Re: The Beginning

Re: The Beginning:
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Posted by Bad Ivan on May 31, 2000 at 21:50:27:

In Reply to: The Beginning posted by Demon-Spawn on May 31, 2000 at 11:28:02:

I have enjoyed standing by your side and doing what role-play we have made time for. It is not often I find something in another players desc that gives me a chance to role-play so well. I have only spoke to yoe briefly about your heritage but behind the scenes there has been much talk between myself and my Lord to make us of the knowledge we have of your past. Well done spawn.

> Author's Note: Anybody who has interacted with this character will immediately know who the story is about, but I'm going to try to keep him as anonymous as possible for now so if you know please don't go blabbering it. I was going to save this story for a contest in the Inn, but I just can't keep it under wraps any longer. Whether it sucks or not, I'm proud of it. It's the hardest I've worked on a character to date.

> It had been a rough night. A powerful storm had moved in under the cover of darkness, lighting up the early morning hours with bright flashes of green and purple lightning. The campers took no notice of the oddly colored streaks of light though as their attention was focused on their aching backs. The advent of the conjurer’s guild made sleeping under the night sky an especially treacherous practice, so the campers opted to sleep sitting up while leaning against each other in a circle. It was bitter cold, and stinging rain flew horizontally through the air, searching for any bare skin to slash at like a razor blade.

> Their breakfast had just been swallowed when they started to pack up their supplies. It was hell trying to keep the fires lit long enough to cook the food, the rain making the wood almost too damp to be of any use. Soggy - and nearly rancid - meat pies, unleavened bread that was just as wet, and two-week old coffee were all the campers had remaining of their rations, any one of them would trade all of it for charred leather , at least that wouldn’t be as harsh on the palate.
>
> There were three of them, two tightly bundled in layer upon layer of warm clothing to protect themselves against the horrible weather. The third was a scantily clad elven mage who seemed to be slowly losing his mind. He skipped around the fire chanting and flailing his arms about. His fair skin was puckered from the wetness, and his normally lustrous hair was now matted and clinging to his scalp. He was a necessary addition to their party, however, as his servitors would surely aid them in their exploration.

> Once they were all packed up they moved down the path, towards the Gates of Hell. The path was narrow forcing them to walk single-file and even then the giants among them were forced to turn sideways in some areas, just barely squeezing by. The leader was a tall man, a giant clad in priestly attire, whose sword seemed to snarl at the foul weather. The sword shone brightly, illuminating the path somewhat, but also making it a little more difficult to see due to the fog and driving rain. He was uttering prayers to his Lord, Shokai by the looks of the symbols on his robes, while peering through the darkness to what lay ahead. Second in line was a slightly shorter figure, though still a giant, who was also whispering prayers, but in a female’s voice. She was doing her best to cloak her companions in a resistance to the cold foulness of the morning air, but for the most part she was failing. The elf was bringing up the rear, skipping more than walking, singing songs in high-elven chant.

> The middle individual quickened her pace to catch the leader. “Husband” she said, “the elf worries me. I’ve been keeping an eye on him and his soul keeps flickering…sometimes the usual golden aura fades to nothing.” The leader stopped and turned quickly to his wife. “It hasn’t shone the color of blood has it?” She shook her head, obviously worried. She was sometimes turned off by his harshness, saying “the color of blood” rather than simply “red” was an example of one of these things that aggravated her. She had tried so hard to soften him. “Good” he said, “let me know if that changes Ingryd, immediately.” She nodded compliantly but quickly said “Omonor, my husband, you don’t think the vile evil of Hell is reaching beyond its Gates and playing havoc on our friend’s soul do you?” He chuckled, rubbed the silver phoenix on his lapel, and turned back to the path.

> An hour of so later they came to the end of the path, the river before them, and the ferryman quietly standing in a rickety old boat. His outstretched hand calling for a shiny coin. They backtracked a little, to escape the ferryman’s silent gaze, so that they could rest before entering their destination. They sat in a clearing and Omonor began to reiterate the plan. The trees seemed to tower into the air and then bend over them, as if they were merchants peering into a barrel of freshly caught fish. Their limbs outstretched both towards the heavens and towards the trio. The elf wandered a few paces away and began to scribe his circles upon the ground. The giants tried to avoid him when he did so, both because they didn’t quite trust his craft yet, and because the pulsating circles made Omonor slightly ill.

