Scott
Man at Arms
Sir Scott of the Rainbow Light
Yeeeesssss?
Posts: 116
Leagues Played: Character League, Club League, Adult League, Falnorian
|
Post by Scott on Jan 1, 2015 4:35:20 GMT -8
I've been awake for awhile, and figured I may as well start early. Oh well, I'm going to bed now.
This Being the Journal of Cirdan Whitewalker On the First Moon and the First Day Of the Year 16026 In the Fifth Age of This World In the Reign of Her Majesty Kuni Sinthrea It is unusual, I must say, to be so far north. As someone who spent most of my youth, if I may be allowed to use such a term for the one-hundred-thirty-seven years that have made up the majority, though not the entirety, of my life up to the present date, in the warmer regions of Roekron, the cold is somewhat discomforting. I suppose that since I shall be in the frigid city of Axiems for the foreseeable future I shall simply have to adjust to the difference in climate. Alas, I am afraid that adjustment will not be an easy one. But I digress. As an elf I have had many years, one-hundred-forty-three of them to be exact, to engage myself with my preferred pastimes, namely the reading of old manuscripts and, more recently, the smoking of pipeweed, which is a truly wonderful herb despite the disdain many of my kin hold for the plant, as I feel the need to demonstrate by utilizing my pipe whenever they happen to be nearby. This has caused problems on occasion, but I apologize. I fear I have spent so many hours reading over long, droll histories that my own writing has begun to fall into the familiar patterns I have seen time after time. And, as I am sure you understand, I have had quite a lot of time to see them. Ah! Again I must express the deepest of sorrows, for I fear it has entirely slipped my mind to inform you, my assumedly existent reader, of why exactly I am writing as if you do in fact exist and are in fact reading the document you, presumably, are holding in your hands, or have lying on your desk, or otherwise have in some position which will allow you to read the contents therein. It has come to my attention that much of the historical information that is available on the earlier epochs of this world come not through treatises and papers written at the time, or archeological records, or the words of dragons as in the case of the Riddling on the Mountain, which has also been called Wizaste’s Answering, and which one can certainly discover more about if they one were to go to any library and pick up a decent history book, but rather through the writings of the common man (0r woman if you would prefer, although due to the limitations on the language I am using I shall refer to the general populace of Roekron and the larger world as male, at least when individual actors are not being referred to. In those cases, I will be certain to use the appropriate gender pronouns). Therefore, it seems to me that if I wish for my own time to be remembered I must replicate the feat of those who have come before me, and write. I would not presume, of course, to claim that what I write is any more important than that than any other mans, but rather it is my dearest wish that perhaps a thousand years from now a young child may stumble upon this journal, hopefully with the writing still legible, and discover some secret or hidden knowledge of the past that he (or she) had not know before. To pass on knowledge, yes, that is my ambition. I suppose I am a teacher at heart, and I hope that I always will be until the day my eyes no longer open on this world, but on the Undying Lands of Valinor, the home of my Lord, Olórin. Of course that is a purely hypothetical turn of phrase due to the nature of the elven spirit and their inability to “pass on”, so to speak, but I do hope that you will allow me to use it, and similar such expressions, over the course of my writings. Anyhow, I must continue, for the hour grows late and my candles have begun to flicker. But, the question now becomes, where to begin? There is much that I could discuss, from the style of dress to the usual daily fare of peasants and noblemen, or perhaps the present location of all the great cities, and the names of those who rule them, and their bloodlines as far back as they can be traced. But no, all that I shall leave to other documents, which may be similar in nature but, I hope, different in content and focus. Rather, so you, my dear reader, need not wonder who exactly it is that is writing these words to you across the centuries, I shall sketch a brief and by no means complete profile of myself. I do hope that you will oblige, and not let your eyes wander overly much. My name is, as you may now know if you have had the chance to scan the top of the very first page, is Cirdan Whitewalker. I was born On the Seventeenth Day of the Second Moon, in the Year 15893. By my mother’s own words, or rather what half-remembered snatches of speech I remember from someone who I am almost entirely positive was indeed my mother, before she was killed by an unlucky encounter with a vampire with a morganti weapon and an undead horde, I was named Cirdan (pronounced Kir-don for those unfamiliar with the elvish tongue, and bearing the meaning of “Shipwright”) because she hoped that when I was able to do so I would travel, be it by land or by sea, and in doing so perhaps make up for her own unfulfilled wanderlust. I do not know who my father was, and, although it pains me to admit that there may be at least one area where I am not willing to expend my utmost effort, I have no overwhelming interest in coming to do so. He is of no interest to me, and since it is I who is writing these words at this very moment there is no need to speak of the man that left my mother, and by extension myself, destitute, with no kin nor friends to help us. I am most sorry, I allowed my…frustration…to get the better of my scholarly nature. I assure you, such words as I have scratched out above have no place in an undertaking such as this one, and I beg you to do your utmost to ignore them. As I was saying, my mother always wanted to travel, but I fear that having a child made that difficult. We did indeed engage in a fair amount of movement from one place to another, but that was most often at the hands of others and for our own safety rather than for its own sake. I would suppose that the conclusion I am attempting to reach, and I do apologize for the length of time it has taken me to do so, is that, following my mother’s death at the hands of the aforementioned vampire, I have spent my time on foot, walking for the majority of the time and resting in the nearest library or inn when my feet got sore. It was some time during my one-hundred-third year that I discovered the abundant joys of pipeweed, and completed the carving of my staff, which I still carry to this day. It is a good staff, of sturdy oak, with a well-worn valley where my hand wraps around it. It has proven to be quite useful both for travel purposes and for the fending off of various aggressors who most likely wished harm upon the lone, dusty elf wandering down a lonely side road. I am unclear on what precisely they thought that I possessed that they too desired, beyond perhaps my cloak, which, I am glad to say, has remained for the most part whole, albeit more than a little dirty, or my sword, which is the only tangible thing I have to demonstrate my mother’s existence. Regardless, I eventually caught word of a new type of magic being taught in the city of Pinnacle, where Lord Embarcarious Petrafloutous, whom is now rightly titled Lord Embarcarious the Wondrous for his outstanding feats of magic and politics both, resides. Given what I am sure you have gathered regarding my temperament at this point, I was immediately seized by the insatiable desire to learn more. However, the more I learned the greater my curiosity grew, for the practitioners of this new magic, whom were called Runeweavers (at least colloquially) seemed to my mind to possess skills extraordinarily similar to those that I myself possessed, although in their case it was more…refined, I suppose. Even now I have yet to truly experiment with my own abilities for risk of making a mistake I cannot undo, and for now I must be satiated with the knowledge that perhaps in the future I can put my own skill with rituals and magic to some good use. It seems that I have lost myself in my writing, for even now my light is fading away. But, before I close this journal for the night and give my body the rest it is so dearly clamoring for, I would like to briefly summarize the events that followed my query into the nature of rune magic. Unfortunately at the time I was somewhat lacking in funds, and indeed still am, and was unable to charter a boat to the island of Hostor itself. I continued my wandering for some time and then, only a few weeks ago, another rumor reached my ear. There were people gathering in the far north, in the city of Axiems, men and women alike who were banding together from all walks of life, for all different reasons. Thirty-three years ago a similar group formed, and their actions were rather noticeable, if I may be allowed to write such a gross understatement. At the time I was certain that if I wished to gather sufficient funds to travel to Hostor and perhaps learn more about rune magic, joining this gathering group and becoming what is called an “adventurer” seemed like the best option. Now, I am not so certain. Not because anything overly offsetting has happened since my arrival in the city of Axiems this morning, you understand. Rhtar Rarth Rtarh Rather, I smply
Damn it all, I don’t have the ptiance patnci patience for this anymore! I am tired, and my hands are shaking from the cold despite the cup of hot tea nearby. I shall resume writing on the morror morrow, or perhaps the day after. From what I standunder understand there is to be a festival of some sort in the coming dys days, damnit, days!
Curse this cold, and this city, and these damn hands of mine! If this goes on any longer my beard is going to freeze off!
~Cirdan Whitewalker
|
|
|
Post by Celebfealor on Jan 1, 2015 14:59:16 GMT -8
Scott, this is beautiful, I love this. =D The style is fantastic. Oh my goodness.
|
|
Scott
Man at Arms
Sir Scott of the Rainbow Light
Yeeeesssss?
Posts: 116
Leagues Played: Character League, Club League, Adult League, Falnorian
|
Post by Scott on Jan 1, 2015 15:02:51 GMT -8
Thank you! I just finished reading the Phoenix Guards and Five Hundred Years After, so I have that style of writing stuck in my head right now.
|
|
Scott
Man at Arms
Sir Scott of the Rainbow Light
Yeeeesssss?
