Isle of Silence
Posted: Tue Aug 09, 2005 6:22 am
Isle of Silence
A Brief History of Omuir’s Port
By Marklos
Isle of Silence...
...an island paradise. Beautiful beaches of white sand, quiet pathways through cheerful forests of sweet smelling pines and natural sea caves filled with brightly colored coral. It's most distinguishable feature, however, a mesa soaring 1000 feet in the center of the island with a lone tower jutting another 100 feet. The island is also populated by a town named Omuir's Port, namesake of the powerful mage who had it built over 50 years previous.
The island is a few miles from the shipping lanes half-way between Evermeet and the Moonshaes. For years, Omuir's Port became a popular stop-over until people, sailors mostly, started disappearing. The sailors spread rumors among the many ports along the sword coast, that the island was haunted and the undead prowled the island and it's waters. The ships quickly refused to stop there, especially when a few were destroyed by undead while they were anchored in the harbor for the night. Now, the trade ships give the island WIDE berth on their way to/from the Moonshaes. The town suffered hugely from the neglect and their economy crumbled about them. The people turned to farming the fertile soil, in addition to fishing the local waters.
One old Paladin, Lord Bannen Ry'Kinir retired there after a long life of adventure, and had assumed Lordship over the town when Omuir disappeared to his tower on the mountain not to be seen again. He felt as if some tremendous evil had invaded their peaceful paradise. In an attempt to bring comfort to the people, he spent most of his time hunting the undead on the island. He would return from his hunts distraught and exhausted, though he tried to keep up a confident facade for the good of the townsfolk. What concerned him was that there were consistently more undead than what he had at first thought.
After a brief period of time, Lord Bannen gathered the people together in the Town Hall, and proposed that they form a garrison of both men and women to ward off attackers. A suggestion with which the people quickly agreed, fearing they would soon be overrun by the abominations. He had organized the townsfolk to build a wall around the town, equipped with small watchtowers at intervals to warn of approaching undead. They gathered as many resources as they safely could. Wood for bows and arrows, ore from the mine at the base of the lone mountain in the center of the island. All the time, carrying swords and bows for defense. The farms, outside the walls of the town, were raided by bands of undead and their owners killed or carried off into the night. They herded the remaining farm animals inside the barricade, and fed them by harvesting the wild grasses and from what remained of their stores of grain. But the storage sheds soon emptied, and it was increasingly more dangerous to gather the grasses. The animals fast became malnutritioned and died. Without the livestock, they relied heavily on the fishermen's daily catches. The small fishing boats, oddly enough, were never harassed by undead, though the men felt as if they were being watched.
On several occasions, a large, black raven was spotted perched on one of the towers or on top of a building in town, apparently watching...no...waiting for something. Guardsmen shot arrows at it, but it avoided the arrows and flew off, only to return at a later time.
A few fishermen, tired of living in fear, asked Lord Ry'Kinir if they could sail their small craft to one of the closer nation's and plead for assistance. For weeks there was no word, and since the island was between the Moonshae's waters and the elves of Evermeet, there was no report that either government had even heard.
Lord Ry'Kinir believed that the brave men never reached their destinations. He also knew that he was the people's last hope in overcoming this evil. So, he solemnly prayed to Tyr, the God of Justice for strength, went to his bedroom, opened his old war chest where he kept his adventuring gear. A flood of memories passed through his mind as he saw the reflection of his wrinkled face in his silvery Holy Armor. His graying hair, pulled back in a tight braid to his waist, swayed slightly from side to side as he reminisced. He picked up his armor, strapped it on, though it felt heavier than he remembered. Fully armored, there was one more item which he sought. His Holy Avenger, Kaja Kul, which meant 'Holy Kin' in the tongue of the dwarven cleric who forged it. The magnificent sword hung above the mantle of his fireplace. It flared with a bluish light as he lifted it from it's perch. Felt the life...the power of Tyr flow through the blade and up into his arm as he clasped the pommel in his right hand.
He left his mansion and walked through town toward the gate. It was early morning, and there weren't many people about. The guards at the wooden gate nodded with respect to the Paladin, he put his gauntleted hand on the shoulder of one of them.
"Please tell them I love them all, and to not be afraid." Bannen said. " Tyr will protect them in my absence."
The guard, Elona, nodded and she said quietly, "Come back safe, Bannen! We will keep the gates ready to open for your return."
Bannen nodded, removed a glove, and put two fingers in his mouth and whistled a high-pitch tone. Out of the stables raced a pure white Stallion, fully saddled by a perceptive stableboy. The horse nuzzled Lord Ry'Kinir as he petted it's muscular neck. He grabbed the reins, and hoisted himself into the saddle, ignoring his body's noticeable complaints. He rode from Omuir's Port that morning, full of hope.
He was not heard from since...and the dead come again to assail our walls. We pray to Tyr for assistance as our hope fades.
