Another sleepless night (both entry and about arcane academy
By Phaere | December 12, 2014
On her search for a good linguist she visted the arcana academy with the neighbor, Engale and while the search there was fruitless, a few days later he asked her to take the leadership of that neglected academy. Considering the stresses of the battle above/ around or even in narrowhave the days before, she accepted, if only to use the knowledge of the academy for the defence of narrowhaven. After all students were issued new brooms to sweep the halls of the academy and it all looked a little less neglected, some persons approached her and were summarly recruited into the staff of the academy. Time to make a declaration of reopening its hallowed halls for students and teachers alike she thought, and we have to see about using the knowledge there to translate this book or journal.
lets use the UPS to invite all staffmembers for a meeting coming sunday, lots of things to discuss there. the age old ban on practising necromancy has to go, we cannot have superstition stand in the way of progress and science, not if we have to stand up to demi god dragons and daemons all around us. She sits at her study in the library and starts to pen up letters.
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December Entry
By Aleth | December 11, 2014
Some would call her a natural beauty, while others would say she tried to hard. But for Lillie she did not care it was all about putting on a dress she was never able to wear as a child and going about her day.
Usual mornings she would pick a fancy dress, head down to her kitchen and whip up some treats. After she left some for her husband she would head into town smiling at everyone she met. People always stopped to greet her, she was lovely and who could pass up free baked goods.
This morning however was completely different she woke up and looked around a bedroom that was not her own as wild images flashed in her brain rapidly. She turned to look at the man next to her and bit her bottom lip. She knew it must have been late in the morning but there was nothing she could do about that now.
She looked around for her clothes and pulling them on realized her shirt had a tear down the front. Holding it closed she smiled and waved and concentrated on her hearthstone to take her home so she could fix it and get changed for the day.
As the dark blue magic surrounded her the horror of her mistake struck her full force and she was dropped right in the middle of the packed inn of Narrowhaven. She looked around at the faces she knew holding her shirt tighter knowing her hair was a disheveled mess and her clothing was rumpled.
She walked to the door as quickly as her feet could carry her as the whispers started to follow her. Outside was no better the guards watched her with their silent stares. And people started to point and whisper. She ducked into the trees and started to make her way to the caves.
Once inside the caves she took a moment to catch her breath. Leaning against the wall she clutched her bag to her heaving chest and closed her eyes trying to slow her racing heart. After a few moments she opened her eyes and continued through the caves to the portal ignoring the few miners who guaked at her. Hopping into the portal quickly she arrived in Varstaad and dragged her feet to the docks.
Without a word she scowled at the Sailmaster and showed him her Membership card and he sailed her home which he has done a million times before. He kept giving her backward glances and shook his head and made *tsk tsk* noises with his tongue but Lillie ignored him as the shore grew ever closer.
Taking a deep breath she walked the short distance up to her workshop keeping her eyes alert for anyone about, especially that pesky elf. She did not see anyone so she bolted into the workshop and quickly put thread to shirt ignoring the few times she got herself making tiny dots of blood appear in the fabric. As she finished her sewing she put down her needle and stood up and smacked right into her husband Jorge.
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December Entry
By Angwusi | December 11, 2014
As bad as the blood was, it was his only option at the moment, as average human blood lacked the strength to sustain him for very long, anymore. As he was an Elder of clan Tremere, and I use that term lightly, as the Tremere are the youngest of all Vampire clans, he faced certain...complications... He looked to the empty vial, and thought back to a time long forgotten by men. A time when clan Tremere were all but human, seeking immortality. Their Alchemy and Magery, known worldwide, could not produce lasting results. Certain members of the clan, and close friends to Vladimir, including lord Tremere himself, began experimenting with Necromancy. This soon escalated to the capture of Vampires. He glaired blankly at the vial as he remembered how he, and the others, would drain all the captured undead's blood. How they would augment it with Alchemy and magical arts. All but seven of the clan abandoned these wicked persuits, proclaiming them the work of twisted, evil, men. But several years later, their prodding with things better left to the gods was met with success. There was just enough of the one of a kind potion for the seven of them to split.
"We were damn fools..." he whispered to himself. And he was right, as the potion did contain the blood of Caine, all-be-it weak and deluded, it lacked the potentcy of the true curse. After drinking the concoction, and going through the pain-staking process of death and rebirth, Vlad and the others found themselves immortal. But the cost was great, as it had robbed from them all of their Magery abilities. They were left alone in the world, hated by humans, mages, and the Vampires they had hunted to become immortal. It was a long, hard road for Vlad to get where he is now (but those are stories for another day). He and the others becoming great Necromancers and Blood Mages along the way. He thought fond thoughts of his new family, the Camarilla, as he sprung to his feet.
