01 - Collaboration - So this is goodbye
The red sun rose, and feebly tried once more to cut through the thick haze of the Innothule Swamp. This was a daily struggle, a never-ending one, and the sun was never victorious. There was just too much decaying matter in the swamp, too much vegetation, too many thick swamp trees. Apparently, the sun was unaware of this, for it never altered in it's futile quest to bring it's light into the swamp. The swamp remained indifferent. There were some corners of the swamp that would always remain engulfed in darkness.
In one of these dark corners, there sits a small, squat hut made of dried mud and grass. Many small skulls decorated it's exterior. In it, a large green being stood. Not much of a morning troll, he grumbled as he went about his morning routine. He stirred the embers of the fire from the evening before with a large rib. Muttering to himself, he threw a handful of squirming dung crawlers into a battered iron skillet. Another pointless morning, he thought to himself. Another day of battles fought, victories won... for what? The forces of Tunare were never-ending. No matter how many Halfees he slaughtered, Rivervale always sent more. More and more, the Troll wondered what was the point. His hate still burned within him, so much hate! The focus was gone. The hate was no longer a tool, but it engulfed him. He found himself more and more lashing out at comrades-in-arms over trivial matter. It was time to renew his faith. He had put it off long enough. He slung the dung crawlers into his massive maw in one massive gulp, relishing they way they squirmed and popped. Letting loose a window-rattling belch, he looked towards his armor, gleaming dully in the murky light. He stroked the maroon plate, and shook his head. Not today... not for this occasion. He reached under his massive cot, and pulled forth a chest, marked only by the symbol of Solusek Ro. He opened the latches, and as always, his heart raced at the sight of it. The black and red armor glittered evilly. It spoke to him, just looking at it. It spoke to him of atrocities not yet committed, blood not yet spilled. It was the armor that marked him to the world as a perverted reflection of all the holy paladins stood for. It was Darkforge armor... the armor of a Shadowknight. He stood before his wall, laden with the tools of his trade. He drew forth some bags, and into the one marked with an evil eye, he stuffed his thick spellbook. Some dried rations, and some flasks of water. A small potion, imbued with several charges of the Spirit of Wolf spell, given to him by Cikki, the Iksar shaman. A small skull shaped potion, that was the gift of Zepphia the Wanderer, would allow him to shrink, if needed. A coin purse. A small pouch filled with batwings, and fish scales. Some Cats-Eye Agates. A few portal chips. A tooth, taken from the Dragon Rings of the Cobalt Scar, in Velious. A beard from a Frost Giant. He cinched the bag across his back, and hooked it into the rings on the black breastplate. Across his waist he tied a fine black strip, tied in a hangman's noose on the end. He sheathed his Argent Defender. It was a wide, heavy blade, but could deal massive damage. He pulled up heavy axe. It was his heavy hitter.... a strategic weapon, best used in the back of an unwary victim for a quick decapitation. He strapped it to his back, and picked our his choice of weapons for general battle: A Mace of The Shadowed Soul, which enhanced his magical abilities, and a round buckler, etched with runes, which would protect him both from blades and magical attacks. He finally donned his heavy, blood colored helm. He was ready for whatever Norrath might offer this day, although... he would seek not battle this day. He began the walk to Neriak.
In Neriak, he checked in with the Dragoons at the gate. He was well known and well liked in this town, despite his being a troll. He had fought long and hard for the god they shared, and they respected him for that. He had a long history in Neriak. Originally he had planned to be a warrior, but felt an innate magic within him. An Iksar named Xoriz took him in, and taught him some Necromantic skills. Some of the abilities of the Necromancer would forever be beyond him, but he was able to learn enough to make him a formidable foe, indeed. He had never been able to train his skills in Neriak... the Third Gate was well-nigh impossible to enter as a member if you were not a Tier'Dal... but his adventures and reputation allowed him entrance as an honored guest. As he passed the leering Ghouls guarding the lodge of the Dead, his heart warmed at the far-off clanging of fine Adamantite weapons. The Tier'Dal had a school of Shadowknights, and he often stopped in to watch their training sessions. He had no time to tarry this day, and went straight to the top floor. He was surprised to see Tralon Din`A, the Tier'Dal Shadowknight Guildmaster waiting for him, along with Hukulk, Guildmaster for the Shadowknights of Night Keep, of Grobb, and Mandaril Dark Knife... Guildmaster for the Erudite Shadowknights, along with some others he did not know, waiting for him.
"Greetings, Ouze. I believe you know Hukulk and Mandaril", said Tralon. Ouze nodded.. He did indeed know the Shadowknight Guildmaster of Cazic-Thule well, and Hukulk was his original Guildmaster, who taught him all he knew of fighting with blades. "Allow me to introduce Sern Adolia... head of the Cazicite clerics of Paineel... and Perrir Zexus, High Priest of Innoruuk." Ouze bowed. He had seen Perrir in the halls, but Ouze did not spend much time in the Cleric guild. He had never needed to... his faith was firmly embedded in his soul until recently.
Tralon began, "Ouze, Perrir told us you would be coming. We have been following your progress with interest. Frankly, we were soon to contact you.
