Gods & Men: The Ancient Myths: Chapter 1 IC Thread

[JinnSato]

He walks into the bar. He catches a few stars because of his strange green cloths. He walks up to the bar. There he sees a startling beautiful barmaid. She had long thick red hair. And big pretty eyes. Linken couldn't take his eyes off of her. He sits at the bar.

"What'll ya have hon??"

"I'll have a pint lil' lady."

She begins pouring him his drink. She than hands it to him and begins drinking.

"Some good stuff ya got here." He says and gives her a wink.

"Sorry but thats not going to work with me."

"Well can I have your name??"

"No." She then walks off attending to another person.

Wow. Linken thinks while staring at her butt. I think I like this town. He smirks and then goes back to his drink.

​

He awoke in the inn the next day ready to make some money and get out of this town. Linken got up and went around seeing if he could get any odd jobs for money. But everyone turned him down. Everyone seemed on edge for some reason.



He went back to the bar. But it was cleared out except for the barmaid.

"So whats going on in this town."

"You really aren't from around here are ya?"

"Why? Whats going on?"

"Orcs.."

"What?"

"That mountain thats behind the town is in habited by Orcs. And every month they come and collect taxes. And it's more and more. And where growing thin. And we might not be able to pay next month." Tears were running down her face.

"Really.. That sucks. Ya know what. I'll help you people out... For a date with you."

"What!!!"

"It's a deal than."

Suddenly loud drums could be heard from everywhere. The ground shook.

"They're here!!"

She ran outside. Linken followed her. The went to the Town Hall. The whole village was there.

Out of the doors of the Hall a giant Orc with two battle axes came out.

"Wow... This may be harder than expected."

 

[Obi-John-Kenobi]

Del'Na'Har dug around the supposed site of the artifact as Oni watched patiently.

"I believe it was made out of mithril. Unfortunately, there aren't any dwarven mines or settlements within miles of here."

"Then we shall find one."

Suddenly, a well-armored elf carrying a slim longsword leaped out from behind a large boulder.

"I have come to challenge you to a duel, Demon Dragon Ryu! Prepare yourself!"

Oni smiled and entered a battle stance used for fighting elven warriors.
The elf and the Shogun circled each other for a few seconds, studying each others stances. Oni striked first.
He took a long step forward and made a sweeping arc with his sword. Oni was surprised to find that his target had disappeared. Oni felt a strong kick to the center of his back, and he lurched forward in pain, and turned around to face his attacker. The elf chuckled.

"Your tyrrany ends HERE, Ryu. I shall erase you from this plane of existence!"

The elf leaped to his right side, dashed towards Ryu, and disappeared. Oni didn't have time to react before he felt the seering pain of a blade slicing down his back. Oni grunted and spun to face his attacker, while unleashing a counter-attack. The elf blocked and disappeared again. The Shogun felt an incredible surge of pain course through his body and he looked down to see the elf's blade sticking out of his stomach.

 

[Johnny Blaze]

A rush of foul air rushed past the lich as he opened the door to the large, dimly lit room deep within the catacombs. The room was large and octagon in shape, and filled with the stench of death. In the eight corners of the room were eight cells, large enough to hold a single prisoner comfortably. Inside the room were a few tables and some chairs, some with straps on them to hold a person in place. Other torture devices lay around the room in a fit of organized chaos which allowed easy walking down designated pathways.

Moving past an iron maiden whose spikes still held chunks of rotted flesh, Charaun moved towards the center of the room and the paladin stripped naked and chained to metal chair. He was bloody and beaten, his arm disgustingly disfigured as though it was broken, and then set and healed in the opposite way. A large gash that poured fresh blood stood out on his left breast, his torturer holding a small cup under the wound to catch the blood.

"I hope I am not interrupting anything, Kallisto", spoke the lich as he moved

"Not all, my dear Charaun", replied the beautiful Kallisto as she turned to regard him.

She was a petite thing, smaller than Anastasia, but no less voluptuous. Her tight black garments showed off her shapely body, and matched the color of her delicate raven black hair which was pulled back between her pointed ears that marked her as elven. Her bewitching brown eyes played beautifully off of the purple tattoos on her face, which in turn mixed enticingly with her smooth pale skin. She took a drink from the cup, a dribble of blood running down her red lips.

"So, how is our guest", asked Charaun as he moved to inspect the beaten Paladin.

"Victor and I are having a grand time", replied Kallisto with a smile, bearing her fangs.

"Aren't we Victor", she stated as she smashed the cup over his head, shattering it. The paladin grunted, and mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that", questioned a curious Charaun as he moved closer.

"Nothing", answered Kallisto, "the fool's been praying for his god to deliver him for over an hour now."

"It would be sad if it weren't so amusing", she stated with a sadistic smile as she struck him in the stomach with an open-palm strike that knocked the air out of him with a gasp.

"Do not be so ruff on the man, Kallisto", commanded Charaun as he moved forward. Kallisto silently obeyed and stepped back.

Grabbing the paladin by his hair and holding his head aloft, Charaun pulled a small vial of blue liquid from his robes and poured it down the man's throat. He did not wish to drink it and tried to spit it up, but Charaun forced it down by conjuring a spectral hand to cover Victor's mouth while he held his nose close. Immediately after finishing the vial, Victor's wounds began to heal and he became more coherent. One eye still closed, the Paladin stared hatefully at the lich with the other and spit in his decayed face.

"Is that how you treat your healers", asked Charaun as he wiped the ichor from his cheek.

The paladin said nothing in reply, he just kept that same stern look of contempt plastered on his face.

"What? No witty remarks? No curses? I must say, I am a bit disappointed", sighed the lich.

Victor closed his eyes and breathed deep, as best he could, and began to quietly mutter a prayer to his god.

"Hahahahahahahaha! You are devoted, I will give you that, paladin. Though your devotion is misplaced. Your god has abandoned you, that much is clear."

Victor did not flinch in the least at the lich's comments, but continued to utter his prayers to his patron.

"Your god does not care about you, Victor. After all of your devotion, all your prayers, he has left you to rot in some dark crypt."

Still, the paladin made no response.

"Why, I'd wager that you no longer feel the divine light within you."

This made Victor pause, but only for a split second, before he continued on with his prayer. Although he would not admit it, the lich's word's rang true. The light of his god, Baldr, that he always felt inside him like the afternoon sun was weaker now. As though the light was leaving him.

Like a shark smelling blood, Charaun pushed on.
"Do you know why your god has abandoned you? It's because he is weak", hissed Charaun as he ducked to speak directly into Victor's left ear.
"He is a weak and pathetic being, and cannot cope with the power of my master. My lord is ever strong, paladin, and, unlike your weak god, he does not abandon his devotees."

"Think on that, paladin", stated Charaun as he rose and began to leave and motioned for Kallisto to follow him, "think on that as the darkness creeps in around you, and the light of your god fades away into nothingness."

As Charaun and Kallisto left the room, the torch light went out, leaving Victor alone in the gloom...

 

[trustyside-kick]

Some people would call me a scholar, but I just choose wisely with my words. Others would call me a man of god, a preacher. I have my beliefs, and fear the Almighty for his presence is indeed here, but I do not praise him. Many would go to call me a prophet, believing that my stories fortell possible future events, but I merely re-tell tales of the past, no trickery in this.

I am none of these. So who am I? That matters not. I am untamable, bearing ties to no one. My alliegance lies not with the elves, nor the dwarves, nor even the humans. My heritage, bears little, next to no importance in why I am here. I have been away from home, for so long, after I have told my tale, you too will have forgotten me, for I will not be here afterwards. I am a recluse. I am a hermit. I am a nomad. I am an outcast. But you may call me Caed.

***

...Tension between Keltor and Caldoria had risen after the death of their King and Queen. And the Council of Elders, who had always been against the thought of an elf fighting alongside a human, took power over the country with swift force. It was that day that the bond between the two nations and countries were broken. It was that day that Caldoria first started to spiral down into the darkness.

Despite the downfall of Caldoria that had come to pass over the years, Keltor still stood tall; an impenetrable fortress that rose to the heavens. Surrounded by rock and mountain, Keltor was able to keep its city and civilization safe. When the Council of Elders, renamed the Illuminati of Caldoria, held the kingdom of Keltor responsible for their former ruler's deaths, the Keltoren King realized that the elves decided where they now stood. The Illuminati of Caldoria with their racism towards other races, inspired the people of their country to believe the words that it was an assassination.

