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Post by anime on Apr 6, 2009 4:51:34 GMT -8
North of the emerald city but south of Creation a young elf sits in the dirt streets holding a single blade of grass as he stared into the sky.
Pondering as the clouds grayed from the crystalline white it once was earlier that day. A heavy sigh is let out as he stood up and walked to a nearby hill. Sitting upon this stone ring engraved into the boulder made him feel at peace yet something this day felt wrong. The nights burdened with restless visions of battles long ago. Visions of his forefathers bleeding to preserve their honor came forth as he sat and pondered in a disturbing stillness.
The moon peaked out from behind the mountain top as the clouds seemed to swirl and engulf the pale moon’s light. An uneasy chill ran down his spine as he stared into the void of darkness this night of all nights….
The night where his raw power began to leak out engulfing his mind showing him mystical ways that he had forgotten, stories of battles fought long ago, tales of murder, and an urge that is normally sealed within his calm exterior scratches at his soul trying to find release. Lucan sat down in the woods recalling that day. A day that seemed so long ago yet the memories are crisp within his mind. The day the band around his wrist appeared… The band drew him to the neglected, gave him a craving for the arcane. His seemingly calm exterior never showing the remorse as he gathered oddities not knowing why, but feeding this urge that calmed him and brought back thoughts of a simple life.
Lucan always felt like the outcast among the other elves and that day was the day Lucan died. At least that is what the rest of his kindred thought. This flaming spirit heard his dying breath and formed a pact with Lucan shredding his soul, tainting him, empowering him and yet saving him. Left for dead not one creature in sight as Lucan woke from what he had thought to be just a nightmare. Looking to the ground around him he noticed scorch marks seeming to reach out from where he had laid.
Feeling the chill of the winds Lucan sought to cloth himself searching for any sign of life, finding creatures nearby, traps were set. Basic but effective was all that ran through Lucan’s mind as he laid the traps to capture the creatures for some protection against the elements, but more so for Lucan had not eaten anything but berries he had foraged in days.
Lucan waited in the trees and rested. A sudden noise shocked Lucan and he fell from the limbs he was sleeping upon. As he peered down into the closest pit he found a wild boar. Hunger took over as he stared and he grabbed a long piece of wood and attempted to sharpen one end. Makeshift or not he wanted to kill this boar and feast upon its remains. Several jabs at the boar but Lucan reluctantly was not able to kill the boar. As He thrust the stick once more the boar attacked and the stick snapped, causing Lucan’s blood to boil but he felt something strange this hand seemed to heat up and the air distorted around his hand as the heat increased. The Broken stick seemed to ignite at the tip and flames shot from it. It was then he knew all those dreams, were not dreams but glimpses of the future that lay before him.
Upon weeks of living in the wood Lucan sought out the power he craved learning from the wizards of various places nearby twisting and altering the spells focusing the spells to strike true. Learning how the wizards used wands to focus their thoughts, but knowing a flimsy wand may not protect him, drawn to rods for they seemed sturdy and far more defensive.
Years past as he studied the arcane arts with other wizards honing his skills and altering them to his liking. Thinking nothing more of his past miseries but more on how he was contempt, but that did not last long. The band called to Lucan urging him to find power.
A tiefling entered the guild and Lucan seemed drawn to this wizard. Something drew his attention and his band seemed to glow for a brief moment and a similar band glowed upon the tiefling’s wrist and the tiefling ran off at that instance. Lucan walked to the guild member the tiefling was conversing with and inquired about that strange wizard.
“Ah Ling what a strange name.” But with that Lucan left in search of this tiefling wandering far and wide always missing the wizard by a day or so… But an ambush occurred in the woods as he was headed toward the seven pillared hall. Dragged unconsciously to a cell and chained to the wall. Days past and sounds came from beyond the door that held him in and Lucan feigned to be dead silently slowing his breath. To his fortune it was a band of travelers who did aid him and stayed with them as they escaped this place of evil. Alas Lucan did notice the tiefling body of ling the wizard he sought after for so long as they made their escape but said nothing.
Noticing the bands on these travelers as well he requested to join and aid them in their travels for his band felt at peace next to the others quietly suggesting urges to collect but they urge to study was not as important as the bond that he felt with the others who held the band upon their wrist.
Learning slowly but gaining battle experience and honing the skills allowed his mind to expand and spells focused in his mind which had eluded him for so long.
The rest of his tale? I do not know any more, perhaps you should seek out the whispers upon the winds and see if anyone knows of what this young elf has done or if he is even alive….
