[SIZE=16]*A group of bards gather from around Layonara in the town of Dalanthar. A circle forms, a crowd behind, listening in awe as the sky glows red on the crumbling Horizon of the Thunder Peaks. An elf in subdued blue garb opens his mouth slowly as he stokes the fire before the crowds. His voice is melodic, composed, and suddenly as he speaks his plain garb seems to reveal the sparkling of perfectly placed hidden accents of rubies*[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Listen well friends, listen well enemies... for the fate of a king of kings hangs on those horizons.. and it is by both your hands that it crumbles. It began with the High Boyer, sensing the storms of the giant known as Essrantor Aldtorskel approaching too near to the cities of his domain. He sent word for adventurers, and adventurers they came. Dozens of the best known warriors of our time heeded the call, though they knew not what stood in their path. And for that path I'll start with the end, for the beginning of things never truly start with any other place then where we've just ended no?[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*He takes a deep breath as the skies darken all but his red-lit face over the fire*[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Four figures stood, a grey hued giant with a stone crown upon his head, a dwarf of fire and ore, an elf of bone and flame, and the mist of a spirit of an adventurer sacrificed. Ever fading, the ghostly adventurer stood. His name was Fenrir Thornaxe, and as the story tells, he was the blood birthright of Axela and Thorn Losthammer, of the dwarves of olden spirit in these peaks high above us. Fenrir stood, fading and distant, until the king spoke the words of release, and reborn his physical being was. Behind him the mists of the veiled lake swirled about in turmoil. The sounds of crashing echoed so loudly that the hair of the many heroes surrounding waved in the wind of the noise. A tower on the horizon of the lake crumbled, and the stone of the great Thunder Peaks fell around the scene. You see... Fenrir had led the assault on Essrantor Aldtorskel the Ether Giant known for his Arc Clan. And now he stood before his Thane by blood, redeemed of a treacherous past in kin. So how did a spirit thane, a dead lord, and a olden Giant come to redeem this dwarf before his allies amongst the falling skies of Thunder? That is a tale unlike any I have told dear listeners, and not since the days of Bloodstone's fall have will you witness such deeds so heroic.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*The bard slaps his hands together over the fire, causing sparks to erupt in a swirling cloud of air over the fire* Thunder Struck! ...over the armies of three. One army to hold a pass, one army to perform the ritual, and one to storm the tower of storm itself. Their journey had been long, through deep drifts of snow, threats of falling into the wintery abysses around them, and venturing in the realm of spirit's minds of ages long past. It had begun with a battle on the outskirts of Essrantor's realm, at the foothills of the peaks. Clashing with an army of infinite horizon, the armies looked upon each other before they set off into the snows. They each knew their tasks, and they knew that'd they relied on the success of the other. Many would fall in their efforts, some would find the soul mother's grasp upon them. But the war was more important then any one adventurer, and it would be their friends who's lives would one day soon hang on the outcome of their efforts.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]The first party of adventurers would seek out wisdom of old. A hammer they sought and a ritual of times past which might break the seals of Storm Tower. The second party would set off for the ruins of Losthammer in the great chasm of bridges. They would need the knowledge of the dwarven spirits from whom Essrantor had stolen his secrets. The last group would split on itself many times. For many battles needed fighting, and many questions needed answers. To uncover enemies of the Arcs they would set themselves toward so that their fight would not be in vain with such an overwhelming army ahead. This last party knew that they would one day hold the key to defending the high passes so that others might succeed, and all would hinge on their success.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]The many warriors of many epic tales set off in a large group toward the ruins of the Losthammer Clan. They'd retrieved the knowledge of an ancient blood rite in which they might see the past of a kindred clan. So with the wisdom of the Runic Anvil they found themselves before the great chasm of Losthammer. The rune was drawn, the words spoken, and three dwarves of different clans spilled their blood upon the stone of Losthammer. The tale they tell is one of great wonder, for as the first drop hit, time stood still. The dwarf known as Grohin watched as his blood circled the rune, and time slowed around the group. They found themselves looking upon a scene of old, as the history of the clan reversed around them. The wars waged between the giants and dwarves upon the magnificent bridges, and they watched as the scenes unveiled themselves. A young giant, a young Essrantor, stealing the pages of the runic tome of Losthammer from scribes throughout the years. The war waging, the battles lost, their own magics and materials turned against them. The dwarf known as Fenrir Thornaxe watched as his kin fled in cowardice to save their only child, but only later would he find the truth of the scene being of his own blood. The final blood drop fell from the dwarf known as Kobal Bluntaxe, and in a grand room the group found itself, time still working it's way around their ethereal reality. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*He stamps his foot on the ground in rhythm, stoking the fire with a stick to spray sparks around into the crowd* [/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]A Thane stood before 15 warriors and 3 lords. The walls around them thundered. The war was lost, the Thane of Losthammer now spoke of it. Behind them stood a book, the tome of so many secrets that Essrantor had now stolen. The group of heroes watched helplessly as the Thane spoke the final rites. An oath to the clan, an oath to Vorax, and they ran toward the tome in unison, a roar of dwarves echoing throughout the already deafening halls. One by one they perished, and their souls turned to fire. The oath was made you see... and they would forever defend their clanhome from the Arcs... for they had offered their spirits in a final and lasting defense. The dwarves died willingly so that they might fight forever, and the heroes now watched as their souls transformed into a lasting hatred of Essrantor.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*He claps his hands over the fire and looks to the crowd dramatically* And suddenly they stood before a dwarf of ore and fire. A soul of burning fury, demanding that they explain their use of the blood rites on the Losthammer clanhome. For the king had sensed the blood of a Losthammer, the blood of a dwarf who's soul would honorably be a spirit fighting still for the clan. He grabbed Kobal at first, lifting him by his head off the ground to look in his eyes and touch the blood from his arm, then he grabbed Grohin. Both were cast aside, thrown across the great throne room, sliding with great speed into the stone walls, and left unconcious. Finally, the king grabbed Fenrir and roared with fury and confusion. How could a Losthammer bleed blood still![/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]That of course, is a question that needed answering. But the story was unravelling beyond the chasm with the other parties, and not until we understand their tales will we understand where Fenrir Thornaxe's fate lied.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*The bard turns to an elderly human who steps forward with a book in hand. Without looking up he begins to read, a slow and steady elderly voice which seems to rattle with the vibrations of the winds around you.*[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]A few notes have I, a few tales to be told. Many of you know me as Nus, and many stories have I heard to find the peices to this tale, this tale that ends with the fires in the peaks. Hear them.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]No sooner had a plea gone out for heroes to rally to the cause of Boyer when one by one, each with their own tale to tell on the why and how they were there they arrived; Argali, Jin, Ferrit, Grenna, and Arkolia.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Though none had been there to hear the pleas on behalf of Boyer they came nonetheless having heard the call for aid second or third hand. Indeed it appears they had hoped to meet with others with first hand knowledge but none were there and time was pressing that much they knew. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]They petitioned Amoran IIyon, the elder sage of elven lore, for knowledge, certain that much of the lore of the rise of Assrantor could be found at Willows Weep. This information was not so easily obtained, Amoran seemed reluctant to have the group stir trouble, but soon realized the scale of events, he handed them a solitary scroll; a song, Elphonse's reposte. This it appears was the only surviving document, however it's very nature alluded to the existence of further hidden lore. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]First though it demanded in verse that three key words be found to gain the support of magic, nature, and healing. The would be heroes rightly assumed this was some test of resolve and character. The secrets were held among the faithful of Aeridin at North Point, the Druids of the Wilds and a shrine to Lucinda. Time prevented them gaining nature's word and this was later to prove a troubling loss.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Solving some remaining verse they decamped to Thunder Bridge and quite out of tune I might add began singing the song...soon birds appeared and eventually a man who declared himself a wizard of the Higher Path, and duty bound to help the bearer of the scroll. He impassively revealed only that of which he was asked and then provided a way to a concealed crypt. Key words were spoken and they entered to find undead and nature's defences still intact. They fought them all without turning, without complaint, aware others needed there absolute effort. Two fell and were nearly lost forever and so when they found a runed hammer mentioned in the song they turned back, not certain they would survive if they remained. What lore lay beyond their grasp we may never find out....[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]By magical portal they returned to an oak that marked the way and stood in a high mountain valley...[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*The elderly human coughs and takes a breath and flips to the next chapter* Counterpoint...[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Below an army of Boyer was spread across the valley intent on distracting Essrantor's forces. Serg a wizard with that army quickly joined the heroes on the mountain and explained the armies movements. Torn between helping the army which looked to be in trouble or taking the hammer to the lead groups. I am told it was with no small discussion that they decided thus; the hammer was to be taken to Kobal and the lead group bypassing the army, and another group poised to divert Essrantor at a fort ahead. Bypass they did, turning aside for none they climbed, caved and sneaked there way to the lead group, and made splendid time as to be mentioned in Boyer dispatches. However they did not leave Boyer's army to certain doom for Arkolia, one of there number alone turned back to warn them of hidden dangers.