He walked to the table, almost gliding across the floor, without making a sound. Vlad stretched his tall, toned body. Then he straitened his favorite, crimson colored, elvish robe and waited for twilight. He stroked his gottee and mustache, making plans to train for the great war that was soon to come.....
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(Entry for December) Being the King
By The Dungeon Master | December 10, 2014
Quinn Vandoras sat staring out, both bewildered and amused, by how fragile flesh and mind can both be.
It's not easy being the king of all things.
His uniquely built frame, constructed both by humanoid-like anatomy and the despair of an eternal power, humped over his hands as his elbows braced against his knees. There is always a distinct feeling of being unable to sleep, unable to put ones mind at rest for eternity. Quinn's dubious stint as a mortal, albeit disgusting and deplorable and filled with anguish, had somehow awakened him to his higher responsibility.
The natural order of things had betrayed humankind, not the other way around, as he originally believed. His crimson eyes delved into the humans around him, and although he felt a particular abjection to their existence and inane ignorance of even the most basic of wisdom, he was able to experience them for the first time... only as they are.
They were born, and then they grew up, mostly in the gutters of nature. They worked at young ages, around eleven or twelve years old, and had a brief blossoming period of beauty and sexual desire. For the most part, humans married around twenty, became middle-aged and formed distasteful wrinkles around thirty, and then died in large part around the age of sixty.
And even knowing how abjectly stupid they existed, wrapped and coddled by the chaos of themselves, Quinn had begun to feel some urgency for their species. Human being were somehow painted, and depended on a canvas prescribed for them, by their own natures. The species was constructed solely on the foundation of a higher utilization, and if they were in fact, as Quinn observed, a bane to the perfect hands of nature then they must also possess qualities that made them endearing.
If nothing else, they had earned a spot among the chaos and among the destruction and among the random caprice of their own existence.
It was a heavy physical labor, the care of home and children and loved ones, and the petty quarrels with one another over politics and alcohol and adultery that filled them up over the horizon of their minds. The humans maintained a primitive sense of morality and justice, often convoluting or mistaking complicated ideas with simple ones. Their discontent for themselves, and even for Quinn himself, led nowhere. They suffered the disposition of their nature. They could only ever focus on petty grievances, and larger evils invariably escaped their notice. Essentially, mortals were all corpses, waiting to be sent back to the grave.
The soggy footsteps of another approached Quinn, uttering a string of mistaken words. The dark-skinned lady mistook him for his sister, which was hardly surprising. Scarlet and he were, after all, identical twins---save for the plumbing. His body sat leaning over his knees, head drooping, letting the braided blood red pony-tail fall carelessly from the front of his veil. His ivory horns peaked out, analyzing the Spider Queen, studying her to determine any threat.
She really was none, and her stupidity proved it.
She may have mistook Quinn for his anatomy, but far worse, she took Scarlet for this harmless creature. Quinn knew better... much better.
Quinn's great body sat upon the bench, sagging and bulging and protruding from every direction. His muscle frame, his clear and indomitable power, was on full display physically. Not even the blind, within close enough range, could deny the enviable strength that animated from his limbs---a fact well learned by a lady that evening who, blind as she was, managed to bump into his molten and immovable stature.
However, this Spider Queen, a counterpart to Quinn's eternal dominion that he well recognized as the embodiment of wrath, set next time him. Some part of Quinn, in the infinite expanse of his perception and clarity, recognized that she thought she may be of some threat. A grave mistake, for Quinn was no more vulnerable to immortals than he was mortals.
The king of all is untouchable, invulnerable, and perfectly without any fear of being anything but himself...
...the king of all things is eternal.
Not long after Quinn met the company of wrath, the embodiment of Greed would become company, and nothing is worse than stupidy than stupidity that fails to realize how stupid it is. The sort of ignorance that greed displayed was like an outspread hand in the wind, grasping at the gusts as if they could be contained within the palm.
They meandered, they were insulted time and time again. They faltered and proved they were among the likeness of their inferiors, the mortals that gazed the confrontation.
Quinn plucked at the underside of his fingernails with his dagger, half-expecting one of the two idiots to attempt and draw first-blood. The power of fear, although deniable, is still compelling... and they departed as quickly as they arrived. However, one assurance and iota of clarity lingered still in Quinn's mind...
Although the mortals were inane, and wretched... they had somehow deserved a place among their own chaos. His eternal kindred had no place in the natural order. Quinn was deserving to rule it all, by his very nature. The king of all never needs to announce himself as his nature, it simply is. It is eternal, and always has been.
