Dreadlands

Ouze ran across the blasted land, looking for the wizard spires. This would be another useful trip to the moon, many pieces or armor to be imported down to the mainland at a high profit. Ouze grinned. His massive strength allowed him to carry much armor, and profits had been high. So lost in his thoughts he was, he was caught unaware as a huge axe swung toward him. At the very last possible moment, he turned slightly to avoid a large bone sticking from the ground, and the axe blade slid along the armor of his back, throwing him to the ground.
Ouze looked up, rage growing. He was shocked to see an immense skeleton, what could only be a troll skeleton, heavily armed. What in Hate? he thought, rolling to the side and drawing his slim Throneblade of the Ykesha. He leapt up, and with a mighty swing, attempted to split it asunder. The skeleton merely cackled, and parried the blow with it's axe. It took the chance to land a vicious bash with it's other arm into Ouze's chest, knocking the air out of him. Ouze snarled in anger, and muttered a few words. The skeleton glowed sickly green, as Ouze ripped the life from it. A second later, Ouze staggered as he felt it doing the same to him. Oh boy, he though... the creature cackled, and it's hand began to glow. The fighting began in earnest.
Many minutes later, no clear progress had been made. Almost every swing Ouze made, the creature would riposte or parry. Blow for blow, there could be no victor. Ouze also was able to sense the creatures blows a moment before they arrived somehow. Frustrated, Ouze found a small opening, and stuck his left hand forward, touching the creature, which immediately writhed in agony, it's whole body supercharged with searing energy. It almost fell... and, a moment later, laid a skeletal claw on Ouze's shoulder. Ouze screamed in agony as the creatures harm touch ripped through his body. Ouze gasped, and looked into it's dead eye sockets. There would be no winning this fight... my mana is low, and I won't win a blow-for blow contest... it will never tired. Ouze cast one more spell, and fell to the ground, as if dead.

The creature reared back for a killing blow.

Ouze scampered to his feet, turned, and ran.

Just a few moments later, he had a a few moments to rest, the creature visable in the distance, pursuing. Ouze felt the spirit of the wolf leave him, and knew the fight would be won or lost here. Inspiration struck... Ouze sat quickly, and pulled forth his spellbook, thumbing to a rarely-used section. He quickly read the glyphs inside, commiting them to memory even as the footfalls came closer.

He stood, and knew it was do or die. He began to chant. The words burned his tongue... holy words, wards against undead. Despite how it painded him, it was agony for the creature, which stopped, head cocked back in a soundless scream. It staggered towards him still, one arm hanging limply. Ouze was too exhausted to fight, and had no energy for spellcasting. He lifted his blade, and thought... this will be close.

A second later, he heard a snicker behind him.

" I see you have learned nothing... That's not how you do it at all. Look, like this!" He said, chanting some words.

The creature stopped a moment, and then exploded, chunks of bone flying everywhere. Cracked shards of bone flew, rattling around the ground.

Ouze looked up at his unexpected savior. "Thanks, friend..." he got out. "I have no idea where that came from..." he turned around, and there was no one there. A small movement in the shadows, but... no one.

Ouze smiled, and said "Thank you again... it has been a long time." He grimaced, and turned to return home to recover from his wounds.

As Ouze became tiny in the distance, shadows faded. A robed figured kneeled, picking up the large skull. He thought for a moment, caressing it, rolling it over in his hands, and then muttered a few silent words. "Hmmm... interesting." was his only comment. The shadows once more rose, and cloaked him, as if he never was.


Irontoe Tavern

It was another ale-drenched night for the regulars in Irontoes. Many of the bars in Qeynos were populated by the hardworking farm folk, looking for a steak and a shot after an honest days work. Irontoes did not cater to that sort, however. The regulars here were cutthroats and thieves, every one. It was said that this was a haven for the Bloodsabers, the ragtag army of mercenaries that followed Kane Bayle in the service of Bertoxxulus. Many a contract was negotiated here, whether it be for the slit throat of a competitor or a caravan for the robbing. These Qeynos guard gave this place a wide berth, for the inhabitants were known to be fearless.
The door rattled open, letting in the drenching cold rain. The stranged rode him, his bulky, cloaked hood obscuring his features and frame. He sidled up to the bar, and motioned tp the bartender.