A Brief History of Omuir’s Port
By Marklos
Isle of Silence...
...an island paradise. Beautiful beaches of white sand, quiet pathways through cheerful forests of sweet smelling pines and natural sea caves filled with brightly colored coral. It's most distinguishable feature, however, a mesa soaring 1000 feet in the center of the island with a lone tower jutting another 100 feet. The island is also populated by a town named Omuir's Port, namesake of the powerful mage who had it built over 50 years previous.
The island is a few miles from the shipping lanes half-way between Evermeet and the Moonshaes. For years, Omuir's Port became a popular stop-over until people, sailors mostly, started disappearing. The sailors spread rumors among the many ports along the sword coast, that the island was haunted and the undead prowled the island and it's waters. The ships quickly refused to stop there, especially when a few were destroyed by undead while they were anchored in the harbor for the night. Now, the trade ships give the island WIDE berth on their way to/from the Moonshaes. The town suffered hugely from the neglect and their economy crumbled about them. The people turned to farming the fertile soil, in addition to fishing the local waters.
One old Paladin, Lord Bannen Ry'Kinir retired there after a long life of adventure, and had assumed Lordship over the town when Omuir disappeared to his tower on the mountain not to be seen again. He felt as if some tremendous evil had invaded their peaceful paradise. In an attempt to bring comfort to the people, he spent most of his time hunting the undead on the island. He would return from his hunts distraught and exhausted, though he tried to keep up a confident facade for the good of the townsfolk. What concerned him was that there were consistently more undead than what he had at first thought.
After a brief period of time, Lord Bannen gathered the people together in the Town Hall, and proposed that they form a garrison of both men and women to ward off attackers. A suggestion with which the people quickly agreed, fearing they would soon be overrun by the abominations. He had organized the townsfolk to build a wall around the town, equipped with small watchtowers at intervals to warn of approaching undead. They gathered as many resources as they safely could. Wood for bows and arrows, ore from the mine at the base of the lone mountain in the center of the island. All the time, carrying swords and bows for defense. The farms, outside the walls of the town, were raided by bands of undead and their owners killed or carried off into the night. They herded the remaining farm animals inside the barricade, and fed them by harvesting the wild grasses and from what remained of their stores of grain. But the storage sheds soon emptied, and it was increasingly more dangerous to gather the grasses. The animals fast became malnutritioned and died. Without the livestock, they relied heavily on the fishermen's daily catches. The small fishing boats, oddly enough, were never harassed by undead, though the men felt as if they were being watched.
On several occasions, a large, black raven was spotted perched on one of the towers or on top of a building in town, apparently watching...no...waiting for something. Guardsmen shot arrows at it, but it avoided the arrows and flew off, only to return at a later time.
A few fishermen, tired of living in fear, asked Lord Ry'Kinir if they could sail their small craft to one of the closer nation's and plead for assistance. For weeks there was no word, and since the island was between the Moonshae's waters and the elves of Evermeet, there was no report that either government had even heard.
Lord Ry'Kinir believed that the brave men never reached their destinations. He also knew that he was the people's last hope in overcoming this evil. So, he solemnly prayed to Tyr, the God of Justice for strength, went to his bedroom, opened his old war chest where he kept his adventuring gear. A flood of memories passed through his mind as he saw the reflection of his wrinkled face in his silvery Holy Armor. His graying hair, pulled back in a tight braid to his waist, swayed slightly from side to side as he reminisced. He picked up his armor, strapped it on, though it felt heavier than he remembered. Fully armored, there was one more item which he sought. His Holy Avenger, Kaja Kul, which meant 'Holy Kin' in the tongue of the dwarven cleric who forged it. The magnificent sword hung above the mantle of his fireplace. It flared with a bluish light as he lifted it from it's perch. Felt the life...the power of Tyr flow through the blade and up into his arm as he clasped the pommel in his right hand.
He left his mansion and walked through town toward the gate. It was early morning, and there weren't many people about. The guards at the wooden gate nodded with respect to the Paladin, he put his gauntleted hand on the shoulder of one of them.
"Please tell them I love them all, and to not be afraid." Bannen said. " Tyr will protect them in my absence."
The guard, Elona, nodded and she said quietly, "Come back safe, Bannen! We will keep the gates ready to open for your return."
Bannen nodded, removed a glove, and put two fingers in his mouth and whistled a high-pitch tone. Out of the stables raced a pure white Stallion, fully saddled by a perceptive stableboy. The horse nuzzled Lord Ry'Kinir as he petted it's muscular neck. He grabbed the reins, and hoisted himself into the saddle, ignoring his body's noticeable complaints. He rode from Omuir's Port that morning, full of hope.
He was not heard from since...and the dead come again to assail our walls. We pray to Tyr for assistance as our hope fades.
Good stuff and relevant since I am on TPI now and can envision the island.