A Perfect Blade of Grass… [now complete writeup] It may not look it now, but I was there when the Heroes of the Land brought back Froalar. I saw them return, and I heard the tale from their own mouths. For a fresh round, I’ll tell you the tale – the true story, not the made-up version the bards tell. Good. There’s nothing worse than storytelling on a dry throat. Anyways, you might not believe me, but at the start of the story, they were all working for me. I was a man-of-all then, with a war-band of my own. Over a hundred brave souls looking to me for guidance and leadership, and what good did that ever get them. Barkeep! Keep ‘em coming. My friend here is paying, so you don’t have to scowl at me like that… Anyways, these Heroes, they were working for me at the time. Didn’t seem much like Heroes at the time really. I mean, Severus was a hell of a Wizard, better than the likes of me should have been able to hire, but the way things kept catching fire around him, I kinda always figured he’d end up on the other side of history, if you know what I mean. DeWolfe seemed a good enough bloke. Good scout, excellent hunter, though a bit over-fond of the ladies, if ya know what I mean. The Girl we just picked up somewhere, I really don’t know where she came from. No, she’s not in the bard’s version, but she’s pretty darn important – you’ll see. So, we’d been hired to guard Koroleth’s Harvest Blessing. Koroleth had a keep over on the Castle Coast, and he paid, at least, but not well. I suppose my love of the spirits was taking it’s toll already then, though I’d never have admitted it at the time. I was never strong enough on discipline, but at this particular festival, I let it go completely. I mean, I told ‘em what we were being paid for, and figured they’d sort it out amongst themselves, but apparently not. No sentries, no outriders, no particular distribution of forces. We were asking for trouble, and trouble isn’t one to need a second invitation. The raiders just rode up into the middle of the ceremony, grabbed the sacred stone, and rode off. Simple as that. It would have been a complete disaster, but Severus channeled the energy of the ceremony into a huge fireball around the stone. Hah! Singed the lot of them right proper, though we never did find any bodies. Well they dropped the stone right there, and rode off like hell itself was chasing them. Of course, the Keep Wizards were angry as anything. All the power of their ritual was wasted in those flames, and half the fields of the county burnt to a crisp within the week. Koroleth was furious, and refused to pay, unless we fixed the situation, and it was became increasingly clear that no one had any idea at all what to do about it. The Harvest was a disaster. It was clear that a lot of people were going to starve over the winter unless something drastic was done. My troops weren’t in much better shape. We were counting on that payment, and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could manage to keep the band together without it. As sacred time approached, it became increasingly obvious that we would have to take drastic measures. There was talk of throwing ourselves on the mercy of forest demons, of insane raids against other potential employers, and all manner of nonsense. Eventually, at my wits end, I ordered them to take the ruined fertility-stone to the old earth temple, and see what could be done. It was the girl’s idea, really – she’d found some kind of flower or magic leaf or something that had her all worked up, and wouldn’t leave me alone until we’d done something about it. So we made our way to the cliff-side closest to the Isle of Old Temple. You could just see the matching cliff on the far side, and just barely hear the waves crashing against the sheer wall so far below. It was the first morning of the first day of sacred time, and Severus wasted no time while drawing out his magic circles, mumbling nonsense, and making those strange sorts of gestures that the zzaburi are so terribly fond of. As the sun began to peek over the horizon, he completed his ritual, and the party grew wings of fire and set out across the chasm towards the Island. The two men-at-arms barely made it a hundred yards before they began to scream and writhe instead of flapping. The bright flames of their sorcerous bird-form took on a reddish hue, and began to emit black smoke as they slowly arced down into the sea a thousand feet below. Poor bastards. The remaining three seemed to fare better, and slowly disappeared into the growing light. That’s as much of the story as I witnessed personally, until the very end. I was pretty sure I’d never see them again at that point. DeWolfe would be a loss - good trustworthy scouts are hard to come by. Severus, I was still cranky with for costing the band our pay, so I wasn’t particularly upset to see him go. At the time, I was a bit upset that I let the Girl go with them. Sure, she was useless, and probably wouldn’t have survived the winter, but sending her off to die on a fool’s errand like that seemed hardly less cruel than starvation. Severus and DeWolfe told me the rest later, so what I tell you now is second hand, but still reliable. They reached the far side exhausted and badly burnt. Their clothes, hair, and everything else consumed by their flaming bird forms. Fortunately, the thick jungle of the island provided enough foliage for them to craft some rudimentary clothing to protect