May His dark will be done.
My name used to be Detri E’sal. That was before I gave my soul to Girzon as penitence for failure. To say Girzon is a harsh God is like declaring yourself a moron. Of course Girzon is a harsh God. That is why I love him so much. That is why I was able to give my soul to be used by his agents so freely. At least, that’s how I remember it. But, a soul that lies dormant absorbs memories from the surrounding magical aether. I have the memories of a hundred damned souls that burn within me. They, the pariah priests of Girzon, forged me into a beautiful metal form. I am sharp. I am deadly. I am an instrument for my God. But, above all, I hunger for the flesh of true believers. I care little if that flesh be a believer of Girzon or a believer of Solara. As long as one more soul is pried from the warm corpse of faith, I am content.
May His dark will be done.
It surprised me at first, to be awoken so vigorously by a soul, twice damned. I gathered from the ecstatic memories of Blade Severin’s followers that this man, this being, this tiefling, was named Naamat. I love the name. It biddens sorrow forth just by rolling it around in the mind. For sure, he is destined for a horrible death. But, a glimmer of a glimmer of portent shivered through my metallic body as he used my sharp rending edge to sacrifice his tail to Girzon. As that bloody, lovely pain pierced my mood, I knew I had found a mate.
May His dark will be done.
His punishment was one of pride and absence. And, I dare say, he will not forget his lesson soon. But, his companions, punished by Blade Severin as well… are also interesting. I am most interested in the Triad; a group of three ‘Chosen’ of Girzon. They are called forth, if memory serves, in time of great upheaval. Their names are spoken in whispers and by the mad look in their souls, I can see why. One man, Gavin… if the man even truly has a name, has an odd face. It looks as if it is decaying. He calls himself the man of a thousand faces. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots. I don’t think he could be forged as I was forged. The man is harder than metal and quite insane. His rhyming elf companion seems saner, but he is not. They could be brothers of mental deficit. Only, the rhyming elf is not mentally defunct. In fact, he is smarter than I, a concept I am still attempting to cope with. The very first act of the elf was to cut out the teeth of a man named Gorg.; some lowly street peddler good at forging. It pleases me that the elf barely flicked his wrist and the man-thing called Gorg lost his silver tongue. Truly Girzon blesses these two. The woman who accompanies them has dark things in her future. I will not dwell on her. Even I have limits.
May His dark will be done.
The others are an odd assortment of men. One is an inquisitor, who is both sharp and strategically sound. He was the sole survivor of a Sons of Solara massacre only a day previous. The Sons of Solara are a growing concern, if the acolytes in the temple can be trusted. They make up for martial shortcomings by employing any burning, sparking or exploding object. Their favorite tactic is to run headlong into an organized brigade of Blade Severin’s men. I love it! At any rate, the inquisitor Jak’el is a man to be watched. I detect true faith in that one, but I also feel compelled not to kill him. Odd, that…
May His dark will be done.
Ioseph is someone I wouldn’t mind drinking of. His dedication is so saccharine sweet that I really cannot resist. I hope Naamat finds it in his heart to plunge me deep into the bowls of Ioseph. That sweet, sweet, tongued lad is like a musical drug. I love him. I want him… dead. And of course, the least interesting of this group are the warrior fools. You know, the ones that come from wherever and ‘believe’ in Girzon! Bah! What does a warrior know of faith! They are fools, following the orders of their betters. All warriors are imbeciles and not worthy of note.
May His dark will be done.
Already I see them packing up to head to the Ironium, a palatial mammoth of an arena in the center of Orthanis proper. I suppose Gorg has set up an ambush for the fools, but like a good deviant, Jak’el has conscripted some lowly scribe acolytes as a vanguard. Acolytes never change… they are always ready to die!
May His dark will be done.
Oathday, 9th of Rova.
Well, this day has been interesting to say the least. As I lay here in an accolytes cubicle I will try to acurately record what has transpired so far.
First off to recieve a summon this morning from non other than Blade Severin of the Seventh Church not two weeks after I accepted Girzon's coin as his Speaker is an honor to say the least. I am humbled by the fact that I have recieved notice so high up in the hierachy of the exalted during my training. Well, maybee I shouldn't be so surprised, given my connecton to the One True God, I know I am bound for greatness in accordance to His will. After all, he has watched over me ever since I was picked up in the streets by my more than half-crazed trice-damned dear of a 'mother'.
