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Discussion in 'Fall from Heaven Lore' started by loocas, Jul 30, 2009.

  1. Corlis

    Corlis Chieftain

    Joined:
    May 20, 2008
    Messages:
    200
    Location:
    Ontario, Canada
    I wrote this up a bit ago, as something for the palisade, and I just edited it a little now. No prizes for guessing what it's about...
    Spoiler :
    [TAB]The little girl peeked over the windowsill and ducked down quickly. Somebody was guarding the village gate tonight, though she couldn't make out quite who. That made her cross, though not surprised; the adults had guarded the gate each night since spring, on account of the shadows creeping in the forest. This made things harder, though.
    [TAB]Nevertheless, she slipped into her out-clothes as quietly as possible, picking out her thickest skirt and her woollen mittens as it would soon be Fall.
    [TAB]At last, she crept to the other bed, in which her brother was a softly snoring, blanketed lump. Picking a likely spot on the sheets, she gave it a gentle poke, then a harder one. The sheets blankets shook for a moment, but then nothing. Wrinkling her nose in irritation, she looked towards the window again. There was plenty of night left, but she wanted to be far away once dawn came. If she could have, she'd have left him there, but as the lady had said, he was family, so she grabbed a pin from her pack and started thrusting it. A muffled squeak later and he ripped the sheets off, tearing the pin from her fingers. His plump face stared at her accusingly.
    [TAB]"What do you wa-ant?" he moaned, far louder than she'd have liked.
    [TAB]"We're going tonight", she hissed in a far lower tone. "Get dressed and tie your boots on tight!"
    [TAB]He blinked at her owlishly for a moment, then collapsed back into the bed. "Don't wanna", she thought she heard him mumble.
    [TAB]She stood motionless as his left arm rooted around the bed for his sheets, and tried not to bite her lip in anger. How could he be such a slug on such an important night?, she thought to herself. Her foot started trembling as she held back the urge to kick him, but that would just make him cry in that high-pitched, accusing voice of his. She'd have to do this the quiet way.
    [TAB]"Don't you remember what I told you?" she whispered over his squirming form one last time. "She's got all those sweet things! Like pears! And syrup brittle! And pork! And - " (here she ripped the sheets again from his head) " - honey apples!"
    [TAB]He lay there with his eyes jammed shut, but his jaw moved as he swallowed a bit of saliva.
    [TAB]"An' we never got to go back?"
    [TAB]"No!"
    [TAB]"An' she won't make us do any chores, or washing, or anything?"
    [TAB]"No!"
    [TAB]A few minutes later they were sneaking through the back doorway, laden up like miniature soldiers on a campaign. She led him around the outer path, squeezing between the backs of the houses on their right and the wooden wall on their left. Finally they got to the granary, which was jammed too close to the palisade to squeeze by, at least for grown-ups. That was why nobody had ever noticed the little gap in the stakes in the wall behind it that they now worked their way through.
    [TAB]Finally, they trotted out from the wall and worked their way to the forest's edge under the starlight. Her brother seemed to be cheering up now, perhaps already tasting the sweetmeats he'd been promised, but she was having to hold back a shiver. They were out of view of the village now, but the stars above seemed like little eyes watching her from impossibly far away. Thousands upon thousands of eyes.
    [TAB]She nearly sprinted for the trees near the end, and had to wait for her brother to catch up with that roly-poly gait of his. Under the safety of the tree's shadows they stumbled forwards over the roots and vines, scraping knees and catching their clothes on twigs. Suddenly she found that he was in the lead, and she had to struggle to keep up with him as he barreled forwards. Sweat blocked what little vision she had, but it seemed the branches up ahead had a reddish sheen of light on them.
    [TAB]"Wait for - wait up!" she whispered hoarsely, but he paid no heed and they rushed on towards the glowing light. At last she burst through some bushes after him and tumbled into the middle of a clearing.
    [TAB]"Child. Children."
    [TAB]She brushed the sweat from her face with her sleeve, and blinked with her brother in the flickering hearthlight at the lady sitting there. The hard leather and gaunt face made her look like a man, but her hair was long and black, and her face had a quiet smile etched upon it.
    [TAB]"So I hear the two of you would like to have a new family?"
     
  2. Jabie

    Jabie Wanted in Monte Carlo...

