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The Chronicles of Essenon-Vengeance!
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<blockquote data-quote="Tsillanabor" data-source="post: 3717033" data-attributes="member: 40432"><p><span style="font-size: 22px">Trolls and Treachery</span></p><p></p><p><em>There are things even fouler than the Sons of Ymir</em></p><p><em>Some of Kyrlund’s rivers are home to foul creatures</em></p><p><em>Trolls that lie underwater and wait for the weak</em></p><p><em>One such creature grew, massive and bloated in form</em></p><p><em>Mating with a Son of Ymir a child was produced</em></p><p><em>He grew mighty, a slayer of men and women</em></p><p><em>He was called Grendel, for he ground the bones of men.</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Miles from great Geatmon lies Heorot, Hrothgar’s proud hall</em></p><p><em>Each night Grendel would kill his warriors as they slept</em></p><p><em>Or attack his village, killing those who serve him</em></p><p><em>They tried what they could, but Grendel was far too strong</em></p><p><em>Each time they fought, Hrothgar’s warriors were massacred</em></p><p><em>Hrothgar had heard of the return of mighty Brock</em></p><p><em>He sent a swift messenger to summon our aid.</em></p><p></p><p>Brock relaxed upon his seat before the fire. The solid walls of Geatmon comforted him. The ancient home of his family was the one place he felt he could relax.</p><p></p><p>After their adventures in the mountain home of the self-styled King of the Mountain, he and his companions had returned to Geatmon. They had dined this night upon dire boar. After dinner, they had retired to one of Magnus’ many trophy rooms.</p><p></p><p>Brock looked at his companions. We’re certainly an odd group, he thought to himself.</p><p></p><p>Wiglaf sat before the fire, tuning his lyre. Looking at the two of them, one couldn’t imagine that they would get along. Brock knew that he was blunt and direct as well as easily angered. He was not a very likeable person. He was a massive person yet incredibly quick, seemingly designed as a human weapon. Wiglaf was well-liked by nearly everyone. He was quick-witted and cultured. He was slow to anger and nearly always very diplomatic. His blond hair and beard were always neatly trimmed in contrast to Brock’s unruly reddish-blond mane. He was about 8 inches shorter than Brock and slimmer by far. Yet somehow, he and Brock were the best of friends. Wiglaf had accompanied him on his long exile and proven to be an invaluable companion, often defusing situations inadvertently started by Brock.</p><p></p><p>Rigor drew his eye next. This was not unusual-Rigor tended to attract attention. His hair was dyed (Brock guessed-he’d never asked) a bright blue and his eyes were a crimson red. This was not a shade normally found in humans and Brock had wondered about his ancestry. He had only recently joined the group, hailing from a distant land with many strange customs. Having seen him in combat, Brock knew that he was as capable with a sword as he was with his axe. Rigor was quiet and self-assured. He was sitting in a corner polishing his black armor.</p><p></p><p>Rigor’s companion Artesia was having a discussion with her rock. She really bothered Brock-she was twitchy and unpredictable. These were not qualities he preferred to have around, but she also possessed powerful abilities that he didn’t quite understand. She could affect objects and people with her mind. </p><p></p><p>Garusha was dozing off in a chair. Of all of his companions, she was the closest to Brock in temperament. Brash, direct, and often rude, she had a quick temper and even quicker wit. Brock often wondered if these characteristics were a defense mechanism. Her appearance was certainly….unsettling. Her fingers and toes were tipped with razor-sharp claws and her smile was that of a carnivore. Portions of her skin were protected by hard black scales and large black wings grew from her shoulders. Her father was a black dragon, and her lineage was certainly shown in her appearance. People feared her even when not accompanied by her summoned demons. Luckily for Brock, her faith wasn’t one of the more proselytizing ones.</p><p></p><p>Finally, there was Caeden. Even here she was alert and watchful. She never relaxed-merely waited. Although she and her brother Rynn-who was out getting drunk most likely-had been his companions the longest, he wasn’t actually sure what exactly she thought of him. Although he respected her prodigious fighting abilities and honored her as an equal, she didn’t exactly engender affection. She was undeniably attractive-petite and athletic, with a dancer’s build. Her eyes were dark and mysterious and her hair was short and black. There was a quiet dignity about her that many found compelling. Brock, however, knew that those she took to her bed were never seen alive again. She was the perfect weapon that he strived to be-cold, merciless, and utterly without remorse. </p><p></p><p><strong>Next: An Offer They Can't Refuse!