Guest Brute3 Posted January 21, 2002 Report Posted January 21, 2002 (OOC: I was gonna post this as my other character, Jarom. But I'm waiting on Ezboard to send me an email or somesuch so, I'll post it as Brute. Big deal. this is part of a story I have been thinking about for some time, but only just now actually put it to words. Lucky souls, you an' one other forum are the only ones to read this junk. ) *Prologue* "When the midday sun is thrown into night, an ancient evil will stalk the land. Powerfull will it grow, seeking to avenge it's Dark Mother's defeat. THe world will be doomed to an eternity of darkness and despair unless the one without sight, who's sight is true and pure, can find Life's Heart. Four shall come to guide him and protect him, yet they will fail. Only through death and the rebirth of life, shall the evil once more be entombed." - as recorded by the sage Zahfir in "Prophecies of the Oracle Tarlum the Mad", 652 G.D. (GodWars Dating) A small wooden cart, pulled by a weary mule, creaked noisily as it followed the track out of Willow Hollow. Beside the mule, an aged man walked, occasionally tapping the beast with a stick to remind it of it's duties. A wide hat that hid his sparse hair and wrinkled face from the morning sun's bright rays titled up as he looked back over his shoulder to the receding village below. The village's occupants were busy with the daily chores, yet this morning they seemed impatient to have things done before the midday meal. Kethum didn't understand what the villagers were so worried about. He had heard some passing talk while waiting for his supplies to be loaded. Talk of some kind of wizardly foolishness that he cared not about. Talk of evil omens in the sky. Talk of prophecies being fulfilled. Kethum hardly had the time to pay attention to such idle wive's chatter. He needed to get his supplies back to the mine before the day's heat began. The mine's dark tunnels would provide adequate protection from the searing summer's heat and he would all too soon work a sweat from his laborious work. Work that after years of toil with hardly anything to show, had suddenly began to pay off. It was shortly after Kethum had began to have the odd dreams that told him where to dig and which shafts to mine that he had found the first veins of silver. Kethum had spent many years mining the low mountains, usually only finding enough iron ore or the occasional copper vein to pay for his growing bill at the supply store. Those years had taken a toll on him. The loud doubts voiced by Mr. Deggins, the supplier of Willow Hollow, only echoed the silent ones Kethum had. But with his dreams, and the discovery of the silver because of them, that had all began to change. He paid little attention to the dreams at first, dismissing them as nonsense. But whether on a whim or some odd chance of luck, he wasn't sure which, Kethum decided to adhere to his subconscious voice. That day, everything changed. He had gone and made a large purchase of ill-needed supplies with Mr. Deggins. The supplier was shocked to see silver, and a substantial amount of it in the hands of the old miner. Soon, Kethum's reservations of following advice from a whimsical dream were nonexistant. He even began to write down every detail of them. No matter that he had never been able to acurately recall other dreams before this. He had found his fortune, and by whatever means it had arrived, he would certainly take advantage of it. The mule stopped suddenly, drawing the old miner from his thoughts. His brows drew together in a frown before he realized that they had arrived at his camp near the base of the mine. Pulling the hat aside, he rubbed his head and quietly cursed the heat. Odd shadows formed upon the ground, cast from the bright sun overhead. Glancing up, he squinted his eyes tightly and managed to briefly see what the villagers were so upset about before the sun forced his eyes down. A black shadow in the sky had crept close to the sun. Kethum had heard of an eclipse when he was young, but he never thought to see one. Pulling the packs from the cart, Kethum thought that he could probably spare a bit of time to see if the sun would really return to the sky, despite what Mrs. Deggins seemed to think. Wouldn't be much longer now. Perhaps another hour before the sun slipped behind the dark moon. Kethum removed from the cart the main object of his trip; a steel-headed pickaxe of remarkable craftsmanship. It would help tremendously in his efforts to free the precious ore from the rock that entombed it. Near the back of his mind, he began to feel... something. It felt like an itch that he could not scratch. Hairs on the nape of his neck stood up as the odd sensation crept through his mind. The miner's eyes bulged open and his jaw fell as a voice, insidious and deadly, whispered in his mind. "Come to me," it commanded. The mule watched mutely as Kethum staggered into the dark mouth of the mine, his pickaxe still clutched in his hand. Down he went in the