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[Midnight] Dark Tower's Shadow (Updated 12/10)
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Story Post #19
Epilogue #20 - The Pit Breeder
There is a land so far north that the only distinguishing feature is the Shadow.
Even the Snow Elves don’t venture there. It is said that one did, but her name has passed into tales and legends. The land that far north is a barren wasteland, all colors there seem to be varying degrees of gray.
A man lives there in the cold. He lives in a deep pit where you can hear the screeches, cries and screams of many creatures, some of which do not yet have names. The man himself had a name once but it was lost. Some people lose a ribbon given to them by a loved one and others lose their minds, this man lost his name.
He was staring at an Elf, a captured Wood Elf, suspended above the ground by wires and covered in so many spiders that the Elf’s real shape was hard to tell. The Elf was a seething mass of crawling arachnids. These creatures, crawling over every inch of his skin and making good use of most of his orifices had driven him mad days ago but still the man watched the process and took notes, knowing it would be time soon to begin the Magicks in order to facilitate the Change.
While taking notes on his progress on the Elf he heard a crash, a strange thing in his breeding pits. He put his ledger down and walked over to his shelves and saw that his statue of the Manticore had broken. The man shook his head and tssked tssked, as if he had caught a child stealing a pie from a window ledge.
“This won’t do at all,” the man said to himself, “but still, I wonder...”
The man took an older ledger off of the shelf where three statues sat, one of a Sphinx, one of a Chimera and the broken shell of the Manticore. He turned the pages past his notes on beasts containing a mixture of different beasts like the Griffon, the flying fish, the centaur and the platypus (which, quite frankly, he didn’t believe existed), past the notes on the mating habits of Gryphons, and past the pages upon pages of Dire Lion womb studies. Finally he found his sociological notes and wrote, “Manticore dead. Note sibling reaction.”
Calmly, the man closed the book, put it back on its shelf, tidied up the broken pieces of the Manticore statue and continued his good work, torturing an Elf with millions of spiders in order to create something beautiful and terrible.
Epilogue #20 - The Pit Breeder
There is a land so far north that the only distinguishing feature is the Shadow.
Even the Snow Elves don’t venture there. It is said that one did, but her name has passed into tales and legends. The land that far north is a barren wasteland, all colors there seem to be varying degrees of gray.
A man lives there in the cold. He lives in a deep pit where you can hear the screeches, cries and screams of many creatures, some of which do not yet have names. The man himself had a name once but it was lost. Some people lose a ribbon given to them by a loved one and others lose their minds, this man lost his name.
He was staring at an Elf, a captured Wood Elf, suspended above the ground by wires and covered in so many spiders that the Elf’s real shape was hard to tell. The Elf was a seething mass of crawling arachnids. These creatures, crawling over every inch of his skin and making good use of most of his orifices had driven him mad days ago but still the man watched the process and took notes, knowing it would be time soon to begin the Magicks in order to facilitate the Change.
While taking notes on his progress on the Elf he heard a crash, a strange thing in his breeding pits. He put his ledger down and walked over to his shelves and saw that his statue of the Manticore had broken. The man shook his head and tssked tssked, as if he had caught a child stealing a pie from a window ledge.
“This won’t do at all,” the man said to himself, “but still, I wonder...”
The man took an older ledger off of the shelf where three statues sat, one of a Sphinx, one of a Chimera and the broken shell of the Manticore. He turned the pages past his notes on beasts containing a mixture of different beasts like the Griffon, the flying fish, the centaur and the platypus (which, quite frankly, he didn’t believe existed), past the notes on the mating habits of Gryphons, and past the pages upon pages of Dire Lion womb studies. Finally he found his sociological notes and wrote, “Manticore dead. Note sibling reaction.”
Calmly, the man closed the book, put it back on its shelf, tidied up the broken pieces of the Manticore statue and continued his good work, torturing an Elf with millions of spiders in order to create something beautiful and terrible.
Story Post #20
Epilogue #3 - The Sphinx
There is a land so baked by the sun, so pale and sun-drenched that it seemed to some folk that the Shadow could have no foothold there. Those folk were wrong.
