Thursday, November 7, 2013

Retired Stinking 'Fish

"A'hoy, mate. Another a'hoy then again, aye? A'hoy! Bahaha! Drink up with me, you swag!"

Yes, yes. That was his words I last have spoken with him, about his crew and his Wooden Gallore. He was cheering, probably to cover his undying desperacy eating inside himself. And to cover, he was drinking. Way too much.

This cannot continue anymore, no more. There is still a destiny written for him, still so many accomplishments to achieve by him. He cannot spend a coin of his time lying in this drunken pot with his stomache presenting a complete "greatness". He cannot even remember his own name, it should be remembered...

That what his name is...

What titles do bear that name...

How many suffered from just spilling a word on that name...

And, how many more was going to...

Someone should seek that "Legend" in him, to bring him to a stand at least. Kuromelt may do that, but not anyone in this army. Noone can. We need him so alive. We need a true Captain, someone who is smelling blood, someone who had seen the inside of a Kraken , someone who looked inside the eyes of Meatless, someone who can drink to death and die so, then still able see the next light on the morning and keeps sailing to achieve even more deeds.

We need someone who had spoken to the ears of Dead. We need tha' Captain. We need Captain Oger. Oh and don't you forget to remind him his "Stone", Wooden Gallore may still have a chance.

Daman Massacre

Daman, one of the chiefs shifted his allegiance to Higlaef as a wicked barbarian while giving up his claim on Western Cave Villages as the Lord of the Realm, a noble title which could be later followed with at least noble deeds. But, his decisions led him so far from successing any. Instead he claimed an evil personality for himself and his party of barbarians, terrorizing all across the neighbourhood of the Bone Tribes whether it be the enemy or not. That doesn't make a difference for Daman, a dark soul as he is.

And the "Daman Massacre" is an important event in the history of Southernmor, Southern lands of the Filan. It is said, Daman was NOT on any march for a long time and Orkul wasn't summoning him for any quest or calling him to arms, which eventually meant a lot for Daman as he felt being discarded. Which was NOT the case at all.

Orkul Higlaef was thinking Daman is a man of terror, if the proper opportunities are given. And therefore, as he believed only way to use Daman in his most effectiveness was to let him stay loosen a bit while still doing his service for Galin, the Skeleton god. The very existence all Boners do believe and put their faith on. So, he wasn't summoning Daman to any raid or assigning him to quests to make him think he needs to do things by himself, means creating his own opportunities.

Yet, he couldn't think one of these opportunities would be siding with Remnald, the Leader of the raiding parties of Kuromelt. Higlaef couldn't notice this threachery at his own side even though was being warned by few other Chiefs and specially, his brother until it was too late.

It was one of the days just like any other, snow was pouring from the peaks of the mountains of Olde down below to countryside and the Higlaef territories. Hunters were tracking trails of game and bears for the feast to celebrate the outstanding glory achieved in "Battle of Veins". Enemy was withdrawn from the Southern Lands of the realm with terrible casualties, and Ressalt of the Twin Kingdoms was taken prison. Guards were on asleep thinking no danger would come today, however a few of them was still awake and holding their post, while covering the rest of the guards' situation which could serve as an excuse later in case of any unexpected event like an instant visit of the Woodlings. Who were quite silent these days, no grave news came to tents bearing the words of another attack.

Ah, beautiful maidens were on their own tasks to prepare the feast. It was a busy day, silent too...way too much silence were in and around the resting army of Higlaef.

And, it was then...

So suddenly...

First, only one horn sang his song, reminding the arrival of Kuromelt raiders coming beyond the Seas,
Then, it was two of them which sang their own song, different yet more grinding this time,
And again...they were blown...
Then one more time, while the third horn couldn't be heard on joining the ritual, it was the desperate screams of guards above the gates which was heard before, then came the song of the swords being pulled over from their sheaths. 

They were inside. A whole army of Boner, alongsided with battalions of Woodlings. They were cheering, singing, marching, killing anyone and anything on their way to Orkul's tent. There were hundreds and thousands. But hundreds couldn't stand a chance against such a gaze. Thousands were slaughtered, including the three Chiefs of Black, Hunter Kiron, Orkul's brother and the Bard Egill. Death of the Maier was not put on records that day. That was the wish of Higlaef. He wouldn't stand his own blood being marked on such a massacre.

Luckily, Higlaef could escape with his lords and his loyal group of remaining Elite Boners. But he was badly injured by a Woodling spear. Then he passed up...

