# Lords of the Wasteland - Main Thread



## Chaos (May 2, 2011)

*Lords of the Wasteland​​*
Main Thread

_What's happening? The time for our return... has it come?

Quiet. The Old Ones are sleeping still. Don't disturb them.

But our awakening, it should have something to do with...

Quiet. The Old Ones will awaken when the time is there. Until then, rest.

..._​
The harsh, cold wind smashed into Zardan Stormringer's face, but he didn't care. The powerful archmage casually strolled on, a look of serenity on his face while slowly inspecting the frozen tombs of his land. Something was going to happen, something big. Zardan could feel the stirrings in the land and in his head. They brought back memories from times long past, times in which Zardan hadn't even been alive, but still he knew somehow. He knew of the Old Ones.

Zardan stopped his walk in front of a massive weather-beaten stone gate. The portal was totally frozen over, long icicles hung from the face of the lich king gargoyle sticking from the door. The stone lich slowly turned his frozen face, eying Zardan with a look of supreme hate and rage. Zardan, lost in his private thoughts, didn't even notice. He held up his hand. The great door creaked, years of ice breaking loose under the sheer power of the archmage. The door opened, revealing a long winding corridor into the underground of the tundra. The stone lich glared and screeched at his imprisoned, but without any effect. Zardan simply strode past, onto the dark staircase.

With another wave of his hand, the door shut behind him. The inside of the tomb was pitch black, the kind of dark that doesn't just take your sight, but also your courage and wanderlust. Zardan simply moved on, guiding himself by the trail of dead in these corridors. These tombs were of his making, and this was one of the most important. He didn't need sight in a place he had built himself and visited so often. 

The dense darkness of the cave gave way to a wider, more open darkness. Zardan knew he had arrived at the first of the great rooms. That first room of that all-important challenge long ago. He could feel the magical power thrumming. Yes, this was why he had come here. The ancient aura. The destructive power lying in wait just at the tip of his fingers, but just beyond reach. The power of a God.

The darkness deepened. Zardan could feel creatures animate all around him. Dead ones. Even though he had put them here, he couldn't control them. Not at a moment like this, when this other aura pervaded the room. If anyone could enlighten what was going on, it was this.

Zardan almost smiled at the nostalgic memories of this place. This ultimate temple of death. His voice, a sound that hadn't been heard on the world for many years, slipped out of his throat, a small whisper that somehow relayed such coldness and hate that even the dead things around him shrunk back.

"Greetings, Old One"


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## Kuno (May 4, 2011)

*Lord Bohime...*

“Ah Rashid, that was an excellent game as always.” Lord Bohime said leaning backward and patting the paunch of his belly. “One day I will beat you.” He laughed a deep baritone that echoed around the room.

“Well, I will enjoy the many games as you try.” Rashid's laughter join that of his Lord.

Slowly the two men replaced the pieces in a companionable silence, until a taller older gentleman walked into the room.  “M'lord, I do believe the festival is about to begin...”  He let the statement trail off, knowing Pastal knew the rest.

“Right.”  Pastal groaned getting to his feet.  “Shall we?”

“Of course.”  Rashid also stood, his body the opposite of Lord Bohime's, he was as thin as the King was obese, brushed a few imaginary crumbs from the front of his dove gray doublet.  With a clean shaven face he definitely took after his mother's side more than the common genetics that they had.

The two men walked out the door following the steward.  In the atrium of the castle stood Lord Bohime's four other advisers.  The men and women stood talking, they were dressed in their finest clothes as they awaited the beginning of the festival.  When the door opened they all bowed and curtsied, these were Pastal's most trusted people.

“Oh stop that.”  Lord Bohime rolled his eyes and waved a hand at them, his voice full of mirth.

“Stop what my lord?  We are just showing you are up most respect.”  Kheldar straightened up, his smile mischievous, causing their lord to laugh louder.  The man was smaller than the rest and his body was relaxed clothed in black, hiding the quickness that they all knew to be there.  His sandy blonde hair was shaggy and his amber eyes danced with humor, looking down his long nose in his rat like face.

“Khelder...”  Keena admonished the small man who only winked in response.  With a roll of her eyes she turned back to the pair.  Her regal bearing was unmistakable as she tossed her thick black hair over her shoulder, a solid white lock in the front a striking contrast.  The exquisitely tailored gown reflected the exact striking blue of her eyes though wasn't even close to being as beautiful as the woman herself. 

“What?  Would you have me ridicule him, Keena?”  

Two others stood chuckling at as they watched in amusement.  “How are you Lord Bohime?”  the remaining man nodded toward their lord.  He stood of average height and build.  A man that one would pass in the street and not even notice in his somber brown clothes.

“Ah, fat and happy.”  Pastal patted his large belly as he turned toward Mysian.  “Yourself?  Things going well?”

“Very.”  He said quietly, not one to waste words when he didn't need to.  Though when he spoke as a merchant his personality quickly changed.

“Avaleen.”  Rashid said bowing slightly to the last of the King's advisors.

“Rashid.”  She said in response returning his bow with a deep curtsey.  The other people closest to the Lord Bohime still didn't know why she was kept so close, though they acknowledge her high intelligence.  Avaleen was petite with long blonde hair and sparkling green eyes, she wore a gown of cream and gold.

The steward stood near the door and cleared his throat.  “Lord Bohime, the people are waiting.”