their modesty, and it was not long before they were able to begin making their way inland towards where the Temple was rumored to be located. It took most of the day to press on through the jungle. DeWolfe spied some small, ape-like plantmen keeping pace on either side, but they never interfered or approached. Eventually, they reached the plain stone archway that marked the entrance to the Temple. Conferring only briefly, they decided to forge ahead into the darkness, using Severus’s flaming staff for light. The hall into the temple was broad and easily travelled. It descended slowly, looping around, and eventually opening into a wide chamber flanked by tall pillars. At the far end of the chamber stood a slender humanoid figure, clad in gleaming scales of copper, carrying a long bow of leafy green wood, and brandishing a sharp and well-polished copper axe. “This is the portal to sacred earth! To travel further is Death. You may not pass.” To everyone’s surprise, it was the girl who stepped forward then. Without fear, she strode right up to the bristling forest demon, presented a small, green leaf in her left hand, and staring directly into its expressionless, soulless eyes said “Look, I have here a completely perfect blade of grass. See? Yes, you see it too! this thing does not belong in the waking world. We Need to go within to discover its meaning.” And it stood aside! DeWolfe and Severus shared a confused look as they hurried past the motionless monster, standing still as the tree it resembled – its head bowed respectfully as they moved on into the darkness. The tunnels beneath the temple were long and precarious, with many twists and chasms and false turns, but the party followed them ever downward without difficulty. In time, the claustrophobic stone tunnels gave way to a terrifying, shifting landscape, with enormous mountains shaped like the twisted limbs of fallen giants on one side, and an endless, waveless ocean on the other. The Heroes stopped briefly to discuss their options, but when they again looked outward to pick a path, they stared upon a blasted desert, with an army of dark bodies flowing across it in the distance like some sort of strange river. Far ahead and to one side stood a gleaming palace of stone, glowing with ruddy light, and from behind a bluish orb hung in the skyless void above them. Each time they looked from one feature to another, the landscape changed around them, stymying any plan they might have made for their route. As they stood there, confused and lost, one particular piece of scenery broke free of the background and came crawling, loping, or limping towards them. A huge monster of indescribable aspect - covered with mouths and moving on a multitude of misshapen and terrible limbs - oozing indescribably putrid fluids from a thousand ugly wounds. Severus immediately know that no such thing could possibly be permitted within the laws of the universe, and turned his back on it to rebuke the very notion of its existence. As it approached closer, and the terrible smells and madness inducing sounds of its approach became stronger, DeWolfe felt his change coming upon him. Primal urges overwhelmed his human reason, as the illusion of his humanity was stripped away and his true, un-filtered fury burst forth. Snarling and snapping, an enormous bipedal wolf-thing leapt upon the chaos-monster, rending with vicious teeth, and tearing with his iron claws. Heedless to the indescribable pain of its embrace, and insensate to its sanity-shredding screams, he ripped the noisome monster to pieces, and the pieces to shreds, and the shreds he stomped into nothingness, until there was no trace left of the monster and, spent, DeWolfe regained his battered and exhausted human form. With the noise of battle well past, Severus turned back around and congratulated himself on his sanity and the force of his faith in the Invisible God. The abomination was banished, as if it had never been. One look at his companions confirmed his feat – DeWolfe trembling and weak from fear, and the girl’s staring disbelief amply expressed their gratitude, as he strode forward on the path of righteousness. A short distance ahead, over a slight rise, there came into view a golden pyramid gleaming dimly upon a gloaming hellscape of the lost souls of damned heathens. At its top was an enormous throne, and seated upon the throne was the tattered and skeletal form of the emperor of the dead, bleeding fire, and casting despair upon the wraithlike forms around him. Immediately upon seeing the figure, Severus was overcome by a familiar compulsion. Here was the slain Sun, elemental source of Fire. An infinite supply of elemental power, and boundless resource to be seized, if only he could manage to embrace it. He could feel its terrible warmth building within him as his mind reached out, drawn inexorably, uncontrollably forward. As his skin began to flicker and burn, he regained just enough self-control to realize the danger he faced. All of his training screamed of the danger of falling prey to false gods, such as the one before him. Only the law, only pure logic devoid of passion or corruption could grant true power. The temptation he felt was a test, a foul trap to ensnare the unworthy, a lure meant to bind him in eternal servitude. But even as his logical mind saw the snare before him, his heart drove him forth in desire and elemental lust. Rather than accept his fate, he seized upon