A proper king has patience for his subjects.
A propoer king dispatches those who threaten his subjects.
Greed and Wrath had to die, and die soon.
...and die they shall.
That's being the king.
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From the Journal of Arin Cromwell
By Arin Cromwell | December 9, 2014
Finally at the doc I turned looking once again at the town I was leaving. I lingered to see if I would feel anything besides contempt for these people. I didn’t. So when it came to my turn to board the ship I offered my hand and the coin within it gladly. It had taken me well over a year to save up for this journey, and I don’t regret a single moment of the hard work. I was finally free of this place and off to my new adventure. That was until I heard someone yelling out my name.
“Arin!! Arin!! I’m sorry! You don’t have to do this!â€
I scowled. He was making a scene. Everyone was looking to see where I was. For a moment my cheeks flushed with anger. I forced it down. I was giving him too much credit, to think that he could make me angry. No that ship, much like the one I was currently on, had sailed. So instead I lowered my hood with a warm smile. I waved as the ship pulled away from the doc my red hair falling in lava like locks, the curls dancing in the wind, framing my face.
I saw him drop to his knees and burry his head in his hands. It would have almost been dramatic if not for the 50 or so other people all around him. In fact once he dropped to his knee, he all but disappeared into the crowd. Once I could no longer see him I stopped waving and found a quiet place on the deck of the ship to sit and collect myself.
I did not have much coin left, and so I knew I would have to be frugal with it. However I was accustomed to that. So, I thought to myself why not splurge a little and get myself a nice tall glass of ale. The more I considered this, the happier I felt about it so I stood – not much of a grand statement in my small 5 foot 4 frame - but somehow I felt taller than my small frame conveyed. I half expected the floor boards of the ship to creek as I walked from my spot at the front of the ship’s bow to a few decks below. Being a bar maid, I knew where to find the flow of the ale. Assuredly, it was in the underbelly of the ship.
My assumption was confirmed when only a floor below decks I could hear the pouring of the corked ale keg into the glasses of thirsty consumers. I approached the bar and slapped down my coin with confidence.
“As big of a glass as you got†I told the lady behind the makeshift counter. Actually all it was were a few emptied crates that had been turned upside down and then propped up by a few additional crates turned on their sides. I shook my head a little watching the large men play chicken with the hazardous looking counter top as they leaned against it, as though it were a solid oak bar.
Tearing my gaze from the disaster waiting to happen to the counter top, my eyes found the bar maid again. Apparently, my statement amused her; I could see her looking at my thin yet athletic frame with skepticism as she sized me up.
“Are you sure there doll? This stuff aint piss water, ya know.â€
I smiled. Two good things have come from being a bar maid. One was, I've learned how to hold my ale (and liquor for that matter) and the second is I have seen the disasters of what happens when you don’t say “when†soon enough.
“I’m good.†I reassured her.
She shook her head a little and smiled at me handing me a rather large glass – admittedly larger than I thought I would receive for my small amount of coin - and then returned to her other patrons. I took a few drinks – she was right, this stuff really had a kick to it – and headed back to my spot on the deck of the ship.
I leaned back in the chair resting my large glass of ale on my thigh as I scanned the calm waters taking me from my past to my future. Someday, I surmised, I might miss my brother but right now I was just glad to be rid of him and his horrid opinions of me.
I come by being a bar maid honestly; it was a family business. I was the bar maid, by brother was the one who made the wines, liquor’s and ales and my father was the one who ran the bar. That was until last year when our pub “The Irishman’s Daughter†(named after me) was involved in a horrible incident.
This was one of those times where I could see the righting on the wall, but was powerless to do anything but watch it unfold. Had I known then the exact nature of the disastrous outcome I was dreading – awe hell, even if I had -- I don’t think there would have been anything I could do to stop it. Anyway, I was serving a table full of hunters, who were celebrating a decent kill and who were all looking very much like a pack of Vikings. Already Leary of the group, I brought the two large picture of ale that was requested with a wary eye on them. I have encountered men like this countless times before. I know the type. Obnoxious, ballsy, abrasive, and rude all rolled up into one. I had set the two large pictures down without event, grateful as I turned on my heel – or started to – when a large burly hand closed over mine.
“Hey little lady, not so fast, I think there is something else I need to order†He laughed, looking to his pack of nincompoops for support. They all cheered and one or two slammed down empty mugs of ale in encouragement. That move, more than anything caught the attention of my father. To this day, I wish he had not have turned his eye to me. Things would be so different.