“Yes. Yes.”  He said and quickly moved toward the door which where opened from the outside by a pair of guards.  Stepping outside Lord Bohime cut a striking figure in the deep red of his position. 

The crowed cheered loudly when their King appeared, showing how beloved by the people he was.  Raising his arms the cheering grew louder then subsided.  His dark brown eyes scanned the faces of his people and he smiled to them.  “I could give a long winded speech and I should to make you all wait but I, as well as yourselves can smell the fine foods, see the troupes ready to perform, and can't wait to celebrate our good fortunes from the past year and hopefully more for the years to come.”  He voice was booming to the crowd so one and all could hear.  “So I now say...”  He paused as all those around him mirrored his smile.  “Let the festival begin!”  The crowd cheered and the three day long celebration of Boktorum began.


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## Serp (May 4, 2011)

Corvus was walking around his throne, his head racing.
"Who could have killed my father?" His tone strong sent as fact his father was killed. 
"Are you sure it was murder your grace?" Brandon asked.
"Yes I am sure, Uncle Ros? explain."
"The body was found to be full of a chemical not normally found within the human body, had he remained more of this time upon the throne the castle could have healed him, as you must now remain your grace." Echant Ros? addedd. 
"The throne makes me tired, how do you know the throne didnt take took much magic and made him weak, you of all people should know that a king must be strong."

"Yes your grace, but your lands must be strong too, your energy is what keeps the Aviary and the Perch from falling and killing the people inside and in the city below. Your magical capacity is large even feeding most of your magic to the castle you are still as strong as any Enchant."

"Not a head enchant though, nor ones from the farther lands. Uncle you hold the true bloodline why not you take up fueling the building for a while. You do rule the Perch after all."

"As yes I may rule the Perch, but you rule the lands dear nephew it is your duty to have your power within all aspects of it, I as a younger son cannot take your burden of king." Ros? said begrudgingly.

"Bullshit! A chair that makes you weak when you sit upon it."

"Your grace, the chair is meant to show there is no easy way when making orders you must feel it, and protect your people with your own power."

"Pah, whatever who protected my father, noone. I must find out who was responsible. Targaryen, Stark have you found anything among the smallfolk?"

"No your grace, either they know nothing or are not afraid of vengeance from above." Targaryen answered.

"The smallfolk and the lords alike have no reason to harm your father, he was a just ruler, the throne builds character much of which is needed for a king." Stark spoke to the king.

"Your grace I have something to discuss with you." Akkarin spoke up.

"Very well, you all may leave us." Ros? remained close at hand."You all!"

"I am Head Enchant ruler of the Perch, your father always kept me by his side. I practically ruled the country from his hand."

"And I am king now, shall I send for my brother to watch over my shoulder, I wish to speak to Ambassador Velan myself."
Ros? gathered himself and stalked out his black robes rolling across the floor as he walked.

"My lord as my place as envoy to diplomacy I warn you blood or no blood do not anger the most powerful man in your country, even without the throne acting to weaken your magical side he is still years your senior. He could kill you and take the throne for himself or his children."

"Ros? is too beta for that, but moving on the beastmen." 

"Ah yes, the beastmen the ones under your uncles rule say nothing but the ones in the hills say another story. Either your father was killed with magic, or the poison that was used to kill him would have to be a powerful one being lord of the twin towers. The only poison strong enough to kill the ruling Ravensnake could come from the beastmen themselves but locked away so only those of beastman blood could find use and activate it."

"Ah I see."

"You will have to entertain the thoughts either your uncle lied and your father was killed with magic meaning the guild is slacking, that he was killed with poison and once again the guild is hiding something or three there are rouge beastmen with something against the crown." 

"This is all very very interesting. My distant cousin know more about poisons than I, I suggest you ride to him and offer him good terms, we are neighbours afterall and relations are good at this point. Do it secret though we need to watch the guild regardless for their connection to magic and the beastmen we cannot let them learn of our plans, hence I am sitting on the throne protecting our room from interference."

"My king, where am I riding?"

"You Velan are riding, into if I am correct, to gate crash a festival of the High Lord Pastal Bohime."


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## Vergil (May 4, 2011)

*The Frost.*


There was never any strategy involved when Terryn was in charge, or so it seemed at least. He would get that look in his eye, rush forward and that was the signal. In a few short hours the village and the people in it would be theirs. 

Vergil was never sure if Terryn was a tyrant or merely being himself. It was the only thing he knew; no-one had told him otherwise. His family had celebrated in his brutality, at least that’s what Vergil had heard from his sister. So did that make him evil? He watched as Terryn lay in wait in the snow covered evergreens. His impossibly large maul was gripped in his right hand, still not cleaned from the last raid and now stained with the blood of innocents.

Of course that’s what everyone thought. That these village folk were innocent victims. But Vergil watched them too but without the red mist that was slowly descending on Terryn. Were these people innocent? Vergil pondered on the word. What was innocence? A child running around, screaming gleefully at being chased? It would appear so, but what of the insects that were trampled on? The furs from an animal he was wearing to keep him warm? 

‘That’s different!’ people may say, ‘He kills people!’ No. Vergil believed that he too kills insects. Things that were merely in his way as his sights were on a greater prize. Vergil then, felt no remorse as the signal was given. His skills as a mage would only be needed if there was something unexpected. He preferred it that way. He sat on the outskirts of the violence that ensued and watched without emotion as the boys father came running out and was met with a slit throat, given to him by delicate fingers.