darkness, for the voice that captured his mind and body led him unerringly to the very spot he had discovered his new source of wealth. "Find me," it urged him. "Quickly! You must find me quickly!" The voice flowed into his mind like a current of water and took control of his limbs. With incredible strength, he began to pound at the stone wall before him. Shards of stone flew from the pickaxe's blows, some sinking into uncaring and unfeeling flesh. Echoes rang up from the depths of the tunnel, reaching no one. Kethum was drenched in sweat from the exertion. He could feel his tired heart ready to burst within his chest, but the exultation of the diminshing rock kept his arms furiously at work. "Hurry! You must hurry!" the voice insisted, killing the old man with it's dire urgency. Suddenly, the gloom was pierced with a shining ruby ray emanating from a portion of the destroyed rock. Encased in the stone, a slab of deep red crystal throbbed with an unholy light. Scarlet light filled the chamber and bathed Kethum in it's radiance. "Strike now!" the voice seethed. "You must strike the crystal now!" Kethum's hand trembled with the fury of the voice. It was as if a maelstorm was going on in his head, threatening to sweep away his mind and his sanity. Tears rolled down his wrinkled cheeks as his hand clutched the pick and lifted it up. He knew just before the pick swung down, a terrible evil had brought him here. The dreams were suddenly, startlingly accounted for. As the pick hit the crystal, light flooded the tunnel. The wicked presence in Kethum's mind gleefully found his hopes, his fears, and smashed them with the rest of his mind. THe miner's body fell to the stone floor, his lifeless eyes locked onto the shattered crystal. Outside, Willow Hollow was bathed in a shadow as the midday sun was eclipsed. ~Jarom Stormbrow~ Awaken from your sleep children, for life holds the only adventures worth dreaming of.
Guest Brute3 Posted February 10, 2002 Report Posted February 10, 2002 (OOC: Bleh again! this part ends terribly. I never intended to write a part and then leave off llike I did here. Forgive me. It seems that this piece of the story grew a bit larger than planned. ANd the fact that I've been awake all night- I got distracted- helped matters little. Not that I'm complaining. Not at all....I needed a break from writing the story anyway. *Brute stares off for a moment, then taps his head* oh yeah, the story. Here's the next part. Does anyone read this crap?) Rock exploded out across the miner's body, leaving an enormous wound in the tunnel wall. Echoes of the crash raced through the empty tunnels before fading away. In the darkness and rubble, something moved slowly. Slowly, cautiously, it moved from the hole in the wall, for the centuries that it had been imprisoned within the crystal hindered any sudden physical actions. The dim remnants of the crystal's scarlet light still shone faintly, outlining the evil that was emerging. It's eyes adjusting to the dim light, found the miner's body and next to it, the object it sought. A lantern, now burnt out, had been knocked over in the violent explosion of the creature's prison. It's eyes narrowed slightly as it concentrated on the wick. A mere moment later, the wick began to smoulder and ignite, casting shadowy yellow light about the chamber. Shattered rock lay strewn about, tainted with pieces of reddish crystal. The miner's body had spots of blood that seeped from the cuts of rock. His face, frozen in a terrified expression, was like a terrible mask of death. The flickering light fell upon the massive form of the beast, though seemingly reluctantly.It's appearance was similar to that of a human, but much taller and almost grotesquely muscled. Standing half again as tall as a average human, the creature's black mane brushed the ceiling of the chamber and fell down over his thick, broad shoulders. It's arms, wrapped in corded muscles, hung near it's waist. Thick, powerful legs were covered in dark leather leggings. Numerous scars crisscrossed it's body, telling of countless battles. Across his massive chest a leather baldric was slung. A plain, if incredibly large, pommel of a sword jutted out from behind his shoulder. Despite the physical power evident in the beast, it's true power lay within it's sinister mind. Long ago, seemingly in another lifetime, he had first discovered his powers to delve into the minds of others. A successful pit fighter and slave in another world, his mental abilities allowed him to defeat any opponent he faced. As they grew within his mind, so grew his ambition and desire to rule those that once ruled him. He quickly gained his freedom through the blood of others. Political power soon followed, for none dared to oppose him and those that did were disposed of without mercy or remorse. The lands he controlled spoke his name in fear. Throughout his rise to power, his mind developed far beyond what he had hoped for. He could kill with a thought, detect assassins by merely 