Wrenching my hand from him I said;
“Oh I’m sorry I think you have our menu confused with the one the whore house down street has to offer.†I looked at him pointedly as I finished my sentiments saying “NO ONE here offers those services.â€
When he did not release his grip my free hand flew into the top of my thigh boot pulling out my blade. On my last birthday my father had a sheath sewn into my favorite pair of boots. I wore them with pride knowing that it was an extravagance he rarely afforded.
Before I could blink however, his affore mentioned nincompoop-ed friend was at my back, he grabbed my wrist and bent it back – (slender as it was it was not hard for him to do), and then bent me over the side of the table, holding my cheek against wood grain.
My father who was now at the table himself; took a swing at the man who was the instigator, that was when his friend –(who was holding the knife he had taken from my hand) - stabbed him in the chest. I watched in horror as the light slowly left my father’s eyes.
I ignored everyone else in the bar at that moment and sank to my knees holding my father’s head delicately in my lap. My brother rushed to my side; yelling at me about how idiotic I was to have pulled my weapon, but I did not hear him. All my focus was on my father. I did not even notice as the Vikings stormed out for fear of the local law enforcement that was already alerted and headed our way.
I hardly recall his funeral. It was a blur of “I’m so sorry for your lossâ€, and “If you need anything let me know†mixed in was a few whispers of “Well I guess Arthur will be taking over the bar.†I had stepped aside when I could not take it anymore stopping near a set of tall bushes when I heard it. The worst sentence ever uttered from anyone’s mouth ever, aimed at me.
“You think Arthur will change the name of the bar now? Seams wrong to keep it named after the person who got him killed, don’t you think?â€
I opened my mouth several times to yell, to cry, to scream….but nothing came out. All the words that would not come from my mouth seemed to spill down my face as my eyes blurred with a thousand unshed tears since the incident only days before.
I thought I left for the bar right away but I must have been frozen where I stood for longer than I thought because by the time I reached “The Irishman’s Daughter†it was dark, my brother Arthur was there. I rushed over to him attempting to put my arms around him and tell him of the horrible things that were said, when he cut me off not allowing me to touch him. He glared into my face his own an unrecognizable contortment of grief, anger and even a bit of rage as he said to me;
“Why the hell did you pull that damned knife? What were you thinking Arin?!â€
I froze. New tears formed and fell in a hurry from my already swollen eyes. So…not only did the town consider me responsible for my father’s death, but my brother did as well.
Sleep did not come that night or not for many nights later. I felt awkward and out of place as I schlepped drinks night after night in “The Irishman’s Daughter’s Pub†Eyes followed me everywhere I went for weeks. Finally I could not stand it anymore. I started counting the small amount of saved tips over the last year and a half and headed for the doc’s.
To my brother I had become almost just as much of a ghost as our father had. He never spoke to me except when necessary, he never said thank you for the meals I served him before opening and after closing. The spare few times he did look at me, his eyes were dead, as though he was seeing right though me.
It did surprise me to see him at the doc’s as the ship left. But he had his chance. I needed a change. I could no longer remain the girl who got her father killed in the very pub he named after her. My heart could not bear the weight of that responsibility.
I lifted the ale to my lips taking a long drink sighing gratefully as it dulled my senses a little. Yes, boarding this ship was the right choice. I no longer had to live in the nightmare that had become my life. Before I could stop myself I whispered into the glass “I love you father†and took another large drink looking to the horizon. My deep blue eyes matched that of the water before me.
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And so it began..
By Sulia | December 9, 2014
The Mist
The Caravan had left the manor early that morning well before the sun had risen. Its Guards were all supposed to be of a quality that money could not approach the proper amount. The horses snuffled in the cool morning air, as a light mist seemed to cover everything in its perpetual grey sheen.
The charge had been swaddled and rushed into the coach. The doors affixed soundly, the coach men rising to their seats upon its top. Each movement caused the coach to sway and groan lightly on its wood and leather struts.
With the snap of leather reins the horses snapped their heads up and pushed into their harness, the coach gliding smoothly over the iron shod wheels across the bumpy cobblestone. It swayed with each bump but was truly a very smooth ride due to being one of the finer coaches that money could purchase. The charge did not truly notice the movement till the gentle sway caused her to slowly drift in and from sleep.
The Vanguards had ridden early pushing through the mist and fog to check the road as clear. The Charge must be protected. That was the orders, simple and exact. They’d never failed a task before. Nor would they now. The Captain had planned the route exact. Times of travel, stopping points.. down to the last minute detail. There had been some grumbling amongst the men that the Captain fancied the Charge.. but most knew that was not true, they’d seen him fornicating in the stables with one of the maids.