Posts: 116
Leagues Played: Character League, Club League, Adult League, Falnorian
|
Post by Scott on Jan 8, 2015 22:06:40 GMT -8
This Being the Journal of Cirdan Whitewalker On the Third Day of the First Moon Of the Year 16026 In the Fifth Age of This World During the Reign of Her Majesty Kuni Sinthrea Having previously established both my own identity and my current location, as well as the circumstances that led to me being in this very spot with a pen in my hand and a candle, crafted of what appears to be beeswax if the smell is sufficient evidence to warrant that assumption, on my left, I would like to turn to the creations of a character whom I mentioned only briefly in my previous entry; Embarcarious the Wondrous. If you, dear reader, are confused as to why I am choosing to write of such an esteemed personage such as the hobbit formerly known as Embarcarious Petrafloutous when historians and scholars much more knowledgeable then I have most assuredly done the same with far more thoroughness then I am capable of at the moment, then I beg you, do not be. My discussion of the great mage is limited in scope, and in fact does not deal with him directly, but rather one of his cunning creations in recent years; an enormous interconnected system of teleportation waypoints. These waypoints make use of the Overlay, which was only recently cleansed of the fearsome Rastkuru, a sentient spell that for some time was devouring the spells and mana of any mage unlucky enough to be caught by it, and they are the focus of a powerful teleportation spell that allows rapid travel from one point to another, presuming there is a similar focus at the desired destination. The intricate technicalities of the spell escape me, such grand acts of magic being beyond my paltry knowledge in that area, but from what I understand Lord Embarcarious’s spell allows a magical wave of sorts to be sent from one focus to the next, and these waves can then be converted into an image of the location in which the receiver is standing, and this image can be returned to the sender, who can then use a teleportation spell to send the traveler to the location from which they received the image. I apologize for my brevity in this matter, and if you wish to learn more I would suggest addressing your questions to a true Elder Sorcerer, or, if you are indeed reading this some years from the date thoughtfully supplied above, I would imagine that there will have been many well-researched tomes on the subject. Regardless of how the teleportation waypoints function in the manner that they do, suffice it so say that they do indeed make travel far more efficient then the time-honored method of walking, and, as I can attest to, having just recently used them myself, this efficiency is enough to allow large groups of people to move from one city, such as Axiems, to another, such as Gramion Hold, in less than two hours. Now, I am sure you, my good reader, are at this point wondering why precisely I chose those two cities as my example of the speed of which the waypoint system allows one to travel. Allow me to put your mind at ease, and assure you that my choice of words was no accident, or random selection. Indeed, just this morning I was in the city of Axiems, and I had received word that a festival of some sort was being held in Gramion hold, and that many of those who were seeking their fame and fortune in the north, my fellow adventurers, would be present. I made the decision to attend, and, shortly thereafter, found myself in the middle of the aforementioned Hold, which lies on the banks of the similarly named river, The Brown Gramion. Now I have come to my true purpose with this particular entry, the festival I have only recently returned from, or rather, a certain individual that I met there. As someone who has spent the majority of my life on foot in the wilds of Roekron, I am unused to the company of large throngs of people. Furthermore, it has recently (by which I mean within the last few hours, namely, as soon as I arrived at the festival itself) come to my attention that those who find themselves in the life of an adventurer tend to be the ones who stand out, which I only mean, of course, in the best of all possible ways, as it would not do to insult, accidentally or otherwise, the very people whom I am going to be in close proximity to for the foreseeable future. This is especially so, given that I rather enjoy the company of several of them, as they are both interesting and pleasant in their own ways. Among those I met—Vanessa, whose last I do not yet know, and who does not seem to like me overly much, although what I did to upset her I do not know, Durotan and Taborlin, two orks who, I must admit, fascinate me, as in the past I fear that I was prey to the same prejudices as many others, and thought of their race as being all one and the same, rather than as a people with their own culture and beliefs, Elloni, a singer and storyteller with a brother whose name, Eleno, is strikingly similar to both his own, and that of several others I am about to name , Ellion Rosewater, who seems rather fond of flowers, Eleanor, of whom I know little other than that she works at sewing and embroidery, and a man named Oberon, who is entirely unknown to me—there was one person in particular, the certain individual whom I mentioned above, a young woman named Ivamin Tenner, who stood out. I suppose that before I continue I should give a brief description of Ivamin, for while no such description was necessary for myself, as I am the “narrator” of this particular text and serve better as a mere system for the delivery of these words unto the page, rather than as a character in and of myself, I am fully aware that most readers, such as possibly yourself and, admittedly, myself as well, do appreciate being able to accurately imagine the various peoples that are or may become important later on, as I suspect Ivamin will be. Please note that I do not presume to foresee the future, as that would be both presumptuous, and, if I were to truly do so, dangerous due to a certain magical Plague, but instead am simply making a projection based on what evidence has been presented to me. Anyhow, I was discussing the Lady Tenner, who, if she is indeed the one reading this, I beg forgiveness from for writing about without her (or your, I suppose) express permission and knowledge. As I said before, her name is Ivamin Tenner, and although she has requested that I call her Iva, and though I will indeed do so when speaking, I prefer to write using ones full name for stylistic purposes. She appears to be perhaps twenty-three or twenty-four, although I will be the first to admit my lack of skill when it comes to determining the age of human beings, and other people in a more general sense I suppose. As an elf I age very, very slowly (or at least I would have, had I not had an unfortunate accident, resulting in my current aged appearance), and indeed stop aging altogether at a certain point, making it difficult to ascertain age by comparison. So, for now let it be said that she is young, approximately five feet five inches in height (perhaps a little less than that), with wide shoulders in a strong build. Her skin is of an olive tone, slightly darker than my own, and her hair is light blonde, cut short, and it darkens near the roots. I will not go into great detail regarding her mode of dress, as such a level of detail is entirely superfluous and, therefore, unnecessary, but suffice it to say that she appears to have a great fondness for fur, which is, of course, understandable due to the harsh weather and frequent snowstorms due to being so far North. In addition, Ivamin can usually be found in clothing of lighter colors, such as tan, grey, brown, or certain shades of yellow and orange, and she often wears gloves, also with fur, and an embroidered vest and/or cloak. Furthermore, and more to the point, she has the same skill that I do with runes and rituals. She is, I suppose what one might say, a natural Runeweaver. When I learned that fact I was quite surprised, for never before had I encountered anyone else like myself, which I say not with hubris but rather with genuine scholarly curiosity, for from my understanding of those in our situation such people are few and far between. Please understand that I am not counting the Runeweavers of Pinnacle as such, not out of disdain for their own talents, which are indeed prodigious and did, in fact, save the city of Axiems, in which I am writing these words that you, my dear reader, are, well, reading, from being entirely buried by a monstrous snowstorm some thirty-three years ago, but rather because their talents are learned. When I say “those in our situation” (in reference to Lady Tenner and myself), I am, as you have likely come to understand at this point, referring those who have such skill with rituals and more “freeform” magic as an innate ability, not as a learned skill. Ivamin and I have made plans to travel to Pinnacle at our earliest convenience, making good use of the new waypoint system to reduce what would have been a two-moon trip there and back again to a mere two days, in addition to whatever time it takes to, hopefully, receive more formalized training to hone our innate abilities. I am grateful that we need not travel by boat, for, despite my name, I prefer to have both of my feet planted solidly on firm, hard ground. The constant rocking and swaying of the ship beneath me feels…unsettling. Ah, I fear that I can feel myself growing weary. But, before I extinguish my light and take my leave of you for now, dear reader, I would like to make one final note regarding the happenings of the festival. I am unaware as to who assaulted me, or why, but suffice it to say that I was stabbed in the back some four times according to witnesses, and almost died. It is a strange sensation, being stabbed. It does not hurt overly much, as one loses conscious rapidly, particularly when the attacker continues after one is already injured. Fortunately I was lucky, and was not dead when a life mage came, and consequently healed, me. It was, apparently, a near thing, and even now I would swear that I felt, in the words of the great Centaur Poet Wyrden Ealdwine, who wrote during the Second Age his famed Journey from the East, in which he recorded in stunningly beautiful verse the journey of his people to Roekron during the Age of Ice and Fire, “The blazing Hand of Death Unveiled // Which ‘round my Throat does hold me High // And pierces me like Flesh Unmailed // And gives me Not a chance to Cry// For Home.” Lord Ealdwine was, or course, referring to the great heat that drove his kin West, leaving them as wanderers with no place to call their own, but the words to seem to fit death and sorrow of almost any sort, really. Well, I shall leave you with that, and wish you pleasant dreams. Farewell, dear reader, with luck you will also find yourself in possession of my next entry, or perhaps the entire journal, and I shall speak with you then. Good night.
~Cirdan Whitewalker
|
|
Scott
Man at Arms
Sir Scott of the Rainbow Light
Yeeeesssss?
Posts: 116
Leagues Played: Character League, Club League, Adult League, Falnorian
|
Post by Scott on Jan 8, 2015 22:28:59 GMT -8
Cirdan Whitewalker On the Fourth Day of the First Moon Of the Year 16026 In the Fifth Age of This World During the Reign of Her Majesty Kuni Sinthrea From what I understand, the events that occurred earlier today could be defined as either interesting or disastrous; although why precisely those two words have a synonymous meaning has so far eluded me, despite the queries I have made into the matter. Unfortunately, it would seem that the citizens of Axiems and many of my recently met fellow adventurers do not share my interest in the etymology of the above mentioned words, despite their confounding departure from the commonly held, “standard” definition. It pains me to call such a variable and changeable entity such as a word, which only bears the meaning that it does due to the agreement of those who speak it, and which without that agreement of meaning would be little more than a random collection of sounds, symbolized by various abstract symbols that may or may not resemble the rambling pictures of an intoxicated painter, full of lines both straight and curved arrayed in almost random patterns, “standard”. However, I do believe that usage of such a term does indeed make my point in the simplest manner possible. For if indeed any language is to fulfill its desired function, that being, if a may be so presumptuous as to submit my own proposals on a subject in which I am, to quote the esteemed scholar Arandur Artano, “In no uncertain terms!” decidedly not an expert of any kind, the communication of ideas from one speaker to another, then words must only change their meanings by some sort of official consensus. I am not so ignorant that I do not realize that such change occurs regularly and at a steady rate, but, as I am sure you, my dear reader, has gathered at this point in time, such a chaotic transformation of such an important aspect of our modern societies irks me to no end. But I digress. For all of my musings I am no closer to discovering the point at which the subjects of my ponderings, those being the words “interesting” and “disastrous”, came to mean the same things. However, as doing so was not and is not my intention in this paper, I beg you to be satisfied with my original conclusion, and bear in mind that, as they are used in my very first sentence, the aforementioned words are, indeed, interchangeable. Returning to the issue at hand, namely a certain encounter with the inhabitants of the Elven Protectorate, I am forced to admit that, of all those who I have come in my extensive travels, said inhabitants are perhaps some of the most intolerable, infuriating, narcissistic difficult to treat with. As a matter of course I prefer to remain neutral in most things, as it is far safer to keep to oneself when traveling alone, but in this particular instance I…no, I apologize. Perhaps it would be better if I were to do as one usually does when transcribing a tale of any sort, be it fictional, or educational, or comedic, or, as is the case with this particular text, historical, and begin at the beginning. I fear that I allowed my own feelings on the matter of the Elven Protectorate to effect my writing. Very well then. Let us remove ourselves from the border of the Protectorate and its guardians, and instead turn to the frozen city of Axiems. I will not bore you, dear reader, with a description of something as droll as the wonderfully warm soup and dark bread I used to break my fast this morning, or the sound of the fire in its grate, or the various comings and goings which I had the pleasure of noticing from my seat against the wall to the left of the entryway, some ten feet from the far corner of the common room. Nor will I waste your time and mine by telling of the messenger, a sharp-eyed dwarf with unruly brown hair and a scar underneath his right eye, who had indeed come to deliver a message, as is expected of one in his profession. If one wishes to know more of these things, or rather their ilk, I would direct you to the nearest library, and a series of twenty-six books entitled Life Throughout the Ages, by eminent historian and prolific author Khîm II of Mt. Etndenandren. Lord Khîm (whom I address as such not because of his social status, which is, while no means poor, not of the caliber of the nobility, but rather because it sounds more pleasing to the ear than simply “Khîm” alone) explicates with delightful clarity the various aspects of life at different points in Roekron’s history, including, but by no means limiting itself to, modes of dress, cuisine, the inhabitants one might expect to find in various terrains (including the unique conglomeration of people one encounters in cities), architecture, speech, and, or course, great historical events. Given that Life Throughout the Ages is not an uncommon item in a library or bookseller I do not believe there is a proper reason to go into detail regarding insignificant details, such as what the messenger was wearing, or what herbs were present in the aforementioned soup. Rather, I shall leave such details to your own imagination, and recommend that if you wishes to get an accurate impression to base your imagination off of you should read the works of Lord Khîm that I have just mentioned. In the meantime, suffice it to say that I, and the other adventurers in the inn, received a message to collect our various weapons and other assorted pieces of equipment, and to prepare for the coming day. The woman who met us was easily recognizable, being one Lesil Sentris of the Sentris Family, who controlled Axiems at the moment. Once more I will direct you, the reader, to Life Throughout the Ages, as the twenty-sixth volume, being the most recent, has the bloodlines of all the major political figures of the last one-hundred years, those currently in power included, and a brief physical description. It is for that reason that I recognized Lady Sentris, and knew what the awful sensation that followed her into the room was. I would like to make a brief note, dear reader, about the terrible weapons known as morganti. It is not the main topic of interest at the moment, but I feel that it may be pertinent to explain, for the sake of thoroughness’, what precisely I mean by the word, “morganti”. I suppose that when I say that I am referring to a type of weapon, forged of a black metal, which has the power to affect not just the flesh but also the soul of its victims. The consequences of this are dire. For a full examination into the physical, metaphysical, and divine properties of the soul I would recommend Sir Hirgon Sararassi’s Life, Death, and the Afterlife: A Foray Into the Nature of the Immortal, but for my purposes (and yours as well), Sir Hirgon provides a condensed summary in chapter seventeen, which is titled “On