The girl was a mystery to him. Certainly she was talented. A fire that burned should you get too close to her. She killed and thieved but for a different reason. Her family were kept hostage deep within one of the caverns in the Frostbacks. Did that make her evil? If not then what’s the difference? Her goal was deemed better than Terryn’s one of domination? Vergil again didn’t agree with that line of thinking. If Terryn was to go to Hell then this girl would follow, as would he. The girl, Victoria, may have had a better reason to kill but to look at her when she was doing it – she enjoyed it almost as much as Terryn. It seemed like almost a convenient excuse to do what she loved. From what she has told the mage she was in line to get married next year at the age of 13. As she hid in the shadows and struck out at her prey , there was no doubt that she was the same, though history may remember tings differently. She would likely be described as another victim of Terryn cruelty. If Vergil were to survive till the end, perhaps it may be amusing to tell these tales at the taverns.

He would certainly not forget the one that is most forgettable. The younger brother. A fearsome warrior but utterly mute. Where other Barbarian clans may have cut him loose into the wilds to his certain death, Terryn saw different. He was, if nothing else, an excellent judge of character. Terryn could look into your eyes and see your soul. That’s certainly how Vergil would describe it at the Taverns. 

The younger brother, Vergil thought, would be surely the unsung hero. He did much of the scouting and recon using his highly developed sense of hearing. A man so desperate to repay his brothers faith in him that he wears a blindfold to hone his skills. Vergil wondered about the bond between family; his family life was…complicated. He watched, almost in envy as the brothers stood back to back and tore through the insects. The women of the village stayed at the threshold of their huts, watching hopelessly as one by one their husbands and family went down. They knew what was coming. Possibly the worst night of their lives. Vergil took no part in it – not through distaste but simply because he was not physically strong enough to take down women who had been farming and he did not want to be shamed into having someone hold her down. 

The children were taken - a life of sevitude and harsh training awaited them - slumped over the men’s shoulders as their mothers and sisters were raped. A few of their favourite women were also taken – used as insurance and playthings. Terryn ran a tight operation. He stood triumphant as the village was taken. Unlike other Barbarians which Vergil had seen on his travels Terryn did not strip everything of value from the village. Instead he took over it, defended it like his own. The Frostback clan was growing and they were coming from the mountains and making a mark in the lower territories. This Warlord had the ambitions of a Ruler. It was this reason why Vergil stayed and he thought also why the girl didn’t make too much of a fuss. It was an interesting story that was unfolding.


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## Thaddeus Griffin (May 6, 2011)

A great, woodless hearth was filled with a cozy fire which happily cracked and sung merry tunes as Thorain Glenfiddich sat before it, reading through the old recipes of his family, one of which he had recently succeeded in distilling, and of which he now had glassful on the table. His library was not ridiculously big, nor was it small by any means, to be frank it was quite the right size for Thorain. As he sat there, studying the endless variations of spirits he could try to distill, he thought back to his younger years. Watching his father hard at work in the distillery, wanting to be just like him one day. It’s an odd feeling, realizing that your childhood goals  have become mere pastime. Thorain knew he had surpassed his father in many ways. Just being able to do magic had already established that, and still it always gave Thorain an odd feeling of melancholy when he thought about how he had yet to attain the skill his father had when it came to distilling spirits. He had had some success in the past, but nothing he created was a great as the recipes of his father, or his fathers’ before him. 

Sighing, he put away the book. “Come in” he said, before there was even a knock on the door. His two minions, Jack and Captain Morgan, walked into the library. Morgan was the elder of the two, even though they were both fire elementals summoned by Thorain, age still held some importance to them. “Anything?” They both shook their heads in silence. Just as Thorain thought, this location had proven useless as well. His search for the ancient recipes of his forefathers had proven more difficult than he had imagined when he had started. He sighed, and dismissed his minions. He sank back in his chair, took a sip of his drink, and lit his favorite pipe.

The dream had been vivid, the sleep unintentional, and the awakening had been like a lightning strike. He had seen a place, but he was not there. He has never been there, and yet it seemed so familiar to him. He realized where he had seen it, but it was not plain to see. He had searched for a place like this for years, and now he felt that he was closer than ever. He got up out of his chair, scanning the shelves of books for the ones he thought would help him. He summoned his minions back to the library, he had summoned them instantly and they knew it was serious. “Don’t let anyone into the tower, if they come to the door, send them away. If they try to enter otherwise, warn me at once. Otherwise, do NOT disturb me, go!” Even though the request itself was simple enough, the tone of his voice had been all too clear. Jack and Morgan went immediately, and Thorain went back to his books. He flicked through the pages, reading as fast he could. "Where, where is it?!" He thought as he searched frantically through his books. Book after book he went through, every one of them turning up empty. 

The hearth was no longer singing, it burned in silence, sensing the atmosphere in the room. Thorain finally became so frustrated with his fruitless search that he threw one of the books into the fire. The hearth made a startled whoop due to the sudden intrusion, and Thorain was snapped out his focus by the noise. He looked at the book in the fire, and he could almost punch himself for his stupidity. “How could I not have noticed? Fire, so important in the distilling process, has now proven to be key in uncovering the ancient recipes.” The thought was simple but he had overlooked it for so long. A snap of his fingers quickly extinguished the fire, and the book stopped smoldering. He picked it up, shook the ashes off the burnt edges, hoping that it had not yet been ruined. He picked up all his books, and began his work.