The Clanless were leading a doomed existence. The surface was cruel to the Dwarves and their numbers were dwindling. Many in their community were calling out for drastic measures. Some wanted to build ships and go overseas to old Pelluria. Some wished to assault Theros Obsidia itself in an act of suicidal desperation that might spark Eredane into action. Others wished to move the entire people to the White Desert.
Karul was the last scout left in the party gathered to scout out the White Desert. Half had been killed in an Orcish ambush, just three leagues outside of their home encampment. The rest had been done in by thirst, hunger and the White Desert’s cruel way of misleading even the trail-wisest of Wildlanders.
Karul’s brown beard has been bleached into a bright red by the sun and most of his armor had been stored near an oasis that he was going to return to after scouting the area. He had told himself that little lie three days ago. The oasis seemed to disappeare since being entrusted with the heavier parts of his kit.
This should be easy, Karul thought, the bloody ocean is to the east and the blessed mountains are to the west. How can I be lost?
He crested a hill and saw a statue. It was hard to tell what it represented with the sand whipping about on the wind but he’d know soon enough. Stones are home, he thought, and maybe a sign-post of some kind.
The statue seemed to be of a mixture of a woman and a lion, like the Chimera that had been plaguing the Dwarfholdts of late or the Manticore who hunted along the northern Pellurian. Karul approached the statue carefully, wary of traps the Shadow might have left here in the desert. The woman’s top half was humanoid and bare. The bottom half was like a lion’s, curled underneath her. Feathery wings were curled on her back. The Dwarf did not realize they were like giant eagles wings but caked with sand.
The Sphinx spoke, “Do you come to riddle me, Dwarf?”
“I’ve come for reasons that are none of your concern, construct. I’ll take your leave, if ye will. My apologies for having disturbed ye.”
“Construct? Turning one’s back on me is always a mistake,” the Sphinx explained, opening her eyes. Sand still encrusted her skin, leading Karul to mistake her for a statue. She asked again, “Riddle?”
Karul slowly moved his hands towards a handaxe on a sash around his waist but stopped when he saw her eyes follow his hand. “Yes, m’lady, a riddle.”
“Riddles are an ancient sport of the mind. The best riddlemasters can make up their own Riddles. Mine own riddle is based on a riddlegame from antiquity. It was told by one of my kind in old Pelluria. Are you ready to hear it? If you fail to answer the riddle to satisfaction, this desert will be your grave, the sky your tomb and the sandstorm’s wind your only mourner. Ready?”
Karul nodded, sun-weary and heat-exhausted.
“What has four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon and seven legs at night?”
Karul’s eyes squinted when he asked, “Seven?”
The Sphinx nodded, more movement than she had taken since she had begun her desert meditations, ten years ago.
Karul asked again, “Are ye sure it is seven at night? Sure it isn’t three?”
“Do you think I don’t know the riddle, Dwarf?”
The Dwarf stroked his beard, thinking and from within his beard he produced a throwing dagger. He hurled it at the Sphinx with all of his might and in one fluid action drew his hand-axe. The dagger hit her in the shoulder. Red blood leaked through the sand, showing her for a creature of flesh. The pain made her roar and the sandstorm seemed to increase with her roar.
Karul quaked, wanting to run over dunes and under cliffs to get away from this roaring beast but he gripped his axe white-knuckle tight, put his other hand up to compensate for the sun’s glare and awaited the beast’s charge. The dagger hidden in his beard was the only missile weapon he had left.
The Sphinx a symbol into the sand with her sharp claws. The symbol pacified Karul. When the Sphinx asked him to drop his axe, his brow furrowed, but he did it. He had a nice chat with her while she flew him to an oasis. He drank and told her about the Kaladrun’s plans. She smiled, understanding, making helpful comments and mentioning how she knew the way out of the desert and she would be glad to show him.
When he had wetted his parched throat he looked down and there was another symbol, carved into the sands by his new friend. This one put him into a deep slumber. She stood over him, her wings offering him shade.
“Sleep well, little Dwarf. When you awake you will be well on your way to being my slave. I will need you to go out into the world. I need to find out who killed my brother.”
In his sleep he mumbled, “Riddle…what did it..?”
She laughed, “Riddles? The world is riddle enough without fools going and making them up. Don’t be naïve.”
