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The Tale of a Hero

Author: The Chronomancer

Vbryant the Raven

Like an avalanche they came crashing against the walls of the small outpost. Scaled hides and inhuman eyes of the Stygian covered the area around the Firstborn walls. Great torches burnt high upon the various towers giving light to pierce the darkness of the night to reveal the endless tides of Stygian warriors pouring forth from the outer reaches of the fires radius. Undaunted the Calamon archers sent hails of arrows to rain death below, but still they came on heedless of casualties and driven on by some unseen will. Through the night the assault continued with the Firstborn barely able to hold them off as Firstborn Knights hacked and slashed those Stygian who leaped upon the walls off the growing piles of corpses all along the outposts. It seemed the out post would hold when over the sounds of battle an ear shattering roar bellowed forth from the darkness. The assault on the walls stopped as the Stygian as a whole began to move back and part way for something that was just out of the giant torches light. The Firstborn on the walls peered into the darkness as the very ground began to shake in rhythmic vibrations. Something large was making its way toward the outpost when it finally broke into the light for all to see. Hearts sank as the massive monstrosity revealed itself, easily towering over the walls of the outposts. Its massive torso of smooth dark grey skin was held up by two muscular limbs the size of trees that ended in gigantic claws which it used to drag the rest of its bulk behind it. Where hind legs should have been only a long tail which extended into the cover of the night made up the bottom half of this nightmarish creature, but most disturbing of all was the five elongated necks which the featureless heads rested upon. Only the lipless maw which bared its sword long fangs where apparent on the fin crested head of this creature. All hope seemed to drain from the Firstborn as tales of this particular creature were suddenly brought forth to memory, the Sisters of Tiamat were the very creatures spawned in the image of the Stygian god and only death was left in its wake. Slowly it began to pick up pace as the ground thundered and the earth shook with each of its steps as it charged the walls of the outpost.

The Firstborn new that the walls would never hold against such an attack as each to a man prepared to sell there lives when suddenly a small shadow seemed to come alive and streak into the path of the massive creature. All along the walls of the Firstborn outpost the men cheered as there was no mistaking the black feathered cloak of VBryant the Raven. A tale well known to all, "VBryant the Raven," the most famous of the mythical Nightwalkers. Yet there he was, a legend made real as they all looked on in awe and hoped against hope. Sliding to a halt before the lone figure the Sisters of Tiamat swayed back and forth, sensing something of this mysterious black armoured figure. The creatures instincts sensed that here was an adversary to be wary of as it began to circle it, feeling out its opponent. Without moving VBryant the Raven stood like a statue as the Sisters of Tiamat moved slowing behind him with each it its heads coiled for an attack. Moments seemed like hours as Firstborn of the outpost waited upon there fate and the Stygian host milled around the edge of the darkness of the night. Then without warning the Sisters of Tiamat struck with lighting speed as each of its heads snapped at the famous Nightwalker, but the Raven was faster. Gigantic jaws clamped on open air where once the figure of VBryant the Raven stood, only a blur of speed to mark his movement as he ran forward underneath the attack with his black feathered cloak flapping behind him. With a ring the Ravenīs black sword flew from its scabbard and cut deep into the creatures two limbs severing tendons as it came crashing down unable to hold up her massive bulk. Already the Raven was well past as the Sisters of Tiamat lay thrashing on the ground crippled unable to defend itself. Moving up on top of the creature with amazing agility the Raven stood for all to see as the Stygian host as one slowly turned hissing there discontentment and left the field as the Ravenīs blade gave the killing blow. The walls of the outpost erupted into cheers of victory, they where saved, yet in there moment of celebration no one had noticed VBryant the Raven had disappeared into the shadows.

The armoured men of camp who sat around the storyteller balked at the tale as one among stood up to stoke the dying fire pit," Nightwalkers are a myth storyteller and VBryant the Raven is more so," he laughing spoke. "And why should we believe such a tale in the first place." As the rest of the group loudly agreed. Slowly the storyteller rose to his feet and solemnly looked into each of there eyes as if looking into there very souls and whispered, "Because my fellow warriors," he paused as the group went silent," Because I was there."

Not what it seemed

Row upon row the elven spearmen lined up in oderly fashion standing at attention on as the unforgiving sunīs rays casts it heated glance upon the army below. Like some giant puzzle the young captain placed his units in preparation of the coming battle. Timicus smiled inwardly to himself as he surveyed his hard work as the last placement of his archers assembled upon the left flank. Ahh, how can such rabble as the northmen compare to such an organised well oiled machine of elven might. Having recently graduated with the highest honours he was confident in his ability to command, but why was he charged to defend against these barbarians. He studied texts of war and read many descriptions of the Sons of Kronos, yet what possible threat could such a disorganised group be against professional soldiers of the House of Obsidian Serpent. Laughing out loud he dismissed anymore thoughts of these pests, soon they would arrive and then he could finish this business and maybe be assigned to more of a serious mission. Tossing aside his sweat drenched cloak he walked toward his position clad in his obsidian armour with his mighty runesword hanging over his back.