> Watching from the trees were dozens of demons creeping closer in the shadows of the evil wood. The foulness of Hell had begun to seep out like the stories told, but the travelers were not yet aware of that truth. The demons peered at the trio from around the trees they hid behind, their claws dug into the bark. The largest among them was only 9 or 10 paces from the elf who was still bent over drawing the intricate circles of protection upon the ground. The demon snarled quietly and began uttering curses and obscenities towards the elf, his head covered in inch long horns save for where his eyes and mouth were.

> Omonor and Ingryd stood and neared the elf, still intrigued by the conjurations he could call. The elf, aware of their approach, thrust his head upwards so that he could stare at them with his glowing green eyes. The rain ran down the elf’s face and a glow coming up from the circle cast shadows around his eyes, nose, and lips, giving him a very eerie appearance. The giants staggered backwards. Omonor had his sword drawn before anybody had taken their next breath. “What seems to be the problem?” he demanded. The glowing sword reached for the elf with gleaming white tendrils that seemed to snap at him like angry dogs. The elf, cackling gleefully, began to utter the words needed to call forth a demon. “Omonor!” Ingryd screamed, “it’s red!” Before Omonor could react, however, a monstrous demon erupted from the ground, towering over the shaman. The demon stared at the travelers through pupilless green eyes. Three massive horns protruded from his forehead, two curving back like that of a ram, and the third poking straight out from his skull.

> The elf stood safely protected by his weakening circle, but Ingryd was left vulnerable. Sensing that, the demon lunged for her and snatched her up in a paralyzing grip around her throat. His three fingers dug into his neck, causing her to gasp for air. She went limp in his grasp, but he held her upright and slightly off the ground. Her toes traced circles in the dirt as the demon turned his gaze toward Omonor. Thrusting his hand outward, but not making contact, he threw the shaman back into a tree. The shaman grunted and was instantly covered by dozens of smaller demons that quickly subdued him.

> The shaman taken care of, the demon turned to the elf who stood in a puddle of his own urine. “Your job is done elf, now DIE!” he yelled. The elf clutched his head and fell dead on the spot, his final breath bubbling up through the mud created by his own weak bladder. Hissing, the demon turned his attention back to Ingryd. “Wake up bitch!” he screamed, shaking her violently. She moaned slightly, then came to, staring back at him with wide eyes. The demon muttered for a moment and Ingryd’s clothes ripped from her body leaving her bare. The stinging rain slashed at her as she shivered both from fear and the cold.

> He defiled her, licking her face with a puss-covered green tongue, and planted his horrid seed in her womb forcefully. Once he finished he released her neck and she screamed in agony, staggering backwards with both hands on her stomach. The bubbling in her gut made her want to vomit, as her stomach grew more distended with every passing second. Moments later she fell to the ground dead. His deed done, the demon fell back through the ground and was gone.

> (seconds earlier)

> BUH-BUMP BUH-BUMP BUH-BUMP BUH-BUMP…The fetus twisted in the spacious womb, trying to snarl through the fluid that surrounded him. He clawed his way around, towards the source of that horrendous sound. Coming to a dead-end, he thrust his tri-fingered hand through the slimy wall and pulled it back with a still-beating heart in its grasp. BUH-BUMP….BUH-BUMP….BUH-BUMP…it stopped. He was still slightly disoriented from his moment of weightlessness as his vessel plummeted several feet to the ground. “Weak-willed giants” he thought to himself.

> He slashed at those confining walls with his horns and claws, bathing in the blood of his now dead mother. A few more slashes and he burst into the cold rain with a cackle. Covered in blood and goo, he pushed down with his hands to pull his legs out of the still-warm corpse. He whirled around with his arms outstretched, gazing at the skies as the rain fell, cleansing him. A grunt and the sloshing of mud caught his attention.

> He located the source of the sound. The lesser demons had scurried off in the absence of the greater demons, leaving the bloodied shaman still alive. “Worthless rodents” the demon-spawn thought, “I’ll kill the lot of them.” Omonor had gathered his sword, the white tendrils of which were still prodding the elf’s corpse. He swung it through the air and the tendrils started to focus on the spawn.

