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Sol's Storyteller of the month - November.
Posted: 20 Oct 2004 11:48 AM |
This month's topic is "Gods in Vives"
Writing style is a short story of about 500 words (but I won't be counting )
Your tale can be about anything from an encounter your PC had with a God, to a person who disbelieves, to a sermon from a priest of Midor!
All entries must be submitted by 21st November. I will add a post at 7pm UK time on this date to say that the competition is closed, no entries will be accepted after that post. A winner will be announced by 28th Nov 7pm latest.
Please post all of your entries as replies to this thread
Happy story telling .
Sol.
[Edit - please make sure only entries are posted here, please post any questions to the other thread - thanks] |
- Solitaire, Wizard
- Ilyana Fiirhaart, High Priestess of Naruth |
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Re: Sol's Storyteller of the month - November.
Posted: 21 Oct 2004 12:16 PM |
Lani spun around, a bead of acrid sweat running down her forehead like a lonesome tear.
The blade in her on hand pointed towards the floor at the end of its sweep, and her head faced up to scan the surrounding- unmoving paintings on a far off wall.
Nothing moved, save for her chest heaving with exhaustion underneath the now scarred and torn gladiatorial breastplate.
Silence.
A short, faltering breath, then silence once more.
Her voice, cracking like summer earth under the strain, rang around the halls of Lynaeum:
“How much longer will you taunt me like this, bitch?”
The reply was soft, smooth, even pleasing:
“A while longer at least, it would seem.”
Lani frowned, passing the words of her tutor across her mind again and again.
“The only hope for the doomed is to accept that they have no hope.”
Lani tightened her grip on her longsword, bringing it up to bear with both hands.
“I am not a prize to be won!”
The answer was not an answer, but the roar of hell itself as spurts of flame flew from the walls, and formed themselves into the images of men. Seizing swords of the flame that sired them, the abominations charged at the stocky gladiator, who ran at them with a cry on her lips:
“Lynaeum shall not fall!”
The gladiator parried their blows skilfully with her longsword, yet her cloak caught the flaming hair of one of her assailants. Quickly, like a starving wolf, the flames tore up, along, across, and over the cloak, sheathing Lani in flames.
Yet the fight did not stop. Blow after blow was landed upon her, and blow after blow she landed. Yet the figures continued to come, until Lani herself was pinned near the wall, lashing out as a lioness who defends her cubs, ravaged by burns and open wounds.
All of this wore down the gladiator, as the file wears down a great oak tree, stood though it is tall atop a mountain. A sharp thrust shattered her well forged blade, and she was forced to throw the hilt as a dart into the multitude assailing her.
So began her downfall, for quick though she drew her other blade from her hip, a deft glance still pierced her side. Falling to her knees she swung, she swung…
Darkness fell.
Silence, yet a voice pierced her swimming head the same, pierced her heart, her soul, her very essence. A calm, melodic voice, purring to the conquered victim.
“My wait is over, Lani.”
No reply was heard from the fallen gladiator, death rushing to embrace her tired limbs.
A final gasp rang through the battle filled halls of the falling Lynaeum, this fight ignored among all the others. Though the bloodstained halls of the city, not one man or woman, they say, noticed the disappearance of the champion Lani. Those precious, blessed, few who survived the fall of their city who wondered in later days assumed that she lay still in there, or perhaps had escaped across the lands like so many of them had, scattered ineffectually to the uncaring winds.
Naruth allowed herself a smile. She had been successful. |
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Re: Sol's Storyteller of the month - November.
Posted: 21 Oct 2004 01:34 PM |
The Arrow of Aros, as told by Celdor Jr'ense
Elves do grow old you know, but not like humans or dwarves, or any of the mortal races. They don't grow wrinkled and grey. They wear their years like a mantle of stars and as they age their night grows darker, and their stars stranger... This is a tale of an old elf, a proud elf whose years brought, not wisdom, but a fey heart. As year flowed into year in his life he withdrew more and more, travelled farther and farther, and spoke less and less, for he was always a wanderer. His name was Cleyen Syldor, which in the language of the high elves means "sliver of light".
Cleyen lived his life through the lives of those he watched. He stood aloof and watched everything with his bright eyes. He would enter the homes of humans at night, during the new moon, and catalogue the lives of the people he found. He would look at their trinkets and baubles, their fineries, their rags if they were poor. He kept a strange thing, something that was very rare, less so to elves, but unheard of for common men. He kept a book of parchment, bound with a cover of a rare wood, and in it he would draw the faces of the people he watched. There are those who believe that a picture of a person steals their eternal soul - so they will never let anyone draw a picture of them. Perhaps this is what Cleyen was doing, stealing a little piece of the spirit of each person he drew.