But the Keltoren King argued back. There would never be a reason to strike down their allies in such a way. The two countries had just fought alongside one another in a long war for that matter. But still, the Illuminati of Caldoria pursued vengeance with threats and orders of attack on Keltor. There were rumors that one of the Illuminati, the leader himself, was Lance's twin brother Magus. This would also explain why the Caldorian elves would become enemies of the Keltor. If this was the case, then the Illuminati possibly told Magus of Kelvin's whereabouts somewhere in Keltor. But this was a theory spoken about by few; for almost no one in Keltor knew of Kelvin's royalty. Still, there was no evidence or proof to back-up this theory; for no Keltoren man, woman, child, soldier, or king, was allowed in the realm of Caldoria.

***

Kelvin grew up, never understanding the meaning or truth behind the constant hostility between the two countries; not many knew for that matter. He was an elf, in the society full of humans; yet he stood tall without worry and lived amongst the humans. But, there were a few times when, unexplainable things would occur in Kelvin's presence. The pride and joy of the Keltoren kingdom was their bond with the dragons. Tamed and raised from birth as soon as they hatched, an understanding was created with the intellectual creatures.

Accusations of Kelvin being a threat to the kingdom were made when the safety of dragons were at stake. For whenever he was nearby, the wise creatures seemed to go wild and rampant, attacking all around them with much hostility, as if he was a danger to even the gargantuan monsters themselves. It was as if the creatures saw something inside the boy that they themselves could not explain.

The blacksmith Elwin found himself fighting for Kelvin's rights numerous times. And because of his actions and his words in defense of the young elf, he too became somewhat of an outsider to his own native home. And at times when Elwin would flat out ask certain people why Kelvin was a menace; some would almost speak, but find themselves silent. They either didn't really think of a good reason, and were just following the crowd because it was clear he was an elf, or they knew the truth about Kelvin and kept their lips shut. But Kelvin did find friends among few in the land. And he trained himself, with the help of Elwin, to be able to defend himself. Kelvin didn't know about his past, but Elwin did. Elwin wanted to make sure that the boy was protected at all costs. But Elwin knew he wouldn't always be there to protect him. A rare sight indeed, Kelvin became most skilled with the sword.

Many elves, especially Caldorian ones, would be masters of the arts of magic and archery. Melee weapons such as rapiers, spears, axes, and javelins were not too rare either. But a sword...that was mastered by few. Perhaps it was the prejudice against the humans, for so many would carry a sword...or it could have been the stuck-up personality of some of the elves...but being an elven swordsman in Caldoria was almost frowned upon. Many in Caldoria looked upon any elf who wielded such a weapon to be savage and barbaric; especially a large, broad sword. But Kelvin loved every minute of it. From the stances, to the strikes and countering...he couldn't get enough of it. So he continued to live among the Keltoren people; an elf wielding a sword...
​

​

 

[Johnny Blaze]

The lich sat on his cold, stone seat inside the grand throne room of Warlock's Rest. A dozen large monstrosities appearing to be composed of iron armor lined the room's walls, each holding a wicked blade that had to be at least half the length of their body. The stone throne in which Charaun sat was elevated from the rest of the room's floor as it rested on a large dais adorned with faded, but still regal, red velvet cloth.

In his hand, Charaun held a black gem, twirling it between his fingers nonchalantly. Holding the gem up to his face, Charaun spoke, "That's not a very nice thing to say, Andreas."

"Especially from such a cultured soul", the lich chuckled.

"I know what will brighten your mood, my foolish friend", continued Charaun, "let me tell you a story. Do not worry, it will not take up too much of your precious time. It begins, as most stories go, a long time ago..."


"At the height of it's power, the ancient Babylonian Empire stretched from the Mediterranean Sea all the way to the Persian Gulf. Ancient Babylon was responsible for gracing history with many powerful and innovated mages who helped shape magic into what it is today. One such mage was a man named Myrkul. Myrkul was born into the slums and lived as a poor street urchin most of his young life. And, after many hard years, he ingratiated himself to a noble mage. How he did so is lost to time. Some say that he saved the mage's life from thieves, others say that he was caught trying to steal the mage's coin purse and that the old dotard took pity on him. Me, I'd like to think that Myrkul used his cunning to put himself into the good graces of the wizard. In any case, Myrkul was taken in by the sorcerer and became his apprentice."

Charaun looked at the jewel in his hand.
"Do not worry, Andreas", sighed the lich, "I will not bore you with the details of his life."

"Myrkul became the mage's apprentice and began his studies of the dark art of necromancy. This being before it was considered an evil practice, or even called necromancy. Back then magic was much more...free, and wild. Many powerful families had undead guardians and servants. It was even rumored that Nebuchadnezzar himself was one of the first vampires of this world."

"In any case, Myrkul quickly became adept in the art of necromancy and it was not long before his power rivaled that of even his master. Soon his master was killed in battle with a rival mage, and Myrkul inherited everything. Myrkul then spent the next few decades researching epic spells, and created many magical items of great power. Rumors in necromantic circles say that Myrkul was the first necromancer to discover the secret ritual into lichdom, and that he gained the knowledge from the Lord of Nine himself."

"I consider myself an avid collector of magical works and knowledge, and I've come to possess two of Myrkul's creations throughout the centuries. One is part of the nether scrolls, a collection of necromantic knowledge detailing many ancient rituals and spells both terrifying and awe-inspiring. Another is the Black Gate, a comely stone archway that, when properly tuned, can lead one into the outer planes. But the one that has alluded me all my years was Myrkul's greatest creation. The Crown of Horns."

"Ah, I see you recognize the name", stated the lich to the gem, "maybe you are not as stupid as I thought."

"Yes, the Crown of Horns, an artifact of awesome power. Tales speak of the Crown's power, augmenting Myrkul's already mighty magicks, raising entire battlefields of dead soldiers at once, and snuffing out the life of entire towns. But it is hard to separate truth from tale. What was true was that the entire empire feared what Myrkul could do with it. They were right to fear him."

"He wiped out the rival mage who murdered his mentor, and went about bending the entire capital to his will. Mage after mage faced him and all failed utterly. Then, when all hope for the city and empire seemed lost, a young woman named Midnight faced Myrkul in combat. Their duel above the city of Babylon was perhaps the greatest in recorded history, and it eventually led the two waring wizards to the rooftop of Myrkul's tower. It was there that Midnight cast her fatal spell which ended the duel and Myrkul's reign of terror. With his final act, Myrkul detonated his entire tower, destroying a large portion of the city. Midnight, a powerful sorceress in her own right, survived the blast, but many of Myrkul's possessions did not."

"But, as they dug through the rubble over the next few weeks, and as they found Myrkul's charred corpse, they could not find it. The Crown of Horns was gone."

"Many think the magic of the explosion sent it to some other plane of existence. Others say the Crown was a sentient thing, and teleported itself away at the last second before the blast. Whatever the case may be, it has become one of the most sought after artifacts in history. I myself have been searching for it for centuries."

"And now", continued Charaun as he lowered the gem and seemed to stare off into the darkness of the room, "after centuries of searching and pouring over ancient manuscripts and searching for clues, I have finally discovered it's resting place."

Lost in his own thoughts, the lich came back to reality and looked into the gem, the wretched soul of Andreas writhing within it's confines.
"But that is another story", the lich chuckled.

"Do not worry, Andreas", said Charaun as he rose and placed the gem on the throne in his place, "you will hear it one day."

"After all, the two of us have all the time in the world."

Charaun made his way out of the throne room, his footfalls echoing off of the stone floor leaving poor Andreas alone, moaning silently in his misery...

 

[The Question]

The tale of Bogdan the Vamire: Chapter one, in which we shall begin where most stories should. In a bar.


The bar in question if the Pig's Gut, a small tavern in the English town of Northampton. It's a very long way from his home, in Romania. Sometimes, when it's quiet, he stops, and he thinks about home. Now, however, as he dances on the bar singing at the top of his lungs, is not one of them.

"And it's NO, NAY, NEVER!"

CLAP
CLAP
CLAP
CLAP

"NO NAY NEVER, no MORE! Well I've been....something...no NEVER, no MORE!"

And he sang the night away, doing every old folk song about the traveling man's life he could think. And people laughed, and people cheered, and later that night, after last call, the cute little barmaid gave him something that he hadn't had in a very long time. But this story is not about that night. It is about the morning after.

At roughly ten in the morning, Bogdan awoke. His first thought, naturally, was if he might be lucky enough to get a quick extra helping of the previous night's festivities. His second that was, of course, how the bad place he was going to get out of the house without catching fire. However, when he opened his eyes and saw two very large, very muscular menclad head to toe in black fabric and pointing swords that by the slight burning sensation on his skin he knew were made of silver, his third thought was "Oh ****."

"Lord Kingsley requests your presence in the Court of the Black Fox" said the slightly shorter of the two men.

Bogdan looked over at the woman sleeping beside him.

"She isn't his daughter, is she?"

The taller of the two grabbed him by the through and hoisted him in the air.

"ACK!"

"Get up. Get dressed. Come with us."

The man dropped our hero on the floor, who imediately started rubbing his throat.

