Jump to content

  • Log in with Facebook Log in with Twitter Log In with Google      Sign In   
  • Create Account

Welcome to BZPower!

Hi there, while we hope you enjoy browsing through the site, there's a lot more you can do if you register. Some perks of joining include:
  • Create your own topics, participate in existing discussions, and vote in polls
  • Show off your creations, stories, art, music, and movies
  • Enter contests to win free LEGO sets and other prizes
  • Participate in raffles to win LEGO prizes
  • Organize with other members to attend or send your MOCs to LEGO fan events all over the world
  • Much, much more!
Enjoy your visit!

Photo

A Rude Awakening: The Visions of Thasos, as recorded by Iaredios

collection prehistoric greani a rude awakening concept

  • Please log in to reply
4 replies to this topic

#1 Offline The Hip Historian Iaredios

The Hip Historian Iaredios
  • Members
  • Kohrak-Kal Attacks!

  • 10-April 07
  • 2,834 posts
  •  

Posted Feb 15 2017 - 05:44 AM

the_visions_of_thasos.png

 

line.gif

 

>visions_of_thasos_review_topic_banner.pn<

 

line.gif

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

visions_of_thasos_introduction.png

 

 

The storm had passed and the sky was filtered by sepia gold, matching clouds hung low but were no longer dark in wroth. The waters of the ancient sea now calmed like the heart of the ship-wrecked fisher. His once-thought immortal anger had died and been reborn into partial understanding, and plenty of confusion, but overall peace. His body unconscious, he floated among the waves of the grounded sea as his mind floated through the seas of time and space. He saw things he thought impossible. Things many would find as blasphemy. Clouds, both earthly and interstellar flew past him, was well as close stars twinkling and lightning flashing, inhabited aerial oceans between the stars and rippling rainbow ponds, and ground growing and receding and changing color, black and brown did the hard porous stone shift before the untouching tired standing of the fisherman’s soul or mind. Which of the two he did not know, perhaps they were one.  Away from the bounds of infinity and upon a large floating rock in the mortal plane, he lived breathless, face-down into the water-world from whence he emerged a little while ago.

 

 It was when finally his body approached the beach of the southwest, and when his fingers slid across the wet muddy sand his mind returned from the distant known and unknown, something cracking in his mind. The images flashed before closed eyes, the fantasy of reality. His drowning body close to the murky sea floor of liquid sand, the sea beneath the sea, the earth ready to devour his corpse. His eyes red with the pain of dying and blood vessels pulsing white before his pupils as the monster emerged from the brine. The memories flashed:  the beast with skin of living stone and runes of glowing blue and eyes to match, spread out the branching gills on its neck and throat, and spoke to his mind, claiming coming peace to the soul at war. The behemoth put its head under the fallen body, and when it sunk onto a large rune of light between the eyes, the beast opened his prickle-toothed mouth and shouted the name of the corpse-to-be in a voice deep enough to rival the deepest trench.

 

THASOS

 

And with the ringing of the powerful shout his brown eyes darted open, and starving lungs pounded so hard that the man flung his head back into an arched neck with hair over his face and gasped like his first breath decades before, the echoes making many a creature take flight before he collapsed. His entire body washed up onto the white beach, his tired hands grasping the clumpy erosion as he attempted to view the land’s horizon and the sky beyond through the curtain of wet dark mane that veiled his sight. What felt like – and probably was – an hour had passed, and he began to finally crawl forward, the weight of exhaustion still tying him back. His green and brown skin tinged in burning from old Solis Magna. He attempted with failure to get up on his feet, three times the charm did the trick and up he went with a steady groan and a chorus of spinal pops. He looked around himself, his view of the world returning as the sepia filter waned and found his blade sheathed by his side, but his trident and the powered mask of his forefathers was missing. Not having the Mask of Mailflesh saddened him, he had grown to rely on this family relic and the loss meant losing a reminder of his father, but perhaps it was for the best and that hatchet be buried. His mind pierced, forcing him to continue. Foot prints, the first of them leveled by the waves, followed Thasos into the semi-arid plains of the New Land he found himself in. He thought some then commented in a parched utterance:  

 

And so I finally return to the homeland of the artificial bane of my people: Neateir.

 

“Lead forward then.”

 

 

In starvation Thasos picked the resources of the camp of his enemies after discovering it, and even crippled them so the devilish Metal Men of the Sea and their warlord Takadox wouldn’t be invading his home of Ketoteir while he was away to appease the beacon that held his leash. He left the light brush and travelled down the beach enjoying the fruits of his labors. Later, he noticed that as he made his way down the beach and eventually docks, none of the fisher-men and sailors recognized him. He had slain many of their lot after they slew many of his own. The Tajunites had over extended their fishing waters and reaped the food of his people, and he defended Ketoteir then too.  He touched his scarred, bearded face with a smirk.

 

If only they knew who they walked past, I might actually be overwhelmed by the infuriated thieves. I see now why the mask was lost…

 

Night fell and Thasos stood before the walls of Tajun. He was commanded to go in there, the home of his foes. The walls were not the best, but from what he heard from the sailors and fishers on the beaches and docks, Tajun was ruined decades before in a war against half-giants. Men made of metal and flesh, half-giants? What sort of world was this? Ketoteir had been cut off from the lands to the east for thousands of years and so only some passed word of rumor and news reached his homeland; but many saw the clash of the titans and everyone saw the effects of their battle. Especially the homeland, the Whale Land, the return of the seas and the spread of green made the islands paradisiac, but also brought on new challenges.

 

These thoughts came and went as Thasos found a gutter at the base of the wall, and was able to dislodge the temporary barring before replacing it and skulking about in the moonlit ravine city. Special white-blue fire danced in lanterns held by post and being alike, likewise held by both guardsmen and walking citizens. Much of the population had people like himself, agori of various ethnicities, but also the metal people like the ones who terrorize his homeland, but here they seem more peaceful and ill wanting of harm. Not all are like monsters he has faced. He looked down and sighed, and then looked up and smiled as he snuck through one of the street-levels of the canyon settlement and looked inside of the wall-carved homes that had yet to retire to bed. By the light of the white-blue fires and common orange fires, many a family and friends were laughing, and crying, and eating, and all around enjoying their company. They may be different, but really they were all just like his own people. There were wide ramps with stairs to the side that connect the levels of Tajun, so he took one and exited the white cliff-road before entering the next. Thasos felt the urge to go in a certain direction, admiring the view of the city as the central shallow river at the bottom glittered in Dimmelykt’s moonlight beneath a stretching grail, and continued until the urge stopped in front of a door, and he sighed, and began thinking of ways to explain before eventually and hesitantly knocking on the metal door. The weight in his brain had to be lifted.