Sounds of horns filled the air and marked the arrival of the northmen as the elven army waited upon the fields of grass and there just over the hills Timicus spotted the Sons of Kronos. Never had he seen such a sight before, no, this was no army he thought to himself , but a numerous horde of fur clad humans. Even at this distances he could feel the fierce determination and bloodlust of the barbarians as he gave the command to loose the wooden rain of death upon them. The screaming mass poured on through the barrage of arrows which only fuelled there craving for blood as the closed in with the elves. In an instant the Dragonskull warriors were about Captain Timicus protecting him in a ring of steel as the two armies crashed like the hammer upon the anvil. Surveying the battle he had been caught off guard as to these barbaric northmen, they fought like wild animals heedless to injury and death. He would have to finish this quick, the sheep without the shepherd were lost to the wolves he remembered his old mentor would say. "Yes, I must find the command unit and destroy them," he spoke to himself. Turning to his personal guard he was about to give the order to push forward when the very unit he was looking for assaulted his personal guard. The barbarian women warriors known as the Black Sisters jumped into the fray as their two-handed swords swung in deadly arcs, cleaving into Timocus personal guard. He would make these humans pay he smiled to himself as he unslung his runesword. A sound unlike he as ever heard bellowed from behind him, as his turned to face the Sons of Kronos leader who roared his challenge like a beast of the wild. A giant horned helm atop massive ornate shoulders plates greeted the young captains sight as the barbarian leaders bull like neck bulged with Herculean effort as he brought around his muscled arm in a great circle releasing his wickedly barbed spear to impale Captain Timicus right leg. Pain exploded in his leg as the thought was immediately lost as he barely met the incoming swing of the barbarianīs great sword. Timicus mind raced, how could this be, they are only nomadic barbarians and we are the Elves. Blow upon blow pounded his waning defence as Timicus hands went numb from the ringing of steel as he deflected the barbarians sword strokes. A spark of hope sung to the elven captain as one of his Dragonskull warriors charged from behind the barbarian forceing him to turn. Now was Timicus chance to strike while the Sons of Kronos leaderīs back was turned, but at that moment the young captain realised his mistake. In the economy of motion the barbarian leader had spun his greatsword in a circle of death, decapitating the new assailant and spinning all the way around to disembowel the shocked elven captain. As darkness overwhelmed Captain Timicus, his last sight was of the golden burning spear emblem on the armoured chest of the Sons of Kronos leader.

There is no rest for the Wicked

Nights cold blanket covered the war torn field below giving it an almost luminous glow as a strange fog rolled in. An inhuman silence covered the land as a lone figure walked the dread plain of bodies that littered the battlefield. Men and elves lay strewn about, contorted in misshapen shapes with missing limbs, eyes all staring blankly into some unknown abyss that there souls now reside. "Ehhhyahaheeehe," cackled the stranger as the fog oddly enough seemed to part before his wake. Abruptly the crooked figure stopped in his tracks, turning a cowled head to peer into the fog about him," Ahhhh yesssss, the bliss of death. So peaceful how now only in their eternal slumber are these bitter enemies, elf and man, now truly equal, hheeehheHHAHA!" again the weird cackle escaped from beneath the covered face of the stranger as he stooped down to carefully retrieve some unfortunates decapitated head whose grotesque contents of maggots spilled forth like a gushing water fall of putrescence. Elongated hands of the palest flesh caressed the decomposing head, " Wellll its seems this one radiates some promise," croaked the crooked stranger to no one in particular. " Yesssss, I sense a strong radiance of purpose in this one, a champion, hmmmm, a general no less and what is left of its ears an elven one at that, hehehehehehehe!" and with that the stranger spoke alien words of power sending the night into a frenzying opera of noise as if in answer to his words. From no where hundreds of carrion beasts appeared all about lapping with snake like tongues the very flesh from the battle fields corpses. From a distance it seemed that the very ground itself had come alive to do the Necromancers bidding as the ghoul like carrion consumed the rotting flesh leave only the bone white skeletons of their meals. Dark power now coarse through the Necromancerīs body seeping from him into the head he so lovingly carried and quite suddenly the eyes began to flutter open on the once elf lords head. And in a silent scream of the utmost anguish the a horrifying realisation struck the now recently revived elven general as the wide eyed looked of terror came across his once proud now spoiled flesh of a face. Mouth agape in a continuos cry of nightmarish made real fright the elven general looked into the face of the Necromancer who brought as with his other hand pulled back the cowl to reveal the twist features of some thing that has been dead for to long. "Now, now mighty elven hero is that anyway to thank me for the gift I have given you," spoke the dark servant with barely controlled tones as fits of inhuman laughter threatened to overwhelm him. " I would feel almost insulted, its not everyone who gets a second chance of life, oh I am sorry, let me introduce myself. I am Mit the Necromancer , welcome to your new home," erupting in a fit of horrid laughter he quickly pulled forth a large quivering black sack from somewhere within his hidden robe. Crotching on the blood dried ground below Mit opened the mysterious sack to reveal a macabre picture within, " Well off u go my prize to join your fellows, heheeh," he whispered to himself as he added yet another head to his many others that filled his sack of sickening treasures. " I am Mit the dark servant, I am Mit the bringer of new beginnings, hehehabakahblahahahahahahahahah,.........................." And as the figure disappeared into the night so to did his madding mirth and so to the new servants of risen to do the bidding of the Darklord.

