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Thread: Ego Draconis

  1. #11
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    Takesh's Avatar
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    Jan 2010
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    Default Rage of a Monster

    Rain. Of all the possible weathers, it had to rain. As if I didn't have my hands full already.

    Maiyu plunged into the Forest of Whispers with Dragan right behind her. Dragan's breathing was heavy, Maiyu could hear it. His roars invaded right inside Maiyu's skull as she made her desperate escape attempt. Dragan was mowing down anything that obstructed his path. More than once did Dragan's axe hit Maiyu, but the hits only managed to scratch her. She was running as fast as she could because facing Dragan one-on-one was foolish. She would stand no chance against him in close combat.

    As Maiyu hopped over stones and zig-zagged through the trees, all this time she was trying to figure out a way to at least slow Dragan down. Lightning struck suddenly right in front of Maiyu, felling a tree and sealing Maiyu's escape route. She quickly turned to the other direction but Dragan was still able to land another hit on her. Now she was bleeding from her arm.

    Dragan: ”You'll never escape from me alive! I'LL KILL YOU, YOU WORTHLESS WHORE!

    Dragan's threats echoed all around the Forest of Whispers, it caused the wild life to flee in terror. Maiyu was rapidly losing hope of ever escaping this monster of a man. There was nothing she could use to her advantage in the forest, not even the dense trees because of Dragan's strength. Finally they arrived to a clearing in the middle of the forest, there were more spiders than you could even imagine. It was as if it was their sanctuary of sorts, a home. Maiyu kept running but Dragan finally caught her and immediately smashed her into a tree.

    Dragan: ”I'll make sure your death is slow and painful, you b*tch!”

    Dragan grabbed Maiyu from her throat and slammed her into a tree again, now choking her against the tree. Maiyu kept kicking Dragan but to no avail, the man didn't seem to feel any pain. It was all because of the poison that he had inhaled, rather than weakening him the poison had actually made him stronger. As Maiyu struggled for air, Dragan laughed and punched her hard in the stomach. You could see the force of the punch from the cracks that appeared into the tree.
    He kept punching and slightly loosening his grip from Maiyu so that she didn't choke completely, it was all to torture her. After all she had just crushed Dragan's income, his guild. Just as Maiyu's life was about to escape from her body, a miracle happened. A wild boar smashed into Dragan, throwing him a few feet in air. Maiyu landed on the ground, holding her throat and cackling.

    Dragan: ”Tch! Time to die piggy!”

    Now was Maiyu's chance to act, it was most likely her last chance also. She had to make this one count. The spiders were still in the clearing, they hadn't budged even though Dragan was right next to them. Brave little creatures, Maiyu thought and hatched a plan. The spider web, that was her only way to survive. Just as Dragan dealt the killing blow to the boar, splitting it's skull in half, Maiyu finished up with her layer of web on the ground. Dragan turned and faced Maiyu, his eyes were not of human's anymore, they were as black as the void itself. Something was definitely happening to Dragan but this was not the time to be concerned about that, now the only thing that mattered was the trap. Dragan first took a few steps but quickly noticed that Maiyu was just standing still, as if waiting for him, not even trying to run away.

    Dragan: ”Another one of your pesky traps.. Bah! You'll never get me with those!”
    Maiyu: ”Wrong.”

    Dragan leaped right over the layer of web, and was headed towards Maiyu with his axe held on his side. Maiyu also leaped in air, surprising Dragan, and made a powerful roundhouse kick into Dragan's jaw. Dragan's flight stopped and he fell down, right on the trap. The web immediately clutched onto Dragan's body, rendering him completely immobile. He cursed and struggled furiously to get out of the web but to no avail. Maiyu dropped on the ground, Dragan was able to get a glimpse of her glowing yellow & green eyes. Without another word, Maiyu took out her crossbow and shot a bolt straight into Dragan's heart. Dragan gasped once before becoming completely motionless.

    The bleeding from her arm and numerous other hits had taken their toll from Maiyu, she was forced to kneel down. She had a vial of Sanguin blood on her belt which she quickly drank; the blood worked as a slight healing potion. Maiyu took a few deep breaths and kept looking at Dragan. She had finally succeeded, her ”contract” with the Oathkeepers was hereby forfeit.

    Fate would not have their duel end like this however. The impossible happened: Dragan's eyes shot open and with inhuman strength he ripped the web which held him. His eyes were still black as coal but now they were also bleeding, thin streams of blood flowed over his cheeks. His expression was full of fury and anger. Maiyu couldn't believe it, had Dragan just resurrected? What manner of power did it take to kill this man? Dragan grabbed his axe and started running towards Maiyu.

    Dragan: ”I'm going to enjoy ripping you limb from limb!!”
    Maiyu: ”To hell with you Dragan!”

    Maiyu formed another web string from her fingertip and set a row of knives onto the stream. She then launched all of them at Dragan who took all the shots without even flinching. It seemed he didn't care at all what happened, as long as Maiyu was his next victim. Such determination was more than frightening, was he even consciously doing this anymore? Dragan swinged his axe and it cut down a tree nearby. Maiyu was able to dodge the strike and threw another stream of knives at Dragan.
    This time the knives made him flinch; so he did feel pain after all. Before Maiyu was able to throw another stream, Dragan kicked and grabbed her and threw her towards her own layer of web. The web didn't effect Maiyu but the fall cracked her left arm so that she wouldn't be able to use it for now.

    Dragan: ”Can you feel it.. ? Can you hear your death bells ringing?”
    Maiyu: ”Ugh.. Not yet.”

    Maiyu jumped up and sweeped Dragan's legs. He fell down on the ground, Maiyu followed the sweep with another bolt from her crossbow. The bolt went through Dragan's abdomen which caused a splash of blood to erupt from the hit point. Maiyu continued her flurry of attacks by stabbing Dragan with two of her throwing knives, coated with deadly poison, right into his chest. Dragan still struggled, he refused to die no matter what. He grabbed Maiyu from her left leg and drag her down on the ground. From there he continued by driving his fist into Maiyu's stomach and sides, cracking her rib and causing some serious internal damage, and to finally finish her off, he grabbed his axe and held it behind his head like an executioner.

    Dragan: ”Haa.. haa.. Die.. !!”

    Just as Dragan was about to make the killing blow, his own mortality finally showed itself. Blood started pouring down from his mouth, forcing him to vomit large amounts of blood. Dragan couldn't hold onto his axe anymore, it fell on the ground behind him and Dragan was left on his knees. Dragan's eyes turned back into red and black(his ”natural” color), it seemed he had lost his inhuman strength. Maiyu slowly rose with a slight stagger, coughing some blood herself too. Dragan's face and torso were already covered in black blood.

    Dragan: ”You.. b*tch..”
    Maiyu: ”. . .”
    Dragan: ”Heh.. Heh heh.”
    Maiyu: ”.. Still laughing.. even though you're dying?”
    Dragan: ”I had a good one.. too bad you showed up.. stupid *****.. Ha ha..” *Cough*
    Maiyu: *grabs Dragan's axe*
    Dragan: ”Ha.. Ha ha! HA HA! An emotionless husk devoid of feelings.. there's no hope left for you Maiyu!”
    Maiyu: ”.. See you in hell.”

    Maiyu's eyes flashed as she made a full swing and severed Dragan's head with his own axe, causing a blood shower to erupt from the now headless torso. The blood was black as coal, just like Sanguin blood. The last victim Dragan's axe claimed was his own, ironic if you think about it. As his head rolled down a small slope, Maiyu could see how he had an insane smile on his face. The bastard laughed about dying, he laughed right into the face of death itself. Maiyu slowly lynched away from Dragan's corpse, bearing a slight smile herself.
    She was heavily injured and thus couldn't walk far. She had to rely on her potions to ease the pain so that she could reach the nearest town or city.

    Even the potions couldn't keep the pain from entering Maiyu's body however. Each step hurt only more which eventually led her to collapse on the ground, just on the edge of the forest. Soon she lost conciousness..

    I was ready to give up hope and die.. it's not like there was much reason for me to live anyway.
    Last edited by Takesh; 03-02-2011 at 01:25 PM.

  2. #12
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    kain222's Avatar
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    (( Phew, has it been a long time! I decided to see what was happening around these boards since I left -ages- ago, and I stumbled across this thread, and my god. Have you all grown!

    Whilst I, myself, have matured as a writer and a person, I can't help but find myself intimidated ;P But, I'm deciding to throw myself in head first here, so here is a character sheet for a half-giant character I have in mind: If you mind about me creating a few tibits of lore surrounding the half-giants, just say so. But aye, feel free to reject me if I'm not good enough now-a-days, I'm a tad rusty. ))

    Name: Wulfhelm “Mountain-Breaker” Arkahm

    Age: 45

    Gender: Male

    : Half-Giant.

    Class: Warrior

    Appearance: Wulfhelm is, like all half-giants, absolutely enormous. Standing at a colossal eight and a half feet, he dwarfs most other people – and is even larger than most half giants. It's clear that he is a titan of a man, and his entire body is built like a complete tank, barrelling, bulging muscular structure stretches a scarred, thick leathery skin (which clearly displays years upon years of living in the harsh, mountain regions that some half-giants reside in) to it's limits, he is the true image of a barbarian, standing like a brick wall, it is clear that it would take a lot to topple him.

