Tales By The Fire

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  Kull fight against an orc destroyer
  • Black Rider

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  Broken Shards
  • Guest

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  ((When are we going to see the second season of this Rick? You know…the part where the demon raises back from the dead, reclaims the girl, only to have her run off with some white haired sorcerer....))
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  Through Tris's eyes
  • Tori

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  the leather book book in a drak dank coriner of a cave is covered in dried blood, the last entry page has been torn out, the rest of the pages turned quickly and then cast aside in a hurry. Water from the ceiling has dripped on the book for a long steady time, making the ink hard to read, you wonder who this has belonged to and if they are still alive.
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  Talgris Caldason
  • Wykith

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  Talgris raised his lantern in the murky gloom of the cave and looked around. Pira was in here somewhere, she wasn't sure where though. He walked carefully around every corner. He knew it was bit pointless. His lantern would more than give away his position, but his survival instinct forced him to be precautious. In the darkness he heard the flapping of leathery wings and reflexively ducked low. A small brown bat entered the light's radius and quickly dissapeared back into the unseen. Talgris unsheathed his scimitar and padded as quietly as he could. Again a pointless effort considering the unending clank of the metal plates he wore as protection. He rounded a corner in the dark silence and the cave exploded with movement. In an instant a horde of green skinned, leather winged abominations attacked him from all angles. They were not goblins. Not even goblins were this ugly. They howled and swung at him with their little daggers. Most rebounded off his armor but a few nicked his arms as he tried to protect his face from them. Talgris swung out with his scimitar cutting one down and then another, and another. For every one he killed two took its place. He heard as more and more approached. These things were legion. He had to act fast. Dropping the lantern he unstrapped the tower shield and ducked under it. The creatures hammered the sheild repeatedly. The lantern broke on impact sending a pool of flames in every direction. The creatures avoided the flame but did not stop their attack. Some tried to go under the shield only to be cut down by Talgris's sword. The sound of beating leather wings became deafening. Their screams echoed in the hollow. To many were coming below the shield. He would not be able to fight them off this way. He quickly withdrew a small oak bottle from his pouch, uncorked it, and swallowed its contents. The concoction worked quickly. His skin began to harden and change. It cracked and split into scale like plates. It became a thick brown, rough substance like the bark of a tree. With a howl of his own, Talgris unhooked Caska, and stood dropping the massive tower shield. The pool of fire spread, slowly lighting the cavern. Countless of the winged gremlins attacked all at once. It was a blinding swarm. Talgris stood in the middle of the madness with his blade held tightly in his hands and began to swing. The power behind each circular arch taking what must have been at least four to five of the small creatures at a time. They came in beneath and above his strikes. He kicked out at those below and swung at those above. He moved his sword in a whirling cyclone of blood and severed limbs. They were hurting him. He could feel himself weaken much faster than he should be. His adrenaline had shot up so far and the cuts were so small he could not distinguish how much. It did not matter. There was no time to do anything now but attack. Time began to lose consistency. Talgris's body became a solid mixture of pain and numbness. The sound of swarming leather wings and alien curses were like a mantra in his ears. The taste of his own sweat and blood became strangely potent. His eyes stung. The flames of the broken lantern were dying. The creatures were fading back into darkness. So many, so many. The things howled in pleasure. Lights began to flash before his eyes. He couldn't feel his arms anymore. His face locked in a mad grin as he gritt his teeth. Darkness. Nine Figments flew towards the entrance of the cave. The gremlins had all flown hungrily at an intruder that had dared step into thier home. They wanted to see what was left of the poor fool. One of the figments flew back, it's light immediately extinguished by the arrow shaft, five times its own height tearing mercilessly through it. The others looked around in shock. Another figment fell victim to an arrow, shieking as its life left it. The remaining seven spread out looking for their attacker. Talgris lept from the darkness bringing down his massive sword on the fragile creature. The creature froze in a moment of fear and was crushed by the blow. The others saw the attack. They began to cast. As they did Talgris ran to two of them and swung. The sword smashing through their little bodies before they could finish their incantations. The remaining four launched a volley of magic energy that slammed into him. It was not a powerful attack but in his current state, it nearly doubled him over. With a primal scream he swung his sword, killing two of the figments instantly. The other two drew small knives and attacked. One of them actually cut Talgris's chin, the other cut his cheek. The sting enfuriated him. With little ceremony he dropped his sword, grabbed the figments, one in each hand, and squeezed until he heard bones snap. With a sigh he dropped their lifeless bodies. It took almost an hour before he found her. Not much time to most but when you've been beaten to within an inch of your life it can become a bit longer. There was a moment of silence when their eyes finally met. A smile crossed their lips as what now seemed as the inevitable finally occured. Talgris felt his heart race. His friend was alive. Pira smiled back. For a moment, she forgot the months she had spent in the dirty little bird cage. All she could think about was how happy she was. They fed off each other's joy. They felt whole again. It seems this bond had become something too strong to ever break. Something unmeasurably powerful. Something, eternal. OOC: Talgris has finally recovered his long lost friend Pira. Through the many trials they have gone through, they are stronger than ever for it. Now they return to the Rom camp. Their futures uncertain.
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  The spearfighter
  • Wannabe_Irish