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    Dec 16, 2003
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    Location:
    Southampton, UK
  3. loocas

    loocas Chieftain

    Joined:
    Jun 26, 2007
    Messages:
    439
    Location:
    Seattle
    Snowfall
    Spoiler :
    We had been stationed in a small southern town after reports came that frostlings had been causing mischief and scaring the townsfolk. Things were easy until our lookouts announced the arrival of the White Hand. They approached, and their priest began his work. We immediately felt the air change. The warm summer breeze changed direction and became a crisp autumn gust whipping back and forth. Fear set in all around as we looked to the sky and saw the scattered clouds moving fast. Rather than moving in one direction, they were oddly moving toward the same point directly above the town. The clouds pressed together, compressing and growing, swirling together and becoming opaquely white. Soon the mass appeared to be hanging unnaturally in the sky, or so we thought. The visual change from growing to falling was unnoticable to us below it, and before we could move--WHUMP!--the snowfall hit, burying us all. I scrambled underneath the snow, digging my way upward. I pushed through to the surface and was blinded by the sun's reflection on the white landscape. The sky above was a brilliant, pure blue. I saw others emerge from the banks, screaming in panic and near asphyxiation. I gasped in horror as I saw faint shapes moving quickly across the snow's surface, deftly cutting the throats of those who peeked their heads up. I threw myself back into the snowbank and buried myself. I feared I was dishonoring my lads, but don't know what I could have done. I only prayed I wouldn't be found, and lay in fear until the summer sun melted the snow. What I saw when I emerged was a river of blood, the melting snow washing the ground with red water. The White Hand was gone. They didn't take the town, they just killed everyone in it.
     
  4. Jabie

    Jabie Wanted in Monte Carlo...

    Joined:
    Dec 16, 2003
    Messages:
    1,024
    Location:
    Southampton, UK
    Eater of Dreams

    "They call us Eaters of Dreams, but that's a misnomer. I much prefer Feeder of Nightmares myself"
    -- Vilus Baku-Piper, Sheaim Archmage.
     
  5. loocas

    loocas Chieftain

    Joined:
    Jun 26, 2007
    Messages:
    439
    Location:
    Seattle
    Added buildings to first post.
     
  6. NobbynobLittlun

    NobbynobLittlun Chieftain

    Joined:
    Jul 17, 2009
    Messages:
    30
    Dwarven Shadow
    Spoiler :

    Ribbons and clouds of shadow swirled about him, cloaking him from sight and padding his footsteps. It was an old friend, this mass of shadows, a drinking buddy in spilled blood and illicit deeds. It was also his first warning.

    Other shadows coiled into his, the darknesses roiling about like two oils foreign to one another, and with that touch his body reacted, twisting about instinctively to evade the oncoming stiletto and grab his assailant by the wrist. Stepping into his opponent left no room for dagger-play, and the two wrestled in silence, but he was compact and had the advantage. Turning, he threw his opponent into the floor with incredible force, only to see the foe lightly roll to his feet, and for a moment the two were able to see each other with shadows averted.

    "A dwarven assassin!" his opponent remarked in surprise. Then in disdain, "Your people are neither known nor suited for such finesse, runt."

    The elf crouched in preparation, readying his dagger, only to stop in confusion as he felt a strange rasp and sudden bursting heat in his armpit. His confusion was only compounded as he burst into flame. Elf, fire, and shadow writhed madly - all in complete silence.

    Chortling fiendishly, the dwarf slung a rifle from his back, sighting along it casually. "No finesse, ye say? I'll have ye know, I'm a surgeon wit' the arquebis!"


    I always imagine Hippus voices being a bastardization of Australian accent and something else.

    Airship
    Spoiler :

    "You know, this mercenary business isn't so bad..."

    "Oh, right you are, Horelio."

    "An' you know, nothing's so good as a fleet horse beneath ya..."

    "Tha's right."

    "Thunder on the plains. Faster'n storms. Rhoanna said that herself, bless her heart."

    "Truer words 'ave ne'er been said."

    "Gotta say, though," Horelio mused as he looked at the clouds below him, "working for the Boy-King, you ride in style."
     