the Nature of Morganti”. He writes, and I quote, “That which is done to the soul cannot be undone.” (Sararassi 1028). There are other philosophers who would likely disagree with Sir Hirgon, such as Gerard, Alren, Rauros, and Cyne to name just a small selection, but when dealing with the aftereffects of a morganti wound it would seem that Sararassi has the right of it. Despite many attempts to do so, there has been no way yet discovered to truly heal an injury from such a weapon. This alone makes morganti a terrifying prospect to encounter in the hands of an enemy, and an even more difficult one to bear (in my mind, at least, as I never have and hope I never will lay my hands on such an abominable thing), but there is one more effect that morganti has. It can be felt. I would have hoped that I would never be able to speak from experience on the matter, but since I have indeed been near a morganti weapon recently I can say with relative accuracy that the sensation can be crudely compared to standing naked in a cage with a ghoul in there with you, except in this situation it is your soul that will be eaten, not just your body. I apologize for the clumsy analogy and less than scholarly tone, but I do hope that it has served its purpose. Regardless, the point I was attempting to make was that as soon as Lady Sentris entered the common room it was immediately clear that the weapon she had at her side, a shortsword with an oddly shaped blade, was crafted of morganti. Whether it was one of the old morganti weapons crafted by Merigrad under Mt. Wizaste in the Second Age or one of the New Blades made by the Wizard Trade Order by unknown means I do not know, nor do I wish to. I would suppose that I should be alarmed by my lack of curiosity regarding such a fascinating subject as morganti, but as I would rather avoid the topic altogether perhaps it would be advantageous to continue. It is getting late, and I am afraid I must gloss over many of the details of what occurred once Lady Sentris entered. In short, we were dispatched to eliminate a division of Dagdeoth troops that were encroaching on Svodlum lands. It is worth noting that Dagdeoth, once infamous for its undead war machines such as the monstrous ashen crushes, has since reverted entirely to living soldiers. One would think that undead warriors such as skeletons, which require neither food nor rest and cannot be harmed by any normal blade, would be more advantageous to utilize for one’s armies, but it would appear that the always unpredictable factor of surprise leaned the proverbial scales in Dagdeoth’s favor. Countless strategies had been devised and a myriad of weapons created with no other purpose in mind other than the putting down of undead, and such tactics could be employed safely, with no risk of them being used against ones own forces. Now, however, as I mentioned above, due to the sudden change in opposition all of those tools that were available have been rendered, for the most part, entirely, completely, totally, useless. Ah, perhaps I should explain the previous sentence, or rather; perhaps I should explain the very last portion of it. I usually prefer to shy away from such a repetitive use of synonyms, at least when it involves my writings, as I do believe no good reader, as I am sure you are, appreciates the need to burrow through unnecessarily convoluted words and sentences when simpler forms of communicating the same idea are readily available. However, when describing events with such far-reaching and unexpected consequences as Dagdeoth’s sudden abandonment and subsequent destruction of their undead troops, I feel that perhaps a scant handful of additional words for emphasis is not an unreasonable usage of ink and paper. But, I digress. We did indeed emerge victorious against several divisions of Dagdeoth troops, although each battle seemed to be almost perfect balanced, neither side being much stronger than the other. In all three battles we were almost completely brought down by a combination of Turuk-Orcs, Uruk-Hai, and Trolls, but were able to rally at the last minute. Once again my staff was made good use of, and it saved me from several presumably painful experiences, as did my mother’s longsword, which I prefer to wield in my right hand while utilizing my staff in my left. I did not personally contribute much to the battle, my still-injured left leg hampering my movement somewhat, but I do hope that when we are called upon again it will have fully healed. Several other, similar events happened throughout the day, mostly with similar results. There was a rabble of goblins that had taken control of a farm and several large caribou, which are, previously unbeknownst to me, used as animals of war by the dwarves of Svodlum and Stonehammer. A portion of our group, myself not included, traveled into the Dark Wilds, which is, to my understanding, teaming with far to many spiders for myself to be entirely comfortable within it’s borders, in order to retrieve a somewhat odd list of ingredients for the eccentric mage-enchanter, Able Sentris. His requests included such things like the sweat of a sleeping Turuk-Orc, the blood of a troll, a spider leg, and a goblin song (I must admit that the exact details of how my fellow adventurers managed to retrieve that last item escapes me, though they did return with two live goblins that were able to sing, and Lord Able seemed pleased with that, and gave the goblins small objects to hold as they sang and danced). I managed to, for the most part, avoid being caught up in any particularly dangerous situations, for which I am grateful, and the time passed quickly. It was near the end of the day that they “party”, as a group such of ours seems to be called, though why one would name a conglomeration of people who include amongst there ranks several orks, two bards, two Runeweavers, a woman who communicates using flowers, an odd elf who was raised by Uruk-hai and who was, most recently, kidnapped by the elves of the Protectorate under Orixriel Kerni’s orders, which were given due to some misguided delusion that the Protectorate could somehow “fix” the aforementioned elf, and many other equally interesting characters a “party” I do not know…I am sorry, I seem to have lost where I was. Ah yes. As I was saying, it was near the end of the day when our party decided to attempt to stop a band or orks from entering the Protectorate, as they would surely be slaughtered if they were to step into the elvish lands. I beg you, dear reader, to realize that not all elves are as ================================================= =============================================================================================================================================================== Hmm. Perhaps I should avoid giving you exact details regarding my opinion of these particular elves at risk of filling an entire page with nothing but inked-over sentences of an uncomplimentary nature, which possibly contain the suggestion the elves of the Protectorate are closely related to certain woodland animals, but let it be said that they are in no way representative of our race as a whole, and, as I am an elf myself I can confidently assert that I find them, as I am sure you will as well, to be as =========================================== Oh dear, I seem to have done it again. Well, I am sure that you understand what precisely I am trying to say without needing me to write it out in exacting detail. This story was only related to me after the party returned, as I was otherwise occupied at the time, and was not present. To summarize: The party reached the orks just as they were ambushed by a group of highly skilled elves just inside the borders of the Protectorate, but due to sheer numbers the elves, of which there were six, were all wounded, then killed and burned to ash. Now, given what I have said, or rather not said, about the aforementioned elves, I imagine that you, dear reader, understand that this was a poor decision on the orks part. However, the situation was only exacerbated by the fact that several orks chased the single surviving elf deeper into the protectorate, and were killed. Then a member of the party, an ork named Durotan, attempted to retrieve their corpses, and was killed as well. At his point the remaining orks decided to retrieve the corpses of their fallen comrades, and a good portion of the party decided to follow them. From what I understand, it was a bloodbath. This time the orks were met not by six elves, but by nearly three times that number, and Orixriel Kerni himself, who, as I most assuredly did not mentioned earlier, quite possibly has a porcupine somewhere in his ancestry, or perhaps a squirrel. There was also, apparently, a were-creature of some sort present as well, who escaped deeper into the forest and has not been seen since. Almost every member of the party who entered the forest, and certainly every ork, was killed, and, as I mentioned earlier, Orixriel took a certain elf away into the Protectorate for “fixing”. I fear that after relating that particular tale that I am not in much of a state to continue writing, and thus I shall leave you on that sorrowful note. And again, I would like to say that the Elven Protectorate is not the entirety of the elvish people, and most of us are in fact no more intolerant than any other person. I wish you a wonderful rest of your day, or evening, or afternoon, whichever it happens to be.
~Cirdan Whitewalker
|
|
Scott
Man at Arms
Sir Scott of the Rainbow Light
Yeeeesssss?
Posts: 116
Leagues Played: Character League, Club League, Adult League, Falnorian
|
Post by Scott on May 15, 2015 14:47:26 GMT -8
This Being the Journal of Cirdan Whitewalker On the Third Day of the Second Moon Of the Year 16026 In the Fifth Age of This World During the Reign of Her Majesty Kuni Sinthrea It has been quite some time, dear reader, since I have had the opportunity to transcribe the happenings of past events in this book that you now hold, and I am afraid that many of the details have faded from my memory. I beg your forgiveness of course, as it is a poor historian who omits, accidentally or otherwise, even the smallest of trivialities, as such small pieces of information may well become useful at a later date. However, I was otherwise occupied with my classes and a personal project, the details of which I will save for another time. That is all behind me now, and I shall now procede into the events of the Ulalina Festival. The Ulalina Festival is an elvish celebration of those who have died after the Gates to the elvish afterlife closed, thereby ensuring that it was their doom to wander the world forevermore without an end in sight beyond, perhaps, the bleak finality of a morganti death. Now, such an extreme measure to put elvish haunts to rest is understandably frowned upon, and thus is not something that I will be dwelling upon between these pages. Anyway, as I was about to say before I interrupted myself with that brief aside, the Festival was held in the Elven Protectorate, a place against which I have previously expressed a certain amount of ill will at least in regards to Lord Orixriel. I was, therefore, somewhat leery of the prospect of entering the ancient forest myself. However, my curiosity was what drove me to join with the others within our adventuring group who wished to attend the Ulalina Festival, and in retrospect I am indeed satisfied with my choice to do so. There were several notable events that occurred before even reaching the location of the festival, but as they are not the main focus of this particular entry I shall touch upon each of them only briefly. The first noteworthy transaction occurred when attempting to acquire the necessary permits from Lady Ruby Crowmark Unwizaste that would allow us legal entry in to the Protectorate. Or rather, it was the lack of interaction that was particularly notable. Lady Crowmark was at first nowhere to be seen, and when we did locate her she was doing little but starring blankly at the air, as if her sight was directed at something beyond what my paltry eyes can perceive. What that may be I do not know and would not presume to guess, so I shall inquire no further in to the matter at the moment despite my persistent curiosity. Were it my place to conduct such musings, then I would suppose that Lady Crowmark’s present state is related to the disappearance and/or speculated death of her father, Lord Boro Whitehills, and her two daughters, the Ladies Jill Slatesim and Mary Hewright. However, since I am but a simple adventurer I shall withhold such speculation until the time when I have a less public forum to discuss such possibilities. It is not seemly to gossip about one’s superiors when it is all too possible that they or someone with their interests in mind can hear or read my careless words. Anyway, regardless of Lady Crowmark’s relative mental presence at the time we received our permits, we did indeed receive them and were able to enter the Protectorate with full legal protections. It was on our way deeper into the forest that the second significant event occurred. There was a small sound form the bushes, and a fraction of the larger group split off to investigate. One event led to another, and in the end I, along with my fellow adventurers, found myself engaged in a battle against an unusual form of goblin that I have never seen before. Alas, I was unable to take notes at the time due to the profusion of entities trying to severely injure, maim, and/or kill me, and while the pen may be mightier than the sword it certainly does not hold up nearly as well to an enraged goblin. So, I shall simply note that what made these goblins unique was their ability to stave off death and shock for a short period of time after being struck, entering a state in which their attacks increased in fervor and intensity for a little under half a minute before collapsing, dead. Either only some of said goblins possessed that ability or, and this is a very real possibility given the average intelligence of a goblinoid, some merely forgot that they were capable of entering that state. After that encounter with the goblins there was a third and final event that came to pass before we reached the Festival. However, I would like to postpone describing that event, with your permission of course, dear reader, and instead I shall provide some background for the logging business within the protectorate. I suppose that in order to explain this fully I must also attempt to explain in brief the nature of mana and mana wells, but as my time and yours is limited suffice it to say that the world produces mana. Different environments are more “tuned in with” different “colors”, or types, of mana, and it is somewhat self-explanatory which terrains match with which color of mana and associated mage type. Forests are, of course, matched with green mana and nature mages, and the older the growth the more mana is generated and the deeper the connection. In the Protectorate, this led to certain ancient trees serving almost like mana wells, releasing waves of energy when they were chopped down. This of course made them a target, and thus little remains of these once marvelous titans but for their stumps, now converted into shrines of remembrance for what once was. As the group and I were passing through these shrines, we met a man who called himself Hayashi. He is a strange individual, with green skin and a complete and utter lack of understanding in many subjects that are considered commonplace amongst any resident of Roekron. For example, Hayashi did not know where many important geographic locations were. He also claimed to be a god; although how he came to such a conclusion I do not know. Since I have already written far more than I was intending to thus far I shall simply summarize, and note that though we passed him by he followed our group to the Ulalina Festival. Here I shall stop to a moment to attempt to capture in words the stunning glory of the Festival space. Please forgive me, dear reader, for my attempts to do so, as I am sure my brief description will fall far short of that image that I am attempting to engrave within your mind’s eye. The Festival began at twilight, in the shadows of the ancient trees of the Protectorate, every bough occupied by observers, poets, musicians, and singers. Between the trees were huge roles of brightly colored cloth, bringing a new sort of life to the already vibrant browns and greens of the forest. I remember watching the fading light reflect off of the canopy, gilding the trees and turning the leaves into tiny gems waving in the evening breeze. I…well, perhaps that is enough to give you at least some vague sense of what it was like to be standing in that clearing. I could spend the next page and a half describing the vast array of sights and sounds that have remained distinct within my memory, but I would rather occupy that space with a recording of the events that followed after we arrived. There were many performances, of course each a tribute to the spirits of both one’s loved ones who have died and the lingering spirits of the elvish race. Since I only have so much ink and paper (and, more importantly, only so much patience) I will skip over most of these, and instead focus on the pieces created and presented by those within our own adventuring group. Unsurprisingly, the elves were allowed to go first. I have attempted to recreate the poems and songs as best I can elsewhere, and will not be including all of them in their entirety here. I fear this entry is already growing long, and I could easily occupy another twenty pages with the songs and their respective analyses. Instead, I shall simply invoke my prerogative as the writer of this journal and record the performance of Ivamen and myself, and I shall also redirect you, dear reader, towards the variety of other sources in which certain individuals who were present at the festival have included their own songs or poems as well.