a desperate plan. However powerful this false god might be, the pure logic of his training was stronger. His mastery of the element was greater than any base demon’s and he knew that if he could burn brighter and hotter than the god, he could maintain his will and identity in the face of its corruption. Immediately, he burst into flames – facing down the dead god of light and challenging it to battle on its own terms. But the Maggot Leige cared not for his efforts, and remained impassive upon his throne, lamenting his wounds and the injustice of his station. Though Severus failed to overcome the god, he so exhausted himself in the effort, that his companions were able to drag him away to safety once he had burnt himself out, and collapsed in a smoldering, but still living, heap. The pyramid of the fallen Sun was well lost in the distance before Severus regained consciousness, and was again able to walk. The group had entered a range of jagged hills – a sharp line of peaks extending as far as they could see, ahead and behind them. As they reached what seemed to be a pass across the ridge, the Girl shouted with excitement “Look! Look at the hills, there! And over there! Look!!! That’s a claw, and there – off in the distance, a wing! It’s a dragon! We’re climbing a Dragon!” The rest looked about, and as she pointed out one feature after another, it slowly dawned on them that she just might be correct. Of course, none of the others quite shared her excitement – terrified by the scope and the sheer size of the beast below them. Momentarily lost in the view beneath and around them, Severus and DeWolfe did not immediately notice the Girl running off merrily towards a deep cave in the distance. “Look! That must be its ear – we have to wake it up, so it can tell me about the grass!!” They followed as rapidly as they could, but not fast enough to prevent her from reaching the cave before them. They followed her to the cave, and within the cave, and came upon her screaming monstrous wordless noises at the top of her lungs. However hard they tried to quiet and calm her, she would not stop screeching, even as a the cave opening was occluded by a large, terrifying reptilian shape. The Dream Dragon struck with terrible quickness and purpose, snapping with arm-long fangs, and tearing with gnarled metal claws. DeWolfe and Severus were sore pressed to defend themselves, and the girl, oddly encouraged, simply kept screaming. As DeWolfe tired visibly without making any visible hurt upon their assailent, the wizard cast about for some way out of the mess they were in. Finally, in desperation, he summoned his old carry-bag – a shapeless and non-descript item he had left behind with the mercenaries across the water and a million mythic miles away. He didn’t have any formulated plan for what to do with it, but he knew that in the past, it had always held just exactly what he needed. So he summoned it. The bag appeared in his hand, gaping open, just as the Dragon’s jaws began to snap closed on him. Without thinking he jumped in, and disappeared – barely escaping the ravenous jaws of the beast. When DeWolfe saw what happened, he grabbed the Girl (who was still yelling her sibilant nonsense as enthusiastically as ever) and leapt into the bag as well. For a timeless moment, everything was Dark. When vision returned, it was not clear if it was because some source of light had emerged, or if it was simply their own sense returning to them. They stood before a massive, square, copper doorway, engraved with the runes of earth and life and harmony. Before the door stood a massive, squat demon with wild hair, bloody limbs, and an enormous axe festooned with severed organs of masculinity. The Monster shouted and threatened them, spitting blood, and waving her gory axe. As the men cowered in fear, the Girl again simply walked up to the doors. “Greetings, sister. The child of dawn is always welcome in our mother’s house” said the monster, as it turned back towards the men glowering and brandishing its axe. Severus approached, somewhat tremulous in his general apprehension over all things of the female variety. The demon sniffed loudly, and brandished her weapon, taking some minor delight in his flinching response. But, ultimately, she let him pass as well. She smelt no crime upon his soul, and was far more interested in the next figure. DeWolfe strode towards the door with an apparent confidence he did not feel inside. He knew somehow that this demon could sense every ill deed and stretching of truth that he had made towards any of the many females with which he had shared intimacy. While he maintained a certain pride in the overall tone of his dealings, his heart quaked at a few memorable instances of mis-deed and coercion. Within his own heart, he relived every situation in his life where he might have mislead or coerced a female to his desire, and though he himself was mortified at the mercenary and indiscriminate bent of his loins, apparently the goddess or retribution found no capital offense, and he was permitted to pass. Whole, but deeply distressed by the awareness forced upon him by the guardian’s gaze. Once within, the doors clanged shut with a resounding toll. The three questers found themselves within a gigantic square room, with a shattered pile of stones filling its center, and two thrones against the far wall, each occupied by a terrifying figure. On the left, was a skeletal form, shrouded, with