"There are some things you have done for us that greatly impress us. In some ways, you are all that we ask of our Knights. You have truly been a blight upon the land. You have spread your atrocities far and wide. We were greatly pleased with the murders you committed in the heart of Erudin, in the town of Rivervale, the horrors you spread in the land of the cursed Elves. It is said Tunare herself wept when she saw the defiling of her Plane."
Ouze smiled at this.
Hukulk chimed in "Ouze, you be all we wanted in Night Keep. You kill many Knights of Greenblood. Dem false nights. Me pleased. You say someday you be mighty... you mighty now, Ouze."
Perrir continued, "However, there are some things that... disturb us. Frankly, you have associations with some of the lesser beings that we frown upon, at best. We can accept that you can use some of them as tools... however, it is known to us that you are not truly using them. We prefer to slay our lighter tools when done. We know of the Druid of Karana you have befriended, as well as the scorned wizard. Karana is none of our affair, and the Scorned Tier'Dal... we barely tolerate Rohm here. Let him have his tower. The same goes for the Monks of Quellious you so admire... fools, both of them. But, let them go on their own misguided paths. We also know of the Ranger of Tunare, and the Druid of the same. This, we are displeased with, and mark my words, displeased mightily. We would have you slay her. The only reason we have not ordered you to do so yet... well, frankly, both of them together would slaughter you. Ever if you had the element of surprise, it would be a hard battle with either, and we generally don’t wish to waste our finest killers.”
Ouze could stay silent no more. “Yes, it is true. I have befriended some… unorthodox friends. Originally, I had planned on killing and eating most of them. It doesn’t always work that way. They have been useful to the purposes of hate. More to the point, they have been true friends. In all fairness, I have allied myself with many who share our dark designs, as well. Monfeld…. Xoriz… they could barely be any more evil. Cikki serves the Lord of Fear, as well as Sleeka. Otok is another faithful servant… and Saibok, also spreads plague th-“
At the mention of Saibok, Mandaril leapt from his seat, and grabbed Ouze about the throat. “ Speak not this blasphemy, Foolish one! You know well Saibok is no Cazicite! That foul abomination has the soul of an elf!”
Ouze glared at Mandaril threateningly. Hukulk did the same. In unison, their hands began to glow a dull reddish. “I have known you a long time, Guildmaster, and respected you even longer” Ouze said, “But you presume much. Unhand me now, or…” He trailed off, his threat lingering in the air.
Mandaril let him go. “I… I am sorry, Ouze. I meant no harm. The mere mention of Saibok fills my stomach with loathing and revulsion.”
Ouze nodded. “I know the feeling”, he agreed.
Perrir snarled. “Cease this prattling at once! If there is to be any blood spilled in the House of Innoruuk, it will be your own, if you continue to tread along this path!”
“You can no longer hear the voice of the Father because he has lost faith in you, Ouze” he said. “You have not displeased him to the extent that you are marked as a traitor, but you have fallen into his disfavor nonetheless. You have slacked on your rampages. Regardless of how many reinforcements they send, you must slaughter the Halfings, the Elves, all the pale beings weak of mind and frail in body. Your friendship with these… aberrations… has softened you.”
Ouze said “Nay, tis not that at all. My faith is strong. I cannot focus my energies in a functional way anymore. My hate has lost it’s usefulness as a tool… I have lost direction, not faith. How many halfees can I kill? We fight this never-ending war against the light, and for what? The light has not receded, not been crushed. We fund the Orcs of Crushbone, have done so for so, so long… and for what? Kelethin remains. Good has even sprung into areas where it’s touch was unknown before… with Tunare’s realm now reachable from Velious, the stain of her growth sprawling across the tundra. Do we invade? Do we send legions of Indigo warriors, Trollish battalions? No, we send only mercenaries… and ineffective mercenaries at that. I grow weary… and that is why I am here. Does it ever end? Are we going to win this war?”
Perrir paused, thoughtfully. “Ouze… That is not a question you should ask me. You should know that before you ever picked up your blades to do battle… nay, before you even joined Hukulk. It is not a question I am equipped to answer… because only you can answer it. You have stopped hearing Innoruuk’s will because you have indeed lost your faith, no matter what you say. Ouze…. Go forth, onto the lands. I send you off… but not on another crusade deep into enemy territory, not to pillage, not to plunder. I send you our on the hardest quest of all… I send you to find yourself. Despite all the battles you have won, if you lose your will to fight, it was all for naught. You stand before me, a broken Knight without purpose. There is yet much glory, much hate to spread… but you need to clear your heart of these doubts. I send you forth, Ouze, into the barren wastelands of Norrath. Come back as you were before… a proud, vicious soldier of Innoruuk… or come back not at all. I’ll not allow Ouze to remain a broken shell of what he was. You have done too much, seen to much, for that to happen. Leave us now, and do not return, of your glorious tales will be all that remain of you this day.” He handed Ouze a small black stone on a fine platinum chain, and continued. “Take this necklace with you… when you have found yourself, and your hate once more shines like a black beacon, we will summon you back. Go now, Knight, and return not, until you have seen… what there is for you to see, out there… away from us.”