    His hair is a dark, mahogany brown, and is thick and lustrous. The flowing, stoutly mane is tamed into two braided plats that hang behind his back, and sway heavily with every movement he makes – near the end of them, are two, silver cylinders that appear to keep the entire thing together, large enough to fit around the wrist of most humans, these “braces” are pure steel, and intricately carved, the striking image of two, salivating wolves fighting each other etched into one, and the image of a colossal mountain etched onto the other.

    As for his horns, any half-giant worth his beer would die for them. They closely resemble a rams, and are several inches thick, the jutting, tenacious bones harder than steel, and able to break through it just as easily. The glinting ivory would make any person – not just half-giants – cower in fear. They sit upon his skull like a glorious helmet, curving backwards illustriously, the points tucking neatly underneath his ears, giving him an almost bull-like appearance.

    His looks are on par with most Half-giants, not ugly, per say, simply brutish and stoutly. A broad jaw sits beneath his skull, blunt-ended, powerful nose sitting, jutting above it. His eyes, however, are rather interesting, whilst most of the time they are amber with the hearty idiocy of most half-giants, they sometimes glint a deep, azure blue, whenever Wulfhelm is deep in thought. It is clear that there is more to this titan of a barbarian than first meets the eye.

    Armour: Wulfhelm's armor suits his entire image: Made mostly of animal hides, he tends to wear a thick, tanned jerkin of Grey wolf pelt, the hair of which has been trimmed, everywhere except for the shoulders, which sport the thick, mottled fur of the wolf it was stripped from. Whilst obviously very resilient, the jerkin is rather crude and patched together – this is made apparent by straps of brown, studded bear leather which keeps the rough pieces of wolf hide together. The faint, clinking sound emanating from beneath the jerkin suggests an iron chain-mail undercoat, which keeps the great titan safe from arrows, and anything powerful enough to pierce through the thickened wolf-skin.

    The covering of his leggings consist of a heavy, chain-mail war-kilt that is kept around his waist by a coarse tie of rawhide. On the front and back sides of the kilt are long strips of wolf leather, which are kept attached to the armor by rusted, iron chains that have been snapped onto the rawhide belt. Upon these vertically-hanging strips of wolf-fur are large plate discs, which seem hurriedly hammered into place. They hang untidily from the fur, and yet are extremely effective at protecting his more.. vulnerable parts.

    On his feet, the giant wears shin-length fur boots, the gray leather also presumably taken from the hide of wolves, tufts of fur spill from the top of the boots, adding a sense of wilderness and untamed fury to his entire, lumbering and yet terrifying visage.

    Whilst Wulfhelm typically makes use of whatever is at hand (be it boulders, logs, perhaps the door of some unlucky tavern owner), he typically carries two, beautifully made hatchets at the sides of his rawhide belt. The axe-handles themselves are crafted from the bones of a great bear. Several inches thick, these bones are guarded by a wrapped length of thick, coarse boar hide, which also keep the head of the hatchets attached to the stunningly-carved ivory.

    The axe-heads are a beautiful sight – like the serene, intimating beauty of the mountain itself, they are made of glinting, flawless steel, sharpened to perfection. Along the side of the axe heads, there lay masterfully etched carvings, the image of them clear as day: A fanged skull, flanked by the furious, angry, snarling expressions of drooling alpha wolves, the weapons would be cumbersome in the hands of anyone other than a half-giant, and in Wulfhelm's hands they are swung as quickly and as naturally as his own hands.

    : Whilst Wulfhelm is very intimidating at first, it is clear that he is a kindly, hearty spirit when he doesn't want to cleave your head in two. At face-value, he appears a complete and utter brute, speaking in a tongue which is heavily-influenced with a mixture of dwarfish and half-giant accent.

    However, those intelligent enough to look closer will notice sparks of absolute genius from time to time, both in Wulfhelm's words and his actions. Whilst most of the rumours about “intelligent half giants” are mostly untrue, once one looks further they will find that Wulfhelm can be a source of wisdom, ingenuity and inspiration whenever his barbarian instincts are at bay.

    Which, unfortunately, isn't too often.

    Wulfhelm has a strong, internal struggle with the rage that caused him to be exiled from the Wolf-Clan (More on that in the history section.), and as such is capable of acts of truely horrific violence, although, this natural anger is something that troubles him deeply - he is not evil by any sense of the word. But, if you get on his bad side, he won't hesitate a moment whilst cleaving your head firmly back into it's shoulders.

    Regardless of his barbarian nature, there is a kinder yin to his rage-fueled yang. And, although he doesn't show it often, the enormous man is capable of strong, powerful emotion. Nothing complicated, just pure, unadulterated love, joy, or sorrow. L

    (Quirks: Wulfhelm, like all half-giants, has a weakness for good ale. In addition, he also possesses a rather limited vocabulary, and long sentences tend to confuse him, unless he is in one of his rare bouts of intelligence.))

    Berserk: Wulfhelm's fighting style is based soley around brute strength, and the dual axes he wields. On the battlefield he is truly awe-inspiring, rushing into the thick of mêlées and sending crimson blood and entrails flying – emerging victorious by displaying feats of both awful rage and ruthless recklessness, this approach to fighting more often than not gets him into trouble.

    Endurance: Wulfhelm has the subtlety of a boulder, and is about as resilient as once, too. Not only is his armor deceptively resistant to all kinds of physical damage, but he has such thick, leathery skin as a result of the harsh conditions of the mountainsides he lived in growing up. Arrows, unless enchanted or particularly well-made (or aimed), have a hard time even getting an inch into his hide. And good luck breaking his bones, you'll need a lot of strength, or an awfully sharp blade to break through three inches of hardened bone and marrow.


    Tracking: Wulfhelm, whilst appearing a brute, is surprisingly in-tune with the wilds, though not Druidic in any sense of the word, he has spent years in the harsh conditions of the mountains, and the forests within them, due to his past. As such, he -had- to learn to hunt for his own food, or die. He is capable of, as such, reading tracks for miles on end.

    Whilst being mostly a brute, there are rare occasions where Wulfhelm will display some of that rare, half-giant intelligence: Seeing things that others miss entirely, figuring out riddles that would take the average human months to ponder on, or working out the plans of even the most devious of enemies. Unfortunately, after these brief moments of wit, Wulfhelm will go back to being a blankly-staring imbecile.

    : Wulfhelm is terrifyingly strong, and as such, is capable of lifting the mightiest boulders, and tearing the tallest trees straight out of their roots, such strength becomes a great use whilst traversing lands, as Wulfhelm is capable of clearing a path in seconds, or shouldering many wounded companions.

    Kal'Kalak lore:

    Wulfhelm hails from one of the savage, more tribal groups of half-giants, the Kal'kalak. The Kal'kulak have a deep-rooted belief in following the ways of animals, and is, as such, split into three divisions of tribes, who wander the lonely, desolate mountainsides and peaks to the great, freezing north: The Mountain Hare clan, the Wolf Clan, and the Goat Clan.

    When an intelligent half-giant is born into any of these clans, they are taught the great magic art of farseeing and shamanism from information left behind by the previous clan sage. These sages are revered and feared within the clans, both treated with a position of superstitious respect.

    Wulfhelm comes from the Wolf Clan, a proud and barbarous tribe of Half-giants, and known as the strongest of the three Kal'kalak., the Wolf Clan take after their clan-animal by being master huntsmen and trappers, hunting even the wolf itself – for if they did not wear the thick, warm skin of their hides, nor ate from the nourishing flesh and drank their warm blood, they would not survive in the mountainous regions of the Great North, such it would be if they weren't able to draw on the mighty wolf's strength. They reside in the forests in the valleys and beneath the great mountains.

    The Goat Clan are great friends of the Wolf clan, and they often occupy the same proximity – though it is more of a mutual respect. The Goat Clan follow the way of their animal by sheltering in the gargantuan mountainsides of the north, taking warmth and shelter within the mountainsides' caves, and hunting the goats who make their home there, drawing on their strength with respect, much as the Wolf Clan do.

    The Mountain Hare clan are the most secretive of all clans of the Kal'kalak. They are masters of blending into the beautiful landscape, having taken after their clan-animal, although this way of life has not come without a price. They are a fearful tribe – deep-seated suspicions and ancient fears run through their veins, and they rarely even show themselves apart from when the Kal'kalak draw together for their yearly meet: And even then, they do not partake in the festivities.

    It is said there is a great and bloody rivalry between the Mountain Hare Clan and the Wolf Clan, as two-hundred years ago, the Wolf warrior Neihelar had a disagreement with the wise and sage like leader of the Mountain Hares, Saradikar. Neihelar, being headstrong and foolish, challenged Saradikar to Kar'gul, the most sacred form of Kal'kalak combat – and the most deadly. Armed with only their fists, the two fought to the death atop one of the highest mountain peaks, which the Kal'kalak named: “Gorgoth.”

    It was said that Neihelar broke Saradikar's head in two, and drank the thick, crimson liquid from his skull.

