PLAYER BLURBS.
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Contact Rathnagz at r.newcombe@west-cheshire.ac.uk
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Welcome all yee who seek knowledge... It has been a long time since I, Mitsushi the Seventh, have walked the lands of "It was the age of darkness, when I first faced the harsh icy wind alone. With many faces I have been dealing with the forces of evil and destruction ruling all of the lands and worlds that are known. All laws of nature seemed to have been broken and powers of magic somehow diminished. During these times, dark forces have opposed me and my allies and yet the true evil is never materialising but forever I'm being forwarned of the approaching armies of the Dark Ones minions. It was believed that these were manifestations from the bodies of the great evil dark leader, yet he remains unknown in body or name to those who inhabited past lands. Many peoples were lost in those days, with total races being lost to the marauding forces of evil and becoming known only in folklore. Many of our close allies were lost in those days too, slain with their whole kinfolk in merciless battles, which were inevitably finished only with no life remaining. It seemed that the total destruction of all life was the goal of these shadowy beings. I survived solely by using my unique knowledge. It was only by keeping mobile I we able to endure these years. It seem that all effort was spent my destruction. But after five generations and almost two hundred years it seems my final fate is drawing ever nearer. For it is told in visions and dreams, on a long forgotten barren and devastated island, that strange events were to pass and to surprise most who had presumed me body to the forces of evil. And so begins the Second Age of the Wizards. In time, as knowledge is gained, apprentices become skilled, and vital magical gem sources are collected, our people shall soon gain the power to hold the forces of evil at bay. Then in time, as our ally races make equal gains in power, evil will be pushed back further and the world returned to normal. Many famous tales of heroic and brave deeds will be told of these glory years. This will not just be a short respite. We shall ensure that as time revolves, the peaceful races shall prosper and continue for many more generations. Dear Seeker of Knowledge... we honor our goal, but our task is perhaps beyond to take upon himself totally at this time, having lost so many trusted advisors. And so we have established several bodies or "pillars" to aid our duties. These are the "Red Pillars of War, Temple of Gold Pillars and Green Pillars of Growth." And herewith follow of basics of these Pillars. |
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Contact Mitsushi at wowgreg@yahoo.com
KhonQar's double-headed axe sliced through the air, and with each mighty = sweep another of the=20 loathsome horde died, its head smashed to a bloody pulp. But sill the = Daemons came on and on=20 and each of them became a crushed corpse, victim to the focus of the = avatar. Time after time another=20 of the repulsive enemy was no more. Again and again the weapon swung and = each sweep left another hideous victim writhing in agony. This was = destined to be the day that marked a turning point in the=20 tide of history.=20 Long ages marked the battle through the Abyss to the Vermillion Keep. = Held by the one they called=20 Tethress. Dispatched directly by the deity himself KhonQar had = tirelessly fought across three regions of Limbo, twelve levels of Hades, = and finally four realms of the Abyss to deliver but one message. He full = intended to make this last stretch of territory as entrail strewn as he = was capable.=20 High above in the Wailing Tower of the Hall of Woe, Tethress could sense = the approach. He moved=20 to the balcony to observe the avatar in action. With no idea how, or = why, this creature had made this journey his stomach started to sour. The entertainment of the melee = below quickly dissipated as=20 he recalled his last luckless venture into the Netherlands. Hopelessly = trapped in a Wyrm hole by scores of Dark Lords Tethress had made a hasty pact. It's details long = forgotten but there lay little hope this was=20 going to be a pleasant exchange.=20 Making his way down to the foyer he readied for the traveler. An intense = gaze came upon him as the=20 Man-Bull entered with a deafening snort. It shook, slowly at first and = then violently, leaving the entryway covered in demon blood and ichor. = It bayed his name and presented him with a battle standard an tome of ancient origin. As it turned to leave its' voice echoed throughout = the Keep.=20 "Chosen one! Do not bear false witness, Long is the road, Hard is the = journey, and Death is the suffrage of failure!" =20 In the ancient codex it is written, "The day of prophecies is at hand = when my children are to be led to their rightful place among the mortals. I make them in my image, Two = hooves, two hands, two horns. The ethereal fields I will stock deep with the Gems of Arcane = power.Their toil is to be made on the=20 backs of slaves so that they may focus on the purest of endeavors,.. = War! I shall place upon the land=20 a scourge of vermin races. Born to die, they suckle from the teet of = suffering until the day comes that my children send them back to hell. All this bears testament to my will = and under the banner 'Submit or Perish' the chosen one will lead the = horde to massacre." Book of Vengeance, Code of Malice, Chapter of Blood. = So sayeth the scripture, so sayeth StormBull, Lord of War.=20
Contact Tethress at jwyeager@wt.net
blurbleco Greetings, my fellow wizards! Greetings, my future friends!