The darkness gathers silently under the willow tree And from this spool of shadows a dancer came to be She dances in the darkness, the notes of night retraced She dances in the shadows, a dream of starlight’s grace
The dawn spreads it golden wings over the willow tree And from this mix of life and light a singer came to be He sings in summer’s sunlight, the song of life reborn He sings in flowered fields, and none who hear can mourn
She dances under moon and star, for upon her this curse lies If the sunlight paints her skin the midnight dancer dies She rises with the brand new moon, eager for the dance And fades once more with the reborn sun, the light is like a lance
He sings under cloud and sky, for once the sun has gone to bed He lies in sleep like death till morn, until the moon has fled He awakens with the coming dawn, crystal notes in mind But they vanish with the failing sun, where they go he cannot find
One evening in the twilight, the crux of day and night The time part mixed of shadows and partly born of light Then the lonely shadowed dancer heard the voice of love and doom That sang a song of sunlight through the gathering evening gloom
One evening in the twilight, the balance of it all The time between the sun and moon, between the rise and fall Then the lonely summer singer saw the dance of love and pain That brought to life a wonder that would become his greatest bane
She was reveling in the new night when she saw him on the ground He looked so lost and empty with the fading sunlight all around She saw him and she loved him, and would until she died And bitter tears for bitter love the midnight dancer cried
He was waiting for his end but then he saw her arrive Her silence, her movements, she was simply joyfully alive He saw her and he loved her, but he knew his love was vain For he was born of sunlight, and must be the shadows bane
Now they meet at dawn and dusk, though they meet just to part Sad meetings, bitter partings, and the breaking of each heart They hold each other and cry, and they shed a single shining tear For though they seek for a cure their greatest love is their only fear Accompanying this poem was a ritual that Ivamen and I performed as well, involving some of the rune stones that I had on hand. The details are not overly important in this case, but there was one thing that was particularly interesting. After we finished, a dome of spirits manifested themselves, watching the proceeds. Furthermore, one of the runes that had been used in the ritual—Thurisaz, representing a gateway—flickered, and then disappeared form the face of the stone on which it had been inscribed. Similar happenings occurred with the other performances, reflecting the nature of the piece that had just been completed. After everyone else had finished, there was one final performer, an elf who I was later told was named Lagin, who sang while accompanying himself on the harp. I have also been told that his purpose within the Protectorate is to keep the haunts from loosing their minds. An interesting thought. I have never before considered haunts as being capable of going insane, and had assumed that whatever odd behaviors they had resulted from their nature as a haunt as opposed to what we would call mental instability. Unfortunately there was no time to speak with Lagin after he finished his song (which is not recorded here, as there are other places in which a full transcript can be found), and instead of staying he strode off into the forest. I was one of the many that followed, but I am afraid I remember nothing after that. I was later informed that there had been singing involved, and that the group had found themselves in a large clearing surrounded by haunts. Through some unknown doorway an entity of some kind spoke through Eleanor, but I know not what she said. I had expended most of my energy earlier, during the ritual Iva and I performed, and thus the pain caused by certain actions was too much for my body to take. I died, and the next thing that I remember is waking up back in Axiems, in the Life Mages Guild. I apologize, dear reader, for not being able to record more. My hand grows weary however and my light grows dim, and so I must leave off for now. I do hope this entry has been of some use to you, however, despite the lack of detail and unnecessary asides.
Pleasant dreams,
~Cirdan Whitewalker
|
|
Scott
Man at Arms
Sir Scott of the Rainbow Light
Yeeeesssss?
Posts: 116
Leagues Played: Character League, Club League, Adult League, Falnorian
|
Post by Scott on May 27, 2015 0:47:37 GMT -8
This Being the Journal of Cirdan Whitewalker On the Eighth Day of the Third Moon Of the Year 16026 In the Fifth Age of This World During the Reign of Her Majesty Kuni Sinthrea Dagdeoth appears to be getting increasingly more and more aggressive, and this past month they have been slowly moving farther into Axiems territory. Today, they were just outside the gates, a most extraordinary aggression. Of course, being adventurers we were on call to aid the city in dealing with the problem, and I must say as a temporary inhabitant of this city I would be hard pressed not to feel motivated to defend itself, it’s citizens, and, by extension of course, myself. Although, there are some people who I perhaps might feel slightly less grief over if they were to be theoretically be captured by Dagdeoth, but I think I shall forgo mentioning any names. After all, it would not due to express negative views of certain individuals in a time when solidarity is vital to this cities survival. Not that Axiems is necessary capable of such agreement, as I am afraid that would require people to actually work together despite being…well, I shall leave it to you, dear reader, to fill in your own words into that blank space. I have only a limited time to write, so I think that I shall simply say that Dagdeoth was successfully pushed back from the gate, and there was no need to submit to Dagdeoth rule this particular day. That would have been a shame. It is lovely weather today, truly, and it would have been unfortunate had it been ruined by a visit from death. I have already almost passed on once, and it is only because of the Maia--a kind of angel in service to the elven deity Eru Ilúvatar— named Olórin, colloquially knows as Gandalf (usually proceeded by either “the Grey” or “the White” depending on which aspect one follows) but also occasionally referred to as Greyhame, Stormcrow, Incánus, Tharkûn, Mithrandir, The Grey Pilgrim, the White Rider, or Láthspell, that I am still alive to write these words today. I have no wish to fall into the hands of death once more, as despite my aged appearance I have witnessed a mere one hundred thirty-seven summers, and desire to see many more before my time comes. But, since I have no doubt you have little interest in listening to me write of my own personal wishes, perhaps it would be best to move on to less melancholy subjects, as it does not suit me well. Of course, the other topics about which I could write are scarcely more appealing, as the Dark Wilds is a forest where few people view with much enthusiasm. However, I would be a poor record-keeper indeed if I refused to write about a topic merely because it was distasteful, so before proceeding I shall simply note that it would be best to, at some point in the near future, devise some way to contain that particular entity and those inside of it. At this point, dear reader, you likely possess some degree of curiosity as to why the adventuring party, myself included of course, ventured into such a twisted, foul place as the Dark Wilds in the first place. Or, of course, you may not, since for all I know you may well be someone reading this journal centuries from now, and the Dark Wilds are a mere footnote in the texts of obscure geomancers. If that is indeed the case, then perhaps it would be best if you were to simply purview the proceeding paragraph with the knowledge that the Dark Wilds is a large forest between the northern city of Axiems and the nation of Dagdeoth that has been corrupted by necromantic mana, although what purpose that serves, who is responsible, and how that was achieved I do not yet know. Perhaps I shall speak with Ivamin at some point in the near future to determine if any more can be discovered about the forest in question, or simply conduct my own research. Anyway, I have other places to record potential experiments, and so for now I will reign my mind in and return to the task at hand, namely conveying the events of this month to you, my dear reader, whomever or whenever you may be. So, then, I was writing of the Dark Wilds, and our collective journey into its strange, wondrous, and somewhat terrifying depths. As I was intending to explain before getting sidetracked, the reason my fellow adventurers and I had entered the forest in the first place was at the request of Lord Abel Sentris, who I believe I have mentioned a few times previously as being somewhat eccentric in both his manner of speech and his behavior. In this particular instance, he gave us a “shopping list” of seemingly unrelated and bizarre things he required for experiments with enchanting, which is of course his specialty. The list included, although was not necessarily limited to, things such as the following: death ogre brains, a seer’s eye, sweat from a sleeping turok orc, the bones from something that used to be an undead, the horn from a stomping beast (which is, to the extent of my knowledge, is approximately equivalent to some sort of magically mutated rhinoceros), and troll blood, the last of which was likely one of the more mundane things Lord Sentris has assigned us to locate. Lord Sentris also noted that he “can always use any interesting things” we found in the dark wilds, and with that we set off. Two of the ingredients were acquired even before we reached the forest’s edge, due to the fact that, as I mentioned at the beginning of this entry, Dagdeoth was practically knocking at the gates of Axiems. We were attacked by a group of Dagdeoth military, which included amongst their numbers a war troll and a dark ogre, and at first we were all defeated. The Dagdeoth division left us where we were but took Eleanor with them, likely because she was at the time wielding Ellion’s magical longsword. To compress what could potentially turn into a somewhat rambling narrative into a far more concise version, upon awakening and treating our own wounds the adventuring party decided to pursue this division, and Eleanor. We caught up to them quickly, and this time it was us who emerged victorious. Afterwards, Eleanor broke the dark ogre’s skull open (and although the act was not, in her own words, “very ladylike” it was much appreciated, as I certainly had no such desire to do so given the intrinsically messy nature of such an endeavor) and retrieved it’s brain, which was then stored in a delightfully useful bag I acquired at a festival in the city of White Forks the day before. Apparently the bag, one of four items from a set called the Adventurer’s Toolkit, is able to store objects in such a way that they are effectively not inside the bag itself, and yet still occupy a space of some kind. I was not entirely sure as to the details, but either way the bag makes it so that objects such as a freshly gathered brain would remain fresh until it could be returned to Lord Sentris. After the conclusion to this somewhat unexpected adventure we continued on our way to the Dark Wilds, and entered the forest itself. It is worth noting that the entire area simply feels wrong somehow, as though the trees themselves are watching one’s every move. Perhaps it is nothing, and I am merely projecting my own discomfort onto the various floras in the forest, attributing to them a sentience that they do not possess. And yet, I cannot quite shake the feeling that someone, or something, new we were there, and did not appreciate our presence in the slightest. My discomfort was in know way abetted by the appearance of a large group of some sort of goblinoid, except it was more than a little difficult to ascertain what, precisely, they were in the first place due to a shadowy shroud that obscured their forms and made it nearly impossible to figure out where the forest’s regular shadows ended and they began. To further exacerbate the situation, these goblinoids appeared to have some sort of healing ability, triggered by the wounded of an enemy—in this case, the adventurers. It was good fortune that they were not better fighters, for if that had been the case I suspect the battle would have gone very differently. As it was, it took us some time to cut our way through them, and deeper into the Wilds. As it turns out, the Shadow Goblins (as I have taken to calling them for the purposes of avoiding having to endlessly repeat phrases such as “the goblinoids I mentioned previously” or some variation thereof) were one of the less dangerous things we encountered. As we moved deeper, the creatures got stranger. There were foxes with bright green eyes that possessed the capability to cast empathic ray in the same way a nature mage might, large cats with jaws strong enough to cut through steel and flesh alike, and, perhaps most unsettling of all, a pack of somewhat disturbing mannequin-like creatures that at first appeared to be some sort of small, twisted Ents. However, when they were cut open afterwards there was a copious amount of blood and flesh underneath, as well as bones. Some kind of zombie perhaps, adapted to the hostile forest environment, but certainly an undead regardless of its exact type, as the bone’s seemed to satisfy Lord Sentris. After this final encounter we as a group made the decision that staying in the forest any longer would not be conducive to our continued well-being, and so we left and returned what items we had gathered to Abel, who rewarded us with a set of magic items of his own creation. The items were of little interest to me, as I had entered the forest as more of a research opportunity than anything else, and so I payed little attention to what they were. Ah! I must apologize, dear reader, for it would seem as though in my present state of fatigue I have failed to record an event that occurred earlier in the day. I will go to bed shortly, but to briefly summarize: in the morning, some hours before I traveled to the Dark Wilds, a group of adventurers went to harass a gathering force of well armed and armored cave trolls amassing some miles from Axiems. If they reach the city itself the results could be devastating, and so this group was attempting to slow them down in some way. Some of our own died in the process, but they were able to steal many of the troll’s boulders in the process. Of course, boulders are easy to replace, so how useful that particular expedition was I cannot say. Another interesting event that I shall simply gloss over for now is that yet another group went north to investigate reports of some sort of unusual zombies. As I was not present at the time I shall refrain from commentating, and instead will refer you to certain other chronicles that have been written about that exploration. With that I shall take my leave, dear reader, and wish you a good night. Perhaps I will continue this entry at a later date, or perhaps not. Only time will tell, and I am afraid time is telling me that if I do not sleep in the near future I shall fall asleep on the page. Pleasant Dreams, ~Cirdan Whitewalker
|
|
Scott
Man at Arms
Sir Scott of the Rainbow Light
Yeeeesssss?
