(AQ) Tales of a warmonger (Full Version)

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Elryn -> (AQ) Tales of a warmonger (10/24/2011 22:05:49)

Tell a tale round the campfire or to children with pipe and comfy chair.~The Warmage


Introduction

‘‘Such are the origins of the Mystical Warrior and his tale has only begun…’’

The storyteller finished. The curious gazes around the campfire were alight with enjoyment.

‘‘Wonderful!’’ said one.

‘‘Glad you liked it, Melissa.’’ said the storyteller, grinning from the depths of his hood.

‘‘Could you tell another story?’’ asked another one.

The storyteller was silent.

‘‘I am afraid I do not know the story of the other warmongers of Battleon well enough to tell them.’’ said he, slightly embarrassed.

Murmurs of disappointment went around the campfire. A moment passed and another said :

‘‘What about yours?’’

‘‘Hmmm?’’

‘‘Can you tell us your story?’’

The mage was silent.

‘‘My story?… Nay, nay, it is nothing of any interest.’’ said he, waving his hand in dismissal.

‘‘Oh! Please do!’’

‘‘Yes, tell us the story of the Warmage.’’

Murmurs of agreement bustled round the campfire. The mage remained silent, staring into the flames. He sighed and grinned.

‘‘There are some things I cannot tell you. Things best left in the dark... At least for now…’’

The smiles around the campfire dropped.

‘‘… But I can tell you part of it.’’

Smiles lit their faces again. While they waited eagerly for the tale to begin, the storyteller took his pipe again- it had a long shaft, made entirely of wood, and an ivory carving depicting a tall old man with a book in a chair facing curious little faces on either side of the head - and drew a breath, as he did on these special occasions. He exhaled slowly. The smoke mingled with the flames.

‘‘Tell a tale round the campfire or to children with pipe and comfy chair…’’


Prologue



Once upon a time, there was a child who was crying. He was found in a marsh under full moon by a man and a woman, an ivory choker with strange inscriptions around his neck. Taken by pity, the couple took him and raised him as their own. From his father, who was a monster hunter, he learnt many things about this world’s many beasts : how to hunt and trap them, but also how to make clothes out of their skins and the proprieties of their many parts. He learned much about the flora and fauna as well. From his mother, who was a mage, he learnt about magics. Indeed, he had a gift for magic, mastering his mother’s lessons with the greatest of ease much to her own surprise. Of all surprises however, this was but one of many. The boy was... peculiar. Some things about him will not be said. Needless to say, his eyes were wide circles of a swirling tempest gray. He did not sleep, but rather spent his nights meditating and working on his magic.


Thirty years past and he looked seventeen. His parents, however, had long lost the youth of their twenties and were now approaching sixty. Feeling they had denied him the truth for too long, they told him of his uncanny origins. Though the young man was somewhat disappointed, it surprised him little. He had long known that he was different. In turn, he told them of his intention to leave the nest. He wanted to study magic and become a great mage. His parents, thinking the time had indeed come, agreed. A few days later, having packed a few possessions and his bearings for the trip, he embraced his parents tenderly, bade them farewell and left. This was the last time he ever saw them.


He spent the next 20 years wandering and adventuring. He met many humans for he left the obscure lands where he once lived. He also took up the habit of concealing his face, for what reason he did not know, either partially or fully : a hood with facemask or high neck collar at times, a full helm at another and so on. He had many adventures as well. Suffice to say that he helped as many people as he could with what little skill he had. He also met a number of mages, yet none could or would help him.


One day, he came upon a small town. There, he found a being who was not quite human. He was a mage of great power, an archmage. The perfect teacher. At first, the archmage refused and laugh at the idea that a ‘’man’’ out of nowhere should become his apprentice. The young man was not discouraged however. Several services, months, tankards of beer and one drunken mage later and he accepted. Under the tutelage of the archmage, he learnt far more magic that he could ever have hoped to learn, enough to make of him an accomplished mage. He also learned how to employ it on the battlefield. You see, the small town was often at war. Hordes of vile creatures of all kinds, demons, undead and bandits attacked regularly. Never more than two months did past between these assaults. It is there he met the guardians of the village and joined themselves to their cause. When his tutelage came to an end, his master was proud. He was amongst the most powerful mages of the village.

It is said he received three gifts from his mentor :

The skull of ram to wear as a helm and strike fear into the hearts of his foes.