> The demon leapt through the air, landing firmly on the shaman’s face. He laughed wildly as the shaman wiggled and whirled, trying to shake him free. Omonor yanked on him, shoved him, pried at him with the hilt of his shining sword, but nothing could dislodge him. The shaman uttered a prayer and the spawn leapt from his face and rolled a few paces, taking massive damage from the holy words. A few more prayers were weaved and the spawn lay limp, his tiny chest still rising and falling with each breath.
> Omonor gathered the little demon and carried him away with a word. He rushed from the temple and into the mountains, towards that beacon of light, the Shrine of Lord Shokai. After arriving the shaman tossed the demon like a rag-doll at Sune-Rai’s feet. “There’s storm giant somewhere in that fiend” Omonor spit. Sune Rai knelt and peered at the twisted body, thinking deeply. Lord Shokai arrived in a blinding flash of light and peered at Omonor. “Bringing demons to this shrine?” he asked, some anger seeping through his calm. Omonor grunted as if struck and prodded the spawn with his boot. “Like I told Sune Rai, there’s storm giant in it somewhere, there has to be, it came from my wife” he trailed off to a mutter with those last few words. Shokai thrust a spear of light into the chest of the spawn, which quivered, beams of light shining from its eye sockets, from its nose and mouth, as well as from the now gaping wound in its chest. “So there is….DEMONS BE GONE!” Shokai yelled triumphantly. The tainted spirit seeped from the child’s body, from his nose and mouth, and reforming directly over the corpse. “Sssshokai” it hissed, “A curse upon the light!” It vanished without trace.

> “Wake up son” a voice said. He felt cool water on his face. “I can’t believe you accepted that!” a gravelly voice snarled. “It has to be twisted by some foul magic, the gods would never curse this land with something as dreadful as that” it continued. “Quiet please, he’s had a hard couple of days” the first voice replied. “Please, leave us Thrym, there is no magic here” it finished. There were some stifled giggles and then flat out laughter. The spawn rose up to a sitting position and fixed his hazy gaze at the source of the laughter, only to find a number of young boys and girls pointing at him. He sprang at them, claws outstretched, but was snatched from the air and thrust back into bed. “We can’t have any of that” said Jaragh in that increasingly familiar voice. “If you’re to stay here you’ll have to get along with the others. Shokai said he’d taken the evil from you, but its taint on your mind and soul will be everlasting to some extent. This temper seems to be the only manifestation so far” he finished with a sigh. The children had emptied the room while he was in mid-air, he was glad to see them gone.

> “I shall call you…”

