3. Mind Rot

Mind Rot


  • Inhale….

    Talgris sat at the commons, his head leaned back, watching the stars above him. His dark blue eyes glowed an eerie green from within.

    Exhale….

    He could almost imagine himself…a dull grey form in a lush colorful backround. Despite his large frame, he knew he might as well not be there.

    Inhale…..

    All around him the bustling of the city continued. Political debate, social conflict, romantic interest.

    Exhale…..

    They all had color, they all glowed bright, but not him. He sat as a dull grey mass in a world filled with a love that would not touch him. That never had touched him.

    Inhale…....

    The only light that emanated from him was the soft glow of his green eyes…and before him...fluttered Pira.

    Exhale…...

    So beautiful, so pure, so loyal in her friendship to him. She spoke to him, told him of the dark places she had been since her demise. Told him she felt the bond between them weaken.

    Inhale….

    He whispered to her, tried to reassure her that he had not given up on the quest. That he would save her people. She seemed comforted, but unsure.

    Exhale….

    All of the people he thought his friends, all so quick to walk away. All so painfully dismissive. So few bonds left to him. So few times his heart did not feel like stone.

    Inhale….

    The dreams..the visions….blood spraying from gaping wounds...the Silver Ogre...feeding...absorbing the carnage.

    Exhale….

    He felt so strange…so complete...when in his armor. It was the only time he felt he had purpose anymore. With no one to love, no one who cared, his life had become a drawn out nightmare of bloodshed and vengence.

    Inhale…..

    His hands closed into tight fists. The world around him was moving on, leaving him behind. He could almost feel the armor beckon, plead with him to fill the emptiness in his heart with the blood of others.

    Exhale….

    His life had lost its balance, him mind had lost its anchor. Slowly….Talgris felt something creep over him...something so much more terrible than madness. He felt the utter agony of his existence, and the pointlessness of his presence.

    Inhale…

    Talgris was nothing. His absence would never be noticed within the walls of any city. But the Ogre…the Ogre WAS something. He was a force to be feared. He was well known outside these walls, by the ranks of his enemies...

    Exhale….

    As he sat there, silently looking up at the stars as the world moved on around him….Talgris could hear his own breathing..and he realized...this whole time...his breaths had a distinct metallic sound to them....the way they did when he breathed through his helmet.

    Inhale….

    Talgris smiled brightly into the heavens. He did not need to exist. No one would miss him…

    Exhale….

    He could feel the Ogre tremble with anticipation.

    Inhale….

    Exhale….



  • 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.


  • It was interesting how simply some answers came. All one had to do was meditate on it long enough. The mind is such a powerful thing. Talgris had cheated destiny. He had cheated fate. He had robbed death of its prize one too many times. He was fighting a fruitless fight.

    He knew there would be sadness in his wake, but he also knew it would soon pass. He had seen the wonders of the land and felt no joy in the thought of leaving. This was his home and it would soon become his grave.

    He was at peace with that thought. He realized his life here had not been in vain. He was raised the son of a godless murdering merchant, and in his trials and tribulations, had found Tempus.

    He would not sit eternally in the vast emptyness of the fugue. He had a home to go to now.

    Talgris stood and walked into the Nars pass with a smile on his lips. He would live out the rest of his days in the delapidated Alliance Inn…until death finally reclaimed him.

    He knew his time was short. He would enjoy it to the fullest. He would die as he had lived.

    So was the fate of Talgris, son of Draven, son of Calda, son of Tempus.

    To die alone, and by the blade.


  • Talgris sat in the town square of Jiyyd, his cowl pulled over his head, his eyes staring off into the nothing. The rains had been pelting him for hours but at this point he barely noticed it. Pira sat in the protective shadow of his hood, watching the rains, knowing better than to speak. Her green glow lit the right side of Talgris's scar etched face and lit his steel blue eye a deep, glowing green.

    He looked around slowly, his mind trying to wrap itself around too many questions.

    It was time to walk away from this….he had not found the answers he had hoped for, he had not accomplished what he had come here to do...it was time to go home.

    For hours after, Talgris sat in the rain, alone with his thoughts, and the soft green glow of his good friend's wings.


  • The crowds of the city street mulled about with a frustratingly careless abandon. Talgris’ thick gray cloak waved lazily in the cold winds and his heavy boots crushed the mud flecked snow beneath them with every foot fall. A small drop of red blood staining the powdery ice every other step. All around him the sound of merchants screaming out the prices of their wares was like an entrancing melody. They huddled in their thick, cured leathers and furs, brought up from the southern traders.