When he entered a house he moved as only a true elf can, and he was never caught, for he never made a noise, or accidentally bumped into anything, or knocked anything over. The sliver of the new moon was enough for him, with his elvish eyes, to see as clearly as a human child would see in broad daylight. And he would smile his secret smile, and stand over his victims in the dark, and sketch their faces with a silver pen.
His book of parchment was a wonderous thing. There was something magical about it, for he drew the faces of thousands people, but never ran out of parchment. As many faces as he drew, there was always a new page for a new face. And this was how Cleyen lived. Like a wild spirit, feeding on the lives that he watched at night, growing stranger and stranger as each year ran into the next. Each year twelve homes visited, and faces added to his strange book for each home.
One year, early in the spring, he found himself in the woods of a land that he had never walked in before. It was a rough land, and there were soldiers on the road, and fields full of tents and trenches, for this land was a land at war, and smoke rose from watch fires, and the sound of sentries calling to each other at each hour of the watch carried on the night air like the cold cries of hungry winter ravens.
Now Cleyen did not pray to any god. He did not believe in gods of war, or love, he did not believe in the gods of men and dwarves, or of good and evil, or of law and chaos. He knew that priests had great powers, and he knew the names of all the gods, and all the stories told by mothers to wide eyed children. He even knew that the gods existed, but he did not believe "in" any of them. To him, they were like the soft earth, or the whispering wind, or the bright sun. They were there, but they were not for him to worship, only to understand, and use if it suited his purposes, but never to honour, or love. The only emotion he felt for the gods was the fear that a smooth rock might have for the stream that wears it away slowly as the ages of the earth flow from one to the next.
So this early spring, as he entered this new land, that was obviously a land at war, he gave no thought to gods, or angels, or the spirits of dead soldiers, he only thought about the pictures he would draw on the night of the new moon.
Now the gods are closer to elves than they are to humans, or the other, short lived races, and this becomes more true as the centuries pass and each elf ages. For the gods live in the spirit world, and elves hold part of their life in the spirit world, not a "soul" or "spirit", like the soul of a human, but something in their bodies and minds that exists in part in the spirit world. As each elf ages the spirit world takes a stronger hold, and each elf lives more and more in that world, and less and less in the world of earth, wind, fire and water.
The gods can let a human live, without acknowledgment, for what are the thoughts of a mere mortal, to a god? But rarely will a god let an elf live its life without taking its proper due, without the songs and light, that only an elf can bring, even if it is only one night among many, given to songs and and blood red wine poured at the foot of an altar, however small it may be. But Cleyen gave no thought to the "gods" for him they were a bare fact, like dry words on a page, not worthy of a song, not worthy of wine, not worthy of the one thing he held precious above all things, his magical book with its silver pen.
When the night of the new moon came Cleyen stole, silent as death, to edge of a field full of tents and trenches. Past the bored guards earning their pitiful gold, past the watch fires, past the trenches filled with crude wooden spikes, past the cook fires and the tents full of sleeping men, to the largest tent in the field, a tent with more than one chamber, and two alert, polished soldiers standing at attention on either side of the entrance. He stole like a shadow, like a piece of the night itself, unseen, unheard, with no hint of his life carried on the air in sound or smell.
He moved into the tent, unchallenged and walked to the second chamber, where a man lay sleeping on a cot, with his sword beside the bed, and his polished armour on a stand nearby, ready for quick action, should the call come. Cleyen stood at the foot of the bed and smiled his strange smile, took out his book, and his silver pen, and began to draw.
But the gods had decided that night to play a trick on him. This night was the night they claimed as their own, for the centuries of neglect. When he reached for his pack, where he should find his book and his pen, he was surprised to see, not the book, but a large black, intricately carved bow strapped to the side of his pack. When he looked in the customary pocket for his silver pen, he found, not a silver pen, but a strange silver-white arrow. When, in his shock, he turned to look at the man lying on the cot, he saw, not a man lying on a cot, but a supernaturally beautiful elf, clad in green and silver, with shoulder length silver-grey hair, sitting on a living throne of wood and leaves.
When the elf spoke, he spoke with a voice like the presence of light lined thunderclouds building to wash an ancient forest clean. Cleyen could never say afterward whether he heard actual words, or whether he only heard what the god meant. "My strange child." he said. "Too long you have ignored me, too long you have ignored your people, too long you have filled your meaningless book with pieces of mortal lives, now you will draw for me."
"But you will no longer draw," continued Aros, for this is the One that appeared to him,"with a silver pen in your strange book, you will draw this sacred bow, and you will nock this arrow, for your people have need of you." "You will steal, not small pieces of the spirits of humans, halfling and dwarves, but the lives of my enemies."