The coach itself had a four man compliment which included the driver. a crossbowman on the coach as well as two rear guards men. The vanguard having four, so in all 12 men. each skilled and capable in their own right. The best money could buy.
The road was a simple one once you cleared the cobblestone, dirt and a few pot holes. they traveled swiftly, time was important in this matter.. rarely was she moved.. and even then decoy upon decoy was used in her transport only a select few having knowledge of her exact location, the path they used, and never the same guards.. well expect this time.. This was their second trip.
The clear fields soon twisted into winding lowlands, part of the reason this path had been chosen was no heavy woods.. no place for them to .. hide.. ambush.
The Vanguard had ridden for about two hours then halted waiting for the coach to catch them. As the coach cornered slowly they could see the Vanguard sitting upon their horses idly looking into the low hills around them.
“There they are.. as scheduled†The Driver spoke to his crossbowman. “Call out to them see if they can hear us. “
“OYE! YOU LOT!†The crossbowman stood and called waving the heavy implement of war he was so fond to carry. Most all of the men had their focus on the Vanguard.. because honestly.. they’d done this before.. and no one was crazy enough to..
The sudden sound of heavy wood.. compressing.. like a spring taunt in the chill morning air filled all of their ears. The slap of something heavy then sound of wet.. and horses screaming.
The Men on horseback literally could not believe their eyes as a scorpion bolt slammed into the two lead horses of the coach lifted them off their feet and twisted the whole harness and tongue of the coach to the side.
The Coach lifted with the shift of weight and crashed on its side, a scream erupting from within and without as men dove from it.
Then.. nothing. The air was still silent.. but for the cry and thrashing of wounded horses.. the men able to stand did so panic on their face. The four upon horseback turned slowly forming around the overturned coach. Blades scrapped from their scabbards the crossbowman wound the heavy torsion bar setting a bolt home.
“what.. steady.. then lads.. steady.. where is that damn vanguard!â€
The driver drug his sword free from his own scabbard as he favored his right arm. Their first priority was protection of the coach.. and its passenger.. then check if she still yet lived.. though the soft sound of whimpering from within was a good sign to that.
That's when the Vanguards horses came running past.. all flanks covered in blood their nostrils flaring eyes panicked foaming as if rode hard.
“not.. good.. this ain't right.. “
“shut up you idiot.. watch your section..â€
“Something's.. out there.. something's moving!â€
A scream erupts from the fog as one of the horsemen is pulled from the saddle, the sound of steel against flesh and a wet slap as a body slams into the ground.
“this.. how.. they didn’t know.. they couldn’t!â€
“SHUT UP!â€
TWANG! The crossbow explodes with the heavy sound of its string snapping its torsion bar. a Low guttural howl of pain erupts from the fog. The crossbowman doesn't even blink but turns to working his weapon.
A low whistling sound fills the air then a hand axe buries itself deep into the mans chest.. he blinks and looks up.. eyes wide then down..
“Well.. damn..â€
He collapsed over his crossbow his blood flowing over the weapon he loved.
The others start to feel the fear.. the panic is ripe in the air. The wounded horses still screaming into the morning as they thrash in their harnesses.. and thats.. when they come out of the fog. Their armor grey, lacquered to match that which they hide in.. hoods pulled over their features. They carry a variety of weapons.. spear, bastard sword.. long sword.. a pitchfork.. a pitchfork?
The Guards form and prepare to respond when the men in front of them scatter slipping back into the fog.
“Devils..â€
“Ghosts..â€
“shut it and fight them!â€
A hand reaches out and snatches another rider from his saddle. The mans face contorted in fear as he screams the flash of white in the fog suddenly met with crimson as it splashes the horses hoofs.. it prances and screams in panic, primal fear in the morning fog.. and bolts.
The three remaining form slowly back to back. Shapes flit in and out of the fog weapons striking weapon..
“Hold.. just hold.. they aren’t far behind us!â€
The sound of a heavy thump on the side of the coach, wood splintering and ripping the door comes whipping out of the morning air and slams into the three..
A dark layered voice calls.
“Get her..â€
A voice responds smooth dark.. clipped in such a manner to denote proper breeding and education.
“Yes My Lord.â€
The Grey shadow stands over the door he’d just ripped off and slowly leans into the coach extending a hand.
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The Dying Flame
By Scarlet | December 8, 2014
Silence
There wasn't much of anything, anymore.
I was sitting there, alone, in a mansion much too large for the only monster living inside. It was beautiful enough though, with all those blood red colored flowers running all over the stone cold walls. An environment representative of myself, ironically. The rooms were so empty that one could hear its own voice echo at even the slightest of whispers. Unfortunately, there wasn't even anyone to whisper, or breathe at all.