  7. NobbynobLittlun

    NobbynobLittlun Chieftain

    Joined:
    Jul 17, 2009
    Messages:
    30
    Stoneskin
    Spoiler :

    "Oh my," she said in a low voice. "'Tis hard as rock. You know," she winked impishly as Adept Morin blushed, "we Svartalfar are not always assassins here to betray and murder..."


    My memory is telling me that Lanun don't really talk like this, but I've already typed most of it, so:

    Radiant Guard
    Spoiler :

    Empyrean had spread in the Lanun city of Boscabelle, thrusting aside the long-standing reign of the Octopus Overlords. While Lars had always paid respects to the cultists, he was not sorry to see them leave; there was little future in a doctrine of despair and incipient madness. Rather, he was more sorry to expect their return, but today that fear was lessened.

    "Papa! D'ye hear? They're coming! They'll be coming down the streets, can we go see them Pa?"

    Cupping a hand to his ear, Lars pretended not to hear. "Oi, wossat lad? Ye've bunions on yer feets, aye, bunions, an' ye're after healin' 'em?"

    "PAPA!" His son, over thirty years his junior at seven years of age, stopped and smiled conspiratorially at this jest. "The Radiant Guard, papa! They'll be down the streets any minute! Ye've seen 'em before, haven't yeh? In ye're a'ventures!"

    "Oh aye lad, when I was third mate on tha Wailin' Maiden. Under contract of the Malakim we were, aye, to ship fresh water to their coastal city. Twas long under siege by the Sheaim y'see, and those Malakim are used to dry o' course, but even they were havin' a time of it. Pyre zombies, lad." The boy's eyes were wide. "Aye, and the Radiant Guard was there sure enough. 'Tis a sight to see, and you'll be wanting a prime view!" Walking out the door, Lars lifted his son onto his shoulders, and bought a bottle of wine from a nearby street vendor. After taking a long draught he passed the bottle up to his son, and continued his speech.

    "White and gold, lad. Tha's how it is in the land of the Malakim. Not so much, boy, ye're buildin' a tolerance, not th'Aqua Sucellus." Lars took the wine bottle back. "Seas of sand stretching out, white and gold and wide as the ocean. I hear tha's how they figured the Empyrean creed; all of us tiny bits o' white and gold, struggling tagether unner the heat o' the sun."

    They threaded through the labyrinthine alleys and ramps of the city. Lars was again glad for the advent of the Empyrean. Rough and tumble as his swashbuckling life had been, he'd always felt quiet joy with his son upon his shoulders, the little hands clasped across his forehead - just as he'd felt dread that one day those hands would claw blood from his forehead in the sudden madness the Overlords' rites were said to induce across entire cities. No, he was glad to see the Cult gone, and the Empyrean arrived.

    And a fine arrival it would be, he knew. Boscabelle was a city founded on top of itself, layers of buildings stacking up as the sea invaded its premises, bridges spanning the waters for an overall charming appearance. It was suitable for a parade today; as the Overlords' cult receded, so had the sea levels, leaving the wide lower avenues for the Radiant Guard to march through, with fantastic views for onlookers to gaze on them from above. Lars stopped on one of these long bridges, setting his son down to lean over the stonewrought side. "There Papa, here they come!"

    It truly was a sight to see. Around the corner they came, nuggets of hope made flesh sheathed in steels of white and gold; down the street and under the bridge they marched, not in lockstep but nevertheless in perfect accord, ranks and files shimmering like a heat haze, and behind them waved the deep red sun of the Empyrean Lion.

    Lars grinned toothily. "Oi lad, watch this..." The boy gasped as his father pushed his bottle of cheap wine off the bridge masonry, toppling it down onto the soldiers fathoms below. The bottle crashed into a Guard's helmet, shattering; wine splashed, slid through, the bold assertion of purple liquid lost beneath unfazed waves of white and gold. The soldiers continued on without pause, though an officer looked up and offered the small boy a sharp salute.

    "Papa.. can I join the Radiant Guard?"


    Giant Tortoise
    Spoiler :

    "I like turtles."
    - Balseraph child
     
  8. Diamondeye

    Diamondeye So Happy I Could Die

    Joined:
    Apr 20, 2007
    Messages:
    6,527
    Location:
    Dancing in the Dark
    Orthus:
    The only sources of light were the torches in the hands of the Bannor guardsmen as they patrolled the palisaded mottes that would help them hold the pass. Daniel sat waiting with his bow unstrung, hoping that the barbarian orc tribes would give up their attempts to gain entrance to the Bannor homeland. There was only this pass, and even the strongest of the orcs had broken their backs against the shields and spears of the Bannor soldiers guarding it.