And it is said, when the needs of Ferein are at their greatest, when terrible danger threatens, on the night of the new moon, a shadow with an intricately carved black bow, and a single silver-white arrow, stalks the enemies of the fair ones. And death comes with a single arrow, and if you could see a face in the shadow, it would be a strange face wearing the years of its life like a mantle of stars, with a strange cold smile, and wild bright eyes that glitter in the sliver of the new moon. |
"Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;"
T.S. Eliot |
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Re: Sol's Storyteller of the month - November.
Posted: 03 Nov 2004 10:37 AM |
Meditations of an elf
Ferein was quiet. Not so much as the song of a single bird disturbed the predawn stillness as the cloaked and hooded young elven woman walked gracefully up to the gate.
She slung her bow and bowed respectfully as always to the Warriors who stood alert, even at this early hour.
"Vmaaanelvla Fmeaniramla," she said as she straightened with a quick smile.
Not expecting an answer, she walked lightly through the gate and along the walkway to the fountain where she cleansed herself and drank before walking on. Passing with barely a sound down the columned greensward, she paused once more at the head of the rough-hewn steps before bowing deeply and approaching the statue and harp, where she bowed once more, laid her bow on the ground, and knelt to pray.
"Vmailan Elala, ean ela E, aeym ceailc laamelillan Acelilceil.
Su anirillnla oem aeym nyelanelyaw tymeananyaneel illw anira laanmalvanir ane tymeananyan sa omealwla illw aeym tyaetyca.
E ameycw illan anirilan aey nyelanelya ane tymeananyan aniras
El maanyml aey irilela illa aelam sa ylwaelv ceailcana illw waeleaneel"
She finished her customary prayer and remained on her knees in silence for a few moments, before standing slowly and bowing once more.
Normally, she would back away to the stop of the steps and bow to take her leave before heading off for another day, but today was different. She felt changed somehow. Bending briefly to lift her bow from the ground she walked silently over to the edge of the grove. Laying her cloak on the ground against the early morning dew she sat, brushed the blonde hair from her eyes, laid the bow on the ground before her and sat gazing at it with her deep green eyes.
She had yet to even use it but even here, just looking at it, she could sense the sheer power contained within the weapon. She had done as He had asked and made not one, but two bows. One for herself and the other, to her surprise, for Lord Aros himself. Collecting the necessary materials at great danger not only to herself but to the others who had helped with some of what was required.
Then, just the night before she had knelt in this very grove and put every ounce of her hard-earned knowledge and expertise into its creation, watched as she had prayed and joined her mind with that of her Lord to create what now lay before her. The black shaft seemed to glow of its own will in the reflected light of the two idols, the mithril components glittered softly and, even now, she struggled to make out the string which phased in and out of existence as she watched... as it had done when she had so painstakingly woven it on the loom.
In a few short hours she would leave with her friends to confront the demon and attempt, with the aid of the weapon before her, to rescue the young girl who had suffered at its hands because of her... because of whatever it was she carried within herself that they desired.
She knew also that whatever happened it would not end there. There would still be perils to be faced, friends to be aided, a people to protect. Yet now she would do it as Aros' Chosen. An honour, and to her the greatest she could possibly imagine. A reward for the years of loyalty and devotion.
Gently lifting the bow from the ground she laid it across her knees, leant back against the green slope and closed her eyes against the tears which now ran freely down her cheeks.
Her life had always been one of loneliness, yes she had friends, some were very good friends; but nobody who shared her thoughts... who shared her views or seemed to appreciate the ideal towards which she strove. None who truly understood her. There was always a distance, an invisible barrier which seemed to keep others at arm's length, to keep them from getting too close. She knew there were inevitable comparisons between her and her sister, that there were those who could not understand how, though they looked almost identical, they weren't alike in other ways. In some ways it was due to the differences in their upbringing, Bronwyn had grown up in company with others, while Elvalia had grown up alone, fending for herself. Even now she was awkward among others, aware that at times there were those she offended and even angered with her bluntness, her directness.
There were those who had argued with her that there was always a choice, that whoever one followed for whatever reason, anybody was free to choose a path, to do as they would. It was something she had always felt difficult to answer, to argue with, though in her case she had always felt that the opposite was true... that she had no choice.
As she sat there now, weeping, she knew why. She had made her choice, the little girl had made her choice when the silver-haired elf had held out His hand and said. "Come, this is no place for you." Since that day she had felt safe, wherever she was, whatever dangers she faced. She had felt safe because since that day she had followed as He led. She knew now that though there had been many years when she had felt lonely, that there were times even now when she felt this way, she had never been truly alone.
"Sa Cemw, E tymila E amecc irilela anira laanmalvanir oem anirela." She whispered, as she wiped her eyes on one of her sleeves.