Daman was proud and glorious. He looked around his own massacre, and just smiled realizing Higlaef was already long gone. That was good news for Daman, as he was fearing it wasn't going to be his own sword that was going to taste the blood of an Orkul, the Higlaef's blood. Now that he escaped, he still had his chance. Not that day but some other day...

When he woke up again, he was home. When he stood up, he realized it was no home of his anymore. When he began to walk, he was already summoning all and everyone under his banner and command to the...Steel Caves in three days. Those wouldn't come was going to be specially taken care by Higlaef, and that too was added on the letter sent to each Boner. He was filled with anger, lust and thirst but above all...loss of love. He was never going to forgot that day, and he never did.

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Evelyn, the Sorceress of Delusion


The life of a thief is never too easy, neither is a Lord's or a Blacksmith's. It is though; full of unpredictability, luck and delusions...but not though enough for Evelyn. A relic from ancient times, the times of the great Alkamor the Second, very king of the High Kingdom, defeater of Hulog and Protector of the Realm and Justice or the times when the order of Ilkuon existed. And, it was one of the members of the order where Evelyn comes from. She was borned in secrecy within the magical walls of the Tower of Harmall, where the peak of the mountain lying through, meets with the top of the tower, exactly there, where she was given birth at. Yes, but there is a story behind this all, aye? Listen me now, lad...

It was one of the glorious days of the High Kingdom, the king was returning from another bloody victory over the hills close to dying lands. Even though, he and his army were outnumbered, they were able to withstand the foe with an unseen bloodthirst and will for living. That day, in fact...they gave the Legions of Cirinion a terrible blaster. Half of their commanders were slain too. Then they fled and High Kingdom raised once more, the Rainwell was going to pour a lot longer...

With the victory achieved and enemy withdrawn with terrific casualties...Alkamor was proud and well satisfied, was marching back to his home. Until a messenger arrived carrying a very important news for the king himself, as he was urging swiftly into Alkamor's tent. And, the messenger finally was inside the tent, taking a look to this tired but proud and strong-looking man in front of himself, his very majesty.

He presented the message with all his pleasantries, bowing to the ground. It was an invitation from High Sorcerer Ilydan, calling the king and all his army to his towers for a honoring feast. It was least expected, but well received for the king's side as there was a little tiny note within the wall of text, a coded one single word only so few people can understand, like the kings.


It meant "Trial" in High language. King knew what that actually meant.

So, upon the rising of the new dawn, he and his army was already on his way to towers of blistering. And, they arrived.

A huge crowd of people and servant-imps greeted them as they entered. Cheering, shouting, flapping, dancing and singing all together to honor their presence in their own land. Except the sorcerers themselves. They are not that great when it comes to things below magic, like emotions or sensations. They ran out of them a long time ago. But, the greetings of the sorcerers and Ilydan were so warm and welcoming that put a smile on King Alkamor's face which invited him into even more now, to return the message.

He ordered his commanders and captains to camp around the towers. But called one specific captain of his with him inside the tower of Harmall, to the royal feast. Captain Iglemor, son of the Reylan Minaor the very infamous blacksmith in Twin Kingdoms. He invited him in, and so he left his post and joined with the King and Ilydan on the stairs to the tower. And, here they were in the feast.

It was very-well organized. Everything was set to ready long before they half-passed the way to towers. Candles were...everywhere. So were the foods, dancing womans, Ire was excotic enough for Captain Iglemor to lose his focus. With the Alkamor and Ilydan realizing the shocked face of Captain, they laughed each other and told him to have fun as they were heading an opposite way, to the stairs leading top of the tower.

Captain was way too impressed to notice anything as he was already surrendered by different entertainers dancing wildly around him and all other royals in his army. He almost couldn't make to the feast table, if it wasn't the Lord Ithol who pulled him out of the entertainers, also saying; "Be careful when roaming around, Iglemor. Those women can skin you for your "love"." *Laughs as loud as possible.*

While these were happening, Iglemor found himself sitting in the same table next to all other lords, seniors, dukes and royals who sum up all the army of Alkamor in the end. Like the Lord Ithol who just pulled him out of that circle of entertainers, who was leading also Iglemor's battalion in battle, or the Duke Erin who merged his own army with the strongest and mightiest King of all the time to gain even more influence and power. Then the dinners began to be served.

Alkamor was curious as Ilydan was still leading him even higher parts of the tower, talking about his latest discovery in ruins of U'kul and Alkamor was answering with a smile. Then finally and quite absurdly, he broke his own silence.