    Suddenly, a scout cried out. Daniel strung his bow as he caught sight of movement in the dark, just outside range. They were many this time, but it would not change the outcome, only the cost of it. Then, he felt an unwilling sense of doubt as a single source of light appeared among the orcs. It was a burning axe, and holding it was the largest orc he had ever seen. Slowly, to the chants among the oncoming orcs, realization dawned on him. He would die. They would all die. Amaryllis Pass would fall. He desperately sent arrows flying against the oncoming horde as the chants grew in intensity. Suddenly, he felt something blunt strike his right temple, and he fell to the ground. He could taste his own blood, and as his vision faded away, he could hear the chanting orcs moving past his body: "Orthus!" "Orthus!" "Orthus!"

    Blinding Light:
    The Calabim Phalanxes guarding their east border were the only line of defense between the Malakim raiders and the city of Prespur itself. And for a reason. They were proud to be called the most formidable soldiers on the continent, and Asmellum was proud to be called their general. He looked towards the oncoming Malakim raiders. A few Ratha chariots and camel archers. He was in a good mood as his soldiers took up their formations. It would be an easy battle.

    When Asmellum regained his sight, it was to see his soldiers in disarreyed ranks, and the smoke from the sacking of Prespur on the horizon.

    Resurrection:
    "You, again?"
    -Last words of Jernal, Priest of Winter, to his bane, Rantine, who he had recently defeated in battle.

    Sanctify/Devout:
    "We Elohim may be known to guard the Sacred places of Erebus, but a real Devout knows that all of Erebus is sacred. It is our duty to keep it from the desecrating touch of Armageddon."
    -Einon Logos, to the newly-educated Devouts.

    Impersonate Leader:
    "It was only after I had agreed to his proposal of attacking the Luichirp, when he refused to stay overnight, that I noticed something wrong about Falamir."
    -Rhoanna, after being tricked into war by Gibbon Goetia.

    Nightmare:
    "That's not a horse, that's a bloody demon! I'd rather walk, thank you very much!"
    -Groo the Wanderer being offered a lift by the Hippus Hell-Riders.

    World Spell - Warcry:
    It is said that the warcries of the Doviello sound like the howling of a million wolves. It is said that the warcry of the Clan Orcs can shake the foundation of a stone wall. But nothing compares to the warcry of the Hippus. It is so loud that it outroars the galloping hooves of their horses, and so terrifying that you are almost grateful when the swift death relieves you of the noise.

    Tax Office:
    "That's correct, sir. Twenty six gold dubloons in income tax, Eight gold dubloons in competition taxes and six in Market Square payments, two gold dubloons and six silvers in religious taxes. Oh, and four gold dubloons for being three minutes late and eight silvers for the cup of water you asked for."
    -Tax Collector Bradridge, the "most hated man in Nimarail".

    Grigori Tavern:
    "No really, I'm just glad to show you around town. See that guy over in the corner? That's Needles. He killed eight Amurite Wizards single-handedly in the last Grigori war. And that guy? Groo the Wanderer, they call him. Buy me another beer and I'll tell you about the time he outran a Hippus Lancer - barefooted."
    Ozziel, showing one of his fellow (if rather naïve) Balseraphs around in Midgar.

    (KillerClowns might not like me using Ozziel, but I think the story fits him so well. I hope it's okay, KC.)
     