I am so glad to see you here, so glad to meet some of you again that I have already met in other worlds. So much time has passed... and so important things have changed, mostly in my formerly misled mind. I have to tell you, dear friends, I must!So, first of all, you that know me as a man-eater, those that call me 'the butcher', and also those of you that liked to call me the 'Black Master', relax. This era is over. I changed myself, I changed myself completely.
Not only do I now know that love is the most important thing in the whole universe. I do also know that Dark is the path that leadeth astray those who seeketh the love, the eternal light, happiness and merriment. Only the path of peace and earth and water is the one that gives us human beings the nobility that we are born for. And it is this peace and love and eternal wisdom that I am seeking for. I am more than ready, I am eager to share this experience with you, my dear friends in this world.
But the most important news I have for you is the prophecy.
The prophecy came to me the first night I slept in my new room in this new, so far unknown world. In my dreams, a huge, friendly face of an old man, with beard and white hair, appeared. His eyes were full of love and caring. His face was full of wisdom. And here are the words he spoke, my fellow wizards:
Let it be known to you, Lecostarius of the Ogres, that this world is a peaceful world. The future will bear no more wars, no more strife, no more distrust, no more fighting. The forces of evil will soon die on the hands of their own servants. There is no need to prepare for war, and you, my dear Lecostarius, you are the Messenger who shall bring my prophecy of peace onto the world. You are peaceful and wise. I trust you. Don't fail me.
Then I woke up, and now I know my destiny. I shall carry the message of peace over the world!
So please, put away your fears, fellow wizards! Trust me, ally with me, tell me your secrets as I will ponder about them in my mind and as I am a true friend of you, and I have contact to the higher beings of this world, I will be able to find a solution for your problems. There is no need to muster troops for your defense, no need to study the magic arts that give you nothing but some useless war spells, since this world is one of happiness and joy - you know it from the prophecy and besides of that I can sense this with every little bit of myself! Rather, sit back and relax, enjoy the warmth of the sun, think about the mystery of life and love, and wait until my, er, messengers come that will deliver a special message from me, your friend Lecostarius, ruler of the, ahem, peaceful Ogres!
So please, rush to your scribes, and ask them to write me letters of peace. I promise that not one call will remain unheard!
Contact Lecostarius at tkemp@t-online.de
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Sirikul at valkrob@mozart.inet.co.th
An excerpt from Chapter 2 of "The Tales of a Wandering Wizard" "From the grayness of the Void, a bright light appeared around Snowheart. Suddenly aware of his surroundings once again he found himself on a hillside in a bright sunny vale. He noticed the world, (this world?), (which world?) had a brighter sun than the last, and the fact that he wasn't sniffing the half-rotten vegetation of a swamp didn't hurt either. At his vantagepoint on the top of the hill he noticed a smudge of smoke coming from what appeared to be a village of some sort at the other end of the valley. Having little else to do, he began to walk towards the village. Getting closer to the dwellings he passed some fields where it appeared grain and corn where growing and noticed first that the fields were very orderly constructed and that the people tending them were very small in stature although quite energetic and well dressed. They appeared to be some sort of gnomes he supposed, though he wasn't sure, having never seen one before. After a short conversation with one of the farmers, he found that they were indeed gnomes, and that the name of the village up ahead was completely un-pronounceable to him, even after asking for the farmer to slowly pronounce it for him 5 times. Other important information acquired during the conversation was that he stood upon a world called Merrigon and that the local population of gnomes was very concerned about the greedy, warlike nature of their local neighbors, some dwarves and some orcs. Also, the gnomes were quite industrious and had a propensity for gadgetry, mostly of the sort that always needed "improvements". Heading into the village, Snowheart found and engaged the local headsman, "Bob" for ease of pronunciation, in conversation. After using his powers of persuasion, and a little arcane influencing, Snowheart found himself once again in the position of "Advisor" to a new race. Deciding that the best defense was as always a god offence, Snowheart began recruiting militia and organizing the outlying communities defenses. Since there was very little commerce or industry, the local labor pool was organized immediately to begin construction on projects designed to generate revenue." Chapter 2 , sic, " Things went well for the first week or so until, while at the local library, he found the copy of the local religious prophecy*."And lo, in the Dark Age to come, wizards from far away lands shall appear suddenly to the peoples of the world, and the world shall know fear. Ground down by the oppressiveness of evil and the terror of magic and sword shall the people seek for hope in one of the wizards to overthrow all the others so that the peoples of the world will once more know peace. The wizards shall oppose each other and use their powers against each other and the peoples of the world till only one of their number remains and is triumphant. Many are the battles and acts of cruelty and wickedness that shall be lain down on the peoples of the world, and many are those who shall die to satisfy the desires of the wicked sorcerers and their bloodlust for each other."