Feeling thrilled and exhilerated as I waited outside the doors of the Crying Room for my cue to enter and give praise to Girzon, I was confused and a bit disapointed by the gathered faithfull. Given my skill with words I believed I was summoned to inspire the chosen to greater heights in their fervor to serve the One True God, but to my surprise I am called to serve as diplomat between them as well.
I must say that I feel blessed to have walked out of there alive given that the group seemed to be acting on various impulses and, as of yet, unknown personal agendas. I believe I was successful, although I was unprepared, in saving the life of at least one faithfull from the hands of another faithfull. Strange how even the chosen among the faithfull need guidance as the common sheep among the flock need.
The situation was defused, no more. I believe the elements for an explosion is still there but, Girzon willing, the faithfull will be guided to serve successfully. It is a challange to serve a god of both Law and Chaos, but as all aspects of Girzon seem to exist in our merry band of Chosen then we will thrive just as Girzon thrives.
I.X.
Speaker of Girzon
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An excerpt from the personal notes of Blade Severin, Blackguard of Girzon detailing one of three battalions stationed within the city of Orthanis in order to put it under Martial Law to supress the 'Solarian Insurgency'.
Moonday, 6th of Rova 215
13th Battalion of the Black Legions of Girzon
1,650 Enlisted
270 Calvary
182 Signifiers
400 Reserve
Jagged Pike Company
Blade Hess Valtair
4 Platoons of 50
4 Signifiers
200 Calvary
(200)
Red Adder Company
Blade Wirk Ramses
6 Platoons of 30
30 Signifiers
(120)
Dagger Fist Company
Blade Krang
8 Platoons of 35
(280)
Darkshore Company
Signifier Tauminaustrix
6 Platoons of 20
120 Signifiers
(120)
Silent Arrow Company
Blade Yurnan Hafthack
5 Platoons of 50
20 Signifiers
100 Calvary
(250)
Black Shield Company
Blade Kaserian Shadowsought
4 Platoons of 30
30 Calvary
(120)
Farrogut Company
Blade Krush Zanderson
4 Platoons of 40
40 Calvary
8 Signifiers
(160)
Mobilization and recruitment of 20 Reserve Supply Platoons consisting
of 20 soldiers each conscripted from local populace, 2 Platoons per
Company with 6 remaining Platoons held in reserve, being constantly
rotated to ensure timeliness and consistency of supply lines to troops.
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____________________________________________________________
Poetry of the Giant Slayer, Don'k'tnok
it, bes no fare it, bes bad i have no i- jus hoole instha face pan
dad hatez mes mudder ded? no cans stik flesshy ting muss yous hand-
so longz ego no rememberberer wen hand becoime pikteethh, fer gaint maaan
gets wurse dan that u, soons to see she da she, she of shes she is, tu bad
is ugg ugg ins face pan but iz stil to guud fer me! meensish!, juss like dad
nows dey bandon me up ons dis rok. Too Finnishh dey say..,...why me u bann
i sai bad bad bad bad baed bad baed thie sez wit I's lik I
it be makes donktnokk sad
an it make donktnok mad
sos sad
mad
bad?
no
mosly sad
____________________________________________________________
Poem sang by a dwarven Abyssal Reaver during combat while
fighting an elven wizard -
"Away with us he’s going,
The almond-eyed:
He’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside;
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal-chest.
For he comes, the elven child,
For his waters to the wild
With a fairy, hand in hand,
From a world more full of weeping than he can understand!"
______________________________________________________________
Blade Severin's Oath to Girzon
I am Blade Severin
I know no fear,
But rather I instill it in my enemies.
I am the destoyer of life.
I know the power of Girzon.
I am the fire of hate.
All the World bows before Him.
I pledge myself to the Darkness.
For I have found true life,
In the death of the light.
______________________________________________________________
Prayer to Solara:
"Great sun, wheel of fire,
Solara in your glory,
hear me as I honor you.
Even in the darkest times,
you light the way for those who would need a beacon,
of hope, of brightness,
shining in the night.
We light these candles in your honor,
that you might gather your strength
and bring life back to the world.
O Solara, mighty sun above us,
we ask you to return, to bring back to us
the light and the warmth of your fire.
Bring life back to earth,
Bring light back to earth.
Hail Solara! Ruler of the sun!"
______________________________________________________________
'A Kingdom In Rebellion' - Speech given by Blade Severin during
an assembly in the Crying Room as documented by Pec the Initiate
"The present situation of Orthanis, and my constant devotion to follow the will of Girzon, has called me thus to assemble you all together."