(Sorry Tim, but I casted u again, though this time in a more darker light, heheheheh)

The Duel

On the fifth weeping moon they meet, as did their forebears before them and as always it will be. Strange clouds covered the sky as the silent procession made its way up forbidding peak, mirrored by two other groups on 2 other peaks. Only every 5 years on the ending month of the Weeping Moon do these special lotus-flowers atop these 3 peaks called the," Spears of the Lotus," bloom. Not even in the fabled garden of Yynn do these flowers grow and only Lotus eaters can hear its song as the time draws near. At first it begins with only a slight whisper of the wind till the last days of the Weeping Moon when it becomes almost a wailing sound. And at that time each of the great houses of the elves must answer its call for only the most potent of Lotus Eaters may hope to consume the flower and gain the elusive insight of the spirits of magic itself. As the year draws near all the orders of the Lotus hold tournaments to gain the honour of being chosen to go, but as the years of Chronopia have darkened, so to has the quest for more knowledge. Great duels of magic are the result as by removing the other rivals only one may come down from the peak giving their order sway over the others till the next 5 years when the song of the Weeping Lotus bids them to come again.

Magical spirits of the elements were seen flashing across the night sky as each of the cloaked groups of Lotus Eaters stopped mid way up the peaks. Each group wore the colour of their order as one from each strode purposely forward to reach the top most part of their destination. Before them a single lotus flower began to bloom as radiant lights of all spectrums danced upon the magnificent peddles as they kneeled down and recited ancient words of power. Hours passed till suddenly between the peaks a vortex of magic erupted forth, shooting miles up into the sky. Slowly the tangible essence formed into a large glowing orb before the three Lotus Eaters as they in turn consumed the flowers before them. And in instant the orb disappeared leaving only the three lotus eaters, who stared out at each other as the strange power of the Weeping Lotus coursed through their veins. Great power was theirs , but only for a limited time as the duel commenced. To the north-eastern peak the Black Lotus eater Paītric of Baal-Hazor threw aside his ceremonial robes gesturing and drawing invisible runes of power as he bent the elements to his will.

The dark skies above were alight by the formidable powers of sorcery below as the three combatants traded blows upon the jagged peaks. From a distance the rising peaks seemed like three gigantic candles facing one another as their wicks flared and danced thought the stranger. Adorned in the dark robes of a Black Lotus eater, Gorr Don of the Obsidian Serpent pulled forth a parchment from a scarlet pouch at his side. "Yes," he whispered to himself as he read on, "these orders come direct from the duke himself, I must aid Pīatric the Dark at all costs." Holding the parchment before him Gorr Don mumbled words of power as he set the written message aflame and destroyed what evidence there was left. Below each of the duelling sorcerers waited for the group of their particular house, Gorr Donīs mind raced as he sought for some plan to aid his brethren without being noticed by the others. He quickly made up his mind and Gorr Don pulled forth from some of the many pouches that dangled on his side black lotus. As he consumed them the arcane powers began to flow within altering his perception to peer into the world of magic. Only through the eyes of a sorcerer can one see the magic essence that forms around all things. Opening a magical doorway made by his will Gorr Don made his way through the ethereal realm. Concentrating on his destination he appeared between the three peaks and materialised just underneath the combatants.

Suddenly Gorr Don was showered with great chunks of ice which threatened to tear him from the peaks side as he clung on for dear life. Below him was at least a halfmile shear drop, as fear crept on him. Again another shower of ice chunks pelted him, followed by the crushed body of the silver lotus that disappeared into the depths below. Above Gorr Don on the north peak the massive head of the Adamantite Golem looked over the shattered remnants of the icewall down at him. Looks like the golemīs Black Hammer made quick work of that barrier, now just one more left, thought Gorr Don as he prepared to send all the magical energy he could to aid Pīatric the Dark.

Gibbering demons swarmed all around Pīatric the Dark as the Red Lotus began to chant the fireball spell that would deal the finishing blow. Distracted by the fire demons Pīatric the Darkīs fate was surely sealed, when suddenly a new strength pulsed into his being. Laughing like some maniac drunk from the immense magic power Pīatric simply brushed aside the demons sending them to oblivion and focused all his power on his opponent. A thunderous boom sound as the Red Lotus Eaterīs magical barriers shattered and a chasm ripped opened beneath his feet. His last cries faded and went silent as the chasm closed, consuming him whole.

Cheers of victory where heard below form the Black Lotus school as Pīatric made his way down to them. This would begin their dominance for the next five years till the next gathering and from the darkness the evil laugh of Gorr Don echoed through the night.


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First version from 24.03.2008. Last Version from 24.03.2008.

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