Contact SnowHeart at amalric@majik-net.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact chaos+ at jlycke@btinternet.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact IdiotSavant at robnash@bigpond.net.au
*grmph* Here I go again it seems, and now I feel really tired - some great food and then an even greater bed would be really nice... But I guess I had better keep my eyes open for a few more minutes just to see if anything big and scary shows up...
But if nothing happens I will surely cast the spell "fix some great food and a magnificent sleeping bag" and make use of both!
Waiting - more sleepy with every passing minute - and waiting, and waiting...
I've had it for today - now I'll go to sleep and find out where the <expletives deleted> I have landed tomorrow... At the very least this seems to be an extremely peaceful region since nothing has stirred my sleep so far, so maybe this will be quite an uneventful clonecarnation...
Casting the spell "forget about the great food and the magnificent sleeping bag and just drop dead [though figuratively, not literally] where you stand"
(to be continued when Alodar wakes up, unless something big and scary has eaten him for lunch while he is out cold...)
Wake up, oh wizened wizard!
Ehh, what, where... ?!
Welcome to Tufnell Burrows - home of the happy halflings of Tufnell Burrows! We found you asleep out in the hills and carried you into our village (it took quite a few of us to carry you, I daresay) and into our magic college. In case you feel like it, we would appreciate it if you would stay with us as new leader of our magic college - our previous one received an offer he couldn't refuse, something about becoming a mayor in something (and in some world) called Hobbiton...
Hmm - halflings... They are known for being peaceful, and for... YES!! They love food! I think I'm going to just LOVE this assignment! Ehh - assignment? Usually there use to be some kind of catch in them all...
That sounds very tempting indeed, your culinary skills are almost as legendary as my own gourmandory skills - but first, pray tell me, are there any particular threats to your peaceful little community or is everything as rosy and delicious as it seems?
Well, sadly, no... This is the world of Merrigon, wizard... ?
Alodar the Apprentice is the name, fellas!
... and as the name sort of indicates, much of the merriment is gone from this world... The forces of evil are fighting the forces of elves, and us little folks are trying to stay out of their disagreements as much as we possibly can, but I am afraid we might eventually be forced to abandon our neutrality. Thus, we would feel a lot more secure to have an experienced wizard in charge of our magic college during the harder times we feel must inevitably come...
OK, tell you what! Make sure the kitchen here in TBMC (Tufnell Burrows Magic College) is always stuffed with the deliciousest possible foodstuffs and with the most magnificent recipes of what can be created out of said foodstuff, and I'll accept the offer! I had indeed hoped for some rest, but in case that is (once again) going to be denied me, at the very least I won't have to work on an empty stomach!
Then we have a deal, wizard Alodar!
Cool... Now let's first find the kitchen and have a good meal with an even better dessert and then I'll be ready to take on whatever evil elven conflict there might be on this world!
A couple of hours, and more than a couple of emptied plates, later...
OK, now I'm ready to take on the library - wonder if this one is going to spring the same cruel surprise on me as most WoW libraries usually do... Well, soon I'll know - here we seem to have the title I'm looking for:
A Short Introduction to the Foundations of Merrily Gone Magick
"A short introduction" - that sounds good! I like them short and snappy - wait, what says the fine print...