There was a glow within the grove then, visible behind even the closed lids of her eyes and into her head came the vision of herself sat in exactly the same place, while behind her stood the same silver haired elf. Resting a gentle hand on her shoulder He looked down at the woman and said with a warm smile, "Aey amecc."
Startled, Elvalia opened her eyes and turned quickly to look behind her, seeing nothing. She stared down then at the bow still lying across her knees, realising that it was the source of the light she had noticed moments before, that it still glowed now. Tentatively, she took hold of it and her eyes widened briefly as she realised that He was watching, that he too held the bow she had created and even now had turned his watchful gaze in her direction.
She relaxed, gave herself up to the warmth that settled over her and, realising that the sun was rising beyond the mist, stood and took her cloak beneath her arm. Casting a last lingering glance at the harp whe walked slowly off towards the walkway and whatever lay ahead with the gentle voice still ringing in her ears.
"Aey ilma laelam ilcela nyirecw, aey ilcela irilela faal" |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Re: Sol's Storyteller of the month - November.
Posted: 05 Nov 2004 01:26 PM |
| *bump to remind people to post* |
- Solitaire, Wizard
- Ilyana Fiirhaart, High Priestess of Naruth |
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Calia's redempton
Posted: 07 Nov 2004 05:14 PM |
Calia stood there with shame and self-loathing as the angel looked at her. She was so appalled with herself. She stood outside of Doc’s tavern in Buckshire. The Angel looked at her, she could feel the goodness from this being, it simply flowed from it. As it looked at her she looked at the ground not sure what to do. You will take yourself to the highest place and you will pray for what you want. You will not be aided in this task and you will not helped should you fall. If you agree you know what you have to do.
The angel didn’t even wait for an answer she just flew away. Calia quickly became aware of the people stood around watching. She looked at them all and she didn’t really take in who they were or why she was there. All that mattered to her was to carry out the only think that might save her from herself.
She walked to the traders in Port Royal buying as many potions as she could carry, healing, strength, antidotes, invisiblity and most of all barkskin she was so laden with potions she feared she would fall over. As she walled back to Buckshire she thought how surprised she had been that her prayers had been answered. She feared that they never would again and that she would be of no use to anyone.
When Calia got to Buckshire she looked to the south she had been there so many times and had not feared it for such a long time. The giants there were no match for her when she had her magic to protect her, but now she was weak she was incomplete it was very unsettling. She sighed and then set off pass the guards to Fiirkrag Pass.
She had her long sword in hand and her bow strapped to her back, her shield in her arm she walked up the hill. The sword glowed pulsing white as it had done since she owned it. She walked and walked she was looking so hard that she nearly didn’t notice the rain that fell from the sky. It pounded on her armour and her hair was soaked within a few moments. She listened intently for any sound and then it came. It wasn’t the sound she was expecting she was listening for footfall now a whistling sound it was coming from above her, and she realised just in time. Calia dived forwards along the grass as the bolder smashed into the rock face behind her. She rolled over and with the loudest of cracks she blocked the part tree the giant was using to club her with. She stabbed the sword into the ground and with all the strength she pulled herself between the giants legs and rolling she got up and turned on it. The giant looking bewildered for a moment soon found where she went as she plunged her sword into it and then attempted to push it back with her shield. Her feet slid on the wet grass and she merely pushed herself back. The giant bellowed turning and hitting Calia back, her armour talking most of the power from the strike. She backed from the giant with fear in her eyes she couldn’t beat it she wasn’t strong enough she was going to die and be left here alone. As she walked back she found the ledge to the level below. She looked at the giant as he closed on her and she wondered if she would survive the fall. As the giant came her nerves gave way to fear and she cowered before this beast that would claim her life. The giant bringing down the part tree missed her completely. With her eyes closed she felt no pain she felt no broken bones or falling. Perhaps she was dead. She opened her eyes and looked around. He was gone but where and how? She heard a noise behind her and looked over the cliff. He had fallen, he wasn’t dead but he wasn’t hitting her. She got to her feet and drank some healing, barkskin and some strength potions. As soon as she saw the next giant she drank as invisibility one too.
The Nordsman warlords were guarding the entrance to the base of the mountain but as she walked closer she forgot she was invisible. She thought for a moment that they were quite rude but then remembered and didn’t disturb then. She was quite sure they would try to talk her out of going and she didn’t need that. Either that or they might try and take her for dinner.
