ravin wrote:The Story of How the Sun Nearly Set for Good
(translation from Mulhorand hieroglyphs by Fox)
Into the depths of the Netherworld, the gods of Light descended
God of Wisdom and the River, Olsirus commanded
'A great evil threatens to climb from these dark depths...
'And it is our duty to drive it back down the blackened steps'
So Night and Day, Sun and Moon adorned armor and blade
And, with the Sun at the fore, 'Caution,' he did bade
Twas not long before the shadows gave up their deadly hosts
Scythe-like wings whispered upon the air, making deadly boasts
The Sun stood unafraid before the scarab swarms
Inspired, the Moon, the Day, and the Night took up arms
As the last of the enemy was felled by weapon and will
The Sun swooned into his Love's arms as his blood began to spill
The stars blazed red with Night's fury as the Moon did attend
With ivory light, Moon's blessings made the grievous wounds mend
And with voice soft, Day eased the Sun's troubled brow
'Let us leave this cursed darkness,' Olsirus soundly did vow
In fevered sleep, the Sun twisted and dreamed
His soul still held captive in the Netherworld, it seemed
Night refused to leave her Love's side
But no visible tears were cried
A silence held the gods of Light in its velvet embrace
So to the Ancients they each prayed for grace
As dawn neared, breath was held and hearts shivered
Beyond Hope, answers to prayers were delivered
For, by the lightening of the morning skies,
It was seen that the Sun slowly opened his eyes
To all who read this, let it be known as true and right,
No greater power exists than those of Love and Light
ravin wrote:The Story of How the Sun Nearly Set for Good
(translation from Mulhorand hieroglyphs by Fox)
Into the depths of the Netherworld, the gods of Light descended
God of Wisdom and the River, Olsirus commanded
'A great evil threatens to climb from these dark depths...
'And it is our duty to drive it back down the blackened steps'
So Night and Day, Sun and Moon adorned armor and blade
And, with the Sun at the fore, 'Caution,' he did bade
Twas not long before the shadows gave up their deadly hosts
Scythe-like wings whispered upon the air, making deadly boasts
The Sun stood unafraid before the scarab swarms
Inspired, the Moon, the Day, and the Night took up arms
As the last of the enemy was felled by weapon and will
The Sun swooned into his Love's arms as his blood began to spill
The stars blazed red with Night's fury as the Moon did attend
With ivory light, Moon's blessings made the grievous wounds mend
And with voice soft, Day eased the Sun's troubled brow
'Let us leave this cursed darkness,' Olsirus soundly did vow
In fevered sleep, the Sun twisted and dreamed
His soul still held captive in the Netherworld, it seemed
Night refused to leave her Love's side
But no visible tears were cried
A silence held the gods of Light in its velvet embrace
So to the Ancients they each prayed for grace
As dawn neared, breath was held and hearts shivered
Beyond Hope, answers to prayers were delivered
For, by the lightening of the morning skies,
It was seen that the Sun slowly opened his eyes
To all who read this, let it be known as true and right,
No greater power exists than those of Love and Light
*in flourishing script*
Aalyah
I suck at these sort of things, and yet everyone else is so good
Great stuff
First Character: Zyrus Meynolt, the serene Water Genasi berserker. "I am the embodiment of the oceans; serene until you summon the storm." Zyrus: http://tinyurl.com/9emdbnd
Second Character: Damien Collins, the atypical druid. "What? Being a stick in the mud is boring. No pun intended grins"
Western Heartlands HDM: On break. PM for emergencies
The Halls of Felbarr. This was Olaf's third time seeing them, a place many in the Marches never saw and never would see. Great stone pillars and archways ancient and magnificent; doors of solid stone and metal worked to perfection; walkways and corridors shaped not only with skill but with passion for their task. Everywhere he looked there were carefully carved markings, statues and symbols denoting clans and gods and battles of old. It reminded Olaf of his home, though his Warren in the Ardeep Forest was not such a grand affair as this place...
The heavy footsteps of his companions and the metal of their armor shook Olaf from his thoughts, bringing him back to the present. While the Halls held similarities to his home, it also held many differences. Laughter echoed in the caves of his home, but here? The atmosphere was of violence and determination. The dwarves of Felbarr held fast against terrible foes, and had for months upon months now. As Olaf followed the others through the Halls, he soaked it in. Groups of soldiers moving about to and from their posts, the fresh groups passing by bloodied and haggard dwarves come to tend their wounds after returning from battles. The clang of iron and stone, the scent of sweat and blood, the groups moving hurriedly about. The city of Silverymoon felt too carefree, too... quiet. In these Halls, life was not taken for granted. Everyone here knew far too well that it was earned by the sacrifices of their fellow kin. But it wasn't just tension and violence that he felt. Conviction, faith, strength, and family... Olaf could hear it in the voices of the dwarves as they shared stories of the last battle. He could see it in the way the community moved together, repairing blades and armor and flesh and bone, sustaining an effort that at times seemed mockingly stacked against them. Every guard helping his brother limp back from the field of battle, every priest doing their utmost to see to the wounded, every smith and cook working to keep the rest able to fight.