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  You pathetic weakling The thoughts rang through his head. You call that fighting? You will have to shape up, if you wish to become a commander The voice chuckled. I couldn't help it, there were four of those things, what do they call them… hobgoblins? In my life I have fought nothing but other humans, I did not know how they fight! A commander that does not know his enemy? tsk tsk… The voice chuckled again. I thought you were going to help me, you call this helping? Oh, but I am helping… do you feel the rage? The fury? It will help you... For now, it is all I can do... for now. The voice died and Darmon wiped the blood of his face. Use my rage, should I… very well.
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  On the road again: A relatively odd vacation
  • Frank The Fairy

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  ((I'm a liar)) @2eda344816: _Day: 17 Hour: About lunctime Well we've been tracking the stolen caravan carts for several days now. These bandits must have been really desperate to go so far out of their territory. Funny thing is, this is the direction we were headed, we're just using backroads. Our little group of escapees has increased in number and we have one horse now. It's a warhorse, beautiful thing. I stole it from the caravan in the middle of the night and snuck it back to our group. The only person who can ride it is the mother of suzie and frederick. (I found out her name is Lucretia, she's a paladin of helm) Anyways, our group is about half capable fighters, and the other half old people and children. We're about twelve in number. The best fighters of the group are myself, Lucretia, a warrior named Cannix, and three real characters: –Lawrence, the brain, he really has a knack for being rediculously stupid. I think it's best that we give him his axe and have him guard us from the rear. He only got away because his friend dragged him off from cleaving the bandits left and right before he was killed. --Frederick, the insecure, he's lawrenece's friend. This guy has the ego of a dying fruit-fly. I can't believe he ever made it through the bardic college. He's a peltarchan (ian?) through and through, born and raised there. But boy, he's so unsure of himself! --Molly... I don't know what to write about her, she's... pretty full of herself. I mean she's pretty good looking and the guys can't stop drooling over her, but she KNOWS she's good looking. If there's anyone who I really can't stand it's someone who's capable, good-looking, and FULL OF THEMSELF... oh I hate sorcerors... hate them so much. Back on topic, our dandy little group is going to be following the caravan while lucretia guides the older people and children to a nearby monestary we can see on a mountain about a days walk (for the children) to our right. She'll then gallop back to us with whatever help she can muster and we'll plan from there. Lunch break over, time to go._
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  Edit
  • Flom