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## River Song (May 7, 2011)

*Akhnaden*

He was tired, the stresses of the world were becoming too much, so he sat it the top room of his tower, a cup of green tea in his hand. He thought to himself why did he take up such a position, the old coot got himself killed and he got landed as master of the tower. It didn't clean itself you know. Of course he had help, in the form of his apprentice James who was sweeping downstairs.

He decided something stronger might help. With a wave of his long elegant fingers a bottle of brandy picked itself up and poured itself into a glass. With another flick of his fingers it came towards him and stopped in his hand. 

He stood up, gown swishing and began to walk down the main set of stairs. He had a small tower but it was homey and most of the time he was out training in the forest. Murmuring a thancks to James as he passed, he opened the oak doors to be greeted with the wonderful sight of his forest.

He walked slowly through the green expanse, noting that the trailing flowers were beginning to bloom. He walked up to a giant oak tree, admiring it, the patterns on it carved by god himself. He beside the oak tree and took a deep swig of his brandy. Concentrating he caused a small branch to extend from the tree, it shape functioning to hold his brandy.

 He crossed his legs and meditated, concentrating on the glorious magical aura of the forest. Then he felt a foreign source of magic enter the mass of trees and plants, he quickly recognised it as James. He opened his eyes to see James, carrying a broom, walking towards him.
?Master, I have finished sweeping the rooms? he said with a slight bow. ?Well done my boy? he said encouragingly, drink in hand.  ?You may take a break and do as you wish today and tomorrow, I feel like I?ve been working you to hard? he said, he did feel sorry for the boy he was not always the nicest person to be around. ?Thank you master? he said bowing before sprinting back to the tower.


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## Chaos (May 8, 2011)

*The Spirit of Fire, Thorain's Tower*

Slowly, ever so slowly the Spirit of Fire descended. It had been summoned to too many false alarms already, too many people who decided to take up the way of the Fire only seconds before their death, decisions only spurred on by the cold blade of winter coming to finish them off. Why would this time be different? 

Even considering this though, even considering a spirit can't really feel anxious, the Spirit was somehow drawn towards this great tower that stood in the middle of a gigantic debris-littered mountain range. Faster. Just for that last hope. A real seeker of knowledge and power.

The Spirit, being intangible, easily glided through the huge trebuchet on top of the tower, through the roof, to where the wizard resided. The wizard was an old man, but the spirit didn't care. Those who pursued the power of the elements didn't die easily, not even by age.

_"Is it true, wizard? Do you seek the way of the eternal flame?"_

*Feat of passing: Elementalism
Answer the spirit*

*Feat of passing: Academics
Try to find out what the hell is haunting your room*


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## River Song (May 8, 2011)

*Akhnaden*

He heaved himself up from the tree, leaving the brandy on the ground. He decided to hone his magic, he had been lazy over the past few days and he did not like it. He walked through the forest, watching the plants come into bloom but he noticed one plant that was wilting. Taking pity on it he crouched down and took it into his hand sending a surge of magic through it. 20 seconds later it was in full bloom, overshadowing the other flowers.

He walked into a clearing and Thaught:  

People do not understand the wonders of nature. They think it is something that is just there to look pretty, well its not. It is life it is the rightfull owner of this planet. The trees older than our great grandfathers and the budding flowers all of these are important. He placed his and on the ground, focusinf his magic on it. A radiant white rose began to sprout and frow. Once it had reached full bloom Akhnaden picked it. He once again focused his magic and the tip of the stem sharpened.

Using his Telekenisis he lifted it with his magic. Floating n the air it span about, like a compass finding north. He the closed his eyes and focussed on the magic signatures of the forest. He could sense a small animal in the bush to the west of him. The rose magasticly flew throught the sky and into the bush. His aim was true, he had skewered the badger.

He never much cared for animals, they were so inferior to plant life. Bees he could tolerate, they were nescesarry to the groeth of plants but what was the point of the other animals. All they did ewas eat sleep and fornicate.


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## Thaddeus Griffin (May 8, 2011)

*The Spirit of Fire*

He sensed it, what it was he couldn’t quite make out, but something magical entered the room. Suddenly it spoke: _ “Do you seek the way of the eternal flame?”_  Thorain heard this voice, a warmth emanating from it, and he felt at ease somehow. The voice that spoke to him sounded warm, and somewhere within it resided more than warmth, there resounded the heat of fire itself. “What are you?” Thorain asked. _“Do you seek the way of the eternal flame?”_ the entity asked again, more pressingly now. Thorain thought of an apt answer, and decided that he would just take a shot. And so he did, he grabbed the nearest bottle of booze and took a swig. “Yes I seek the way, enlighten me.” The entity did not give a noticeable response to Thorain’s reply. _“Do you seek the way of the eternal flame?”_ The heat emanating from the voice seemed to intensify, as if the entity was growing impatient. It struck Thorain like a spark igniting. The heat. It must be the fire. 