Olaf was not their kin; a gnome involved in the wars of dwarves in a place he wasn't from, and amid folk that for the most part he did not even know. And yet, the solidarity of these Halls rung in his heart. He had caused these people harm not long ago, by the result of his actions, indirect and unintended though it may have been. Olaf knew... had known for a while now... that he would face whatever came at them, for as long as his aid was welcome. The burden of his past actions would never be relieved; but he could do honor to the memories of the eighty who had died by accepting his responsibility as a part of their deaths, and by fighting to protect those they had left behind.
Their group had reached its destination and there was much to be done. Blade would meet with armor and shield, crossbow bolts would fly. Olaf would call upon the Weave to protect his allies, and to cause as much destruction as he could to those who would do harm to them. If the battle went long, and they usually did, Olaf would call upon another form and take the fight to the enemy, rending and tearing at his enemies until none were standing and very few were in one piece. Deep underground in places he had never seen before, alongside allies of great strength and determination, and against enemies as vile as any he had ever fought in his whole life, Olaf warred. And back in the safety of Silverymoon, within the University, sitting on a shelf in a silent dorm room, a journal of adventuring for the sake of adventure gathered dust.
While the streets of Silverymoon were normally quiet at this time of night the constant cold rain had made them barren; the sound of the drops striking cobblestones in the darkness seemed almost oppressive, as though all other sound and light was being smothered out. Olaf walked silently toward the Moorgate, his legs seeming to carry him by a will of their own as his mind busied itself with details. Over and over his mind turned the information, like a librarian with too many books and not enough shelves to hold them, trying to find a place for it all. The war in the north, a demon in the city, a cult of a dark deity, infighting between the churches over ancient relics, the Malarites resurgence in the Moonwood, a fallen paladin. There had always been troubles to deal with in the Marches, but never had it burdened him so greatly as now. He woke in the morning weary, studied and dealt with problems throughout the day, went to the training field to sharpen his skills in war at night, and collapsed into bed thoroughly exhausted only to repeat it the next day. For a while he had kept his state locked tight behind a faint smile, but his eyes shone it clearly now even if he kept his posture straight and his voice calm.
His mind drifted amid the sea of troubles, finding lights of aid and hope here and there, but two shone brightest. The first was Alyra; a truer friend Olaf had never known. They had fought side by side for a long time now, faced horrible odds and dangerous places, laughed and suffered and survived together. She shared all these burdens with him, and he knew it weighed upon her as well. Olaf could not hide his tiredness from her, she knew him far too well. It didn't even need to be spoken between them though. There was nothing for it but to keep on, and they both knew it. Failure was not acceptable, and Olaf took strength in knowing that he would face these problems beside her and not alone. The second was Brenna, a relative newcomer to the Marches. Over the past weeks they had become friends, and then perhaps more than friends. She knew of his burdens at least in part, and expressed her remorse at not being able to help... but in truth, spending time with her made him happy, and that helped more than she knew. He had not laughed so much or smiled so purely in a long time, and had forgotten how much that laughter could help. How far had he sunk into these troubles without noticing before she had arrived, that a gnome would've forgotten about laughter? Garl forgive him for such a folly as this, and thanks to Garl for reminding him of it through Brenna.
As he reached the Moorgate where he would wait to travel north to war, his mind quieted, buoyed by the lights that shone amid the storm within. The problems were what they were, and he would deal with them as best as he could. He thought back to the advice of his grandfather: When you're in a dark tunnel and you can't see the whole path ahead of you, put one foot in front of the other carefully and keep moving forward. You'll reach light eventually.
Olaf looked over his desk carefully as he stood in his dorm room, checking to ensure he had everything he would need for his journey and stay. His pack sat in the center, stuffed full and with various supplies burdening it. Food, clean water, a tent, writing materials, six full quivers of crossbow bolts... rarely had he traveled so heavily. Next to his pack sat his satchel for carrying scrolls, and it too was full to the brim: over seventy assorted scrolls were bound up tightly and organized within for quick use in a battle, with spells ranging from personal defense and evasion to destructive orbs and divinations. Finally on the end was a simple leather belt with a number of pouches and holsters: within it sat ten curatives of varying strength, two wands which Olaf had found in adventures dating all the way back to his arrival in the Marches, and two wands that Olaf had personally fashioned. Atop the end of one sat a damaged clay golem eyeball; another had markings of Thayan origin; the third was simplistic, with only a single Alexandrite gemstone attached to the top of it. The fourth he had created specifically for this journey, a wooden wand with finely wrought iron bands set into it and four identically cut Iol gems held in place at one end of the wand.