Leave us…
Leave us…
Leave…
Ouze shuddered, and awoke. The dim, murky lighting in his hut reassured him, despite the sweat beading on his head and the hammering in his heart.
“Ouze, are you ok?” The Ranger asked. “It sounded like you were having a nightmare.”
“No…. it was just a dream, I guess” he replied. “But I have to leave this place now. I have to leave you… all of you… and clear my head, and my heart. It is the only way to break out of my malaise. I will miss those I love… you… your clan… and my own. I may not return. But go, I must.”
As he arose, and went to don his armor, the ranger lay in bed, with a thoughtful look etched on her beautiful half-elven features. Her gaze turned then, to his pillow.
To the necklace… a plain black stone on a platinum chain… that was curled atop it.
"Guk... If there is a hell I imagine its a lot like Lower Guk. A place where death is infinite, fools are legion and the howling and gnashing of teeth can be heard for miles." - Saibok
Truly an excellent story Ouze. I know not how much it reflects what you may be feeling in RL but very very good stuff. Write a couple hundred pages just like that and throw in a plot and you'd have a best-seller on your hands.
I hope this post does not mean you are saying good-bye to EQ and our merry band, but if you're taking a break I totally understand. Several of us have been around for quite a while now and it is natural to feel the need for some re-focusing.
I myself haven't played more than an hour in the past two weeks because graduate school applications and real life pressures have been demanding. But I'll be back with a vengance once my batteries are recharged. I sincerely hope the scourge of the pink skins returns to claim that black-stoned necklace.
Kapena
Gaereth Another Guy in A Dress
Posts: 49
(11/20/01 12:33 am)
Re: So this is goodbye
The monk twisted restlessly in his sleep, as if the battles of the day walked in his dreams.
"I must be faster....stronger...purer of heart..." he mumbled.
"My friend.....I cannot protect him....."
With a jerk he was suddenly on his feet, all of the restless movements and mumbled sounds were gone. Indeed, it seemed as if he had gone from a living being to a stone statue in but a heartbeat.
With an almost liquid grace he slid into the lotus position, seeking the peace that he had never failed to find in many years of wandering. To anyone else watching it would seem as if he was in perfect harmony, yet the druid was not deceived. Her sharp eyes had seen the single tear roll down his cheek.
With a sigh he opened his eyes to stare deeply into hers. "Our friend is walking alone my love. I felt him go."
With a slight motion he urged her into his lap, both knowing that words could not ease the weight upon their hearts. With a gentle touch he slid the hair from her eyes, "I don't think we can help him in this battle."
Curled together they watched the sunrise over the trees of their home, both silently hoping to catch a blood red glint of steel slipping between the trees.
Perhaps one day their vigil will be rewarded.
Edited by: Gaereth at: 11/19/01 9:51:20 pm
Duwan The Spirit of Darion
Posts: 156
(11/20/01 5:25 pm)
Wow
Great story ouze ad nice short story gaereth
Wyntyr Wishes She Were A Kerran
Posts: 167
(11/21/01 8:08 pm)
Re: So this is goodbye
The sun set over the barren wastes of the Great Divide, and
as the temperature fell to below freezing, most souls hurried
off to the safety of the nearby city of Thurgardin, or made
magical preparations to depart before the storm set in. Even
the frost giants were securing their fortress from the oncoming
storm. Not a soul be it human, animal, beast or deamon was
foolish enough to be caught in one of the massive storms that
ravaged the continent of Velious.
Any who so dared stop long enough to look, might have seen
the glint of a fire, reflected from deep within heavy cave walls
that offered protection from even this storm. Had one dared
to venture in side they would not have found savage beast,
but a lone woman, roasting a chunk of tundra kodiak over a
modest campfire. Had one asked her why she was out here,
instead of in a safer locale she would have chuckled softly,
and explained to them that there was no safer refuge from
the storm than here, and that Tunare had provided her with
all she needed to stay alive in these harshest of times. But
none dared enter. Not a soul would see the reserves that
had been stored here...dried and cured meats, skins of pure
water from the nearby river, a cache of bear hides that made
a modest, but comfortable bed and blanket.
Rangers of Tunare are not anti-social by any means, but this
one, as all do at times, preferred the quiet solitude of nature
to the bustle of a busy city and the crowds within. This one
however, had been spending more time alone as of late. She
spent this eve, like many before, staring into the fires and
slowly turning a bauble in her hand. It was to most, nothing.
But to her it was everything. A simple stone of the blackest
rock, set into a chain of pure woven platinum, it was the one
thing she held more dearly than anything she had seen or had
ever collected in her journeys.
As she stared at it tonite, as many nights before, she thought
back upon the memories of the one who gave it to her. She
thought back to their first meeting, so long ago in the city of
the aviaks, as a drunken troll, who had imbibed a potion of
shrinking as well, raced past and around her, and challenged
her to jump from the upper platforms with her to see if she
would live or die. She smiled faintly at the thoughts of the
running for their lives done as a crazed giant turtle assaulted
they and their friends who seeked entry to a lost tower. She
laughed a soft laugh at the hours spent on a quest for an item
the troll could not even wear.