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*He looks up, clearing his throat and catching eyes over the fire to be certain all listen* Boyer's Dispatches...[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]From the shadows four figures arrive at Kobal's campsite high in the thunderpeaks. Two half-elves, one male and one female, a human in wizard robes, and a dwarf. As they enter the light they are revealed, the Mystic Jin Lun Lee, the Scout Ferrit, the Mage Serg, and the Defender of Vorax Argali. How they reached there through the lines of giants is certainly an epic story.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]"Greetings Kobal. The Grace of the Longstrider to you and your companions."[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Jin Lun Lee looks over the dwarves in the group. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]"Is that Master Grohin?"[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]"Well here I have an artifact for you. Ragnor's Hammer. As well as this poem, by the bard Elphonse."[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]"It is likely that this Hammer can be used to destroy the pillars of Essrantor's Veil and restore the use of the weave. The there are four rune on the hammer. The first three we have discovered: Heal-Aeridin, Magic-Lucinda, and Nature-Katia. The fourth rune we do not know and cannot read. Our best guess is that the forth rune is Craft-Dorand."[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Jin hands Kobal the hammer and note. He looks across to the tower.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]" You have in your hands an artifact of rune magic. May the Longstrider Guide your path that you may use it with wisdom."[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*The old man slams the book shut and nods to the crowd*[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]The rest is a tale to be told, not now, but very soon.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*The ruby-adorned bard leaps forth toward the crowd and begins to speak*[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Elsewhere, in the peaks high above the storms suddenly raged down on a band of adventurers set forth toward a different task! Seeking the kin of the Arcs they were, and they would soon indeed find them, for the cards of fate spelled doom for all, and that doom came in the form of falling snowflakes.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*His fingers dramatically wiggle from above his head down and he gazes about the fire*[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]The storm was relentless they say, burying the adventurers to their knees, then waists, then necks... and then the storm struck and they found themselves tumbling and turning and blowing with the winds and snows and Essrantor's rage in the form of storm itself![/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*The bard tumbles and rolls about on the ground as he sees a few frightened children listening. He rolls around one of them, winking at each passing and turn of his eyes to the scared child until the young girl begins to giggle. He renews his tale and his eyes flash over the fire*[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]They found themselves in the whitest of white lands of snow and ice. And buried around them they found giants! But not living were these giants, but rather stone! The adventurers devised a plan, and soon they found the means to revive one. Before long their stood the proud and intelligent Ether Giants, kings amongst all, rulers of the storms and skies... still furious at the betrayal of the Arcs in times past. One stood higher then the rest, a king of kings or lord of lords! [/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*The bard skips to the side and gestures toward a gnome who steps forth with a parchment in hand, and he begins to read*[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]The Ether. Here is my record of what the adventurers told.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*The gnome takes a deep breath then begins*[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Helmuut looked down. The little people faced him, and his fellow giants surrounded him.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]"Sit, and I will grant both wishes." [/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]All complied. Helmuut, standing a head taller than even the tallest Ether, surveyed the crowd. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]"For what you have done," [/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Now he looked directly at the humans and solitary elf staring up at him. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]"I will pledge myself to your cause. I have faced no other Arc as merciless and cunning as Essrantor. You will need all the help you can get, though I fear you may have brought us back only to have us march back to a swift demise. Now, as to the state in which you found us. I should begin with a small bit about the history between the Ether and the Arc. Though cousins by divine creation, we are not family. Enemies. Ours is a relationship built on an eternal feud. Of all giant-kind, none can compare to the cunning and wit of the Arc. None except the Ether."[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Hemuut paused. He spread his arms, each one thick as a tree trunk. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]"We are all that remains of the Ether that settled the mountains you call the Thunder Peaks. The Arc's jealous hatred wittled us down into near extinction. And herein lies the distinct difference between the Ether and the Arc: We, the Ether, crave peace and learning. The Arc craves nothing but power. Though we were truly no threat to them, in the mind of the Arc we are an afront to their supremacy, not to be subjucated like all other creatures, but hunted, tortured, and killed. We fought back, of course, but we are admittedly not as skilled in killing. Such has never been the focus of the Ether. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]"As I said, we are the last, were the last, and thus at the time I made a decision. Two pillars of thought supported this decision. The first is that we, as a people, were destined to die at the hands of the Arc, and we had no where else to go. The Arc followed the Ether to these peaks, and we had no reason to believe they would not chase us were we to leave. The second is that we believed the destructive nature of the Arc would eventually lead to their demise. Such is the natural way of things. We did not, however, anticipate the rise of Essrantor. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]"I decided, and the Ether agreed, that we should go into hiding until such a time that the Arc had moved on or destroyed themselves. Knowing that if we yet lived, the Arc would find us, we chose to die, if but for a time. We turned ourselves into stone. Granite statues to outlive the ages, and buried ourselves in the mountain snow. Only one remained alive."[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Again, the great giant paused, this time bowing his head. A stillness settled over the gathered. Even the mountain winds hiss became a whisper. The moment passed, and Helmuut began anew. He spoke a name, loud and reverant and sad. [/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]"Rorch. My son. A talented weaver of the Al'Noth. He would hide himself in magic and lie in wait until such a time that he might release us from our self-inflicted curse. You can imagine my surprise when it was not my son but an elf that restored me to flesh. But then you tell me what Essrantor has done. Severing the Al'Noth doomed Rorch. He had poor health for an Ether, a fact he made up for with his grasp on the Al'Noth. Had he tried, I suspect he would not have survived the trek down from the mountains without the use of the magic. He must have realized this, and chose instead to die near us, as you found him, a statue of ice instead of a statue of stone. My son, my loyal son, who can never be replaced. If we survive the attack on Essrantor, the Ether will take the proper time to mourn him, and I will open for him with my bare hands a proper grave in the mountain cliffs.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Helmuut squated down, yet even like this, only the tallest humans could look him in the eyes, those great orbs of green that pierced the adventurers Helmuut now faced, sincerity and determination flooding their senses.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]"Rise, small ones, and face me. I have answered both requests. Now you must tell me everything you know of Essrantor and your fight with him, that I may devise something to help in the coming battles......."[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*The gnome bows and steps into the shadows as the ruby adorned bard takes a long drink of ale and presses on in his tale*[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Meanwhile in the peaks other battles were being waged, other tasks brought to measure.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]In the thick mists of the valley fellow adventurers were vying in a political struggle for the allegiance of the large bandit village we of Dalanthar have come to despise. It was rumored that a relic of the runes was kept amongst the bandit lords, and that should it take blood, it must be retrieved for those above to succeed.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*The bard scratches his head a moment and looks around*[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]I did tell the tale of their goal and cause aye?[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*A man, wobbling drunk in the crowd yells "no!" and the bard jumps up on a boulder by the fire*[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]The pillars you see! They were to fell the pillars of antimagic. For with the pillars gone, so would the magic and domain of Essrantor, and the Boyer Kingdom safe from rogue lords of the peaks.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]So you see.... these rune were the peices of puzzle to break the many curses laid upon the pillars of storm tower, the pillars that once shot into the sky with antimagical energy so great the world has never again witnessed![/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]The adventurers in the mists prevailed you see, and both rune and allies they secured.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*He jumps down from the boulder and hovers again over the fire, using it to illuminate his face dramatically for the audience*[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Another group of the armies of adventurers had in these times found their way up Warrior's Ridge to seek council with the great glacier dragon of the peaks. Once a myth, the drake Iliarn was known to sleep on the mountainside, resting and creaking, covered in the ice of old as he slid down toward the lowlands below. This, of course, is partly false. For the Drake known as Iliarn is not the glacier, but he does indeed sleep within it's snows.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Within the halls of coldest ice and wind these adventurers delved in search of the drake. They had a task, to secure the last of the old allegiances... the great dragon spirit Granarock the Silver. They knew not how to call this spirit, nor if he would hear their request in aid against Essrantor. Nor even did they know if the ancient Iliarn would know the means to call his part-kin dragon of old, or if he would desire to aid them.