Post by aturin on Feb 6, 2011 11:18:24 GMT
Come here and stop your warbling child, I shall tell you a story about when the world was still young men could be hero’s and magic was still rampant and infused in every part of life.
This is a story of swords and sorcery, might and magic, daring do and of course their eventual downfall.
The story starts a long time ago with a feud more ancient and terrible than you can imagine between men who would fight the very gods themselves and creatures to debase for me to even mention in passing.
Our story however starts after this and as they know none of this, neither shall you young one. The brave and noble (for that at least is how they start), were as varied in their backgrounds as in their motivations and person.
There was pyro of silver teeth and sharp claw, a tall dragon born wielding mighty arcane powers, capable of killing a man with a simple point of his finger… if he ever managed to hit, a master of fire in all its forms and functions, capable of roasting a man at 10 paces with his very breath alone then you saw his true power unfold, creating fire from his fingers that lingered far after the initial blow, calling out a single being in combat focusing all his baleful eldritch power on you making every hit hurt with the added power of another dagger, no wonder he was able to stare down everyone and everything in his path, .
And a man for whom though never lacking in bravery sometimes lacked in the subtler arts, such as thought and memory. Although you would never say it to him in person Eiron the paladin the blows he turned aside with his mighty armour are beyond even the stars in heaven, and although bemused as to what virtues he was actually fighting for, the ability to cut a fully grown orc vertically in twain with a single blow seemed to stop too much questioning.
On the other end of the spectrum a Eladrin for whom no feat of memory was much a being for whom nothing was a mystery be it arcane knowledge hidden by the gods or the history of the land hidden by men, this is before you recount the fact that he also commanded the most varied of all the magic’s you name a situation he had a spell which could do it, no need for ten bulging men to raise the portcullis when with a simple flick of the wrist, in the middle of battle he could open it from the inside.
Now we come to the smiling shark of the group, the man who knew his way around a battle field and an exposed neck with equal ease, appearing wherever you didn’t want him to and with a dagger blow aimed for wherever you didn’t want it, he could be your greatest friend always with the words that needed to be said, people felt better faster just being near him, before he disappeared along with your wallet never to be seen. A man who started in it only for the money, but fate would soon reveal the much bigger part he had to play.
And now we come to the man whose fault it is that they managed to survive, the reason they were not just another bloody stain on the floor of a long forgotten battlefield. Aldus the cleric, a master of the healing arts yes, but so much more than that a reformed man who had seen the light and was now to show it to all others even if the light took the form of a lance to face, calling down on the powers of his god he turned men to roads, and allies on the edge of death to those brimming with life vigour and death for enemies.
This is a story of swords and sorcery, might and magic, daring do and of course their eventual downfall.
The story starts a long time ago with a feud more ancient and terrible than you can imagine between men who would fight the very gods themselves and creatures to debase for me to even mention in passing.
Our story however starts after this and as they know none of this, neither shall you young one. The brave and noble (for that at least is how they start), were as varied in their backgrounds as in their motivations and person.
There was pyro of silver teeth and sharp claw, a tall dragon born wielding mighty arcane powers, capable of killing a man with a simple point of his finger… if he ever managed to hit, a master of fire in all its forms and functions, capable of roasting a man at 10 paces with his very breath alone then you saw his true power unfold, creating fire from his fingers that lingered far after the initial blow, calling out a single being in combat focusing all his baleful eldritch power on you making every hit hurt with the added power of another dagger, no wonder he was able to stare down everyone and everything in his path, .
And a man for whom though never lacking in bravery sometimes lacked in the subtler arts, such as thought and memory. Although you would never say it to him in person Eiron the paladin the blows he turned aside with his mighty armour are beyond even the stars in heaven, and although bemused as to what virtues he was actually fighting for, the ability to cut a fully grown orc vertically in twain with a single blow seemed to stop too much questioning.
On the other end of the spectrum a Eladrin for whom no feat of memory was much a being for whom nothing was a mystery be it arcane knowledge hidden by the gods or the history of the land hidden by men, this is before you recount the fact that he also commanded the most varied of all the magic’s you name a situation he had a spell which could do it, no need for ten bulging men to raise the portcullis when with a simple flick of the wrist, in the middle of battle he could open it from the inside.
Now we come to the smiling shark of the group, the man who knew his way around a battle field and an exposed neck with equal ease, appearing wherever you didn’t want him to and with a dagger blow aimed for wherever you didn’t want it, he could be your greatest friend always with the words that needed to be said, people felt better faster just being near him, before he disappeared along with your wallet never to be seen. A man who started in it only for the money, but fate would soon reveal the much bigger part he had to play.
And now we come to the man whose fault it is that they managed to survive, the reason they were not just another bloody stain on the floor of a long forgotten battlefield. Aldus the cleric, a master of the healing arts yes, but so much more than that a reformed man who had seen the light and was now to show it to all others even if the light took the form of a lance to face, calling down on the powers of his god he turned men to roads, and allies on the edge of death to those brimming with life vigour and death for enemies.