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  Part Two, Travels in Damara. _"How are you feeling, my pet?" Divinus yawned and stretched as she extended her legs to the far end of the carriage. The cool silk seats carressed her slender body comfortably as she lay her head down in Nate's lap. Nate had his head hanging to his left, eyes closed. He had drifted away to another dream world inside his young mind long ago. Divinus looked up to him and gazed upon his visage with a small smile and a twinkle in her eye. She shifted her weight around and listened to the rain drops all around them. She listened to them drop unto the carriage's roof, she listened to the constant clicking of the horse's heels against the path as they made there way slowly, but surely towards Damara. She yawned cutely before burrying her head in Nate's abs and drifting off into her own slumber. "Where's Mommy, Daddy?" She turned and rubbed her cheek against his leg, always asleep. "There he is." She bit her lower lip. "Hello, Mistress, Hello Krystal." He smiled. She returned his smile and continued to bite her lower lip idly while smiling. She refused to admit to herself she had Nate under her spell - To her, he really did love her. "Mistress?" Her eyes flickered open as Nate's gloved hand struck her hair gently. She blinked a few times before shifting her weight and yawning cutely once more. "Good morning, my pet." She sighed dreamily and stretched her thin arms outward before pulling herself up beside Nate. She then rested her small head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, always smiling. Bliss. The carriage shook up and down as the horse yelped and whined. Divinus blinked and found herself laying down alone on the silk seats in the carriage. "Alright pretty boy, first were gonna rip you apart, then were going to have some fun with that cute little elf girl in there." She heard the voices coming from outside the carriage. "Aannghhhhh!" Nate yelped as one of them men slammed a club into his chest. Divinus glared over to there driver who was cowaring in fear in a corner of the carriage, hiding. She then shoved her way outside to see Nate surrounded by three shady looking men. He was covered in cuts and bruises. As she noticed the unnatural zeal in his eyes she remembered commandment number nine… You would die to protect your mistress. She watched as he took each punch with a wince and gag. She watched as he swung his dagger around and barely managed to block the various strikes with his small buckler. She watched as he gritted his teeth and lunged manicly at the first bandit, succeeding in puncturing his neck with his small blade. The other two gripped there clubs and charged Nate from behind as he was watching the first squirm on the floor. They smacked him upside the head, knocking him to the ground before they started to pound into him nonstop. Divinus gritted her teeth as she watched her lover get beaten. "You… You..." Her tone became more and more filled with anger as her thin lips articulated each word. "You... Sick... You sick..." She frowned deeply with a glint of insanity in her eye before drawing her sword. "You SICK BASTARDS!" She charged the two from behind with the elven blade Nate had given her as a token of his 'love' so long ago. Cold steel ran through one man's stomach, the glint of insanity never once seemed to disapear as she lifted her blade, keeping it inside the man. She snarled and gave no heed to the masses of blood seeping from his now open wound. The other staggered backward and fell to the floor. His companions were dead. Nate barely pulled himself to a sitting position, the blood running down the side of his face as he watched his Mistress approached the other man. Her once white dress had been dyed a bloodred. "P-please... We only wanted the money... We were going to let him live... Please!" She growled lowly, her eyes burning with hatred as she glared upon the sorry excuse of a man in front of her. "You... Hurt... My... MAN!" She charged forward, her torn dress swaying backward as her feet dug into the wet dirt underneath. "DIE!" She cut the man's head clean off with one swing of her jeweled blade. She rushed over to Nate after dropping her sword. She did her best to drag him back towards the carriage, crying franticly. "Why didn't you do something!?" She barked violently at the driver as she struggled to pull the pained Nate into the carriage. "Y-yes madame. R-right away madame!" She driver quickly made his way back into his seat and took the reins, obviously shaken and afraid of Divinus' attitude. Divinus then used whatever strength she had in her tiny arms to hoist nate unto the seat. Tears in her eyes and a desperate look on her face, she unstrapped his bloody chain mail revealing the numerous bruises and cuts underneath. She placed her hands on his wounds, her upper body twitching slightly between sobs, tears running down her cheeks. She begun to murmur a small prayer - nothing happened. Her eyes darted from his face to his wounds, no reaction. She murmured again, quicker this time. She applied her shaking hands unto his wounds, hoping this attempt would bare results. No reaction. Her shaky jaw lowered slightly, her watery eyes wide. Her lower lip began to tremble. She collapsed into his chest crying, Nate still unconcious._
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  Hell must have frozen over
  • Umail