 

 

line.gif

 

 

A heightful agori of sand-blue skin tossed and turned in his bed. He felt the nightmare as if he were there again. It flashed about him, initially in the distance, then up-close until the pale ghost was in his face, the texture of its mask being navigable to the eye lit by the glitter of a red jewel it was so close in proximity. It’s white bandaged hand crept out of the equally pale sleeve and grasped the bumpy forehead of the agori, and with it flashes of a purple crystal in an eastern desert, and metallic rocks in the sky from beyond the clouds floating down towards the ground. Then there was the image of a tall being in a golden robe being visible only by its back as a white light glowed in front of the figure from a pit and a humming grew louder until the man bolted upward in a shower of sweats and shakes to the sound of knocking on his bolted door.

 

The agori breathed deeply, and listened. He was already scared from the vision, but he knew he heard knocking, and so listened for it to come again before letting his paranoia take over. He sat up shirtless on his bed, stiff as a statue, before getting out of bed gently and going to put an undershirt on, his eyes unblinking in doe-eyed fright as his ears concentrated. Suddenly, the knocking happened again. His heart began racing, and the tall man walked over quietly to unsheathe a short sword and hold it ready. He walked out of his room and approached the windowless door, standing outside before it as the knocking came again, this time a little harder. A single hard knock pounded on the door and the resident peeped in fright. A grizzled voice in a slight accent spoke softly but sternly.

 

 

“I hear you little mouse. Open the door at once, I intend no harm. I need your help.”

 

The resident stood in fear. He felt sincerity in the man’s voice, but his paranoia told him to not open the door.  He must have waited too long as another pound sounded on the door. He mustered his strength to speak finally.

 

“If you truly intend no harm, then please stop banging on the door, it doesn’t inspire confidence.”

 

Not to mention it might attract guards

 

“What do you want?”

 

The stranger hesitated, then replied, “I need someone who can read and write, and I was told to come see you”.

 

 

 

The resident then lifted a barrier on his door to reveal a peep-hole, and concluded that he was no Skrall. But he seemed kind of wild: He had unkempt hair that was damp, a green and brown face littered with scars, a short beard, and wore ripped up clothing. This guy sure has seen a thing or two, he thought. His curiosity almost got the better of him and almost unlocked the door, but checked himself, readied his sword, and asked another question. It was a bold one, but he thought it couldn’t hurt.

 

“Do you work for any skrall?”

 

The man outside sounded confused and replied, “What? What are Skrall? My patience is running thin and I have a headache, let me in already!”

 

The sand-blue man was dumbfounded by his response. What?! How does he not know what Skrall are? Who is this guy??

 

There the resident’s curiosity got the better of him and he unlocked the many locks of his door and opened it for the stranger. The first thing the stranger saw was the tired, completely confused face of the man he needed to speak to, and it made him grin. The sand-blue agori asked him in bewilderment with the sword still in his raised arm, “Who the heck are you??”

 

 

 

“My name is Thasos: sailor, fisherman, and guardian of Ketoteir. Now get that blade out of my face,” He said and then simply backhanded the sword out of the person’s grasp like he just swatted a fly.

 

Thasos observed the house-dweller: He was taller than he imagined, actually just a thumb taller than himself, had a white undershirt on and long gray underwear, brown wavy hair and a reddish-brown trimmed beard, with darkness around his eyes. Thasos walked into the house without permission and looked around with his head, noticing some displayed artwork and a table filled with papers, before turning it to the side and spoke to the resident, “And what’s your name, mouse?”

 

 

 

“It’s… Iaredios…” He replied. He couldn’t believe who had walked into his house, a living legend, more of an infamous one in the city in which he made his home. If Iaredios so inclined, he could get the guard and get reward money for getting an enemy of the city-state. But greed is not his passion and saw it for being only useful for basic needs and wants.

 

He snapped out of his disbelief and described himself, “Hello Thasos, my name is Iaredios, and I am a chronicler. I collect things of historical value and write scrolls pertaining to things of the past and current events. I am guessing this is why you are here?”

 

“Yes”, Thasos simply replied. Iaredios approached him and held out his hand, which Thasos saw and turned around to answer with a shake. The blue man noticed that his newfound guest smelled awful but tried his best to ignore it.

 

“You are far away from home, why in the world are you all the way here in Tajun, at my home, at this ungodly hour?” he said and proceeded with a yawn.

 

“I… I do not know exactly, Yardos. I was blindly led here by a beckoning. I just know that the weight in me needs to be lifted, and to do that it must be written down. You fit the bill I suppose, yes?”

 

“…A ‘beckoning’?” A part of Iaredios questioned the fisherman’s sanity, but his spiritual outlook on the world had him intrigued over the wording. “I guess I do fit. But I must ask if we can do this when the sun rises? It is in the dead of night, man. And my name is Iaredios.”

 

“That's what I said. I guess we can, but at least some of the weight must be lifted immediately, and I will not take no for an answer. The sea beast has cursed me with visions that haunt me and give me mental pain until they are moved. Prepare a blank scroll, scribbler, and tell me when you are ready, and I will pour out to you what comes to the surface of this inner storm.”

 

 

 

Iaredios didn’t understand some of what was said but felt like he had little choice in the matter. The use of the word scribbler reminded him of a close encounter with the Skrall in the north, but focused on the task at hand. He closed the door and locked it, and gathered a blank scroll and ink and quill after clearing room on the table. Iaredios went to fetch a white robe and lit the lantern above the table with the white-blue fire used by Tajunites, and sat down. Thasos came over to the table and sat down in one of the spare chairs, and stared into open space as he opened his mind to the expansive library that was forced upon him, and his mind went through the expanses of time and space in the confines that were revealed to him.

 

So he began, and the chronicler wrote with haste…  


Edited by Iaredios the Desert Dude, Feb 19 2017 - 04:16 AM.

  • 0

line.gif

mqdefault.jpg

A RUDE AWAKENING - A Spherus Magna redo (HEAD DEVELOPER) | Tzais-Kuluu  |  Pushing Back The Tide  |  Last Words  |  Black Coronation  | Blue Man Bound | Visions of Thasos   ن

    Farts are just the ghosts of that which we ate                                                               -                                                                 D r e a m s. They're the hurricanes that wash the soul-filth from the super-dome of the night-mind.


#2 Offline The Hip Historian Iaredios

The Hip Historian Iaredios
  • Members
  • Kohrak-Kal Attacks!