"All you had to do was say please."

He grabbed his clothes, and quickly dressed. As he was lacing up his boots, the barmaid awoke at imediately screamed at the sight of the men. They looked at her, and then at Bogdan.

"Do you wish to take your meal with you?

The girl looked to Bogdan for answers.

"Who are these men? What are they talking about?"

"Uhh, there are my older brothers. They're a tad strange."

Bodgan stood up, and looked up at the two men.

"She's fine right here. Let's go."

The two escorted Bogdan, at swordpoint, down stairs to their carraige. Before they left the house, they covered him in a cloak to protect him from the sun's rays. Once they were inside, and the horses started moving theyr removed their masks. The shorter of the two was obviously Irish, with bright red hair and green eyes, while the other appeared to be Moorish, and, as Bogdan had come to notice, spoke in a Spanish accent.

"So," said Bogdan. "You two are vampires, aren't you?"

"Yes," said the Moore. "Now, please, be quiet."

The trip was long, silent, and uncomfortable. Bogdan hat considered asking a question, or starting up a conversation a few times, but looked down at the men's swords and thought the better of it.

Finally, hours later, they arrived at a massive old castle on the shore. The two men donned their masks, and Bogdan his cloak, and the went inside.

The castle was, to put it simply, dirty. There was dust and bones and spider webs and bat guano everywhere. Soon, he was brought to a great dining hall, which, in contrast with what else he'd seen of the castle, was spotlessly clean. It was, however, empty. Which made it particularly disturbing when he heard a voice.

"Welcom, my son."

Bogdan looked around the room quickly.

"who...?"

Suddenly, a mist began to form in the room. It then gathered at the chair at the head of the hall. It grew so thick, that the chair dissapeared behind it. And then it dissipated, and there sat a man.

"Welcom to the Court of the Black Fox."

 

[trustyside-kick]

Some people would call me a scholar, but I just choose wisely with my words. Others would call me a man of god, a preacher. I have my beliefs, and fear the Almighty for his presence is indeed here, but I do not praise him. Many would go to call me a prophet, believing that my stories fortell possible future events, but I merely re-tell tales of the past, no trickery in this.

I am none of these. So who am I? That matters not. I am untamable, bearing ties to no one. My alliegance lies not with the elves, nor the dwarves, nor even the humans. My heritage, bears little, next to no importance in why I am here. I have been away from home, for so long, after I have told my tale, you too will have forgotten me, for I will not be here afterwards. I am a recluse. I am a hermit. I am a nomad. I am an outcast. But you may call me Caed.

***

...And being an elf among a society full of humans, as well as considering the situation between Caldoria and Keltor, Kelvin was watched closely by the Keltoren Dragon Riders; the country's most skilled warriors. It was one thing to be a knight, or imperial guard...but another to be a dragon rider. The highest honor possible in their land, such a title was indeed a privilege.

When I began, I believe I made sure to mention that I planned on telling the lives of three. Daygon, one of the high rank officers of such a group, was viewed as one of the most honorable and respectable men in the land; higher than some of the even the King's advisory council. But Daygon is not the second character I wished to focus on. He is merely the instigator on how the second and first character meet. He had a younger brother who had just begun his training as a dragon rider. He was about Kelvin's age, no more than 2 years older; his name was Drake.

While the Dragon riders were the land's most skilled warriors, they were also the fewest of the factions of warriors; but this made them that much more special. And each Dragon rider specialized in a different type of combat or weapon. With Drake on his way to becoming an apprentice to his brother, to learn his ways, he had already begun training as a very young age. And as the other warriors and apprentices, he too specialized in a specific type of combat. For many years, Drake pracited with two wooden swords, going through the stances and motions. As he grew older and stronger, he would train with a heavier material. This would continue until he was finally able to hold up the thick, strong steel in his two hands.

But a dragon rider is nothing without his noble steed now is he? In this case, his steed was a gargantuan dragon. But to develop a bond...an understanding...the dragons too needed to be trained. On Drake's 17th birthday, he recieved his pet dragon; whom he was responsible for. He had to feed it, take care of it, and bond with it. When it would become full grown, the two would join together in battle, defending King and Country.

***

Now, how he and Kelvin met, was not under the most normal of terms. Kelvin had some friends from early childhood...but surely Drake was not one of them. He, like many of the Keltoren people, gazed at Kelvin with hatred. But little did Drake know, his brother had plans to get the two acquainted. Drake was busy playing with his dragon, not noticing his older brother was entering the room.

"I believe you're supposed to be taming him...not playing with him."

"Aw, come on, brother. Don't tell me you and Draco never played?"

"...We did. However, he knew that there was a time for play and a time for work; hard work. You seemed to have not taught your dragon this yet."

"Don't be so tough on Dragg, he's still a baby."

"Well, unless you want the others to find out that you're spending time with your dragon like this, I suggest you get more serious, Drake."

"Daygon...come on. Just--"

"This is a privilege. Don't you understand? Everyone talks behind your back, brother. You have to prove them wrong. They think the only reason you're even in training is because of me; as if I treat you any better than I do the other apprentices in training. Prove them wrong, brother. Not just for my name...but our father's; may he rest in peace."

Drake stood up, patted his dragon on the head and it licked him on his face. Drake laughed, and wiped the saliva off of his cheek, and looked back over to his brother.

"Okay, brother...I'm sorry. Where would you like me to begin? He's only a toddler still, I don't want to push him too much."

"I understand. Tell you what...Dragg's training can wait a few more days. You do have a point there; I was blinded by my frustration. But there is something I need you to do for me."

"Yes brother?"

Daygon walked over to his little brother, and placed his hand upon his shoulder. As he was about to speak, he made sure he had eye contact; to ensure Drake was listening.

"I need you to get acquainted with...that, that...Kelvin."

"What? No! I think not, brother! Why in the world would you ask me to be around the likes of that, that...elf! Have you gone mad? His kind is the enemy!"

"The fact that he is like the enemy is what I do not trust about him. No one does! But we cannot simply kidnap him and interrogate him, now can we? Not even we have that kind of power over the law, brother; not even the dragon riders. Yet, we are the ones the King depends on most when it comes to our land's safety!"

Drake crosses his arms, and lowers his head downward as he sighs.

"...Or would you prefer I told the others about this little chat we had, do you? You know what the King's council will do. It's as I said, brother. Being a dragon rider is a privilege."

"...Yes, brother. I'm fully aware that this is a privilege. You need not remind me every time you lecture me."

Daygon smirks, and walks out the door. Drake sighs and turns back to his pet dragon, and as it tried to jump on him to play, he pushed it away. He had to obey what his brother decreed, for their kinship meant little when it came to his duties as a dragon rider in training. And by that rank, that makes his brother is high-commander. Drake wasn't looking forward to it, but he knew exactly where he could find Kelvin...
​

 

[Cyrusbales]

The beast careered through the sky, swooping down and letting loose a torrent of fire that scorched the earth. Once the flames cleared, amongst the blackened ground stood Kamahl.

A thunder of shaking soil erupted as the scaled monster landed. Towering above this man, massive immense, the reptilian creature’s image alone struck terror into the heart of many, yet somehow the monster failed to have the upper hand.

Gargantuan claw struck, missing the warrior by mere inches as he leapt to one side, tearing through the scales as if it was warm butter. The glimmering blade trickling with freshly spilled blood as an arm poured forth gallons of vital fluid.

Rolling away from a second attack, the softer underbelly now in front of Sky-cutter, providing little resistance to an upwards lunge, releasing a river of liquid spewing forth from the wound. A roar of pain sent fire licking upwards to the clouds as agony surged through the dragon.

Writhing around, the colossus felt life slipping away. Kamahl stood and watched every last ounce of strength disappear from it until it was a lifeless object, steeped amongst the soaked earth. Clouds breaking and shedding rain across the now still battlefield.

“And so the sky itself weeps for the loss of it’s kin.”

 

[Cyrusbales]

The castle door swung open as Kamahl entered, a large curved fang rested upon his shoulder. The court’s guards approached, but were dismissed by the simplest wave of ‘Sky-cutter’s’ hand, forced to follow, keeping an eye on the mysterious hunter.

In front of the throne, he threw down the tooth, still moist at the base from where it was recently wrenched from the mouth of a great beast.

“Your skies are clear, where’s the item you promised?”

A rather large man, perched atop his royal chair looked down upon this man who showed little respect for his position, burly men clad in thick steel suits of armour steadfast at either side. A single glance from under his crown sees one of his soldiers retrieve a small box from inside a locked oak cabinet.

“Payment is within the box. Now be gone with you.”

An extended hand collects the box and makes is disappear within his robe. Turning away without a word, he exited the hall, such aristocratic and self absorbed places did not suit Kamahl well.