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Comments:	> I have enjoyed standing by your side and doing what role-play we have made time for. It is not often I find something in another players desc that gives me a chance to role-play so well. I have only spoke to yoe briefly about your heritage but behind the scenes there has been much talk between myself and my Lord to make us of the knowledge we have of your past. Well done spawn. > > > Author's Note: Anybody who has interacted with this character will immediately know who the story is about, but I'm going to try to keep him as anonymous as possible for now so if you know please don't go blabbering it. I was going to save this story for a contest in the Inn, but I just can't keep it under wraps any longer. Whether it sucks or not, I'm proud of it. It's the hardest I've worked on a character to date. > > It had been a rough night. A powerful storm had moved in under the cover of darkness, lighting up the early morning hours with bright flashes of green and purple lightning. The campers took no notice of the oddly colored streaks of light though as their attention was focused on their aching backs. The advent of the conjurer’s guild made sleeping under the night sky an especially treacherous practice, so the campers opted to sleep sitting up while leaning against each other in a circle. It was bitter cold, and stinging rain flew horizontally through the air, searching for any bare skin to slash at like a razor blade. > > Their breakfast had just been swallowed when they started to pack up their supplies. It was hell trying to keep the fires lit long enough to cook the food, the rain making the wood almost too damp to be of any use. Soggy - and nearly rancid - meat pies, unleavened bread that was just as wet, and two-week old coffee were all the campers had remaining of their rations, any one of them would trade all of it for charred leather , at least that wouldn’t be as harsh on the palate. > > > > There were three of them, two tightly bundled in layer upon layer of warm clothing to protect themselves against the horrible weather. The third was a scantily clad elven mage who seemed to be slowly losing his mind. He skipped around the fire chanting and flailing his arms about. His fair skin was puckered from the wetness, and his normally lustrous hair was now matted and clinging to his scalp. He was a necessary addition to their party, however, as his servitors would surely aid them in their exploration. > > Once they were all packed up they moved down the path, towards the Gates of Hell. The path was narrow forcing them to walk single-file and even then the giants among them were forced to turn sideways in some areas, just barely squeezing by. The leader was a tall man, a giant clad in priestly attire, whose sword seemed to snarl at the foul weather. The sword shone brightly, illuminating the path somewhat, but also making it a little more difficult to see due to the fog and driving rain. He was uttering prayers to his Lord, Shokai by the looks of the symbols on his robes, while peering through the darkness to what lay ahead. Second in line was a slightly shorter figure, though still a giant, who was also whispering prayers, but in a female’s voice. She was doing her best to cloak her companions in a resistance to the cold foulness of the morning air, but for the most part she was failing. The elf was bringing up the rear, skipping more than walking, singing songs in high-elven chant. > > The middle individual quickened her pace to catch the leader. “Husband” she said, “the elf worries me. I’ve been keeping an eye on him and his soul keeps flickering…sometimes the usual golden aura fades to nothing.” The leader stopped and turned quickly to his wife. “It hasn’t shone the color of blood has it?” She shook her head, obviously worried. She was sometimes turned off by his harshness, saying “the color of blood” rather than simply “red” was an example of one of these things that aggravated her. She had tried so hard to soften him. “Good” he said, “let me know if that changes Ingryd, immediately.” She nodded compliantly but quickly said “Omonor, my husband, you don’t think the vile evil of Hell is reaching beyond its Gates and playing havoc on our friend’s soul do you?” He chuckled, rubbed the silver phoenix on his lapel, and turned back to the path. > > An hour of so later they came to the end of the path, the river before them, and the ferryman quietly standing in a rickety old boat. His outstretched hand calling for a shiny coin. They backtracked a little, to escape the ferryman’s silent gaze, so that they could rest before entering their destination. They sat in a clearing and Omonor began to reiterate the plan. The trees seemed to tower into the air and then bend over them, as if they were merchants peering into a barrel of freshly caught fish. Their limbs outstretched both towards the heavens and towards the trio. The elf wandered a few paces away and began to scribe his circles upon the ground. The giants tried to avoid him when he did so, both because they didn’t quite trust his craft yet, and because the pulsating circles made Omonor slightly ill. > > Watching from the trees were dozens of demons creeping closer in the shadows of the evil wood. The foulness of Hell had begun to seep out like the stories told, but the travelers were not yet aware of that truth. The demons peered at the trio from around the trees they hid behind, their claws dug into the bark. The largest among them was only 9 or 10 paces from the elf who was still bent over drawing the intricate circles of protection upon the ground. The demon snarled quietly and began uttering curses and obscenities towards the elf, his head covered in inch long horns save for where his eyes and mouth were. > > Omonor and Ingryd stood and neared the elf, still intrigued by the conjurations he could call. The elf, aware of their approach, thrust his head upwards so that he could stare at them with his glowing green eyes. The rain ran down the elf’s face and a glow coming up from the circle cast shadows around his eyes, nose, and lips, giving him a very eerie appearance. The giants staggered backwards. Omonor had his sword drawn before anybody had taken their next breath. “What seems to be the problem?” he demanded. The glowing sword reached for the elf with gleaming white tendrils that seemed to snap at him like