'hearing' their stray thoughts, manipulate physical properties of objects. But the one power that forever changed him and sealed his fate, was when he searched for others like him, and found something. He drifted in a swirling sea of grayness, chaotic patterns threatening sickness and much worse for any who would stare too long into the void. Drifting. Searching. Ever searching. Aware of any subtle changes of the void, he searched. The day he had felt Her presence, he very nearly lost his contact with the void. When he became aware of the fact that the presence was searching for *him*, he did, in fact, lose all contact with the void. For several days he was unable to enter the void, unsure of what awaited him. He had always preyed upon those that were weaker than he, for very few had the power to defend against his mental powers. Yet now... He had forgotten the bitter taste of fear and it angered him that this unknown force should inspire such a reaction. After all, was it not he that searched for another with similar powers? No, he knew what had frightened him. The presence he felt, Her presence, had an underlying power that he could not even fathom. This and the knowledge that She searched for him was the source of his fear. But anger was what caused him to search once more, to venture that lonely gray void. Drifting. Drifting without body, only thought. ~Jarom Stormbrow~ Awaken from your sleep children, for life holds the only adventures worth dreaming of. Edited by: Brute3 at: 2/10/02 4:02:56 am
The Portrait of Zool Posted February 21, 2002 Report Posted February 21, 2002 Zool awakens from sleep in a frenzy of terror, his eyes wild, his hair standing on end, sweat pouring from every pore. In his nightmare, Brute never finished his story... ~Zool~ Ancient, The Pen is Mightier than the Sword. Bard of Terra, Patron Saint of Aspiring Bards. Elder than dirt, more foolish than a jester, able to trip over the smallest logic in a single step. It's... Oh, you know.
Guest Brute3 Posted February 24, 2002 Report Posted February 24, 2002 (OOC: this is getting to be quite a habit of mine, these little notes before the next part of the story. So be it. I have absolutely no idea how this one turns out. At one point, I felt that it was truly good. That was sometime before I learned a terrible lesson about saving one's work. Now after picking my brain to recall what I had previously written, and, what the hell, why not stay up a bit longer and watch the sun come up, I present the next part of my story to you. It isn't the same as when I first wrote it. Something got mixed up, but I cannot recall what it was. *sigh* No matter. the story.....) Somewhere within the swirling shadows of the chaos that was the void, he felt something moving. Like an invisible snake, swimming lazily though murky water, ripples began to reach him. She was near, and he was sure that She was looking for him. An unnatural fear, accompanied by anger, bled into his veins, like ice and fire, freezing and melting his mind. The void spun in crazed patterns around him, somehow feeding off his emotions. Steeling his resolve, he drained the emotions from his mind. The void fed on the fear and anger he released, churning with zeal at it's newfound sustenance. He moved purposefully toward the dark, mysterious presence that troubled the shadowy void. Movement within the void, as he had discovered, was not as simple as placing a foot in front of the other. Rather, it was like a dream in which he was mired in some unseen substance, unable to move and panicked because of it. It reminded him of when he had once tried to cross a wide stream covered in a thick layer of ice. His feet floundered, vainly trying to propel him, but never finding purchase and careening wildly. His first encounter in the void had been madly frustrating. He woke from the experience and cruelly murdered one of his own guards with nothing but his bare hands. Many trips into the chaotic endlessness of the void and even more lives from his own camp tempered his ability to control movement in the void. He had to retrain his mind to move by force of will and thought, rather than by practiced physical means. It had proven to be the hardest of all the talents that emerged from the depths of his subconscious to master. Not only had he figured out the principles of movement, but he had begun to understand exactly what the void was, and what it was not. Well beyond the borders of reality, the maddening mass of subtle hues of dark and light, swirling in hypnotic and unreal patterns, was made of some primal subconsciousness. Composed of an entire scope of emotions, twisted together in a mind-rending stream of chaos, it threatened any unwary mind that entered it with insanity or worse. At times, he could hear whispers from somewhere within the moving mists of the place, tempting his reason with visions of madness. Once, he had witnessed a psyche appear not far from him, only to instantly shriek and fade away, gibbering sobs echoing