  • 10-April 07
  • 2,834 posts
  •  

Posted Feb 19 2017 - 03:16 AM

fall_of_roshtakh_black_rain_banner.png

 

 

 

Thasos took a deep breath, and began to speak of a world he barely recognized, a life he never lived. Iaredios would make small comments to Thasos about some information but otherwise would write down in silent awe as to what was being said to him, the language used making him wide awake in wonder and terror...

 

 

“According to that which I see, it is many thousands of years before the Battle of Bara Magna, before the Shattering of Paradise and the Rise of the Gods of Knowledge. It is a world dominated by darkness, where tall red demons from a snowy, black country ruled the known world across two continents. Their crimes against all that is sacred including the raw devouring of slaves, the abuse of their wives and daughters, and unspeakable things I refuse to describe in the tongues of mortality: dark rites in the name of their darker gods, those malevolent wraiths of corruption, named Krahagnu in forgotten tongues, shaped as inky-tar housed in wells, cave pools, and swamps, their home being a Black Sea from beyond the dark expanses of the Wall of Stars.

 

"It was only before the rise of these tall demons, or Jijanta as you keep telling me, that the secret of steel had been discovered to the rest of the known world, and so the fortifications of lost cities and wonders of the Birth Lands of Geneteira and beyond stood no chance against the red tide from the north, the boulder walls of the first city and the mud-brick houses ruined as temples of evil were built over them and un-gnawed agori bones alike. The mass abuses to the women across the lands created a new race, the half-giant Skrall I presume, and they were the enforcing arms of this evil machine that lasted Seven Centuries. This era would begin to end with the birth of a green Skrall from the borders of the Dark Country, and his torchlight shining a path to the future in this lost world. He is known only to the expanses of time as the Green-One, praised as the Unearthly after his martyrdom and his city named in his holiness. His name will be translated by future generations into the branching tongues of our world’s native inhabitants. Ah, the library within, it tells me, his name by birth is of his people, the title after his death given by those he saved.

 

"His name, was Greani Ateir."

 

 

 

line.gif

 

 

 

It has been thirty years since the eastern reaches of the New Land was settled by the Green-One after him and his nation of resistance fled Bota Magna or Vora'nkaj from the advancing legions of the darkness, who sought to crush the abominable pest before he inspired other rebellions. They escaped Bota Magna and crossed the Barrier Desert, where their enemies thought of the rebels dead, but there still live some of those that passed the desert all those years ago, raising a generation of free agori and skrall.

 

Soon after Greani arrived a group of his people left to make a second city up the Skrall River, pledging loyalty to their holy king but never fully explaining why. Unbeknownst to him, these people were shadow worshipers who had journeyed with Greani in the aim to hurt his efforts. The place of their settlement would be an ancient burial ground for the ancients that came before them, and also be a place with thin spiritual barriers. These secretive founders destroyed what ruins remained and built the city in the design of a symbol that would serve as a beacon to call forth local dark gods in the Second Heaven that is the Wall of Stars. By the nature of the Krahagnu, they told their ilk to the east in the Dark Country to command their worshipers to gather their forces and head west across the Great Mountains of the north and south to Roshtakh to meet with reinforcements. It would take time, but eventually three decades later the demonic ones came in a flood, and those families, some even those of the cultists, fell to the horrors of outer space.  When it came, a bladesman of renown escaped the doom and went to the City on the Skrall River to meet with his brother in his last dying breath, for the Enemy had dampened him deeply. Stratha fell before him, and crawled to his throne as nearly a corpse.

 

 

 

“See now how the evil writhes over his skin! How the crawling, webbing shade ripples over his dermis like the ink of a pen! Sorrow-spake I say to thee: Say now, before thine untimely demise by holy sword, where did ye get infected by this oil of corruption?!”

 

“End it lord, please stop these things from taking my soul, the creeping brings only searing cold”

 

“Fear not brother Stratha my loyal blade, mine shall be with you shortly. Verily, I do weep for thee, but first, grant me this last request and tell me from whence thine felling began?”

 

“Yes holy king! To the north, to the east! Twain compass points’ hence way.  ‘Twas there that the black of the night sky itself seeped and dripped onto our once great city, our once great country. They, lit by the reflection of the lunar light of Dimmelykt, looked similar to falling stars. The plains and hills set in the shadow of the Great Mountains have grown with the falling of the Black Rain. Roshtakh has fallen to the Black Rain.

 

...the Black Rain…

 

…the Black Rain…”

 

 

 

As the demonic matter neared total consumption, the green skrall lifted his blade of light and cut down the neck of his fallen soldier with a personal wince of regret.  He sat on his throne with watery eyes, and lowered his forehead into a lone palm, arm planted onto the armchair, and with hesitation, he ordered the corpse of his friend to be burned immediately before him. Liquid leaked that night, and screams echoed across the realm of settled Neateir. It dripped from the gleaming blade, red. It trailed down the cheek of a monarch, clear. It fell from the sky, ebony. They sounded in the throne room, as the fire consumed the entities in the shade, and they sounded in the distant city, as the shades consumed the beings and land it conquered.

 

Woe to the Nealites perished by this massacre. But sevenfold goes the woe to the darkness that stirred the cool embers of this mighty king, his heart a furnace of wrath whose flames climb higher and higher, barely tempered by his mental control. No more tears were to be shed upon this night, the floodgates closed, all evidence remaining upon this scarred and worn face are twain dry river paths from burning lake-eyes of fire. His name was Greani, surnamed Ateir by the masses of whom he has saved and led, and with closed eyes that stung in relief and a head still held by a grasping hand, he saith forth to all who could hear with a powerful voice of commanding cool strength that crawled up in decibel with impatient and articulate sloth:  

 

 

“This evil has haunted me ever since my conception. I can feel the blood of my father calling to bow before these blobs. But like I slew him, these monsters will meet their fate, likewise by my sharp wit and will.”

 

 

He removed his hand from his head, fist-folded his fingers and slammed down upon a now-pulsing thigh, pain numbed by heated anger but darted his eyes open in widened fury. With a soaring voice of terrible power, he announced to all in that crowd which grew around poor Stratha:

 

“All who hear me listen well, for I make an oath here before Grunkhar the Great, the force from beyond who has been most kind to us so far. The dark gods that have wiped out families I knew and liberated will be avenged, as well as loyal Stratha who gave his life in riding here with haste tonight to warn us all. No soul shall be left unavenged!  All those that worship the creeping shade from beyond the Wall of Stars and the deep caverns of the earth will be put to death if they not repent! Those fallen of my hybrid race shall perish if they do not swear allegiance to me! And those tall monsters who resemble men but are surface marked bold red by the blood of our brethren they feast, and lined by the darkness which their souls are slaves to: no longer will our sons and daughters be subject to their unspeakable atrocities.