    As he turned a corner by the clothing shop, he saw his old friend Marcus, proudly wearing his father’s armor, waving at him with a big friendly grin on his face. Robyn was with him. She was holding his arm with her head on his shoulder and a content smile on her lips. Talgris grinned at them but continued on his path, the snow crunching loudly under his weight.

    He walked under a large stone bridge and within its shadows he saw Senator Vino Sten and Julia shaking off the snow and laughing together. Talgris watched them as he approached, his own hair waving in front of his eyes. They gave him a smiling nod as he passed. Talgris returned it briefly without breaking stride and walked into the white covered world beyond the shade the bridge provided.

    Just across the street from the bridge, he saw a group of guards marching slowly towards the execution grounds. Their bright blue armor glistened in the winter sun, their long spears, like scorpion’s stingers. Within their metallic ranks walked Marcus, his hands and feet manacled together. His body seemed sore, bruised, and badly beaten. When he looked up, Talgris saw that his mind…his soul, seemed far more damaged than his limping, bleeding form. Talgris felt a pang of pain. His friend, walking forcibly hunched towards his fate, his heart cold and abandoned by the warmth of love. Talgris felt the urge to turn and ask Senator Vino to stop this, to spare the barbarian, but he knew it would be pointless, and so he walked on, leaving a small puddle of red snow in his wake.

    The sound of the merchants began to die down as he turned north at the corner store bakery. There he saw Kanen, sitting uncharacteristically relaxed, his eyes filled with conflicting admiration, watching as Robyn waved her hands in the air, laughing and speaking with passion about something she had seen. Talgris’ scar etched face was filled with the same conflict he saw in Kanen, if strangely different. He felt so many emotions watching them. He faced the snow and continued on his way. They smiled curtly and waved as he passed, neither noticing the small trail of blood he left in his wake.

    Talgris decided it best to take a small short cut through a well lit alley. Half way across, within the deep of a dank and foul alley adjacent to the one he walked, he saw Trevalyn, standing across from the breath-taking Astrid. They spoke in low tones but he could see the smiles on their faces and feel the warmth eminating from them, despite Astrid’s usually cold demeanor. Just behind them, at their feet, lay the once mighty Mel’hrus, sprawled and bleeding from various gaping wounds. Talgris frowned at the sight and walked on. They did not notice his passing or the rapidly increasing flow of blood that now stained the bottom edges of his cloak.

    Leaving the alley he reached a pleasant little plaza. The snow here fell very lightly, a small bit of grass still visible in patches around the benches. On one such bench he saw his friend Ishar, draped in the armor of the Green Cross Ghosts with the former Alliance member Natasha. Here Talgris stopped. He didn’t notice the tapping noise as small red drops struck his thick leather boot. He took a tentative step forward but when he saw them holding hands, a small smile crept on his lips, and he decided against it. They seemed so happy. Best not to bother them.

    Walking down a long set of snow covered stone steps, the howling wind pulling the cowl off his head, Talgris could just barely see the courtyard in front of the Grand Peltarch Theater. Bruno was outside, wearing his ridiculous new uniform, bouncing both his child Lindia and his wife Clandra, one on each knee. They laughed merrily in their own company.

    When he reached the bottom of the stairs, the last of his strength gave out. Talgris fell to his knees, staring forward into the city street. No one seemed to notice. It was then that he heard the soft fluttering wings of Pira. She hovered above him and looked down at him sadly.

    “What’s wrong Talgris?” She asked.

    “I’m dying.”

    “No you’re not Talgris.” Pira said smiling sadly. “Not yet anyway, but I’ll be right here when you do…I’m always here.”

    “I miss you Pira. I feel so alone. Everyone…..they….”

    “Shhh. You’re not alone.” Pira smiled at him. “Don’t give up hope Talgris. I know how you feel, but it will be alright. I’ll be watching you.”

    Talgris felt a hot rush of energy run through him. His entire body seemed charged and rejuvinated. He opened his eyes and saw his face was in the mud. Cold hard rain hit his already soaked body. He felt the thick hard hilt of his blade in his right hand.

    “Git up lad!” He heard Ragnar’s familiar voice scolding. He looked up and saw the dwarf’s face covered in gunk and blood, the last bit of divine energy dissipating in his hands.