Approaching with curiosity, a footman inquires about the mysterious man and his prize.

“May I ask what his reward was my lord?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s an artefact acquired by my family several generations ago, a beautiful jade key, with one end fashioned into a dragon statuette. Curious little trinket, never found out what it opened, if anything. Now remove this dragon’s fang and bring in the court maidens…”

 

[SuperFerret]

“Hhhmmpph…” Idstugg the frost giant grunted as he trudged through the forest, his troop of 19 other frost giants following him. They’d just left Peel Castle, an old Viking stronghold, now the dwelling of a rich man who had decided to make the castle and the Isle his own. The giants had stayed there for the night, and had eaten all the man’s food, and drunk all the man’s mead, ale and wine. Idstugg almost chuckled remembering the man’s near-pathological need to be hospitable to them, even as he suffered many abuses by their hand.

Idstugg turned to his men and barked out, “Remember, when we get back to the others, we won’t have time to be stopping and resting. We’re gathering the whole band and we’re marching on that castle.” The assembled giants roared with approval, and continued their march towards their boats at the shore. This island will be the most appropriate staging ground for raids on the rest of the British Isles.

“Now then, Idstugg,” came a soft voice from the trees, “that’s not very appreciative of my hospitality.” A small (in relation to the giants, he was in fact six and a half foot tall) deeply tanned human with long reddish-blonde hair stepped out into the path of the giants. “I opened my home to you, gave all I could give, and you plan to thank me by pillaging the rest of my belongings?”

“This island will be ours, human. Peel Castle will once more house my brethren.”

The tanned man laughed, “Nay giant, this Isle is mine, and if you wish to bring war upon it, then it shall bring war upon you.” The man waved his hands, magically reaching out to the very trees and plants surrounding the giants. They had little time to react before the nearby branches, vines, even the grass beneath their feet thickened, lengthened and constricted their limbs and torsos, entangling them. Idstugg flexed his great muscles against the branch that held him fast, but was distracted by a sickening scream as a hundred blades of enhanced grass tore the left arm off of a giant near the back of his party.

Bellowing with rage, fear and grit determination, Idstugg shattered the branch that held him, and three other giants, and they hacked and bludgeoned their way free of the entangling plants, liberating two more of their number as they did. The five other giants began to flee towards shore, but Idstugg charged the tanned man, his mighty battle axe raised high. The man deftly side-stepped the blow and dove head first into a nearby tree, disappearing into the bark the way a fish moved through water. Idstugg smashed the tree to splinters in anger.

“Do not assume me to be slain, Idstugg.” The man’s voice seemed to come from everywhere, and was louder than even the screams of pain from the still trapped, and now dying, giants. “I’d suggest fleeing for your lives, because trees and grass are the least of the island’s warriors, and the whole battalion is after you.”

Idstugg is not an individual that panics easily, and he does not, even in the face of this situation. Most of his soldiers were dead, the remaining five were fleeing, their morale broken, and Idstugg himself was shaken. Not panicked. Not panicked at all. The frost giant leader did not give even the slightest look back as he took off after his fleeing men, starting with a brisk jog that escalated into a full on charge that surpassed their speed. In less than two minutes, Idstugg was leading his men back to shore again.

As the giants ran through the forest, Nature continued her assault. Trees and bushes and briars nipped at their heels. Birds and bats and stinging insects swarmed at their eyes. Wolves and bears and worse ran alongside them, watching through the trees awaiting their time to strike. Even the sky itself swirled into a dark vortex of clouds, unleashed a barrage of hail and lightning to smite the two unfortunate giants that lagged behind. Seizing the opportunity to take advantage of the increased fear the weather’s wrath caused, the beasts of the Isle came out of the woods and dragged another flailing, screaming giant off into the darkness of the sylvan deathtrap.

With only three of their number left, the giants finally reached the edge of the trees, leaving nothing between their and the shoreline but air. While they were expecting the vision of their warships and fellow frost giants to greet them, all that they saw was carnage. Smashed and scorched pieces of what used to be frost giant longboats rocked violently in the fierce surf alongside floating corpses of the giant Vikings. More bodies littered the beach, the white sand stained dark red with giant blood. The storm above them raged, winds whipping debris to and fro, and hailstones the size of small dogs punching miniature craters into the sand.

“What?” Idstugg muttered, his mind reeling to comprehend what his eyes were telling it, “How?”

“Simple, Idstugg, my dear giant,” came a voice very much like that of the tanned man, only deeper, and harsher, with a sound that was…. ancient, “as I said earlier, you bring war to my island, you will be repaid in kind.”

The giants turned, and all but Idstugg fell to their knees in desperation. Idstugg, son of Irdsugg, plunderer of many towns and villages, slayer of the great Frost Worm of Norway, finally felt something he had thought impossible. He felt the pure, unbridled fear of one who is faced with certain death. The myths, the legends, the stories, they were all true.

A dragon lived on the Isle of Man.

 

[Byrd Man]

Three weeks had passed since the prince had left his villiage. Darius and David navigated travled at night and slept during the day, as not to be seen by the horrible beast that was man.

The temperature was getting colder each passing night as the two Centaurs made their way towards the Alps.

"How much longer until we reach the moutains?"

"Be patient, friend. Each night the air gets colder and the ground gets more rocky and barren."

Off in the distance, a horse neighs and men shout.

"Hold him down lads!"

A look of recognition dawns on Darius and David as they look at each other and out into the night.

"Horse theives."

Darius unholsters his battle axe as David readies his bow.

"The one kind of animal I don't regret hurting."

Using their hunter eyes, the two centuars gaze through the darkness and watch as the horse theives lash a gray mare.

"On my mark."

David strings his arrow and pulls.

"Mark!"

Darius gallops through the darkness just as David's arrows fly.

An arrow strikes one of the theives in the chest, just as Darius' battle axe seperates his head from his body.

The centuar prince throws his axe through the air and it lodges into one of the thieves' head. He pulls his broadsword and cuts down the two remaining theives in one swift motion.

"Haha!"

David trots up next to the prince as he yanks the axe out of the horse wrangler's head.

"Like you sad, 'the one animal I don't regret hurting.'"

The gray mare stares at the two centuars. Darius slaps it on the rear as it gallops off into the darkness.

"Be free sister, let no man use you as a beast of burden again."

Darius turns to his old friend and claps him on the shoulder.

"Now, my friend. On to Europa."

 

[Cyrusbales]

The tavern bustled with activity, sipping at a flagon of ale sat Kamahl, hidden in the corner away from prying eyes. A dark skinned elf approached, taking note of the people in the bar just in case such knowledge would prove necessary in the future.

“Kamahl, Sky-cutter, your reputation precedes you.”

Staring back blankly from underneath a beige hood, his unimpressed feelings were obviously felt by his company.

“I guess I should get to business then. My master has need of your services. He will pay you well indeed.”

“Money is of no object to me. I hope your master is offering something more worth my time?”

“Of course, are you familiar the town of Uborg?”

An almost electric glow lit up the dragon-slayer’s eyes.

“Of course, please go on.”

“Well, as you know, the city is deserted, an exceedingly powerful dragon has taken up residence there. I’m sure you are aware of this already, as well as the blockade. My master has arranged passage for you into the city. As long as you slay the dragon, feel free to help yourself to anything you find. Including the contents of the royal treasury.”

Countless riches lay within those vaults, however Kamahl was interested in a single item only, one housed inside Uborg’s cathedral, an item which was more than enough to take on this challenge.

“When do I leave?”

 

[Green Lantern]

The following day, Slieken and Avalei reached the outskirts of the Black Forest, and Slieken was shocked when his scabbard grew warm.


​

Chapter the Seventh
"A History of Arms"

As the scabbard glowed and grew warm to the touch, memories flashed back into Slieken's mind.

~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~

In the memory Slieken appeared much younger and more regal. His face shined with a royal glow, his face not yet lined with adventures and experience. The day was a beautiful spring morning, sun pouring in through breaks in the green treetops above Slieken's head. A much older elf, with long silver hair, approached him from behind and set a large creased hand on his shoulder.

"Beautiful day for your coming of age, son. Today is the day you come into part of your inheritance. Come, let us begin."

Slieken and his father walked along a small stone path to an area where many of their family and friends were gathered to watch the coming of age of the son of the royal family.

"Kneel son, and rise as Sil-Kano, ranger of the vidhr, heir to the throne of Tiveden."

The elder tapped a sword on his son's shoulders as he said these words, in a ceremony much to the like of a knighting ceremony. The crowd applauded as Slieken beamed from the event.

"Now come with me, son."

They walked into the palace's throne room, and Aran sat on the throne as Sil-Kano stood before him. From a sheathe on hanging from the back of the throne, Aran pulled a shining blade.