A set of armour made of bark and leather most suited for a magic user.

And last, but not least, a wooden maul made of old enchanted ash that would grow ever lighter the stronger the bearer’s magic and grow ever heavier against his unlucky foes. It is said that, like this, he fought many wars, crushing some with his maul and destroying others with his spells.

And above all, he protected his friends.



So he became known as the Warmage.

Or so it is said.



Elryn -> RE: (AQ) Tales of a warmonger (11/2/2011 22:06:37)

Chapter 1
Llwybr


Part 1

The sun rose over the village and the townsfolk tended to their labour once more. They worked the morning on their miserable fields, trying rather vainly to extract something of value from the drought ridden land. The wind was blowing queerly that day. One farmer worked diligently with his hoe. He wore faded green clothing, as did most of the other townsfolk, his red beard ragged, his lips dry, his face darkened by the dust and dirt he ploughed. He stopped a moment, brushing the sweat and hair out of his face when a shadow overcame him.

There in the sky, written in misty clouds, was said :

MAGIC PERFORMANCE IN TOWN SQUARE AT HIGH NOON
ALL YE WELCOME


The farmer stared. He had secretly hoped for clouds and rain to end their troubles. He shouldered his hoe and made his way to town.

High noon was fast approaching on the town’s square. Most of the townspeople had gathered. Each stood there with a worn impassive face. Each wondering as much as the next what would soon happen. High noon came and passed yet nothing happened. Faces turned, darting inquisitive looks, silently wondering if this had not all been a jest.

Then they noticed something odd.

In the middle of the square they encircled, a dark dot appeared on the ground. It slowly grew into a small circle, taking a distinct dark brown colour. Before long, everyone had realized it was mud. The circle grew and grew until at last it was about a meter or so wide when it stopped. The townsfolk stared as a cloaked figure rose slowly from the mud.

The cloak was of deep blue with winding patterns, stars and crescent moons coloured silver around every edge. Though the figure was tall, for he towered over all the townsfolk, the robes seemed to have been made too long for bottom trailed on the ground a bit and his hood fell so that not an inch of his face could be seen through the darkness it confined. The figure turned and gazed round until his look, presumably, fell on a man with two children clutching to either side of his legs.

The stranger approached. As he did, some caught a glimpse of leather boots through the front fold of his robes and as his hood danced lightly with the wind, some did think they caught a glimpse of a face mask or scarf as well. One thought he even saw two glowing dots of a strange grey. The stranger knelt in front of the child to the right. He was boy no more than eight. Out his sleeve, the stranger revealed a leather gloved hand opened in which a ball of fire soon appeared. The boy shrank back, but grew curiouser as the ball of fire turned into a fiery egg.

The egg cracked and burst in a plume of flames to reveal a small fiery bird. It was a phoenix. The phoenix screeched and flapped gaily about. With one swift movement, it took flight and circled round the gathering, much to the wonderment of the town’s people. It came back to stranger’s hand where it continued to levitate and chirp. The boy gazed at it curiously, but with the caution that begun to animate his years. He had only time to gaze at it a moment longer when it turned to ashes and disappeared.

The stranger made an odd gesture with his hand and moved to the little girl. She was no more than four and her face was as dirty as the rest of them. Her long hair, as curly as Shockheaded Peter no doubt, was dirty as well. She still held beauty in her eyes however. Her wide green eyes stared wide as if lost in an imaginary world. From the stranger’s hand came ice this time; again came an odd ball or egg shape. I did not crack or burst however, but slowly unfolded to reveal a little butterfly-winged creature. The fairy of ice looked curiously about and suddenly jumped and stayed, beating her wings like hummingbird. She zipped and zipped to and fro, looking at all curiously. Finally, she came back again and stared at the girl as did she. The girl tentively reached out to touch the fairy, only for her to turn to diamond dust and disappear.

The stranger rose and moved away back towards the center. He began to make strange movements with his arms, swinging them as if trying to swim in an exaggerated fashion yet in a smooth and calculated manner as well. Slow then quick, he stopped for mere moment in front of the crowd and the wind blew hard on them, spun around in the same fashion and the wind blew on others. He turned again this time his hands waved and spun around an invisible sphere in his hand. Wind gathered there and he threw it on again more where it scattered and blew on their brow.