Watching my own reflection in the mirror of the luxurious vanity, I decided to break this heavy silence, otherwise my mind would never be able to take all of this nonsense.
"I remember, back in Vahnatia, when I used to tell my lost brother about the fate that was awaiting me. As a tiefling, there aren't many paths to choose from, once you have lived for too long; Two, only two. But I know that you also know that, don't you?
Quinn, you'll take the path of the beast, and I'll take the leap to madness"
The sound of my laughter bounced against the walls while I was brushing the same strand of my hair, for the 10 000th time. All those memories were a burden to carry, overtime... and time seemed to stretch forever in front of me, and I barely had even lived the tenth of my existence. Where was the Family? Where was Michael...? Were was "Mister-Lord-Quinn", even?
Vanished.
----------------------------------------
I had always wondered why so many peasants were gathering around the bank of Narrowhaven. I managed to squeeze my way into the building, while noticing a group of very loud ones, insulting Merrick. Saperlipopette, was I happy not to be part of such chaos. Perhaps, solitude was better, after all.
; "Scarlet?"
Oh my... of course peace couldn't follow me for very long, hm? I barely looked over my shoulder, the voice not ringing any particular bell to me. I was positive that I didn't knew this woman addressing to me rudely. I didn't attach much importance on what she said afterwards while she was pretending I could be some sort of messenger between her and someone of my past. Rudeness attracting rudeness, I finally left the bank, annoyed by the low vocabulary she employed. I had to wonder why people were telling me about my brother, when I had never even met them before. They should try harder to trap me.
When I thought that day was to be a complete and boring failure, anew, an old face appeared in between the unknown ones. Despite that I didn't knew that man very well, even not at all, I felt some kind of comfort. It was proof that I didn't invent all of these tragedies, and that this universe wasn't all made up in my mind while my body could have been tied down in a basement with the deranged population, somewhere.
Reality seeming to be caught in think fog all the time, I followed him to a place I thought I had heard of in the past. Oh, I'll admit it right away; I did indeed try to spy a particular group of people around this castle, but never actually was able to. Lucky day? As we arrived, jumping out from a portal, my instincts of suspicion kicked in and I scanned the area, as if I was memorising it to commit a future crime.
Flowers
Pond
Gates
Lots of shadowy corners
Magical tiles...?
Where was everyone...?
Lost in my thoughts of planification, I was rather quiet while I followed the drow upstairs. Yes, a drow. Crazy, dangerous? I didn't even had a clue. I certainly remembered him to be among my enemies, back then. What did I have to lose, though? Nothing, the sad truth. I had nothing to lose. We say, often, that those can be the most dangerous ones, the craziest ones. I don't know if he was aware that he had invited a Monster like me in his castle? Should my end was to come, I would accept it and leave this world forever.
"You always said that I never was able to defend myself properly..." I whispered to myself, hearing a heavy door close behind me.
Oh, at least I was talented at keeping a smiling face, while my mind was racing in the background:
" I bet he will opt for poison, what do you think?"
" Poison seems too obvious, it's a drow, it's too typical"
" You're frail, I say he will just stab your back and leave you to drown in your own puddle of blood"
" He might chop you in bits too, and feed it to his next visitors."
I survived.
I wasn't killed, nothing had been poisonous, but -one- idea started to intoxicate my mind. One little idea that made all the difference. Oh yes, wasn't I an opportunistic woman? It was dangerous, it could also be some kind of trap, a vengeance?
As I said before, I had nothing to lose. Should it lead to the perfect crime, it will. Should it lead to my death, I'll die.
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DoubleA’s Goals For The Shard: Shard Lore
By DoubleA | December 8, 2014
Lore
Rules
Maps and Art
Mechanical Balances
Quality of Life Changes
These are just ideas. The topics will depend on how much I have to write about a specific subject, and if any others come to me.
For my first post, I will discuss the shard lore.
Lore Re-establishment:
This is perhaps one of the most important things that I am aiming to accomplish. As it stands our server-wide lore is in a rather shambled state. We have only survived this flaw because of its broad nature allowing for a wide variety of role-play. I am not certain what ideas are currently held about the server lore, but I will give a very brief summary of what is definitely canon. While much of this is based on existing lore, to an extent it is also innovative. In the case of any contradictions to what may be mentioned elsewhere, what I reveal will hold precedence.