 

“The Eternal War that began at the dawn of Creation has been brought before my throne once more and rather than just resist the enemy, we will match them, and best them by Holy War! We must slay them all now before more of the black night rains on our country and inhabits our dead new and old. Raise all guards, all soldiers, all levies, all able bodied people! Let all smithies ignite and their hammers echo the coming of Final Battle! Gather all the powered masks left by those ancients before us, let no power be excused! For decades we had peace outside the reaches of Giant grasp, but that era has passed.  No more running, no more vain hope in futile peace, no more! By my soul’s safety, the Sacred City will be spared from the newcomers, and freedom will live!”

 

 

And in the middle of his climbing vent of anger he had stood up and clawed his hand upward to the black heavens from where the demons fall. As far as Greani was concerned, the space beyond the sky of clouds and birds was land belonging to the enemy, his late master the Primordial Potter Grunkhar dwelling beyond these star-lands. Greani felt convinced that he was blessed in his crusade, such favor displayed openly by his white glowing sword of static flowing silver which he grasped, the Arm of Grunkhar. He was beckoned to craft it to the southwest not long before the End arrived, and it was forged from the sacrifice of light gods.  By this sword, his will, and his people, Greani knew that the fate of Spherus Magna hung in the balance as the undead and evil-ones gather to the north-east and soon would march forth to what would later be named Atero. 

 

 

_


Edited by Iaredios the Desert Dude, Feb 21 2017 - 04:38 PM.

  • 0

line.gif

mqdefault.jpg

A RUDE AWAKENING - A Spherus Magna redo (HEAD DEVELOPER) | Tzais-Kuluu  |  Pushing Back The Tide  |  Last Words  |  Black Coronation  | Blue Man Bound | Visions of Thasos   ن

    Farts are just the ghosts of that which we ate                                                               -                                                                 D r e a m s. They're the hurricanes that wash the soul-filth from the super-dome of the night-mind.


#3 Offline The Hip Historian Iaredios

The Hip Historian Iaredios
  • Members
  • Kohrak-Kal Attacks!

  • 10-April 07
  • 2,834 posts
  •  

Posted Feb 22 2017 - 12:01 AM

visions_of_thasos_theology.png

 

 

 

 

Silence stilled the formerly decibel-raging room for a whole two minutes before Iaredios looked up from his paper, which he had stared at in awe of what had written before noticing something was amiss. He had found that Thasos was no longer staring at the wall with his eyes wide open, but simply now looked at the table as normally as one can be after saying that which he spake in veracity. He looked somewhat confused and personally lost.

 

“…You need something to drink? That was… by the Potter that was something… “

 

Iaredios sighed in wonder despite his hand hurting.  He then briefly smiled, and continued.

 

“And fate is funny: I actually went to the north a while ago after someone came to me here with some carving talking about some ‘holy green one’ they found in the ruins of a black tower, and now you come out of the literal blue and tell me all of this. Also, the name Rokhstakh and it's direction makes me think that it is Roxtus.“

 

The visionary said nothing. Iaredios went to go get beverages for the both of them. Iaredios set the glazed clay cups down, and a little bit afterwards Thasos shifted his dazed face to his blue cup and decided to sip from it to ease his tired tongue. Thasos immediately was surprised by it’s taste and soured his face, but he did not spit it out and consumed it.

 

“Ah, by Thalas, what was that?”

 

“Maga juice. Surprised you have never had it considering it comes from near your homelands. It’s one of my favorites in fact.”

 

“I guess I never tried out their fruit while playing a part in Kingslayer. “ 

 

“Kingslayer?” Iaredios looked at the scars on his guest. “I bet you have lots of stories to share.”

 

“Now, both my stories and those of others… and from what you said, I bet you also have a thing or two say. “

 

“Heh, you are kind of right in your number approximation. I’ve travelled a lot, but the most exciting thing was when I had gone to go find the ruins of that black tower I mentioned to investigate it first-hand, but was kidnapped by the Skrall king Stronius and was probably going to die up there if the enslaved warlord Branar did not take mercy and had gotten me out of there. I sometimes ponder if it caused him any punishment, but I thank Grunkhar for my abolition.”

 

Thasos looked at Iaredios, and asked a simple yet personally important question. “What is Grunkhar?”

 

Iaredios drew a puzzled expression upon his face, and proceeded to repeat the question to himself. “What is Grunkhar…? Grunkhar… Hmm. Tell me, what do your tales of the gods tell of the earliest origin of anything?”

 

Thasos began to explain and drank the juice more to wet his worn mouth from talking, and Iaredios patiently listened, and then after a while he began to write it all down. He already knew some of the following as half of Neateir is belongs to the same polytheistic beleifs, but he did not know it all. Besides, Ketoteir may have some unique beliefs.

 

“I was taught that in the time before time, there were only seas of chaos and uproar, then came down the hands of Solis Magna, who is time, order, light and life, and when the palms opened liquid spilled out milk, like from a bowl; the liquids being the milk of life from the nurturing life-giving sun. Their presence of order in a sea of chaos spawned counterparts from the eternal disarray, and so the void of destruction spawned dark seas of tar to combat the spearhead milk from Solis. These two liquids were the First Gods, the Light Gods and the Dark Gods. In their fiery war the corpses of the tar and milk piled and became Existence, those things that we can walk upon and see and breathe, save the sea, which is immortal and is only divided from the sea of heaven by the airs that were created from the battles. From the fires of that first war came the Second Gods, creatures of divine power that often appear abominable and seek only their own interests, sometimes even siding with the tar or milk. 

 

“But chaos still ruled the featureless matter of Existence as the beings that spawned from Existence, such as we the Agori and the Beastmen of the land, fought for the milk or tar and death reigned supreme. As an attempted final strike, the milk sacrificed some of their number and gave birth to the Gods of Knowledge, and once they purged many of the Dark Gods and Second Gods they established rule and order in the universe, which they then named Paradise. But as our elders taught us, this world is not meant to be held in order, and so after a Golden Age the Gods of Knowledge grew tired of ruling all, and so made the immortal elements of the universe and their incarnated Elemental Gods to rule in their place, and they largely abandoned us. The Elemental Gods ruled in order for a time, but as the Gods of Knowledge’s presence of aura degraded after a time so too did the seeds of chaos reemerge. Once the spirit of order had completely vanished in the universe then war erupted again, recreating the process of Creation to begin a Second Creation. It lasted a thousand years until they laid waste to the universe and mighty Solis sought to punish all in Existence for their blind servitude to chaos and so stripped Creation of it’s seas and greens, holding them up in the heavens above for all to see and punish us with our futile reaching into the sky in craving desire, and the milk of Solis imprisoned the Elemental Gods. The divines had abandoned us on the Great Barren and starved us, so it was up to ourselves to govern. Unfortunately, all wanted to rule, and so by seeking order they created chaos. The world was created by war and chaos, and it will go back to that in a back and forth motion forever. “

 

“It is a little nihilistic for my taste, but I find it amazing. What are the explanations of the Elder Kult, as my people calls the beliefs, for the battle of the titans decades ago and the rebirth of the land?” Iaredios asked, with a hand holding his chin in interested concentration.

