Description
A small, horribly deformed being stands before you. His bald misshapen head
is covered in scars leisions and appears to even have dents in places. This
poor horrifying creature exudes a nearly palpable aura of disquiet. Is it his
off-kilter blue gaze, peering out of that wretchedly scarred face, piercing
as an arrow and cold as ice? Maybe it's his armor and weaponry, dented, well
used and spattered with dried droplets of blood. Perhaps it's simply his way
of standing very close to you and not moving, clearly listening to a sound
that seems to be unheard by anyone around him.
His arms, wrists and hands are criss-crossed with large scars, carved into a
delicate pattern from an unknown source. The rest of him is also terribly
scarred. Burns, gouges, even the odd bite mark are clear on his maimed frame.
Both arms and legs seem to almost be crooked from having been broken multiple
times, and his cold blue eyes seem to radiate some inner torment and yet at
the same time exhultation. His grace is still evident, despite his surface
deformaties. He seems almost to have ceased his healing at a certain point,
desiring the physical markings of his injuries. Even healed many of the scars
seem livid and still fresh. Slender yet muscular in the way of the elves,
his stance is that of a panther coiled and ready to strike. A panther made
all the more dangerous by his obvious disease.
Role
Testament to a fallen foe
Added Mon Feb 7 19:33:08 2005 at level 51:
***Here hangs a strange mural. The portrait is of a huge fire-giant warrior,
clad in dark armor. The figure stands tall and proud, his chin in the air in
haughty defiance of all things in this world. Massive hands clasp a matching
pair of swords of the blackest pitch, and a pair of equally dark maces hangs
from his belt. The face of the giant is twisted into a snarl of hatred, and
his eyes are beady and shine with a raw animal cunning. His stance is set
wide, and you can almost hear the armor creak and groan from the weight of
the bulging muscles encased in the leather and steel. The background of the
figure is blackness, and appears to contain many many gleaming yellow eyes
watching the figure and perhaps even yourself. Peering closer at this
disturbing image, you realize the entire mural is comprised of thousands and
thousands of tiny butterfly wings, all carefully ripped from the body of the
beautiful creatures and laid out with exquisite care here. Innocent beauty
used for such a masterpiece and testament to the strength and ferocious will
of one giant warrior.***
The cleansing of Udgaard
Added Tue Feb 1 17:23:27 2005 at level 51:
***Your attention is drawn to a thick black plume of smoke, rising from the
mountains to the north. As you draw closer to the source you see the wasted
gates of Udgaard laying open. The only sound to be heard is the gentle
crackle of flames, the barking of dogs, and the quiet chant of the
child-priests of this benighted city. Looking through the gates you see a
huge funeral pyre, upon which are heaped the corpses of the entire population
of the town. Throwing the bodies upon the fire is a man swathed in black
robes. As his robes part during his movements, you see golden plate armor
beneath the robes, bearing the mark of the Phoenix upon them. Aiding him in
his task are one or two kindly looking folk from the town. For the time being
at least, you sense the taint lifted from this city, despite the streets and
gutters being choked with drying blood and gore. Sticking up out of the
center of the darkened altar to the twisted gods of evil is a large two
handed sword made of green crystal, thrust cleanly through the cold marble.
The sword appears to be elven in design and craft, delicate and deadly. ***
another interpretation of a former subject
Added Tue Jan 18 23:52:12 2005 at level 51:
***Swinging from a tree here is a statue carved from what appears to be a
block of solid salt. The figure is elvish in nature, his delicate body
looking much like that of any elfkin. This elfkin however appears to have a
broken neck. His face however elfin, strongly resembles that of another
statue you have seen. Looking closer, the statue does not appear to be that
of a strung-up elflord so much as an elflord whose neck snapped under the
pressure of having his nose planted so firmly in the air, the rope and tree
merely the display, and not the cause of the broken neck.The rope in fact is
looped under the statues arms, as if an invisible force holding this
benighted figure aloft for so long.***
A tale overheard in a tavern
Added Sun Jan 2 06:44:39 2005 at level 47:
A tale overheard in a tavern...
So yeah, thats what I were sayin, Eshval. Wazzat? Naw, I aint never heard of
no paladin what followed her, but I'll tell ya what I DID hear, iffn you
wanna maybe buy a fella some ale.
Ahh, goddamn thats some good cold ale, just like momma usedta make it. Oh
right, your story. Well lemmie start by sayin I dunno the guy what started
this story, but my cousins sisters uncle knew someone what was there for it
and SWEARS it really happened. What? How the hell should I know when, you
wanna shut up and lemmie tell my story? Ok thanks...