    Despite the Wolf clan's attempts to make amends with the Mountain Hare Clan by exiling Neihelar for his reckless blood-lust, the Mountain Hare Clan was secretive from that day forward, and rising tensions began between the Wolf Clan and the Mountain Hares.

    That night, the Wolf-clan's sage had a horrible, wrenching vision whilst in her trance, one that struck fear into the hearts of every wolf-clan on that fateful, horrible night of Saradikar's slaughtering. The vision was so potent, that the half-giantess died on that night, but with her last, drawing breath, she spat out a prophecy:

    “On thunder's night,
    blood will rain,
    from the mountain's plight,
    a shattering pain.

    bringer of change.

    Blood shall be drank again.

    Two hundred years,
    two hundred summers.
    Two hundred winters,
    darkness upon us.”

    Two hundred years,
    mountain breaker.

    “Please, blood-brother! Your hunt couldn't match up to mine last summer!” The hearty, booming voice of a half-giant called, accompanied with the earth-shaking, thudding footsteps which sent birds scattering, and fearful legends spreading. It was no wonder that, in some parts of the world, the half-giants were seen as barbarous monsters.

    “Hah! Don't kid yourself, Wulfhelm! That wolf you strangled was barely a pup, but a wee few months suckling from it's mother!” Replied a much deeper, older, and yet equally hearty retort that was full of cheer, although it was intertwined with grunts of effort that escaped into the frigid, mountain air as he hauled the hunt over his shoulder. It was freezing although, neither of the half-giants seemed to mind, perfectly content in the thick wolf hide that kept them warm from the unforgiving wind.

    A young Wulfhelm beamed a wolf-like grin at his friend, retorting: “Perhaps we should spend less time arguing and more time getting the hunt back to the clan meet? I'm sure that they'll be wasting away, waiting for the feast that you so boldly promised them, Kair!” as he aided his companion in lifting the carcass, trying to distract himself from the warm, scarlet fluids that were dripping down his fingers that had once belonged to the corpse.

    “I promised them? As far as I remember, it was you who swore on your pride so recklessly, that's a bad habit of yours, blood-brother. It's no wonder you're constantly getting into trouble. 'I swear on my soul' this and 'I swear on my honor' that, the sages take that kind of thing VERY seriously.” Warned Kair with superstitious wonderment, as they breached the crest of the small mountain they were climbing, emerging into a small, widened valley.

    The roasting smell of wolf, goat and hare meat flowed into the air as Wulfhelm took in the clan meet – it was a very joyous occasion for the Wolf and Goat clans, who relished in the festivity of it all, and the feast that was dished out. Music filled the air, as groups of men beat on wolf-skin drums and hammered bones against wooden logs, the wailing, tribal singing snaking out into the sky. Children ran at each other, play-fighting with long, wooden twigs resembling blades, and countless of them sat around a massive, sawed-in-half log, being dished out servings of stew and meat generously ladled onto oak-carved bowls. They ate greedily, eating the feast with relish and shoving the piles of meat into gnashing jaws, sharing tales and laughter.

    Half-giants and half-giantesses sat on logs in great circles, telling stories of great valor and heroism. Wulfhelm found himself entranced as he listened on: Dumbly carrying the wolf carcass as if it wasn't even there – a phantom, dead weight on his shoulders. Ever since he was a boy, he had been fascinated by these tales of power and might, how the great Akarhik had once took down an alpha wolf with his bare hands, how Yumian had once toppled a tree to stop his son drowning in the deceptive river of ice. The children listening looked on with the same, glazed-over expression of fascination as he did.

    “Wulfhelm? Wulfhelm!” Snapped Kail's voice, breaking the young half-giant from the trance as he looked on at his blood-brother, his friend, who was looking upon him with mocking amusement. “You can enjoy the stories later, Wulfhelm.” He remarked condescendingly. “But for now, let's get this wolf on the fire?”

    “R...Right.” Wolfhelm replied, still dazed as he carried the wolf to the burning, hissing embers of the large, roaring cooking fire.

    “What did you say to me, old man!?” Roared Wulfhelm, as Kail barely even held back the half-giant. Even at the early age of twenty three, Wulfhelm held considerable, mighty strength, and was even beginning to grow the stumps of horns on his forehead. He was kicking against Kail's grip furiously, who was going red in the face with effort as Wulfhelm screamed at the Mountain Hare Clan.

    A crowd had gathered around the commotion – men, women and children watched on in excitement – there was nothing the Half-giants loved more than a fight. Unarmed combat was the absolute epitome of strength to them, and every half-giant worth their horns was cheering Wulfhelm on, sharing the same fevered blood-lust that Wulfhelm was experiencing tenfold.

    However, the wolf sage – an old, wrinkled crone dressed in a draping robe of stitched-together Rowan leaves complete with wolf sinew and cub skulls wrapped around the hem – was watching on with an unreadable expression, her wise, silver eyes widening with each exchange, a rising dread becoming more and more evident within the wiry irises.

    “I said you are foolhardy and barely even worth your horns, wolf-suckler!” Retorted Korgat, a red-faced barbarian of a man who was in his prime, aged sixty two, he was ridiculously healthy, and his horns sprang upwards in a great arc, unlike others who modestly tucked behind their ears. No, Korgat was too proud for that, yes. He was insulting Wulfhelm out of pride. He found it disgusting that such a young, inexperienced boy could speak slanders against his name as he had earlier tonight – it had started with a passing, spiteful comment, but Korgat knew this whelp had to be put in his place.

    Indignantly, Wulfhelm bit back, snarling: “Go and hide in your hole, Hare-clan! Your kind has always been cowards! You talk now, but let's see how well you fare when you try to live up to your words! Fight me! Kail, let me go or so help me I will rend your skull from it's place, blood-brother!”

    “No you won't Wulfhelm.” Kail said, taking the insult lightly, retorting with strained effort as he struggled to keep the young man back, the veins popping out on the nape of his neck with effort. “I thought we'd been over that? Leave this Hare alone, he is not worth your rage.”

    “Oh, but I think I am!” Korgat taunted, his voice full of amusement as the crowd continued to jeer on, the old, yet unwise Half-giant spreading his arms out wide as the moon rose over the horizon, staring down like a great, ancient titan roused by this confrontation between the Hare and the Wolf. “Let's see you fight me, fool!”

    Wulfhelm's rage built up, mounting further and further, a deep, ancient blood-lust rose into his veins like boiling, molten rock. He felt it seethe into his head, and coat his eyes in dark, vengeful mist of red. How dare he? How dare this old man insult him and carry on questioning his bravery when he was being held back? He would rend him in two, he would crack his head open and watch the scarlet blood splatter gloriously around him, he would drink from his skull!


    A hushed, stunned silence spread like quite , flickering wildfire amongst the crowd, what had become entertainment for them had suddenly simmered into a low, piercing dread. They were expecting a fight, but not one to the death. They quietly died down in shame, and even Kail let go of his straining friend as Wulfhelm stepped forward into the circle, the light of the dying camp fire dying to his right – he only then realized the weight of the words he had yelled at the height of his rage. Only now, did he realize the grave mistake that he had made: The burden hung on his shoulders and threatened to drown him in his own shame.

    But he couldn't go back now.
    His honor was at stake.

    “I...” He began shakily, as Korgat watched on, pale faced and no longer proud and arrogant. “Challange you to Kar'gul... On the height of the bloodied mountain... To do unarmed combat...” Wulfhelm stared at Kail, who looked back at him with a panicked, warning, reproachful look. His eyes full of fear and concern for his friend. “Until the death.”

    Korgat stared at him in consuming silence.

    The moon rose further in the sky, spilling moonlight onto the two half-giants, as if grimly agreeing with the challenge.

    “Very well.”
    Mountain breaker..
    Spilled blood...

    On that fateful night, an avalanche roared in the distance, and the half-giants and giantesses shivered in their places, for they knew what this meant. “Mountain-breaker...” Hissed the wolf mage, backing reproachfully from the site of the feast. “Exile...” She murmured, then yelled: “EXILE! THE DARKNESS, THE PROPHECY MUST NOT COME ABOUT!” The entire crowd rose in an uproar of terrified screams. In absolute pandemonium, lightning struck in the middle of the clearing and set a white hot, searing pulse of light into the eye of every half-giant. They ran, wailing and whooping, leaping over each other in pure, animalism to get away from the unseen enemy.

    Wulfhelm returned, lips stained a scarlet crimson. Staring at the empty feasting table, a sickening sense of dread overcame him.


    He had heard the prophecy before, how could he of been so blind? Why did he not see the events he had just set in motion?

    The avalanche that had struck as soon as he placed the cracked skull of Korgat to his lips in his rage fluttered back into his mind, affronting him like a the gargantuan, cold mountainsides themselves.

    “The Prophecy...”
    The whispers echoed all around him.
    Startled, like a newborn fawn, he ran into the night.

    But worse than everything, worse than being exiled, worse than loosing his home, worse than knowing he'll never hear those fantastical stories and legends spoken again...

    Was the fact that Kail was amongst the whispers.
    His blood-brother.
    His friend.
    They had all outcast him out of superstitious fear.

    It was like a knife in his heart.