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  Simply Seven
  • Guest

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  A clean slate. This is what I feel my lord has given me. The days I spent with my love have provided me with unmatched tranquility. I am meeting new friends and rediscovering old ones. For the most part, Iâ€ve been making successful small talk where my memory loss doesnâ€t appear to be topic of discussion. At first, being reunited with Kanen was perfect. His gentle touch, charming personality and the passionate evenings were everything I remembered and desired. However, frustration seems to be growing his eyes. I sense a tension in the very air when I deviate from my previous behavior. Although it is unintentional on his part, his dissatisfaction sends unseen arrows through my heart. He claims he is merely surprised at my new choices and decisions but I can see that Iâ€m a stranger to him. In my soul, I feel the years weâ€ve spent together and I do not want to lose him, neither do I wish to disappoint him. Yet I do. He is a paladin and exceedingly honorable, this I know. So, its unlikely he would leave me for we were wed in view of our gods, but a part of me does worry. I, myself, do not wish to leave but I wonder if my recent conduct is an embarrassment to him. Am I unaware of the ripples I cause him and to those around me? I thought my memory loss was going unnoticed. Perhaps I am mistaken. His love for me is apparent though I am beginning to wonder if he stays with me more out of duty in taking the wedding vows then out of love for me. I am not the same as I was for he mentions it to me often, much to my dismay. He promised he would not bring it up, yet he has. He mentioned in a blunt fashion that my fighting skills have severely deteriorated and then proceeded to ask me, in the same manner if my closeness with Torn worsened equally. My body trembled in anger. How dare he ask me such things after promising he would not! His word is his bond…or so I thought. But then I discovered that I must to listen to his words carefully, for he promises only certain things that suit him. We argued for what seemed like hours so I could get a clear sense of what he promised me this time. At the end of it all, Iâ€m not sure exactly what he promised though it had something to do with how he would not mention my memory loss if I spoke to Khaya and Vino and then, only in a matter of life and death. He said its not intentional but dancing around the subject isnâ€t helpful for either of us. I do not really trust his words now and expect that he will bring it up again. I met with the powerful priestess of Oghma and she prayed over me offering me some clarity that I may regain a sense of my old self. Certain memories surfaced however, most are a muddle of incoherent thought. Kanen stood back and did not say a word. He didnâ€t need too. I know he wants me back the way I was–a perfect priest fighting in the palm of my almighty lord. Strong and capable. Instead, he is stuck with a woman whoâ€s skills are “severely deteriorated” who drinks wine instead of tea, who doesnâ€t remember anything or anyone but him and my lord. I find solstice in my daily prayers where I can burry my face and cry begging for direction. Iâ€m not sure what to do. I donâ€t know where to turn.
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  In the Name of Torm: The Life of Bram Rodlac
  • Guest

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  A life drenched in blood. LIlith Iyapo's story
  • eladrial skeksis

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  Broken Window to the Past: forgotten memories
  • aeolderr

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  Tears came unbidden to her eyes as the memories assaulted her, it all happened years ago, but the memory was fresh, forgotten until now. Lilly weeped unabashedly, still not risen from her bed, and doubtless when she did it would be only to make her way to Barle's bar. All too well I knew what I'd find going into that inn, a scene much too alike to the one that played out in Whiteriver, Justin sitting at a table, surrounded by a gaggle of women eager for his every affection. What I wasn't prepared for was for one of them to be upon his lap, and her lips enmeshed with his own. Jealously flared within me, this little twit had led me on all this way then at the first chance he jumps at the nearest woman. Growling I approached, irritation heavy in my voice and only slightly masked by the tears choking it. "How could you! You said you loved me…" unable to speak, I picked up a mug from a table and hurled it at the group. "The hells were you thinking? Aren't I better than this, this, that thing on your lap!" Tears now overwhelming me as I downed the contents of the nearest mug, choking at the bitter taste of the ale within. Sounding more than a little drunk, remarkable after only starting less than an hour ago, Justin tryed to soothe me, "Settle down babe, you know I like you best.. Just a few strumpets here who need a bit of attention's all. You know, a few were even after me to write some songs for them, should get a coin or two. Anyways.. Elisa here wasn't doing nothing, just tripped is all, swooning like some women do." His grin was wide, the girls around him to enamored with glaring at me to notice the insults he used towards them, and a collective gasp was heard when my fist connected solidly with his jaw. Unhinging more than one tooth. For the lass on his lap, Elisa he called her, I grabbed her by the hair (even bound in a ponytail, to make it easier) and drew my blade, cutting through easily. She sqawked like an indignant goose, an analogy I thought all too apt, I didn't care though. I hit her near as hard as Justin, and she collapsed into a heap, sobs coming through and gurgling slightly from the blood pouring from her broken nose. Everything that came into my hands I threw, mugs, plates, even a roast fowl, before storming out. The innkeeper looked none-too-pleased, but I figured he'd take it up with the ladies and the astounded bard rather than the fierce jilted lover. Seeing the reception I'd already garnered for myself, and having sold most of the wears, Hal was all too ready to leave.. and seeing the look in my eyes, he believed he'd actually found a merchants guard worth having. Of course to be safe, he'd also hired three more toughs, who knew how to use staff and blade. So what if I couldn't use one as good, if I could cause a commotion like that whenever bandits stopped us. And anyways, I'm sure he thought I'd be easy enough to console over the trip, and possibly even to "win over". "Bastards" I growled to myself, the episode playing in my head finally through, and myself long having run out of tears. Buckling on my sword-belt, and shouldering my pack. I left my room, firmly hoping to find something in which to vent my returned ire, something hopefully with green-skin. (events taking place before becoming engaged to Zach Jora. )
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  Various Works of a Wanderer
  • Dragar