Silently Olaf checked over it all. He had spent almost all his coin, sold the gemstones he had been collecting along with an old ring and a few scrolls he knew would be of little use in this war. They had their orders, so at least in this Olaf knew what to expect initially. They would not be fighting the giants on the surface, but instead they would travel into the old coal mine where his involvement in this had originally begun. Duergar and mind flayers and umberhulks and spiders, an assortment no less dangerous than the giants by far. Shaking his mind from such thoughts, he began packing it all up and putting it upon his back. A faint smile formed on his lips as he shut the door behind him. A full day left before he had to leave, and he intended to make the most of it...
------
It was almost time to leave now, a few hours at most. He had spent much of the day talking to others, and a few precious hours in service to the city that he had not intended to spend as such. "A Spellguard is always on duty" wasn't prominently displayed in the barracks for no reason. He was glad though to have at least these few hours to spend with Brenna. Quietly the pair made their way through the city, and when they reached their destination Olaf turned to her, and for the first time in a long time was well and truly speechless. She was wearing a simple yet elegant dress, and her hair was let down about her shoulders in unruly waves; the light streaming through the leaves of a nearby tree played upon her. Her face and eyes shown the conflict in her heart clearly: joy and sadness, trust and concern.
The hours passed quickly there as they held to one another, trying to explain in words what was beyond words. To almost everyone else, Olaf was Spellguard, hero, representative of the city, leader, protector, the one with answers. A role he had taken willingly, a burden he bore for others, and he did not regret it. But those roles meant showing confidence, strength, determination, courage, even when he lacked them. There were not enough ways in all the languages he knew to explain how thankful he was to Brenna for allowing him to just be Olaf.
Before he knew it, they were there, outside the gates of Silverymoon.
"Remember.... I want a geode," she said to him before giving him a smile.
"I remember," he said to her with a smile of his own, giving her a brief kiss before making his way along the road north. Silently he loaded his crossbow, blue cloak drafting behind him in the soft breeze. He didn't look back as he walked away from the woman he loved and toward a horrible war. She had given him more strength than she realized, and he would find a way to come home.
Last edited by NESchampion on Sat Sep 03, 2011 1:10 am, edited 1 time in total.
((A little music that fits Olaf's state of mind during the resting periods of the war.))
Wishing on a dream that seems far off
Hoping it will come today
Into the starlit night
Foolish dreamers turn their gaze
Waiting on a shooting star
But...
What if that star is not to come
Will our dreams fade to nothing?
When the horizon darkens most
We all need to believe there is hope
Is an angel watching closely over me?
Can there be a guiding light I've yet to see?
I know my heart will guide me, but
There's a hole within my soul
What will fill this emptiness inside of me?
Am I to be satisfied without knowing?
I wish, then, for a chance to see
Now all I need,
Is my star to come...
Olaf is a lively little gnome lets hope he keep his word and return from the war
Keep the diary up - it sure inspire...
DM viigas (TSM)
Retired toon: Faenor Bital
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when online: GMT thursday 2130-0230 + when RL allow me
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granite stonejaw:
- damn, I didnt mean to drink
In the dimly lit throne room Olaf sat silently, his mind buzzing with activity. The hours before this had been almost constant battle as they infiltrated the Underdark, driving at the duergar mage responsible for this war. Many legions of duergar, illithid, umberhulks and spiders had stood between them, first in the caves and then in the ancient dwarven ruins. The clashing of steel and the shouts of battle still left his ears ringing softly. He was physically exhausted, having cast more spells and fired more crossbow bolts and dodged more axes and claws in the previous half day than ever before in his travels. His robes were blood soaked, though he paid it little notice. Olaf's thoughts were focused only on the war and survival. They were making final preparations for their assault. This would be it.
----
"Cut them down." Olaf said softly.
His fellow Spellguard, and a Knight of Silver died in this dark, foul place; it was a sight that Olaf would remember for the rest of his days.
----
"..What in the gods name is that?!"
Olaf shook his head a bit to regain his focus, looking ahead. They had finally fought through the last of them; the flayers, the mage, the wraiths. He dragged himself forward to get a better look. Just ahead, Alyra stared upward; Garlus himself stood slack jawed. As soon as he saw it, Olaf's eyes grew wide too as he understood. The moving image of a foul goddess gazed back at them, her hatred filling the room.
Fantastic! ))