All this time, the crowd remained passive on the exterior. The stranger was about to move on to his next trick when the crowd split behind him, making way for an elderly man. The old man’s face exuded stubbornness and determination as well as age. His eyes however showed he was tired; burdened by the years and events lived. The elder made his way to the stranger and, after having cleared his dry throat, said the following :

‘If you are willing to help us and I beg, please follow me.’

The elder started and distanced himself. The stranger said nothing, but turned and followed, and the wind blew with him.



Elryn -> RE: (AQ) Tales of a warmonger (11/21/2011 22:54:48)

Part 2

‘’This… is our problem.’’

The old man pointed at the corpse that laid in the barn. Half rotten and littered with maggots, it had been dead for some time. A brown furry complexion, as big as a bovine, eight sharp legs and eight black eyes. To the stranger, there could be no doubt.

‘’Giant Spiders. The Kresh.’’ said the old man, as if reading his mind.

The stranger remained silent.

‘’This is the wrath of the Lords. It must. What else may it be?!’’ said the old man in soliloquy filled with misery, ‘’This village was once lively and prosperous before they came and the drought along with them. That first night, we were caught by surprise. We had never had any guards or sentries. We had always gone to bed with peace of mind. The townfolks banded together and we managed to drive them off… Not without loss. Many a children were missing, taken by those vile creatures. And what creatures they were! Thing of legend! Not seen since the Paladin Lords in the East had slain them to the last! Then the drought came and the vicious cycle of misery was formed. Kresh assaults multiplied themselves, becoming a regular ordeal, each time they came more numerous than the last all the while our village slowly withered away under the drought.’’

The old man pauses. Still the stranger was silent.

‘’It is only a matter of time before they come again and this time, we shall not be able to hold them back.’’

Still the stranger was silent. The old man fell to his knees and clung to the stranger’s robes.

‘’Please, Stranger! Please help us! We… We have nothing to pay you it. We have food but barely enough to feed ourselves. We…’’

The stranger dropped his hand gently on the old man’s shoulder. Staring fixedly at the old man, he slowly titled his head to the right. At first, the old man stared at the stranger in confusion. He did not understand. Then it dawned on his mind.

‘’You… You will do it?’’

The stranger nodded then titled his head again. The old man stared for a moment in daze then snapped out of his reverie and said :

‘’Their… Their den lies in the forest some miles to the north.’’

The cloaked figure turned and started for the barn’s exit. He was just beyond the barn when he heard a voice yell :

‘’Just follow the cobwebs! They will take you to it! Oh, and blocking of the entrance will do no good! They’ll clear it!’’

The old man watched the stranger slowly disappear into the horizon, a few of the villagers along his side.

‘’Will he make it?’’ said a dry, pleading and croaked voice.

There was a long moment of silent before the old man finally answered.

‘’By the Lords and I beg… I hope he does.’’

Meanwhile, the stranger walked a steady gait northwards. At first, the land was dry and parched, but soon small shrubs made their appearance. They grew in number; bear ground made way to vegetation. Then hills came into view and were climbed and not far beyond them laid the woods. Left and right, as far as the eye could see, there laid the forest. There was an ominous feel to it. The trees were densely packed together with tall and narrow trunks. They stood in lines as if someone had planted them and between the trunks laid the deep darkness provided by the leafy roof top. Night fell as the stranger intruded the forest and a full moon rose in the sky on a cloudless night. The stranger made on through the darkness. He was about to stop when a faint white and ghostly glow appeared in the distance. As he made his way towards it, the glow grew in strength and the trees grew further apart. He was almost upon when he came to an abrupt halt and took a step back.

In front of him, stretched out between two trees and two meters high was a garbled spider web. It hung loosely and the threads intertwined in a mess like an old witch’s ghastly hair. It glowed an eerie white under the full moon’s gaze, but some of the glow came from behind the web. The stranger outstretched his hand and rapped the web around his leather gloves making an opening which he slipped through.

It was as if the earth had been embalmed. The entire ground of the circular clearing was covered in the ghostly white web that glowed in the moonlight. Upon the webbed earth, hither and thither, lied small embalmed bundles. The shape of some resembled that of small humans. Eerier still, a thousand of small spiders went to and fro across the clearing like black water. And in the middle, was the entrance of the den. Web covered like all the rest, eight black eyes stared from the embalmed creature on top. Lines of thread stretched out to the ground on either side and light strands stretched across walls of tunnels until lost to the darkness within.

