his trusty scimitar o' flames out of thin air. I smacked me
lips and thought "dinner time!" and with a deft stroke I tore a gash in me arm and transformed into
a great Red Dragon!
The carnage that ensued was of legendary proportions. We ripped through the first hallway
scattering guards, cultists, and elite guards as if they was all rag dolls. I wasn't exactly sure
how this activity tied in with findin' me boss a moll, but perhaps he, too, was upset by the cold o'
winter, and this was just an entertaining diversion before goin' to bed.
After a few bloody minutes, we entered a warm room that made up for all the shivering of the day.
The boss found it so warm he thought it useful to create some magical-type protection from the heat.
A lone, elite guard was sittin' in this room, and after decapitatin' him out o' sport I found a red
key in his pocket. Only then did we notice the red door in the room. I's is not usually a
curious-type dragon, seein' as askin' too many questions in me chosen profession can result in one's
becomin' lizard stew, but I guess the hot room had warmed me heart. I raised a scaly eyebrow at
Ainvar, and he nodded.
With a *click* I unlocked the door.
Slowly I opened it... A blast of infernally hot air greeted me, but even with me sharp eyes I could
see nothin' inside. Sounds of hissin', like steam, could be heard emanatin' from the room, so I
figured there was somethin' inside that reddish-black darkness. The stench was overpowering and
reminded me once again of me grandma's Sylvan stew, but with a heavy carrion scent added. Slowly,
very slowly, I inched me way into the room. Still nothin'. At this point, youse is probably wonderin'
why I's is workin' up the suspense instead of just comin' out an' tellin' youse what was inside the
room. The thing is, this is a scary story, and what was inside the room turned out to be very scary
indeed, so I's is just tryin' to set a mood (which was not, incidentally, present at the time of
the actual occurence of the aforementioned events, at which time I simply charged into the room
ready to kill more pansies) so that youse can better enjoy the story, in all its dramatic aspects,
as it unfolds. At any rate, humor me and youse can find out what exactly was in the room when I's
is good and ready to tell youse.
Now, where was I?
Still nothin'. I took another tentative step along the left wall of the room. The boss was busy
tryin' to animate the corpse of the elite guard, but not havin' much success as I's still had the
head hangin' from my left front claw.
I stepped in somethin' soft and squishy, and gave a start, but it turned out to just be a pool of
lava. I could clearly hear breathin' (or was that snorin'?) from the back corner of the enormous
room.
The stench at this point was overwhelmin' to the point of smelling even worse than me grandma's
Sylvan stew. Or perhaps just like it, but after it had been left out in the Marsh of Misery for a
few weeks. Anyway, I finally lost me patience, and bellowed out a challenge to whatever was calmly
a-snorin' away in the room. Little bits of wall cascaded down around me, and a remarkably draconic
voice called out, "Who is it?"
Slowly a figure detached itself from the dark corner. It was immense, almost as large as I was,
in dragonform. In fact, this figure looked remarkably like meself, namely, it was a Red Dragon!
Only, this dragon was a moll. And the ugliest moll I's ever laid eyes on, I might add.
I prepared to engage this vile creature in battle, when it beamed a wide smile at me and exclaimed,
"Dawling! Where have you been?" Now, I's usually a pretty reasonable warrior, and when faced with
a large dragon-type opponent, I don't run in fear or even bat an eye, really. But me next action
could best be explained by the two factors that combined to cause it: a) I was not expecting me
bellowed challenge to be answered by the call of "Darling!" (certainly not "Dawling!") and, more
importantly, b) in smilin', this horrendous creature had managed to distort its features into an
even uglier face than before. I did the only reasonable thing and ran. As I shot by him, Ainvar
called out to me to be careful, but I hardly noticed his words.
I fled through the world as fast as the Four Winds but always this despicable monster was behind
me. I flew into Fal'Dara, through the Citadel of Nightmares, through Tar Valon and over the Sea
of Storms, constantly chased by cries of "Oh Loveahboy!" "Sweeeeeeethawt!" "Fire Lips" and so on.
Finally, I managed to lose the obsessive dragon-broad in the graveyard of New Manethern. I crept
through an underground tunnel and collapsed against a headstone, glad to be surrounded by Wraiths
and Zombies rather than a nasty chick with an attachment problem. After a few minutes to catch
my breath, I heard movement up ahead. I crouched behind the headstone, mutterin', "If youse says
as much as one more sappy word, I swear I's gonna burn you whether youse a moll or not!" I could
hear a large body slowly makin' its way through the tunnel. Quietly, and in human form in order to
hide, I stood me ground. But when that incredibly ugly red snout made its way around the bend,
me knees once again turned to jelly and I dove into the headstone. Waiting for me were two imposing
Guardians of the Dead, so I ran to the next room, only to be greeted by a vile mummy. Without
thinking, I dove into one of the nearby tombs to escape the mummy!
And this is where we come full-circle to the beginnin' of this story. As I jumped into the tomb,
the ground fell away from under me feet, and only by a miracle I managed to transform into a dragon
and catch me tail on the edge of the pit of spikes that was now loomin' underneath. I could hear
me would-be sweetheart comin' up behind me, and I bellowed me request to Ainvar.
*lurch*
I was summoned to his side, and the dragonette was trapped firmly inside the tomb. Ainvar grinned
a wry smile. I raised an eyebrow, which, in dragon-bodyguard language, means, 'If youse mentions
any of this to anyone, I will eat you and your family for breakfast." Ainvar re-arranged his smirk
to mean, in drow-druid-ganster-bossish "I gots dirt on you that will keep you bound to me for years
to come."
We made our way out of the graveyard and back to the hideout. The incident was never mentioned
again, but Ainvar seemed to have inexplicably lost his desire to find hisself a moll.
Vercingetorix
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A MUD based on Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time series. With roleplaying encouraged through
guilds, clans, clanwars, holywars and throne wars. Experience the Wheel of Time world in a
whole new way: in an Age ravaged by the Last Battle. The time lace has been broken, the barrier
between dream and reality shattered. Weaves. Clans. Crafting. Huge World. Free Online Role Playing Game or commonly called RPG. The most unique Free Online RPG set in the Wheel of Time world.
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