Heather or any other mod
or any other mod
I have a question on this forum, I am an amatuer(sp) Writer and story teller and would love to post some of the things I have writen but they can get long at times, Is there a section just things like that, or do you do like some forumsand group ioit in this section, or is allowed at all.
Carrion birds screamed over the feast some predator had brought down the night before, their raspy,
scratchy voices echoing through the valley as it gave way to the morning sun. The grass had grown tall, and
trees had taken root, but these could not hide all that had once stood in this most ancient of places.
Hidden in the grass but not destroyed, the cobble stones of a street could still be seen, and if anyone had
looked closely at the stone that jutted from the ground in odd directions, they would have seen that it had
once bore the marks of a craftsman’s tool. In fact, if anyone looked, they would have seen an opening in
the wall of stone, that had burrowed into the earth.
It could easily be mistaken for a simple cave, time had degraded it so. But if they were there and could
move the grass, they would have seen the carved etching of some ancient, all but forgotten god. This was
once a great temple, but like all things, war, famine or humanity's simple allowance of time had allowed it
to come to this. But not even time could take away it's secrets. Once this place had been beautiful made of
sparkling marble, veined granite, and pale alabaster, but those had fallen, yet it's secret still remained.
No more did kings and queens come here to seek prophecies of guidance. But they could, if they had known of
this place. No more did prefects walk it's hidden and forgotten halls, watching and guarding that secret,
that had once been keep so dear, though the secret still remained deep in the heart of what most would call
nothing more than an old ruin. No one would see the tall polished stone with it's rounded edges and
sleeping carved eye. No one could claim it, for most had forgotten what it was, and those that hadn't,
called it a legend.
For five thousand years it had sat hidden deep within the darkness of this ancient home. Once, the stone
had been called the teller, and had been protected, cherished and then forgotten, but never destroyed. It
had foretold the coming of the Shadow, had seen the rise and fall of kings and queens, but now it showed
nothing, for there was no one to show it too. The gods had not shown the force trapped within, but here it
now sat waiting, sleeping. The hand carved eye above the place where the gods of old would write the
prophecies for kings and priest would read and record events, sat closed in the act of sleep.
But if anyone had been there to see what happened after so long, they would have noticed that the hand
carved eye snapped open. They would have seen the eye in that stone socket was very real. They would have
seen the words that very slowly, very deliberately began to flow over the stone, as though they were
written in the throws of death. They would have seen the message of some forgotten god, and would have felt
what that god sought to give them - hope.
In the days a dark lord will come, and claim the throne,
Within his rule pain and death be known.
But in the night of his reign,
When he has reached his most insane,
A child comes to set us free,
king or queen we will not say.
But games with gods will they play.
and In his fire tempered rage,
Sol will stand as their sage,
Placing darkness in a gilded cage.
With in his fire we will sing,
for peace and love his fires bring.
And in this psalm I leave for you:
word of a child whose strength will pull you through.
The words glowed red, burning deep into the stone, engraving into it. Those who had read this psalm, in
times long past, could have told anyone who had been there to see, that this is not how it once was. The
words should have faded and been gone. The stone lid should have covered over that very real eye, and again
the stone should have slept until once more it spoke prophecy for more to see, but it didn't. Instead it
began to change, the blue around the black becoming sapphire, the pupil an opal, and the white the largest
of pearl.
scratchy voices echoing through the valley as it gave way to the morning sun. The grass had grown tall, and
trees had taken root, but these could not hide all that had once stood in this most ancient of places.
Hidden in the grass but not destroyed, the cobble stones of a street could still be seen, and if anyone had
looked closely at the stone that jutted from the ground in odd directions, they would have seen that it had
once bore the marks of a craftsman’s tool. In fact, if anyone looked, they would have seen an opening in
the wall of stone, that had burrowed into the earth.
It could easily be mistaken for a simple cave, time had degraded it so. But if they were there and could
move the grass, they would have seen the carved etching of some ancient, all but forgotten god. This was
once a great temple, but like all things, war, famine or humanity's simple allowance of time had allowed it
to come to this. But not even time could take away it's secrets. Once this place had been beautiful made of
sparkling marble, veined granite, and pale alabaster, but those had fallen, yet it's secret still remained.
No more did kings and queens come here to seek prophecies of guidance. But they could, if they had known of
this place. No more did prefects walk it's hidden and forgotten halls, watching and guarding that secret,
that had once been keep so dear, though the secret still remained deep in the heart of what most would call
nothing more than an old ruin. No one would see the tall polished stone with it's rounded edges and
sleeping carved eye. No one could claim it, for most had forgotten what it was, and those that hadn't,
called it a legend.
For five thousand years it had sat hidden deep within the darkness of this ancient home. Once, the stone
had been called the teller, and had been protected, cherished and then forgotten, but never destroyed. It
had foretold the coming of the Shadow, had seen the rise and fall of kings and queens, but now it showed
nothing, for there was no one to show it too. The gods had not shown the force trapped within, but here it
now sat waiting, sleeping. The hand carved eye above the place where the gods of old would write the
prophecies for kings and priest would read and record events, sat closed in the act of sleep.