"Those who have successfully labored to inflame the people of Orthanis by gross misinterpretations, and infuse into their minds a system of opinions repugnant to the true will of the One God now openly avow their revolt, hostility, and rebellion. They have raised troops, are collecting supplies to wage battle, and cloister themselves within the guise and veil of innocent townsfolk. Although many of these townsfolk may still retain their loyalty, and may be too wise not to see the fatal consequences of this usurpation, and wish to resist it, yet the torrent of violence has been strong enough to compel their acquiescence, till a sufficient force shall appear to support them."
"The rebellious war now levied is become more general, and is manifestly carried on for the purpose of ressurrecting a fallen heretic. I need not dwell upon the fatal effects of the success of such a plan. The object is too important, the spirit of the Church too high, the resources with which God hath blessed us too numerous, to give up so this area which we have planted with great industry, nursed with great tenderness, encouraged with many commercial advantages, and protected and defended at much expence of blood and treasure."
"It is now become the part of wisdom, and, in its effects, of imperialism, to put a speedy end to these disorders by the most decisive exertions. For this purpose, I have called the Black Triad, and greatly augmented their power with you other faithful."
"I have the satisfaction to inform you I have relocated several garrisons of Girzon's Black Legions into Orthanis, under my direct command, in order that a large number of the established forces for the Empire may be applied to the maintenance of it's authority; and the Blackguards, planned and regulated with equal regard to the strength, domination, and protection of Girzon's crown and worship, may give a farther extent and activity to our military operations. Orthanis will be put under Martial Law until further notice."
"When the unhappy and deluded multitude, against whom this force will be directed, shall become sensible of their error, I shall be ready to receive the misled with the mercy of a swift execution. In order to prevent the inconveniencies which may arise from the great distance of their situation, and to remove as soon as possible the calamities which they suffer, I shall give authority to the Black Triad and their new associates upon the spot to accuse, judge, and execute suspected malefactors, in such manner, and to such persons as they shall think fit."
"The first and foremost duty of this newly formed unit will be to enter the Ironium Arena Gauntlet, sieze the suspected holy texts of the heretics, and bring them to me. New tickets for such a venture will be procured."
"I have fully opened to you my views and intentions. The constant employment of my thoughts, and the most earnest wishes of Girzon, tend wholly to the strength and totality of Girzon's will, and to the re-establishment of order and dominance through all districts of Orthanis. You see the tendency of the present disorders, and I have stated to you the measures which I mean to pursue for suppressing them. Whatever remains to be done, that may farther contribute to this end, I commit to your wisdom."
"Know this - kingdoms rise and fall through rebellion. The true error, one just as punishable as the desire and execution of such a rebellion, is the inability of those in power to quell such an uprising. If you fail me in this, Girzon has no further use for you."
____________________________________________________________
*disclaimer* I didn't write all this word for word - I adapted it for use within the game.
Have you ever had a day in your life that, in retrospect, changes your entire history? I've recently had one of those days. It started like any other day...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
As I sat in a dimly lit tavern, I idly trace the embroidered designs on the floor-to-ceiling drapes which cover the walls. Broken into scenes of dispair and cruelty, the drapes start at the entrance door and counter-clockwise tell the tale of the Fall of Orthanis - the night when the seas retreated, and the Demon Legions of Girzon swarmed into the city, devouring anybody who would not swear fealty to the Dark God.
The room was round, as were all rooms in this squat, five story tower in the Foreign Quarter of Orthanis. This was one of my favorite brothels, because of the decor and theme. Dominatrix and their 'slaves' would often walk through the room on the way to the 'Dungeons' - a series of prison cells which were found in the basement. Further up, in the stories above - a lewd moan or cry of ecstasy could be heard as a patron was entertained.
The decor was entirely demonic. With low lighting, sputtering torches set in black wrought iron sconces, and large arrays of dozens of candles set in more black iron candelabras, the flickering light made the tapestry laden walls and plush, red carpets just that much more shadowy and twisted.
I often found work here - but tonight I enjoyed a dark burgundy bottle of red wine alone. I usually keep to myself on nights like these - prefering the company of my own thoughts as opposed to most nights when I found company in another's arms. I became distracted though, by a man who came in, asking the house Matron for a specific girl in a low, hushed voice. As the man waited for the girl to finish with another customer, he sat at a table adjacent to me and drank some ale. He kept muttering to himself under his breath as he studied a document... then when his favorite girl appeared at his side and led him away by the arm to a room upstairs, I noticed the document he had been studying had been left behind in his haste to join his new companion...