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Post by reiphil on Apr 6, 2009 15:14:20 GMT -8
good stuff their gilbert, feel free to add a +2 to ONE of the following: Nature, Arcana, History, Endurance
also, forgot to add David, you get 300 exp for the backstory, same with you Gilbert.
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Post by Joseph Barros on Apr 9, 2009 9:53:18 GMT -8
Skip Boneraven
Skip was raised the middle child of 14 children. 5 sisters; Buffy, Missy, Cande, Diamond, and Destiny. 7 Brothers: Chad, Mikey, Brad, Billy, Manny, Howie, and Biff.
Like any other Bugbear cub, Skip was a rough boy. He loved a good fight or wrestling match. He also excelled at being quite stealthy, constantly setting up pranks and starting "surprise" fights. He and his siblings were raised by their mother, Fannie Mae. None of them really knew their dad, and their mother refused to talk about him. "He ain't one of us no more, so don't you pay him no mind," she would say if asked.
For reasons their mother also refused to explain, they lived away from other bugbears. They grew up in a cave not too far from a human settlement that they had regular contact with. They had a good relationship and would trade food for other things they needed but couldn't provide for themselves, such as clothing. It was quite a peaceful and amicable relationship between the Boneravens and the humans.
The only contact Skip and his brothers ever had with other bugbears was during the summers when their mother sent them a few counties over to spend time with their Uncle Marty and Aunt June. Now, Momma didn't particularly like Uncle Marty. She always felt he was too rough and caused too much trouble with the humans that might get them hurt. However, she was afraid of how the boys would grow up without male guidance, so every summer they joined Uncle Marty and Aunt June's raiding party.
The raiding party was actually entirely made up of goblins, also to momma's chagrin, and taught the boys many vile habits having to do with bodily functions, smells, and other gross things. She felt it best not to dwell on that influence. Aunt June, provided a counterbalance reinforcing momma's values of how to work with others of different races, to be fair, and to be honorable. His Uncle also backed up these teachings, though when Aunt June wasn't around, he also taught him that there is much pleasure in violence for the sake of violence.
Zelda is Skip's favorite mace. Her name is etched crudely, probably by Skip himself, onto the side. Zelda was given to him during his coming of age rites by his Uncle Marty. It's the only mace he's ever known. He uses his dagger as well, because a good dagger always comes in handy, but Zelda is his one true love. Zelda always comes through for him and has helped him survive many a rough situation.
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Post by Joseph Barros on Apr 9, 2009 10:00:56 GMT -8
Zelda
Zelda was Skip's childhood pet. A guinea pig. Skip loved Zelda. Skip was pretty sure that Zelda loved Skip back, but could never tell because he couldn't speak squeak. Unfortunately, Zelda was to be Skip's first experience with the death of a loved one.
One snowy winter morning when Skip was a kid, Skip came running home from a late night hunting exhibition at the crack of dawn only to discover his pet hamster, Zelda, dangling by her hind leg from the outside of his wire cage. It appeared she’d made a desperate bid for escape and squeezed through the steel bars (without facilitative lubrication), only to get her little leg stuck, from which she dangled helplessly throughout the night. He eased her free, and his mother decided she (Zelda) was in shock. The therapy for this kind of trauma, she calmly assured us, was to wrap Zelda in a blanket, spoon feed her whiskey and pop her in a small box dangled over the fire to get warm again. I just hope the little fella was too smashed to feel the pain of the smothering heat as it overpowered her and she passed away…
Skip named his mace Zelda in honor of his dead pet guinea pig.
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Post by agroson1 on Apr 9, 2009 18:49:11 GMT -8
That's very touching. Good thing it wasn't a gerbil.
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Post by reiphil on Apr 9, 2009 19:50:54 GMT -8
300 xp for skip. skip can choose to have a +2 in ONE of the following: Stealth, Thievery, Endurance, Streetwise, or Nature.
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Post by weaklingkristine on Apr 24, 2009 23:54:28 GMT -8
oy! ending (and whole story, really) is lame cus of lack of inspiration.
Grassy hills blanketed with white daisies surrounded the tiny village. To an outsider, the peacefulness and beauty could have lasted forever. But for the gnomes of Ethenwil, the serenity was only temporal. You see, they held a secret passed on for generations, a secret rumored to bring great power to its holder.
This treasure sowed envy throughout the country. A scorched house and kidnapping made their future evident. There was a war coming, and everyone knew it except for Lena.