But if anyone had been there to see what happened after so long, they would have noticed that the hand
carved eye snapped open. They would have seen the eye in that stone socket was very real. They would have
seen the words that very slowly, very deliberately began to flow over the stone, as though they were
written in the throws of death. They would have seen the message of some forgotten god, and would have felt
what that god sought to give them - hope.
In the days a dark lord will come, and claim the throne,
Within his rule pain and death be known.
But in the night of his reign,
When he has reached his most insane,
A child comes to set us free,
king or queen we will not say.
But games with gods will they play.
and In his fire tempered rage,
Sol will stand as their sage,
Placing darkness in a gilded cage.
With in his fire we will sing,
for peace and love his fires bring.
And in this psalm I leave for you:
word of a child whose strength will pull you through.
The words glowed red, burning deep into the stone, engraving into it. Those who had read this psalm, in
times long past, could have told anyone who had been there to see, that this is not how it once was. The
words should have faded and been gone. The stone lid should have covered over that very real eye, and again
the stone should have slept until once more it spoke prophecy for more to see, but it didn't. Instead it
began to change, the blue around the black becoming sapphire, the pupil an opal, and the white the largest
of pearl.
* * * * *
Deirdre, the goddess of light and life, sat back in her throne of roses. Her soft features tired, her once young, beautiful hair now starting to show the first hint of gray, her mouth, always turned into a smile, now simply breathed in and out slowly, trying desperately to calm her body from the magic that the spell had required.
"Is it done Mistress?" the small sprite beside her asked, his worry etched plainly on his face. His big blue eyes giving him the look of trying to clear something painful from them.
"Yes Karack, it is done. It will now sit and wait for the one to find it. My design is ready." She spoke slowly, her thoughts finally calming from the frantic, scattered state that invoking the magic had caused. Silently she chuckled at this, never understanding why anyone would have made a hard way to communicate with the creatures of Solaris, but now thankful they had. "Shadowolf may have begun her designs on the world to put her minions in place, and her dark rule may very well come to pass, but it will not stand long. She will fall."
The small sprite nuzzled her hand then. His huge blue eyes meeting hers. "She really means to rule all?"
"Yes. While she seeks to return Exilus to that she deems as his place as the now one true god of solaria" her words soft, deliberate. "And she will destroy all who are pulled in her wake. But I will stop her." Then she laid her head back and spoke no more, for the goddess slept.
Ch. 1
I sit here and look at all the people of the past, and see what it was that brought them here, and wonder if we are all nothing more than a play for the gods. I see many people come through Broken tower - warrior, mage, priest and cleric, but it seems that as I look at them I see a collage of people, like pictures on a mat, and though they all seem to have different pasts and different futures, they blend in and match in a way that it would not be the same, had you never met them to begin with. We grow, we learn and we are who we are, but I wonder if we do it all for the reasons we intended.
I have seen good men and women die of wounds that should have done no more than left a small scar, and I have seen the evil survive fights that could have killed hundreds, and I ask why? What is it about us, which affect us this way? The answer is simple - the gods. But why do they do this? Why were we created, and why are we compelled to fight the evils that walk this land we have named Solaris? Why are we given blade and wood, and turned loose on the shadows? The easy answer is, we are the warriors for these gods. But they are gods! What need do they have of warriors, if their power is so great they could create man, elf, halfling and dwarf? These questions bring me to only one answer: We are chess pieces, and Solaris the board, a game played for their entertainment. Does this sway me from loving them? No, but it does make me aware that all we see, all we go through is their way of making us strong, so that their chess pieces are smart, strong and fast, therefore making their game easier and more interesting, since we can be guided, but in the end the decision is ours to make, and they have to work around our very souls, if they wish to win the game they play so well.
Taken from the journal of
The Lady Devina
Cleric Mistress Broken clan
* * * * *
Ch.2
The mines were cool this morning, as Lich rolled from the pallet of wood that served as his bed. He stretched the muscles that enclosed his small frame, each muscle pulling tight with a slight pop, then relaxing, easing the tension that the long night had brought. Today he smiled, his day of name had come at last. Today he would be ruled a man, and allowed to join the school where he would learn his trade, and the ways of battle his people had used since the dawn of time.
Slowly he pulled the rough tunic over his head, his long brown hair pulling through the hole where his head now sat. Then his short fingers started to work on the braid that would run down his back, but he left a few unbraided inches for the ceremony, where he would receive his markool, a ring of metal that hangs from his hair, like all warriors had. When he finished, he stepped in front of the mirror. His features were normal for a young dwarf, his body about four feet tall. His muscle, young and untrained, hung loose as they waited to be filled with the strength of training and adulthood. He was young to his race, a mere sketch of what he could become. An outline that awaited the artist to fill him in and add the final permanent touches.