If fire was the key, then it must also be the answer. Thorain thought on this a while, he could manipulate fire, but an eternal flame? He didn’t know how he was supposed to achieve that, but the way to it seemed intriguing, and he was in fact already on it. Thorain thought about the fire, the fire was the answer. He knew that, but how could he answer with fire? The entity asked if he sought a way, a way requires conviction, conviction cannot exist without passion, and passion requires fire, not literally, but an inner fire. The thought of this chain stayed in his mind, he knew the answer was there, but what was it? Fire, passion, conviction, a way, a traveler. 

Thorain knew, he had known since he first thought of the inner fire. He knew what was required of him, he sure as hell didn’t like what it was, but he knew he had to do it. He took one last swig, poured the rest of the bottle over himself and ignited the drink. The heat overcame him immediately, but in his last conscious moment he felt the entity, seeming pleased, excited almost. Then Thorain was out.

In the heat, Thorain remembered. He remembered the books, the countless books of his family. Books about distilling, books about spirits, books about fire. His father had always taught him the importance of fire, fire can mean destruction, but it can also mean survival. Fire itself seems alive, and his father taught him that there are those who believe that it is indeed alive. Some call it the inner flame, some called it the spirit, but the name did not matter. The important thing is the fact that no one had ever seen or even experienced it, at least no one who lived to tell the tale.

Thorain woke up and the entity was gone, but that wasn’t the strangest thing Thorain noticed. His clothes were in pristine condition, and his body was unharmed. Thorain did not understand what had happened, or how it had happened, but he felt pleased. However, he had things to do. The books were still occupying his mind, and he had lost time in dealing with that strange entity. It was still puzzling him, but he knew he needed to get back to work.


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## Thaddeus Griffin (May 8, 2011)

Thorain had indeed found something in the hidden texts of the books. He had found clues, and he had started searching his tower for more. What he found didn?t turn out to be clues. He found old junk, and, more importantly, old booze. He had decided he?d put off his quest for now and that he would first clean up his tower, wizard style. For Thorain, wizard style meant getting hammered, and not just hammered on the normal human scale, no. Hammered on the Thorain scale meant lots and lots of booze, the quantities that could put an average-sized bear into a premature hibernation.

A few hours later, Thorain had hauled the old stuff up to the platform where he had Big Bertha, his trusty trebuchet. Furthermore, he had hauled all his booze up there too. Thorain was a drinker, but he was no fool, he knew well enough that being drunk meant no hauling of stuff up towers, that simply ends in a catastrophe. Having completed the first step, he now proceeded to the more important second step, getting hammered. Thorain took his time, like he always did. Drinking should never be rushed, that is waste. Drink should never be spilled, that is waste. Lastly, a drinker should NEVER be hasty, that is the ultimate waste. Therefore, Thorain always takes his time when drinking.

Evening had set in by the time Thorain was done, and it mattered not. Soon, there would be enough light to see clearly. Atop his tower, Big Bertha stood proudly. Big Bertha lived up to her name, because no matter who you asked, they?d confirm it was big. Sadly, only a few people could also recognize her as female, but that is besides the point. The point here is that a big-ass trebuchet could sling big chunks of stuff into the night sky. Thorain lit the torches atop his tower, providing enough light to hook up his things to Bertha. He had his staff with him, which wasn?t what he usually did, but he thought he needed practice aiming with it. 

Big targets first then. He hooked up an old stone statue that he did not need to Bertha, stepped aside, fell over and cursed his tower thrice to hell. He staggered to his feet, managed to keep himself upright with his staff, and pulled the lever which let Bertha unleash her projectile with furious vengeance. Or, in this case slung a statue towards the stars. He aimed past his staff, tracked the statue in the air and launched a fireball at it. This was beauty in motion, a flaming ball hurling towards a flying stone statue, high up in the mountains. The fireball hit, and it hit good. The statue exploded into a thousand burning pieces, like a Wailord using explode in the middle of the desert.

This magnificent sight was not witnessed by a soul however. Immediately after launching the fireball Thorain had passed out from all the booze he had drunk. About fifteen minutes later he woke up again, and continued his target practice. This went on for several hours, with Thorain occasionally passing out, and missing more and more often as the targets became smaller and smaller. Eventually Thorain ran out of ammo, and stamina. Late at night, he went back downstairs to his bedroom and fell into a drunken sleep, he was going to feel this in the morning.


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## Kuno (May 8, 2011)

*Lord Bohime...*

The King's entourage walked slowly through the crowds surrounded my a small patrol of soldiers.  Many people waved and cheered, some even came over and knelt before the great man.  All was well with in the kingdom and they celebrated their good fortune.  “It looks as if you have out done yourself once again.”  an elderly noble man approached the king and bowed.  “I admit your Majesty, that I had doubts when you took over for your father.  But, it seems that I have been mistaken.”  He straightened and turned his eyes to gaze over the few trusted advisers.  “Though for the moment I think I will reserve my judgment.”  with that he walked away, not waiting for a response.

“I see you are still having issues with Ser Moivet.”  Kheldar twitched his nose slightly, a trait that Pastal knew very well, the young man knew everything that went on in the kingdom and he had known that fact for a long time.

“I think I will have issues with the old guard of nobles for some time.”  Pastal shrugged taking a large turkey leg from the servant.  “They have a problem with change so this shouldn't come as a surprise.”  He bit into the roasted meat and began to chew, only distractedly wiping at the grease that settled on his lips.

“The people are enjoying themselves M'Lord.”  Keena nodded, demurely taking a small goblet of wine from a small serving boy.  “But do not become lax.  Others may attempt to take advantage of the situation.”