They had been preparing for eight years, but the villagers still did not feel ready. For eight long years they struggled to relearn magic that had been lost generations ago all while hiding the fact from their children. The last thing they wanted was for the children to grow up in a city living in fear.
Lena was the smallest gnome in the city. Bright green eyes and long dark hair paled pearly skin. Even though everyone considered her weak, she never let them dampen her spirits. Her confidence and curiosity combined tended to steer her into trouble. She was completely oblivious to the impending war (she was seven and born when the danger was already present), but oddly enough, it was almost like she knew the most about it. Lena was always intrigued by the magic that flowed through her veins. And for her age, she was more acutely in tune with these powers then she probably ought to be. The magic drew her to the places where the villagers practiced at night. And by watching them, she learned a control of magic that no child should know.
Ten years later, the war began. Lena was still considered too young to fight, so she escaped with her sick mother while her father stayed behind. Fury boiled in her heard when her father told her to leave. But she still had her sense. If they stayed, they would all die. No one would escape once the enemies arrived because they would not leave until their blood-thirst was quenched.
Lena and her mother traveled for miles, staying no longer than a month in each city. Each time they rested, they assumed a new identity, never relaxing their cover even slightly. This never-ending journey took a toll on Lena's mother. Heart problems already weakened her, and the constant movement only served to incapacitate her further. After two years of traveling, the time finally came when necessity forced them to permanently settle.
The cities were too accessible, and safety was still their primary concern. So Lena decided that the safest place for them to stay would be secluded in the woods. They knew enough magic between them to ward off intruders and create a peaceful haven. They lived together in the forest for a whole year before Lena's mother passed away.
Now that her mother was gone, Lena had no one to live for except herself. She was twenty now, and extremely proficient in molding the magic within her. But she never did learn the guarded magic of her village. Since she was alone, her curiosity drove her to search for other gnomes or persons that may know of her village's treasure
Thus Lena’s quest began. She traced the origins of her village’s legends, often finding dead ends where the myths turned to pure fiction. But every so often she would learn of some fable that had some credibility. Her knowledge and magic led her to the Seven Pillared Hall in the Thunderspire Mountains. There she met an elf who told her of a great magical presence that was centered a short distance away. Many felt it, but none dared to approach it. He led her to a hidden pyramid and left…
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Post by reiphil on Apr 25, 2009 8:00:37 GMT -8
300 xp for lena, choice of +2 in either Arcana, Streetwise, or History.
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Post by The Keeper on Apr 26, 2009 9:20:21 GMT -8
Ok, so here is the beginning of my backstory. It's far from finished. I should get the next part in the series done after midterms this week. Here's an image of Flametongue with his greataxe and Flashmaw with his long sword standing back to back. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The hot summer wind whipped past the two dragonborn as they crouched in the tall grass. They had meticulously covered themselves in traditional war paint to mask themselves in the thick underbrush. Flametongue had chosen the perfect spot high up on a ridge to wait out the falling moon. They were downwind of the small Tiefling village, the sun would rise at their backs, and they would have the element of surprise all granted by the great Bahamut. Flashmaw gripped his sword tight nearly numbing his fingers as he readied to signal the raid. The Tieflings had no idea the righteous hammer of Bahamut was about to fall and crush them for the chaos they birthed into this world. They had brought dishonor upon themselves by attacking the Moonscale clan two moons ago leaving several mighty dragonborn paladin dead. The Great War was centuries behind the living scions of both races yet these Tieflings had taken it upon themselves to renew the bloodshed. The Moonscale clan elders and clanmaster had unanimously decided to meet blood with blood. The injustice would not go unpunished; it would be by the blessing of Bahamut that order would be restored with sword and shield. As the sun peeked over the horizon behind the two captains, Flametongue and Flashmaw bared their teeth with frightening smiles. It would be a monumentous victory for the two brothers having been newly promoted to the rank of captain. Flashmaw reared his head and bellowed an earth shattering war cry as he beat his shield with his sword. Dozens of dragonborn sprang up from trenches and bushes and began their thunderous dash down the ridge. The deafening sound of plate armor crashing upon the dry ground mixed with frenzied war cries was enough to make even the most battle-hardened orc battalion cringe in fear. Flametongue looked on with a satisfied smirk from atop a massive boulder as his strategic planning and decision making were paying off. The Tieflings were going to be caught completely unaware. It was only Flashmaw who stood in disbelief as his forces reached the first few huts. His bloodthirsty warriors, trained to be ruthless when following the will of Bahamut, were being met by terrified women and frightened children. As the first few dragonbreaths slammed indiscriminately into the elderly and children alike, both Flametongue and Flashmaw realized their horrific mistake. They pounded down the hillside in a vain attempt to stop the carnage as bloodcurdling screams echoed throughout the valley. They quickly reached a trio of dragonborn