The stranger stood silently. He knelt to the ground, placed his hand upon it and waited.

Nothing.

He waited longer.

Nothing.

He focused harder.

… A faint rumbling.

The stranger rose and entered the tunnel. Engulfed by the darkness, he descended into the depths of the earth.



Elryn -> RE: (AQ) Tales of a warmonger (2/2/2012 17:25:55)

Part 3

A dim light light brushed the walls as the mage went by, fire crackling lightly in his hand. As he turned a corner and darkness returned, obsidian eyes with a cold sparkle opened and followed in silence. For what seemed to be a long time, he trudged on, making his way deeper into the earth. At last, the tunnel ended and he came upon a wide open underground space.

He could neither see how long nor how wide the area was nor did he come to know as he continued. All was quiet, save the dull thud of his steps, when...

KRRIIIIH!!

The mage about-faced. The Kresh abruptly ended its charge, shying away from the light of the flame. A chorus of other shrieks joined in. The mage turned again, another Kresh shied away. He turned to his left, another, to his right, another. He raised his hand and increased the brightness of the flame ten folds.

The resulting shriek pierced his mind like daggers. All around him, in numbers countless, laid the Kresh horde. The cold ground beneath them could not be seen, for they were so many, and still the width and length of the place could not be fathom save for the entrance from which he came. The ceiling however was visible... Some twenty meters above his head, the ceiling was packed with Kresh. They jerked and screeched, eyes sending angry scowls. The cacophony went on for a few moments more when they were interrupted by a deeper more resounding shriek.

The quieter Kresh backed away forming a wide corridor starting at the mouth of the tunnel and continuing into the darkness ahead. There was a moment of silence.

THUMP

The ground shook in the distance.

THUMP

The tremor was nearer this time.

THUMP

...

THUMP

And the Grey Mother appeared.

She was a true giant. From what little of her could be seen, one did not wish to see the rest. Her height frighteningly reached near the ceiling. Her width, naturally, was proportionally large as shown by the distance between the only two legs, massive and sharp at their end, visible in the light. What was visible of her body was entirely grey. A grey comparable to the sickly grey colour of a man's face when he is deathly ill. Here and there in the same colour, strips of seemingly decayed skin hung about. On the crown of its head, lied eight eyes like eight drops of blood lain in a rough half circle. In the middle of them, although smaller and barely visible, lied what seemed like a ninth black eye.

The Grey Mother uttered another shriek. It sounded more like a bellowing roar due to its depth. The Kresh squeaked with malice...

In the cave where no wind blew, winds began to blow.

The Kresh started. They cocked their head to and fro, surprised by the disturbance. The Grey Mother did likewise.

This distraction was all that was needed.

A mass of flames flew and crashed into the Grey Mother's right flank burning it and the top of the right legs. She had time only to screech in pain when two other masses of flames came, one to the left back legs, one to the right front legs, bursting. Staggering, two more came, one hitting her underbelly, the other scorching its head, and she fell in flames.
He walked over to the burning corpse ignoring the pungent smells that rose from the flaming carcase. The Kresh around him made no move to attack. Some wished to retreat, some wished to attack, some did not know but more so, all felt they had lost something integral to their being; one that made them know what to do, one that made them complete, one that they were lost without. They knew this instinctively.

During this time, the mage had scaled the Grey Mother's head. He arrived in front of the row of eyes when he stopped and turn his attention to the ninth one. It was much smaller than any of the other eight ones. The shape was also odd. From what was to be seen, it seemed too perfectly spherical to be a spider eye. Plus, there was no eye lid. The more he looked, the more he was convinced that it was not an eye but rather that something was encrusted inside the Grey Mother's body. He reached for it and, with the sounds that naturally accompany the removal of something from an oozing substance, pulled it out. He did his best to wipe it off only to find it, to his surprise, completely clean a moment later.

In the palm of his leather glove, there lied a small pitch black sphere. At best, it was no larger than half the size of an apple, but it looked like an oversized marble more than anything else. All around the sphere, a strange aura pertained it. It was as if a shadow reached out from the orb, decreasing in strength as it emanated outwards. It looked very much as if the light was being eaten away, leaving only darkness. For a brief moment, the mage even thought he heard faint whispers. He shook his head quickly, placed the thing in the leather satchel concealed within his robes and turned to leave.