angry dogs. The elf, cackling gleefully, began to utter the words needed to call forth a demon. “Omonor!” Ingryd screamed, “it’s red!” Before Omonor could react, however, a monstrous demon erupted from the ground, towering over the shaman. The demon stared at the travelers through pupilless green eyes. Three massive horns protruded from his forehead, two curving back like that of a ram, and the third poking straight out from his skull. > > The elf stood safely protected by his weakening circle, but Ingryd was left vulnerable. Sensing that, the demon lunged for her and snatched her up in a paralyzing grip around her throat. His three fingers dug into his neck, causing her to gasp for air. She went limp in his grasp, but he held her upright and slightly off the ground. Her toes traced circles in the dirt as the demon turned his gaze toward Omonor. Thrusting his hand outward, but not making contact, he threw the shaman back into a tree. The shaman grunted and was instantly covered by dozens of smaller demons that quickly subdued him. > > The shaman taken care of, the demon turned to the elf who stood in a puddle of his own urine. “Your job is done elf, now DIE!” he yelled. The elf clutched his head and fell dead on the spot, his final breath bubbling up through the mud created by his own weak bladder. Hissing, the demon turned his attention back to Ingryd. “Wake up bitch!” he screamed, shaking her violently. She moaned slightly, then came to, staring back at him with wide eyes. The demon muttered for a moment and Ingryd’s clothes ripped from her body leaving her bare. The stinging rain slashed at her as she shivered both from fear and the cold. > > He defiled her, licking her face with a puss-covered green tongue, and planted his horrid seed in her womb forcefully. Once he finished he released her neck and she screamed in agony, staggering backwards with both hands on her stomach. The bubbling in her gut made her want to vomit, as her stomach grew more distended with every passing second. Moments later she fell to the ground dead. His deed done, the demon fell back through the ground and was gone. > > (seconds earlier) > > BUH-BUMP BUH-BUMP BUH-BUMP BUH-BUMP…The fetus twisted in the spacious womb, trying to snarl through the fluid that surrounded him. He clawed his way around, towards the source of that horrendous sound. Coming to a dead-end, he thrust his tri-fingered hand through the slimy wall and pulled it back with a still-beating heart in its grasp. BUH-BUMP….BUH-BUMP….BUH-BUMP…it stopped. He was still slightly disoriented from his moment of weightlessness as his vessel plummeted several feet to the ground. “Weak-willed giants” he thought to himself. > > He slashed at those confining walls with his horns and claws, bathing in the blood of his now dead mother. A few more slashes and he burst into the cold rain with a cackle. Covered in blood and goo, he pushed down with his hands to pull his legs out of the still-warm corpse. He whirled around with his arms outstretched, gazing at the skies as the rain fell, cleansing him. A grunt and the sloshing of mud caught his attention. > > He located the source of the sound. The lesser demons had scurried off in the absence of the greater demons, leaving the bloodied shaman still alive. “Worthless rodents” the demon-spawn thought, “I’ll kill the lot of them.” Omonor had gathered his sword, the white tendrils of which were still prodding the elf’s corpse. He swung it through the air and the tendrils started to focus on the spawn. > > The demon leapt through the air, landing firmly on the shaman’s face. He laughed wildly as the shaman wiggled and whirled, trying to shake him free. Omonor yanked on him, shoved him, pried at him with the hilt of his shining sword, but nothing could dislodge him. The shaman uttered a prayer and the spawn leapt from his face and rolled a few paces, taking massive damage from the holy words. A few more prayers were weaved and the spawn lay limp, his tiny chest still rising and falling with each breath. > > Omonor gathered the little demon and carried him away with a word. He rushed from the temple and into the mountains, towards that beacon of light, the Shrine of Lord Shokai. After arriving the shaman tossed the demon like a rag-doll at Sune-Rai’s feet. “There’s storm giant somewhere in that fiend” Omonor spit. Sune Rai knelt and peered at the twisted body, thinking deeply. Lord Shokai arrived in a blinding flash of light and peered at Omonor. “Bringing demons to this shrine?” he asked, some anger seeping through his calm. Omonor grunted as if struck and prodded the spawn with his boot. “Like I told Sune Rai, there’s storm giant in it somewhere, there has to be, it came from my wife” he trailed off to a mutter with those last few words. Shokai thrust a spear of light into the chest of the spawn, which quivered, beams of light shining from its eye sockets, from its nose and mouth, as well as from the now gaping wound in its chest. “So there is….DEMONS BE GONE!” Shokai yelled triumphantly. The tainted spirit seeped from the child’s body, from his nose and mouth, and reforming directly over the corpse. “Sssshokai” it hissed, “A curse upon the light!” It vanished without trace. > > “Wake up son” a voice said. He felt cool water on his face. “I can’t believe you accepted that!” a gravelly voice snarled. “It has to be twisted by some foul magic, the gods would never curse this land with something as dreadful as that” it continued. “Quiet please, he’s had a hard couple of days” the first voice replied. “Please, leave us Thrym, there is no magic here” it finished. There were some stifled giggles and then flat out laughter. The spawn rose up to a sitting position and fixed his hazy gaze at the source of the laughter, only to find a number of young boys and girls pointing at him. He sprang at them, claws outstretched, but was snatched from the air and thrust back into bed. “We can’t have any of that” said Jaragh in that increasingly familiar voice. “If you’re to stay here you’ll have to get along with the others. Shokai said he’d taken the evil from you, but its taint on your mind and soul will be everlasting to some extent. This temper seems to be the only manifestation so far” he finished with a sigh. The children had emptied the room while he was in mid-air, he was glad to see them gone. > > “I shall call you…”

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