"I apologize, Sil. Your inheritance is tainted. This blade is not the heirloom that you are meant to receive today. That blade was stolen from its home many centuries ago. Shortly before my own coming of age, in fact. I also have never known the feel of its hilt in my hand. This blade that I now give you, though expertly forged, is but a pale comparison to the real Urndagnir. But I must implore you to never lose the sheathe. Because this scabbard is tied to its mate. If ever you are near the real sword, the scabbard will grow warmer as you approach the holy blade."

Aran resheathed the sword, and passed both the jewel encrusted scabbard and the sword to his son.

~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~-*-~

As the scabbard grew warm, Slieken's eyes gleamed. He knew he was close to his birthright.
​

 

[Cyrusbales]

He left his guide at the covert entrance of the citadel. Guards posted at the main gates, to prevent looting no doubt, but perhaps a more sinister motive was behind their presence.

Kamahl quickly worked his way along the streets, torn up buildings lay charred and broken. Dried out corpses and blackened victims who were unable to escape fill the now empty roads. This entire ghost town was the beast’s lair, his slightest movement and scent would attract the creature in a matter of moments.

Scraping and crushing sounds echoed down the street, the noise of hardened scales scratching at stone and mortar as the monster filled the entire alleyway. Sky-cutter knew his target lay around the corner, presuming he was looking for a red dragon was his first mistake, which he realised as it came into view.

But the scorch marks?

This notion crossed his brain for a second before vile green fog bellowed forth from the creature’s mouth, filling his view. Darting into the nearest building, a cracking blare resounded as a bright blue bolt leapt from the jaws of the colossus, tearing through the air and igniting the gas in the process. Flames swept through the lower levels of the structures with ferocious force.

Thundering up the dusty rock steps of the construction, cerulean flashes rippled through the atmosphere, discharges of immense electrical magnitude. Windows becoming hard to make out through the emerald smog pouring in through the apertures in the walls. He’d have to make it to the roof to slay the fiend.

A dazzling conflagration packed the structure, wood incinerated in a fraction of time. The blaze spilling out of the outlets, crimson heat overflowing into the lane outside. The terror’s attention shifted upwards to hear a man’s battle cry from the crown of the edifice above, his blade in hand.

“Know now that you’re reign is at an end.”

 

[Green Lantern]

As the scabbard grew warm, Slieken's eyes gleamed. He knew he was close to his birthright.
​

Chapter the Eighth
"Into the Dark"

Every step into the dark forest that Slieken took made the scabbard grow warmer and warmer. The further inward he traveled, the darker his surroundings became. As the hair on the back of his neck began to stand, he slowed his walk to a nearly stand still pace, and his ears became more attuned to his surroundings. He snapped still, throwing his cloak over his head and seemingly vanishing into the trees due to its camouflage effect; as he heard crackling footsteps over pine needles. Standing absolutely still with an arrow notched and drawn he waited as the footsteps drew closer. Discerning by sound that it was bipedal, Slieken strained his ears for more clues. Concentrating on the approaching sounds, he could hear a soft clacking with every coming step, along with a metal clanging at periodic intervals. Judging by the softness of the steps, he could tell that the creature wasn't human, it had to be much lighter.

What could this thing be? It must have plated and hardened leather armor, which would explain the clacking sound, and it's sword and shield explain the clanging, but why would it possibly want to clang its sword?

The creature finally came into view. Slieken had been right on one count, the creature was most definitely not human. At least not anymore. Slieken's already standing neck hair decided to further stiffen at the sight. Slowly ambling towards the ranger was an animated skeleton. The clacking was the sound of his bones rubbing as he walked, the occasional clanging due to the minimal armor he wore.

​

In one arm he held a short sword, and strapped across the other was a wooden buckler. His nearly empty eye sockets each had a pinpoint of red light beaming out of them, and his mouth was stuck in its ghastly grin under his helmet.

Deciding to act, Slieken concentrated, aiming his shaft steadily at one of the dark eye sockets. Slowly he breathed in, and then as he exhaled, he released, to get the full force available for his arrow. Wheezing, the goose feathered shaft flew true and there was a loud thock as the skeleton's head snapped back on it's neck. The skeleton cracked its head back vertical, but the arrow remained embedded in the back of the skull bone. The beast cackled and grunted and turned trying to find his assailant.

Slieken was again motionless, with a new arrow nocked and drawn. His cloak did its job once again, the mottled green, gray and brown made him appear invisible to most eyes in his surroundings. The skeleton grunted again, and unable to see anything, he began to turn back to his path. Just then there was another wheeze and thock as a second arrow lodged itself in the other eye socket, knocking the head back on the neck again. Slieken decided to move in action rather than nock another arrow this time.

From the sheathes on his boots, he pulled his two daggers. The first was long, nearly six inches in length; one edge was dull and nearly half an inch thick, a blunt edge for striking, while the other was dangerously serrated. The tip of the knife was double pointed, with the valley between points notching a half inch in the steel blade. The second knife was much shorter, wrapped slightly on the handle with leather, there was no crossbar to separate the grip from the blade. The pommel on the second knife was plain but solid and round, this second dagger was perfectly balanced as a throwing dart.

As Slieken leapt from cover, the smaller knife flew from his hand. Rather than the wheeze of his arrows, the dagger whistled softly. There was yet another thock, and then a clatter as the force of the throw opened and shattered the jaws; the bottom one falling to the ground. The skeleton started to swing his sword at Slieken, but the elf's reflexes saved him from the clumsy stroke. He caught the sword in the groove at the tip of his longer knife, and with a strong flick of the wrist, he forcefully tore the sword, along with the hand and forearm attached to it, from the skeleton.

The skeleton, now defenseless, still mindlessly charged at Slieken. Slieken was quick to reposition his knife and lodged the nocked tip into the middle of the soldier's spine, just below its ribcage. Pushing forcefully downward, bones sailed into the air, as the lower half of the skeleton collapsed in a heap.

Slieken trudged over to the now completely lifeless skull and removed both the arrows and the throwing knife. Before traveling any further, he resharpened all of his weapons, feeling that he would need them again before this day was done.

As he hiked for a few more hours, he began to notice that he was ever ascending in elevation. Finally off in the distance he saw something perched atop a craigy peak. The heat from his scabbard made him realize that this castle was to be his destination.

​

​

​

 

[Charlie No-One]

Chapter 1​

[FONT=&quot]The Birth of a Sea Demon[/FONT]​

Much like the name described, Black Reef got its title from the odd ebony water that surrounded the hazardous jut of rocks. It was not always called the Black Reef though. Long ago, before the myths and legends even existed, the reef was known as the Graveyard of the Lost Ships. The barge was almost unnoticeable, masked by the dark water, and by the time some sensible fisherman thought about charting it, the name the Black Reef was created. Its history does not end there though.

Years after its naming, a chilling frightening entity claimed the rocks. That is when the local legends and stories turned more dark and disturbing. Ships could be miles off and suddenly find themselves being drawn towards the rocks. There was no evidence why or logical explanation. So men being men, the only honest-to-god reasoning behind the sunken ships was the supernatural. They said it was the work of a siren or vengeful mermaid. Little did they know that their stories were not far from the truth.

***​

Zalmon swam through the school of clown fish; his long sapphire tail trailing behind him. Today was just another typical day for him and the Tribe of the Shark. The adults went hunting; the Elders sat and did nothing while the children went to school. Of course, Zalmon should have been in school at this very moment, but just like any other ordinary day, he had skipped classes and went for a swim.

He really had no idea where he was. Everyday he found himself traveling further and further out of his Tribe’s boundaries. Zalmon never understood why they even had boundaries. His people were nomadic; they moved from body of water to body of water, but each time they stopped, a boundary was set up. Zalmon, being no older than 17, really did not care about the reasoning or even the facts behind boundaries. It did not matter to him. School did not matter to him. Parents did not matter to him. Anything short of himself did not matter to him.

Bustling through the thick water, Zalmon suddenly stopped. Before him was another Merman much different than himself. Thick scales covered the man’s entire torso and then started to climb his face. His tail was slim and longer than any tail the young boy had ever seen before. Tentacles sprawled out of the strangers hands where webbed fingers usually should be. Gasping, Zalmon flipped his fins up, pushing himself back.

“Turn…turn back. There is nothing but death here,” whispered the creature, his voice clear as day due to the way Merfolk’s vocal chords were built. Zalmon starred at the man and then behind him, as if he was looking for a way to escape. Who was this man? What was he talking about? He would have to talk to the Elders about this when he got back to his tribe, but for now, he was exploring. Shoving the creature, the teenager rushed past him. With a longing sigh of regret, the old decrypted Merman bowed his head and trudged on.