    He stood up reflexively and took a quick look around. Both Ishar and Kasumi were locked in combat with a pair of bloodthirsty ogre magi. He had no time to recollect his thoughts. With a wild scream he rushed head long into the fray, determined to protect what was left of his friends. For some reason…he felt incredibly happy.


  • Talgris sat alone.

    It was strange to him how this always was. How he found himself on a hill top with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. He took a bottle of ale from his pack, uncorked it and drank deeply. He looked down at the body before him, an ogre shaman lying face up with Talgris' blade still embedded deep in its chest.

    The creature had proved to be a deadly adversary. Its magic was lethal and its combat prowess was formidable. He had only hit Talgris twice, once in the chest and once on his side but he had FELT those blows. They still ached and manifested small white stars in his range of vision.

    Talgris took out his waterskin next and poured some of the contents on his head, his black hair hung in soaked tuffs over his scar etched face. He looked up at the sleepy red sky of the approaching dusk, and wondered what it was he was looking for in that domed void.

    Was he looking for Pira, his long lost friend? Was he looking for Astrid, his elusive infatuation? Or was he looking for God? He wondered if there was a God looking back down, wondering why this man sat on that hill, immersing his life in bloodshed and then searching for something he couldn't see.

    Talgris' lips parted in a sad smile. He would like to share these thoughts, like he did with Pira. He would like to have someone at his side during these quiet moments, but that was not his fate. Every friend he ever made was either dead or gone from this cursed land. Those that remained had their own resposibilities to attend to. Talgris held his head in his hands, it ached terribly.

    Talgris sat alone.


  • Talgris stood on a high hill in the middle of the pass, encased in his flame scorched armor, and watched as thick red blood ran slowly down the blade of his sword. His eyes were flat and dark. The soft green glow around his pupils had begun to dim and wane. His bond with Pira was slowly weakening. The pixies were attacking Norwick again and he was too afraid to go anywhere near the town. He couldn't bare the thought of watching people kill them. He understood they were protecting themselves, but it still pained him.

    His mind was filled with the thought of Astrid, so beautiful, so powerful, so strange. The grip on his sword tightened as he remembered how she had looked straight through him, barely noticing him.

    Things had seemed to be going so well for him the last few months. The BlackOgre had not shown the bloodlust and cold detatchment he had felt from the SilverOgre. He was glad for the change, but right now, he would gladly welcome it. He needed something to tear him away from his thoughts. He had been a fool, a child caught in a daydream. He felt his rage rise and fought to control it.

    Where the SilverOgre had filled him with a metallic, cold uncaring, he could feel this new mutation spark his rage almost instantaneously. He could not imagine how a set of armor could so easily control his emotions. He would need to find out more about this creature he seemed to be wearing.

    He had felt the warmth of friendship in the last few months, something surprising and very welcomed. He had also felt an strange pang in his chest when he looked at her, when she looked at him, even though her eyes would not shine for him…..not like they did for his friend.

    Again his heart raced and his blood burned. He did not fight it. He embraced the anger, and accepted the fury of his desperation and loss. Mel'hrus had seen the rage in his soul. He would not have been surprised if she had known the source of his torment. With his blade held tightly, the BlackOgre walked slowly into the Nars, his eyes blazing with hatred and green fire.

    The blood of man would run in rivers this day. Be it his or be it theirs.


  • Talgris sat back heavily against the rock face, covered in splattered blood. He watched the sky with the tranquility and carelessness of a child looking for animal shapes in the clouds. His glowing green eyes unblinkingly staring off into the blue void.

    All around him, the bodies of the Nars marauders lay in mutilated heaps. Two dozen of their infantry, cutpurses, and casters. How he hated those casters and their damn magic. Amongst them lay four of their clerics, heavily battered and slashed, one of them decapitated.

    His sword lay resting at his side, drenched in thick red liquid. Talgris' breathes came long and raspy. He felt feverish and weak. One of the priests has cursed him with his dying breath. How he hated those priests.

    Somehow though, in the midst of all this carnage, in the heart of all this bloodshed, Talgris found peace. Lying here, having claimed this hill as his own, he felt a sense of purpose eb slowly into him. For the last few weeks he had been doing what he could to make the north pass a safe place to travel. It was his place, outside of the city, amongst those that lived and died by the blade, like he had done.

    Talgris closed his eyes, feeling very comfortable in his armor, and waited for his enemy to send reinforcements.