Troubled, Karul slept.
Epilogue #3 - The Sphinx
There is a land so baked by the sun, so pale and sun-drenched that it seemed to some folk that the Shadow could have no foothold there. Those folk were wrong.
The Clanless were leading a doomed existence. The surface was cruel to the Dwarves and their numbers were dwindling. Many in their community were calling out for drastic measures. Some wanted to build ships and go overseas to old Pelluria. Some wished to assault Theros Obsidia itself in an act of suicidal desperation that might spark Eredane into action. Others wished to move the entire people to the White Desert.
Karul was the last scout left in the party gathered to scout out the White Desert. Half had been killed in an Orcish ambush, just three leagues outside of their home encampment. The rest had been done in by thirst, hunger and the White Desert’s cruel way of misleading even the trail-wisest of Wildlanders.
Karul’s brown beard has been bleached into a bright red by the sun and most of his armor had been stored near an oasis that he was going to return to after scouting the area. He had told himself that little lie three days ago. The oasis seemed to disappeare since being entrusted with the heavier parts of his kit.
This should be easy, Karul thought, the bloody ocean is to the east and the blessed mountains are to the west. How can I be lost?
He crested a hill and saw a statue. It was hard to tell what it represented with the sand whipping about on the wind but he’d know soon enough. Stones are home, he thought, and maybe a sign-post of some kind.
The statue seemed to be of a mixture of a woman and a lion, like the Chimera that had been plaguing the Dwarfholdts of late or the Manticore who hunted along the northern Pellurian. Karul approached the statue carefully, wary of traps the Shadow might have left here in the desert. The woman’s top half was humanoid and bare. The bottom half was like a lion’s, curled underneath her. Feathery wings were curled on her back. The Dwarf did not realize they were like giant eagles wings but caked with sand.
The Sphinx spoke, “Do you come to riddle me, Dwarf?”
“I’ve come for reasons that are none of your concern, construct. I’ll take your leave, if ye will. My apologies for having disturbed ye.”
“Construct? Turning one’s back on me is always a mistake,” the Sphinx explained, opening her eyes. Sand still encrusted her skin, leading Karul to mistake her for a statue. She asked again, “Riddle?”
Karul slowly moved his hands towards a handaxe on a sash around his waist but stopped when he saw her eyes follow his hand. “Yes, m’lady, a riddle.”
“Riddles are an ancient sport of the mind. The best riddlemasters can make up their own Riddles. Mine own riddle is based on a riddlegame from antiquity. It was told by one of my kind in old Pelluria. Are you ready to hear it? If you fail to answer the riddle to satisfaction, this desert will be your grave, the sky your tomb and the sandstorm’s wind your only mourner. Ready?”
Karul nodded, sun-weary and heat-exhausted.
“What has four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon and seven legs at night?”
Karul’s eyes squinted when he asked, “Seven?”
The Sphinx nodded, more movement than she had taken since she had begun her desert meditations, ten years ago.
Karul asked again, “Are ye sure it is seven at night? Sure it isn’t three?”
“Do you think I don’t know the riddle, Dwarf?”
The Dwarf stroked his beard, thinking and from within his beard he produced a throwing dagger. He hurled it at the Sphinx with all of his might and in one fluid action drew his hand-axe. The dagger hit her in the shoulder. Red blood leaked through the sand, showing her for a creature of flesh. The pain made her roar and the sandstorm seemed to increase with her roar.
Karul quaked, wanting to run over dunes and under cliffs to get away from this roaring beast but he gripped his axe white-knuckle tight, put his other hand up to compensate for the sun’s glare and awaited the beast’s charge. The dagger hidden in his beard was the only missile weapon he had left.
The Sphinx a symbol into the sand with her sharp claws. The symbol pacified Karul. When the Sphinx asked him to drop his axe, his brow furrowed, but he did it. He had a nice chat with her while she flew him to an oasis. He drank and told her about the Kaladrun’s plans. She smiled, understanding, making helpful comments and mentioning how she knew the way out of the desert and she would be glad to show him.
When he had wetted his parched throat he looked down and there was another symbol, carved into the sands by his new friend. This one put him into a deep slumber. She stood over him, her wings offering him shade.
