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...