***​

The water was much warmer as it lingered closer to the mainland. Zalmon was enthralled in the whole deal. Everything seemed so new and dangerous to him; an extra thrill was added when he broke the rules. His chest long blonde hair circled around him. His seaweed colored eyes wandered to the surface of the water. To break the water’s edge wasn’t restricted, but it was quite dangerous. Ships were common in these parts. If one were to be seen by a human being…only bad things would result from it. Of course, this just made everything seem more appealing. Greater the risk, better the fun. In a wave of scaly blueness, Zalmon propelled from the sea floor and jetted up to the surface.

The air blew into his face; the smell of salt water filled his nostrils. The pale moon, white as the ivory ruins of Atlantis, was stuck in the sky. The image was that of a painting. Navy clouds added to the effect. The surface world was breathtaking. Why, no how, could his people deny such natural beauty? Flopping onto his back, Zalmon starred up at the imagery. A nudge in the back brought him out of his gazing. A small dolphin had rushed past him. He could sense its fear. Something was disturbing the water and caused it to flee. Zalmon had to investigate further.

Zalmon swam to the side of what had been scaring off the sea animals. It was a huge fishing ship. From the chipping of the wood, he could tell it was older. He had never seen anything like it before. This was different than any of the shipwrecks he had been to. The design was so unusual. It curved at each end with an array of small windows covering each side of the vessel. In each window was a small pane of what appeared to be sea glass. Why it was needed was unknown to him. In the water, glass was of very little use.

Covering the entire side of the ship was a series of ropes. Each piece was strung across the boat, sinking low into the water, and tied onto pillars on the deck. Reaching out, Zalmon wrapped his hand around on of the ropes. It was coarse and firm. He tugged it, causing it to writher in his hand.

***​

The ship was on its way back to the harbor. It had been out for a few days now on a fishing exertion. James, a new young fisherman, wiped the sweat from his brow. This was his first journey at sea and it wasn’t something he thought he would like to do again. The work was hard and the profit low. Add in the dangers of being lost at sea or worse and it didn’t make for a very pleasurable job. What else was a lad from a small village to do though? There weren’t very many options. Breathing deep, James moved to the side of the old vessel to pull up one of the smaller fishing nets.

He was watching it for a while now as he processed his thoughts. A second ago, he saw it tense up. Wrapping his gloved hands around the coarse ropes of the nets, he ripped it up out of the water. Something heavy was caught in the trap. This close to shore, the bigger fish were not as common and a net of this size only held enough fish for one man to carry. This was very strange. As the net ascended out of the depths of the dark green ocean, James gasped in disbelief. Within the net was what appeared to be a boy from the waist up, no older than 18, with a tail…a fish tail! He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Mermaids were a thing of legends and myths. They weren’t supposed to be real! James pulled the creature all the way out of the water and onto the deck. Pure fear ran through the Merman’s eyes.

***​

Zalmon’s eyes darted around the deck of the ship. Something underneath him had pulled him out of the water. Now a human was standing before him. They were dangerous! Legends told of the awful things they would do to Merfolk. His people were like game to humans. Panicking, the Merman thrashed his tail about. The nets that confined him only grew tighter with every move.
“You’re a Merman?” The air blew more briskly this high above the water. The wind was hurting Zalmon’s eyes. He shot the man a fierce look before trying to free himself again. “Fine! Alright. I’ll let you out. Just promise you won’t try anything. I heard the stories. I know you’re supposed to be vengeful and what not, but I figure you can’t do much in the way of moving right now with a tail like that,”
The man pulled a knife from his coat pocket and sliced at the net. Zalmon, clumsily, flopped onto the hardwood surface. Propping himself up on his arms, he flicked his tail forward, trying to gain enough distance from the human.

***​

James placed his knife back into his coat and stared at the Merman. It was remarkable! Almost like a dream! A normal ordinary town boy found something only of legends! What fortunate could come of this! He could take it back to Jackson and…no. He couldn’t do that. The others on the ship would find out and try to steal it for themselves. He would have to figure something out. Glancing at the Merman, he watched as it flipped about, attempting to climb over the banister on the side of the ship.
“You can thrash your poor little heart out…” That was it! The heart! There was a song…an old poem about a mermaid’s heart! Something on the lines of if you acquire one, Zeus himself would bless you. Poseidon was the father of all Merfolk and was vastly known for his hatred of humankind. As a way of getting back at his brother for all the times he flooded human cities, Zeus gave great fortunate to anyone would take a Mermaid’s heart and join the two species. That wasn’t all he knew. Mermaids would do anything, if captured, to return to the ocean. Anything.

“I bet you want to return to the ocean, right?” The Merman said nothing, only looking sorrowfully into James’ eyes. “Well, I will be willing to do that for you. You know, letting you go back. There is only one condition though,” James grinned playfully. He loved to toy with his prey. It gave him great pleasure. “I want your heart,”

***​

Zalmon’s pride began to sink into his stomach. Freedom for the cost of the most valuable thing a Merperson has. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not ever. Not to him. He smacked his tail hard against the deck, splitting his fin on the hard wood. Wiping the blood away, he thought about his options. What choice did he have? His tail was heavy and clumsy. He wouldn’t be able to move about easily if at all and even if he could he couldn’t make it over the banister that guarded the side of the ship. All hope was lost. If he didn’t agree to trade his heart, he would die from dehydration because surely this man wouldn’t let him go otherwise. Flicking his tongue towards his captor viciously, Zalmon nodded his head.

“Fantastic. Now, let’s not forget the legend. There is only one way to finish the deal. Don’t worry, it won’t be painful,” Moving closer to the Zalmon, the man smiled softly, running his finger across his lips. “Your heart is mine,” In one swift movement, the fisherman grabbed the Merman’s head and pressed his lips against the boy’s. Zalmon’s eyes widen. It was final; his heart no longer belonged to him. This fisherman had stolen it. In a flash of dim white light, his seaweed green eyes slowly transformed into a bloodshot red hue; his sapphire shimmering tail turned dull and grey; his blonde fair locks slowly lost its vibrancy only now a silvery shade. Laughing, the fisherman picked up the Merman and threw him overboard. Thinking about the treasure that would soon be his, he watched as the creature darted away beneath the waves.

 

[Green Lantern]

As he hiked for a few more hours, he began to notice that he was ever ascending in elevation. Finally off in the distance he saw something perched atop a craigy peak. The heat from his scabbard made him realize that this castle was to be his destination.

​

​

​

Chapter the Ninth
"The Hidden Becomes Found"

Slieken stared up at both the jagged stone cliff and the equally jagged castle atop it. He hid amongst the treetops to eat the last of his rations, and to avoid the ever increasing patrols of skeletal soldiers. There had been undead in Tiveden, but never in these mass quantities. His instincts were beginning to nag him that he may have bitten off more than he could chew. Nonetheless, he rested and waited for night to fall and the moon to rise, brilliant and full. Timing the length between the patrols, Slieken darted from the trees and began scale the cliff. Just above the halfway point, he found a small unoccupied cave, and took a respite there. After a short rest he resumed the climb, before finally reaching the summit. His senses attuned, he could hear guards at the base of the nearest tower. Silently he swore to himself.

His fingers found a small pebble, and he threw it to distract the guards while he dashed at the tower, and using his cloak, he seemingly vanished from sight. Moving slowly and silently he began to scale the tower. Darting back and forth across the rough stone surface, he was able to find foot and hand holds. He made sure to keep the cloak over him so that he would remain somewhat indiscernable to the guards if they happened to look. After nearly two more hours of climbing, and four in total, he finally made it to the small window. Silently he crawled through the window, and lo, there in a glass case was his family's heirloom, and a bit of parchment.

Even as his hope and excitement rose, a chill flooded down his spine. In the corner, near the sword, and staring right at him was a beholder. Though just in his quick glance, Slieken could tell that it was not among the living. Four of its eye stalks were in states of decomposition and useless, and the flesh throughout the rest of its body was rotting and stunk of maggots and death. This was a Death Tyrant, and it was quite obviously charged with guarding this treasure.

​

 

[Cyrusbales]

Air rushed past Kamahl’s ears as he descended towards his prey. Veinseeker sinking deep into the dragons back, as if it was a ravenous beast in search of blood.

Gravity drawing the hunter down the monster’s back, his blade eviscerating hardened scales on the way, letting forth a tide of vital fluid, a broken riverbank of flesh. Snarling and convulsing, the creature reared up, Sky-cutter being thrown to the ground in the process. Stumbling backward, the savage wound staining the empty structures with the scent of death and smears of vile liquid.

Sparks uncontrollably leapt in all directions, the flailing of a distressed being. Rubble plummeting all around as gargantuan claws ripped and slashed at decrepit buildings in a rage of pain.

It would take a good ten minutes for it to bleed out and die, and Kamahl knew a dragon’s death throws could be fatal to all in the vicinity, he took this opportunity to claim the prize he took this job for. Heading over to the cathedral, the scaled colossus too wrapped up in it’s diminishing life to notice, the dragon-slayer would return to collect some of the blood later, but for now his mind was on something more important.