He smiled and thought he looked strange, since his beard, the tell tale sign of his race, had not yet filled out, leaving it patchy at best, but it was all he could do, and he refused to allow himself to feel down today. He would be an adult today. Today he would learn to wield a great weapon, today he would take his place in the dwarfs’ society. Today he would be a true warrior. Slowly he sat down to wait for his father. The minutes passed by normally, but to the young who are excited easily, and who can't bare the thought of waiting, it seemed the sand had stopped falling. Seven times he stood looking at the shift of his hair, the fall of his tunic. Nothing had changed as he knew it wouldn't, but he looked anyway.
* * * * *
Deirdre, the goddess of light and life, sat back in her throne of roses. Her soft features tired, her once young, beautiful hair now starting to show the first hint of gray, her mouth, always turned into a smile, now simply breathed in and out slowly, trying desperately to calm her body from the magic that the spell had required.
"Is it done Mistress?" the small sprite beside her asked, his worry etched plainly on his face. His big blue eyes giving him the look of trying to clear something painful from them.
"Yes Karack, it is done. It will now sit and wait for the one to find it. My design is ready." She spoke slowly, her thoughts finally calming from the frantic, scattered state that invoking the magic had caused. Silently she chuckled at this, never understanding why anyone would have made a hard way to communicate with the creatures of Solaris, but now thankful they had. "Shadowolf may have begun her designs on the world to put her minions in place, and her dark rule may very well come to pass, but it will not stand long. She will fall."
The small sprite nuzzled her hand then. His huge blue eyes meeting hers. "She really means to rule all?"
"Yes. While she seeks to return Exilus to that she deems as his place as the now one true god of solaria" her words soft, deliberate. "And she will destroy all who are pulled in her wake. But I will stop her." Then she laid her head back and spoke no more, for the goddess slept.
Ch. 1
I sit here and look at all the people of the past, and see what it was that brought them here, and wonder if we are all nothing more than a play for the gods. I see many people come through Broken tower - warrior, mage, priest and cleric, but it seems that as I look at them I see a collage of people, like pictures on a mat, and though they all seem to have different pasts and different futures, they blend in and match in a way that it would not be the same, had you never met them to begin with. We grow, we learn and we are who we are, but I wonder if we do it all for the reasons we intended.
I have seen good men and women die of wounds that should have done no more than left a small scar, and I have seen the evil survive fights that could have killed hundreds, and I ask why? What is it about us, which affect us this way? The answer is simple - the gods. But why do they do this? Why were we created, and why are we compelled to fight the evils that walk this land we have named Solaris? Why are we given blade and wood, and turned loose on the shadows? The easy answer is, we are the warriors for these gods. But they are gods! What need do they have of warriors, if their power is so great they could create man, elf, halfling and dwarf? These questions bring me to only one answer: We are chess pieces, and Solaris the board, a game played for their entertainment. Does this sway me from loving them? No, but it does make me aware that all we see, all we go through is their way of making us strong, so that their chess pieces are smart, strong and fast, therefore making their game easier and more interesting, since we can be guided, but in the end the decision is ours to make, and they have to work around our very souls, if they wish to win the game they play so well.
Taken from the journal of
The Lady Devina
Cleric Mistress Broken clan
* * * * *
Ch.2
The mines were cool this morning, as Lich rolled from the pallet of wood that served as his bed. He stretched the muscles that enclosed his small frame, each muscle pulling tight with a slight pop, then relaxing, easing the tension that the long night had brought. Today he smiled, his day of name had come at last. Today he would be ruled a man, and allowed to join the school where he would learn his trade, and the ways of battle his people had used since the dawn of time.
Slowly he pulled the rough tunic over his head, his long brown hair pulling through the hole where his head now sat. Then his short fingers started to work on the braid that would run down his back, but he left a few unbraided inches for the ceremony, where he would receive his markool, a ring of metal that hangs from his hair, like all warriors had. When he finished, he stepped in front of the mirror. His features were normal for a young dwarf, his body about four feet tall. His muscle, young and untrained, hung loose as they waited to be filled with the strength of training and adulthood. He was young to his race, a mere sketch of what he could become. An outline that awaited the artist to fill him in and add the final permanent touches.
He smiled and thought he looked strange, since his beard, the tell tale sign of his race, had not yet filled out, leaving it patchy at best, but it was all he could do, and he refused to allow himself to feel down today. He would be an adult today. Today he would learn to wield a great weapon, today he would take his place in the dwarfs’ society. Today he would be a true warrior. Slowly he sat down to wait for his father. The minutes passed by normally, but to the young who are excited easily, and who can't bare the thought of waiting, it seemed the sand had stopped falling. Seven times he stood looking at the shift of his hair, the fall of his tunic. Nothing had changed as he knew it wouldn't, but he looked anyway.
* * * * *
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