Our shard is in fact believed to be a shard of the Gem of Immortality, canon to Ultima lore. It may be a shard, or it may be a flawed facsimile, the exact details of this are as yet unknown to any of its inhabitants. Whatever its origins and nature, its similarity to one is undeniable. It is a universe which possessed a huge variety of planes and facets, each one different than the other by various degrees and with different histories and inhabitants. These natives may have little to no recollection of this origin, or believe in an entirely different one. However they are all a part of it and whether they are aware or not they share in its fate.
Unique in its origins or not, our shard does contain a very unique feature in that within its center runs a fracture. Splitting through it like a dark chasm this fracture reflects, magnifies, and contorts its magical energies. For some facets this has little to no effect, to others this causes intense magical fluctuations. A particularly common effect of this flaw is the sometimes intentional but more often than not accidental transportation of beings from one plane or facet to another. To any player who is role playing a character not of our realm, this is the method by which you arrived. There is another secret to the fracture, one that had been known and forgotten, and is now becoming known again.
Within the fracture there exists a plane unlike any other, a seething ocean of vast magical energies inhabited by beings of near unfathomable power. If any such being were to somehow manage to enter another of the facets their simple existence would bend its nature to suit their own whether they desired to or not. The nature of their plane prevents this however, as it is contained entirely within the gem without exception. However from within the fracture they are able to by varying degrees peer into other realms and exert shadows of influence upon them.
There is a huge diversity to these beings, and while their true natures would be nigh incomprehensible to those of the mortal realm, we do possess common names for the physical manifestations and phantasms which are the direct result of their manipulations. These are generally classified by their behaviors and goals, although it is important to note that many of these are only the closest approximation to their manifestations.
The most benevolent or simply benign of these beings are commonly regarded as Gods, and each one is capable of imposing their wills upon a varying number of facets dependent on their power. In general these beings find pleasure in the furthering of their subjects goals, although there is often a lack of distinction regarding whether a God views its subjects as children, pets, or toys.
There are beings of similar influence who hold nothing but contempt for the inhabitants of other realms, known as Demon-Gods. They take pleasure in manipulation and treachery, using them to further their sickly and twisted designs. To these beings crimes, murders, and war are all games to amuse them. Their influence has caused the toppling of entire civilizations and many of them take great pride in the number of facets which they have caused to fall into ruin.
The third notable faction of beings are the most important to our realm as they pose a threat to its very existence. These are the Dragon-Gods. The Dragon-Gods are unique in that while their existence within the fracture is relatively wispy and ethereal, their influence upon other realms is at times stronger than any others. Discontent with their existence, they seek to cause strife and stress upon certain key lotuses of power within the various realms in order to further weaken our shard's integrity and ultimately cause it to split and shatter.
This would result in a repeat of the incident of the destruction of the Gem of Immortality, splitting our realm into a multitude of facsimiles. This would allow the Dragon-Gods to each possess one as their own paradise while resulting in the destruction of the other beings of the fracture. In the distant past their aims were thwarted by the combined efforts of the inhabitants of various realms and they were sealed away. Over time this seal has weakened, and their influence is strengthening. They have achieved the destruction of Britannia and are now turning their eyes upon the Lone Islands, which is the location of perhaps the weakest points along the fracture, experiencing some of the greatest numbers of magical anomalies because of this.
The most widely accepted theory on the origins of these three factions of beings are that they are the lingering reflections and magnifications of the Avatar and Mondain which were imprinted upon our shard upon its creation. This explanation seems to hold merit by the fact that the strongest of the Gods each seem to fairly accurately represent the various Virtues, and the Dragon-Gods in particular seem to hold parallels to the anti-virtues along with sharing his ambitions.
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Keep in mind that most of the details I have given here would NOT be widely known. The true nature of the dragon gods is at this time shrouded in mystery but being revealed as the plot progresses. I am open to any and all questions about the shard lore, and highly encourage them. A key goal of ours will be to establish the Wiki as a clear and concise guide to all aspects of the server and with that in mind I would love to know what sort of questions people may have so that I can provide answers for them.
Also, if there's anything I did not mention at the very beginning which you would like me to clarify feel free to mention it.
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Message from Mythdale to all who it may concern
By Torin_G | December 5, 2014
I could see the apparent surprise and a slight fright emerge on the face of the towncrier. I can easily imagine it is not common occasion to witness a heavily armored, battle scarred dwarf heading straight towards you. I slammed down the heavy, ostentively red stained battleaxe upon his counter and glanced upon his face.
I curled a wicked smile as the poor man slowly, cautiously stepped back as he noticed the extensive scarring upon the left side of my face; a gift from Samael, no less. He reluctantly stepped forward, obviously ill-at-ease, as I waved him forward.
