It is said that Sigmas, the king of men, had five children. To each child he left a kingdom, to rule in his place when he ascended to Godhood. Their rule was long, and in the end each died to war, for siblings are of blood, but fight for their pride. Fight and kill.
This legend is spoken of often, and known by many. But less known is the tale of their descendants. Each child of Sigmas gave birth to two children of their own. They are known as the 10 Torments.
Each child bore the sins of humanity in it's blood. Each child took on aspects of mortal nature, and become one with the world. They do not die. They simply exist. Sometimes they are gone. Sometimes they rest for decades. Some are born again, but they are always in the world. Their names were forgotten centuries ago, but each is still known by a title. They are hard to define as "Good" and "Evil." They simple exist, and in doing so give evidence to the humanity of all. They are powerful, and some hate each other, but in the end none can die.
These are their known titles
Mask: The son who knows each soul. He who feels no pain.
Dagger: The bloody daughter. She who kills so others may live.
Elder: The peaceful son. He who has no arms.
Keeper: The daughter who cannot forget. She who knows all emotion.
Mirror: The son with two minds. He who speaks all tongues.
Fang: The savage son. He who is broken, yet strong.
Pale: The burned son. He who still burns.
Gorge: The starving son. He who is empty for all time.
Dancer: The daughter of the wind. She who is never trapped or tricked.
Forest: The son of the isles. He who looks without seeing.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Chapter 3 Introduction: Tooth and Nail
It wont be long now. Just a little bit further.
At first the sensation of hard dirt and stone against his fingers had made him wince in agony. It had taken days and days of focus to lose touch with the pain. His fingernails were worn down to jagged shreds. His hands, once a rich caramel where now red, scarred, and dark. And yet on he dug.
He lost track of the days after the first season had passed. He hadn't seen so much as another human face in what seemed a lifetime. The stone walls mocked him, but on he dug. Moving stone and earth with his breaking tattered fingers. One thought consumed his mind.
Just a bit more. She is waiting for you. You will see your love again soon. It will all be worth it, just to see her again for a moment.
He stopped to look down. There was now a pool of mud between his palms. Mud made from dirt and blood. His own blood. It would seem he had broken another finger. He couldn't feel the pain, but now the loss of blood was making him lightheaded. He felt like crying. But then the bar wiggled. The iron rod that had been confining his escape for these long weeks. It rocked at his touch, and putting the last of his strength against it, broke free.
I am coming my dearest love. I have missed you so.
Husani stepped out into the passage, and towards his freedom.
At first the sensation of hard dirt and stone against his fingers had made him wince in agony. It had taken days and days of focus to lose touch with the pain. His fingernails were worn down to jagged shreds. His hands, once a rich caramel where now red, scarred, and dark. And yet on he dug.
He lost track of the days after the first season had passed. He hadn't seen so much as another human face in what seemed a lifetime. The stone walls mocked him, but on he dug. Moving stone and earth with his breaking tattered fingers. One thought consumed his mind.
Just a bit more. She is waiting for you. You will see your love again soon. It will all be worth it, just to see her again for a moment.
He stopped to look down. There was now a pool of mud between his palms. Mud made from dirt and blood. His own blood. It would seem he had broken another finger. He couldn't feel the pain, but now the loss of blood was making him lightheaded. He felt like crying. But then the bar wiggled. The iron rod that had been confining his escape for these long weeks. It rocked at his touch, and putting the last of his strength against it, broke free.
I am coming my dearest love. I have missed you so.
Husani stepped out into the passage, and towards his freedom.
Korick Ironbolt: A flight from Persicution
"Bloody mage." Korick grumbled as he unfolded the the wanted poster in his pocket. It was an odd trophy yes, but it gave him an odd sense of achievement. He thought back to what lead him to his long trek through the Ghellez see pass to Anmar.
He was walking down an Alley when he noticed the poster."WANTED KORICK IRONBOLT"
Dwarven male approximately four feet eight inches in height. Silver eyes, short braided black hair, short well trimmed black beard. Wanted four breaking and entering, assault of a clan guard, theft and impersonation of a noble. Also known as Genbor Stoutheart, Lethkin Stoneforger and Rel Thunderhammer. following was a very well drawn picture mage enhanced.