    ((Dear god, that's a long history. Righty, nice, meaty slab of Half-giant lore for you guys to chew on. I'll make my first post later once I get some writing juice back.))
    Last edited by kain222; 03-03-2011 at 06:23 PM.

  3. #13
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    Blue sat at his stool, staring into his mug of ale. The warm atmosphere of the tavern relaxed him, as he listened to the rain pound against the side of the building. The tavern was emptier than when he arrived two days before. It has been a month since the incidents have occurred. Blue couldn’t believe it was only a month, for the change in lifestyle for him has greatly altered.

    He has been searching for information regarding Tesiana’s disappearance. Being on the run though has made it hard, for a few times he barely escaped the clutch of the interception squad. Along the way money had been a problem, so Blue had to resort to taking on mercenary requests, many of them going against his moral convictions. There was nothing he could do though and for at the moment, he accepted this fate.

    The tavern owner stood behind the bar, cleaning a mug with what seemed like a dirty rag. The owner seemed to be an older man, probably in his mid 60s. He had a small limp in his walk, which Blue thought might have been due to being in the military.

    The man looked at Blue and smiled. “This is your last night here, right boy?”

    The ale seeming to start to take effect, Blue replied in elvish “Ya and then onto the next low paying and/or life threatening job”.

    The man gave a surprised look, and stopped cleaning the mug. Blue noticed his mistake, reached forward for his mug, and got up to go back to his room. His cloak though got caught, ripping it clean in half. If the owner wasn’t surprised before, he was now as the Legion V tattoo revealed itself. Blue was ready to play it off as a joke, but anyone and everyone knew what the real symbol looked like. The tattoo isn’t made by normal means, but by royal magic. One can clearly see the difference in one that is a fake vs. a real one.

    “It’s you…” the tavern owner said.

    Blue’s heart dropped. The only reason he was here, at the tavern which was part of Krystania, even if it was 10-20 miles away, was because of Arsul. As Blue galloped away he heard Arsul yell to meet at the tavern that Tesa had her first alcohol drink at. This was the place, and Blue blown his cover. Blue prepared himself to run, but to his surprise something else happened.

    The man pointed at Blue and said in elvish “It’s a pleasure to meet our liberator”. The owner held up his grayish brown hair revealing his pointy ears. Blue relaxed abit and sat back down on the stool.

    “Liberator?” Blue asked confused.

    The owner leaned forward. “The one who will free us elves from exile” he whispered. Blue got caught off guard by the answer. “Exile? But what do you…” but when Blue was about to ask 4 people walked through the door with their hoods over their face. “Your friends will explain”

    Blue watched as they lowered their hoods, familiar faces behind them. Two of them were his friends Arsul and Soril, and the other two were the two that occupied him to Duke Rua when he was betrayed, Sen and his sister Laura.

    After a month of wandering, trying to find some information regarding Tesiana, he had no leads. Finally some light was shining on him. Hugging and laughing was in order, but even they looked troubled. The group and Blue sat down at the farthest table, while the tavern owner started to get drinks ready. The room was empty for most of the customers who were staying there went back to their rooms. They talked for abit, making jokes to try to liven up the place. Arsul was the first to speak, in regard to the information they had.

    Arsul: “Many things have changed since you left. First thing is Rau has ordered to exile all other races from Krystania. The noble have tried to stop this, but they haven’t been able to get anywhere. He is using foreign help, like paying mercenaries and bandits to make sure this plans go through. The second thing is the new Legion 5 general.”

    Arsul stopped for a second.

    Arsul: “Its Enys. Rau moved him from the 1st legion and made him Legion 5’s general.”

    Blue taped his fingers against the table thinking. He thought he knew what Rau was doing. The men might follow a friend of Blue’s. But why, when Enys could easily take Blue’s side. He then realized his mistake. That’s if Enys was on his side. Rau's ability to manipulate people shouldn't be disregarded.

    Arsul: “Blue the third thing is the most important, I think more important than the last.”

    Arsul and the others looked scared. It’s as if he didn’t want to say it, but had to.

    Arsul: “Blue… Rau wants you to be captured or dead. He’s not playing around anymore. He’s sending Titan to find you.”

    Titan was the nickname given to the 1st Legion general Enos Hatmor. He was said to be one of the most powerful people in all of the land. His golden armor, with his majestic sword at his side alone intimidated his foes. His power…that was a whole other story.

    Blue could feel some sweat going down his cheek. This was really bad news for him. The faces of the others agreed with him. If Blue fought Enos… the chances of winning, without going 100% Index, would be slim.

    Soril decided to speak up.

    Soril: “We do have some good news though out of all this bad. We might have some information regarding Tesa…”
    Last edited by *sky; 03-02-2011 at 09:17 PM.

    Quote Originally Posted by Paladuck View Post
    The economy is really rough, all those Chinese gold farmers are out of a job.

  4. #14
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    Vonur was alone, but he was used to it. He had been alone ever since his mother had killed herself. Well this is not strictly true, as he father had returned a few years ago, but he is dead too. Vonur sighed, ‘What am I supposed to do now. Accused of murdering my father, leaving the citadel…I cannot return…ever.’

    Since leaving the citadel two days, and one night have passed. Vonur had been travelling west, and was almost out of food, for he had not reached any kind of civilisation to restock. ‘I don’t even know where I am going.’ He looked at the roof. Then he realised, ‘What the hell?! Oh yeah, I’m not underground anymore.’ This was the first time he had been outside, as most dwarves are born underground, and stay there. It was a dishonour to your family to travel beyond the surface, but Vonur’s family had no honour now anyway. He stopped to look up at the sky. It was magnificent. There was a big circle of white light, and many small dots as well. It was the most beautiful thing Vonur had ever seen. He decided he would camp here for the night.

    Vonur was unrolling his bedroll when suddenly a drop of some sort of liquid hit his arm. He looked at it cautiously. Then there was another, and another. Then it started to come down in waves. He looked up. The sky had gone, and a greyish black substance had formed. This substance was spitting down a refreshingly cold liquid unto Vonur’s skin. He licked his arm. It was water, ‘Amazing, this must be rain. To think, the surface has an endless supply of water from the roof…I mean sky.’ He quickly rolled up his bed again and moved towards a cliff face that looked to be about five minutes walk away.

    Once he reached the cliff, he wondered along it until he had found a shelter. The was thoroughly soaked now, but he didn’t mind, new experiences toughen the soul. He started to unroll his bed again, for the second time that night, under the shelter the cliff provided. Once he had his bed rolled, and his armour off, sitting next to the bed in an orderly fashion with his axe, he lay down and looked out at the world beyond. ‘I will return to you someday, Iron Citadel. I will return with honour, and I will show you the world beyond. Not something to be scared of, or to ignore, but something to embrace.’ Vonur blinked the tears from his eyes, dwarves don’t cry. When he looked up again, out from his shelter, he saw a glowing light, a city. That was his new heading, towards civilisation, towards a new life, towards honour.

    ((I know its sort of short in comparison to the other posts, but I just wanted to sort of show Vonur’s feeling, how he wasn’t sure about anything anymore))

    ((EDIT: Oh crap, now that i post it it looks sooooo tiny, i might change it...should i?))
    RPing, i'm not really sure neil...

    *week later*

    I am Karosath, the almighty destroyer of the royal family MWAHAHAHAHAHA

    *next day*

    NEIL: so gecko hows the RPing
    ME:who is this gecko??? Adress me only as Karosath, the almighty, u peasent

  5. #15
    Marios's Mustache Wax Reputation: 10
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    Tori paced around the house. What was she going to do? Her father had forgotten to buy groceries for over three weeks. Tori has been having to make less and less food for breakfast, lunch, and dinner because her dad wasn't buying food. What is even worse is that she never sees her dad because he goes to work earlier than she can get up, and gets back while she is asleep. He only gets about three hours of sleep, too, so Tori thinks that is part of the problem.
    Tori decided to quit over-thinking it, and just take a seat on the couch. How am I going to remind Father that he needs to buy groceries? Not make him a dinner tonight and just give him a sticky note to remind him to buy food? I don't think that would work.. And besides, he only has one meal a day, for some reason. He needs his Dunchfast, as Gama calls it.. But, what am I going to do?
    The spiky, black haired blood elf named Gama came out of his room.
    "Speak of tha devil..." Tori said, smirking. Gama just looked at her with a confused expression on his face.
    "Are you trying to imply that I'm going to hell?" Gama said in elvish, his head tilted to one side.
    "Now where in tha /world/ did you learn that language Gama?" Tori half-shouted half-said in elvish. She stood up, towering over Gama. His eyes flashed with fear for a second, but his eyes quickly returned to normal when he saw his twin Ryoku popping out of the corner. Gama's coal-black eyes flickered from Tori to Ryoku.
    Ryoku was just a bit taller than Gama, but other than that, they lookec the exact same. They both had spiky black hair, coal-black eyes, and both wore a black vest over a t-shirt and jeans. They both had the same pair of boots, too. They wore dark brown hiking boots.
    "Actually," Ryoku started, shyly looking to the ground. " We learned it from our teacher... She got mad one day and cussed a studant out..."
    Tori looked to Ryoku, feeling bad that she had scolded Gama.
    "Well than, I guess your okay, if you learned it from a studant.. What is his name, do 'ya know?" Tori hoped they knew so that she could get a crack at the student for being dumb enough to get cursed out.
    Ryoku and Gama shook their heads in unison, then Ryoku quickly walked over to Gama and stood next to him.
    "Come on, lets go on a walk.." Tori said, leading Gama and Ryoku towards the door to outside. She had an idea in mind, but it wasn't for the walk. Maybe they could get a little more food, by stealing from the cart in the square....