“Sleep well, little Dwarf. When you awake you will be well on your way to being my slave. I will need you to go out into the world. I need to find out who killed my brother.”
In his sleep he mumbled, “Riddle…what did it..?”
She laughed, “Riddles? The world is riddle enough without fools going and making them up. Don’t be naïve.”
Troubled, Karul slept.
Story Post #21
Epilogue #4 - The Chimera
One could tell the age of the halls in the Dwafholdt by the amount of gore strewn on the floor. This room was venerable, sealed for decades. Gore had long since turned to brown stains on the floors and wall. Now all that remained were the brittle bones that crunched under the Chimera’s feet. The monster paced the chamber, once the meeting hall for Dwarven Kings.
The Chimera was three heads joined: The Goat thought about eating, the death of his brother made him want to feed. The Lion thought about revenge, the death of his brother made him want to kill. The Dragon thought about treasure, something shined on the floor under some bones and he wondered if he could coerce the others to pace in that direction.
A nervous Orc entered the chamber, careful not to crunch on any bones, not to make any noise that might upset the Chimera. The beast was the factor that tipped the stalemate this siege had become over to the Shadow. But still the Orcs were wary of the beast. If two heads ate insurgents, it was generally known that one would chew on an Orc.
“Master, do you need anything?” the Orc grunted.
Goat: “No.”
Lion: “We’re fine.”
Dragon: “Yes.”
The Dragon’s head half-heartedly bit at the Orc on its way out. The Lion’s head looked over at the Dragon reproachfully.
Dragon: Don’t preach to me. I’m the mythic one and I hunger.
Lion: How dare you hold your status over us! Little good your breath did us in the battle.
Goat: I’m hungry.
Each head sighed, each one for entirely different reasons.
Lion: Our brother is dead, Chimera.
Dragon: He was always the foolish one.
Goat: Brother’s dead?
The Lion and Dragon roared in frustration, the Goat bleated loudly in response.
Goat: How do you know brother’s dead?
Lion: One knows if one pays attention.
Dragon: True, the Shadow has linked us in the womb, He has.
The Goat sniffed, feeling left out, the only one not to have known. The Lion surveyed the room, looking over the brittle graveyard underfoot and thinking about death. The Dragon wondered who had killed his brother and what treasure they had.
Dragon: We should get revenge, Chimera.
Lion: Our work is done here.
Goat: I miss Brother Manticore. He used to fly over the Pellurian with us, back when we served in the Erethore.
The Chimera agreed, all heads roaring at once, “Revenge.”
Epilogue #4 - The Chimera
One could tell the age of the halls in the Dwafholdt by the amount of gore strewn on the floor. This room was venerable, sealed for decades. Gore had long since turned to brown stains on the floors and wall. Now all that remained were the brittle bones that crunched under the Chimera’s feet. The monster paced the chamber, once the meeting hall for Dwarven Kings.
The Chimera was three heads joined: The Goat thought about eating, the death of his brother made him want to feed. The Lion thought about revenge, the death of his brother made him want to kill. The Dragon thought about treasure, something shined on the floor under some bones and he wondered if he could coerce the others to pace in that direction.
A nervous Orc entered the chamber, careful not to crunch on any bones, not to make any noise that might upset the Chimera. The beast was the factor that tipped the stalemate this siege had become over to the Shadow. But still the Orcs were wary of the beast. If two heads ate insurgents, it was generally known that one would chew on an Orc.
“Master, do you need anything?” the Orc grunted.
Goat: “No.”
Lion: “We’re fine.”
Dragon: “Yes.”
The Dragon’s head half-heartedly bit at the Orc on its way out. The Lion’s head looked over at the Dragon reproachfully.
Dragon: Don’t preach to me. I’m the mythic one and I hunger.
Lion: How dare you hold your status over us! Little good your breath did us in the battle.
Goat: I’m hungry.
Each head sighed, each one for entirely different reasons.
Lion: Our brother is dead, Chimera.
Dragon: He was always the foolish one.
Goat: Brother’s dead?
The Lion and Dragon roared in frustration, the Goat bleated loudly in response.
Goat: How do you know brother’s dead?
Lion: One knows if one pays attention.