She had walked for miles and she had rested a few times having something to eat was nice it gave her something to think about so the horrors of what was to come didn’t enter her mind to much. She walked on to Fiirkrag mountain base as she climbed the start of the mountain it did nothing but rain, this wasn’t nice refreshing rain this was trying to drown her. She thought how it was hard to see the giants but here was near impossible to see. As she walked she stepped over trees and fallen rocks and as she lent on one it moved. How could she have been so stupid she had known there were Rock Serpent’s here. It didn’t seem to notice her; her stupidity was not going to kill her yet. But as she rounded the cliff face something caught her eye that made her heart sink there were Wyvern’s.
How was she to get past them, she knew they could see through invisibility she looked at them they looked hungry and not too picky at what they would consider a meal. She sat there in the rain thinking she watched them for hours and hours trying to think of away past them. Then as she was thinking she heard a man screaming. She looked around the corner and there was a man running for his very life. Behind him the Wyvern’s were following, young ones walking and jumping at him and the larger ones above him. The man was clearly shouting in elven but Calia froze, if she shouted she would be killed as well but if she waited the man would die but the wyverns would be distracted. She closed her eyes and did what she would have done smiling to herself before she ran out…
Arrrrrgh! She shouted as she threw everything into her swing, her sword hissing as the rain hit it; it cut through the young Wyvern casing it to crash into the ground. The man startled looked shocked to see someone running toward that what he was running from. Calia thought to herself that it would be a good way to die, saving someone again. She used every trick she knew to slice stab and just plainly hit the wyverns but she knew that these were the little ones and the bigger ones were just waiting to attack her. She was covered in blood some hers some Wyvern and as she looked up as the shadow covered her she wondered if she would see her mother soon in the hear after…
The balls of pure white light smashed into the Wyverns leaving holes in there wings and bodies. Calia frowned looking quite confused as they fell out of the sky most near dead and the rest fleeing to the skies. She turned in the direction of where they came from and the elven man stood there grinning at her. You are a sight to beheld for a lifetime Malady the man said in flowing elven. She blinked at him still confused. If not for you I wouldn’t have been able to cast my spells for the little ones kept biting me and making me lose my spell. She regained herself and stood before the man. He was attractive in a down pour kind of way. Thank you for your help. Can I help you now? He asked softly she mumbled looking dazed at the man ‘Stoneskin if you have it thank you… I’m erm going to the top. The man muttered some words and moved his hands in a way familiar to Calia and she looked wishful at him. As he finished his spell she looked at her now stone covered body and smiled at him warmly. Thank you very much she said. He wished her luck and thanked her again before vanishing behind a spell and she ran for the cave entrance that leaded up… |
Its easy clinging to your moral high ground when you have everything, try it when you have nothing left.
Cain Angus |
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Re: Calia's redempton Pt 2
Posted: 08 Nov 2004 03:18 PM |
...As she walked across the Midsection it covered in a white blanket of snow. Calia walked slowly; she rapped herself with the winter cape she had owned for as long as she could remember. As she looked ahead she could see a structure, an outpost perhaps. As she got closer she could see, almost dazzling against the white of the snow, blood. The dead hero’s that had fallen in battle their anguish still showed on their faces. Calia stood there looking at the men there armour torn and stained. She knelt in the snow by one of the fallen men. He was human and oh so very young. She stroked his face it was cold to the touch but the softness of youth was apparent. She closed her eyes and offered a prayer to the fallen that were so silent in front of her. She stayed there for some time to bury all the fallen. The bitter cold lashed at her face, her skin red and sore. As she walked onward, as the snow started to fall were five new graves all marked with the symbol of Aros.
As she approached the temple yellow flags flew all around. She walked up to the large doors and opened one slipping inside quietly. She looked into the wide-open temple and there stood a woman wearing white. As the woman turned Calia could see her beauty she stood before her with pure white alabaster skin, tinged with an odd Pearle scent glow. Her radiant smile however broke as Calia stepped from the shadows. Her features darkened and a sense of great power begins to emanate from her core she glared at me and with spite in her voice she said ‘ I am Ve’stia you! You do not belong here fool! Leave us now and thou shalt be spared. Calia paused thinking. If I were covered in the protection of Aros, manners would have been a lesson to teach her. But I was weak now and perhaps this was my lesson a lesson in humility. With fear in her voice she mumbled Erm, ok I merely stumbled in from the cold looking for shelter. Nothing more farewells miss. From there Calia continued in her travel to the top of the mountain in a hope to win back her lords forgiveness and to prove that she was still loyal to him
As she left still walking close to the edge she could see a small house far below it looked so inviting and she longed for the warmth perhaps they would let her rest as she returned she did so hope they would.
Calia passed both Yeti and sabre-toothed lions all seemed to be aware she was around but couldn’t see her for her potions magic. She found a winch and when she arrived at the top some hours later the rain had melted the snow on this flat peek. It was raining so hard it was difficult to see and she near fell off the mountain several times but with a bit of luck she found a cave. She rested there and wondered what horrors might live at the back of this cave with a fresh water stream running through it. It came to her that this was not the time to be exploring and that her curiosity could lead her to her death if she wasn’t careful. She prayed again knowing she would get no answer but it felt better when she did it. She had some food and took a moment for herself and then a few hours later she stepped back into the rain.