Curiosity got the better of me, and I took a look at the large, expensive vellum flyer.
----------------------------------------------
'High Stakes Ironium Gauntlet'
This event, held once per year, is
the most prestigious and entertaining
Gauntlet-Style Event held at the
Ironium.
Competitors fight for their very lives
in a series of trials designed to test
their wits, creativity, and battle
prowess. Seating is limited, and the
odds are guaranteed to make your
pocketbook sing!
If you're holding this ticket, it
entitles you to register ONE (1)
combatant as a participant in
this year's event.
Registration will take place at the
Temple of the Dark Star at the
Commons Altar with
Thoms the Flame
Make haste! Only the first six entry
level submissions will be accepted.
GRAND PRIZE: GOLD! GEMS! WONDEROUS
ITEMS! A KING'S RANSOM! YOUR PLACE
I N H I S T O R Y
------------------------------------------------
Night after night of the same brothels, with the same needy, greedy, grabby customers was getting the best of me. I've been quite bored with life for a while now. I needed excitement. I needed adventure!
Most of all I needed money - enough money that I didn't have to depend on the pockets of another every single night.
Slipping the important flyer beneath my garments tucked behind my belt, I retired to my room for the night - furnished by my favorite courtesan here at the Trident - thinking about how the morning might change the course of your life after a visit to the Temple of the Dark Star...
----------------------------------------------------------------------
I'll never know how things would have turned out if I had just minded my own business. They say curiosity killed the cat. Well, call me kitten because I have almost died several times since that night and it is getting old. But that is another story, for another day.
It has been only a few hours since stealing the vellum flyer and making my way to the church to pose as the rightful owner of the summons.
As I enter the Temple Altar of Commons it opens into a large rectangular room some 150' long on the sides and 75' wide at the top - which has the main altar and sermon pedestal - and bottom - which contains the main entrance/exit. The ceilings are supported by two rows of large pillars set about 10' away from the longer sides of the room, and between each pillar hangs a long, black banner suspended from the ceiling with the symbols of Girzon and the Temple of the Dark Star featured prominently. In front of every other pillar is a large, black iron brazier that burns with a magical flame that uses no fuel and gives off no smoke. The flames scintillate in color between royal purple, deep blue, and crimson red - casting oddly disturbing colored shadows around the room at all times. Rows of pews are lined up with a long central isle from door to altar, the aisle being covered in a long, black carpet which runs from the door and all the way up the altar steps to the base of the sermon pedestal. Up near the altar, three figures can be seen deep in conversation - two of them holding large sheets of fine vellum that appear to be flyers or advertisements for some sort of event.
Preparing for business, I put all of my idle musings behind and assume the position of watcher. Who else has answered this call? What were their motivations?
As I approach the gentlemen, I notice the stern look of the tall priest. I bow in respect to them, a faint flicker of humor crossing my lips as flickering as the multi-hued shadows in this chamber. 'Men of the church are so interesting' I consider, having been at the mercy of many in my sordid past.
"Greetings, milords. I am called Naamat." I simply state while bowing, waiting for a gesture from one of them to rise.
After short order, I get a nod from the priest – Gaborik Masters they call him. I rise under the scrutiny of the church-goers’ gaze and speak. "I am here to join the tournament. What will you have me do now?" I drawl as I stand to my full height of almost 6'7" tall. My long tail sways back and forth, not due to nerves, but simply to create a distraction as I study those who have joined me.
Of those assembled, three appear to be formidable warriors who have answered the call – a proud, young minotaur; a haughty, noble warrior; and a mysterious and ferocious beast who looks somewhat like an ogre. I would go into further detail about these fighters but it would be a waste of time. But I get ahead of myself and my story.
Rounding out the party is a shadowy figure, also associated with Priest Gaborik. He is introduced as Jak’el Vorl, one of the Veiled – an Inquisitor branch of the church. His icy blue eyes bore a hole in each man as he studies all of us.
The last remaining man of cloth, a short, pudgy man, must be my contact. He introduces himself as Thoms the Flame. As he speaks, he addresses all of the gathered men, and declares, "Welcome men. I see you have answered the call of our patron Girzon, and have decided to set yourselves to the challenge of locating the books of the fallen sun goddess! Good. Good. Please, make yourselves acquainted. If you have questions, ask. I am here to serve the... faithful."