    ((Wow.. Looking back at my post, I realized just how small it actually is! xD Well, I hope it's big enough.. It look ginormous with all the coding put in...))
    "Shawn, what the hell do poker chips smell like?"
    "Shawn, do you have your license?"
    "Do you mean my pilots license? Or my license to kill, which has been revoked. I would go into details, but then I would have to kill you, which I can't do because my license to kill has been revoked."
    "I was talking about your detective license..."

    ^^ Two awesome scenes from a T.V. show called Psych.

  6. #16
    Lives in City of Zeroes Reputation: 18
    farag0n's Avatar
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    Default ♪ I'm a sailor by heart! Nothing can tear ME apart.. ♫

    Nepture's Raider was sailing near the eastern coast of Heoden. The wind blew right into the face of the figure head of a silver mermaid. The sea was calm for once, morning sun was releasing it's beams on the water which made it glitter more than usually. Bass was in charge of the steering wheel and held a small pint of rum in his hand. Whenever he drank some of the rum, the ship took some sudden turns which everyone could feel. He of course quickly straightened the course if it strayed too far.

    Spade had a pipe in his mouth and was playing some poker, much to everyone's surpise. Dingle was playing against him since he had nothing else to do at the moment.

    ”Time ta hit dem cards on tha table. Got a threesome o' ol' sevens. What'cha got Dingle?” Spade said without taking the pipe from his mouth.
    Dingle scratched the back of his head, actually trying to figure out what Spade had just said. He then laid out his cards on the table.
    ”Full house, kings an' sixs. Lookie 'ere! I think I won!”
    ”Wha.. ?! Ye soddin' cheat!”

    Olben was searching in the kitchen for a certain recipe called ”Pirate's Piss” which was supposed to be a soup so spicy that it could go as acid. It was a birthday surprise for Spade. Meanwhile Armin was sitting on top of the mermaid, looking at the open sea. This was his favorite spot and no one else had any business on it. Anyone who dared to climb on top of the mermaid would get a beating from Armin, something that both Buck and Benz had experienced several times.
    Speaking of the two idiots, they were trying to catch fish with their mouths and to make the attempt even more ridiculous, they were standing on the side of the deck which was not even near water. What of the captain then.. ?

    ”YARRR!! Ya handsome devil.. !!”

    Renshaw was checking himself out from a mirror in his quarters. Right next to the mirror was a large painting of Renshaw himself when he was younger. As the mirror reflected his best qualities, he brushed through his stubble and boasted a confident grin. Then, as if possessed by a demon, he grabbed the bottle of rum on the table and chug it down in an instant. He wiped his mouth and let out a hearty laugh. There were huge windows in the rear of the room, through them opened a vast ocean full of secrets and treasures. Just as nothing could get any better, a rather annoying scarf made it's usual morning scream.

    ”Motherfu-.. !!”

    Renshaw instantly grabbed the red scarf and tore it into pieces. He stomped on the pieces and spit on them. He couldn't stand the scarf at all, not one bit. In a few hours though the scarf would assemble itself back and clutch into Renshaw's neck, a rather annoying curse to have. Renshaw, now pissed off, stormed out of his quarters. He kicked the door open and shouted:

    ”I need me self some damn rum!! SPADE! Throw me a bottle!!”
    ”Aye, aye, cap'n. Hold yer horses an' I'll git 'em”

    Soon Spade came back from the cargo hold, looking rather devastated. His face was hanging the same way a simple cloth hanged on a pole. He had just seen something more serious than the crew could possible handle: There was no more rum. Spade looked at Renshaw with a pink face (equivalent of pale face, he is a blood elf after all). Renshaw on the other hand turned angry, then calm, then depressed, then crushed.. and finally he gazed into the horizon. A single, manly tear flowed down his rough cheek as the sun glared at him with it's ever-striking splendor.

    ”Men.. We're facin' somethin' more serious than what we coulda possibly even begin to fathom.. We're outta rum..

    .. for the 12th time..

    .. this week.”

    The rest of the crew, except Olben and the honored guest Hiro due to certain restraints in his schedule, had gathered on the deck and were now crying their eyes out. Spade fell down on his knees and slammed his fist on the wooden boards, cursing God for abandoning them. Buck & Benz had no clue what was even going on but they still cried since everyone else did. Dingle comforted Bass, who was in a shock, by giving him a massage. Armin was standing silent, tears running all over his face and some snot forming in his nose. Armin was however the one who mustered all his strength and spoke out.

    *Sob* ”Dammit!! Pull yerselves together! Where's the closest city or village?! We can't give up now!” *Sob*

    Renshaw slowly turned his head and looked at Armin with a puppy eye filled with tears.

    ”Cyre.. That's it”. Renshaw's mood changed radically into spirited individual full of passion. ”We're going to Cyre men!! Cyre has the best damn rum in the whole world.. and we're gonna grab it as much as we can!!”

    Olben walked out of the kitchen right after Renshaw's announcement. The crew was jumping around merrily, all thanks to Renshaw's unshakable detemination and firm decisions. Olben on the other hand sighed. This plan of Renshaw's was more ridiculous than a clown in a funeral. He stomped his foot on the ground in order to get everyone's attention and shouted:

    ”Ya stupid butterfaces! How the hell are you gonna get inside Cyre?”

    That's when Spade's eyes lit up.. the party costumes he had been making for a while would be the perfect disguises. He rushed off under the deck and soon came back, holding two bright yellow duck costumes in his hands. Spade's face was beaming, he was confident of this plan. The rest of the crew, counting out Buck & Benz who still had no idea what was going on, glared at Spade with contempt. The others did not question when and how Spade had learned how to knit but instead.. after a long silence, Armin punched Spade right in the noggin' and only seconds later Renshaw's fist crashed into Spade's scalp. Spade lost consciousness almost immediately. Olben spoke again after a brief silence.

    ”You could use the.. honorary guest.. in order to get inside”

    ”Eh? You mean Hiro? Hrrmm..” Renshaw said before falling into a deep thought.
    ”The blind fella? How's he supposed to be of any help?” Armin asked confused.
    ”Gah! Do I have to do all the damn thinking here?! First off disguise yourself to look like a regular traveler, then take Hiro with you and pretend you're just normal travelers. Hiro isn't a pirate so his face definitely ain't all over the wanted posters, unlike the rest of us. By keeping yourself in the rear and Hiro in the front, people pay less attention to you and more to Hiro. You gotta keep yer face concealed all the time. Got all that?”
    ”WAIT! WHAT THE HELL WHY CAN'T I JO- Ummph!!” Armin shouted out but Renshaw slammed his hand on Armin's mouth.
    ”Sounds like a plan to me”. Renshaw grinned and let out another hearty laugh.

    Renshaw immediately descended into the cargo hold where Hiro's ”quarters” were. Hiro was there, quietly sitting in his cell. He looked like he was deep in his throughts. Renshaw walked over to Hiro's cell and spoke:

    ”Havin' a blastin' mornin' there?” Before Hiro could possibly answer, Renshaw continued: ”Har har! Now time to get up! I'm going on a road trip to Cyre and you're coming with me! We're gonna get ourselves some of the world's finest rum.. consider yerself lucky! Gya-haha!”

    With that Renshaw kicked the cell door open and waited for Hiro to get out.

    (( Sheesh! What is up with all this "kicking doors open" stuff? ))
    Last edited by farag0n; 03-05-2011 at 02:45 PM.
    Calm down people, it's just me.

  7. #17
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    The forest was singing.

    Wulfhelm trudged his way through the thick, wily undergrowth of the forests near Cyre. He had got himself into a very, very bloody fine mess. He was not exhausted himself – no, it took much more than a mere fight gone wrong to make him tired. The giant was just merely sluggish, which was clear in the way he angrily and clumsily batted aside a three-foot, lush sapling that was standing in his path. He was like a bulldozer, simply choosing to charge through the forest and carve a path out for himself, rather than go to the effort of moving around it.

    But he had a good reason for this. His entire body didn't feel as if it was reacting properly, the muscles burning and twitching in spasm as they refused to work as they should as a fever began to sear and bubble underneath his skin, spreading like a painful wildfire that caused his stomach to lurch. There was an arrow lodged in his shoulder. Not deep, no. The layer upon layer of muscle protected him from that. It was barely even a pinprick to the half-giant, no. Instead, it was the poison that was spreading itself around his system.

    He would of yanked the arrow out ages ago, but it was barbed, and had clung itself painfully into his body. He could take it out easily, of course, but he would have to stop. And he really, really could not afford that at the moment.