Climbing and walking for what seemed liked hours and sometimes she fell further then she had climbed. Calia was tired her arms and legs were screaming in pain from all the work she had done. The rain hadn’t stopped at all from the time she had got up here and she could barely see her own hands. As she climbed she looked over the top of the ridge and in the shadow ahead of her distorted by the rain was a. Calia stood there shocked and terrified she whispered ‘for the love of Aors please let that not be a big black dragon.’ She froze not breathing not even blinking but as she watched as the dragon did the same. After about three minutes Calia realised that the unmoving dragon was in fact a statue. She walked up to it touching the cold wet stone it was made from. She looked at it intently and thought it was strange how the artist had got the tiniest detail so realistic. She thought to herself that perhaps this wasn’t merely carved stone, perhaps it was a dragon turned into stone. This thought caused her to feel quite sick and panicked, what kind of being had enough power to turn a dragon into stone. She walked away feeling that the dragon might not have been the worse thing here.
As she walked she noticed that she was in the shadow of something but it was to far for her to see and as she got closer she saw a tower so high as not to be able to see the top as it vanishes beyond to clouds perhaps to the god’s themselves.
Inside the tower the way up was barred she went down to the lower levels of this tower there was a kitchen it was still warm and there was a plate of half eaten food on the table. Perhaps this was not abandoned perhaps this was someone’s home. She worried if the statue of the dragon was a real dragon what would become of her. She had no power now nothing to help protect her from what someone might want. But she knew what she had to do. It was important to her to become that what she was to be able to help people again.. |
Its easy clinging to your moral high ground when you have everything, try it when you have nothing left.
Cain Angus |
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Re: Calia's redempton Pt 2
Posted: 10 Nov 2004 07:31 AM |
The heavens above rumbled. "How dare you speak of me like that worm!?" Naruth's angry voice spoke directly to Cantor's mind.
Cantor continued his conversation as if nothing had happened. "Trust me, Naruth is the weakest god of them all. Last time I went there, all her precious fire giants were having dancing lessons with Naruth's high priest.
"Naruth is pathetic."
"You will suffer!" Naruth's voice bellowed loudly as fire rained from the heavens. Cantor, grinning, dodged and wove through the falling flame with a rogues reflexes. Out of the flames, Cantor indicated his cloathing, untouched by flames.
"Pathetic."
"Arrrrgh!" Incensed, Naruth summoned one of her elite, a Fire Giant Weapon Master in the middle of Port Royal. "My minion will gut you fool!"
Cantor calmly put on his crown of the beholder that had been tucked under his arm, and with one command word, unleashed it's magics upon the fire giant, which promptly turned to stone.
"Pathetic."
((edit: This actually happened)) |
Cantor Matriel - "How much?" |
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Re: Sol's Storyteller of the month - November.
Posted: 10 Nov 2004 09:26 AM |
Peace.
That is what he felt. A gentle, soothing warmth that covered his body, wrapping his limbs, relieving his pain. Pain… Why had he been in pain? He couldn’t remember. He opened his eyes and looked around, a smile forming on his lips. It was lovely. Clear blue skies above his head, the sunlight filtering down and gently touching the land below, bathing it in warmth. Tall, strong trees reached up, their leaves a glossy emerald green. He looked down at the soft grass underfoot, a carpet stretching as far as he could see, decorated with bursts of colour from the perfectly-formed flowers that sprung from it. He could smell their subtle scents, a curious but pleasant mix that floated on the breeze.
He took a step forward, the soft earth depressing slightly underneath his feet as he walked. Bird song filtered through the air Ahead of him, he could hear the playful bubbling of a small stream. He wanted to see it, to see if it was as beautiful as everything else. Unable to contain his excitement, he broke out into a run, sprinting across the land, his every footfall cushioned by the springy earth.
Laughing with undiluted joy, he burst out of the trees into the clearing that held the longed-for stream. A white stag stood, sipping at the crystal waters, while a small group of rabbits calmly hopped nearby. In the centre of the stream stood a woman, clasping an ancient oak staff in her hand. She looked at the man and smiled; a warm, genuine smile that reached her brilliant emerald eyes. “Welcome.” She said, with a voice as gentle as the breeze.
He watched as she stepped towards him, as she left the river, the water the garbed her flowed back into it, the petals from the forest floor taking its place. She stopped in front of him, and laid a tender kiss on his forehead, her free hand resting against his cheek. She smiled again, but this time there was a touch of sadness marring her face. “They are calling you back.”