The ranger looked around her, reached for another bear skin
to help ward off the cold, and returned her gaze to both the
black stone and the fire.
She wondered what it was that troubled her friend so. She
wondered what it was that made him feel he had to walk in
solitude for a time. She wondered what had come over him to
make him feel the call to move on.
Noone fought like this troll. Noone was willing to lay his life
down while screaming for others to escape. Noone was more
willing to face death smiling, especially if the risk seemed to
be greater than the rewards.
She felt a tear begin to well in her eye, and decided that the
time had come. Shrugging off the furs that were to be her
bed for the evening, she began to don her armor. It was a
ritual like any other, the boots from Kithicor, the legs from the
hells of Sebilis, the tunic of woven leaves that had the safety
of any metal, the gauntlets, arms, and helm of Tolan himself.
The long slender blade of her Lamentation, the wicked curve
that marked the Green Jade Broadsword. She packed away
some food and drink, but not much knowing she could always
scrounge up more as the time came. The final step was to
place the chain of platinum around her neck, tucking the stone
inside her tunic. Pausing for a moment to consider what she
was about to do, she imbued herself with the Spirit of Wolf,
and stepped out into the cold.
Her journey took her through the frozen hells of the Great
Divide, the forsaken East Wastes, a treacherous journey in
and through the city of the giants, Kael Drakkel, into the warm
tropics of the Wakening Lands, where she sought and found,
a portal that few dared to enter into.
The Plane of Growth, home of Tunare herself.
On a normal trip, the ranger would have felt at home here.
All of the residents here greeted her warmly and openly, and
some even asked her from time to time to aid the goddess in
her quests. She stopped for none today, and chose not to
banter in small talk as well. Her course was set, and she made
haste in moving on. Soon, her persistance paid off, and she
saw the home of Tunare. Stepping in with due respect, she
awaited an audience with her mistress.
And as her time came, Tunare saw her, and asked what she
could do for one of her blessed servants.
"I wish that you would grant your protection to a dear friend
of mine, for he takes a journey alone, and one that I am not
sure that he will return from. I wish that you would insure his
safety, and aid his quest in any way that you can."
"You are one of my honored soldiers, one who aids the weak,
and shelters those who cannot do for themselves. You make
time to help the young, and the sick. You strive to hold the
ideals and teachings I have shown you true. I will grant this
blessing for you, name the one who you hold so dearly."
Taking a deep breath, the ranger spoke slowly.
"Ouze Stinkeefeets, the troll ShadowKnight."
The goddess peered down, looking into the soul of the ranger
who stood before her, and knowing what it cost her to have
come here, to ask the help of the gods of good, to protect
one who's life was devoted to hatred, plauge, and suffering.
"He will refuse my aid, you know this."
"Then do not help him directly. Clear the obstacles from his
path, insure that he wants not for the tools he may need,
and stave off any who mean him malice while he searches
for that which he needs to find. You claim to be the Mother
of All, and protector of life and all of it's creations. Surely
you cannot deny this request, lest you go back on all you
stand for."
The goddess looked down once more, and looked around at
her court, many of whom seemed stunned at the boldness of
a mortal, worthy soldier or not. She nodded slowly after a
time. "It will be done, but the cost to you may be high."
Looking up, with a single tear trapped in the corner of her
eye, the ranger spoke.
"There is no cost too high to insure the safety of one you
choose to call friend."
***At 7:49 EST on November the 21st, 2001, two objects
were placed at the feet of Tunare in the Plane of Growth
by a ranger named Wyntyr. One was a rose of Firiona Vie,
the other was an intestine necklace. The very first, and
very last objects given to her by Ouze Stinkeefeets. May
you find all that you seek my friend, and some day, Tunare
willing, you may come back to us.***
Re: So this is goodbye
The dark figure hunched over the open tome on the table. The dimly lit room cast shadows across the pages and about the walls. Intently he peered at the symbols on the pages, trying to decipher their meaning. He paused and sighed, leaning back from the table and his research. Rubbing his forehead he listened for a moment to his surroundings. The soft, rythmic dripping of water lulled him into a state mediation and he let his thoughts wander to relax his mind. The necromancer was clearly exhausted. He needed sleep and rest, but he needed his new pet even more, and that drove him on. He brought his mind back and focused once again on the task at hand, on the strange writings on the pages in front of him.
The sound of a slight shuffle reached his ears. Parrotman cocked his head slightly and listened for a few moments. The shuffling came once again. Someone was approaching. Parrotman knew that he was safe in his underground home in the sewers of Qeynos so he did not think much of defense. None knew these catacombs as well as he did, and only those who worshiped Bertoxxulous as he did could walk amongst the halls of the hidden guild in safety. Whoever was approaching was an ally not an enemy, and yet Parrotman checked to see that his pet was standing guard. Sometimes, he thought, it is your very ally that can be your worst enemy.