Alkamor: old friend. Are you certain this time?
Ilydan: Ah, Alkamor. Every man can make mistakes in his life, but sorcerers only make once. And, as you might understand what we are trying to achieve is not by our hands but the more unholy souls' work. We might even awake some deadly spirits or raise an abomination enough to devour all this tower. Nothing is certain.
Alkamor: That still doesn't answer my bidding. I am tired of waiting, been how many years I wonder since I heard a word from you.
Ilydan: I..ı sorry, Alkamor. I was busy. So busy finding this right soul.
Alkamor: What kept you so busy that prevented you from writing a single letter?
Ilydan: You shall see. Here we are. Open the door for our King, Shorlet. Please.
Alkamor: Shorlet?
Ilydan: How rude of us. I forgot to introduce you my most loyal friend. Greet our king, shorlet.
Alkamor: I think he doesn't know his boundaries of rudeness, aye? I still can't see him.
Ilydan: Like most minds, you are taking everything that has a soul as a living and breathing see-able existence. How can't you just see this little kind soul opening the gates for you right now?
*A loud voice follows by.*
Alkamor: I should have your head cut-off already, friend. Right, so is she inside that room for real?
Ilydan: I swear upon all the old gods, remnants of seven ruins, undying souls and foul rooms of Hellen that she is there waiting for you, my friend.
Alkamor: Then my friend, I shall or can never thank you enough for this. I will be joining with you as soon as possible. And the Iglemor...
*Ilydan turns back to ladders, down below to the royal feast after he smiles his friend in a way that the Iglemor's work is already done.*

And, Alkamor finally arrives to meet with his Tirin. An ancient Raha. An amaze of existence, a soul of undying will and pleasure, such a pleasure for even a King. Rest of the story is unknown to us, my lad. But, that is how Evelyn came to the life. She is the daughter of Great King Alkamor the second, the defeater of Hulog and protector of the realm and later the...Artifacter. But, definitely she has no mother as a Raha is no living thing, it is a soul summoned or found so rare only for complete renewal and satisfaction for a man. A raha can turn into most wonderful woman for the man she chooses to be with. And grants him a child of unique assets then dies and casts her spirit into a next dead Raha in Hellen. Speciality of a child borned from a Raha is...immunity. To all. Everything and Anything. As long as her father lives or even after he dies, it shouldn't pass the sixth Moonrising which happens twice in a year.

So, here we are now facing Evelyn, the torn-apart magician, crown-breaker, life stealer and the...Artifacter. She is usually seen around the lands that meet with the sea pouring through endless boundaries, however her whereabouts is never exactly known. She is a completely misty trail to keep track of. They say she usually wears a cape of blue linen with brown tatoos embedded on, tatoos that applies Delusion to viewer. What else, a leather belt with mystical stones attached on her cloak, with different shapes and sizes not so different than one another. There are six stones overall that is attached to stone, and none is same except the two in the back which supports the cloak by pouring white mist below the cape that grants the Evelyn her invisibility. Other four stones are her Mana, and each stones has a different rune written on it which are; Darkness, Blindness, Silence and Fear. These four stones are where she takes her magic from.
She has lots of rings and amulets all around her body. They say Amulet of Skolt is also one of them...but who knows. She is also reminded with crystal-blue eyes, beauty as ever can be. A complete delusion itself. With red and brown-mixed long straight hairs falling down from her head through her chest and ends there.
What completes all this set are her gloves of the Wielder, an artifact only ancient sorcerers used to possess, like Ilydan himself. Grants the wielder a total proficiency of Mana and Uha control. (Different kinds of magic and spell.) Her boots, as they say is made of unweavering lines of Arin cotton. The softiest cotton of all. But not too soft to enchant it with Spells. There is also one huge black linen in each part of the boots, which is unknown to this world. No, no...she became a complete artifacter now. It will be though to seek her out by yourself all alone. Ah...what if you are strong enough to join the order of the Fiery Shields on their quest? What, then?

I advise you think twice, her gaze is not her only option when destructing a soul. She has other ways to penetrate...keep your eyes open. You never know what other benefits of being Rahaborn grants to Evelyn beside her beauty, lad.

Thursday, October 31, 2013

Southernmor Steel

Ah, those voices of smith hammers back in old days...

In my time, lad...we didn't have so many blacksmith around the land. We had so few, select ones who we could trust our steel with. So few, yet so rare. Gifted people, as we used to say in my time. And, their hammers...were NOT an ordinary one. Never. Even that thick voice coming out everytime they were hit, it was as if we were that steel. 