See, once upon a time, there was this guy. he was the Captain of some
Fortress thing out in the mountains. Huh? Yeah, that may be the one, now shut
up and lemmie finish. So's this guys name were Noref or somesuch. Well this
Norbert fella did somethin to one of Eshvals kids...What? No I dunno who the
father was, now you want me to finish the story? Okay then. Anyways, if you
know anythin about the Muse, you know the only thing she loves more'n a good
slaughter is her children. So she decided to give this Nubob guy some
payback, and have a laugh at the same time.
So Eshval slipped somethin in the stream what feeds the fountain in that
Fortress. Nothin fatal mind ya, a'cause the Skyborn woulda noticed. This was
purifyin type water, but since what she put in it weren't REAL poison, Shokai
aint noticed. So the whole damn Fortress came down with stomach cramps, and
the one what had em the worst since he spent all his time hidin inside was
this Nareb guy. Wazzat? No, I dunno what she put in their water, prolly some
of that swill Olin sells and tries to pass off as wine. HA!
So's Eshval disguised herself as a travellin gypsy, and came calling on the
Fortress. She convinced the fella at the gate she was just lookin for a place
to shelter for the night, since it were snowin outside. That night over
dinner, Eshval were tellin her hosts what she does for a livin, and mentioned
she could help cure the ills of any who may need her, in payment for her
nights shelter. Well, bein the kinda guy this Norbert were, he made a big
show of not acceptin nothin for her shelter, then had a squire go and get her
from her room later that night. He said he wanted to try out her folk remedy
for his upset stomach but "didn't wanna risk anyone else, so he was willin to
try it first".
Wha? Yeah I know. Lyin shite. Anyways, Eshval said she'd be glad to and gave
Nafer an "examination" and after she were done she told em he was carryin a
baby! Well Nurfe was what we'll call....trustin. Yeah, I guess gullible would
be another word for it, now lemmie finish. So she tells Naref everyone in the
Fort is feelin his pain and thats why theys all sick, but it were just him
whats havin a baby. So she convinced him the only way ta get the baby out,
were to use this special oil she had, to help ease the babies passage out.
Huh? Oh yeah, thats where the oil went alright. Yeech.
So anyways, Eshval gave Narew the "cure" right up the wazoo. Then she grabbed
the biggest cork she could find and stoppered em up. Then she painted his
arse purple, and left him layin facedown on his bed. Huh? I dunno why purple,
maybe she just likes purple. Now shut the hell up already and lemmie finish!
So Narefs layin there, oil up his
A statue of Naref
Added Thu Dec 23 20:13:07 2004 at level 39:
***Here sits a small obsidian statue. Looking closer you notice the statue
is of a dwarf, resplendant in fine robes and armor, but cringing slightly.
The subject of the statue appears to be touching his posessions, as if to be
reassured of their being there still. His armor is carved with precision and
a wonderful eye to detail, the emblem of the Phoenix clearly emblazoned on
its chest. The features of the statues face equally so. The statue seems to
almost come to life before you, looking at the eyes however you notice they
are firmly closed, blinding the subject to all save it's own little world of
fear and armor, and what it carries with it, blind to all but material things
and cowardice. The face of this statue is hauntingly familiar.***
A simple black pedestal in front of the Fortress
Added Thu Dec 16 01:25:31 2004 at level 36:
*** High on a charred and blackened pedastal is the carefully preserves
remains of an elflord. He is naked, his posture as proud and haughty as any
elfs. Confidence oozes from his bodies position...and his head is held in his
outstretched hands. The face registers shock and surprise. The eyes have been
gouged out, and from the state of decomposition, it seems that he was quite
blinded at the time of his death. Perhaps from overconfidence....***
See no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil.
Added Sat Dec 11 16:22:05 2004 at level 30:
***A carefully sculpted bit of fleshworking lays before you. At first glance,
it appears to be no more than a circle of mutilated bodies. However as you
look closer you notice the careful and precise positioning of the limbs and
bodies. You recognize two of the corpses.
The corpse of Skologar the fire giant has his hands firmly held in place over
his mouth, his own dagger pinning them there and exiting the back of his
head.
The second is the bruised and bloated corpse of Slyphur. You notice his hands
are held in place over his eyes, a barbed whip having been tied around his
head to hold them in place.
The third and final corpse has been mangled beyond recognition, but you
notice Imperial emblems on his armor and clothing. His identity however has
been lost due to his decomposition, and you realize he must have been the
first to fall. His hands have each been nailed in place firmly over his ears.