The beggar entered the room cautionsly, a look of terror etched across his dirty face. He shuffled as he walked, as if his legs would not move forward on thier own. His body was covered in dirty, tattered rags and he trembled slightly. He approached the necromancer cautiously, eyes wide. Parrotman recognized this man, he had seen him before. He was a messenger, a courier, between the city above and the sewers below. The bile began to well up in Parrotman's throat as he smelled the stench coming off of the filthy beggar. Then anger crept into Parrotman's mind. He hated having to deal with the likes of this beggar. He hated the thought of having to resort to such tactics to survive. Existing in the shadows, hiding like a rat, what kind of a living is that, Parrotman mused. "I deserve better... I deserve more." "Yes master," the beggar replied, thinking that he had been spoken to. "Silence worm!", Parrotman shouted, as he slammed the beggar across the face with the back of his hand. Parrotman's pet twitched slightly ready to attack. The beggar crumpled into a ball on the floor and began pleading for forgiveness. Parrotman paid him no mind. Then he saw that the man was carrying an envelope. He grabbed the note from the beggars hands and opened it.
The letter inside was from another of Parrotman's faithful servants. This one was a spy in Neriak, the city of the Dark Elves. Parrotman had many such agents working for him throughout the land, but this one was one of his more trusted spies. The information he had received from this man had never proven wrong and had in fact saved the necromancer's life on several occasions. Parrotman read the letter carefully, then read it again to be sure of its contents. The message informed him that Ouze had left on his own to "find his way" and the reason for his fight against the light. Ouze no longer walked in the paths of favor amongst the dark gods nor did he walk in tandem with his friends.
Parrotman pondered this new information for a moment, then a slight smirk crossed his features. So, the shadowknight is in turmoil, he thought. More importantly he was out of favor with his god, Innoruuk. This is the chance I have been waiting for, thought the necromancer. For years, he had been at odds with the mighty troll shadowknight. Both had been fierce warriors with thier fair share of kills, yet the troll had always been better. Where Parrotman was the cautious and calculating killer, Ouze was fiercer, bloodier, more aggressive, quicker to face death. Parrotman had been forced to live in the shadow of the troll as second best. Even his own favor with his god had been jeopardized by Ouze's achievements in battle. Honor was heaped upon Ouze while Parrotman was ignored and forced to live in the sewers. The jealously had grown until it now burned brightly in the necromancer's heart like the flames of Nagafen himself.
"There is an opportunity here," Parrotman said, as he turned back to the beggar. "You can be of great assistance to me and to your god." "Anything master, anything," the beggar answered, all to eager to regain favor with the dark wizard. "Good, come with me." He led the beggar down the hall and into a larger chamber. The walls were lined with various shelves and tables, all of which held implements of the dark arts the necromancer practiced. In the center of the room was a large circular pit. The pit was deep and the only way out was a shaft filled with water that led outside the city. At one edge of the pit was an alter made of solid stone and adorned with the runes of the dark arts. The alter was stained with the blood of numerous victims, those Parrotman liked to call, his "experiments." This was the necromancer's summoning room.
He directed the beggar to lie down upon the alter as he began to ready the preparations for his spell. If Ouze wants to go off on his own, perhaps I shall send him a little company, he smirked. He is weak, vulnerable, ripe for the picking, thought Parrotman. Once he is eliminated I shall take my rightful place, no longer in his shadow, nor his equal, but his better! Don't worry Ouze, thought Parrotman, I'll be twice the killer you ever were, and I will take good care of that fair ranger maiden of yours. Parrotman smiled wide at that thought.
Parrotman sent his skeletal pet into the pit and then approached the alter where the beggar lay. With a few quick hand motions he activated the dark bindings from the alter, and the beggar was held fast to the stone surface. Sensing his impending doom, the beggar began to sob uncontrolably. The necromancer paid it no mind as he began his chanting. The spell was not one that he had done before, and not one he was sure would even work, but he had woven a prayer to Bertoxxulous into the spell that would ask for the blessing of his god upon the casting of the spell. If all went well, the power of the spell would be intensified by the favor of his god and the casting would be complete.
Minutes passed as Parrotman continued to chant. Then he began the complex set of hand motions and a green mist began to fill the pit below him. The mist was thick and seemed to have a life of its own. It swirled around in the pit, slowly at first, then faster as his chanting grew louder. More minutes passed as he moved his hands in intricate patterns with the fluid grace of a seasoned caster. The room dimmed as the chanting continued and the mist began to cling to the skeletal pet in the pit. Finally he brought his chanting to a crescendo and raised an onyx dagger above his victim. Its cruel curved blade angled for the heart, Parrotman drove the weapon into the chest of his victim. The beggar let forth a blood curtling scream, then fell silent.
He worked quickly now, slicing the beggars heart from his chest and removing his internal organs. All of these were cast into the pit and swallowed up by the swirling mist. Suddenly, the skeletal pet shook violently. It crumpled to its knees as the mist began to infuse its bones. The air was thick and alive with the hum of power as the spell began to work. Slowly the bones of the pet began to change shape. They cracked and bulged, growing larger and morphing into a new form. The mist became part of the creation as it swirled about the pile of bones and lent itself to the casting. Then a bolt of purple lightning from the air above the pit struck the changing form below. Parrotman cackled with glee. This was the blessing from his god he had been hoping for. This was the added infusion of power that would allow his creation to challenge one as powerful as Ouze. The skeletal form began to glow a dull purple and cracked and bulged even more, growing in size and strength. Finally, after many moments, the casting was complete. Parrotman slumped on the alter and the remains of the beggar, exhausted. The mist was gone and the hum of power in the room was disapating. Parrotman pulled himself upright and stared into the pit at his new creation.