Thoms eyes each man or thing in turn and his smile turns from greasy to pleasant and back again.
That is when I discovered the “tournament” as stated on the flyer and our true mission to be vastly different. Of course I inquire further. "Oh powerful and merciful brother of the Dark Heart, I beg you indulge me in query." I begin, flourishing a bow to Thoms. "Perhaps I misread my invitation. What may I ask is our purpose here?"
Surveying the quizzical faces of several of the attendees, I am sure that I am not the only one questioning the motives of the priest or the stated mission. This is certainly not mentioned in the flyer!
Thoms eyes shine with mischief as he speaks, "You did not misread. You are here to participate in a tournament into the Ironium sub levels. There is much treasure... enough to make you wealthy men. Everything can be yours, with one small exception. There are books... books which can be easily identified by a trained eye. These books are to be brought back here, as a token of your love for Girzon. You do love Girzon, correct?"
As he speaks Thoms looks from one participant to the next, with his eyes lingering on Gaborik Masters and Jak'el Vorl as he speaks of 'trained eyes' ...
It's almost a hopeful expression that breaks across his fat, pock marked face. Although, his nose and blubber lend the hopeful expression a certain sinister aspect.
"I am sure Girzon would be... very happy should you return with the books." states Thoms with a cherubic malice in his eyes.
I should have read the signs better. Hell, I should have minded my own business. Always walk away during a deal when the original position is replaced with a less attractive alternative. The old “bait-and-switch” gets people every time. I should have known better, having to negotiate deals on a daily basis. Whenever the church asks for something they aren’t willing to do themselves, it is either too dangerous or they expect altruists apply due to their position (or in this case, both). Of course with the church of Girzon, questioning the mission at this point would brand me as a heretic. Unlike in most churches if you disagree, punishment is usually death or worse!
What have I gotten myself in to? I ask myself. More than I can handle obviously. But that is a story for another day...
Fascinating, absolutely fascinating. Great stuff - KutGW! :)
Excerpt from the Wall of Fate:
Name:
Kothas Darkhoof
Downfall:
Men feared the minot for his size and strength. The young minotaur was stubborn like many of his species and a strict atheist to boot. He sought escape from his life of servitude and took up arms in the pursuit of that escape. Unfortunately, mintuars are known for their grouping behavior, much like their bovine cousins. Even though the minot thought the reckless charge into unknown areas was stupid, he herded with his group as loyal as stock to the slaughter. To his credit, the minot managed to resists exploding, a crippling shot to the arm, a threatening warrior with a notch to his name, the spray of burning alchemists fire and bleeding out. Even though his arteries pumped blood onto the ground and his hand was next to useless and his skin and fur all afire, he yet lived. The young minot needed only the compassion of a fellow party member to whisk him to safety.
But, compassion is not an inquisitors strong point. He was left in the streets and long after his fellow party member vanished... long after a man he would have died for abandoned him, he was finally put out of his misery with one more crossbow bolt to the body. This time, it was fatal.
Have you ever suffered the poignant pangs of regret? Not the superfluous whimsy of wishing you had ordered the beef instead of the chicken or bedded one woman or another, but true regret. The kind that gnaws at your self-esteem and devours each waking moment?
Unfortunately, I have such a story – one of regret. As mentioned before, we had a mission. Not just any mission, either, but one of importance. In the streets of Orthanis, opportunities such as these do not come by very often. They must be wrested and seized with authority and conviction. Names are not made for you – they must be earned!
So how did I respond? How did I answer the call of destiny? I went shopping.
When you finish laughing, bear in mind that, at the time, I felt it important to secure a necessary tool which I believed to be vital to the mission’s success. In retrospect, I was a fool.
I abandoned the party shortly after introductions and never saw them again. Here is the beginning of our party's end, as everyone (except me remember) set off to the Ironium on the mission.
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This avenue is part of the Coins District - and many small shops, stalls, trading booths, and vendors of all types can be seen at every turn, in every direction. If it can be bought or sold - it is available in the Coins - for a price. People of all shapes and sizes can be seen going about their business, and the party is just one of many making their way from point A to point B.
As the party comes up to a small trading square, a slight altercation can be seen taking place about one block ahead. Apparently a cart has overturned, and a crowd of civilians is gathering to investigate the disturbance. Being on a small, busy side street it could be hours before any city watchmen show up to arbitrate the dispute - if ever - especially taking into account the fact a large parade is taking place not far from here.