“Of course!”  Pastal laughed deeply.  “Besides, why else do I keep you all around?  For fun?”  He laughed again, joined in by the small group.  Even the small group of accompanying soldiers joined in on the mirth.

Stopping for a moment they turned their attention to a troupe of performers.  They were clowning around, interspersed with acrobatics.  It was a scene about a long ago battle made to seem more of a comedy than the travesty it had been, even if Boktorum came out the victor.  “Well done!  Well done!”  Pastal cheered, applauding the group when they took their final bow.  He gestured at the man nearby and he went to toss some coin toward the groups way.

“We are honored by your visitation your Majesty!”  What seemed to be the leader called back and Pastal gave a wave before they once again moved on through the throngs of people and different booths.

“A glass of wine if you would.”  Pastal gestured toward his servant her scurried off at his bidding.

Moments later he handed a large goblet to his king then turned and bowed, his hand outstretched toward the man that had followed him back.  “Ser Velan on behalf of King Corvus Ravensnake the fifth.”

Lord Bohime's eyebrow raised.  “And what by chance could my dear cousin want?” he had his suspicions that were confirmed we he glanced at Kheldar.


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## Serp (May 8, 2011)

Akkarin nodded at the servant that lead him to Lord Bohime. "Thank you, but I am no mere Ser, I am an enchant now." Akkarin bowed towards the king. It had been many years since Akkarin had travelled to the lands of Pastal Bohime and since then had grasped his own concept of magic, making him a noble, a solider and now an enchant. 

"My lord Pastal, I apologise for crashing your festival, but my own lord has news and things he would like to discuss."
Akkarin didn't want to make it too suspicious to take Bohime to one side and tell him what Corvus wanted to tell him.

"But firstly the death of his lord and king father, Corvus the fourth of his name, he was caught by a terrible most poisonous  beastly sickness according to the guild and Corvus thought to warn all in his blood chain to watch out for viruses." This was the best way Akkarin could say that it was thought that he died from poison without out right saying it.

Akkarin took out a vial of blood and handed it to a servant to bring to Pastal. Akkarrin had gone to corpse of the late lord but his body was drained of blood and the body ready for cremation, it was all over very quickly as if something was being hidden, but the rags that Corvus had coughed up blood into in the days before his death were still ready, Akkarin extracted the blood and drained them into his vial.
"My king said to say to you to have your best men look over this blood and see if you could find any insight into the sickness. He would hate for all the rulers in this area to catch it and fall prey if the blood is particularly weak to the sickness." Akkarin simply meant this time to have whoever was responsible to test the blood to confirm or deny if it was poison who killed the lord, if it was proved to not be poison then it was surely magic but either way the eyes would turn to the guild and to Ros?.

Pastal was smart one of the smartest rulers in the land, he ruled the lands next to the Ravensnake holdings and from marriage of Corvus IV to a Bohime they were alligned. If it came to fight a rouge enchant or the guild which could range from 1 to many thousand he would ask for Bohime to help. 

-------

Corvus was busy arguing with Ros? again.
"No! I will not allow it."

"Why your grace." Ros? spoke through clenched teeth. "The guild needs more recruits and the lower classes have lots of untapped potential to fill the ranks."

"You know how it has always been uncle, the lower class is tested for magic ability when they come to 16 years of age, or 14 if they show signs early, but to start at 11 and take them away from their family is not something I am willing to do."

"If you did this you could increase the amount of battle ready mages you have by a third in no time at all."

"I will not have children fighting in my army."

"My lord I beg you to reconsider."

"I SAID NO!"

Ros? glared at Corvus. "Very well my lord, the land is in your hands." And with that he waved his hand and vanished in a wisp of smoke.

Corvus looked worried, no magic was meant to be able inside the throne room, unless he casted it himself or the mage was extremely powerful. Was he underestimating his uncle Ros?.


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## Thaddeus Griffin (May 10, 2011)

Thorain had been right in thinking he?d feel it in the morning. The feeling was familiar, but that didn?t make it any more comfortable. His mouth was dry as a desert after the Trapinch had eaten all the whale meat left from Wailord?s explosion. The headache felt like he had just read through a 2500 page paper on quantum physics, whatever that may be, only to find a mention to a certain Rick Astley as a conclusion. The headaches were a nuisance. However, they sometimes granted him great ideas, like selling his homebrew booze in the nearest town. ?I have no clue as to how I came up with that one, but it _is_ a good idea..? Thorain thought, and so, after gathering all the booze he could find stockpiled in his tower, he set off. 

Of course Thorain did not set off alone. He brought along his trusty minions Jack and Captain Morgan to keep him company, and, of course, to carry all the booze. ?But what of your research master Thorain?? Morgan asked. ?Right now, I couldn?t research anything even if I wanted to. Yesterday was a little hard on my mind..? Thorain said, and Morgan required no further explanation. He was well aware of his master?s habits, who made no effort to hide them. Morgan didn?t mind, he even found it amusing sometimes to watch his master flail about, seemingly without control of his body. The rest of the journey was completed in silence.