It rose from its knees to its full height, almost 10 feet tall. It's eyes burned bright red and its bones shifted in color from green to dull purple. It stood motionless, awaiting its masters command. It was a skeletal troll shadowknight! Possessing all of the abilities of a living troll shadowknight, yet unafraid, unwielding and unforgiving. Parrotman went to a chest in the corner of the room and pulled out a large axe and a shield. He threw them down into the pit. He then cast several protective and augmentation spells upon the monstrous skeleton, imbuing it permanently. Finally, Parrotman pulled forth the final piece of the puzzle from his pocket. He turned it in his hand a few times and stared at it. It was a chunk of jasper that the necromancer had used to store a piece of Ouze's life essence. He had one such stone for all the "friends" he had traveled with in the past, just in case. Parrotman threw that into the pit as well and the pet retrieved the weapons and the stone.
"Go forth my pet," spoke Parrotman. "Go out and seek Ouze." "He is out there amongst the lands." "Destroy him!" The pet turned and moved quickly to the water filled shaft. It dove in headlong and began swimming out to the surface to begin its hunt. Parrotman leaned against the wall of the summoning room and pondered. Soon, Ouze, you will be gone, and no one will be the wiser, thought Parrotman. Once again a smile crept across the necromancers face as he walked off to his chamber to rest. Soon, he would have the place he so rightfully deserved. That thought would bring him good dreams this night.
Edited by: Parrotman at: 11/23/01 12:03:12 pm
The blizzard raged through the Eastern Wastes of Velious. Blizzards were not uncommon in this region of the world, but the intensity was unusual. The sparse trees bent in the wind, bent more, and finally cracked and shattered in the shrieking gale. There would be no Ry’Gorr scouts leaving their well-defended fort… no snow griffins prowling… even the hearty Coldain outposts were deserted. The only life on the icy tundra was the few Frost Giant scouts, and even these were retreating for cover. Nothing could live through this cold, they reasoned. They were wrong.
So this is how it ends, Ouze thought to himself. All the glories of the past… the slow rise to power, the respect in cities where no Troll dared to stride before, they slaying of the Corrupted Seafury, the slaying of the White Dragon… I survived all that only to freeze to death.
The small, dank cave was the only respite from the icy tundra he could find, and it was not much. Barely a hole in the side of the mountain, it provided only cover from the biting wind. Nevertheless, the temperature had dropped so low that the very air seemed brittle with frost. Ouze shivered, and coughed into his hands. He looked at his side, and grimaced. His ribs were not healing rapidly enough, even with his enhanced regeneration, and the talon wounds were still seeping through the makeshift bandages he had applied. I’d live through these wounds, but I can’t walk. I am going to die here. Ouze had used his mana to heat his own blood and keep him alive to this point, but without being able to hunt food or kindling, was no longer regenerating magical energy. It was a dangerous gambit… the heating of the blood kept him alive, but also killed him, a little: It was all his natural regeneration could do to keep him alive. When so wounded, his metabolism was more akin to a blast furnace then the usual bonfire… he had gone through his rations twice as fast, as his body burned it off.
THEN
On a quest to discover why continue fighting his long war with the light, he had traveled to Velious. It was a good place to get away and get his head clear. The only truly dangerous enemies here were the Snow Griffins, which could catch him even with Spirit of Wolf speeding him along. The hunting was good… many snow bunnies dotted the land, and Ouze could easily engulf them in darkness with his casting, and such was their terror after a few seconds they would fall over, dead. The bunnies were hitting their hidey-holes, Ouze thought... looks like a hell of a storm brewing. I better look for shelter after this.
Ouze stalked another rabbit, taking care to creep slowly into casting distance, he heard a shriek. “Lovely”, he muttered to himself. The sound of a Snow Giffin was one you never forgot. Ouze prepared for battle as the howls came closer.
It was a full sized Griff… and adult male, half-starved. In better weather, he probably would have gone on his way of search or something easier, maybe a Walrus, but the snow seemed to be getting heavier. Big wind, big cold tonight, the animal thought. I eat now, or I die.
Ouze reached out to the Griffin, speaking softly. Ribbons of blackness reached out in smoky tendrils, lashing towards the creature. It merely snarled and shook them off, and they evaporated like mist on a hot summer day.
Damn, Ouze thought… no running now. Maybe I won’t have to run…
Ouze began casting another spell, chanting quietly to himself. For a second, he flared larger then himself, and resembled the griffins worst nightmare. Flames licked off him, and a ring of cackling skulls encircled him.