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]You see... Iliarn has been known for some ages by adventurers. Reclusive, impatient, unwilling to speak to the mortals of the lands below. Sliding beneath the ice and snow of the land he rests, avoiding all save for what he must eat. But the adventurers delved into his caverns, and called forth for his meeting.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*The bard jumps forth and rattles a young boy's shoulders in vibration*[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]The earth trembled! The ice of the cavern's ceiling crumbled... and suddenly! *He points behind the crowd to the distance* ... a sight rarely seen appeared on the horizon... something moving beneath the snows, through the ice... a large beast burrowing below toward them. *The bard claps his hands loudly* And suddenly the ice drake Iliarn shot forth from the snows below to stand before the adventurers.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Would he know of the means to call the olden Granarock... would he aid the adventurers... or would they be eaten in their insolence of entering his domain....[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]That is a tale you will soon find the end to...[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]But first we turn our eyes to the tombs below the ancient grove, and a runestone in Fenrir's hand.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]The weeping widow kneeled, blue tears of magic everlasting dripping forth toward the puddles forever swirling below her. Wisps of written words swirled in the pools of tears, words that spoke of the sorrow of the Le'tennodins.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Fenrir stood with his group of adventurers before the two runestones of warding which blocked the entry into the Le'tennodin Catacombs. Their venture they knew was hopeless, for most of them knew of what lay beyond... the foes of undeath that even the bravest and capable of heroes knew to fear. Only three times before had adventurers dared brave the catacombs... and always would they turn in fear or carry the body of a friend away, their souls gone forever.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]He pulled the runestone from his pack, and held it to the stones before him. He knew not what to do, but he recited his willingness to succumb the magic of the Losthammer Rune. At once he doubled up, seizing on the floor in agony they say. He could not breath, he could do naught but writhe on the floor in pain. And soon he lay dead. The adventurers amongst his group were horrified, for the means to their salvation were to have laid in the magic of this rune and Fenrir's blood. Strange and old winds began to pass over his lifeless body, his skin and body began to wither away. And then he lay, but a skeleton on the ground.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*The bard goes silent and leans back from the flames and into the shadows of the crowd, allowing silence to fall over them. Suddenly he springs forth from the other side of the crowd with a loud clap*[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]It stirred! The bones of Fenrir stirred and rose, and he found his voice still within, his mind still within. He looked down at his hands of bone... even then they seemed to be still withering away, and a light aura incapsulating him. The group of adventurers were in shock, their dwarven friend now in the clutches of apparent undeath. Fenrir now passed beyond into the realm into Essrantor, his allies followed. The Keepers... the most dangerous of undead stood at the entrance beyond, their headless bodies seemingly staring at the adventurers as they approached.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Fenrir spoke, he spoke that he of the Losthammers had come to call on Le'tennodin's allegiance still. The hall fell silent for an uncomfortable time... then the echoes of voices in unison peirced through the silence.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]"And how is it that a Losthammer defies the curse of the Ether abomination and enters these hallowed halls..."[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Fenrir held the hammer of Cainforge Mountlus Losthammer and spoke, that he was the last of the Losthammers and he had come to call on the allies of old. The Keepers were distant, their minds almost an echo of reason... but they heard the ring of the hammer of old and told the party of their allowance to pass. But fear they should this group of the living... for the minds of the cursed below would not hear the voice of ally nor friend.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]And so the adventurers passed beyond into the darkness of the catacombs.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]What would happen to them you wonder? Aye, as I heard it from their mouths I wondered it as well. But the night has been long, and the many children of our fine audience show weakening gazes. Tomorrow we bards of the lands will assemble again, and tell the end to this tale of ages.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]*The bards of the circle bow and smile to the applause around them, as the crowd withers into shadows under moonlight, candles lighting in windows of the town in succession as the crickets come out again to dominate the silent landscape of noise under the peaks of broken thunder.*[/SIZE]
[SIZE=16][/SIZE]
[SIZE=16]Thank you to Mixafix and Milty for their contributions thus far. More to come with the rest of the tale.[/SIZE]
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