serpents for hair and a far away look in her empty eye sockets. On the right, an wizened crone, bedecked in a thousand strands of gold and jewels, overlooking the scene before her with a sad and jaded eye. Severus immediately noticed the similarity between the pile of stones on the floor before him, and the holy relic they had brought from the waking world. Clearly these were all pieces of some larger image, of a statue of some sort that had been shattered long ago by foul magic or base mischance. The Girl, with the same confidence she exhibited always, strode to the figure on the right, and confronted her with the small green frond that had caused her so much consternation. DeWolfe, unsure what else to do, but certain that his compatriots had at least some idea what they were up to, set out to distract the daunting, skeletal figure on the right with his own presence and charm. Many were the charms and the magicks with which Severus attempted to re-form the shattered statue he found before him. Yellow, red and blue flames shone in his hands and his eyes, as he slowly puzzled the pieces of the serpent together. One after the other. The Girl, for her part charmed and delighted the crone to whom she had decided to present herself. Youth, and innocence, and unfailing delight in life, won out for her over doubt and despair, and the long cynicism of painful experience. The beastman had a harder time. The skeletal, snake-haired goddess of death had little use for his charm, and no sympathy for his love, and his selfless devotion. She denied his charm, and his illusory comely form. It was only, in complete frustration, when he presented himself to her, unadorned, in the imperfect and unlovely form which was his own, that she began to show some interest. Once he had completely bared his soul, giving up to her what he had never shared with anyone else, did she finally deign to grant her blessing to the proceedings. In the end, DeWolfe’s difficulties were well timed. Severus finally pieced together all the various pieces of the shattered statue, just as he convinced the goddess of the dead to look up again, and just as the Girl convinced the grandmother of wealth to bless her cause. Beneath her heaps of necklaces and baubles, the miserly crone placed a withered hand upon each of the Girl’s shoulders, and stiffly leant forward to kiss her head. “I believe this soul will stay with me a while – this house could use some youth, after all these long cold years of dotage. Grandson, you have held this form long enough – your own is ready. Leave now, and take our blessings with you.” At her words, the Girl stiffened, and shook convulsively, with eyes rolled back and every muscle and tendon straining against the other. The crone, with strength belying her appearance, held her upright, in a gentle, but firm grasp. As the spasms subsided in the Girl, color began to return to the statue. First mossy, then verdant, then finally, an indescribably emerald translucence filled the serpentine image. What was stone, slowly became something else, arcane flesh covered with jewel-tone scales. An unimaginably beautiful and powerful being only hinted at by the base earth it had been. “Come friends, it is time to return. I thank you for all you have done, but there is still much to do. The land has so many wounds, and I feel the greatest are yet to be inflicted. The time of Heroes is upon us, and we each have a role to play in the battles ahead.” Froalar then reached up with one draconic claw, and poked a hole in the fabric of the universe. The hole became the opening of a non-descript cloth bag, and the Hall of the Dead its insides. DeWolfe and Severus clambered out of the opening as the bag shrunk about them, and the enormous serpent followed. This is where I come back in to the story – my band had remained camped by the cliffside throughout sacred time. “Celebrating” two weeks of desultory and hungry ritual, while I drank away my worries about our next assignment and what would happen when our meager food and even less impressive coffer of gold ran out. Within Severus’s empty tent, there was a commotion. My wizard came stumbling out, followed by a strange, but oddly familiar Beatman. Yes. Of course it was DeWolfe. Sheesh, do I have to spell out EVERYTHING. No, I didn’t recognize him because he’d always kept a glamor on before that, and looked human, and now he had a Dog Head. Ok? I didn’t recognize him with a Dogs Head. Gah. Let me finish! This is the best part, and you’re ruining it… Ok. So after those two come out of the tent, something huge tears through its roof… Like a huge, green dragon climbing into the sky. As it climbed, it Grew, until it filled all of everything. It was the most amazing thing I have ever seen or experienced. Everyone felt it – the land was alive again… Froalar had returned, and the world was ripe for a new serpent king. The Heroes of the Land – yeah, no one called them that then, but that’s what you’d know them as now, had freed the soul of the earth, and nothing would ever be the same again. Well, nothing but me, that is. DeWolfe ended up taking over my war-band, and I slowly drank myself into the pathetic husk you see before you. Yeah, I see you don’t believe me, but it’s true. Even if it isn’t, the story was worth another round or two, isn’t it? Just one more? please?
Posted on: Thu, 13 Nov 2014 18:01:24 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015