Posts: 116
Leagues Played: Character League, Club League, Adult League, Falnorian
|
Post by Scott on May 29, 2015 2:40:42 GMT -8
On the Third Day of the Fifth Moon Of the Year 16026 In the Fifth Age of This World During the Reign of Her Majesty Kuni Sinthrea Greetings once again, my dear reader, and before I write anything else I would like to note that the situation I mentioned in last month’s entry, the one in regards to the amassing cave troll army, has indeed come to a somewhat troublesome head, and Dagdeoth has marched an army against this frigid block of ice and stone in which I currently reside. Under most circumstances I would attempt to remove myself from such an irksome and dangerous situation, but alas as I am at the present time living in the aforementioned location and have something of a bested interest in its continued freedom (or at least relative freedom when contrasted with Dagdeoth’s rule) leaving is not a viable option. Of course, Lady Sentris’ threat of death to anyone who attempted to leave the city on matters unrelated to the siege certainly plays into my decision as well. However, regardless of my reasons for not departing immediately, it would be best if I were to simply move on to describing the events of this particular month, as I am sure you are well aware by now, dear reader, of my tendency to allow my mind (and pen) to wander somewhat haphazardly from one subject to the next, and my unfortunate habit of spending excessive periods of time on entirely unrelated tangents. So, I shall leave off my internal musings for the time being, and instead shall describe to you, in brief, one of the reasons why I am still capable of writing this record. It would appear that a Dagdeoth siege was enough to not only rally Axiems, but also to bring together an older, more experienced group of adventurers who, from what I understand, fought for the city some three decades ago. It was due to a combination of their efforts, and the efforts of this year’s adventuring party, that the cave troll army that had attacked the city’s gates with a barrage of boulders was turned back, defeated. Of course, those that were killed represent but a portion of the ninety-some that have gathered to aid Dagdeoth, and I suspect that they will have to be defeated many more times before the army itself is truly scattered. But it is a start, and a welcome one. Even in the short span of time they were present, the cave trolls dealt no small amount of damage to the city walls and gates, which could well prove itself to be a problem later on in this siege. I am afraid that this entry will be quite short, dear reader, as the majority of the events I participated in where secret missions assigned by the ruling family of Axiems, and thus I am not at liberty to discuss them. I will instead simply say that during the course of these missions—or rather, during the course of the successful follow-up mission to correct for an unfortunate failed attempt at a previous one—I discovered something interesting about Runeweaving. I had assumed in the past that it was limited in scope due to the time necessary to set up and initiate a ritual. However, at one point I crafted a spell to aid us in our mission, designed to divert attention away from our purpose and ourselves. Interestingly, the initiation of this spell required none of my mana to cast and does not draw on the overlay, and thus I am at a loss as to what they do, in fact, draw their power from. Furthermore, it would appear that in order to create a spell I must merely inscribe the runes upon the intended surface, which has some interesting implications in terms of how Rune-based spells may be employed in battle. Anyway, other than the events that I have briefly touched upon already, I would refer you to the writings of my fellow adventurers, namely Ellion Rosewater and Eleanor Ribbonblade, who have described in far better detail than I could manage with my paltry knowledge both their journey into a shrine coated with ice and filled with corpses and their battle against a group of powerful Dark Hero’s in the service of Dagdeoth. Unfortunately, from what I understand the Dark Hero’s were killed instead of captured, and thus while they will likely have to expend a good deal of resources to regain their lost equipment we will most likely be encountering them again, unless, due to their somewhat unstable loyalties, the Dark Heroes decide to abandon Dagdeoth in order to prevent another such defeat and death. That is all that I have to record at this point in time, and so I shall now take my leave of you, dear reader. I wish you a good day, and pleasant dreams. ~Cirdan Whitewalker
|
|
Scott
Man at Arms
Sir Scott of the Rainbow Light
Yeeeesssss?
Posts: 116
Leagues Played: Character League, Club League, Adult League, Falnorian
|
Post by Scott on Jun 27, 2015 18:26:10 GMT -8
Well, I managed to get it down to 8 pages instead of 13, which is something, I guess. Still, not sure how much of this is really sensical. It involves a lot of random half-formed thoughts…I'll just let you read it. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------This Being the Journal of Cirdan Whitewalker On the Thirty-First Day of the Fifth Moon Of the Year 16026 In the Firth Age of This World In the Reign of Her Majesty Kuni Sinthrea Good afternoon, dear reader. You have no doubt at this point noticed that I have broken the usual patterns of my writings, and have created an entry for a date later in the moon as opposed to dutifully recording just the events of the first week or two, as that is when the most interesting happenings have a tendency to occur. However, due to a most engaging meeting from which I have only recently returned, during the course of which there was some supremely interesting and relevant information discussed, I have made the decision to write a brief entry as to that meeting’s contents, thus breaking the previously established patterns. I do hope that you will not mind the brief digression from the norm. On a further note, before I delve into the meeting itself, please allow me to make a brief note regarding secrecy and relevant information. I have recorded to the best of my abilities what I remember from the conference, as is my duty as a historian, but please keep in mind that there were certain plans discussed which I should not publicly describe until they have been implemented to the fullest extent. I apologize for the secrecy, but I am sure that you, my dear and patient reader, will understand, and not hold it against me. I will do my utmost to provide you with a full description as soon as doing so will no longer compromise the aforementioned plans. Now that the formalities have been taken care of, perhaps I should provide some context as to what exactly this meeting was, and why it was being hosted. The meeting was held in Pinnacle, and was arranged by the Keychain, an organization devoted to the collection, preservation, and distribution of knowledge. Its purpose was to attract adventures and other individuals from across Roekron (and even an individual from Teriock) for the sake of pooling information and discussing relevant issues such as the ongoing war against Dagdeoth and the somewhat singular problem of the Eye of the World. I shall do my best to describe the events of the conference in a somewhat orderly fashion, most likely chronologically with brief asides for my own musings, although said asides will be marked as such in case you, dear reader, do not wish to read through my often inane rambles. I would also like to make it clear that there was a great amount of detail in many of the discussions that drifted into territory with which I am largely unfamiliar with, and I can assure you that I do not remember it all. I will do my best, however, and beg your forgiveness for not taking more thorough notes. It would be best if I were to simply begin at, well, the beginning (that is what beginnings are for, after all), and thus I shall do just that. There was a great number of people at the conference, and everyone needed to be identified and questioned before they were allowed to enter the meeting chamber. The questions were relatively standard in nature, and I was allowed entry. Since I do not remember the names and faces of each individual present I shall instead simply say that there was a group of adventurers from the city of Yohanisburg, several representatives from our own Axiems-based group, a number of Keychain representatives, an individual from Teriock, a startling number of royal personages, and someone who went by the name of Blossom who was certainly a fey of some sort (he said he was their king, actually, although he also noted that he was not king over all of them, but rather a certain area, or perhaps I was merely mistaken in my interpretation) and spoke using Elder Sorcery (amongst several other odd and interesting traits). I am sure there was others present whom I have failed to mention, but as I could spend all day trying to remember I shall, at this point, move on. The discussion began with an overview of the happenings in the Yohanisburg region, mostly centered upon the war with Dagdeoth in the area. It would appear that Dagdeoth has begun to utilize animals of all sorts, including swarms of diseased flies, herds of cows, and a sleuth of bears. These animals are far more intelligent and aggressive than they should be, and from what I understand a Dagdeoth blessing of some sort has caused these odd behaviors. After some discussion as to what could be done, the Yohanisburg group was advised to find who had the blessing that allowed the conferral of these abilities and throw them into the Beacon of Dragonfire, or to simply kill them outright or otherwise disable them. The Beacon, a remnant of the great red dragon, which, for a time, guarded the ruined city of Menonas, would likely be the most thorough solution, as it appears to annihilate any blessings, lingering magic, diseases, curses, blessings, etc. that are attached to any entity that passes through its eternal flame, returning said entity to its natural state. How precisely this is achieved is unknown, but it most likely the product of a powerful elder sorcery, having been left there by the aforementioned red dragon before its disappearance some decades ago. There are many scholars who have written on this subject before, however (I would most particularly refer you, dear reader, to the works of Adrian Heartford and Lady Heather Ionen, as their compiled works are both greatly informative and pleasant to read, although Heartford does have a tendency to delve into topics that have little to no relation to his main area of study of Elder Sorcery and its usage by Dragons), and thus I shall leave my musings on the Beacon at that. However, on a related subject, it would appear as though some sort of iron golem in the form of an Uruk-Hai has taken up residence near the Beacon, and is attacking anything that gets near it regardless of national affiliations. This is particularly odd, since not only does the Beacon immediately strip away various effects from entities that pass through its flame it also has a similar, albeit weaker, effect on anything nearby. Undead, for example, will begin to deteriorate rapidly as they approach, and thus an intrinsically magical or divine creature should not be able to exist so close to the Beacon itself. Therefore, it is quite possible that this golem is the product of the same dragon that created the Beacon in the first place, which would also explain its heavy usage of flame-based magic. Iron golems already have some innate ability with fire, but from what I understand this one was doing far more than just casting fireballs. I will not speculate on the details, as it slipped my mind at the time to ask for more information and it would be a waste of time indeed to make assumption about that which I have no knowledge. As for the rest of the discussion regarding the war with Dagdeoth in the area surrounding Yohanisburg, it would seem that a large force has been called in from all around Roekron, including mages from Pinnacle and Dwarven siege engines. How well these forces fare against Dagdeoth remains to be seen, but the adventurers there have had at least one great victory. The tactically important fortification of Reedman’s Watch has been retaken, cutting of Dagdeoth’s primary staging ground form that particular direction. Which is fortunate, I suppose, as they can attack from essentially any other direction that they choose. On a more general note to all adventurers who may be reading this, at the meeting we were warned that wherever adventurers are to be found Temnorian Dark Hero’s are likely not far behind. From what I understand, these Dark Hero’s are undead, created by the litch Rhysic, selected for their unique and/or unusual abilities, in much the same way that adventuring groups tend to attract those individuals who have unique talents themselves. Before I proceed, dear reader, I feel that it would be apt to warn you that I am about to digress onto a tangent relating to the metaphysics of stories, and so if you wish to skip to the bottom of the second paragraph after this one please, be my guest. It is not necessary information to be able to get the general idea of what took place at the meeting. While the dark heroes were being discussed, there