  9. Corlis

    Corlis Chieftain

    Joined:
    May 20, 2008
    Messages:
    200
    Location:
    Ontario, Canada
    This is shamelessly purloined from Magic: The Gathering, but what the heck:

    Scorch
    "Of course you should fight fire with fire. You should fight everything with fire!"
    --Jaya Ballard, Siege Mage
     
  10. Dean_the_Young

    Dean_the_Young Chieftain

    Joined:
    Aug 2, 2009
    Messages:
    811
    Adventurers

    ---

    "Damn the Grigori to the Deep, and may they enjoy the Overlords' company!"
    -Lanun smuggler after being caught by Cabal's Ravens in Junon

    "By Junil's justice, damn the Grigori!"
    -Bannor Sergeant on discovery of Volonna's assassination of a Bannor Confessor

    "Damn the Grigori from the shadows and beyond!"
    -Queen Faeryl on report of Sidhelle's infiltration of the Svartalfar government archives

    "Damn the Grigori, who have never done an honest days work in their life! May they steal and thieve their way to their own destruction!"
    -Arturus Thorne on the defection of Hamlyn Ka to the Grigori with secrets of mithril

    "Damn the Grigori to the sacrificial altar, and may their sacrifice be the bloodiest and most horrific of them all! Let their blood fuel our efforts anew!"
    -Tebryn Arbandi, after Nosamonce's betrayal that allowed Dragon Slayers to confront Abashi

    "May nature itself turn its back and damn the Grigori, as they have turned its back on it!"
    -Yvain, after Panlupan carelessly razed the Song of Autumn

    "By the gods, damn yo- no, Lugus give me patience and hope for your soul, but you are the most aggravating Grigori of them all! Why must you all be so obstinate?!"
    -Varn Gosam, in a rare moment of frustration after a particularly 'frank' exchange with Carrow the Hunted
     
  11. Skaevola

    Skaevola Chieftain

    Joined:
    Jul 5, 2009
    Messages:
    8
    Flag Bearer

    "A crusade without flags? Isn't that blasphemy?"
    - Confessor on flags
     
  12. Kyzarc Fotjage

    Kyzarc Fotjage Rise Up

    Joined:
    Apr 16, 2009
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    Gender:
    Male
    Location:
    Western Washington
    Centaur Charger
    Yes, the centaur are among the best damn warriors in the world. Noone else is their own cavalry.
    Lord Caseek; Kuriotate general.
     
  13. Jabie

    Jabie Wanted in Monte Carlo...

    Joined:
    Dec 16, 2003
    Messages:
    1,024
    Location:
    Southampton, UK
  14. Diamondeye

    Diamondeye So Happy I Could Die

    Joined:
    Apr 20, 2007
    Messages:
    6,527
    Location:
    Dancing in the Dark
    That's awesome, Jabie!
     
  15. Jabie

    Jabie Wanted in Monte Carlo...

    Joined:
    Dec 16, 2003
    Messages:
    1,024
    Location:
    Southampton, UK
    Thread Necormancy. Given there's one final patch to come, I thought it appropriate to ressurect this thread.

    Enchanted Blade

    Spoiler :
    My edge lay smashed in an oily puddle in the middle of the temple. The high priest, if that monstrosity of tentacles and teeth could be called such, slithered in the flickering torchlight, trying to seek out my hiding place. Outside, I could hear the ocean lapping against the cavern walls. Soon the tide would rise, and the others would be upon me.

    My head still bleeding from where I had been dashed me against the altar, my legs lethargic, a sucker mark tattooing my greaves, a kaleidoscope of reds and yellows with every movement, testament to three broken ribs, I crawled in agony towards the shattered point. Only magic could pierce the priest's leathery skin.

    Did it know my plan? Was it toying with me? As my right hand grasped the broken fragment, an amorphous mass crushed it against the floor. Scared though I was, I refused to cry out as it pressed downwards, digging the edge deep into my fingers.

    "Where are you petty magics now, fool?" it sneered, exhaling a briny mist with every word. "Has your god failed you?"

    I spat and cursed it's name.

    "I shall enjoying adding your screams to my collection."

    It leant forwards. At once it's face filled mine, and I could smell the sea on it's skin, the blood of my comrades on it's lips. Unblinking eyes stared into my own, a void of nothingness forming each pupil. Then, with a gurgling sound, it lurched its head back and the two sacs either side of it's neck began to fill with that acrid bile that had claimed so many of my friends. It swang its head forwards, ready to spit, but as it did so, I struck.

    My left hand, still grasping the pommel of my sword, smashed through its throat. For I knew what it did not. The Bannor enchant not only their blades, but their hilts also.
     