Each corpse is positioned to have the top of it's head firmly inside of the
rear end of the corpse above it, creating a perfect circle of death, dark
humor, and art. ***
You sense your attention drawn by a prayer to the mists of Theras past...
Added Sat Dec 11 16:19:53 2004 at level 30:
A great broad circle is carved in the ground of the Forbidden forest. Trolls
of all sizes, shapes and descriptions are here. At first glance they appear
to be holding hands, but as you look closer you see their hands have been
removed, and their wrists pressed to their fellows so they regenerate bonded
together. They are linked in three concentric circles, twined in their still
living agony. A quiet prayer can be heard, and the trolls burst into flame
one by one, a swirling pattern of light and agony winding its way around the
clearing. The remains lie smoking on the ground, a reminder to other trolls
and indeed to the heavens themselves that a True Artiste has been here.
A tale told to a child
Added Sat Nov 27 23:53:57 2004 at level 13:
A tale told to a child
Once, there was a young girl. Her name has long since been lost to the sands
of time, but for our purposes we'll call her "She". She was good, and
virtuous and full of all of the things people are told are important in the
world. She lived a good and virtuous life, doing good deeds, helping those
less fortunate and denying the call of the flesh to commit sin.
One day She was walking home, and saw a snake in the grass. An ox-cart had
run it over, and the snake lay like a broken stick cast to the side of the
road. So the woman took the serpent home with her, and bundled it up int he
finest blanket in her home. For weeks She would hold the snake close to her
bosom, using her own body to keep the beast warm. Fat grubs she would bring
from the garden, to hand feed them to the mangled snake.
After time the snake grew fat and complacent. One night the woman approached
him, and he rolled over, anticipating another fine meal. The woman smiled,
atsroked the snakes head once, and lopped off his head with a cleaver. That
evening, She dined on some of the best snake soup She had ever had. Why, do
you ask, did She do this? Sometimes, a seeming act of kindness is nothing
more than practicality, and those who seem to be the devourers, are
themselves devoured.
The moral you ask? Few things are as they seem, and complacency kills.
A story told by a child.
Added Sat Nov 13 22:25:11 2004 at level 1:
A tale told by a child.
A tale told by a child.
Once, there was a little boy. He was born to a loving family, who lived in a
big house in the trees and had everything he wanted growing up. Nobody was
ever mean to him and everyone liked him and wanted to be his friend.
God how he loathed them all.
Not a one of them could see the things the little boy saw. None of them could
hear the songs that he could hear. nobody else savored the same smells. Was
it the boys fault that he could see the spirits of the dead as they let go of
the mortal coil and drifted off, perfect in their beauty? Was it his fault
the siren songs of the death rattle made his contemporaries shudder with
revulsion, rather than make their hearts sing with joy? The smells of decay
were to him as the smells of a fresh spring day were to his companions.
Why then, did his worship of the beauty he alone could see shock others? His
folk were taught to revere death, and yet he was shunned and punished for
doing just that. One day, the boy had an epiphany.
His folk FEARED death! They did not hold it in reverence as they all claimed,
they held it in pure naked terror. His disgust for their cowardice grew
daily, gnawing at his gut. But one day, the little boy was not so little. One
day the little boy was no longer held down by the constraints of his family.
One day, the little boy heard of a place where those who may be his true
kindred went to find their spiritual path....and he lived happily ever after.
Until he died.
a final work
Added Sun Mar 6 21:34:08 2005 at level 51:
***Here hangs a truly horrific and disturbing painting. The main focus of the
painting is a naked, maimed elflord. His pale skin is covered in horrible
deep gouges and blood streams freely from many wounds upon his body. Clutched
in both of his hands is an immense sword of unknown origin, the blade
wreathed in a searing black fire. Around this elf beings cavort and fight,
twist about each other in a dance of death. Looking closer at the beings you
notice they appear to be devils and angels, the like of which you have never
seen before. The angels are hideous and mangled, their visages that of long
dead cherubs. Tattered wings and faces twisted up into hatred adorn the
angels. The devils by contrast are beautiful, stunning really. Perfect faces
and bodies the Lords themselves may very well kill to posess, the seduction
of man is clear within their slanted red eyes. Around and around the elf they
cavort the devils cajoling, the angels commanding, and as they war with each
other the elf clearly wars within himself. As you think on this troubling
message, you catch the painting from another light and it seems there are two
dark eyes amidst the darkness above this figure, watching all with a patience
and love and hunger for the struggle this being wages constantly, without and
within. Those unblinking dark eyes captivate and enthrall you...***