Those hammers had a weird grip, the part where they are held was of a material something between Clay and Leather.. Weird, aye? It was said, that hammers were melting its clay inside itself everytime they were hit to the steel down to its sharpest form. And the leather was for the wielder to not burn his hand, as the heat must be outstanding otherwise. But, don't you fool yourself thinking any of the things I just told to you was normal that time, I am talking about a Forge with thousands of degrees inside, burning like a Calamourn itself. Yet, smiths worked there all the time. That leather never deformed and that clay covering around the hammer never emptied. I don't even need to mention about the smith not burning like a Fiarelor while inside of that burning pot. That was the good ol' yet weird times. 

I bet those smiths still lie somewhere around my childhood town, perhaps still there to serve people their fine art. As, the Southernmor Steel never dries, neither dies. Just like its makers...

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Arena of Othemur

Othemur, one of the many gods of war. In his arena, pride counts for nothing. Neither does the glory, fame, fortune, honor, renown, courage, bravery...nothing counts for anything. But only to please. Pleasing the Pleasing the pocket of the Then what...

Quote from the Falor Volume.III, says the Black Mage Korin...

"In his Arena, there stood a tiny pillar with runes written on each side with different context. With each dead, runes would glow and cast a ray of light up to the sky, pointing out the infinity all across the otherworld right to the gates of Caramor. Knocking the gates of keeper, then returns back to underworld where the caster is. And the truth is...pillar was always there. So was the structures around it and we never thought the possibility of having runes all around that structure. I read the runes myself, the foul language used there was so vulnerable yet so compelling and stunningly chaotic. It was an obvious identification."

Tournaments, Duels, Hunts...arena is the place to graciously present any entertaining salvation to whoever desires. Great kings of the time used to wage wars for the possesion of the arena. Heroes used to fight each other for a drink of Horr. Brothers used to backstab each other for the keys of secret doors of the arena. Yet...they didn't know the Runic language and that is what brought their own salvation...

 Kings warred, soldiers won. Heroes fought, swords killed. Brothers betrayed, sisters sworn. In the end, Othemur got it all. He seized everything and devoured all of within the Arena. His endless hunger must come to an end. boy. Whatever happens in arena, stays with Othemur. And only himself. Only if the Pillar could be destructed...what, then?

Curon and Conar

They say two swords in a battle...was never deadlier before. Rumor has it, life of these two man had been struggling and challenging. But, remember to not trust Rumors in Southernmor, there is a different portion of truth in every Southern's heart. Listen carefully to me, boy...

Far away to the Gazing Hills, where the Polion and Glaciar meets each other with the Bridge of Ol, built upon the Great River of Ural, flooding through the High Pass, within the mountains of Grulthir...there...yes...right there lived a folk. A folk, with uniqueness and rarity. A folk, one day would give seed to two valiant soul which were going to change the fate of time...

To be continued...

The Great Lance

An old fairytale, an unweavering dream, a long forgotten story...

For thousands of ages, Southernmor kept this legend living, to no avail. It is a paradise of unknowning. An amaze of existence's poor mind. Where hope comes and goes by with each time story is told to a child, or a bard, or a King, or a Priest. Except the one...The truth lies somewhere.

A quote from the Oran "The First Book of Three", telling the story of immortal Baldamor defeating the Tarkhol, the once-mighty archlord. (Script 17*, page 421)

"Then he came bearing the mark of hope, taking a look down upon the armies standing before his homeland on a very hill stands tall and sharp, flashing out a complete view of greatness of the reinforcements.
I could hear the silent voices lying through the besieged walls whispering the same thing one after: Lance. Oh yes, yes...With his Lance he was...with tha, he brought hope. Along with others...Toer, Lance the Second, Loyer, Sir Magi...what a glorious view! Seven side of the wall was feasting within their bloodlust now more than ever. Then, we saw it all. Exactly all of it."

And, a few pages later...

"Within the time...I forgot, I am told of what I have forgotten yet it was never enough. I know I am only happy as I remember why I am so grateful now that I held it up with my own hands after fourty-seven years of service. Or, thought I did hold, I cannot race with the time anymore...but..."

Rest of the page is found burnt inside the ruins of Analon's Chavillion. By purpose or an accident, we are unsure. Page is declared. On the count of six, while the light is out of his lantern...ask the Wanderer.