The Griffin still came. Ouze could not know this, but this was a Griffin that had preyed on many unwary adventurers. Specifically, many Druids, which would seek to run the walruses to the north of the region to their deaths. This Griffin had faced many such Druids, and had no trouble with them, as they were usually young ones, far from home, and like most Druids, usually alone. Every time he had faced one, the few successful casts upon him strengthened his mental resolve. This Griffin had, over the years, become almost impervious to magic.
Ouze cast Invoke Fear upon it again. Once more, the Griffin resisted. Ouze snarled loudly, and yelled “Resist THIS, bird!” He let loose with a mighty swing of his axe, which the Griffin neatly turned aside with his talons. Ouze threw his steel-clad fist backhand into it, and with his other hand, in a well-practiced manever, flipped the axe back onto the harness and drew his mace. He slammed it hard into the head of the Griffin, who responded in kind by raking his side with his razor-edge talons. His black armor held… just… but there were grooves cut into it. Ouze ducked down into a roll, and slid his shield off his back. He bellowed, and once more Invoke Fear. The Griffin screeched, and turned to escape. Ouze laughed, and cast another spell… one that would imbue him with a Vampiric Embrace, that would sometimes, on a successful hit, allow him to actually feed a small bit on the very life-force of the animal. Just as he finished casting, the smile dropped from his face. The Griffin had stopped after a short distance and redoubled it’s attack.
“It can’t be!” Ouze muttered, and pulled his shield up, just in time to fend off a raking blow from the talons. The Griffin’s beak dove in hungrily, and Ouze fed him 10 stones weight of Mace. The Griffin screeched in pain as Ouze leaned in towards it’s exposed throat, and tore at it with his pointed teeth.
It was a bad move. He had opened his flank to the massive bird, and now he was going to pay, and pay hard. It swung its mighty wing, and Ouze for a short moment also flew. It was a short flight, and it was stopped by a large crag of rock. A gutwrenching crack resounded as 3 ribs broke. Ouze shook his head and stood. “I’ll have healed that by supper, bird!” he taunted in Trollish at the enraged bird. It dove in, a missile of fury and feathers, and this time, swung for Ouze’s head.
Ouze ducked low, and bashed out with his shield. Too late, he realized it was a ploy. The Griffin snatched the shield from his arm, and tossed it into the snow. No time to reach for the Argent Defender, Ouze thought… better block as well as I can without… The bird swept in, and Ouze smashed his mace into a wing, shattering it. The bird shrieked in agony, and lashed out with it’s tearing claws. Ouze turned to the side… not enough, it got him right where it had before. A talon slipped in past the damaged plate, and bit deep into his flesh. Ouze howled in agony.
“This is gonna be close…” he thought. His hand began to glow. He switched his mace to his left hand, and made a clumsy lunge at the Griffin. The Griffin dodged, not seeing the real attack… Ouze leaned forward with his right hand, a single finger outstretched… and simply touched him.
The bird screamed, as it writhed in agony. It’s skin tore open in many places as unholy fire ripped through him. One wing now hung uselessly at it’s side, in ribbons and tatters. The arm snapped like a dry twig where the Shadowknight had touched him.
And yet, it still stood.
Oh, no, Ouze thought. He lived through it… this is going to be REALLY close. Ouze dropped the Mace back into it’s holster, and drew his Argent Defender. The blade whistled though the air as it connected, crunching through bone and flesh. The Griffin howled, and lashed out with a hard backslash to Ouze’s head. He was stunned for a second, and the Griffin made another swipe at his wounded side, again digging deep into his flesh. Ouze screamed. Blood was now pouring freely down his side, and breathing was as if his lungs were on fire. Is this it?
No. Not yet. The Griffin stared hatefully at him with it’s one good eye, determined to take him with him to the next plane. He just may do it… but, he may not. I miss this one, I’m a goner. I better not miss.
The razor talons sliced through the air, parrying Ouze’s blade to the side. Ouze stumbled. The bird sensed it’s imminent triumph, screeched and dove it’s beak in towards Ouze’s exposed bloody throat. Ouze weakly pulled up his blade to block him. The claws slammed into his blade, tearing out his throat. Ouze hit the floor, gasping. Dying.
And then it happened. As the blade slid ineffective down the body of the Griffin, a green light suffused through it’s body. Ouze jerked upwards. His throat immediately closed itself… his skin regrew instantly. At the same time, the Griffin shuddered and shook as Ouze’s Vampiric touch ate away the last of it’s life.
The Griffin fell to the slow, it’s empty eye sockets smoking, it's fur singed.
Ouze fell next to him, blood flowing freely from his many wounds.
Outside, the wind picked up. It was going to be a hell of a storm.
NOW
As darkness fell, Ouze lay, groaning. So very cold… I never knew you could be so cold, and live. Ouze closed his eyes. So sleepy… must sleep. I never knew it would go like this… why did I leave them behind? I need to sleep now. Just for a few minutes, then I will get the fire going again. I just need to sleep for a second. His chin fell to the top of his breastplate, and he slumped back against the frozen wall.
A howl sounded in the distance.
An answering howl rang out… very close. Too close. Ouze’s eyes snapped open. He was no ranger, but in this part of the world, it must surely be a Dire Wolf. The shaggy Grey creatures were not a significant threat to Ouze, normally… but in his weakened condition, and with no mana, one of the 4 foot tall, 400 stone wolves would be a tough fight.