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  Yet another sheet of paper. You might almost think this wanderer liked words. _I feel I should write something about archery. So, I think I shall. If nothing else, it shall distract me from my other concerns. I first make no pretense as to why I took up archery. I have never been terribly…survivable in a melee. Certainly, my swordplay is better than many, and I am fortunately fast enough to avoid most hits - but compared to someone like Uthger, or Covah, or Kanen I am neither terribly strong nor can I take a blow well, when one is inevitably landed on me, despite by best dodges, feints and parries. A bow allows me to contribute from a much safer distance, as well as give me the room I need to add a little magic to the battle without interference. However, there is more to simply staying out of harm's way. I have always been quite a good shot with a bow. It is in my blood, I imagine. But there's something else. Placing an arrow, I think, is rather like placing a note. The best way to place a note is to first imagine the note. Think of it. And then, you take a breath - and let it happen. There's really very little effort involved when you do it right. Placing an arrow is rather like that. Certainly, I'm nowhere near mastering the ability to place an arrow at a particular part of a target - an arm or a leg of an approaching warrior, for instance - but I am improving on placing it in places which do the most damage. The armpit is often where vital protection is lacking, and a well placed arrow can cause significant damage. The head is often fatal if they wear no helmet and you feel confident enough you can make the shot. But there's more to placing the note you want. There's picking the right note in the first place. The harmonies of movement are as intricate as those of movement. You have to consider how they are moving. Do they duck and weave, or charge blindly toward you? Do they carry a shield in front? Do you target the swordsman approaching, or the mage chanting some arcane words in the distance? And what about the one hiding in the long grass to your right? But when you get it right, you can feel it. It's like a harmony, but not with music - with everything about you. Every movement flows, all about is golden - and the moment you let the arrow fly, feel the bowstring snap forward onto your arm, you can hear it singing. Archery, I think, really is very much like music._
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  Amith Kel'fer
  • LowerDenizen

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  What makes an adventurer, an adventurer? What leads to a farmhand looking out over his field one day and saying, "I wonder…", laying down his hoe, picking up a sword and off to throw himself at goblins as many times as it takes? Why would anyone give up a life of security for a life of starvation, little rest, and constant travel? What is it in that final moment that makes someone say, "Enough of what is here, I wonder what is out there..." "Yes, mother. I know no one ever leaves the glen." Amith took the worn leather pack and slid a spare tunic into it. "Yes, mother, i know that it is dangeous out of the woods." She had already slid the hardened leathers on, and strapped the short sword to her left side. "Because I must go mother, there is nothing for me here." The bow she left unstrung and tucked sideways through the straps of the pack. He quiver was full and strapped to her right side balancing out the short blade on her left. She slung the pack up onto her pack, it held little to nothing. A small coin purse, a spare tunic, several satchels of nuts, a skinning knife. She turns and faces her mother, the century and a few decades had turned her into a lean elf, strong, but not so agile. Her face held little to no emotion, even though she knew she was about to depart and leave behind everything she had ever known, or felt or seen. She gave a final faint smile to her mother, hiding the fact that her scar was starting to pain her a little. "I will return mother, you will see. I am only going to prove myself," her voice raises a little bit to be heard in the other room, "did you hear that father? I will prove myself!" With a final nod to her mother, she left out, cutting through the main room, taking long enough to hear her father mutter from a dark corner, "You should have died all those years ago, Amith. You are not the daughter your mother and I deserved." She stopped with her hand to the door, silent, poised, waiting… "I will show you father, I will show you and all the others. I am not the daughter you deserved, I am much better." With those final words she smacked the door open to the sounds of her mother crying, and her father telling her it was for the best, and took off at a jog through the village and into the woods. After quickly restocking her supplies at Praeth's, she wanders around town for a bit, watching people as they walk by all talking amongst themselves. Wanting a bit of silence for awhile she goes to the hill ehind Praeth's store and sits for awhile, chewing on a handful of nuts, enjoyng the sunshine. She takes out her waterskin and sips a little of the water, absentmindedly rubbing at a spot on her robes. Laying back against the pile of cut wood, she suddenly chuckles at an odd memory. Sighing as she closes her eyes, she mumbles quietly, "Well, I guess I proved myself better now, haven't I?"
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  Pip's Stories -- Part II
  • Pip