towering over a whimpering family. The oldest child had not seen enough winters. As the copper dragonborn brought his bloody hammer down to bear upon the sobbing child, Flashmaw leapt in front of the death stroke heavy shield in hand. The hammer slammed directly into the shield and a resounding clang rang out across the village. Flashmaw stood beneath the blow, unhindered, steadfast, with a stone look on his face. With a twist of his shield, Flashmaw slammed the hammer into the dirt, knocking it away like a child’s toy from the copper dragonborn’s hands. “Sheathe your weapon Paladin! All of you, stand down,” ordered Flametongue accompanied by a low, guttural snarl. “What is the meaning of this treachery captain,” bellowed an old battle-scarred maroon. “Why do you shield these murderers?” “It is you, Garodya, who will be remembered as a murderer if you continue this senseless slaughter. These are innocent civilians, they have done us no harm,” answered Flashmaw. His imposing figure interposed itself between the ferocious trio and the cowering family. Flametongue moved to his brother’s side and raised his greataxe in defiance alongside his kin. It was no wonder Flashmaw and Flametongue were promoted so quickly through the ranks of their clan. Their daunting physiques and draconic abilities had developed at an early age. Both were able to use their deadly Dragonbreath years before their peers. The brothers stood resolute as the summer wind stirred the dust beneath their feet. It seemed an eternity as the five dragonborn stared at each other with piercing glares. “This village is full of women, children, and the elderly. There are no warriors here to resist our charge. It cannot be the will of Bahamut to slay the innocent,” argued Flametongue. “You younglings have much to learn about the art of war. This is exactly why I protested the two of you being placed in command of this mission,” chided Garodya. “Too much faith has been placed in your abilities at your tender age.” “Be that as it may, Garodya, hold your tongue. Despite your disapproval, you dishonor yourself by speaking to your commanding officers in such a manner,” reproached Flashmaw. “We will not allow this slaughter to continue. Go, inform the others.” “We cannot do that captain,” stated the copper as he bent to pick up his war hammer, which lay covered in dirt sticking to it by the villagers’ blood. “You will do as you are ordered Ghesh,” roared Flametongue. “My patience grows thin. Sheathe your weapons and spread the word. This mission is over.” By now, the cowering Tiefling family had made their escape, their fate unknown. This was no longer about that individual family or even the village as a whole. This had become a direct challenge of authority. “We are following our orders, Sir,” mocked Ghesh. “We follow the will of the great dragon Bahamut and in turn we are bringing his justice upon these savages who dare to attack our clan unprovoked.” Ghesh gripped his menacing hammer tighter as Garodya and the cobalt dragonborn brandished their swords. “Anyone who stands in the way of the Lord of the North Wind’s will stands against the Moonscale clan as well. The clan has never faltered, not even when our mighty general Surina fell centuries ago during the Great War. The Moonscale clan were paladins of Bahamut then and are remain steadfast paladins of Bahamut now. “This is your last warning Ghesh, Garodya, Duggal,” threatened Flashmaw. As he said this, he unsheathed his sword, each curve flashing in the early sunlight. “This is a fight you cannot win, stand down.” No sooner had Flashmaw finished his decree did Duggal inhale sharply and let loose a bone-chilling stream of frost toward his commanding officers. Flametongue quickly leapt behind Flashmaw as his brother instinctively raised his shield deflecting the deadly breath weapon to the heavens. Duggal sustained the blast forcing Flashmaw to his knees as Ghesh and Garodya surrounded the two brothers. Flametongue turned to Garodya and snarled in rage releasing a molten ball of flame at the aging dragonborn. The battle-hardened warrior dove to the ground and hurled his hammer at Flametongue barely dodging the ball of destruction as it singed the scales on his back. The weapon seemed graceful as it traveled effortlessly through the air, each revolution catching the rising sun’s light and the cowering moon’s night, until it slammed into the knee of the scarlet captain. Flametongue howled in pain as he collapsed onto the hard ground, his once powerful limb no longer able to support his massive weight. Flashmaw quickly turned around only to see his fallen brother screaming in pain clutching his now useless knee. Maintaining a slippery grip on his nearly frozen shield, Flashmaw reared his silver head and opened his jaws letting loose bolts of lightning that danced with righteous vengeance toward the fiend who had maimed his kin. The brilliant lances of light struck their prone target and scorched the heavy plate armor and exposed scales. Garodya shrieked in pain as the electricity coursed through his body cooking him from the inside out leaving only a charred, unrecognizable, carcass. His quarry distracted, Ghesh unleashed his fire breath onto Flashmaw’s frozen shield as Duggal ceased his icy blast in a tactic they had used time and time again. The metal would begin to crack and falter as it was quickly defrosted leaving the armament useless. Before Flashmaw had a chance to react to this new threat, Ghesh charged and jumped into the air slamming his heavy hammer onto the weakened shield. Flashmaw was knocked prone as his shield shattered into gleaming pieces no longer able to serve their purpose. The silver captain turned to his side to see his fallen brother. Flametongue's eyes were closed; he had lost consciousness from the pain. They had failed, plain and simple. What ephemeral ray of hope they had had thinking they could stop these fanatics from slaughtering the entire village had faded away. This would be the last memory Flashmaw would have of his brother as a sharp blow to the back of his helmet quickly plunged his world into darkness.