 

“I do not go that into the theology, what I told you are the stories the elders tell to all the children. From what I remember in one of my visits back home, the elders called it the Third Creation, the barren world being like the void of disorder that the old tales tell. But I will tell you my experience. I was but a kid when it happened, all I could observe was the ground shaking like the whole world was going to crumble, and the distant figures of two giant stone men fighting over the horizon before the sandstorms blinded all. I was never so scared in my life, and to this day I will still sometimes wake up in sweats remembering that day. Usually I would be embarrassed about saying something like that but I am sure everyone feels that way.

 

“I am sure everyone saw everything that day”. The chronicler commented, remembering his experiences closer to the Battle.

 

 “Eventually after the greatest of quakes, the seas and the greens from Paradise came back. I saw the seas rush through the valley-cliff of the world and eventually crash upon our shores. The sky of day was no longer thin with the twinkle of the brightest stars but the seas also returned to it, there now being two great blues on the western horizon, and clouds in great numbers loomed under Solis and it rained pure water instead of then-normal more earth-tasting water and the land as far as the eye can see became green with their return from the heavens. Life for my people has changed since, we now being sea-faring folk instead of land-hunters. “

 

“It changed for everyone. The two ‘stone’ men were named Mata Nui and Makuta, and with Makuta’s death came the Matoran, or ‘metal men’ as you call them, and Mata Nui brought life back to the wastes.”

 

“I wasn’t aware that they had names, just new gods repeating history.”

 

“Everything has a name, we just don’t know it. Take for example, your original question of ‘what is Grunkhar’. My people call that source of time, order, and light Grunkhar. It’s just a name we give though, we don’t know Grunkhar’s name. ”

 

“Oh, so Solis Magna Great Sun is your Grunkhar that Greani spoke of?”

 

“In a sense: see, we believe that Grunkhar is like kind of like your god Solis Magna, except that –“

 

“I have no gods. Mine used to be Thalassanon, Elemental God of the Seas, but once he took my father despite us doing the sacrifice on the beach, I cancelled my covenant with him and declared war upon him and his realm. I have slain many a beast and man-foe of the sea alike. I see, or saw, myself as more of an ally with Solis, for we had both despised the chaos of the sea, but I would never had become a servant of a being that held the resources of Paradise up in the air from us like children for thousands of years.  But… The visions I am cursed with have rattled my whole view of the world, and so I don’t really know what to believe in exactly… Continue with your explanation Yardos, it might help, it might not.”

 

He ignored the name, and did as such: “We believe that Grunkhar is kind of like one of the gods of your people, Solis Magna,” Iaredios repeated with an enunciated edit, “except that he is not bound in the universe we see here. To us, Solis Magna is just an object, a light in the sky, bigger than Dimmelykt or all the dots on the Wall of Stars, but still just a light, like the fire of a torch or campsite. Grunkhar is infinite and transcends --” Thasos didn’t know the word and so Iaredios explained along the way, “-- is infinite, and goes through and ties all things together. That is, unless they can think for themselves and decide they don’t want to follow along, like the Dark Gods you described, except we call them Krahagnu. Grunkhar is beyond Existence, and created it because that is the nature of this being. Grunkhar’s given name comes from a forgotten tongue, but its meaning has not, and it means Potter.”

 

“Your god is a potter?”

 

“In a sense yes, we hold that Grunkhar has meticulously crafted this universe we live in by his own hands, planning for each detail before the degradation of time and corruption causes cracks and stuff. The hands of Solis that you described we curiously have in our traditions as well, the two open hands being Grunkhar’s symbol, symbolizing his craftsmanship and generosity, some also put a crown or eye above the hands to show his authority and watchfulness, and rays around the hands to show the light from them, which is another similarity to the Solis Magna god.”

 

Thasos seemed interested and nodded.

 

“We Grunkharists of Neala hold Grunkhar as a personable being, but others in far-away lands don’t hold this tradition and make Grunkhar a sort of pantheistic force with all parts of Existence having a divine representative.” He then explained pantheism and continued, “To make it sound personable, the ancients used ‘he’, and we simply carry this tradition, but they very well could have used ‘she’ and it would have been fine; but since it is part of tradition now, doing something different in this aspect is seen as rude and is looked down upon by the locals. I am sure other far-off lands that have Grunkharist traditions might use ‘she’ but we don’t know. The world has only become accessible once more thanks to Mata Nui. I feel i should mention that while we give praise to Grunkhar we recognize the existence of these other deities or god-like figures ...just don't find them praise-worthy in comparison.“

 

“And tell me, what are your traditions on the Dark Gods and Light Gods?”

 

Iaredios drank all the juice left in his cup, then explained: “In the Time before Time, there was nothing. In a non-existent world there is only chaos because chaos is only real to our limited perspective, it does not truly exist. But when All was created, order, knowledge, the elements came with it all by his power and plan alone. In the time before creation, he had created celestial beings called Arahu to serve him in creation, and serving as a bridge of communication and displays of power to those that will be made. Half of them abused their freedom of thought and rebelled against Grunkhar and his loyal Arahu. The futile rebellion was crushed, and so they were all exiled to live in the featureless Creation, their extra-universal being manifesting and being tied to Creation as part of their curse. The nature of the physical substance of their manifestations drawing them together and making masses of them have multiple consciousnesses, though not all are equal in power.  Half of that rebellious half sought repentance and swore to serve Grunkhar in this plane, the other half of the rebellious half continued to be rebellious and seek to only twist, corrupt, and destroy anything related to Grunkhar, which in essence is the whole universe. Those seeking forgiveness were named the Avhagnu by the forgotten ancients, and likewise the rebels settled in their ways were called Krahagnu. When they were created they were dusty blobs of pure darkness, they only being able to be seen by the rainbow lights of the Avhagnu; it is when the winds of the air touch these alien beings that they turn silver and black with green gas, respectively. They were the only things in the featureless universe, and seeking to find repentance by punishing those that do not seek it, and the other-side seeking revenge for who they saw as traitors, the Eternal War began. Like what you described, it is by their clash of these two waves and the resulting corpse-matter that the matter around us takes shape. It took thousands of thousands of years, some even saying longer, and the physical details of the universe were crafted by the laws of nature that were preordained into the sandbox of this world by the hands of Grunkhar. The two forces have now largely been separated by the corpse-matter that they created in their battles. From the battles some beings we call the Celestial Monsters were spawned, the same ones you called the Second Gods.”