He nodded. He could feel the quiet, but persistent tug on his being. He looked at the woman, confused as to what he should do. She smiled at him again, her shining brown hair falling over her shoulders. “There will always be a place for you here. Know that, and keep it in your heart. Now, close your eyes.” Obediently, the man did as she requested.
He opened them again, but found himself staring at an angry grey sky, rain slamming down on his face. He moved, and found his entire body crying out in protest at the effort. A male voice broke though the noise of thunder and the screeching of creatures in the distance. “Be calm, Thedon. We have saved you from death.”
Thedon wanted to scream, to cry out that he had been saved and that all they had done was bring him back to a world of pain and suffering. But as he opened his mouth, he remembered her words. He closed his eyes, trying to remember the place as it faded from his memory. Images of perfect forests and glades slipped from his mind, leaving him with nothing more than a feeling of warmth. And it was enough. He would be there again, one day. |
Lianneth Mei'ren - Spellslinger |
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Re: Sol's Storyteller of the month - November.
Posted: 11 Nov 2004 03:13 PM |
Book of Midoran (Selected excerpts)
Chapter 1 – The Book of Beginnings
1. Before there was time, there was Midoran. 2. Before there was space, there was Midoran. 3. Before there was earth and sky, before there was water and fire, there was Midoran. 5. He is who was, who is, and who ever shall be, 6. from time out of mind until the lands are no more.
7. The lands coalesced, and there was Midoran. 8. Wielding his mighty greatsword and girded in his holy armor, 9. he set forth the laws that all beings would follow. 10. By his will does the sun rise in the east and set in the west. 11. By his direction do the stars come out at night and hide during the day. 12. These are the laws set forth by the Just Hand, 13. and blessed are those who follow his word.
14. There is no true god except for Midoran.
Chapter 3 – The Book of Salvation
18. And lo, there was a great blight in the land, 19.and Midoran smote his righteous punishment upon the proud Princes of Aristi. 20. For the princes were arrogant, then the city corrupt. 21. And Midoran did give dominion over the population 22. to the Dark One, who then set upon the city a dark plague. 23. Red spots flourished on the sinners and the corrupt did die in agony in great numbers. 24. And Midoran, seeing this, had pity on the peoples of Aristi. 25. And so he sent his holy priests and mighty warriors in an effort to convert 26. the hearts of the people. But their hearts were heard, and they would not accept the Word. 27. So did Midoran, in his Justice, direct his holy Order to purge Aristi of the sinful. 28. They that would not reject evil were driven from the city. 29. Those that would not leave were smote by the holy Order in accordance with Midoran's justice. 30. And so was the people of Aristi saved from the wrath of the Dark One and the punishment of the Just Hand.
31. And in the ruins of Aristi, a new city was forged. 32. A city of Justice and piety unlike the world had seen before. 33. And to guide the city, Midoran's own holy light did sear into stone the Code of Brakus 34. The High Paladin and the White Bishop were set in dominion over the renewed Aristi, now called Midor, 35. so that the people would never forget how Midoran’s holy Light had saved Aristi from the jaws of death
Chapter 5 – The Apocalyptic writings of Dalmon Ceraik, prophet of Midoran
((The Book of Salvation is written in an Apocolyptic style, which contrary to popular belief does not mean it talks about the end of the world. Apocolyptic writing, such as The Book of Revelations, is hightly steeped in symbolism and hidden meanings. I don't want to start a religious debate, but apocolyptic writings should sedom be taken literally. Please keep that in mind as you read this account of the prophet Dalmon Ceraik.))
I write this down not to say what has happened or what will happen, but to tell the world what is. And lo, angel of Midoran came upon me and took me to paradise, where I gazed upon the Just Hand. He was dressed in black and his eyes were fire. I dropped to my knees, so in awe my body could no longer support my weight.
And as I looked, I saw the surrounding Him a tree, and a cauldron, a grave, and a tower. A great beast lay at his feet, and water poured from his forehead. A great forge burned to at his back. These things bowed before him and were bound to him.
And three lamps were lit, one on his front, and one to either side. They burned with no fuel and no smoke; the presence of the Just One made this possible, and they burned purely, providing Light and Heat for all.
And a winged elf circled his head, and a dwarf his knees, and a man at his heart. These were named Garal’oth, Fireszl, and Cyaphus, and they served Midoran day and night. Yet the eyes of the Just One were only on his heart, so the water fed Gara’oth and the heat of the forge sustained Fireszl. And yet they were still all bound to Him. The orc Gorish played with the beast while the gnome Winddil ran through his robes.