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Post by reiphil on Apr 26, 2009 11:08:50 GMT -8
350 xp for moonscale - add a +2 to diplomacy, religion, endurance, or history.
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Post by The Keeper on Apr 30, 2009 7:09:27 GMT -8
the next episode in moonscale backstory is coming soon if anyone cares lol. also, i used my backstory with some corrections and additions for my creative writing midterm essay. double exp for the awesome two for one?
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Post by Joseph Barros on Apr 30, 2009 23:05:56 GMT -8
Fail more JP.
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Post by mrdent12 on May 1, 2009 22:17:20 GMT -8
Life was grand for the young elf. Just four years old and he had already seen some of the most majestic sights with his family. His father was a famed guide through the woods and his mother tailored the most beautiful clothing. The young elf did not want for anything. Any place his family visited or group his father guided through the woods would gladly spoil the boy. All could see he had great potential saw his heart was pure. At the age of three when he only had the basic understanding of compassion, he made his parents stop to help a wounded deer, even though the deer was on the verge of death. When the deer died, as it was bound to due, he could not stop crying for a day. The idea of death and loss of life deeply saddened the young elf. With smile people would open their hearts and be kind. One day, his parents thought, he would be a great peace maker and healer. The band around his wrist only solidified that position in his parents mind. They had heard stories of great heroes and peace makers who had the same mark. Deep inside they knew their child was destined for glory and harmony.
In the underdrark, another group of elves had heard of the young elf. These dark elves, or drow, knew they must have the child as their tool of vengeance. They too had heard stories of heroes with bands on their wrists. If only they could harness the power of one of these heroes and corrupt it for their purposes. For all the ages they were stopped by the ancient heroes, it was their turn to have a champion who would destroy those who insisted on spreading knowledge. Vecna would finally have his champion. For bringing the champion to Vecna the drow hoped to get a huge reward of power and glory. The only obstacle was getting the child.
When the young elf turned four he begged his father to let him go on a tour of the woods with the group his father was leading. Seeing as the tour was a simple excursion for some families, his father thought it was perfectly safe for the boy. Unbeknown-st to the father, the drow were hatching a plan. The families were a random assortment of brigands who were paid by the drow to lure the child out into the woods. When the group was about five miles out, the trap was sprung. The "families" knocked out the father and son. When the child and father were out, the drow grabbed the child and left the brigands with the father to do as they pleased. Feeling immense pity for the child the brigands told the father all that they had done. Unfortunately, they did not know who had hired them other than some drow. The father swore on that day to never stop until he found his child and brought his family back together.
With the child in tow, the drow went back to their home in the underdark. It would be no easy task to convert the hero bound child. The drow resolved to give the child a new name, Belgosi. At first they told the child his father had left him with them to learn the ways of Vecna. Secretly, the drow told him, his father was a devout follower of Vecna. When his father would go into the woods alone sometimes on scouting trips he was really going to pray to Vecna and increase the secrets Vecna kept, the drow said. Day in and day out the drow repeated the lies as the boy cried for his family. Belgosi was treated well and fed well, but not allowed to leave the underdark. Eventually, he started believing the lies and studying the teachings of Vecna from the highest priestess. At the age of 6 the drow told the lie that would keep the child theirs. His parents had been killed in a storm. The rivers flooded and drowned the whole town his family staying in. There were no survivors. Belgosi believed every word of it.