Thorain and his minions arrived at the town early in the evening, and they decided to set up camp a bit away from the town and road rather than risking their cargo being stolen. Furthermore Thorain knew that in the wilderness he?d be able to go all out should it come to a fight with anyone, or anything. The night turned out to be uneventful. Thorain made a fire and cooked himself a simple dinner from the supplies they brought with them. Morgan and Jack, being elemental beings, did not require any food, which was great for reducing upkeep. Thorain slept as Morgan and Jack alternated shifts guarding camp, and at the crack of dawn Thorain woke up again. They packed up their cargo and headed into town after Thorain ate his breakfast.

The town was bustling with activity as they walked through the large, wooden gates into the main street. It was not a large town, probably only a few hundred inhabitants, but it was crowded nonetheless. Thorain went down the main street, looking at the wares the merchants were trying to sell. Nothing of particular interest to Thorain was displayed, and he quickly concluded that it was best they set up shop themselves. Before actually selling anything on the streets, they went to the local inns and taverns to sell their drink by the barrel.

Thorain was never in it for the money, he didn?t need much of it, but he did always enjoy bargaining. He wasn?t the greatest haggler, but he was never entirely unsuccessful. People always seemed to be rather light-hearted in their negotiating with him, which meant that he could get quite a sweet deal most of the time. This day was no different, the innkeepers and tavern-owners of the town knew Thorain, as he was quite famous around these parts . Whether his fame came from his drinking or from his magic he didn?t know, and he didn?t really care. All he knew and cared for right now was that he could sell his drink at a good price. The real reason that he could sell so expensive is that the innkeepers knew they could sell him his own drink for an even higher price when he came to town thirsty, which happened frequently enough for them not to lose any money on him. 

Having sold most of his stock to the inns and taverns, Thorain went out into the main street again, Jack and Morgan not far behind.  He had only a few barrels left and realized that he had indeed brought his entire stockpile with him, and sold most of it. ?Jack, Morgan, go back to the tower and put those barrels back in storage, I don?t want to be without a drink at dinnertime.? The minions acknowledged the order and went on their way as Thorain stayed behind, strolling through the streets.


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## Chaos (May 10, 2011)

*Spirit of plants, Akhnaden's forest*

The roots said all. There was a new power around. And this one didn't plan on playing it nice. Domination or nothing. The spirit didn't know whether this was good or bad, but one thing was sure. This one was aiming for real power. And that was everything the spirit needed to know. The invisible force slowly made its way up through the ground, then melted into the roots of the big tree the new one was leaning against. So determined, yet so careless. He would learn in time. 

For now, something else was important. The calling. The spirit brought out it's voice again, for the first time in so long a time.

"Human... Are you really one with the green nature? Do you really seek the path of the tangling fern?"

*Feat of passing: Elementalism
Answer the spirit*

*The Aviary*

A servant stepped into the room mere seconds after Rosí exited through his magical gateway. 

"My lord, we have a dipl-"

Corvus turned onto the servant with a furious expression. "Can't you see I'm busy?" The servant shrank back. There was no way at all to discern that Corvus had been particularly busy, but the tone made it clear that this was a bad moment to go against the young lord.

"As you wish my lord, I'll tell the man to wait."

At that moment, the throne room's great doors slammed open. In the doorway stood a huge man. His wild beard was the only thing that drew attention from his bared muscles, which were quite great indeed. The man wore only an animal fur which left his chest open. 

"Even went as far as too request audience, but the king is clearly to good for the most populous tribe of your country." The man's voice was as his appearance, brutal and imposing.

The servant started stammering. The poor man had not known the man was a barbarian. To let a barbarian, even a diplomat into the royal castle...

Corvus was dumbstruck as well. The huge man however just continued on, walking into the throne room. "The remnants of the old tribes have been gathering, Ravensnake. The law can't prevent our old ways, and for some reason our leadership chose to make an offer for diplomacy first." It was clear that the barbarian thought the leaders had gone soft. Contempt for the king and the whole castle dripped off his voice.

"So that's why I am here, king" The 'king' was spat out as if the word was poisonous. 

*Feat of passing: Reputation
Show the barbarian you are more than a lucky-born tool.*

*Feat of passing: Diplomacy
Handle the diplomat. Somehow.*

*That nameless village Terryn was raiding*

The barbarian warlord stood tall and overlooked his men dragging away the children and women. One more victory for the Frost, one more village under his rule. His territory was expanding, and fast. The contours of a grin came to his face as he watched the largely crying group of children. They would grow. They would learn to accept their lives as part of the Frost, and maybe they would even fight alongside with them once. Maybe.

An arrow split the air a few centimeters before Terryn's nose. He turned to see a lone man standing across the street who had somehow escaped the purge by hiding. The man was trembling, he could barely hold his bow. His eyes kept flitting to the group children and the carnage around him. "YOU MONSTER!" The man screamed his lungs out, trying to draw another arrow but dropping it out of his shaking hands. One of the warriors closeby moved in on the guy. Terryn grunted, plucking the arrow out of the wall before him. "Leave him to me."

With that, Terryn turned on the man, who was still desperately fumbling with his quiver. He had somehow managed to tangle his hand under the loop over his shoulder.