And they never travelled alone.
Well, so be it. Ouze stood up, staggering. He drew his Argent Defender. Inside, he felt glee…. He would admit it to no one, but he feared greatly freezing or starving to death. As a Shadowknight, Ouze was well familiar with death… usually the dealing of it… and feared not the passing... It was the manner of the passing that concerned him… Freezing to death was no way to go. No, this is better… I go as I lived… with blood on my hands, and the wind at my back. Ouze drew deep within himself, and let loose with a bloodcurdling Trollish battle cry. “Come, you bitches! Come and die!”, he screamed in the Troll tongue.
There was an answering growl, and another. Then, another. 6 red eyes appeared in the dark. Three… no way, he thought to himself. His raised his sword to a defensive position… and stumbled…. and fell. He could hear footsteps padding greedily through the snow towards him. He released the grip on his Argent Defender, and instead wrapped it on his heavy Weighted Axe. Perhaps if I take one of them in a mighty stroke, they will flee in fear… Ouze sighed to himself. Even if he slew one rapidly, the dire wolves of Velious would never flee when they still had a healthy partner… and certainly not from one who lay coloring the snow red with his lifeblood. But I’ll take one of the bastards, he though grimly. He tensed up. Got his arm ready. Leveraged his shoulder for the swing. The appeared in the mist and snow like apparitions, barely 20 feet from him now. Soon… soon… I can ask Innoruuk himself why. Soon.
As he tensed for the killing blow, he realized the wolves were not snarling, as they did before they pounced. They couldn’t… as they got almost to him, he realized their mouths were full. The lead wolf… a monster almost 5 feet at the shoulder, 600 stones if he was a single, with battle scars and a countenance that showed he would be a formidable foe alone… had… a large snow rabbit in his mouth. The blood dripping from his maw showed it to be a fresh kill. He strode fearlessly to Ouze’s feet, and dropped it there. He stared once, his piercing red eyes burning through Ouze. The second one also dropped a large rabbit, and stopped. The third came, slowly… he was dragging a large branch.
Ouze’s eyes rolled back, and he fell into the blackness that waited.
White. The sky was white, the walls were white, everything was white. The Plane of Hate was not white. Ouze had heard tales of it, and knew it had white nowhere. I’m…. I’m not dead? He opened his eyes. He was in the cave again… how? He raised his head. The roar of the storm had passed, and the sun once more shone on the icy tundra. Must have hallucinated that… and then he looked around.
There was a pile of bones in the corner, and half a rabbit with a troll sized bite taken out of it’s hindquarters. The rapidly dying fire he left when he went to do battle with the wolves burned brightly, with many branches crudely dragged into it. Most telling of all was the packed snow around him… 3 large indentations were melted into the hardpack around his body… they slept on me, giving their heat?
Why would wild wolves assist me? I am so far from Thurgadin, and their trained tracking wolves… and these wore no harnesses. No, these were indeed wild dire wolves. Why would they help me?
He looked down. In one small corner, the ice had melted down to the dirt below. From it sprung… a few blades of grass, and wildflowers. Not dead grass… vibrant, living grass. The flowers had even just started to bloom, it would appear. Before his eyes, a few more sprigs of grass began to poke through the ice at a rapid pace.
Ouze looked at the sky. Maybe…. her??? HER???
Nahhh.
Ouze shook the smell of wolf off himself. He lifted his armor, and peered at the bandage. Slowly peeled it away. Grinned as he saw the unmarked flesh beneath. Good as new, the thought. He strode over to the sprouting grass, and lifted his steel-shod boot, to crush the newly blooming life underfoot.
As his boot hovered over the large budding plant, he paused a second…
Looked up again… and stamped down hard.
Ouze chuckled to himself… and walked away, shaking his head. He strode off onto the tundra, towards the docks.
Towards home.
Standing untouched beside a size 24 footprint, oblivious to it all, the grass grew. The Rose of Firiona continued to bloom.
Note: Had to change the ending a little, since a 2 week break was enough for me Also, re-arranged this post so it fit in order with the storyline. Will deal with the devious Parrotman in a later installment.
"Guk... If there is a hell I imagine its a lot like Lower Guk. A place where death is infinite, fools are legion and the howling and gnashing of teeth can be heard for miles." - Saibok
Re: So this is goodbye
I prefer "Aromatic" or perhaps even "an enchanting musk".
"Guk... If there is a hell I imagine its a lot like Lower Guk. A place where death is infinite, fools are legion and the howling and gnashing of teeth can be heard for miles." - Saibok
they won't let me flash mobs to mezs them, why do you
think this will work?
-Wyn
Parrotman Political Piranha
Posts: 334
(3/15/02 2:48 pm)
Re: So this is goodbye
Just a note...
***** The continuation of this storyline (what I call Chapter 2) is found in the thread "The Hunted". *****
Edited by: Parrotman at: 3/15/02 4:46:22 pm
Also, re-arranged this post so it fit in order with the storyline. Will deal with the devious Parrotman in a later installment.
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