At first, his training was about the need to keep secrets and suppress the dissemination of knowledge. No mention was made of killing or violence. The physical training the boy received was focused on perceiving what was hidden and hiding in the shadows. By the age of 8, Belgosi was almost as good as the master hunter of the drow. He could see all the hidden passages and hear the little whispers. He would hide and not be found for days. The drow always kept guards at the entrances so Belgosi could not escape. They encouraged him to learn to hide and play these games. His favorite game was hide and pounce. He would hide in a public place and wait for his trainer to walk by. When he recognized the footsteps of his trainer he would jump out and pounce. While the other members of the drow were not amused, the clerics of Vecna were very pleased. They decided to start the next phase of the boys training.
As the next part of his training, Belgosi was taught how to use an assortment of weapons. At first the boy was put off and reluctant. He would stay in his room for days after quickly learning how to shoot a long bow or yield a great sword that was as big as him. Slowly the Belgosi's resistance wore down and he learned how to use the various weapons. He never drew blood or hurt his training partners though. All of the warriors he fought were surprised at how well a boy could fight so well. he seemed to this uncanny ability to get two swings of his sword in before his partner could get one. He grew especially fond of his great sword. Even though it was difficult for him to use because of it's size, he always insisted on using it to train with. It seemed to grow stronger and become more accurate every time he missed. It was almost as if the sword wanted to hit.
Once the boy become proficient in weapons the drow taught him the art of traveling routes not traveled and concealing his weapons. Everyday his trainer took him through the caves and showed him all the secrets he would be protecting for Vecna. They would take the most treacherous paths and unstable ground. He was constantly having to jump across pits deeper than the eye could see and crawl between rocks not many people thought were possible to get through. His teacher and him played war games of sorts. Using blunt bolts, they would see who could hit the other first with hand cross bows. Belgosi would jump from one shadow and shoot at the trainer and the trainer would try in vain to sneak up on Belgosi. The thought of shooting his trainer was disconcerting, but the fun he had made up for it. Eventually, the trainer was not able to "survive" the game for more than an hour. It was time for the child to become a legend.
The high priestess called Belgosi and his trainer into her chambers. With the fellow clerics of Vecna, she gave the child to Vecna as a gift. He was christened the avenger of Vecna. The manifestation of Vecna's wrath on the world. During the ceremony, Belgosi was confused but did not speak. He did not want to seem ungrateful to those who had took care of him after his parents died. That night a strange voice came to him in a dream. It repeated over and over that he was to protect the secrets and stop the spread of knowledge. After this went on for a few nights, a blurry vision came to him in his dreams. It was a man with his finger to his lips declaring Belgosi his avenger and appointed guardian of secrets. Before the dream could finish, Belgosi heard loud voices in the main chamber. A call to arms was issued.
A battalion of elves and shifters were in the hall's slaying the drow and burning the homes. Shocked at all the fighting, Belgosi just stood in shock. His trainer found him and tossed him his great sword. it was time for him to fight. Still stunned, he did not notice the arrow coming towards him. A cleric threw himself in the way of the arrow, saving Belgosi's life. It was enough to break the shock of the sight of battle. Belgosi fought along side his trainer. The two made their way around to the leader of the battalion. It turned out to be a wolf. The combined might of the trainer and Belgosi was able to fight off the wolf and force the battalion to retreat. The hall laid in ruins. No more was the boy afraid to shed blood. he had become a avenger of Vecna.
His first assignment was to kill the elven cleric who lead the elves. With his trainer, now handler, Belgosi made his way to the elven village. He crept in and waited in the room where the cleric slept. For two days he waited for the cleric to return to sleep. Finally his day came when he heard the cleric enter the chambers. One well placed bolt from his hand crossbow is all it took. Slowly, he escaped the village by going through the trees. When he got back to the underdark with his handler the drow were gathering for a final battle. In the event they should lose, a quarter of the drow were sent off to a new location. Belgosi did not want to go, but he did what he was told in times of war. A messenger would be sent when the battle had been won. A messenger never came.
In their new home, the drow and Belgosi started becoming extremely loyal to Vecna. They kept their eyes and ears open for any secrets that would get out. Mighty generals fell to the rabid followers. Kingdoms tried to root them out, but whenever a person was about to spread knowledge of an event they would be found dead. Evil intentions seemed to grow in everybody around the new drow settlement. Even though he was not a drow, he became the most feared among the drow as a assassin and enforcer of the clerics.