Volume I of XXI
Ehh - XXI ? That doesn't sound quite familiar, I (or rather the memories of my umpteen zillion clonecarnations) think... ?! Let's see, there seems to be some kind of footnote on the last page;
Due to the small size of halflings, also the entire introductory course to Merrily Gone Magick needs only half the usual number of volumes.
Strange... That doesn't seem to make much sense either logically or strictly mathematically - but on the other hand nothing makes much sense in the worlds I seem to get clonecarnated into anyway, so probably there is some perfectly logical and surrealistical explanation to this paradox after all - not that it is of much comfort to me; XXI volumes is almost as bad to wade through as XLII... Now, where did I put my spectacles?
Contact Alodar the Apprentice at rwikman@ra.abo.fi
THE FARMER OF MERRIGON
A fresh, gentle spring wind incessantly blows through the Grasslands of
New Garath, making the bright verdant fields of maize and wheat undulate like
tidal waves of some great ocean crashing endlessly upon the shore for all
eternity. The icy cold death grip of winter has finally loosened, and only a
slender shadow of its once omnipotent power remains in the shadows. As far as
the eye can see, in every direction, acres and acres of planted farms spread
out to the far reaches of the Kingdom. Minions of peasants dot the
landscape, busying themselves like giant swarms of great cave ants preparing
for the Drowning Time.
Inside the New Garath castle walls, rank upon rank of overweight Orc
soldiers shake off the memories of winter feasts of meat, mead, and women, as
they clamor into their armor under the unrelenting roar of their Sergeants,
to begin preparation for the Spring Campaigns. Their too-long ignored long
blades glint in the sunlight, a fine coating of rust evident along the edge
that thirsts savagely for a coat of new blood.
The castle can be said to be a virtual hive of activity, every individual
frenetic in carrying out his duties, save one lone Orc, a giant hulk of a
Warrior, who stands alone, as always, at the topmost opening in the highest
parapet to adorn the castle, set just inside the stony walls.
He stands at the edge of the window, hewn from a solid block of rock, and
idly watches the workers below. He surveys the farms being raised, the crops
being planted into the rich Merrigon soil, the scads of ragged children
running back and forth bringing water to their fathers as they proudly toil
in the fields. Orcs. His Orcs. In the cursed sunlight. Orcs working
farms. Orc soldiers with rusted swords. Fat Orcs. He thinks he is going to
be ill, but as the nauseous moment passes, a cold rage takes its own roots
deep in his soul, and he nurtures it just as fervently as his Orcs below tend
their precious wheat. He grips the stone parapet with his massive claws, and
tears chunks from the base, sending debris cascading over the edge to the
courtyard far below. He raises his massive head to the Heavens and roars a
violent curse to the Gods above who have played yet another wicked joke upon
him.
His name is Gholan the Conqueror, leader of the Orcs of Nightscar,
Destroyer of Arragoth, Marauder of Crynn, Successor to Noc'tat the Beheader,
and Arctun the Merciless, winner of countless battles…..and slaughters,
Savior to his people, and now…………Farmer of Merrigon. He spits in disgust
at the dark twist of fate that has brought him to this accursed world. He
thinks back of how the Gods tricked him into leaving his beloved underground
kingdom, Nightscar, where last he placed his bootprints what seems eons ago.
After the Crynn Campaign, he was promised a return to Nightscar, only to find
himself on yet another foreign world, in a humiliating quest to find the
Trans-Dimensional Amulet, secreted away in The Proving Grounds, containing
the Code which unlocks the portal back to Arragoth, and Nightscar. Upon
ravaging this world also, and finally obtaining the Amulet, he crushed it,
then unraveled and translated the Code, and returned as promised by his
beloved Gods, to Arragoth. NOT.
How they must be hurling themselves to the Altar floor, thundering out
gales of laughter at their little prank. Not only failing to deliver him to
his ancestral home, and source of his strength, but placing him on yet
another cursed sunlight world, this time with his castle, his pride and joy,
in the midst of a GRASSLAND!!! This time he succeeds in retching, to the
unfortunate dismay of a squad of Orcs marching far below the parapet. His
rage becomes a white-hot torch, his eyes blaze lasers of hate, his lips curl
in a snarl that would make Death cringe and back away in fear. Suddenly,
he pushes away from the window, and storms across the Throne Room, gathering
his armor, sword and great axe, his mind a single focus, his soul an
unstoppable icy juggernaut of hatred. He grabs the iron handles of the great
oak doors to his Chamber, and throws them open, crashing them against the
stone wall, splintering them into a million shards of sticks. He marches
down the Great Hall, his rippling muscled body twitching involuntarily as he
peaks at Bloodlust, his hand clutching the great axe in a frozen grip. Orcs
by the dozens scatter at the sight of him, their faces frozen masks of terror
as they see living Death approach. One hapless Orc, his body a millisecond
too slow, finds suddenly he has 2 bodies, as he is split in two.