"I seek information" was all he said.

"Sorry mate, this isn't the tourist stop. Buy a drink, or leave now, afore Bruno shows you the door, and he won't do so gently" hissed the surly bartender.

"Bruno... was that his name?" asked the newcomer, tossing back his cloak, revealing himself to the gasps of the crowd. "You will tell me what I want to know, human." His tone was menacing, and threatening.

An warrior leapt from the back of the room, blades bared. "We'll share nothing with you but our blades, you and all your kind!" he shrieked.

The stranged allowed a smile to pass his face. "Will you, now..." he asked, to himself. A whisper, and the shadows that cloaked the room seems to come alive... and to be hungry. The warrior stopped, now uncertain. The darkness started to coalesce near his feet, and then leapt up, a living, hungry THING, thickly forming around his body. He was unable to move, and his eyes bulged with horror as the shadows themselves began to consume his flesh. Unsatisfied, the stranged muttered words once more. Liquid formed...condensation forming into drops around him, and then, raining onto the warrior in a hail of sizzling acid. The bar and it's denizens were showered in the unfortunate's blood, as the tortured screams of the dying man filled the air.

One young rogue slipped away, to the door, only to have an immense, 9 foot skeleton blook the way, cackling with menace, bloody blades at the ready. With a inhuman laugh, it slashed forward, spilling viscera upon the floor, as the rogue fell forward, slit from gullet to groin.

The stranger closed the door, and sat, the undead creature glaring. "Now..." he repeated.. "you will tell me... everything!"

Screams once more filled the night air. It was a long, long time before they stopped.

Innothule

Ouze surveyed his wrecked house. So long he had spent, making a place he felt was a refuge from the elements. His sense of security... gone. How am I ever going to be able to fix this? Looking from the shattered beams, to the wrecked fireplace, to the smashed table, he felt a strong wave of despair sweep over him. He walked onto the porch, and sat there. After a moment, he put his head down, lost in his thoughts, and his sadness.

"Hey, stinky. Heads up."

Ouze looked up. Standing before him was Hiemer.

"Heya" he responded.

Hiemer looked at him a second, and nodded. "Want some help with this?" he asked.

Ouze looked at the mess behind him, and shrugged. "I think I am going to wind up just going to stay in the caves in Hukulk's for a while. This is just too wrecked."

Hiemer nodded. "Yeah... you are probably right. One troll probably could never set this straight." He shrugged.

He thought a moment, and added, "Course... you don't have to do it yourself." He grinned, and there was a splashing behind him, as Rashindo, Kapena, Duwan, Cikki, and Saibok came around the bend. Duwan and Rashindo were dragging a sled behind them, full of freshly chopped logs, as Cikki sat atop them, barking commands.

Ouze looked, and smile. "No... I guess I don't."

Qeynos Catacombs

Parrotman stirred uneasily in his sleep. The failure of the superpet had taken a lot out of him, leaving him ill-equipped to deal with the everyday dangers of his life. For a long time he would have to stay in his santuary, taking the lifeforce of the vermin around him. So much gambled, and for naught. Well... Ouze won't be able to trace it back to me, at least... I shall grow strong, and deal with him later, he though, and his features relaxed, as he started to enter a blissful sleep.
He dreamed. Dreamed of mastery, when all across the land trembled at his name, when all the nubile half-elf wenches he desired were his for the taking. He could sit on his throne, and lead an army of darkness against Antonius Bayle himself! If only he could rid his throne of that awful smell.

What was that awful smell?

He gagged, and opened his eyes. In front of him stood an enormous undead monster, much more powerful then anything he could summon or control. It leered at him, undead sockets glowing with green pulses of energy, maggots crawling from it's eyes. It's skeletal form, and twin blades, were doused in what appared to be fresh blood and gore.

He sat up, and looked at the form in the door, and gasped.

The Iksar stood there, glaring at him. A dull aura pulsed around his hands, and he floated a few feet off the ground, his black and green robe draped about him. In one hand, he held a bowl, pulsating with magical energies. In his other hand, he held a large skull.

A very large, troll-sized skull.

"Parrotman..." Xoriz hissed at him, dripping with menace. "We have much to discuss!"

"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

Edited by: Ouze Stinkeefeets at: 1/27/02 5:08:27 pm