Heavy timber doors slammed behind him, making his way to the undercroft, knowing exactly where the item lay. Smashing open the display case, the artefact was his after so long. Cradling it in his hands, he couldn’t help but speak it’s name in wonderment.

"The arcane amulet of the tide."

 

[Green Lantern]

This was a Death Tyrant, and it was quite obviously charged with guarding this treasure.


[/center]

[FONT=&quot]Chapter the Tenth
"Eyes of the Beholder"[/FONT]​

Slieken stared at the undead aberration, and it stared back, its large central eye blinking once. Without hesitating to think, Slieken drew his sword. The Death Tyrant howled in anger at the intrusion, not having the capabilities of speech. Three of its six unharmed eyes focused and shot rays at Slieken. One beam narrowly missed Slieken, and harmlessly struck brick behind him. Unable to dodge or deflect the second, Slieken was struck on the chest. He howled in pain as blood rose from the wound, his chest ripped into by the beam. As he stumbled backwards, the third beam struck his drawn blade. The steel crumbled into dust in his hand. Slieken instinctively pulled his throwing dagger from his boot, and threw it, aiming directly at the central eye.

The blade sank deep into the large pupil and the beast howled hideously at the pain, but continued to move forward, its sharp and rotting teeth gnashing violently. Slieken easily rolled out of the clumsy and partially blinded beast's way as he pulled the other knife from his boot. As he shattered the glass encasing his family sword, three more eyebeams streaked towards him. Again, only the center beam struck him, this time on his leg. As another gash ripped into his leg, he focused on the sword that was now in his hand, rather than on the pain shooting up from his thigh. The sword whistled through the air, singing beautifully until it struck the sickened flesh of one of the eye-stalks. The sword cut through the stalk, as though it were naught but shearing a strand of grass.

There was another hideous scream of agony, as a greenish white pus oozed from the severed limb, smoking as it splashed on the floor. Slieken noticed the same ooze bubbling from the center eye. Hellbent on killing its assailant, once again the zombie Beholder tried to use it's teeth to rip into Slieken. This time one of the sharp fangs tore into the padded leather sleeve of the elf's arm, but did not penetrate skin.

Slieken swung the blade around again, in a wide overhead arc. As the sword tore through another eyestalk, he flicked his wrist and brought it back upwards in a swift motion. A clean cut took off the top of the Beholder's central eye chamber, and in a last muffled whimper, the creature fell motionless to the stone floor of the chamber.

Finally able to examine the rest of the room, Slieken saw that Urndagnir was not the only treasure it held. Aside from the parchment that still lay in the shattered glass case, there were several raiments of fine silk, and seven jewel encrusted chests spotting the room. Slieken took three of the garments and with the first, he wrapped his right hand. His hand wrapped in inches of the fabric, he shoved it into the wounded eye socket of the beholder, and pulled from it his dagger. The fabric surrounding his hand smoked and melted and a drop of the acidic pus fell upon bare skin, inflecting a small but excruciatingly painful burn. Slieken's eyes watered, but he focused on wiping his dagger clean with one of the other bits of silk, and then shoved the dagger back into its scabbard. The final bit of cloth, he sheared into strips, one small and one large. The smaller of the two, he tied around his thigh, to stifle the bleeding. The larger of the two, around his chest to do the same.

Ignoring the screams of his pain racked body, Slieken climbed back out the window and began to rappel back down the keep's wall.

 

[Johnny Blaze]

Hilarion the death knight walked the parapet, the light of the moon glinting off of his regal armor. Moving towards the edge, the death knight gazed out over the chilling forest below the Feldberg. It was a beautiful scene, but the heartless Hilarion looked upon it with a cold indifference.

It was then he noticed a man darting from the castle down the mountainside, his obvious path leading from the tower where...

Hilarion spun on his heels and ran to the tower...



Slamming open the tower door, Hilarion, a contingent of soldiers and a trio of mages behind him, was shocked to see the death tyrant resting on the floor destroyed. His eyes quickly darted to the container, and when he saw it he cursed aloud and slammed his fist into the wall, shattering the area with his supernatural strength.
The magical blade that had been given to Charaun in a trade was gone. Stolen by some thief in the night.
Hilarion growled. He knew that blade should not have been kept in one of the outer towers.

"Send word to Alak! I want him here now!"

The three hag sorceresses turned and ran down the stairs to carry out his order, while Hilarion took out his rage on the nearest skeleton, shattering it's skull in one mighty backhand, before making his way out of the tower's room...



It had taken almost half an hour, but Alak had arrived and stood in front of Hilarion in the courtyard.

"You summoned me?"

"I did", replied Hilarion, "you're ranger skills are required, Alak. The North tower has been broken into by a skilled thief and a sword of personal value to the master has been taken. You are to hunt down the culprit, recover the sword, and bring his dead form back to me. Understood?"

"Yes", answered Alak with a nod.

"The impudent whelp should not have gotten far", spoke Hilarion, "he was injured in his fight with the beholder. From the amount of blood on the floor of the tower's room his injuries were not minor."

"It makes no difference", replied Alak bearing his canine teeth, "he will not escape me. No one can allude me in my forest. No one. Especially not some thieving cur. I shall retrieve the Master's treasure and bring back the lifeless carcass of the perpetrator."

With his final words spoken, Alak turned and bounded off into the night, giving a loud howl as he left the castle walls in pursuit of the thief...

 

[SuperFerret]

“Hhhmmpph…” Idstugg the frost giant grunted as he trudged through the forest, his troop of 19 other frost giants following him. They’d just left Peel Castle, an old Viking stronghold, now the dwelling of a rich man who had decided to make the castle and the Isle his own. The giants had stayed there for the night, and had eaten all the man’s food, and drunk all the man’s mead, ale and wine. Idstugg almost chuckled remembering the man’s near-pathological need to be hospitable to them, even as he suffered many abuses by their hand.

Idstugg turned to his men and barked out, “Remember, when we get back to the others, we won’t have time to be stopping and resting. We’re gathering the whole band and we’re marching on that castle.” The assembled giants roared with approval, and continued their march towards their boats at the shore. This island will be the most appropriate staging ground for raids on the rest of the British Isles.

“Now then, Idstugg,” came a soft voice from the trees, “that’s not very appreciative of my hospitality.” A small (in relation to the giants, he was in fact six and a half foot tall) deeply tanned human with long reddish-blonde hair stepped out into the path of the giants. “I opened my home to you, gave all I could give, and you plan to thank me by pillaging the rest of my belongings?”

“This island will be ours, human. Peel Castle will once more house my brethren.”

The tanned man laughed, “Nay giant, this Isle is mine, and if you wish to bring war upon it, then it shall bring war upon you.” The man waved his hands, magically reaching out to the very trees and plants surrounding the giants. They had little time to react before the nearby branches, vines, even the grass beneath their feet thickened, lengthened and constricted their limbs and torsos, entangling them. Idstugg flexed his great muscles against the branch that held him fast, but was distracted by a sickening scream as a hundred blades of enhanced grass tore the left arm off of a giant near the back of his party.

Bellowing with rage, fear and grit determination, Idstugg shattered the branch that held him, and three other giants, and they hacked and bludgeoned their way free of the entangling plants, liberating two more of their number as they did. The five other giants began to flee towards shore, but Idstugg charged the tanned man, his mighty battle axe raised high. The man deftly side-stepped the blow and dove head first into a nearby tree, disappearing into the bark the way a fish moved through water. Idstugg smashed the tree to splinters in anger.

“Do not assume me to be slain, Idstugg.” The man’s voice seemed to come from everywhere, and was louder than even the screams of pain from the still trapped, and now dying, giants. “I’d suggest fleeing for your lives, because trees and grass are the least of the island’s warriors, and the whole battalion is after you.”

Idstugg is not an individual that panics easily, and he does not, even in the face of this situation. Most of his soldiers were dead, the remaining five were fleeing, their morale broken, and Idstugg himself was shaken. Not panicked. Not panicked at all. The frost giant leader did not give even the slightest look back as he took off after his fleeing men, starting with a brisk jog that escalated into a full on charge that surpassed their speed. In less than two minutes, Idstugg was leading his men back to shore again.

As the giants ran through the forest, Nature continued her assault. Trees and bushes and briars nipped at their heels. Birds and bats and stinging insects swarmed at their eyes. Wolves and bears and worse ran alongside them, watching through the trees awaiting their time to strike. Even the sky itself swirled into a dark vortex of clouds, unleashed a barrage of hail and lightning to smite the two unfortunate giants that lagged behind. Seizing the opportunity to take advantage of the increased fear the weather’s wrath caused, the beasts of the Isle came out of the woods and dragged another flailing, screaming giant off into the darkness of the sylvan deathtrap.