  16. thomas.berubeg

    thomas.berubeg Wandering the World

    Joined:
    Aug 21, 2006
    Messages:
    8,961
    Location:
    Ft. Lauderdale
    Chanter

    The Walls of Torrelerial towered over the countryside, imposing, forbidding, looming. Archers patrolled at close and regular intervals, ballistae were mounted on each of the watchtowers, and guardsmen controlled every approach to the massive gates. The Bannor had enough to stop even the largest of the armies Erebus could mass against it, from Orcish hordes to Luchuirp Golem legions. But not enough to even hinder me.

    I turned from the window of the room of the inn I had rented. The outskirts of the city were perfect for the early stages of the mission, as I could observe the movement of the guards and surreptitiously test the defenses of the city. Physical and magical, though neither would post much of a problem.

    Finally, I was ready. I softly hummed a tune, and the walls of the inn blurred like soft butter. My surroundings refocused into a dark alleyway in the middle of the city. I had time for a brief smile, before what felt like a giant’s hand grabbed me and my environs blurred again, to finally refocus into a very solid stone wall. I hummed another tune, searching for what had grabbed me, what new defense the Bannor had developed against me and my like. My song ran along all the threads of magic running through the city, playing lightly along what was clearly the defensive magics: Bannor castings always have a more martial feel to them. There, I had found my captor… a series of glyphs inscribed in the city walls. As I listened, the faded again, falling dormant. Good. That meant that they weren’t still keeping me here, neutralizing my magic. I glanced around my cell, and saw that I was alone. What dim light there was came from a series of glowing runes in the walls. These runes were meant to keep me from chanting my way out… but were woefully inadequate. They were only designed to keep me from transporting myself out. However, no Amurite, let alone chanter, would be stopped by any spell that targeted only one magic. I sang softly, again, and felt the characteristic tingle of my body falling slightly out of phase with the rest of the world. I quickly went through the wall, chanting myself into shadow as I went.

    I took my bearings once I was through. the cell was in the bowels of the palace. I smirked. Seemingly the Bannor were trying to make this easy for me. They were fools to put such faith in their own spell casters. Chanting magic was rare, even among the Amurites. There was no way they could possibly come up with an appropriate defense.

    Stalking from shadow to shadow, I made my way towards the upper levels of the palace, where my mark undoubtedly slept. I passed patrol after patrol, guardsman after guardsman, and even an oathtaker, but they were so secure, so content in their perceived safety that they cast barely a glance at a patch of shadow on the wall.

    The Kill was almost too easy. A quick cut across the neck, above his feathered snake neckelace, and High Chancellor Aldwin became the late and regretted High Chancellor Aldwin, and with his death died the Bannor plans to attack the rich Plains of Grigori… Those would be amurite, as would the vast deposites of mana found within.
     
  17. Skitters

    Skitters Chieftain

    Joined:
    Aug 14, 2006
    Messages:
    517
    Location:
    Birmingham, UK
    Dereptus Brewing House

    Falgrad looked up at the Wizards Tower to where he had committed his future for the next few years at least. He looked forward to receiving the best tutelage, and access to the best resources that would help hone his undoubted talent and optimistically he looked forward to the day that he could call himself a Wizard. Perhaps one day he would himself tackle the Cave of Ancestors. But there was work to be done.

    After a brief conversation with the Dean, Falgrad attempted to navigate his way to Kylorin Passage* to the house where he’d been allocated a room.

    As he entered the home he found that his two housemates had already arrived, one of whom quickly thrust out a hand “aha – you must be the other member of our happy threesome. Marin’s the name, and this is…Dawkit”

    “Dorrit” corrected the third man

    Falgrad shook their hands in turn, introduced himself and was promptly shown to his room.

    “Right” said Marin “It’s fresher’s week….we’ve got work to be done. The Flayed Dragon me thinks!”

    Falgrad looked to Dorrit who gave a resigned look and mouthed ‘tavern’. “Well actually” said Falgrad “I was thinking, I’d unpack my things – get everything in ship shape”

    “Nonsense” replied Marin “This week is about networking not studies. This Wizarding game isn’t always about what you know” and in a hushed tone with a knowing look “look at Valledia” before continuing “You need to get your face known about the town and get to know the opposition….and there’s plenty of time to get down to the studies. Come on - lets sample the delights of the City!”

    At the Flayed Dragon Marin promptly ordered and placed three tankards of ale in front of them. “To us!”