were many mentions of weaving stories. Think of the phrase, “History is written by the victors.” On the one hand, that has a clear meaning, derived not only from the literal meaning of the words employed but also from the greater understanding of the larger cultural entity, which has given a somewhat metaphorical meaning to those words as well. This metaphorical meaning has become so embedded in our lexicon that whenever an individual says (or writes) those words in that particular order, even out of the context of an actual war, the listener will most always understand the meaning behind them. However, the delightful thing about language is that it is malleable, easy to shape and twist if one has the desire to do so. Words are just sounds, given meaning by those who say them. To an individual who speaks only the Sorikonian tongue, a dwarf from Krodogos saying the aforementioned phrase will make as much sense as a songbird. Therefore, dear reader, it shall hopefully come to no surprise to you when I say that to me, “history is written by the victors” means something entirely separate from the two common meanings. Given what was discussed at the meeting, that saying has gained an additional meaning. Usually, the phrase means that the winners of a war or similar event dictate how that war will be seen, treated, and understood by others, and said winners can portray themselves and their opponents in whatever light they would so desire. However, what if by winning the war the victor, in a very literal sense, changed the plot of the theoretical “story?” I have never been one to believe in Fate, at least insofar as that word is usually meant. Yes, there are certain entities that all embody the same concept, although they bear various disparate names. The Norns, the Fates, whatever you may call them, all of these beings are said to have a certain kind of control over the ebb and flow of fate, or at the very least an understanding of its intended course. However, even if these entities do possess the power to dictate the course of events, then it is my view that they do not exercise it to the fullest extent, or they simply cannot see where this ship we are all on is heading—or if there is a reef in the way. I will not go into details as to why I believe as I do at the moment, as that would be an entry all of its own and I do not wish to take up more of your time with unnecessary asides than I already have, so I shall therefore direct your attention back to the matter of the overarching “plot” of our lives, and why groups of Temnorian dark heroes would effect this. “Plot,” you might be asking, dear reader, “but did you not just say that you did not believe in an all-controlling Fate?” That is indeed correct, I did say that. However, those two things are not mutually exclusive. You are most likely thinking of the kind of plot one might observe when reading a book, in which the plot is already laid out from one end to the next and all that you as a reader must do is turn the pages. However, imagine what the story looks like when the book is first being written. The writer may not even now where the story is going beyond a general idea of the intended ending, and it changes as the characters undergo actions that would, logically, change the course of the story. Perhaps a better analogy would be a play, as in a play one is not dealing with characters that do not have a physical manifestation beyond the words that describe them on a page but rather with actors representing those characters. Now, dear reader, I would like you to imagine a theoretical play that never ends. Characters enter, exit, grow old, die, talk, fight, and so on. In a way, every one of us is a character on that stage, playing our parts. But, the important part of all this is that the story can change. The general plot remains the same, but the details…those are malleable, just like the spoken word. To return to the real world for the time being, were Fate set in stone then it would stand to reason that there would be no need for prophecies and the like to be so vague and general, representing a possible future or a hint as to the course of the proverbial story as opposed to being a direct “this event is going to happen some number of days from now,” or what have you. Ah, once again I must express the deepest of sorrows, for it would appear I have, yet again, managed to sidetrack myself through the means of my own wandering mind. In short, imagine that there are actually two groups of actors on the stage, each telling the imagined audience different things and each competing with the other to produce the best play, to write the story that the world will read. That is where Rhysic’s dark hero’s come into play, if I understood what was being said correctly. In essence, events have a tendency to center around adventuring groups in much the same way they do around certain magical artifacts (although I would never be so arrogant so as to presume to claim to be of such importance, rather I am simply noting what I have been told and what I have observed from reading the writings of past adventurers), and, therefore, if Rhysic can “steal the stage”, so to speak, with a group of undead dark heroes that are under his control than the story is his to tell. As I would rather not have a very powerful, very old litch dictating my fate, I would rather avoid that particular outcome if at all possible. As no such dark heroes have shown themselves near Axiems however, dealing with such groups may be difficult until they can be located and handled appropriately. Now, returning to the matter of the meeting, there were of course other issues discussed in regards to the Yohanisburg region, namely a quest on the part of lady Shebara Nonas to recover her families weapon, the morganti blade Ebonafter. Ebonafter is particularly well known for destroying anyone who attempts to touch it who is not of the Nonas line, and through some series of events it ended up being sacrificed to the Norse gods. From what I understand lady Nonas is attempting to recover the blade, and is willing to go into the Norse realms to do so. As I do not know much about this particular situation, I have no further comments except to note that it would seem as though there is a tree of some sort growing out of a well that has appeared at a major shrine to Odin in the Yohanisburg area, and this well and/or tree will likely serve as a gateway of sorts to one of the Norse realms. Other than the aforementioned tree, little else was discussed in regards to the Yohanisburg area other than the usage of troops against Dagdeoth, and so I shall instead move on to the discussion regarding the city of Axiems. There was some brief discussion about Dagdeoth and how we were faring against their armies, and some talk regarding a certain magic item called the Amulet of Seven Eyes, but for the most part the discussion centered on a certain location that appears to be the centerpiece of many of the visions and prophecies that have been received this year: The Eye of the World. This Eye appears to be a large frozen lake of some sort in the far North, possibly with a volcano nearby and a forest of some unusual sort around its outer edges. More importantly, however, the Eye seems to have been blinded by a “lance” of some sort, which may be any number of things. It could be an actual wieldable weapon, or perhaps a tower as it has been shown in some visions, or simply a metaphor for some larger force or entity. Regardless, the Lance has blinded the eye, and it was theorized that it is this blinding which has caused the Seer’s Plague. This seems likely given the symbolism, but we cannot know for certain unless we were to go and investigate the Eye ourselves, which seems an unlikely possibility at this point in time due to the very active presence of Dagdeoth directly outside the city gates. However, if Dagdeoth were to be pushed back sufficiently perhaps that would become a viable option that could be discussed in depth at that point. For now, though, I will simply note that the Eye of the World was discussed, and leave it at that. There were some interesting discussions surrounding the nature of the world that came about as part of that conversation, but for now I shall restrain myself and instead attempt to maintain some semblance of a chronological order. After discussing in brief the issues of Axiems, Yohanisburg, and the world at large, we broke off to refresh ourselves with food and drink, and to participate in workshops of some sort, led by certain members of the Keychain. There were three offered, but one of the workshops, which dealt with breaking codes, attracted few participants, and so the leader joined another group. It is a pity, as while code breaking does sound interesting and, in most circumstances, I would have been glad to have access to such a course, the other two were also equally intriguing. In the end, of the two workshops held one dealt with history and the other dealt with how to read and analyze prophecies. As I was in the latter of those two workshops I can say little of the former, and so shall instead note that it would seem wise to commit to memory some number of these older prophecies, as they are both quite interesting in themselves and may become useful at a later date. In addition, we were told that a good way to approach prophecies is “line by line and word by word,” as each individual word may have a meaning that can be discovered separate from the larger construction it is a part of. For example, why might the word “sever” be used instead of the word “cut”? What are the subtle shades of meaning, and how would those shades color one’s interpretation? This is both the wonder and the horror of language, it would seem. Two words that are effectively synonymous are, in fact, quite different, but the differences are subtle and may run very deep. For example, what is the difference between, say, “large”, “big”, “huge”, “colossal”, “enormous”, “gigantic”, “titanic”, and so on? Well, one might argue, it could be a matter of degrees. Something that is huge is larger than something that is merely big, and something that is colossal or titanic is larger still. Furthermore, words like “titanic” imply a certain grandeur, an air of being “to large to be real.” These shades of meaning could completely change one’s interpretation of a prophecy, and, therefore, must be given one’s utmost attention. Furthermore, we were advised to keep in mind current events, as that is usually the primary concern of prophecies and the like. Well, that, or events that are soon going to come to pass. Now, I fear that this particular entry is dragging on slightly longer than had been my original intention, and as I am sure that you, dear reader, have no desire to struggle through my oftentimes overly ponderous sentences any longer than necessary. If that is the case, then I would both A) advise you to find some other material for your reading pleasure, as there is likely to be many more pages of writing before this journal sees its end, and B) suggest that perhaps I should move on to describing the final portion of this meeting, for the sake of saving both your time and mine. Therefore, I shall end my discussion of the workshop here, and proceed. As I mentioned previously, there was some discussion regarding the nature of the multiverse (a term I use for a very specific reason, as discussed a little further on in this paragraph) in relation to the Lance and Eye of the World. Namely, there was some talk about the location of the Lance and the Eye also being the location of the Folding, the name of the event that brought the gods as we know them into this particular Universe. It would stand to reason that, since the gods did not simply appear out of nothing—a conclusion I have reached based on the way the gods have been described as being given permission to enter the universe by Wurlangdemedes, thereby implying that they existed in some other location outside of it before being allowed in, another universe if you will—there must have been a doorway of sorts that let them enter. It is possible that a weapon that seems capable of tearing holes in the very nature of reality itself, given what it appears to have done to the Eye of the World, could also have created a point of entry for the gods. However, that is but mere speculation, and while the same conclusion was reached independently by several of our numbers a full analysis of that theory should be saved for another time. I am only now realizing that it is well past midnight, my dear reader, and I am afraid that I can write little more with what scant illumination my last remaining candle provides. I would use Magelight to provide illumination, but it is difficult to write while one’s hand is on fire, and so you must forgive me if I instead make the decision to end this entry here. I assure you, the remainder of the discussion continued on a similar vein to what I have already mentioned, and included some analysis of certain prophecies and further discussions as to the nature of life, the universe, and everything else that we could potentially link to the Lance of the World, including magic, the divine, and dreams, to name just a few.
Good night, dear reader, and pleasant dreams.
~Cirdan Whitewalker.
|
|
Scott
Man at Arms
Sir Scott of the Rainbow Light
Yeeeesssss?