"well shave my beard." Korick exclaimed.
He pulled the poster down to study it more closely, then shoved it into his pocket and hurrayed off down the alley. It was only fifteen minutes to the little run down tavern he was staying at. he slipped in the back avoiding the few patrons there were and went upstairs to his room. He grabbed is rucksack and stuffed his few meager possessions in, slung his crossbow over his shoulder an fixed his axe and quarrels to his belt. Then he went about his alterations, he grabbed a vial of orange dye from the dresser pored it into a bowl with a little water and then began rubbing it into his beard. As he headed for the door he grabbed the cloak and pulled it over his head. The only things left behind were some empty whiskey bottles, a couple dishes and five crown an the night stand.
Korick thought that if he left Karak Maulkez he would be in the clear but it turned out that the Lokmar's had the means and the determination to scourer the whole of Remtex if necessary. Shortly after his departure from Karak Maulkez the posters were back shortly followed by criers shouting his name and on several occasions he was even stopped by town guard asking if he'd seen "this fugitive." Those had been the most unnerving times wondering if the guards had saw throw the slap dash disguise, wondering if they would see through him before he could bluster "never in my life" an leave.
It had been an terrifying and accelerating flight. But now he was on his way to safety in Danmere and the lands of man.
He was walking down an Alley when he noticed the poster."WANTED KORICK IRONBOLT"
Dwarven male approximately four feet eight inches in height. Silver eyes, short braided black hair, short well trimmed black beard. Wanted four breaking and entering, assault of a clan guard, theft and impersonation of a noble. Also known as Genbor Stoutheart, Lethkin Stoneforger and Rel Thunderhammer. following was a very well drawn picture mage enhanced.
"well shave my beard." Korick exclaimed.
He pulled the poster down to study it more closely, then shoved it into his pocket and hurrayed off down the alley. It was only fifteen minutes to the little run down tavern he was staying at. he slipped in the back avoiding the few patrons there were and went upstairs to his room. He grabbed is rucksack and stuffed his few meager possessions in, slung his crossbow over his shoulder an fixed his axe and quarrels to his belt. Then he went about his alterations, he grabbed a vial of orange dye from the dresser pored it into a bowl with a little water and then began rubbing it into his beard. As he headed for the door he grabbed the cloak and pulled it over his head. The only things left behind were some empty whiskey bottles, a couple dishes and five crown an the night stand.
Korick thought that if he left Karak Maulkez he would be in the clear but it turned out that the Lokmar's had the means and the determination to scourer the whole of Remtex if necessary. Shortly after his departure from Karak Maulkez the posters were back shortly followed by criers shouting his name and on several occasions he was even stopped by town guard asking if he'd seen "this fugitive." Those had been the most unnerving times wondering if the guards had saw throw the slap dash disguise, wondering if they would see through him before he could bluster "never in my life" an leave.
It had been an terrifying and accelerating flight. But now he was on his way to safety in Danmere and the lands of man.
Fascinating things
Kyzzick has told me about so many things of this world, but seeing them firsthand is so much more exciting. With these people I have been able to do incredible things. We have raided a crypt and born witness to ancient magicks I have not seen before. We raided and slaughtered a band of hobgoblins, and later managed to survive a night attack by some sort of giant and his pet.
For the first time since I was forsaken I have felt the desperation that comes with imminent death. This is different though. It is exciting. These times are different. The magic I call is beginning to change as I learn more about it. All of those years of study are coming to fruition now. Kyzzick seems pleased as well. He has always told me that great things were in store for me, and only now am I truly beginning to believe it.
On another note, I have come across something on our last excursion that interests me greatly.
A mask, heavy with magic, it feels dense in my hands with power. I spent a great deal of time
teasing out its nature with Kyzzick. My companions seem to have no sense about magicks of any
sorts, and I think with this item in particular I would prefer it that way. It will be a most valuable
asset. I gave the mundane armband we had also found to Arren. I would prefer to stay in the
favor of this group as I can, as well do I grudgingly admit that my survival is tied to theirs.
I am brimming with excitement in anticipation of these coming days. I pity those in my path.
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