The party prepares to move around the cart wreck - it looks as if there's also an injured horse upon the ground just around the corner to the east of the cart debris - anybody listening to one of the civilians involved can hear him complaining about his injured horse and how he'll never be able to replace her. Still - quite mundane, and the party has business elsewhere.
That's when deeper listening can here an impassioned, underlying voice trying to firmly and loudly speak over all the other voices in the vicinity. The voice is coming from the trading square to the east, around the corner, just out of view. The words, however, can be plainly heard...
"Does the sun not yet shine? Many of you believe what the false god Girzon wishes you to believe! But, have you taken a look at your crops? Have they withered and fell away from the lack of the gentle suns caress? Nae. They have but fed you in your true moment of need. They have fed you and kept you, even though you abandon the giver of gifts, the mistress of mercy! She is not dead! She merely slumbers the sleep of a betrayed princess! Nae! A betrayed Goddess is she! And yet she still feeds your unrepentant mouths. You still suckle at her bosom! Tell me, tell me true, how does a man god Girzon allow suckling at his breast? It cannae be done! Men are dry of the fruits of giving life. Dry as the docks of this cursed city! Only women give rays of hope and compassion and life. You and you and you have all and are being blessed by her shining womb as we speak. Beseech her to come back and turn the glow of the sun to brighter shades! Beseech her forgiveness of Mathalas and his cohorts of treachery! Beseech her now, and strike doom upon the gloom of Girzon!" .......
The man continues speaking, but you've heard enough to know this is BLASPHEMY!
One of the party members, a noble of House Klymeth, uttered the fateful words that triggered the actions that ended in death for all. Well, all but one.
"For each minute that mouth is permitted to utter its heresy, Girzon is ever more insulted," spits Barrdyn from the rear of the troupe, "We should cut his treasonous tongue from his mouth and present it at the Temple of the Dark Star!" With his diatribe complete, he looks to High Priest Masters for further instruction.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
The heretics were commoners. Rabble. Nobodies. But they had purpose. Purpose borne by fervent words and the indignities of life. They needed but a catalyst and this group gave it to them.
I was not there so I cannot share with you the specifics of the battle only to tell you that Jak’el, the Inquisitor I had mentioned previously, was the sole survivor of the ambush in the alley. A priest of Girzon and three able bodied warriors were cut down like wheat by a scythe. Their deaths would bring hope to the followers of Solara. Hope that would spark a rebellion. A rebellion that would shake the foundations of Orthanis.
Fate is a fickle woman that our party must have scorned that disastrous morning. If only I had not left the group. If only the party would have seen the signs of a trap. If only the party had worked as a team instead of a tentative collection of individuals.
Regret.
Regardless, Jak’el and I were to meet again but you can but contemplate the somber mood of that joining. But that, my friends, is a story for another day.
These are the last known writen words of Ioseph Xene, Speaker of Girzon. Found in his journal on the day of his demise, Starday, 11th of Rova.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Fireday, 10th of Rova.
We made it to the Gauntlet. No small feat concidering the civil war raging in the city, fires stroked by the Sons of Solara. But we made it through. The accolytes fullfilled their purpose. They were just what we needed to thin the ranks of disidents enough for us to dispatch them.
Not without effort though, our Legionair took it upon himself to charge the masses. I was foolish enough to follow him. He fell rather quickly but I managed to withdraw, only to be struck in the back by some unseen assailant.
Girzon. You were close to claiming me today. I would gladly have come, but you in your divinity saw fit to leave me here, in this existance, for now. I pray I can see your purpose in the tasks you set before me.
Meeting Grog again was an unplesant experience to tell the truth. Concidering the old man's warnings I would have liked nothing better than send him to see you, Great Girzon, but all those crossbows trained on us called for a more subtle approach. At least we all got through the door and down here to the Gauntlet.
The mite worker we met on the firt ledge was less then forthcoming with any information, but hopefully he will be more helpfull when he sobers up. Maybee giving him such strong alcohol wasn't such a good idea. But he liked it, and as a result liked me. That is what is important. He must share what he knows the miserable little creature.
But now I must rest. Stay with us father, guide our hands and our thought as we traverse these caverns in your name. See us through the dangers lurking in the darkness for you are the father and the master of everything.
I.X.
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Excerpt from the Wall of Fate, writen by Weaver.