Posts: 116
Leagues Played: Character League, Club League, Adult League, Falnorian
|
Post by Scott on Jul 2, 2015 21:45:04 GMT -8
This Being the Journal of Cirdan Whitewalker On the Seventh Day of the Sixth Moon Of the Year 16026 In the Firth Age of This World In the Reign of Her Majesty K’uni Sinthrea Good day, my dear reader. Or rather, I certainly hope that your day has been more pleasant than mine has been, although given the nature of the circumstances that have led to me writing this sentence in the first place I would imagine that such an endeavor would be an easy one. However, if, by the end of this entry, you come to the conclusion that your day has, in fact, been worse, then I pity you, and pray for your soul. Also, such a conclusion would lead to me questioning your sanity, as if your situation is truly as terrible as I would be lead to believe from such a conclusion than you should not be wasting time reading this journal. However, I digress. Like my entry on the Third of Fifthmoon this particular writing will be somewhat short, as most of the events of the day have been driven from my memory due to an unexpected profusion of morganti, and the recovery of Prince Norino Finn from a morganti wound, a supposedly impossible event that has, to the extent of my knowledge, occurred only once before. The Pinnacle arch-mage Melissa the Scald is said to have had a morganti wound healed before, but given that at the time said healing was being discussed the Scald was carrying the legendary morganti spear Merigrad’s Reaper in addition to several other regular morganti weapons on her person I was somewhat distracted from the conversation. Were Merigrad’s Reaper not present I may have been able to commit to memory more of the conversation, but the spear is particular distracting to its nature. As I am sure you already know, dear reader, the presence of a morganti weapon creates a sensation much like fear, except instead of affecting the mind this fear afflicts the soul. In essence, it acts like a sort of beacon, screaming out to the world its purpose. There is only one exception to this that I am aware of, that being the Chi’en Blade of Whispers, which have been called “silent morganti” due to the distinct lack of warning that they provide the souls of those around it, making the blades all the more deadly. As far as I am aware, however, the last recorded sighting of one of these blades was in Sorikonia, near the city of Sashi Eten, in the year 15217, the afternoon of the eighth day of Eighthmoon, during the rein of her majesty K’uni Kendrai. A woman by the name of Aurora Nightsong, who made extensive records of her time as an adventurer, made a record of her and her party’s encounter with a vampire in the Tomb of the Heaven Clan who was wielding a Chi’en Blade of Whispers. Apparently there was another morganti weapon present as well, referred to as the “Bone Sword”, that had some sort of passive fear effect on anyone who got to close, much like a sustained version of the necromancers Crown of Fear spell. I would suppose that either the sword was enchanted, which is supposedly very difficult to do when the target of the enchantment is forged from morganti, or that somehow the fear effect was woven into the metal itself, although how that would be done I have no idea. However, as such questions are irrelevant to the point, I shall leave them where they lie and move on, for now. Actually, it would seem as though my wandering mind will not allow me to continue as I would like, as yet another question has just occurred to me, and as I am not in one of my usual writing spots and do not have access to any extra sheets of paper at the moment I will simply record the question here for later pondering: why does silver, sometimes called “moonlight metal” and often associated with the Elder Goddess, purity, and sanctity, stop the “early warning” effect of morganti? If such a weapon is sheathed in silver it will appear to be a normal weapon for all intents and purposes, until it is drawn. However, while I am well aware of the way in which silver can block the passage of spirits and wisps, I have never thought to pay much mind to the way in which it also silences morganti. Would this imply that whatever transmits this fear form the morganti to the soul is somehow similar to whatever makes up spirits, or is it something else entirely? There was some discussion at the Keychain meeting I wrote about previously about different kinds of particles, as apparently there are such things as “divine particles,” and many other varieties. Would it be plausible that whatever causes this effect is somehow connected to “spirit particles,” the same stuff that the soul might be made of? Ah, nevermind, dear reader, for I fear that my ramblings have begun to make even less sense than usual. Forgive me, as I did not intent do actually begin musing upon possible answers to the aforementioned question at this point in time. To return to my original train of thought, however, and the entire reason why I begun this tangent involving morganti in the first place, the reason Merigrad’s Reaper is so much more distracting than other morganti weapons is due to the fact that it transmits not just its purpose to the soul, but also its intent. As soon as the Scald entered the room, it was like the spear was actively trying to reach out and devour the souls of all those present. I can only imagine what it would be like to actually hold the damned thing, as I very nearly departed simply to avoid being in its mere presence. Now, that said, perhaps I should move on before I distract myself even further by beginning to investigate some possible reasons the Reaper acts in the manner that it does. So, Prince Finn has recovered from his wound, although the exact set of circumstances that led to this occurring are unknown to me. I imagine that this will cause quite the political mess, as the Prince is now saying that the gods themselves healed him, thereby granting him a certain kind of credibility in terms of his right to rule, over the claim of Lord Neville. However, politics are not my forte, and so I shall move past the incident involving Prince Finn and shall instead relate the other unexpected occurrence from early today, the somewhat surprising number of morganti weapons present at certain battles. In short, there was a group of dark heroes working for Dagdeoth, although I do not believe that they were themselves Dagdeans, and the party made the decision to deal with them, a.k.a. incapacitate, and, if necessary, kill them, and though I was not present at the time I have been told what happened next. However, it is not the battle with the dark heroes that this entry is concerned with, but rather what ensued. After the majority of the dark hero forces were dealt with what few remained retreated to another group, and the party pursued them. Then, during their second engagement, there was an ambush. Five Dagdeoth assassins, all well-trained and armed with morganti weapons, emerged from hiding and began to attack any and all party members around them. I do not know how many died that day, but I know that many were struck down. Some survived, the blades making merely shallow wounds or crippling injuries as opposed to lethal ones, as was intended by the assassins. But still, too many of our own fell. Unlike Dagdeoth, we do not have vast armies that can be broken again and again and simply keep on coming. Adventurers are small in numbers, and any loss is a great one, both militarily and personally. People with whom we have spoken and fought, people with whom we have celebrated victories and done our best to recover from defeats, gone, in an instant. I suppose that I knew that adventuring was dangerous; after all I have died myself many times. But to have one souls ripped away in an instant, with no warning, no time to escape or even properly defend oneself…the fates, or the gods, or whatever force it is that controls these things is a cruel overseer indeed. In addition to those slain, both by the dark heroes and the assassins, many others were captured. I can only thank the gods that the assassins did not choose to kill those who were already incapacitated, as that would have made the toll all the higher. However, they took a number of individuals with them, and the remainder of the party, including those who had been in the city or otherwise occupied during all of this, pursued, along with two drakes—one red and one blue—courtesy of Flynn. Interestingly, before we left Lisil noted that she would be providing help as well, the meaning of which we only discovered after the battle was over. Once we caught up with the dark heroes the actual fight was rather quick, thankfully, and I do not believe any more of our own were damaged by morganti. The blue drake came up on the right flank of the enemy forces and froze solid six or seven of their numbers, including two of the assassins. In the chaos I did not see much beyond those in my immediate vicinity, but I do recall some of the assassins attacking each other at some point. As it turns out, Lisil’s help took the form of her sending in assassins of her own to take the enemies place, adding element of confusion and surprise that proved invaluable. Shortly thereafter I was thrown back into a river, and presumably drowned. However, I do not recall the exact details, and while I was regenerated by Snowflake I was able to regain my feet just as the battle was winding to a close. There is not much more to say on this front, other than that the party made the decision to retreat with our reclaimed companions, as despite there still being a number of enemies still alive, though frozen by the aforementioned blue drake, Dagdean reinforcements were rapidly closing in. So, we made our way back to the city, and that, dear reader, is where I believe I shall end this particular entry. I believe that the rest of the day involved fighting Dagdeoth divisions, and at some point there was another division of the cave troll army that was driven away and killed. But, I shall leave that for other individuals to record, and wish you a good night. Pleasant dreams, ~Cirdan Whitewalker
|
|
Scott
Man at Arms
Sir Scott of the Rainbow Light
Yeeeesssss?
Posts: 116
Leagues Played: Character League, Club League, Adult League, Falnorian
|
Post by Scott on Jul 29, 2015 22:04:53 GMT -8
This was technically finished in-game a while ago, but I have only gotten around to posting it now. Unfortunately I have been having some problems with inserting images, so where there should have been pictures of each of the runes to go with the description there are only descriptions. The in-game copy would have those images, though. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Magic in the Stones: Musings on the Working of Runic MagicBy Cirdan E. Whitewalker In the City of Axiems, Svodlum, 16026
Good evening, dear reader. I have recently been provided with a certain amount of information regarding the function and origins of Runeweaving [1], courtesy of my friend and fellow adventurer Ivamen Tenner, and, therefore, it seemed like a reasonable opportunity to write a short article about the aforementioned art, although my information is somewhat limited and I will most assuredly be forced to extrapolate further conclusions from what knowledge I do possess. I have done my best to further research and cross-examine the information I was provided with, but I do apologize for any unfortunate gaps and will be sure to notify you when it is necessary that I make any assumptions or leaps of academic faith. I do hope that you will understand, dear reader, as Runeweaving has only recently come to public attention and immediately available information is rather scarce, or at least incomplete. Before I can begin, however, some backstory would seem necessary, as I cannot assume that any individual who may be reading this text has either knowledge of or skill with magic, and, thus, must treat all readers as if they lack such knowledge. I therefore apologize to any and all readers who are already aware of what I will be writing for the next short while, and suggest that they may find it easier to simply skim the text until I have completed the introductory notes, some two paragraphs further on. Let us begin with a question: what is magic? In its simplest form, by which I mean the “prefabricated spells” [2] that find common usage amongst guild mages across Roekron, magic is simply energy, manipulated and controlled in certain already-structured ways by the caster. Spells such as Iceball and Fireball cost the mage herself no mana, since the mana for the spell is being drawn from the Overlay, a web of energy designed to allow such spells to be cast repeatedly and with ease. Each mage school usually generates their own overlays, which spread across the rest of Roekron, therefore making spellcasting a simple matter. Other forms of magic (such as a Paladin’s skill with healing or an enchanted item) may draw on other sources (such as a belief or a spirit), but regardless of the actual source the result remains the same: this kind of magic takes little effort on the part of the caster. However, while easy, this form of magic is not in and of itself particularly powerful or diverse (although a mage can go far with a simple spell and a touch of creativity), despite the amount of damage a mage can cause having increased significantly due to Lord Embarcarious’s manipulations of the Overlay. Particularly skilled mages—and certain entities such as dragons—can use another kind of magic, referred to as Elder Sorcery, to create a variety of effects beyond those of the prefabricated spells. Elder Sorcery is also sometimes referred to as the “language of creation” [3] or the “first language,” [4] and it derives it’s power from it’s innate trueness—what a mage says in Elder Sorcery is true, and if it was not before it is made to be so. So, if I were to use Elder Sorcery to cast a spell along the lines of “I freeze you,” reality would change so that you, the target, are frozen. This is part of what makes dragons so dangerous (although they are plenty dangerous without their magic, given that they are also extremely intelligent, armored, titanic flying lizards), as the language of Elder Sorcery is their natural tongue, and they therefore have an enormous amount of control over the nature of the world around them. This is the point, dear reader, that, have you been skimming as I suggested due to already possessing an understanding of what I have briefly touched upon, that I shall cut short this brief introduction and begin to delve into the nature of runes