</strong></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Tsillanabor, post: 3717033, member: 40432"] [SIZE=6]Trolls and Treachery[/SIZE] [I]There are things even fouler than the Sons of Ymir Some of Kyrlund’s rivers are home to foul creatures Trolls that lie underwater and wait for the weak One such creature grew, massive and bloated in form Mating with a Son of Ymir a child was produced He grew mighty, a slayer of men and women He was called Grendel, for he ground the bones of men. Miles from great Geatmon lies Heorot, Hrothgar’s proud hall Each night Grendel would kill his warriors as they slept Or attack his village, killing those who serve him They tried what they could, but Grendel was far too strong Each time they fought, Hrothgar’s warriors were massacred Hrothgar had heard of the return of mighty Brock He sent a swift messenger to summon our aid.[/I] Brock relaxed upon his seat before the fire. The solid walls of Geatmon comforted him. The ancient home of his family was the one place he felt he could relax. After their adventures in the mountain home of the self-styled King of the Mountain, he and his companions had returned to Geatmon. They had dined this night upon dire boar. After dinner, they had retired to one of Magnus’ many trophy rooms. Brock looked at his companions. We’re certainly an odd group, he thought to himself. Wiglaf sat before the fire, tuning his lyre. Looking at the two of them, one couldn’t imagine that they would get along. Brock knew that he was blunt and direct as well as easily angered. He was not a very likeable person. He was a massive person yet incredibly quick, seemingly designed as a human weapon. Wiglaf was well-liked by nearly everyone. He was quick-witted and cultured. He was slow to anger and nearly always very diplomatic. His blond hair and beard were always neatly trimmed in contrast to Brock’s unruly reddish-blond mane. He was about 8 inches shorter than Brock and slimmer by far. Yet somehow, he and Brock were the best of friends. Wiglaf had accompanied him on his long exile and proven to be an invaluable companion, often defusing situations inadvertently started by Brock. Rigor drew his eye next. This was not unusual-Rigor tended to attract attention. His hair was dyed (Brock guessed-he’d never asked) a bright blue and his eyes were a crimson red. This was not a shade normally found in humans and Brock had wondered about his ancestry. He had only recently joined the group, hailing from a distant land with many strange customs. Having seen him in combat, Brock knew that he was as capable with a sword as he was with his axe. Rigor was quiet and self-assured. He was sitting in a corner polishing his black armor. Rigor’s companion Artesia was having a discussion with her rock. She really bothered Brock-she was twitchy and unpredictable. These were not qualities he preferred to have around, but she also possessed powerful abilities that he didn’t quite understand. She could affect objects and people with her mind. Garusha was dozing off in a chair. Of all of his companions, she was the closest to Brock in temperament. Brash, direct, and often rude, she had a quick temper and even quicker wit. Brock often wondered if these characteristics were a defense mechanism. Her appearance was certainly….unsettling. Her fingers and toes were tipped with razor-sharp claws and her smile was that of a carnivore. Portions of her skin were protected by hard black scales and large black wings grew from her shoulders. Her father was a black dragon, and her lineage was certainly shown in her appearance. People feared her even when not accompanied by her summoned demons. Luckily for Brock, her faith wasn’t one of the more proselytizing ones. Finally, there was Caeden. Even here she was alert and watchful. She never relaxed-merely waited. Although she and her brother Rynn-who was out getting drunk most likely-had been his companions the longest, he wasn’t actually sure what exactly she thought of him. Although he respected her prodigious fighting abilities and honored her as an equal, she didn’t exactly engender affection. She was undeniably attractive-petite and athletic, with a dancer’s build. Her eyes were dark and mysterious and her hair was short and black. There was a quiet dignity about her that many found compelling. Brock, however, knew that those she took to her bed were never seen alive again. She was the perfect weapon that he strived to be-cold, merciless, and utterly without remorse. [B]Next: An Offer They Can't Refuse![/B] [/QUOTE]
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