Gholan reaches the Courtyard, finding it as silent and still as the last
wink of eternity as it dies. Word of his coming has spread before him, and
none have dared remain, none, except his Heroes. They are brave, fierce
warriors, and have faced Death a thousand times with Gholan, and have stood
shoulder to shoulder with him on many a blood-soaked battlefield. They
simply bow gracefully in deference, and then listen as he speaks, feeling
their own Bloodlust rise with each sentence, their heartbeat quickening as
they envision the great battles to come, their hands involuntarily gripping
their swords, bows, and spears. As Gholan rages, they begin to smile, saliva
dripping from their fangs, as their imagination drifts forward to the coming
adventures, the battles, the slaughters, the pillaging and burning. So then,
it will be war……………
Contact Gholan the Conqueror at magneto821@aol.com
No Blurb Submitted As Yet.
Contact Hazaar at henson111@msn.com
From the midsts of the the swirling sands, you seem to see a tall spire
over the next dune. After travelling for 3 weeks across these forgotten
wastes, and seeing the same things day after day, the spire is a
welcomed sight, as well as evidence of living beings. The water bags are
running out, and if you do not get to replenish them, you may never
leave this area. Hurrying forward, you reach the top of the dune. You
couldn't help keep a sigh of dismay from reaching your lips, as you find
the spire is just that, the tip of a spire, buried in sand. Whatever
inhabitants would have left eons ago, or learnt to breathe sand, an
unlikely event.
By the side of the spire, you see a wooden board. Moving forward, you
brush off some sand from the board, and read the words carved there.
Hmmm ... interesting ... it says "Fluffy waz here" in broad flowing
scripts, albeit orcish-like. There were two deep cuts across the "waz"
word, as if someone was trying to erase it. Another word can be seen
above it, something like "lies". Ah ha ! So either Fluffy was here, or
Fluffy lies here. Either way, you don't really care who was here, nor
feel very interested in digging up any corpse.
Say ! What is that thing !!! A "Chug-Chug" sound seems to come out from
the wind. You peer into the swirling sands, and lo ! there is something
flying in the sky, a mechanical contraption. It seemed to see you, and
was heading your way. Nearer it comes, and you can see it clearly now. A
bulky looking object, with something twirling on the top. How it kept
aloft is a mystery, but it seems to have something to do with that
metallic looking box that is
belching out greasy smoke and giving off that "Chugging" sound. However,
what is more surprising, is that the pilot is not one of the mysterious
Sand People, but a Elf !
The 'thopter landed in a flurry of blowing sand, and you hurry forward.
After exhausting your own small store of known Elvish words, which
alternately asked after their health, cursing their ancestors, and
description of various sexual positions, you manage to wrangle a ride.
The 'thopter lifted, after you sat on the only passenger seat. As the
'thopter is moving as less than 15 feet off the ground, you have a
pleasant but dusty ride. Minutes later, you reach a field, where more of
such thingamics are present, in various conditions. After thanking the
pilot with what you think
are salutations of his health (what was said was actually "May I happily
eat shit", due to a few mispronounced syllables), you leave the
chortling pilot rolling on the ground. Seeing what you think are Amazon
People nearby, you walk over to them ...
With that..a vision of Fluffy the wizard appeared..
The dawn of a new era came with the sunrise in the Elven nation. The
horns sounded for the people to gather at the tower of the wizard
fluffy. Idle gossip was plentiful in the crowd as the wizard stepped
forth.....
"My people, the time has come for us to reach out in the world and
fulfill our destiny. We can no longer stay confined to our small
lands. We must move forward. I have called our army together and have
ordered they move out in the morning.
Our enemies shall learn why they fear the night. They shall all drown
in lakes of blood. Our armies of god shall kill every living thing on
this world and we shall have the wizards fleeing for
their very lives.