Name:
Ioseph Xene
Downfall:
Ioseph talked like a dark angel with lips trembling in true fervor for Girzon. It was often noted that his belief was as pure as Abyssal snow... and once he managed to hook you with his words, rarely was there a chance for escape. His humble attitude often complimented his deep seeded evil nature. But, it was often difficult for the more callous minds to understand the bouquet of his vile intent. His death brought a multitude of (mostly women) to tears. But, none as much as a elderly instructor of blackguards who had come to like Ioseph as a son. With a limp and a bit of foresight, this man would later start a scholorship in honor of the black hearted Speaker of Girzon. This Xenic scholorship turned competitive... as many impoverished children attempted to out word each other for a cushy stipend and entry into the church. Within a few months time, it became an event within Orthanis to be watched by everyone. Everyone except the limping instructor and the dead Ioseph.
Ioseph was missed by many and the Gods enjoy his soul even to this day. Girzon did not punish Ioseph as his use extended far beyond his mortality.
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The steady, unnatural light cast by the magical spells reach out into the deep blackness and are absorbed. The shadows cast by the light reach out into the deepening gloom like hungry fingers, only to be absorbed into the limitless unknown.
The light bathes the goblinoid corpse in a clinical luminescence. Only several inches tall, it was clearly going to be difficult to determine the location and origin of these mouse sized creatures. Surely, a small gremlin such as this could dart into and out of cracks in the walls, hide behind random pebbles or pieces of rubbish, and seemingly appear or disappear at will.
A dessicated spider husk lays upon the ground, relieved of it's deadly contents. It is still attached to a fine woven filament that reaches up into the blackness, perhaps a delicate rope or piece of fishing twine. The suspicious, paranoid party creeps back into this layer of death, and all eyes keep drifting back to the molted carapace and the area of dusty hard packed cavern floor around it littered with the drying blood, phlem, and lung tissue of a recently deceased companion. This was where Ioseph had fallen, a party member and loyal supporter of Girzon.
Nobody can forget the shimmering magical scenes depicted in the blackness above the party - seemingly conjured - but by whom? What devious trickery had resulted in these devout followers of Girzon being viewed through magical conjurations as if they were merely rats in a maze? Who would dare suffer such an outrage?
And the party advances. Inch by inch, they scour the floor of the first chamber. The walls. Everything, looking for a sign. Any sign, anything. Any clue or piece of information that could be to their advantage. No set of skills or methodology can hide the cloying scent of desperation in the air, however - because all those gathered know it's only a matter of time before they must advance into the blackness and face the unknown...
Questions still remain. Who are those depicted in the conjured scenes? - this seeming audience. Parched throats and dry lips are more than a question - they are a demand for sustenance. What are these Gauntlet Gremlins? Where are they coming from? What do they want and most importantly... how can they be stopped? Their tiny spears cause little real damage, but in great numbers it's been shown that they can nearly cripple a fully equipped warrior in moments.
Under careful scrutiny the blackness beyond the light spells reveal more than just a fathomless unknown. Out there, in the abyss, there is a chaotic whirlwind of answers. Bravely, these adventurers set foot - inch by inch - into a vague shadow that is more than a question mark upon a shortened horizon - it is their destiny.
Well, their still alive. Not for long now, I hope. Especially that trice-damned elf. Damn him and his blasted rhyming, if I could affect the Gauntlet I would have paid everything I have to make him the prime target. He took my face, see. Him and that pale-faced lurker tried, and failed, to kill me. I was only doing my job, see. Then suddenly I'm a threat? Never done nothin to any of them, now... Nothing I know of anyway.
But I'm getting ahead of myself, now. Where are my maners. Allow me to intoduce myself. I am Gorg see, I am an entrepreneur for the Ironium Gauntlet. My job, you see now, is to set up events, procure competitors and acomodate spectators. But that, now, is'nt all there is. See, my real speciality now, is to secure investment capital from private sources. There's plenty of gold in the city of Orthanis, and plenty of hands willing to part with it for the right item or service, my job is to see it flowing. To see you part with your gold with a smile.
Not just anyone can come near this event, now. Only gold will get you into the competition and only more gold will allow you to spectate. See, the Gauntlet is a special event, a crawl through the most dangerous, trap-infested dungeon ever seen, now. Everything is a test see, everything can kill you. Ominous, yes? Dangerous, too.