    Falgrad raised his tankard and took a taste. He’d had ale before, but never anything that tasted this good. Seeing the look on his face Marin cheerfully declared “Dereptus Goldgrain – it’s the best ale you can get!”

    The drinks were quickly drowned. Falgrad frowned at his empty tankard “…we don’t get ale like that where I’m from…who’s for another?!” and was promptly met by nods of approval from his fellows. As if from nowhere the unofficial student chant went up “Beer, beer, we want more beer. All the lads are cheering, get the ruddy beer in!”

    Falgrad smiled, and took up the chant himself. Life as a student would be good!



    * not easy when every other street name was Kylorin Street, Road, Way, End, Close, Drive, Boulevard, Expressway, Drive or Grove



    From: Dean
    To: the Bursar’s Office

    Each year, a number of students of the wizarding guild will attempt to transmute water to ale.

    Whilst officially the college does not support alcohol amongst students, there is a chain of thought that this process is a right of passage, and that there is nothing quite like a pet project that helps one focus the mind to finding solutions.

    There is also another chain of thought that if, as unlikely as it should be, a student should create an ale that could match the smooth taste of a Goldgrain – or at the very least work out what magic is surely at play at the Dereptus Breweries – then the financial security of the guild would be assured.

    There are, of course, risks with this policy. Only last term we had to suspend the studies of five students who’s attendance record became woefully inadequate. At the far end of the scale was the case of one, Agrin Falgrad, a student who I briefly met at the beginning of term and who was regarded as one to watch out for.

    It seems we were not watching in the right places as his last recorded sighting was at an outhouse which was believed to have been converted to a laboratory for his experiments.

    It is my duty to request of the Bursars office then, 4 gold coins to help compensate the neighbouring properties for a replacement privy, a vegetable patch and general clean up duties including the filling in of a hole 20 paces across.



    Alternative short version
    “Beer, Beer, we want more beer, all the lads are cheering, get the ruddy beer in!”
    - Amurite Adept freshman’s week chant.
    Invariably each year a number of students will attempt to transmute water to beer, but after tasting the Erebus-wide renowned Dereptus Goldgrain most quickly learn to accept that they won’t be able to better the ‘magic’ of the Dereptus breweries and instead it would be a more prudent use of their time to turn beer back to water…
     
  18. Skitters

    Skitters Chieftain

    Joined:
    Aug 14, 2006
    Messages:
    517
    Location:
    Birmingham, UK
    Mesmerize Animal
    Andril noted how the mood of his forest surroundings changed long before the more tell tale signs of webs and the skeletal remains made the presence known.

    “The Dark Mother” and her spawn had been a bane to the Ljosalfjar for a generation. From the earliest days since the end of the Great Thaw, numerous expeditions had met their end, and hindered expansion into the Southern borders. Many of her children had been captured or destroyed, but the Dark Mother had grown in strength and cunning.

    Andril had been recalled from the conflict with the Svartalfjar where he had demonstrated his wood-lore to the dismay to the traitors of Fellowship. Unlike many of his compatriots, his motivation to fight the Svartalfjar was not the treachery of the Winter Court in trying to impose their will on all – indeed politics held little sway over him – but that it had become increasingly apparent that they had betrayed the Fellowship and switched to some darker faith. There were rumours of burning sands in the Southern deserts, so what was to become of the beloved forests?

    He paused….he could sense She was close….

    Andril closed his eyes, and began the chant. A soft tone lullaby The mood of the forest around him began to relax. Where there had been only occasional nervous chattering, birdsong returned.

    Confident that he had the pitch of the chant right, Andril began to make his way steadily towards The Great Mother until she was finally in eyesight. Andril focussed his attention, knowing full well that the beast was not yet stymied and that one false note would be his undoing.

    He knew that she was confused – all her instincts would be telling her that he was a threat, but the chant was working, and he edged closer. She began to back away, but although he was careful not to approach too quickly, the ground between them steadily dwindled, and with each step closer he took, the slower her own retreat became.

    Finally he was within an arm reach, his nostrils flared as a stench of decay nearly overwhelmed his senses. It took all his willpower to keep the momentum of the chant going, as he finally stepped up to the Great Mother.

    Andril whispered to her, and she understood. She would have new prey soon, and the Svartalfjar would soon pay for turning their backs on the Fellowship.
     

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