Wanderer will be answering unbound to time. Hearing the grumpy voices, ey? I hear them too. That is when story-telling is a grace of wisdom and story-tellers lack that all. Except the one single. Find him, seek out the Lance and reveal the truth. The of an immortal or a legendary artifact waiting to be possesed? Or, perhaps...

Monday, October 21, 2013

Absent of Danger - A short story

Absent of Danger
Episode One

8th of Autumn, year is 1257...

As if yesterday was not just though to handle, now i should set on way to the Barracks, for my last watch report. Bah, quite a lovely task, took a long walk all around the coast to see what to come from ashore, continue from old forest road and return where i started this watch from, which part of this report would at least show any entertaining information to keep these authority lovers busy and hopefully away from my coin?

Bah! Crap on'em, what i earn from this mission is the reason of my existence among these. Although, no doubt their or my existence in here shall end soon enough. There is danger in south, generally speaking, i feel quite ready to face any kind of danger as long as these news keeps coming. Yet, there is more than that...

Swadian parties does seem to be wandering through the land to no avail, we all do know and are in knowledge of Harlaus' actions against our desperate Lords who are just willing to switch side at any time, specially Jarl Aedin. From what i remember and hear from what others hear, he does nothing for good of the country but just sitting drunken and fucking blinded of dangers coming out.

Anyway, it is just too early to talk about such matters. I gotta put this report in proper place. Ah! Here is my wind, shivers my chest and whispers the news of cold days, absent of blood for now. Neverthless, the day is soon, it shall come.

Walking through the streets, seeing the only Inn in town with its once existent fashion now just grows little and little with all those smugglers in it. I don't care them, but their numbers just keep growing larger and what we do is just keep increasing it. The day for rebellion is to come as well, does noone ever question the reason of their presence out of those cages in midday?

There is worse, they are grouping; i hear them talking about some mysterious speeches by an old chuff who seems to be trying to find an opportunity to start a civil war among us. No, this should be stopped, but with whose ears to talk and again; from whose mouths to get an answer.

Ah, here he is. Urthel Ondoel, an old Huscarl. Same stories all over again, with all those bravery screams and countless glories. He sure was a great deal in the army, but not because of his skills in battles, speaking so much and so direct to any who oppose himself; he was utterly agressive and almost blind to any incoming strike. Calming him down is no different from taming a boar how to not attack. I usually just skip him over, but the days are returning us Huscarls again and he will find no better brother-in-arms than me again.

Right, the Barracks. The last place a Huscarl ever wants to be, taking commands from a wretched shit; Seanorl Javer. A man absent of bravery, knowledge...

Yet, the only man i must obey without any words. He is a man of duty, sure what a Kingdom needs, but what a Jarl does not need at all. Like the call is near and he will be here as he always has been, writing and all. Again, men of 3rd squad enters in to report, and as usual i just need to sit back and wait for them to finish their bussiness.

Yes, they are done and going out, my call.

Quote from: Conversation between Aethorl and Seanorl
Aethorl ~ Mornings, sire.
Seanorl ~ Again, Aethorl.
Aethorl ~ Mind if i ask why?
Seanorl ~ No, Aethorl. Not that, but your face. Must be a shame to be here for you, yet we share not the same feelings. The day for battle men are to come and when such days are to go, the battleground will be left to us, men with words, who has something to say.
Aethorl ~ Pray the gods to make it sooner, winds often whisper of coming danger to my ears, shivering them. But i am lucky, yours would not even make it there.
Seanorl ~ Hmm, your report, Aethorl. I am not seeking of your voice.
Aethorl ~ Same as always. No see, no sea.
Seanorl ~ Good that we got something good to hear. Danger, away from our walls. You are done for today, Aethorl. Have a good day.
Aethorl ~ Ahm...not so quite. These smugglers, what is the reason of their presence among us?
Seanorl ~ In the past days, i often would not try to think about this. The reason is simple, absent of authority. I am no warrior, nor do i seek such a title. But for one can command his soldiers to do what they are meant to, one should at least know how to grab a sword. At least, that is how it works around here. And, as long as these dire news keep coming, i am not going to waste a coin of my time for these "low-profiles".
Aethorl ~ You talk of these men can even rise up against you and when this happens, you are not going to be able to do anything?
Seanorl ~ Ah c'mon, Aethorl. Here is not the capital, neither is a castle. A pathetic camp placed to watch Northern Ashores. Now, do yourself a goodness and wait for your summon. Time draws near and near...

There are more important deals which should be handled before the call, i presume so. Seems like, we were not Absent of Danger for all this time...