Dragon: True, the Shadow has linked us in the womb, He has.
The Goat sniffed, feeling left out, the only one not to have known. The Lion surveyed the room, looking over the brittle graveyard underfoot and thinking about death. The Dragon wondered who had killed his brother and what treasure they had.
Dragon: We should get revenge, Chimera.
Lion: Our work is done here.
Goat: I miss Brother Manticore. He used to fly over the Pellurian with us, back when we served in the Erethore.
The Chimera agreed, all heads roaring at once, “Revenge.”
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Story Post # 22
Epilogue #4 - The Queen & King
The Witch Queen and the King of the Aruun met on neutral ground, a high plateau in the Arunath Mountains. The Queen appeared out of the morning mists, black eyes taking in the breathtaking view of the Erethor and the Aruun. The King trod up a mountain path, main ruffled in the breeze, nose on the wind, making sure no ambush was imminent.
They nodded to one another.
The Queen broke the tense silence, “I am sorry to summon you like this. I have word, the Manti-…your wife’s murderer has been slain.” She let those words sit on the morning air.
The King stood proud and strong, like an emblem on a banner and growled, “I am honored that you came in person, didn't send one of your little black-eyed pawns. I made my intentions clear. Your insurgents were to leave that Shadowspawn to me.”
Somewhere above the heart of the Erethor, thunder rumbled. She returned his stare but not quite his growl, “They are hardly my insurgents. We are a fractured lot, spread thin throughout the Eredane.”
“I am too busy cleaning up the mess of Demons Izrador has left in my lands,” the King said, as if it were an explanation.
Again the uncomfortable silence that was typical of their meetings settled over the plateau. The Queen broke the silence, “Please accept my condolences again. Your wife was a great woman, a fine compliment to the King’s pride.”
Unsure of how the Witch-Queen meant the word, pride, the King could only laugh, “It is not too late to make me your Witch-King, m’lady. The Jungle would adore you and the joining of our two kingdoms could do nothing but make us stronger in our struggles.”
The Queen smiled, the gesture felt alien on her face. She immediately wondered how many decades it had been since her face had done any such thing. “You make me smile, good King. I thank you for that.”
The Queen disappeared as quietly as she had come, leaving the King with the stunning view of the besieged whispering woods of the Erethor Forest and the untamed Aruun Jungle.
[Note: All caught up, tomorrow we game!]
Epilogue #4 - The Queen & King
The Witch Queen and the King of the Aruun met on neutral ground, a high plateau in the Arunath Mountains. The Queen appeared out of the morning mists, black eyes taking in the breathtaking view of the Erethor and the Aruun. The King trod up a mountain path, main ruffled in the breeze, nose on the wind, making sure no ambush was imminent.
They nodded to one another.
The Queen broke the tense silence, “I am sorry to summon you like this. I have word, the Manti-…your wife’s murderer has been slain.” She let those words sit on the morning air.
The King stood proud and strong, like an emblem on a banner and growled, “I am honored that you came in person, didn't send one of your little black-eyed pawns. I made my intentions clear. Your insurgents were to leave that Shadowspawn to me.”
Somewhere above the heart of the Erethor, thunder rumbled. She returned his stare but not quite his growl, “They are hardly my insurgents. We are a fractured lot, spread thin throughout the Eredane.”
“I am too busy cleaning up the mess of Demons Izrador has left in my lands,” the King said, as if it were an explanation.
Again the uncomfortable silence that was typical of their meetings settled over the plateau. The Queen broke the silence, “Please accept my condolences again. Your wife was a great woman, a fine compliment to the King’s pride.”
Unsure of how the Witch-Queen meant the word, pride, the King could only laugh, “It is not too late to make me your Witch-King, m’lady. The Jungle would adore you and the joining of our two kingdoms could do nothing but make us stronger in our struggles.”
The Queen smiled, the gesture felt alien on her face. She immediately wondered how many decades it had been since her face had done any such thing. “You make me smile, good King. I thank you for that.”
The Queen disappeared as quietly as she had come, leaving the King with the stunning view of the besieged whispering woods of the Erethor Forest and the untamed Aruun Jungle.
[Note: All caught up, tomorrow we game!]
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