 

“So Grunkhar planned for the fall and death of his servants to make the world?” He asked.  Thasos wasn’t convinced by Iaredios’ claims of there being no chaos in this world but he allowed him to continue. Perhaps this truth and his own truth might be one of the same but different sides of events.

 

“Not exactly: Much debate has surrounded this, I personally see that if Grunkhar is all-knowing and infinite, then are infinite ways to create the universe, infinite angles to see things from. There are reports from long ago of people stepping into strange realities but we have all dismissed them as being plagued with heat-sickness and seeing illusions, but the reports we have heard from the records of Ao and talk of ‘alternate universes’ shines some light into this ancient argument, and perhaps there are less than or equal to infinite amount of universes in comparison to the infinity that is Grunkhar. People are divided on that though.”

 

“Other worlds like ours? What is Ao?”  The information of there being other worlds seemed to have blown Thasos’ mind, though he didn’t say anything on the alternate realities. Perhaps too many wild experiences lately have made him become increasingly numb to it. Iaredios explained while getting more Maga Fruit juice from his cupboard and vase.

 

“Yeah, other worlds like this one. Mata Nui described some while he was out in the Wall of Stars during the Age of Anarchy; other places with their own landscapes and civilizations and races. And Ao, or the Metal-Realm, was the world inside of Mata Nui’s original huge divine body before Makuta stole it and exiled Mata Nui here on this world became one of the great heroes of Neateir. The Matoran and other Metal-Men come from this body-universe; they were originally created by the Gods of Knowledge, who they call the Great Beings. Also, the living automatons of Ao also have their own names for the Light and Dark Gods, they being Protodermis and Antidermis, though they have artificial versions and call Avhagnu, Energized Protodermis, and i don't even think they have ever had contact with real Krahagnu...“

 

Thasos nodded his head as the man began to ramble, then stood up from his chair, and said to the tall house owner, “This has all been interesting, but I tire of talking. Do you have somewhere I can sleep before go sleep under the stars? I had a long day before arriving here“. Iaredios pointed to the couch and said, “I don’t get much company, so the couch will have to do. Is that fine?” Thasos nodded and replied, “It is better than floating on the sea being nibbled, I guess.”

 

The resident gathered some supplies for his unexpected guest and left him to do his stuff. He pointed to a box with a hole outside in his small yard where he can do insides-related business and a couple of vases in the corner that has fresh water. He probably would have made him leave if it wasn’t Thasos of all people; the man said he has killed people and monsters before and earlier swatted his own sword out of his hand. Iaredios went back to bed after closing his door and locking it, and placed a dagger underneath his pillow, all in case the forced guest tried to do something. He honestly didn’t think he would, but he was a paranoid man. 

 

 

_


Edited by Iaredios the Desert Dude, Feb 22 2017 - 12:21 AM.

  • 0

line.gif

mqdefault.jpg

A RUDE AWAKENING - A Spherus Magna redo (HEAD DEVELOPER) | Tzais-Kuluu  |  Pushing Back The Tide  |  Last Words  |  Black Coronation  | Blue Man Bound | Visions of Thasos   ن

    Farts are just the ghosts of that which we ate                                                               -                                                                 D r e a m s. They're the hurricanes that wash the soul-filth from the super-dome of the night-mind.


#4 Offline The Hip Historian Iaredios

The Hip Historian Iaredios
  • Members
  • Kohrak-Kal Attacks!

  • 10-April 07
  • 2,834 posts
  •  

Posted Feb 25 2017 - 06:20 AM

visions_of_thasos_morning.png

 

 

 

A light less than bright than the sun shone in his eyelids, and he emerged in a world familiar yet not his own. There was a rabbit in the desert, and in his travels he came upon another rabbit, this other one saying that it escaped enslavement and sought abolition. He brought the runner back to his family, he and the new friend even flirting about the future, but in reality the new rabbit was a predator, and when the time came the second rabbit devoured the first and his family.  Then, the light of the sun enveloped the world.

 

 

 

line.gif

 

 

 

Iaredios awoke from the disturbing dream with the sun hitting his face through his brown bedroom curtains. After he got dressed, putting on his gray khlamys robe with blue trimming for the outside world, he unlocked the door to his room, and found that there was no sign of Thasos. Could it be that the whole thing with him being there was but a dream that night? He opened his cupboard, and found that there was no sign of any jarred foods left. He was hungry but as there was no food he prepared to go outside. He enjoyed fresh grilled fish anyway. He went to get food in the market below, his favorite a grilled fish wrap with cabbage and available spices, passing by the lute players, the flute players, and the distant muffled chants of the Tajunite Sacred Band of Th’hrashis and on the other side the local Temple of Grunkhar. Amid the smells and despite the sounds of music, Iaredios had heard word of Doux Tarixios being sick and the people fearing for his health. Worried, Iaredios went to go visit a friend. 

 

 

“Praside, good morning my friend, how is life faring you?” Iaredios said, surprising his friend. Praside was a clay-green Vulka-Tesarite Kontes Agori with blonde hair that went down to the middle of his neck, and he wore a red khlamys robe with green lining.

 

“Good morning to you man …Hey, you doing alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  His wording was correct. Behind Praside and a group of people moving by, was none other than the barbarian sailor in the ragged ripped clothes, Thasos, Guardian of Ketoteir, and he was looking straight at the chronicler. It was not a dream; this was to be his reality for who knows how long.

 

“Yeah, I kind of had…” Iaredios remembered his dreams to serve as an excuse, “I have been having dreams…”, then Thasos walked forward through a gap in the passing crowds and in over hearing the couple words, he interrupted and said, “Visions, huh? Come chronicler Yardos, the library beckons, my brains creaks like an old ship.”

 

Praside understandably seemed quite confused, and asked what that was about and who the stranger was. “Work, and he is an ‘unexpected house guest’. Hey, umm, fisherman, can my friend come along?” He asked the house guest. Iaredios then said to Praside, “he tells some interesting stories”.

 

“Sure, the small one may come. Say what is with you eastern shores, short and tall, don’t you have any normal heights?” Said the unnamed Thasos. Praside, a veteran of combat, was suspicious of this visibly-strong dirty man and agreed to come along to make sure his friend wasn’t being held hostage. He also wasn’t too fond of people mocking his height for it was an old ‘racial’ issue and most Nealites respected how far they have come.