And the angel looked to me and ask, “Do you understand what must happen?” And nodded, because I knew. And crack of thunder echoed, and the beast that was at Midoran’s feet was set free. And it rose up mightily and started devouring Cyaphus.
“Why does Midoran not do something,” I asked the angel. But the angel wept, and gave me no answer. And Midoran looked on as Cyaphus fought the great beast. The beast threw Cyaphus into the grave, and the grave itself began to fill, burying Cyaphus.
And lo, Midoran did raise his mighty sword and smote the beast to submission. And with his great hand he rescued Cyaphus from the deep grave, and so saved his most favored one. Yet the beast was not bound, and the grave not closed, and evil poured forth from both.
“So it happened, and so it must happen again,” said the angel sadly. I looked at the angel and did not understand. Then the grave smote dirt in the eyes of Midoran and the water could not wash it away. And the beast still circled, waiting for him to drop one of his own. And foulness rose from the cauldron, and the water coming from his forehead turned to blood. The forge burned on, and the heat caused the lamps to start melting. And the tree withered and grew sickly.
And still He watched, and still he held on to the one he loved.
The grave covered all and the forged melted all away. And Garal’oth, Fireszl, and Cyaphus all perished, as did Gorish and Winddil, and all seemed to be for naught. I wept as the lamps melted and evaporated into nothingness. My heart ached to see my Lord burn mightily, his whole self now aflame. The angel looks expectantly at Midoran, for he knew something I did not.
Then, the holocaust was complete. And still Midoran stood, alone this time, The water, clear again, trickled from his forehead. And as it fell, it gave life to new beings. It watered and healed the tree and quenched the firey forge. It satiated the beast.
And still, all were bound to Midoran. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: Sol's Storyteller of the month - November.
Posted: 16 Nov 2004 09:43 AM |
*bump* Don't forget, all entries are due in by 21st November.
- Sol |
- Solitaire, Wizard
- Ilyana Fiirhaart, High Priestess of Naruth |
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Re: Sol's Storyteller of the month - November.
Posted: 16 Nov 2004 11:32 AM |
((Wrong forum doh! :/))
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Vives Screenshots!
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Re: Calia's redempton Pt 2
Posted: 17 Nov 2004 04:36 PM |
((edit: This actually happened))
((*hangs head in shame*)) |
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Re: Sol's Storyteller of the month - November
Posted: 24 Nov 2004 04:52 PM |
Just a quick (late!) post to say that this month's competition is now closed.
A winner will be announced by 28th Nov 7pm latest.
Thanks for all of your fantastic entries, and for making this a tough job for me.
- Sol |
- Solitaire, Wizard
- Ilyana Fiirhaart, High Priestess of Naruth |
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Storyteller winner announced - November
Posted: 29 Nov 2004 07:13 AM |
Hi all,
First of all apologies for posting this a day late, but yesterday's events ran over longer than expected (why am I surprised ?! )
Wow this has been a really tough choice for me. Every entry is top class and a testament to the excellent players and storytellers we have in our community. Thank you all for taking the time to participate in this.
And now, without further ado *drum rolls*
The winner for November is ....
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Llewen for his beautifully written tale "The Arrow of Aros".
Well done Llewen *applauds loudly*
I also wanted to make a special mention to Carlton, whose entry was excellent despite the acute dyslexia I know he suffers from *applauds some more*
Well done everyone, I will announce the new competition details soon.
Thanks again,
Sol |
- Solitaire, Wizard
- Ilyana Fiirhaart, High Priestess of Naruth |
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Re: Storyteller winner announced - November
Posted: 29 Nov 2004 07:42 AM |
| Thank you, I am honoured, this means alot to me. |
"Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;"
T.S. Eliot |
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Re: Storyteller winner announced - November
Posted: 29 Nov 2004 07:44 AM |
Well done Llewen!
It was a wonderful story. :D |
Lianneth Mei'ren - Spellslinger |
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Re: Storyteller winner announced - November
Posted: 29 Nov 2004 07:49 AM |
| *blushes* *claps* Well done Llewen |
Its easy clinging to your moral high ground when you have everything, try it when you have nothing left.
Cain Angus |
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Re: Storyteller winner announced - November
Posted: 29 Nov 2004 01:20 PM |
| yep, nice one |
Elvalia - Chosen of Aros
Elrith Mellin
Perin - 'Cleric (an' drewid) o' Elbreff' Weddin's an' pies a speciarality
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Re: Storyteller winner announced - November
Posted: 29 Nov 2004 07:33 PM |
I'd like to thank the Academy for...hmm...what do you mean I didn't win? Why you low down sons of... *orchestra begins playing and they go to commercial*
Congrats Llewyn, couldn't have happened to an uglier orc..err..nicer guy!
And you to Chandler. |
I'm The Cult of Personality. |
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