KRRIIIIH!!

The mage dashed. All around, the Kresh fell on him like a sweeping shrieking tide. Two Kresh had dropped down from the ceiling and blocked the way out. He muttered under his breath. Two odd bolts raced through the air. A shifting tinge of blue and white pertained them as if it was made of liquid ice. The humidity in the air around froze so that seemed to leave a trail much like a comet would. They crashed into the Kresh transforming instantly into interlocking plates of ice at the impact point while the rest of their body turn snow white, covered in hoarfrost, letting the mage run by undeterred and enter the tunnel.

The Kresh flooded the tunnel like a torrent, keeping a close pace on the usurper. On his side, the mangled walls of the tunnel raced by the mage, a turn to the left, a twist to the right here and there, still no light was to be seen other than his own. Then he saw it, a straight uphill run towards a halo of light. He about-faced and, using the inertia of his dash, push himself of the floor of the tunnel, his back to the exit. To this, the Kresh advanced in a renewed frenzy. They had gained some ground within the tunnel, accustomed to scaling its walls, and now saw a chance for themselves. The mage outstretched his hand. The world seemed to slow…

Fire gathered in bends like a whirlpool, forming a ball of flames that spun at his speeds. It grew and grew until it almost touched the extremities of the tunnel. The Kresh felt dismay.

Time resumed its course, the ball left his hand and he was shot out the tunnel. The crash of a roaring inferno was heard as the ground beneath shook and a torrent of flames left the mouth of the entrance. The fire having subsided, the entrance itself crumbled, falling onto itself. The mage rose to his feet and, after having placed his hand on the ground for a moment, left satisfied.

It was late afternoon when the town came into view. By the time he arrived, the whole town had gathered to greet him. At their head, as always, was the old man. The mage stop and stood in front of them. The old man cleared his throat and said a dry voice:

‘’Is it done?’’ inquired the old man.

The stranger nodded.

For a moment, there was silence. Then the old man dropped his cane and jumped at the mage:

‘’Oh thank you thank you!...’’

Embarrassed, the mage pushed out the sentimental old man as gently as he could. Surprisingly, he had quite a grip. Seems like the old man still had something in him.

‘’Sorry about that.’’ The old man regained his composure. ‘’We are eternally grateful for what you’ve done. If there is anything we can ever do for you, we shall be more than happy to help.’’

‘’Actually, there is something you could assist me with.’’ said the mage

The old man and the villagers flinched. The depth and seriousness of his voice surprised them, especially since they had not heard it before. The mage slowly reached for the satchel concealed within his robes and extracted from it a small leather pouch. Before the old man could ask, the mage took his hand and placed the pouch in ejaculating:

‘’Could you take this pouch of gold? I have too much.’’

The old man eyes bulged out of their sockets for a moment than he burst out laughing. The laughing induced spasms that racked his old body sent him to the floor where he laughed with renewed vigour.

‘’WUHAHA! WUHAHAHAA!...’’

When his fit had passed, he staggered upright and said:

‘’Oh, you cruel, cruel man! I almost split my ribs with that laughter. You…’’

The man stopped when his gaze fell on Elryn. His countenance had not changed and still he held the gold pouch in front of him. Then it occurred to him that the silly tone with which he had said his request had not seemed so silly. It seemed more like… embarrassment?

His eyebrows parted. One shot up his above its eye, the other one hugged it. Both started to twitch at the speed of a hummingbird’s wings. His mouth dropped to the floor. He tried to say something, but it came out like a cat meowing with laryngitis.

‘’You will?’’ inquired Elryn excitedly, ‘’Glad you do. Thank you kindly old chap!’’

Elryn patted the old man on the back and took his leave whistling a gay tune. Some distance out of the village, he heard a chorus of laughter erupt. He reflected a moment, decided there was indeed something humorous to the entire affair (even though he had encountered no undead) and, in a grin, chuckled.

That evening, after a small dinner consisting of game meat, tea and biscuits over a campfire, he settled against a nearby forest tree and dreamed. The fire stirred for a moment than resumed its casual smoldering.



Elryn -> RE: (AQ) Tales of a warmonger (2/18/2012 17:43:25)

Chapter 2
A Sad Tale




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