 

 

Thasos led the way, and was carrying a brown scratchy sack over his shoulder that trailed a stench behind him that inflamed their nostrils, Grunkhar knew what it was.

 

“Umm, Iaredios, I didn’t catch your friend’s name.” The red-clad blonde asked.

 

“I never said what it was“, the bearded-blue replied through his teeth; he was worried that the mention of Thasos’ name would have been cause for alarms or someone might over hear.

 

 

They arrived at Iaredios’ home on the third level in the canyon-carved ancient marbled ruined-city of the sea, and Iaredios opened the door and they all went inside. Then Thasos slammed the heavy sack on the kitchen's outer counter-top, knocking over some things in the process.

 

 Iaredios asked him, “Where were you this morning? And what in Grunkhar’s name is that?”

 

“I can answer both questions in one answer. I do not eat things given by other people unless I am helpless, which I often refuse to be, so I went to the docks and fetched my own meal from the realm of Thalassanon. This spawn of Ablas stood no chance against the Son of Iabeson! Ha-ha!” He opened the bag of stench and poured out its contents onto the clean surface, a tuna severed in half fell slopped and it’s juices crawled along the stone surface. “Either of you hungry?” The two Nealites declined the offer as their own recent meals could be felt squirming inside at the sight of the mangled corpse.

 

Thasos peeked outside in the little backyard, and then came back regarding inquiry. “Ah Yardos, where’s the grill and smoker?” Iaredios explained, “Yeah we cook our food inside, see the wood stove right there? It will do the trick”. Thasos got in his face with an expression as serious as his tone, “You dunt cook inside outsider, its bad luck unless it rains or you got the charms for it. Got any lucky charms?”

 

“Uh, no. No charms here, unless you count the banner on the wall, the Hands of Grunkhar.”

 

Thasos went over to the brown flag banner with the tan-white outlined hands in the similar colored outlined sun. He quickly observed it, and then resisted spitting in it’s direction, an old habit to such things. Had this been before the coming of the Visions he would have spat in the flag’s direction to ward off the ‘taint’ of foreign gods, but since then he has grown relatively agnostic to this ‘primordial potter’. Disinterested, Thasos went back to Iaredios and simply put, “I don’t think that will do, not sure though.” He then began to push the oven in the direction to the backyard.

 

“Oh, please be careful, the chimney pipes…” The resident advised as the pipes that connected the oven to an exhaust pipe on the side of the road above the home were giving visible strain until the crude bolts gave way and popped out, breaking that part of the oven. Thasos heaved it forth until it was outside, then looked inspected it. He spat on it due to his unfamiliarity of it, and then figured out how to make it work. He went inside of the house and grabbed of the dried wood on the indoor corner near the backdoor and placed it in the right spot before setting the halves of the fish on top of the oven.

 

 

 

While all of this was happening, Praside signaled to Iaredios into the blue man’s room, and asked him in quiet worry, “Who is this guy, where did he come from??”

 

“He’s a fisherman.”

 

“Okay, I see that clearly. But who in the Waste is he?”

 

“He is a sailor from Ketoteir”

 

“The savage whale-lands? Well that explains his queerness… Look Iaredios, This guy doesn’t smell right…” and he glanced at the nasal writhing countertop slime of the fish pieces that were now with the oven, “…Literally.  Tell me who he is or I am getting the guards over here.”

 

“Yeah, like the answer won’t prevent that… Look, if I tell you, please don’t go to the guards. I can sort of explain.” Praside waited with paranoia of his own increasing. Iaredios sighed, and said:

 

“His name is Thasos.”

 

“Like, the Thasos? The criminal and thief that attacks the fishers of Neala and the group of matoran who wish to set off our shores? “, Praside had heard of this character while in the court of Doux Tarixios.

 

“Believe it or not Praside, there is more to it than that, but I am sure he’ll explain his side later if you ask. If you can catch him before he leaves Tajun, you can give him to Doux Tarixios after his ‘library’ is finished. If the tales weren’t so interesting I would have you hand him to our generous lord immediately.”

“Hmm, well if he does have a good explanation for his actions, I hope he can give them to the lord soon. With the aging of the Doux, his time is surely to end soon, and his son Prinkeps Varis is not his noble father. Also, if Tarix gets to question Thasos, then so too will a visitor from the east.”

 

“Who is this newcomer?” Iaredios asked, intrigued.

 

“I think his name is Solek, and I heard one of the matoran ambassadors from the east say that Solek comes from Neuropolis on behalf of his order, the Kini-Nui Cannons. Their Grandmaster sent him here to investigate the reports of our pirate friend here using a wooden mask of power similar the powered artifacts from their Metal Realm homeland. It is part of their wanting to know more about their primordial deities the Gods of Knowledge.”

 

 

 

 

Iaredios was going to continue the conversation, but Thasos loudly closed the home’s backdoor. Iaredios and Praside emerged from the resident’s room. Praside then spoke to Thasos:

 

“Hello, I feel that we weren’t properly introduced earlier. Our friend has told me a bit about you. My name is Praside, Iroas of Vulkanus, messenger for Aternea during it’s civil war, and presently employed for Doux Tarixios of Tajun.” Praside reluctantly raised his right hand ready to shake.

 

“Is that what you two were doing? Gossiping like idle women? Ha, and your smooth face reminds me of one too. At least the weak chronicler looks like a man!” Thasos said, insulting the veteran. The two shook hands and gripped tightly, aiming to crush each other’s hands. Iaredios was worried where this might lead. This lasted a whole minute until they both gave way at the same time.

 

“For a small woman you have some arms. I think even my mother would be impressed. “

 

“And you would do well to remember that.” Praside said, looking up at the grizzly man. They looked at each other’s scars, recognizing that each had a story to it, and in that recognition they respected each other. The two then shook the hands which they had had previously aimed to crush, and the man of the sea said, “My name is Thasos, son of Iabeson, protector and guardian of Ketoteir, beast-slayer, traveler of the Endless Ocean, and enemy of my people’s enemies.” Praside felt like asking him about some of their scars, but then Thasos cut him off before he could even begin by turning to Iaredios, saying the following with a grin.

 

“I think I will like the company that you keep Iaredios. …You can also say that I am king of headaches. Fetch us all a glass of the maga juice you got, the fruit of the lion-folk is growing on me. It is time to record the library within.”

 

They all went to the table in front of the kitchen countertop, save Iaredios, who while going to the cupboard in the kitchen he said jokingly, “The library beckons!” Seeing his two guests not murder each other and Thasos saying his name right lifted his spirits. While grabbing the sealed, spouted vase in which the juice was in, Iaredios asked Thasos with his head turned away, “…Lion-folk? What does that mean?”