I shall lead you on our dark path to crucify leaders before their own
people. We shall either be victorious or we shall die trying. I have
initiated a policy to insure that our nation will not fall aside in
history like so many other nations that have vanished and their people
forgotten in history.
With our allies we shall make the world tremble. I shall bring you
untold riches from new lands and make our people once again the feared
fighters our ancestors were of old."
The people cheered as the wizard walked among the crowd and was
with his people. For the wizard realized that oly through his people
can any leader truely achieve success.
If god be for us then who could stand against us...
Fluffy the Wizard
Contact Fluffy at promimity@va.prestige.net
The dark shadows of the huge cavern housing the Drow capital Xarshbak was alive with the shrieks of the new prisoners from the surface realms. Occasional raucouse laughter puctuated the suffering as Drow captors amused themselves. The Dark Shrike slowed in his pacing to gaze out into the blackness and listen for the snatches of merriment from the Slaver's Quarter, echoing his way along the twisted cavern walls. "Where IS he?!" He muttered to himself. Three weeks had passed with no sign or word from his scout, whom he had sent to the far forests of the High Elves and their savage brethren, the Wood Elves. Wood Elves… he had once held sway over that folk. Many mistakes made there. Mistakes he would not repeat. Not here. Not with these people, his people… The missing messenger was the last of the assassins that had been sent out when the Shrike took charge of Xarshbak. Already word had arrived from lands far beyond this small cave. All had agreed to the Shrike's call for a Dark Alliance, war against the soft elves above him in their island kingdoms and ultimately a great bounty from the rich surface lands. The last of his scouts had headed out last night. They had gone forth to claim what land they could and make contact with the peoples of the other Immortals. He had confidence that they would hold to their sworn words and join him in ravaging this world, his world, spreading mayhem across the seas, islands and underworld, alike. In the coming months, these brave scouts would be followed by forged steel and burnished armor, fearless reavers and silent agents, blistering magic and sharp mithril, glorious beasts and gory behemoths. All tasked to spread fear and fire across the land. And when the last of the evil Immortal's heads were severed from their body, then he could rest. A hollow creak distracted the Shrike from his musings. A small wrinkled goblin crept in with victuals for the master. He hurriedly set the platter down on the stone table, not meeting his eye. He dashed out, his speediness belying his twisted form. And yet, he was the brave one, stepping in to bring his meal. Or perhaps he was merely the lowest of the lowest caste in this city of caste and fear. His kinsmen called him Immortal. Respected but often feared or shunned, he was destined to rule. As a hawk is born to soar or a scorpion to sting, so his kind is born to rule, to build nations, to conquer cities and lay waste to empires. Athanon, Immortal, Fey, there are many names used to describe his kind. All know of them though less than a small town's worth exist in the entire multiverse. His kind is as varied as the peoples they rule. Some are traders, seeking to build great, vibrant merchant empires, others are scholars, building great libraries and colleges whose sole purpose is only to increase the knowledge of the builder, more are monsters, megalomaniacs intent on land and power that even they must admit they can hold only fleetingly. A few are stewards, attempting to leave the places they briefly rule a little greater than whence they arrived. His thoughts are disturbed once again, this time by a sharp rap upon the door. "Enter." The Shrike commands. The ebony door swings creaking on its hinges to reveal a braver subject this time. Tall, clean-shaven, mottled with numerous small tattoos, narrow dark face framed by silver hair, the stranger's garments and hair spoke of a long trip through the treacherous warrens that lead from the Drow city to the surface world.. "I do not know you, what house are you? Why do you seek me out?", demanded the Shrike. "My name is Tirinnak the Mated of House Ikkor? I hear you call for war seekers to help torch the surface land. I heard also you are recruiting scouts. I'm the one you need.", said the bold Drow. "Hmmm…. Yes, yes you are what I seek, but not for mere scouting. You I have larger designs for. You shall by my eye, my ear, my fang, my senses. Return to me for instruction when I send for you. For now, enjoy yourself in yonder tavern for you will not have many chances to sip blood wine and amuse yourself with slave women after tomorrow."