    It was years after Wulfhelm had been exiled from the Wolf-clan, and whilst the grief still burnt powerfully within his heart, it had become clear to him that he was exiled for good: The Kal'kalak did not take such things lightly, especially when prophecies were involved. And so, he pushed on. Unhappy, yet always keeping a hearty grin and a song in his heart – as was the wolf-clan way – he sought work in Cyre as a mercenary.

    At first, the half-giant had found himself hard-pressed to find a group. People were suspicious about the Kal'kalak and their ways, and they had reason to be. Wulfhelm had hardly been subtle about his origins, and had regularly put ignorant humans through their paces in the taverns when they named him a 'savage.'

    Regardless, his brawn didn't go un-noticed for long, and eventually he had become part of a group known as the “Fifty-Six Blades”. It was not clean work: no, they sent many-a-people to their deaths. However, compared to some of the other mercenary groups they were saints, and if one member was unwilling to do a contract, they would just send one of their more merciless killers instead. They were even many-a-time employed by the Ico family to route out bandits, although it was more then likely some of the mercenaries would be working for them next week.

    Eventually, after years of service, he left. It was not like it wasn't a good line of work, no. He just simply didn't feel fulfilled by it. So he became a wanderer, still picking up the odd contract now and then to keep gold in his pocket, he roamed the world. Learned the forests. And, although he had become rather infamous within the “Fifty-Six Blades”, and propelled it to almost celebrity status within Cyre, he wanted to see the world.

    For within his years in the Wolf-Clan, he had always wanted to explore, to roam. Almost every sunset, he would climb up a secluded hill and allow his eyes to stretch over the golden, glittering horizon, taking in the great, booming landscape that triggered such powerful wanderlust within his soul.

    And so he roamed. But his journey eventually took him back to Cyre, as an empty gold purse and desire for a rest had summoned him back to that grand citadel.

    Though that is not why he is now storming through the forest, battering aside saplings and sending the wildlife scattering in a tangled frenzy of plant and beast. No, it was clear that, now he was back in Cyre, someone wanted him very, very dead.

    Dead enough to plant a poisoned arrow in his shoulder, and dead enough to keep pursing him through the forest.

    He came to a green enclave – the amber scenery making him stop in his tracks for but a moment. He raised a hand up to his face – fingers stopping the dazzling shafts of sunlight from impairing his vision. Though he was incredibly world-weary, that had not stopped him from appreciating the beauty that the forests brought. The way the golden rays of light danced subtly against the fraying, microcosm forests of grass. The way that animals – much more humble than the beasts of the mountains – seemed to be practically everywhere. There were even tiny ones, things that he was barely able to see with his eye. This fascinated Wulfhelm, for they had no such things in the mountain.

    The mountain. Wulfhelm thought mournfully as he breathed in, taking in the sharp, earthly smell of the forest around him. How I long for it's cold, biting air upon my skin once more. How I long to hear the howling of wolves and the clatter of goats hooves...

    An arrow thudded next to his heel, disturbing Wulfhelm's thoughts.

    Don't think about that now, run!

    And run he did, powering deeper into the forest, sending sprays of dew from the morning before showering behind him as he almost collided with an oak tree. He felt arrows whizzing past him, but despite being lumbering and drugged by the arrow, there was one advantage to being so tall:

    Wulfhelm had a very, very long stride. And before no time he was starting to outpace his assassins, leaving them to follow the trail of trampled undergrowth that the half-giant left behind, along with the giant, sunken in footsteps that his boots left imprinted within the ground beneath his feet. He knew he could cover his tracks up better than this, he knew he could traverse the forest better than this. But at the moment, he really didn't have time.

    They're driving me away from Cyre, as well
    . The titan thought bitterly as he shunted aside – and uprooted a small tree that was standing unfortunately in his way. Clever bastards, I need somewhere to hide and recuperate.

    He raised his eyes ahead as he noticed a large, winding hill ahead. Wulfhelm had amazing stamina that would put most people to shame, but with the toll of the poison on his system and the strained effort of keeping his legs beneath him, his lungs were beginning to burn. His eyes followed the path that he now found himself on, the irises clambering up the hill, to a large, emboldened clearing – and above that, he saw a tower. A giant, glorious tower that rose from the landscape as if in cruel testament to mankind's triumph over nature.

    It'll do. Just hope they welcome guests. He thought bitterly, letting out a large, barbarian yell of effort as he powered his legs up the steep slope that the forest had now transformed itself into, barely summoning enough air into his lungs to yell over his shoulder:


    With new, furious determination, the giant continued onwards, upwards, leaving earth-shaking strides in his wake, to the tower of the Oathkeepers.
    Last edited by kain222; 03-05-2011 at 07:31 PM.

  8. #18
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    It had been a few hours after midday and the sun started to get low, nearing the horizon in an inescapable speed as if it was planning to hit it at full force. It had been a quite nice quiet morning in which there hadn’t been much wind or any other hindrances that might have slowed down the cart that was steadily making its way over the main road to Cyre. It was pulled by a brown horse and on the front sat a sturdy looking dwarf. His brown-grayish beard wobbled up and down with every move that the horse made. His eyes were fixed on the horizon, as if trying to see further than any dwarf, human or elf was able to see. On his lap rested an old and worn looking cider and the dwarf was carelessly plucking strings with no real intentions to play a song or ballade. Just tone after tone after tone without any rhythm or melody. The sound echoed over the empty road, fading into nothingness. The world was silent.

    “I tell you, I almost have it. Just give me back my flute and let me play it. I know this is good, I can feel it in the deepest part of my soul. The sounds just came to me like a storm is on you in an empty field. It just was there without any warning. If I let it slip now a masterpiece might be lost!”

    A dissonant tone came from the front of the cart as a snare that was plucked hit the one next to it. The dwarf’s eyebrow twitched slightly as two Blood elves, which had been walking quite far back the cart, came closer. The dwarf, whose name was Ser, Ser the Bard as he preferred to call himself, appreciated silence, though of course he loved the sound of his own music. His own music was good, not too loud, just good for this time of the day in which one should sit quiet and wait for the evening. Evening was the time for waking up, grabbing some ale and most of all time for work.

    “And I tell you, you’ve been trying this for an hour now and still you don’t have any more than what, five notes? If the Gods had truly awakened your musical talent an hour ago, you would have written something one minute later. So conclusion the Gods haven’t favored you. “

    “And I tell you they have granted me this. If. You. Would. Just. Give. Me. Back. My. Fl-“

    “Quiet you two or I’ll personally make you!” A sudden snap came from the front of the cart. Ser huffed, pulled his clothes straight and leaned back. “Youth these days. No respect."

    The two Blood elves behind the car shot glances to each other, before one shrugged and handed over a flute, which was nicely carved out of light brown wood with lines curving around it, starting on the top. “Thank you, Essar.” The receiver said with a lot of drama in his voice. “But I fear that now that I have dwindled so long, the Gods might have left me. All because of your incompetence, not realizing you were holding back a great piece of music. Watch out, Essar, for the Gods might curse you one day.”

    At the back of the cart the white piece of cloak that withholds anyone from looking inside was pulled away. Sea-green eyes peered outside. “Psst Mikai,” the blood elf stopped in the middle of his flamboyant speech and sighed when he saw the index finger before the young woman’s mouth. “Is it that time again?” The young woman nodded. “He’s pretty far. I haven’t heard a string for five minutes now.” The woman threw the two elves a cocky smile. “Well you know how he is. He’ll come around when we arrive at the next town.” With that she pulled the cloth back, leaving the two elves outside. They looked to each other and then at the same time they shrugged before walking on quietly.


    This was how it always went in the little group counting six people, and a horse not to forget. A group of bards they were, traveling the lands, making money by doing what they loved most: playing music. Next to the sturdy dwarf, who played the cider so well that some said he was in love with it, and the two elves there was Yurem, the human who played accordion, and Guiada. Actually nobody was sure what species she actually was, but she was the type that was just meant to be a mother although she never that the pleasure of having kids. Essar was actually not an elf, but an Esper who appeared as a blood elf and he had taken in the position of drummer within the group. They had been together for quite some time before Kaori joined, but now after seven years they had formed a family. A family Kaori had always missed.

    The group was on their way to Cyre, the main city of Heoden, for their yearly money making. Every year the group would return there to make lots of money that would be the base of their income that year. With the money they could start traveling again to faraway lands and distant kingdoms to sell their music to everyone who wanted to hear it, and who had something to pay. Cyre was their base, the place where they returned when their year was over.

    Today they halted in a small village just before Cyre though. They would not make it to the city without having to travel at night, which was something the group did rather not. Fighting with other things than words was not standard in their repertoire and besides the small village had a good inn which provided work and a good night sleep.

    “Ser! Old chap, how are you? I haven’t seen you for aaaggeess. Where have you been?” The innkeeper greeted them after the cart had halted before a not too shabby looking inn and Mikai had knocked on the door since Ser was too lazy himself to come down and do it. “Come inside. It is always nice to have some music by dinner. I take it you are still playing, are you not?” The innkeeper blabbered on to much dismay of Ser who rather had a less talkative person in front of him. He shot a glance to Kaori who just jumped out of the cart. “Take Omuno away.”