*Feat of passing: Ferocity
Oh, come on, you know what to do.*


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## Serp (May 10, 2011)

Corvus turned to look at the diplomat.
"You would best mind your tongue barbarian." Corvus spat back the man.
The man was big and brutish, his body rippled the fact he was strong, but Corvus had learned that size showed little of what the man could do, his uncle Ros? was a prime example, Ros? wasn't just skilled in magic but he was peak physically and knew many many styles of fighting, even his magical side was impressive, yes a Ravensnake had to always rule the Aviary but the Perch was different, it was the most powerful enchant in the land that could apply for head enchant and thus rule the Perch. But the first was a Ravensnake and all after then have been, because more than just their right was that they were almost always the strongest enchant in the lands regardless. Magic made everything more fun at least, although Corvus' magic was in the stone of the castles and land that did not mean he could not use it, the whole castle was tuned into his magical network she he could hold himself if he needed.

Corvus looked up and down at the Barbarian. 
"The laws can prevent your old ways if I so wish it. Your people are in my land and my law out rules all ways you could have if they clash with the kings peace." Corvus breathed out.

"I know the crown and the wildlings have not gotten on well, but until you people realise the truth of the matter it shall always be so. My ancestors were as kingly as I and as time went back even broader and larger than you, the founding of my clan has always been sketchy so maybe even Barbarian blood in me, but regardless the founder of my clan came into this harsh land, you Barbarians had been barely surviving in this Mangled Scar, its name more fitting of its former state. The land was hard and rocky, the crops grew sparingly and the animals life few, you may have felt hunger before but the hunger you felt was nothing compared to the those who lived in the winters of long ago, my ancestor came and rose a castle from the rock, he flowed his magic into the stone and into by association into the land, the land began to flourish and the Ravensnakes have given up their very lifeforce to fuel this land, so your wife can grow crops while you fuck the goats in the corner, the right to rule this land is ours by right of ownership, so I suggest you mind your tongue!" Corvus was always quick to bite back at a person, he was not afraid of big men, his uncle Magl was a large man as large as Ros? was slim, Corvus had learned the art of combat from both his uncles the two greats in their field respectively, so he was confident.

Corvus' black eyes looked into the Barbarians, but his eyes softened.
"But as people of my land and as your liege lord, I will listen to anything you bring to me with open ear and a mind to wish only the best upon the country." 

Corvus thought to himself, he would not treat these people as his father did, perhaps they did his father in for his prejudices, they were as close to nature as the beast men, the answer could have been there with them, but for now he would listen, if it was not them he could help them and even make them official citizens in exchange for their services if he had to go up against another country or even Ros? guild.

"So speak barbarian and I will listen."

-----------------------

Ros? was furious so furious he had warped out of the room without even realising he should have kept that a secret. Ros? was much stronger than people had thought and he liked them thinking this, they still thought him the strongest but how strong was yet to be determined, he was growing stronger recently and even the strength they knew was about a half of his power. The power to warp the barriers of the Aviary was one Ros? found he could fully control recently but had always been there from youth, the king was the only one who could affect the barriers as his magic made them, but there was a failsafe that allowed his blood to use it in dire need, incase the king had died outside the castle and his children needed to raise a barrier, but that was only to be used if the king was absent. But Ros? had seen sometimes he could walk through the barriers or open the locks but only sometimes as he better learned his magic it became more frequent, but he kept it a secret from his father, his brother and now his nephew. He had seen 3 kings sit upon the throne and each one he held more comtempt for than the last. 

If Corvus that Ros? could alter his barriers he knew he would no doubt cause a scandal, the other lords of the Council flocked to Corvus V before Corvus IV was even cold, Ros? may have resented his brother but he would rather listen to his brother than his snot nosed nephew. But the lords would bow down to take their orders from him and abandon Ros? as if he was not their brother in arms.

"That foolish king, can't he see a war may be coming and the more magical trained soliders we have the stronger the guild will be. But I can see Corvus' thinking he doesn't know where the war is coming, he may not be as foolish as I once thought."

Ros? was in the Perch, in his topmost lab in the whole castle, the kings eye, it windows faced Corvus's chambers and with the right lighting each room was a window to the other. Tomes littered Ros? desk, the scrolls were also present, the sprawled script on some of them was the rare beastman written language that no doubt more humans than beastmen knew in these parts. 

The pages that Ros? was on, spoke of the coming king the one would would unite the men, the beasts and the barbarians in the middle. A Beastman, it said only the characters used to spell beastman were the words human and the word the beastmen used to describe themselves, the term translated means beastmanman but it was meant to mean Beastman. 

Another tome spoke of the history of the ravensnake clan, how it started was vague as to where the first Ravensnake came from before he raised the Avairy, some legends stated he an offshot of another clan, that they had done some terrible crime. 

Another tome spoke of another ancient clan of mages, that breed brother to sister for generations for stronger magical potential but the risks of deformity was too strong for the magical benefits. It spoke of their terrible terrible crimes but never explained what it was, but the whole clan was dying out and those caught were executed. The next marked page spoke of the son of one of these mages, his hair was black and sleek and his body was strong and broad. He was much more magical than the rest until one day he found out about the crimes and in reference to them marked himself with a black feather tattoos upon his forearm and seeked to revive the old crime that crushed his family before and he was run off into the woods towards the south east of lands and left behind a great power sacred to his family and central to the forbidden magical acts they did. His last words were said to be _A kings blood to bind me a kings blood it takes to break it, and one day I shall return to collect what is mine as not only your king but as my own.

_The next tome was a tome of descriptive features of all the born Ravensnakes since and including the very first. 

And at the very end of the table was a vial half full but with residue to know it had once been full, it held a strong and delicate thing, blood.


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