I approched the church for this event, among others. I knew they would be interested in the prize, Girzon's faithfull. The holy texts of a dead godess, Solara, godess of the Sun. But I knew her faithfull would be interested as well. What, now? You think me treacherous? Not at all. I am a simple buisness man, I do what is good for buisness, this is a show after all. As I said, only gold can get you in and more gold will allow you to spectate and interrest is through the roof. The scrying room is filled, every mirror is spoken for. See now? Good for buisness.
So I watch now, watch and wait. I have procured enough gold of this event to die a rich man in the dusk of my years. I will not be around to see if they triumph over the Gauntlet or not, I will be long gone. Far to the east now, to the contested lands where I will live as a king of the churche's gold see. But for now, see, I watch through one of the scrying mirrors, hoping for the demise of the trice-damned elf and his companions. One is already dead now. More will follow.
What drives a man to hate? Better yet, what drives a hatred so consuming that self-preservation is secondary when it comes to acting on that emotion?
I am reminded of a story, told to me by my surrogate mothers in the brothel.
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One day, a scorpion looked around at the mountain where he lived and decided that he wanted a change. So he set out on a journey through the forests and hills. He climbed over rocks and under vines and kept going until he reached a river.
The river was wide and swift, and the scorpion stopped to reconsider the situation. He couldn't see any way across. So he ran upriver and then checked downriver, all the while thinking that he might have to turn back.
Suddenly, he saw a frog sitting in the rushes by the bank of the stream on the other side of the river. He decided to ask the frog for help getting across the stream.
"Greetings Frog!" called the scorpion across the water, "Would you be so kind as to give me a ride on your back across the river?"
"Well now, Mr. Scorpion! How do I know that if I try to help you, you wont try to kill me?" asked the frog hesitantly.
"Because," the scorpion replied, "If I try to kill you, then I would die too, for you see I cannot swim!"
Now this seemed to make sense to the frog. But he asked. "What about when I get close to the bank? You could still try to kill me and get back to the shore!"
"This is true," agreed the scorpion, "But then I wouldn't be able to get to the other side of the river!"
"Alright then...how do I know you wont just wait till we get to the other side and THEN kill me?" said the frog.
"Ahh...," crooned the scorpion, "Because you see, once you've taken me to the other side of this river, I will be so grateful for your help, that it would hardly be fair to reward you with death, now would it?!"
So the frog agreed to take the scorpion across the river. He swam over to the bank and settled himself near the mud to pick up his passenger. The scorpion crawled onto the frog's back, his sharp claws prickling into the frog's soft hide, and the frog slid into the river. The muddy water swirled around them, but the frog stayed near the surface so the scorpion would not drown. He kicked strongly through the first half of the stream, his flippers paddling wildly against the current.
Halfway across the river, the frog suddenly felt a sharp sting in his back and, out of the corner of his eye, saw the scorpion remove his stinger from the frog's back. A deadening numbness began to creep into his limbs.
"You fool!" croaked the frog, "Now we shall both die! Why on earth did you do that?"
The scorpion shrugged, and did a little jig on the drownings frog's back.
"I could not help myself. It is my nature."
Then they both sank into the muddy waters of the swiftly flowing river.
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Self destruction. A foreign concept to one who strives for self preservation at all costs.
So ends the reign of the Triad. A tale of self destruction that will surely rival that of the scorpion.
So ends their devisive ways. So ends their torment, their ridicule, their selfishness.
Good riddance says Girzon, for he has spoken. His will is done.
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... and there was a time when the people, the animals, all the things lived as one...
... and they lived throughout the expanses of the earth and the seas, there was peace...
... and through the veil of peace they came...
... and they brought pestilence...
... and they brought war...
... and they brought greed...
... and they brought DEATH...
... and they were people, people with weapons, people with magic, people with power...
... and the people brought GODS...
... and throughout the lands was sewn strife, chaos...
... and there was a great darkness...
... and the darkness cried out to itself, the darkness sought mercy from the only thing it had left, the blackness of itself...
... and there was an answer...
... and the people knew GIRZON, the people spoke his name, the darkness became BLACK...
... and the people took the black, the people used the black as a weapon...
... and the GODS knew GIRZON, the GODS feared GIRZON, for they believed in him, the people believed in him...
... and the GODS knew fear, for the people no longer believed in them, the GODS had no power over the people...
... and the fear consumed them, the GODS were no more...
... and GIRZON spoke to the people, through his prophet...
... and the prophet said "When all that has come is gone, and all that is to come has come to pass, then you will know that what has passed is yet to come"...