mutely like a strange warning against the silent dangers of the realms of madness. From that point on, he always clouded his mind heavily with mental shields when traversing the void. Looking back, he would eagerly agree that the emergence of this self-endangering ability to enter the void had proven to be the most beneficial. The agitated swirl of the void told him what his senses already felt: She was near. He hid vital parts of his mind under layers and layers of false sensory input, wrapping it like a room filled with webs at the center of which hid his mind, alert to any vibrations along the perimeter. Turning his senses to the power that disturbed the chaos of the shadowy void, he homed in on Her. He drew very near, then stopped short, feeling waves of pure evil and immense power emanating from Her like heat from a blazing oven. Without pause, he summoned from his mind scathing knives of hatred and despair. His confidence was born from countless strong-willed men he had crushed using these same weapons, but only at a fraction of the power he poured forth now. He felt the killing thoughts assault Her, and also felt the presence somehow pause and withdraw. Seizing the chance, he pushed forward, attacking with his whole being. Of course, it was merely a trap into which he easily fell. She batted aside his attacks like a child absently swatting an insect, then sprang on him. Her mere voice, darkly seductive and powerful, oh so powerful!, brushed aside his well-laid defenses and gripped his mind. He knew his life was in danger as surely as if she had his throat in a Her taloned, vise-like grip. That voice, which had forever since haunted his mind, slid now through his brain like black silk, it's fibers poisoned and deadly to the touch. "Droloch," she whispered, her voice hinting at contemptuous amusement, "how very...daring of you to challenge a Goddess." His blood froze within him. He had never uttered his true name to any other being, yet She knew it instantly. Had he been able, he would have instantly fled in pure terror from the void, never to return. But She held him. "I am the Darkness. I am the Queen of Murder. I am Tahkisis, Dark Goddess of Evil. I have an offer for you, one which you will find quite beneficial." His mind very nearly unhinged itself at that moment. Had it not been for Her power holding him prisoner, yielding only enough of himself to comprehend what she was and what she said, he would have lost all sanity. Of that he had no doubt. Droloch whined slightly, struggling feebly against the iron grip holding his mind. With the sense of a smile, She continued." Good. You understand me and who I am. There are regretfully few mortals with a soul as cruel and evil as your own. I propose this simple offer to you: freely offer to me your immortal soul and serve me faithfully, or I shall destroy you utterly and completely. In your darkest nightmares, you cannot conceive of the slightest punishments that can be dealt in the Abyss. Make your choice, mortal." The finality of the proclamation staggered him and left him reeling. He merely moaned and nodded, agreeing for continued existence, such as it would be. The Queen of Darkness smiled upon him that day and forever since changed his life. His soul belonged to Her, was Her object of amusement. He did serve her, however, and even learned to love and respect his Queen, as much as was possible in his cold heart. He earned his place among Her infernal legions, rising quickly through the ranks, using violence as a tool, along with an astute knowledge of warfare. He soon became a trusted minion of the goddess Tahkisis, even so much as earning the boon of an eternal life. Eternal in a manner that he was reincarnated many times over, each new spawning meant another task in which to prove himself to Her. The last task, though, had left him stranded for several centuries within a crystal tomb. He had led one half of Her infernal legions, fully the First March, into battle against the world that had earned Her wrath. His Queen had demanded nothing less than a total destruction of the orb and it's inhabitants. When he was captured, the psychic scream he had aimed at her, begging forgiveness, had killed no less than five of the eleven mages gathered around him to bind him. That had been centuries ago. Long, eager strides now led Droloch upwards toward the mouth of the cavern, his senses stretched out before him. Long before he reached the mouth of the mine, his awareness drifted down into the community below. He could feel them in their homes, an illusion of safety from the ominous portents high upon the heavens. A cruel and vicious smile crept upon his face then, for he alone knew that the eclipse was the very least of their worries upon this day of darkness. His hour of vengeance was at hand. ~Jarom Stormbrow~ Awaken from your sleep children, for life holds the only adventures worth dreaming of. Edited by: Brute3 at: 2/24/02 6:09:49 am
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