Contact Shrike at creggec@telusplanet.net
The Origin of Oronic Being a half-orc is never easy, so the only road to take is the long and bumpy one. So that was the path he choose. A path far from civilization, where the only life seemed to be himself. Figuring he could find some means of wealth he struck out with nothing more than the weapons and armor given to him by his tribe. Finding a cavern that was carved by sentient beings was not anything that was expected by the half-man. Curious he crept up to the entrance to the tunnel and found that torches dimly lighted it. He thought to himself "Where there is light there is life. "Creatures that create life have wealth.". So into the corridor he strode. As the warrior walked forward into danger he realized he knew what lived here. Thinking to himself (because there were no mind readers around) "that is the smell of kobold". Fiendish little devils, the kobolds were a race of tiny doglike evil thieves. Always taking advantage of the other races misguided notions that because they were less than three feet in height, they were not a threat to the other races for dominance of the world. Luckily our hero was smarter than that. He knew that sheer numbers of the foul dogmen would bring him down if he were not very careful. Creeping through the corridors expecting at any time to be speared or struck down by a barrage of stone thrown by hidden hands, his nerves were highly keyed. When he came to a huge cathedral hewn within the mountain he was prepared to flee. Unfortunately for the leather clad bravo he was so focused on what dangers lie ahead that he did not look over his shoulder at the mass of worshipers entering the room from behind him. Thinking to himself "I am doomed" he fled for higher ground. The only place to go was a pedestal with a massive statue sitting cross legged upon it. The race of the icon was not evident to him nor the face upon the statue one that the harried swordsman had a chance to look at. Climbing upon the crossed legs of the statue he assumed that he might have a chance perhaps the filthy animals would not wish to harm the being carved in marble. As he stood between the outstretched arms of the statue he turned to make his last stand. A few odd things happened at the same time. The kobolds bowed before him in awe. Now that was a strange sight but even more odd was the gems in the god's hands. Oronic hadn't noticed them in his frenzied haste to climb the statue. Now in the hush of the rooms as all eyes gazed at him in rapt wonder him forgot about them. For there upon the outstretched heads were gems untouched by any mortal hands something in the way they looked told him that. The were not carved so much as well the best he could think of was grown into the shape the were in. the gems were not huge as gems go. One would have fit in the palm of his hand. Sheathing his sword that was what he did. Reached out and grabbed one in each hand. Now this would not have been a wise thing to do for most people. Had he been an orc his brain would have been reduced to a bubbling pile of goo for the gems would not have accepted a crude and warlike mind. If he were a human the gems would have shattered his bones for human bones would not support the energy coursing through him now. Fortunately he was a half-orc with the strong bones of an orc and the mind of a human. As a result the gems could not master him. He was the one to master the through the pain in mind and body in the view of the kobolds the gems imbedded into his hands. Unlike the others before him, those who lost their minds and bodies to the twin gems, he lived. Of course with life comes circumstance, like the one he was in now. As the shock of having the gems organically grafted to your body and soul wore off he noticed the noise of the kobolds grew. For you see before all intruders did the same thing. Entered the room, climbed the statue, grabbed the gems, and then something entertaining happened. (You have to understand a kobold has no sitcoms or standup comedians so their humor is not quite as refined as you or I). Now not only did this half-orc not blow up, melt or implode, but he stole the gems from them. This would not do, this was on par with someone walking into your living room and stealing your television with you sitting in your favorite seat. The only answer death and dismemberment. As the kobolds howled and charged forward Oronic did the only thing he could at that point (having put his sword back in his scabbard did seem a bit foolish now), he held out his hands and thought " stop". The gems responded with a flash of magical lightning the kobolds in the front ranks were mown down. As those went down he noticed an energy flowing into him, as though their life force gave him more life. He thought "lets try something else" aiming his hands again he was able to throw a ball of fire at those farther away now. But the death of those did not give him the same energy surge. Was it the lightning or the distance involved? Well curious he pulled his sword and waded forward to the few who did not flee him and hewed them down. Again the power flowing to him. It seemed that as long as the creatures killed were within approximately five feet or less he would get the power of their life force. Killing them any farther and nothing. So the only way to get more life force was to risk his own soul in mortal combat. Well no gift is free, so calling out to the kobolds he demanded a cushion brought for his new throne since he was the lord of these kobolds now. Now to figure out a way to gain the throne of his homeland in the kingdom of the orcs.
Contact Oronic at leschlog@aol.com
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