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  IV. And then….. later….. _… he was there again, standing at the cliffâ€s edge, looking down at all the tiny twinkling lights. They were just as heâ€d seen them before – except this time he knew they were not really stars. This time he knew they were bits and fragments of memory – of people and places present and past, and perhaps even a few glimpses of things to come. But there was only one that he had come to see. Pip thought of his master… of his face, his voice… he thought of him sitting in his favorite place – a little walled garden in the center of the monastery, the place where he had first seen him so many years ago. He pictured him seated on a low stone bench… by the little koi pond at the center of the garden… it would be late afternoon… the sun would cast an orange reflection on the stone walls… the smell of jasmine would be in the air… perhaps a slight breeze would swirl through the courtyard…. it would be a warm day…. almost summer… And with that picture firmly in his mind Pip calmly jumped off the edge of the cliff and hurtled down and down through the cold darkness towards the little lights below. And as he fell ever faster, one light in particular began to shine more brightly than the others. With a thought he willed himself towards it… and then….._ … there he was. Floating just by his masterâ€s shoulder. Insubstantial, transparent – like a puff of smoke. Pip saw that his master was holding a small frog in his hand – light green, almost yellow – with a red band across its back. The frog sat calmly and unconcernedly in his palm while he stroked its back with a fingertip. Pip saw that his master was speaking …. but at first, he could hear no words. Then, concentrating very hard on listening, he began to hear his masterâ€s voice faintly… as if it were coming from the bottom of a very deep well. “… fortunate that I found you before you were eaten by a pigeon, as you surely will be if you stay here in this garden. Hm. But what shall I do with you?” His master turned then, and it seemed to Pip that he looked right through him. Then a faint smile crept onto his masterâ€s face, and he cocked his head to the side as if listening to the sound of faint, far off music. He spoke. “And here is another visitor to my garden. One I had hoped to see again, who is likewise fortunate not to have been eaten by something dark and hungry that lurks between worlds.” He looked directly at Pip for a long while, his face growing darker and more stern with each moment. Then finally he spoke again, “It is Pip, my old pupil. And he has come to tell me something. Speak.” So Pip did… or tried to. He began slowly at first, then spoke more quickly – telling his master that he had failed him, that he had failed himself… feeling more hollow with each word he spoke. But well before he had finished, his master held up his hand. “Stop. I can not hear you. Your presence is too weak.” He frowned sternly, then continued… “You have come to tell me that you have failed, have you not? Nod yes or no.” Pip nodded ‘yesâ€, slowly but firmly. His master spoke again. “So it is yes? I see. Now you must answer one question for me. The answer need not be complex; a word or two will do.” His masterâ€s face grew even darker before he continued. “And I will give you one clue. If I tell you that I would have certain knowledge that you have met and conquered the enemy I sent you to face only if you returned to me, as you have just done, to confess failure – then by what name would your enemy be known, Brother? Think well on this, and respond when you are ready.” His master then turned his eyes back to the pond and gazed into the water, still lightly stroking the back of the frog he held in his palm with a fingertip. So Pip thought, trying to remain calm. How could defeat also be victory? How could his failure represent a triumph? What what his master talking about? He had thought heâ€d been sent to the Nars region to fight a great evil…. had he not done so? And had that evil not proved to be far more powerful… far greater than he? For a moment Pip became frustrated… he had braved great danger to come here only to be confronted with what – a riddle? He realized that he was becoming angry… and with that realization his frustration and anger vanished immediately. Who was he to question his master? No. Anger and frustration were childish emotions, unworthy of one who truly followed the path. So he looked within himself, and pondered the question well and truly. And after only a few moments, he knew. It was as if a gong had been struck inside his head – the answer to his masterâ€s question was obvious. Then, feeling very small and very foolish, he spoke a single word… “…. pride,” he said. His master turned to him and smiled. Then he spoke – “Yes! Your pride is what I sent you to conquer. Pride – your greatest enemy, that would have torn your feet from the path. An enemy that only you could face… only you could defeat… you alone. And face it you have. So you have. And it was well and truly done, my son.” Master Tâ€ula stood, and walked towards him. For a moment, he thought he felt his masterâ€s hand brush his cloak. Then his master held out the palm of one hand and placed it in the center of Pipâ€s chest. At first his touch seemed insubstantial, feathery – but after a few moments the hand felt more solid, warmer, almost as if his master had faded slightly out of the real world and into the space between, where Pip now hovered like a ghost. Then his master spoke one last time… “Back you go, Pip. Do not come this way again, until you can travel without the Oenanthe. Go and be happy. Tend your garden. Remember your lesson. I will call for you again, sooner than you might think. Know that now, only now, your learning truly begins. Fare you well.” With that, Pip felt his master give him a gentle push. The garden dissolved and faded away, and the stars returned – spinning and whirling endlessly. Pip felt himself flying backward with impossible speed… further… and further… faster… and faster… … until he had returned, and found himself sitting in front of the cold ashes of his fire, which had long ago gone out. The sun had just slipped behind the hilltops… it was approaching dusk, and he knew that a full day had passed. At least one full day. Very stiff and very thirsty, he stood slowly and walked over to the little stream, bent down, scooped up some water into his palm, and drank. Then again, and again, until he felt his thirst begin to ebb. Looking down, he caught a small movement out of the corner of his eye… which drew his eyes further, to a small lump in the pocket of his robe. He reached in the pocket carefully, and pulled something out. It was a small frog – light green, almost yellow – with a red band across its back. Pip stared at it for a moment in disbelief, then smiled and laughed as it jumped from his hand and into the water, splashing its way downstream to find a new home. Hopefully, one without pigeons.
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  The (soon-to-be) Many Adventures of Leon Ra'vel
  • Flom