“I have a message to be spread over these lands. All must know, hear or read these wordsâ€, I said, shoving a roll of parchment over the counter. The poor clerk barely managed a stammer. “Gold is not an issue†and placed a sack of gold on the wood. He opened the scroll and as he read it, he could not help feeling the exquisite quality of the parchment, and a flicker of greed upon the sight of the Gold Seal bearing a crossed pickaxe and axe.
“To all that will read or hear these words, Hail.
I Torin, son of Hurin, son of Gloin, known as the Gryphoneye, currently investured as High Constable and Baron of the Kingdom of Mythdale state the following, upon deliberation and on charge of his grace Merrick, King of Mythdale, first of that name.
Knowing that these lands slowly descend into Chaos and oblivion, we hereby stretch out a hand of friendship to all those willing to cooperate to turn the tide and bring peace and tranquility to these Isles. We weep at the sight of bandits running rampage amongst the innocent, of blood shed for no apparent reason, we mourn for the fields plowed with blood and bones. It is our desire to bring together all willing to aid, to work together in unison and defend our lands, all lands, from these ongoing marauders. Working together, uniting our efforts, we can only hope to help those unable to defend themselves and bring trade and wealth back into our realms.
Let it hence be known that Mythdale graciously extends a token of peace and genuine friendship and we sincerely hope that whomever that might read or hear these words, will endeavor to speak with us of this matter or any other, that might concern us. We would kindly consider any offer of Alliance or request for protection that anyone would choose to lay before us.
Signed: Torin Gryphoneye, High Constable and Baron of Mythdale
Sealed with a gold seal on a red silk tail, picturing a pickaxe and axe, balancing upon a scale. “
Upon reading it, the towncrier looked anew to this old, strange dwarf, a flicker of recognition in his eyes, his head slowly nodding. “I shall dispatch it with haste, mylo …eh Torinâ€, he said.
Curling a slight smile, and nodding curtly, my voice grated with fatigue: “Gratitude, I would greatly appreciate were it dispatched with utmost hasteâ€. As I stepped outside and gently poured a mug of ale, I heard the first orders being shouted and soon thereafter horseman and ravens flew to their dedicated destination with a haste proportionate to the sack of gold upon the counter.
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Rebuilding Mythdale
By Torin_G | December 5, 2014
I couldn’t help laughing as I pondered upon the actions I witnessed. The comfort of Nutcracker’s weight upon my back, Lightbringer and Lightkeeper at the ready. Watching, guarding over the safety of the workers, masons, stonecutters toiling at the Great Wall of Mythdale.
Merrick and me, Duke and Baron, King and Constable, the founders of Mythdale. Together we are building a haven of peace, of tranquility, a beacon of Order in these realms. Together with friends, allies, relatives we are working towards a safehaven in these lands, otherwise overwhelmed, slowly usurped by Chaos. The soil enriched with the blood of the innocent, bearing the fruits of war and decay.
Balance must be kept at all times I mumble barely audible, clenching the smooth, battle worn hilt of my falchion. My hands roughened by a lifetime of war slowly caressing the yellowed bone. Sheathing it, I checked the edge of old faithful Nutcracker, never once losing my vigilance over the workers. Grey eyes continually glancing about for any apparent sign of danger. I never realized how my fingers unwittingly sought out the inlaid gems in the hilt of the Greataxe, the smooth surface of the slight bump bringing some kind of tranquility in my soul. A bluefrosted gem shone upon my touch, gifted by the small, lovely Neheleniah and a ruby red as blood by the beautifull and kind Scarlet.
I couldn’t help smile, thinking of them, memories clouded by age. My eyes suddenly shoot towards a human worker, shouting a joke. Arrogant and futile their attempts are, a conclusion made by centuries of experience in leading men into into battle, by ruling and judging towns and shires. It has been long since I was Steward of my Dwarven Kingdom. My kinsmen governed by tradition, sturdy as the stone they are made of. These young ones brood Chaos, inhibit nay, embrace Change as their second nature. Their lives as short as their actions, I can only applaud the efforts they, … we make to turn the Tides. Be they futile and arrogant in their lack of longterm vision, they are worth my attention. If the Ancients would turn from them, … alas we are too few in number, we need their energy, their labour, their aptitude for profound Change, … only than we might restore the Balance …
My thoughts fleeing as mist in the sun, I turned as I heard the Quartermaster approach. A trustworthy dwarf, sworn to Mythdale, bringing me ale and meat from the stores he soo energetically collects. Smiling thankfully I accept the mug of fresh foaming beer. “Gratitude Grimâ€, and I nod my head in acknowledgement and after a long gulp, I cannot help asking him: “tell me Grimm, how many guards can we enlist the coming days?â€
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