    Mikai made a triumphing face to Kaori who responded to that by holding her hand up and pressing her fingers against her dumb, creating a mouth with her fingers. She opened and closed it rapidly, pointed then to the excited innkeeper and grinned before turning away to the horse. Omuno was as much a part of their family as the other members of the group. Without him… Kaori didn’t even want to think about all the walking they would have to do.

    As she led the horse away to his stand and started brushing it. In the silence she hummed a soft melody. The tones vibrated through the empty stable, making the melody sound more hollow than it was. Omuno twitched his ears and let out a content sigh. Kaori smiled slightly and petted him just behind his ears. “Have a good night sleep, okay?” She whispered to the horse. “Tomorrow we are going to Cyre. Time to make some good money so that we can go out again. Out to the sea perhaps. Can you see it? Endless waves, a never-ending motion of blue, a blue sky above it, but a different color blue. The sea is different every moment, never the same.” She stared to the wooden wall of the stable as she continued petting Omuno, who didn’t mind this at all. He just loved being petted and didn’t really care for the talking.

    “Kaori?” Essar appeared in the door opening. “You’re finished? The room is full, people drink, and people eat. There is just one thing that misses…”


    And with that the two left the stable. Omuno snorted and turned away from the door to inspect his food. After all he was easy content and didn’t have to bother with the problems that dwelled within a human’s mind and happily he started chewing.

    A man said to the universe:
    "Sir I exist."
    "However," replied the universe,
    "this hasn't created in me
    a sense of obligation."

  9. #19
    Still learning the ropes Reputation: 10
    theGECKO's Avatar
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    Feb 2011
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    Vonur woke up; something had jabbed at his stomach. He immediate reached for his weapon, but it was gone, along with his armour. Instead he found his hand clinching a boot.

    Nobri: “Get up! By the order of the dwarven council we are here to take you back to the Iron Citadel, to serve your sentence in prison.”

    The boot, that Vonur’s hand was on, kicked. It hit him in the ribs; a soaring pain went through Vonur’s chest. He curled up in pain. An arm reached down and grabbed Vonur by the shoulder; it hauled him to his feet, where he stood still clutching his chest. He looked up for a second, in front of him stood three dwarves, wearing royal armour. One of them was holding his armour and weapon, one with his mace resting in his hands, slowly beating his hand, and the other, the one that had got him up, was unsheathing his war axe.

    Nobri: “Now, we were told to bring you alive if we could. But it seems like you have put up a fight, so we will have to execute you…right here, right now.”

    The guy holding Vonur’s armour stepped forwards, handing him his equipment. Vonur looked at him questioningly.

    Flit: “We are not honourless, like you, we fight with honour. To do so, you must be armed.”

    Vonur didn’t say a word; he just took the armour and put it on. It was tailor made for him, by him, so he was the only one who could wear it. It was light, and it was strong, it had no downsides, only if the wearer was not skilled would it be just like any other armour. But Vonur was skilled; he had trained everyday since he made it. Vonur then reached out to receive his weapon from the dwarf. This weapon was also handcrafted by Vonur himself.

    Vonur: “I am Ready”

    He said quietly to the group. The dwarf wielding the mace stepped forwards first, and the other two moved aside to watch the fight. Vonur raised his axe into a combat position.

    Donkar: “My name is Donkar, and I will be the only one you fight today."

    With that, Donkar lunged forwards, mace raised for an attack. Vonur sidestepped to his right, and while doing so he switched to twin axe. Donkar wasn’t expecting such speed, and his attack missed as he stumbled to the ground. Donkar rolled over to find Vonur standing over him, one axe resting above his head, ready to swing, and the other was held in Donkar’s armpit, the most exposed area of his armour.

    Vonur: “Don’t move, or I will cut this artery, and you will die.”

    He twitched his axe under Donkar’s arm to indicate where he was going to cut. Donkar didn’t move.

    Vonur: “Good. Now leave and let one of the other two attempt to beat me.”

    Vonur relaxed his stance slightly. As soon as he had done so he felt a blow to the back of his knees. He legs gave way and he fell to the ground. Flit had attacked him from behind, using the hit of one of his dual axes. Donkar got to his feet, his face red with anger.

    Nobri: “Donkar, leave it. He beat you. It’s Flit’s turn.”

    Donkar shot Nobri an evil look. Nobri’s eyes were steady, nearly undead looking. Donkar settled down, and moved to stand with him.

    Flit stood with his axes ready, waiting for Vonur to get to his feet again. As soon as Vonur was standing, Flit moved for an attack, both axes swinging towards him. Vonur was able to block, just. He raised his own axes in an ‘X’ and blocked the attack. The two dwarves struggled together for a time, trying to force the others axes down so they could get a hit in, but their strengths were a perfect match for each other. Eventually they both jumped back. Vonur wasn’t willing to let that happen again, so as soon as he had grip under his feet, he lunged for another attack. This time he got an angle on Flits weapons that gave him the advantage. Being able to push both axes down, revealing an opening. Vonur took it, and buried his left axe deep in Flit’s bicep. With a scream of pain Flit dropped his right axe. Vonur kicked the weapon far out of reach of the dwarf, and stepped back from him, ripping his own axe from the arm. The blood gushing from his arm Flit stopped.

    Flit: “You win, this fight it over.”

    He dropped his other axe and gripped his arm trying to slow the blood flow. He walked over towards the other two, where he got some bandages and rapped his wound.

    Nobri: “Okay, you are better than we expected. I really didn’t expect it to go this far”

    He took a step forward, war axe ready. Vonur turned to face him.

    Vonur: “You brought this on yourselves. You say you fight with honour, yet you force me to fight you, and are willing to go back to Iron Citadel and lie to the council, saying I resisted you. You don’t fight with honour, you have no honour…none.”

    Nobri: “You little…you no nothing of honour, you are scum, and I will rid the land of you”

    Nobri lifted his war axe over one shoulder and charged towards Vonur, a rage in his face, similar to that of a wild beast. Vonur knew that all tactics were now out of Nobri’s mind, he was on a rampage. ‘Honourless fool’ thought Vonur. The attack came with a almost magically formed gust of wind, with the axe swinging down towards Vonur. Vonur dodged forwards, ducking under the blow, and stopping behind Nobri, whose axe was now stuck deep in the earth. Nobri was struggling with it, trying to get it free to defend against what he knew was coming; Vonur. But it never came. Vonur waited for him to get his weapon free.

    Vonur: “I can’t fight an unarmed opponent.”

    This made Nobri even madder. He gripped the axe and yanked it free with one pull, turned to face Vonur, and side swiped his massive weapon. Vonur switched to Siamese mode, and stuck the ground in front of him. The mighty slam created a shock wave that disorientated Nobri, as well as the shock of when Nobri’s attack slamming hard into Vonur’s, creating an intense stinging sensation in Nobir’s arms. Vonur let go of his axe, leaving it in the ground, like a shovel, and shoulder barged Nobri as hard as he could. Nobri took the blow hard, hands ripped from his axe, and sending him sliding across the ground. Vonur walked back to his weapon and pulled it out of the ground. He glanced at Nobri lying on the ground, and then sheathed the weapon.

    Nobri: “Come on!! Finish me”

    Vonur: “To kill someone…or even attack them while they are down, and weaponless, is to kill my honour along with them.”

    Vonur turned to face the other dwarves. They didn’t move, not even to help their commander.

    Nobri: “Coward!”

    But Vonur didn’t react; he just left the clearing, after packing his bedroll, heading towards the city he had seen the night before. He hoped, that now that he showed the council that he wasn’t going to go back to the citadel just to be put in prison, that they wouldn’t send anymore dwarves after him…hoped that he was now free, no ties to the misguided dwarves he once called his people…hoped to, some day, return true honour to the dwarven race.
    RPing, i'm not really sure neil...

    *week later*

    I am Karosath, the almighty destroyer of the royal family MWAHAHAHAHAHA

    *next day*

    NEIL: so gecko hows the RPing
    ME:who is this gecko??? Adress me only as Karosath, the almighty, u peasent

  10. #20
    Lives in City of Zeroes Reputation: 36
    Anglo's Avatar
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    Aug 2008
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    Default A startling discovery.

    Water. The universal substance that purifies the soul and reveals the honest truth. A substance so clear and pure that it chooses to express itself in a colourless, translucent form, reflecting mirror images of oneself in something as simple as a puddle, to remind them of the person they are. A solvent so simple, and so quick to be misunderstood, that if taken lightly, can bring about an unexpected revelation.


    The true tale of Ego Draconis does not start with an exile in Brimmingshire, with mysterious fortunes of prophecies guiding his path, no. Ego Draconis begins with a man narrowly avoiding death, and plunging into the depths of the unknown, crawling through all manners of bile and emerging with nothing but his life vaguely intact. This man, unknown to you, and unknown to himself, finds himself in a scorching, vacant village, only recently was it evacuated. This man finds himself staring into the eyes of the bleak abyss itself, which openly stares back at him in return, inviting him to taste the cold malice of death upon his stiff, confident lips.

    ???: “The last time you were encountered, a Jygathorn, was nigh on 107 years ago...just as the last of your kind were being...exterminated.”