With only three of their number left, the giants finally reached the edge of the trees, leaving nothing between their and the shoreline but air. While they were expecting the vision of their warships and fellow frost giants to greet them, all that they saw was carnage. Smashed and scorched pieces of what used to be frost giant longboats rocked violently in the fierce surf alongside floating corpses of the giant Vikings. More bodies littered the beach, the white sand stained dark red with giant blood. The storm above them raged, winds whipping debris to and fro, and hailstones the size of small dogs punching miniature craters into the sand.

“What?” Idstugg muttered, his mind reeling to comprehend what his eyes were telling it, “How?”

“Simple, Idstugg, my dear giant,” came a voice very much like that of the tanned man, only deeper, and harsher, with a sound that was…. ancient, “as I said earlier, you bring war to my island, you will be repaid in kind.”

The giants turned, and all but Idstugg fell to their knees in desperation. Idstugg, son of Irdsugg, plunderer of many towns and villages, slayer of the great Frost Worm of Norway, finally felt something he had thought impossible. He felt the pure, unbridled fear of one who is faced with certain death. The myths, the legends, the stories, they were all true.

A dragon lived on the Isle of Man.

The man who was the dragon called Falzur looked out across the Irish Sea, to the west, at the emerald isle itself. Shortly before he died, Idstugg had told the dragon that the frost giants had been planning to establish a stronghold there from which they planned to use as a staging ground for their plunderous raids of the towns and villages of northern Europe. That is, they were, until they came across the Isle of Man. Falzur killed most of the giants, but during his assault on the giants waiting at the beach, one was able to slip away and swam towards Ireland. Falzur hoped that the raging sea had claimed that giant's life, but he was unsure.

Either way, whether or not the giant had survived to tell the giants on Ireland of what his party found on the Isle, the frost giants knew of it's existence, and it seemed that the persistant rumors of a dragon living there did not keep them away.

Sighing to himself, and resigning himself to the fact that he knew he had to leave his home to ensure that the giants don't spread their evil, Falzur walked into the sea, and slowly disappeared beneath the waves.

To Ireland, he went. He needed to confer with an old ally of his.

 

[Green Lantern]

With his final words spoken, Alak turned and bounded off into the night, giving a loud howl as he left the castle walls in pursuit of the thief...

Chapter the Eleventh
"On The Run"

​

Slieken quickly darted down the tower, and then sprinted to the cliff face. Unaware that he had been seen, the elf started to rapidly drop down the shear face of the cliff, back towards the relative comfort that the forest would provide. When he hit the ground, he was barely visible under the shimmering silver glow of the full moon. As he reached the first line of pine trees, he heard a deathly howl penetrate the calming sounds of the natural world. It sounded like a wolf, but unnatural, and the sound sent a chill down his spine. As the flesh on his arms and neck rose into goosebumps, it inspired a new sense of urgency. He knew the howl was in reaction to his 'theft' and adrenaline flooded anew into his bloodstream, drowning out the pain screaming through his leg. It was a matter of survival now, as he had the feeling that that death tyrant had only been the beginning of his challenges. As he sprinted deeper and deeper into the forest, he began to think of ways to elude and fight his pursuer, whilst taking into account his wounds.

 

[Cyrusbales]

Uborg now lie completely lifeless. Soon the troops would move in to discover the corpse of the fearsome dragon, yet Kamahl would receive no recognition, for he had what he sought.

Upon accepting the contract, he had arranged for an acquaintance of his to arrive in a nearby village, the man was the best source for folklore in all of the lands he had travelled. The man collected legends, pulling apart myths to find kernels of truth. He eagerly awaited for Sky-cutter in the tavern, amazement filling his eyes as the dragon slayer sat down at his table.

“Do you have it?”

Pulling out the amulet and dangling it in front of him before hiding it away again, he nodded.

“It is truly remarkable indeed.”

“Please, now I have the amulet, tell me the what I need to know.”

“This amulet will help you find the serpent of the tide. A dragon of epic proportions, the ancient Japanese called them ‘lung dragons’, one for each of the element, they are beyond anything you can imagine. You may have killed many dragons, but even you cannot hope to face one of these beasts.”

“How do I find the dragon?”

“The amulet will allow you to walk on the waters surface, and will attract the creature from the very depths of the sea, but you must travel some great distance to locate it. Wash the amulet in sea of Japan, and legend claims the monster will be upon you in a short while.”

“And what of the other amulets? Any luck locating them?”

“I may have something for you soon, but remember, these four amulets barely exist in myth, to find them is near impossible.”

“Five.”

“Sorry?”

“There are five amulets, water, fire, earth, air and the aether.”

“The four elemental dragons and their amulets are scarcely legend, but aether? Even for me that’s a stretch.”

“There are five.”

“Whatever you say.”

The conversation continued, soon he would partake across the globe, chasing folklore The journey would take many months, trekking out to eastern China, but perseverance was most certainly one of his traits.

 

[Johnny Blaze]

Chapter the Eleventh
"On The Run"

​

Slieken quickly darted down the tower, and then sprinted to the cliff face. Unaware that he had been seen, the elf started to rapidly drop down the shear face of the cliff, back towards the relative comfort that the forest would provide. When he hit the ground, he was barely visible under the shimmering silver glow of the full moon. As he reached the first line of pine trees, he heard a deathly howl penetrate the calming sounds of the natural world. It sounded like a wolf, but unnatural, and the sound sent a chill down his spine. As the flesh on his arms and neck rose into goosebumps, it inspired a new sense of urgency. He knew the howl was in reaction to his 'theft' and adrenaline flooded anew into his bloodstream, drowning out the pain screaming through his leg. It was a matter of survival now, as he had the feeling that that death tyrant had only been the beginning of his challenges. As he sprinted deeper and deeper into the forest, he began to think of ways to elude and fight his pursuer, whilst taking into account his wounds.

As silent as death, the werewolf captain, Alak, dashed through the trees following the scent of fresh blood that he had picked up on since leaving the castle.

Alak paused as he sniffed the ground, running his clawed fingers through the dirt. His bestial head reared up high and and hunter once again was on the move.

Entering a clearing, the full moon beaming it's eerie light down onto the world, Alak stopped upon a rock and surveyed the area.

His prey was close. He could smell it on the breeze.

He sniffed the air once again.

Elf blood.

Alak pondered this new revelation. The wild elves of the Black Forest would not even enter the castle's perimeter, let alone dare to enter Warlock's Rest itself. And whoever this elf was knew just what they were looking for.

Alak snarled. It did not matter who or what this elf was or what their plan had been. All it was not was fresh meat.

A bit of drool fell from Alak's slightly foaming mouth and splashed against the rock underneath him.
With a growl the werewolf ranger dashed off once again into the think woods.

Alak ran on for a handful of minutes more and then stopped in the middle of a thicket of trees.

His keen eyes used to the darkness searched the area around him.

"There's no point in hiding, little elf", snarled the werewolf, "I can smell your fear. Show yourself, thieving swine, and I may show mercy."

 

[Green Lantern]

As silent as death, the werewolf captain, Alak, dashed through the trees following the scent of fresh blood that he had picked up on since leaving the castle.

Alak paused as he sniffed the ground, running his clawed fingers through the dirt. His bestial head reared up high and and hunter once again was on the move.

Entering a clearing, the full moon beaming it's eerie light down onto the world, Alak stopped upon a rock and surveyed the area.

His prey was close. He could smell it on the breeze.

He sniffed the air once again.

Elf blood.

Alak pondered this new revelation. The wild elves of the Black Forest would not even enter the castle's perimeter, let alone dare to enter Warlock's Rest itself. And whoever this elf was knew just what they were looking for.

Alak snarled. It did not matter who or what this elf was or what their plan had been. All it was not was fresh meat.

A bit of drool fell from Alak's slightly foaming mouth and splashed against the rock underneath him.
With a growl the werewolf ranger dashed off once again into the think woods.

Alak ran on for a handful of minutes more and then stopped in the middle of a thicket of trees.

His keen eyes used to the darkness searched the area around him.

"There's no point in hiding, little elf", snarled the werewolf, "I can smell your fear. Show yourself, thieving swine, and I may show mercy."

Slieken's temper boiled over at hearing the lycanthrope call him a thief of his own birthright.

He drew an arrow back in his bow, and gauged the light breeze blowing around him in the tree.

"I am not hiding, wolf. I'm laying a trap. One that you have foolishly stepped right into."

Slieken spoke so that his voice bounced off the mountains, making it impossible to pinpoint the source.

As the werewolf scanned the area, the elf let the arrow fly. As the arrow sank into the flesh of his chest, Alak snarled in rage and turned to the direction the arrow flew from.