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  Mind Rot
  • Wykith

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  The blood flowed like wine that day. It was to be his final moment, his finest moment. His veins pumped acid that burned his muscles from the inside. His face was caught in a mask of rage and bloodlust, his large sword, reaping the bandit horde before him like wheat before the scythe. His mind was a whirlwind of pain and pleasure. He had lost count of how many wounds he'd recieved. He was half blind from the mace blow he had recieved to the skull. He was limping badly, having been hamstringed, and his arms were more blood than skin. On and on he cut through the waves that came like the tide, with no end. It did not matter, none of it did. It had called to him. I wanted him back, and he would come, he would follow. In a life devoid of love and lasting friendship, that presence was all he had left. Almost blindly, Talgris swung, his blade tearing skin, sinew and bone, his lifesblood draining from him. He felt death hover over him, an old friend coming to visit. Before he knew it, Talgris was alone in the cave, with only a single priest standing before him. Talgris had no expectations of winning, his life already hung by a mere thread. The priest came in, banging his mace against Talgris's already beat up armor, making a large chunk fly off into the darkness. The blow nearly doubled Talgris, but using what little strength was left, he swung down. It was a lucky blow, smashing through the man's shield it found the man's neck. The wound was fatal, but the priest was already summoning the name of his god. It was Talgris's only chance and he took it. As the priest chanted, he brought his blade down hard, cutting through scalp, skull and brain matter. The priest stared up at the blade for an instant before collapsing. Talgris sat there, in the dark, blood splattered cavern, holding his water canteen in a shaking hand. Taking a glance at the last of them, the fallen priest, who lay lifeless with the large sword still embedded in his skull, he saw it. The priest was wearing the Ogre. In a mad rush, forgetting his agonizing wounds, Talgris stripped the priest of armor and clothes. He sat there, admiring the black leathers, moving them in his hands. It had called to him, it had wanted him back. Talgris smiled from ear to ear. He was back in action. The Ogre would make sure of that. That day, Talgris left the bandit caves, his silver armor glistening magnificently in the sun, his raspy metallic breath was poetry in his ears. The Silver Ogre had returned to the Nars.
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  Stories Penned by Player Zyphlin
  • Zyphlin

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  The Taking of Skara's portal
  • Nightsblood

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  ((I had a great time too… and although I am sure it was tense for you all... compared to the juggling chainsaws routine the other DMs were going through in other parts of Narfell during the Defiler event... I had a nice and relaxing evening with you all away from the hustle and bustle. Thanks for showing a girl a good time! x42))
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  The Chieftain
  • Guest

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  Why didnt you tell your kids about Deacon! :evil: Great story