 

“The people of Maga are beastmen, not unlike the Metal-Men of Ao, though more fleshy and less metally. Skinless and Red-pink with some blue metal plates, and bending blades of metal make up the manes of their males. Powerful people native to the lands of Maga, west of the pearly peaks and north of my homeland, bound to them by stone-like towers that glow blue, my people have called the Life Towers. I can share my story on this later; it’s time to view the visions. Scribbler, if you will get your stuff ready soon, we can hopefully get a couple of these done before my breakfast is ready.”

 

Iaredios set the cups down, Thasos saying that he wanted the purple one that time, and filled the drinks. And while the host grabbed his supplies, Praside asked his friend in puzzlement, “What is going on here?”

 

“Well, if it is anything like last time, you are about to hear something that will be amazing …and quite possibly terrifying.”

 

The red-clad man didn’t fully understand, but he patiently sat down and watched as Iaredios wrote down on the top of his page, Visions of Thasos – Vision 2, and told Thasos to begin.

 

 

_


Edited by Iaredios the Desert Dude, Feb 25 2017 - 06:25 AM.

  • 0

line.gif

mqdefault.jpg

A RUDE AWAKENING - A Spherus Magna redo (HEAD DEVELOPER) | Tzais-Kuluu  |  Pushing Back The Tide  |  Last Words  |  Black Coronation  | Blue Man Bound | Visions of Thasos   ن

    Farts are just the ghosts of that which we ate                                                               -                                                                 D r e a m s. They're the hurricanes that wash the soul-filth from the super-dome of the night-mind.


#5 Offline The Hip Historian Iaredios

The Hip Historian Iaredios
  • Members
  • Kohrak-Kal Attacks!

  • 10-April 07
  • 2,834 posts
  •  

Posted Jun 05 2017 - 05:22 PM

[This chapter is unfinished but here is a preview of what I have so far]

 

 

visions_of_thasos_patricide__i.png

 

 

 

By the example of vision prior I can tell you that it is not the time before time, but from our times and traditions it might as well be. The expanses of All flow before these eyes twain O’ mine. A purple shroud thin lays over the flow of silver glass, the rainbows of the angel-clouds and the consuming shade of their twisted-kin thunder forever. I see before me, a time oft referenced but ill understood in full, era shrouded in myth and tradition. I see over our Great Orb unseen but full-felt clouds of Death, smoke and slate, the light of the living Solis unable to pierce the writhing wade of evil. And so it was for nigh a millennium, until the Emperor of the Suns pierced through the veil with his sword, his word, and a single ray shone through for but a moment. But a moment was all that was needed, for in the country black Kursetu Eresh of the ever-forest continent, history would change its course within the river we sail.

 

Cries were not a new thing in the fortress-ebon, spike-littered and gore in décor, demonic its architecture; crying was a normal thing in this age of evil, cries of the beaten, of the enslaved, and the mothers and daughters of the nation’s natives. But it was the cries of a mother small and green and her baby that pierced the deafened ears of the giant lord Yridal. Upon seeing the abomination to his evil eyes, his temper rose. He was to be in control, not her, not anyone else. But it seemed that though she did not plan upon this birth, far from it as it was evil in origin, the Light Writer adopted it for his own purpose, making art from agony. And this was to not be tolerated. The child took after his mother in face and skin, an affront to the honor of the honorless. His multitudes of older spawn nearby gasped in disgust, the slaves stared in wonder, and the mother looked in love when she beheld her son, and looked in worry as by the tubby ankle he was grabbed by the father-monster. By the gods and the One Beyond Most High, this babe of emerald hide had been crafted for a purpose grand. The servants-low and soldiers-open could perceive the white glow unseen, the child’s cry a trumpet of triumph, and a sonic dagger to the self-deafened. And so those hopeful waxed hearts justly became outraged when the giant lifted his child up to eye-level and licked his lips in preparation for a gaping snack of retribution. They all gasped, and with that their celebrated hardest worker, by ancient tradition christened Tarrak, proclaimed an outburst so bold to shake their dark traditions force-taught.

 

“Release that babe you wretch! No longer shall I stand idly by and allow such unspeakable evil to transpire before mine eyes!”

 

And so in roaring fury did Tarrak charge the giant lord, and thrust his large slave scythe into the ribs of the man-eating red royalty. By his brave example, many other slaves followed suit, and attacked the Giant and the nearby half-giant skrall with pitchforks, scythes big and small, butchery blades, rakes, and whatnot. Bellowed in pain did deserved Yridal and so he dropped the child. Tarrak, standing next to his crime, was there to catch the child chosen! While the chaos spread like wildfire, Tarrak used this opportunity show the mother her child, and attempt to get her up on her feet to join him in others that were to use the mess to escape the carcass compound. Though she tried, she couldn’t, the delivery was too soon and her body immensely weakened by it. With immense regret, she bid her babe bye, and the tears of the mother and child left on each other’s faces, as Tarrak and emerging company reluctantly left her behind. Child cloth strapped across his shoulder and weaning wives taken along with their lot, Tarrak led his party out of the dark fortress by blade’s edge. The lazy half-giant soldiers did not stand a chance against the might of the hard workers, numbered 30 strong, some even sharing their disgust of their makers and joined the fight to flight. Fist took to tools, tools exchanged for swords, and red sprayed and dirt layered did they manage to reach the entrance gate, and took haste to the black forest brush.  Smoke column climbed from the settlement and could be seen marking its spot by the sky even as the place could no longer be seen.

 

Any attempt at a successful revolt, though bloody and damaging, was to be proven futile. Those that did not join Tarrak in his exodus, nor attempted to follow them afterwards, were cut down like a herd for a feast. And feast the Giants did, for there was plenty of carrion cuisine. By their own arrogance, as the Giant kin had ruled the world for centuries now, they sent naught but a trio of hunters to look for that party that outnumbered them 10 times. None of them were to find the new tribe of rebels, and took for granted the beasts of the lands and the trials of nature would better them.

 

They were wrong.


  • 0

line.gif

mqdefault.jpg

A RUDE AWAKENING - A Spherus Magna redo (HEAD DEVELOPER) | Tzais-Kuluu  |  Pushing Back The Tide  |  Last Words  |  Black Coronation  | Blue Man Bound | Visions of Thasos   ن

    Farts are just the ghosts of that which we ate                                                               -                                                                 D r e a m s. They're the hurricanes that wash the soul-filth from the super-dome of the night-mind.





0 user(s) are browsing this forum

0 members, 0 guests, 0 anonymous users