and Runeweaving, as that art and the art of Elder Sorcery are closely intertwined, and, while I could spend decades doing research on the nature of the latter, I have only so much time and so much ink. Well, quite a lot of both to be entirely truthful (not that I was being dishonest previously, the statement is merely a turn of phrase and nothing more), but I am afraid that my patience matches neither the durability of my pens nor my lifespan. Thus, dear reader, keep in mind the brief notes I have made on the workings of magic, Elder Sorcery in particular, and I shall proceed to the subject of Runeweaving. The term Runeweaving refers to a form of magic that uses symbols (“runes”) in order to cast spells, usually in the form of some sort of ritual, as opposed to a spoken command of a prefabricated shell. Most Runeweavers use a series of twenty-four runes called the Elder Futhark alphabet in order to create the basic components of their rituals, and, at their core, each ritual is usually formed by a combination of three runes. The Elder Futhark runes are as follows [5]: ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Fehu—“f,” roughly means “wealth” or “possessions” Uruz—“u,” roughly means “strength” or “power” Thurisaz—“th,” roughly means “gateway” Ansuz—“a,” roughly means “signals” or “communication” Raidho—“r,” roughly means “journey” or “travel” Kenaz—“k,” roughly means “opening” or “torch/light” Gebo—“g,” roughly means “partnership” or “gift” Wunjo—“w,” roughly means “joy” or “celebration” ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hagalaz—“h,” roughly means “disruption” or “negation” Nauthiz—“n,” roughly means “constraint” or “restrain” Isa—“I,” roughly means “standstill” Jera—“j,” roughly means “harvest” or “year” Eihwaz—“æ,” roughly means “defense” Perthro—“p,” roughly means “initiation” or “secret” Algiz/Elhaz—“z, x, y,” roughly means “protection” or “warding” Sowilo—“s,” roughly means “wholeness,” “sun,” or “healing” ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Tiwaz—“t,” roughly means “warrior” or “victory” Berkano—“b,” roughly means “growth” or “nature” Ehwaz—“e,” roughly means “movement” Manaz—“m,” roughly means “the self” Laguz—“l,” roughly means “flow” or “renewal” Ingwaz—“ng,” roughly means “fertility” or “plenty” Dagaz—“d,” roughly means “breakthrough” or “awareness” Othala—“o,” roughly means “separation” or “removal” ------------------------------------------------------------------------- As you can see, dear reader, I have sectioned off the twenty-four runes into three different groups, each of which is called an ætt (lit. “clan”). According to Ionen Grey, a Dsesnorian scholar: Each rune has a primary meaning of sorts, but this is by no means the only meaning of the rune. For most of the runes I have listed one or two potential translations, but the meaning of any given rune can change based on the intent of the Runeweaver and the runes around it. Thus, if I were to create a ritual for a resurrection spell I might use the Sowilo, Berkano, and Laguz runes to represent the sentence and intent of “healing flowing to the deceased in order to facilitate growth and wholeness”, but if I were to create a ritual for an identify spell I might use Laguz, Manaz, and Dagaz to mean “the flow of knowledge to the self in order to grant awareness of this object's nature.” As you have most likely noticed, both the resurrection and identify spells have intents that are represented as entire sentences, despite only three runes having been used. This is the primary function of Runeweaving, and the reason why it takes a certain kind of individual to use it effectively. In short, the runes represent thoughts and feelings in the same way words do, and thus they can be used in a very similar manner to Elder Sorcery, which, while usually being described as a language, is truly more of an understanding of a thing in such a thorough and encompassing manner that one can perceive its very essence and condense it into a spoken word. Therefore, when an Elder Sorcerer speaks that word they mean the thing of which they speak in a way that is incomparable to the meaning garnered from a word from any of the common spoken tongues. In the same vein, a rune is somewhat like a condensed and magnified form of an Elder Sorcery word, and the shape of the rune, a physical glyph, helps to focus the power of the word, thereby allowing a single rune to represent an entire sentence in Elder Sorcery if used in the proper manner. So, when a Runeweaver weaves a ritual, they are actually merely writing an Elder Sorcery spell in a way that most others cannot master, in the same way that a Runeweaver may find it difficult to cast Elder Sorcery through the usual means of a spoken incant. This has to do with the way the Runeweavers must perceive the world, as the difficulty with Runeweaving lies in the vagueness of symbols. An individual may look at the Tiwaz rune, for example, and see an arrow, another might see a pickaxe, yet another might see an oddly formed “t,” and a fourth might say that it is merely a abstract shape and does not really look like much of anything. And, to complicate matters, they are all correct; the symbol means nothing beyond what significance the viewer gives it. These conflicting perceptions of the rune make it extremely difficult to guide any spell involving it in the desired manner, and thus a Runeweaver must think in terms of shapes and symbols in order to better control their own magic [7]. The aspect of control has been the cause of much trouble for Runeweavers throughout history; for the better part of the 16,026 years of recorded history the only way to become a Runeweaver was to be born as one. There are many theories as to why some are born with this gift and some are not, but some suggestions include the possibility that we are somehow connected with the spirits of past Runeweavers (which seems like a somewhat circular theory, as that fails to explain how the first Runeweaver received his powers) or that we simply have an unusual manner of perceiving and compartmentalizing the world around us. Regardless of why any given individual has these powers, however, when one has a potentially powerful magical ability from birth and no way of knowing how to control it, magical fumbles are quite likely. Combine this with a child’s imagination and a lack of formal education, and you have a recipe for disaster that led to many unfortunate incidents. These incidents led to mage schools seeking out such gifted individuals in order to prevent them from causing unnecessary damage, and eventually, as their abilities became better known, they were highly sought after in order to be brought into the various schools and trained. This has culminated in Lord Embarcarious the Wondrous’ school in Pinnacle, as he has discovered some method of teaching Runeweaving to those who do not possess the innate gift for it, as well as having found a new way for Runeweavers to harness their power—Unweaving. Unweaving is the art of dismantling spells, reducing them to their base components and dissipating the remains, contrary to the usual way in which magic constructs something new. The process of dismantling a spell is somewhat similar to dispelling a common prefabricated spell, in that the end results are the same, although the processes themselves are distinct in both their undertaking and their complexity. Supposedly, the first Unweaver was Lord Embarcarious himself, and it is an art that, according to popular belief, he created in order to assist in the battle against the Rastkuru, a sentient spell that dwelled within the overlay and disrupted the spells of casting mages in the area. As Unweaving is based on the ability of Runeweavers to view a magical creation in the form of shapes and images and then manipulate or take apart these forms, it would stand to reason that Lord Embarcarious is himself a Runeweaver, although his identity as such has never been officially confirmed. It is also possible that other Unweavers existed prior to Lord Embarcarious’ popularization of the practice, but if they did and/or do exist they have remained very quiet, and no such evidence in favor of this theory has been unearthed. It seems apt, dear reader, to, at this point in this brief essay, give you some idea as to what kinds of Runeweaving abilities are taught at Pinnacle, as I have been somewhat vague on the matter so far. Runeweavers are unlike other mages, in that we sacrifice any ability to defend ourselves or aid our allies in combat in favor of allowing for extreme versatility when given five to ten minutes of uninterrupted time. First, any student who is not an innate Runeweaver is taught those abilities that those of us with the gift already possess—a certain skill with rituals, which allows us to either perform them faster or to perform them better, the ability to mimic any low-powered ritual used by the more common guild mages, and the ability to create the equivalent of Elder Sorcery rituals using the Elder Futhark runes. Other runes can theoretically also be used in such rituals if one practices with them enough, although the Elder Futhark runes are considered to be “standard” [8]. Second, one must choose which “path” of Runeweaving they wish to specialize in, be it the creation of magic items, using music or songs instead of physical runes, and so on. There are many different paths, but by far the most common is Unweaving, and as that is where my own specialty lies that is the only one that has abilities I can write on with any degree of certainty. Unweavers, like most other guild classes, have two tiers of abilities, the first of which comprises a basic knowledge of how to dispel most common spells in the same way a storm mage does, and a sufficient understanding of rituals to be able to suppress them, provided that they are nearby. This suppression is somewhat unfocused, however, and will suppress all rituals in the area, not just a single desired target. The second tier of abilities grants that which gives Unweavers their name, the power to break down any ongoing spell or effect if given enough time. At this point Unweavers are also given a choice of two improvements on their previously learned dispel magic, of which they can only choose one: they can choose to learn how to sustain the dispel, so that as long as they continue to invoke the spell remains active, or they can choose to learn how to dispel other Elder Sorcery spells, although this ability is difficult and does cost some of the Unweaver’s own mana to perform successfully. All of these abilities have been experimented with and refined over time, and it has been a very long time indeed (just a few decades over sixteen thousand years ago, to be precise) since the first known Runeweaver, Arch-Mage Stormwatcher of Stormwatcher Tower’s fame, came to power. It is unknown whether Stormwatcher invented the art or if he was born a Runeweaver, and speculation on my part would serve little purpose beyond my own amusement, but the practice is at the very least as old as he is, and it has been utilized extensively by some very prominent historical figures, including, but by no means limited to: the Arch-Mage Gristodemdal of Shimmermist, who was responsible for the magical accident that decimated the Grey Isles and potentially could have caused a chain reaction on the mainland had the spell not been countered by mages from all across Roekron; the great smith Hragnor, who first discovered how to forge the terrible soul-rending weapons that we know as morganti, and who was driven mad by his sighting of the Essen-Rauko after they were summoned by the Dark Council of Dagdeoth; the Arch-Mage Merigrad, son of Astengrad, who was responsible for the creation of weapons such as Merigrad’s Reaper and the Pathfinder Weapons, as well as being responsible for many of the older morganti weapons present in our world today; and the Lady Neanorn, daughter of Feanor and Neana, heiress to the throne of Celindil and the Sacred Grove, the queen of Andionion in the Second Age and the creator of the Crowns of Justice, which, in addition to being fabulous works of magic and craftsmanship in and of themselves, were designed to unite all of the elvish peoples under a single banner. I do not know what it was that they might have used their abilities for, although as all of the individuals mentioned are particularly notable for their crafting of magical artifacts I would think that rune magic was somehow incorporated. Or, alternatively, perhaps it is merely that the mindset necessary for the safe and proper usage of the various runes also lends itself well to the crafting of magical items, or simply the creation of objects in general. After all, I would imagine that a smith must be able to visualize how he desires the lump of ore he begins with to look once he is finished, in the same way a Runeweaver must be able to visualize the meaning and intent present in any given rune. I fear that I have at this point exhausted my current stores of information, and so shall be forced to lift my pen from the page and end this article here. I do hope, however, that, despite its brevity and somewhat informal nature, this text has in some ways helped you to better understand the nature of Runeweaving, and some small fragments of its history. If you are still curious, and I would certainly hope that you are, I would direct you either to Pinnacle and the Mage School there (and to Lord Embarcarious, of course, but also to Lord Sen a Demdil, who appears to be the true master of runic workings, although it is Lord Embarcarious who oversees most of the classes) or to some of the texts I have referenced throughout this work, which I have cited below. I wish you good luck, and a pleasant day. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [1] Notes by Ivamen Tenner, Hostor-Pinnacle, 5th Age, 16026, 11 Seventhmoon [2] Footnote by Lord Arandur Artano, “A Footnote From Arandur Artano”; Andionion, 4th Age, 15820, 21 Secondmoon [3] Article by Tinúveil Noen, “Wurlangdemedes and the Creation of the World”; Celindil, 3rd Age, 15349 [4] Book by Lord Itten Yasashi, “The Nature of the Spoken Word”; Sorikonia—Sashi-Iten, 6th Age, 15987, 2 Twelfthmoon [5] Book by Gabriel Blackwood, “The Basic Craft of the Futhark Runes”; Hostor—Pinnacle, 5th Age, 16018, 17 Ninthmoon [6] Book by Ionen Grey, “Patterns and Connections”; Dsesnor—Icashi, 6th Age, 16003, 29 Fourthmoon [7] Notes by Jonathan Flyte, “Mental States and the Casting of Magic”; Amir—Shadowguard, 6th Age, 16012, 15 Secondmoon [8] Lecture by Gard Havlin, “The Shape of Magic”; Hostor—Pinnacle, 6th Age, 16026, 19 Fourthmoon
|
|