    The man cleared the blood from his lips with the sleeve of his torn shirt, which revealed a fatal chest wound, which had seemingly torn deep, deep to the point where he couldn't feel the pain anymore, because the nerves were ripped alongside it. His chest was glistening with blood, profusely bleeding to the point that if the man did not receive medical intervention soon, he would die.

    ???: “You are an unnatural perversion of this world. You are merely a relic of a former disgusting race, desperately clinging onto the last grain of your existence. You are nothing but scum. The moment you wreaked havoc in this isolated village, was the very moment your life will be scratched from existence.”

    The Jygathorn, roughly standing at 11 feet tall, were bred by Orcs during the first Orcish conflicts in an attempt to overrun mass populated cities which belonged to the kingdom of Heoden. They were the ultimate predator, capable of tearing human flesh apart at ease, feasting upon their remains as part of an elixir which only served to make them even more powerful. This particular Jygathorn drank from all of this villages blood, making it one of the most powerful elite Jygathorn to be witnessed to this day and age. This most particular thing about Jygathorns however was that, like wine, with age they were better. The more blood that the Jygathorn drank over the years, lay dormant in this creature's blood, awaiting for the moment that it would need to unleash all it's power, which would be now.

    Jygathorn: "What mask do you wear to hide your fear? You are merely a peasant hiding behind confident words. I AM A JYGATHORN. The very bane of your existence. I killed more of your race than you could have killed mine, ten times over. You are a man on the verge of death, that blood, coursing through your veins, I will feast upon it's sweetened flavour. I WILL eat your SOUL!!!!

    The Jygathorn snarled it's jaws closed, growling as it got onto all fours, like a great white wolf, eager for the kill. Confident in it's abilities, the Jygathorn leapt several metres into the air, spiralling, displaying an athletic capability of agile manoeuvres, gracefully zoning in on the mysterious man's position.

    The man quickly rolled out of the way, clutching a nearby sword from a fallen villager, and turned to face the monster. His eyes glistened with tears as he inhaled all of the death surrounding him. Butchered families, noble guards and innocent children lay lifeless on the cold, bitter ground. Clutching the heavy sword in his left hand, the man quickly moved towards the monster, striking quick successive blows against the beast, which all had seemed to land perfectly, causing the Jygathorn to stumble backwards, snarling as white blood poured from it's new freshly cut orifices.

    The Jygathorn winced in the pain that it was now feeling, snarling and grimacing it's fangs, in a rage of anger. Tearing at the ground with it's claws, the Jygathorn dashed towards it's attacker, tearing all that stood in it's way apart, corpses, fallen rock and other parts of rubble. The man quickly shifted the weight distribution on his feet, quickly rolling to the right, taking cover behind a house which was still burning. The thick charcoal taste of ash entered into his lungs, causing him to cough as he continued to sprint out of harms way, and to break sight from the monsters vision.

    Jygathorn: “There is no use in hiding, you worthless sack of piss! I will kill you, it is only a matter of time. You cannot kill me! For the thing that could only kill a Jygathorn vanished a century ago, just as the last Jygathorn was hunted to extinction!”.

    A small smile rest upon the beasts face as it finally caught sight of the man who was taking cover behind a tree, clutching his wound tightly in an effort to stop the bleeding momentarily. The man was hurt badly, just like the monster, and it was only a matter of time before they would both bleed out.

    Jygathorn: “I've had enough toying with you. You will die. NOW!!!”

    The beast growled at the dark sky, something was happening. The beast was beginning to change. It's coat of fur would become black, it's eyes would turn a crimson red, and its fangs and claws would appear to be much longer and sharper than their former selves. This was the change that all Jygathorns go through after releasing blood into their circulatory systems. The thing that made them unstoppable killing machines. The beast now was in a rage of ecstasy, out for this one man's particular blood.

    The beast growled in anger and charged at great speed towards the man's position, bashing through the walls of a home and through a number of trees before reaching his position and hurling him a few metres forward, crashing into a tree which halted his projected path. The man shouted in pain, yelling vulgar words towards the beast. Blood began to form on the man's forehead, and began to slowly trickle into his eyes, blinding him.

    The man slowly fell from the tree, falling into a heap on the ground, choking back hoarse panics of breath. The beast then slowly walked towards his position, scraping it's claws together and snorting out disgusting insults and boisterous laughter.

    Parts of bark fell onto the man from the tree that had been severely damaged upon impact. He slowly tried to get to his feet but he found that he had no use over his legs anymore, and not only that, he could also not see out of his eyes. It looked as if luck had ran out for this man, but it didn't.

    The overhanging clouds grew heavy with precipitation and began to hurl down thick waves of rain to the planes below. Through the opening of the trees and onto the man's face splashed cold, refreshing drops of rain which began to clear the blood from his face. As his eyes began to clear, he found that the sword that he had been using had been lost in the undergrowth, leaving him defenceless against the monster.

    The beast was now standing over the defenceless man, roughly picking him up by the scruff of the neck and pinning him against the damaged tree.

    Jygathorn: “When I told you that you couldn't kill me, I wasn't lying, how come you deny the inevitability of your death?!”

    The man spat blood into the beasts face, which only had the effect of making it more angry. The Jygathorn proceeded to stick one of it's claws into the man's wound making him scream in intense agony to the point where his voice began to crackle, and his voice could no longer be heard. The only sounds the man could make were forced strains of breath exerting from his now non-existent voice.

    The Jygathorn responded with an evil chuckle and threw him backwards back into the village, making him slide and tumble harshly across the rough terrain. The man choked on blood as he gripped his chest once more. He slowly crawled towards a nearby guard who was clutching a spear which had seem to have been glistening in blood. He gripped the spear and turned towards the Jygathorn who was only now exiting the tree line. The man aimed for the beast as it got on all fours to sprint...and then...he threw the pole arm. The Jygathorn yelped in pain as the spear pierced the beasts shoulders causing it to tumble over itself at intense speed, performing several damaging rolls and skids across the hard surface of the gritty ground.

    The man attempted to get to his feet, using the nearby wall of a caved in home for support. There was another spear which the man used to support him like a crutch as he slowly stumbled towards the monster that created all this destruction. The Jygathorn laughed and spit white blood in the man's face.

    Jygathorn: “Even if you tear off my head or impale me on a spike, I will keep coming back to kill you, I cannot die. The only person that could kill me vanished, like I said, 100 years ago, you have no hope in Nazgral of killing me!”

    The man smiled as he replied.

    ???: “I too wasn't lying when I said your fate was decided when you destroyed this village, for I am he, your bane of existence, awakened to end your misery of a life.”

    The monster choked back a laugh as he ridiculed the man.

    Jygathorn: “Impossible. That man left the kingdom of Heoden entirely, towards the south, where the gods were rumoured to have gone, and where no person has ventured.”

    The man dropped to his knees on top of the Jygathorn. He clasped his two hands together and looked up to the dark skies. The moon was shining dim beams of warming light down onto him as he focused on it, praying aloud as if he were communing with the Gods.

    ???: “May you find peace in the afterlife, or forever burn in the scorching fires of Nazgral!”

    A beam of light entered the man's hand, as if he captured the benevolent beams of light cast by the moon. He lowered his head and looked down on the Jygathorn who now wore a puzzled expression upon it's face. He opened his hands and looked at them. They were glowing with archaic symbols and pictures which represented the power which he had just captured. He then slowly pressed his hands against the beast's face, who was now screaming in agony, as the skin burned from it's face.

    ???:Ar'la Muak Dan. (Moonlight Impale.) ”

    The man leapt backwards as the beast appeared to be impaled by nothing, lifting it a few metres in the air as it screamed in agony. The man provided a few body movements and hand signals as if he war casting a spell from the spear, his stave and the beast was raised even higher, impaled by yet another spike of nothing.

    There was a sudden thud and then the beast fell back to the floor. Lifeless. The man gripped the spear closely as he appeared to be exhibiting intense signs of pain. He began to scream aloud as it appeared his head was showing intense signs of mind trickery by an unknown force. He fell to the ground, landing face first into a puddle, and then it stopped. A sudden sharp pain came and disappeared, as strange as it may sound. He shut his eyes as he winced from the sudden outburst of pain.

    Several minutes passed before he attempted to reopen his eyes again. Exerting and grunting loudly, he instantly pressed his right hand against his wound. It was then that he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the pool of water underneath him as a drop of his own blood disturbed the puddle.

    “...Who am I?”

    The man lifted his head slightly to see the destruction that had been created earlier by the beast. The village's flames now extinguished by the rain, only leaving traces of smoke and hissing sounds as the embers of wood were slowly dying.

    He looked once more into the reflection of his face, running his fingers along the contour lines of his face and his almost alien features, the most distinguishable of which being his long, perfect elven ears, and his dazzling pure blue eyes. He then noticed his skin colour, it was nothing like any other elves tone which are native to Heoden. It shared the hue of a tyrian purple.

    ???: “...What am I?!”

    It would seem that on this dark night, the true events of Ego Draconis would begin to reveal itself, with the first prophecy that would be unmasked, unknown to even the exile himself. The person that would set the gears of fate in motion. The return of the pure elf.
    Last edited by Anglo; 03-06-2011 at 02:41 PM.

    Revenge Solves Everything.

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