While out on an assignment to kill a local magistrate for revealing the identity of a band of thieves, Belgosi heard a story of a elf looking for his son who was taken many years ago. They said the father had lost his son in the woods by the old drow caves. Upon returning with a piece of the magistrates hair, a trophy he added to his collection, he inquired about the elf who was looking for his son with the high priestess. She was cautious and told him not to worry. his father was certainly dead. He could even ask his handler who would never lie to him. That night a voice in his head kept telling him that he had been lied to. The same figure with a finger over his lips said to kill the high priestess to get the secret. While the drow were all asleep, Belgosi snuck into the priestesses chamber and put his khopesh to her throat. He demanded to know about his parents. The priestess knew it was her time. She had betrayed Vecna by ordering assasinations for paying customers. She told Belgosi he had been lied to and his parents did not die in a storm. Angered, Belgosi slit her throat and took her vocal cords as a trophy.
When word spread of the death of the high priestess, everyone knew who killed her. A detachment of heavily armored guards came to kill Belgosi in retribution, but he was already gone. After killing the high priestess, he had went back to his room and packed enough supplies to last him for a month and took his favorite weapons with him. He swore to find his parents and to kill whoever got in his way. By the time the guards came to his room, he was in the next town.
Not having an occupation, Belgosi became a hired killer. For the right price he would kill anyone. he went from town to town killing in exchange for information about his parents or provisions. If anyone gave bad information he killed them. One day a arborean promised to lead him to his parents if he killed some shifters. It was not too difficult of task since the shifters were all alone and unsuspecting. Belgosi took pride in the slaying of the shifters because he reconized them as the ones who had attacked the underdark. When the arborean did not meet his end of the bargain, Belgosi burned it alive.
When traveling to the thunderspire mountains, a mage approached Belgosi. In return for killing a man named Karavakos the mage would take Belgosi to the sister he never knew he had. Suspicious of this man, Belgosi made the mage take him to his sister first. Instantly, he knew it was his sister. The drow he had betrayed were following him though. His sister had to flee into the woods as Belgosi and the mage fought off the drow. Keeping his end of the bargain, Belgosi set out to find the pyramid of shadows. He came across a clearing with a small triangle like the mage had said. He went down to pick up the pyramid and found himself in a chamber pit with alot of heads. Following the trail of bodies, he came across a group with similar ends as him. They would make good allies for now he thought.
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Post by The Keeper on Jun 3, 2009 17:12:35 GMT -8
The young man stood over a thick ancient tome, furiously flipping through the dusty pages. Sweat furrowed on his brow, but not from the heavy cloak draped around him, nor the large blade that would seem to weigh him down, but out of frustration. The young man tightly gripped the lion head on the pommel of his sword. "I know I have seen this before," he shouted. Suddenly a squire burst into the library, his metal greaves clanged loudly on the ground. "Lieutenant Nara! The captain refuses to wait any longer for you. He says he will leave without you." The young man looked up from the book, a look of scorn draped over his somewhat childish face. "Then he leads them into a trap! I have seen the enemies' formation before. I know that the captain is leading them to death! If only I can find the counter-strategy." Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, the young man found the passage he searched so desperately for, its ink faint on the ancient pages. "I have found it! Let us be swift, for if the captain has any wit, he would not have left us yet!" Nara picked up the book and waved his hand forward, signaling the squire to lead the way. Moving forward toward the door, he took one last glance at the library, his eyes trailed up to the large fresco on the ceiling. As his eyes made out each detail, his heart stopped, a scene from his past clawed its way back into his mind. The pale glow of the candlelight softly danced on the cream-colored walls of the enormous library, hiding the fact that during the daytime the decorated walls were quite colorful. Lion-headed columns stood watch above the countless rows of mahogany bookshelves, each lined with volumes of work ranging from the mundane art of tilling to philosophies of the Astral Sea. Great care had been taken into constructing this vast collection of tomes and artworks from around the known world. The floor was made of opaque granite punctuated with soft, earth-tone marble tiles. While simple in scheme, the floor’s true beauty lied in the skilled masonry that had gone into piecing together the large rock slabs for none had been cut at the quarry, all were taken as they were found and placed into a beautiful mosaic of stone. The ceiling of the library was another masterpiece, a treasure of the modern world. The meticulously hand-painted fresco depicted the Lord of the estate in a fierce battle with a troll ogre. Blood streamed down the beast’s chest as the knight plunged the blade “Lionheart” into its heart carving out his destiny. Rays of light surrounded the knight representing his mandate from the gods. Beneath the two warriors archaic script read, “Peace is grown from the blood of those that oppose the will of the gods.” “Nara! Where are you and why aren’t you studying,” yelled an enormous man covered in silver plate armor. He stood nearly six and a half feet tall yet he looked comical as he crawled on all fours looking underneath desks and behind bookcases in the grand library. His spiked gauntlets and large sword emitted harsh grating noises as they carved deep grooves into the priceless granite floor. “I’m right here father,” yelled a small boy as Nara ran into the room panting and short of breath. “I was outside vanquishing orcs with my sword,” smiled Nara as he swung his wooden sword through the air parrying invisible blows. His jet-black hair lay ruffled over his eyes. His pale skin was covered in beads of sweat. Nara was tiny in comparison to his father as the large man stood up beside him. While only ten, the man knew that Nara had become quite proficient with his toy sword and would soon progress to having a real one of his own. “How many did you kill,” bellowed the general with a hearty laugh. His gruff face covered with deep creases and scars betrayed his true nature. He was actually a very kind-hearted man despite being commander of twenty-thousand battle-heartened troops. It was a surprise that he could laugh at all. Every time he looked at Nara he remembered his beautiful wife who had died giving birth to his son. His smile faltered for a moment as he touched the cloak draped around his neck. She had given it to him on the day of his promotion to Major General in the hope that it would forever protect him in battle. If only he could have somehow protected her the day she passed. “Well father, I had almost killed a hundred when you interrupted me,” pouted Nara. His boyish features were starting to diminish as he had slowly begun to enter manhood. Tiny, straggling hairs sprouted from his chin in a desperate bid for freedom. The baby fat had already begun to melt away revealing a toned form, truly the son of a knight. “That’s all well and good Nara but do you remember what I told you,” scolded the general. His face had suddenly grown stern. “Yes father,” sighed Nara. “Be a student first and a soldier second. Any man can be a soldier with a sharp sword but it is the man with a sharp mind who leads those men.” Nara hated studying but did anyway if only to obey his father. Nara was a genius for his age and did not feel challenged by the tutors his father had assigned to him but he remained obedient and studious nonetheless. He acknowledged the truth in his father’s motto. After all, his father was a leader of men answerable only to the king and the gods. “Good. Now give your father a hug. It’s time for me to leave. The orcs have become restless during this time of draught and they have begun attacking small towns near the Voradrin Mountains.” “Alright dad, hurry back,” smiled Nara as a tear rolled down his cheek. “Don’t forget to count how many orcs you kill so we can compare how many we each get while you’re gone, ok?” The tiny boy’s eyes had become red and puffy and his nose had begun to run. He felt ashamed to be crying in front of his father. “Don’t worry son, I’ll be back soon.” The general removed the cloak from his neck and wrapped it around Nara’s tiny body. “Watch over your mother’s cloak for me, ok?” Nara silently nodded as tears streamed down his face. He hated it whenever his father went off on a campaign and usually protested but he knew that that must change. After all, he was to become a man soon. He would soon become a squire underneath a knight from some honorable household and train to be a soldier. This was his lot in life, albeit an upstanding and virtuous one but difficult nonetheless. With a heavy sigh, Nara stopped his crying and saluted his father bravely. “Yes sir!” The general beamed with pride and saluted his son back. As his father turned to walk away Nara’s hand fell back to his wooden sword at his side. Gripping it tightly to fight back more tears, he looked up at his father slaying the troll ogre. It seemed like it would take him forever to grow into those boots, as the reflection of the brave knight in shining armor slaying the beast fell upon the young boy and his oversized cloak, wooden sword, and imaginary orcs. The sight of his father walk out of the library under the fresco would be the last memory Nara had of his father alive. Weeks later, news that his father had been slain in battle was delivered to Nara, his father’s arrow-pierced body brought back on a shield with Lionheart held across his chest, the lion head pommel gripped firmly in his cold, lifeless hands. The heart-wrenching image of his father’s cold, gray body pulled Nara back into reality. He cast his eyes downward, away from the painted image of the man his father had once been. The man that had once stood tall and proud on the same granite floor where Nara now stood. The man that little Nara watched march through the same mahogany threshold that he now stood frozen before. Nara turned and looked back at the table where he stood crying four years ago. He vowed that he would make it back to this library to study if only to obey his father.
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Post by reiphil on Jun 11, 2009 7:04:13 GMT -8
jp - 400exp
waiting on backstories for Nathan, Sumalsah, Ashby.
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