Original Submissions
-
Wanderers by Marko
Added on Nov 26, 2005Artist sketch of two wanderers in the desert.
Legends Past by Anonymous
Added on Nov 15, 2005This is actually only one of a set of lyrics that are fitted to the same song. They all begin the same, but each tell their own story. Very old, probably northern in origin.
O legends tell us many tales,
of the long lost past.
Of ancient seas that kissed the hills,
and held the Shield Wall fast.
No seas of silt were these
(think that not, o no!)
instead they were of waters deep
(its true, believe it so!)
A tower be my witness,
its light did guide the way
of wind-touched carts borne not on wheels
but waters of the bay.
It stands a lonely vigil (still!)
and mourns what time did steal,
for where the waters left away,
legends don't reveal.
O legends tell us many tales,
of the long lost past.
Of ancient seas that kissed the hills,
and held the Shield Wall fast.
No seas of silt were these
(think that not, o no!)
instead they were of waters deep
(its true, believe it so!)
A tower be my witness,
its light did guide the way
of...
Continue Reading...Two Moons by Anonymous
Added on Nov 15, 2005A cheerful tavern song that gets patrons singing along. Unknown origin.
O Jihae follows Lirathu,
through the sky and round.
Once a month he catches her,
and then he beds her down.
But while Jihae is sleeping,
sweet Lirathu does fly.
And when he wakes he starts anew,
the chase across the sky.
O Jihae follows Lirathu,
through the sky and round.
Once a month he catches her,
and then he beds her down.
But while Jihae is sleeping,
sweet Lirathu does fly.
And when he wakes he starts anew,
the chase across the sky.
Tuluk Wallpaper by Gaare
Added on Nov 15, 2005Desktop Wallpaper for Tuluk (1024x768)
Sketch 3 by Sweet Savant
Added on Nov 5, 2005Artist sketch.
Sketch 2 by Sweet Savant
Added on Nov 5, 2005Artist sketch.
Sketch 1 by Sweet Savant
Added on Nov 5, 2005Artist sketch.
Tembo by Amoeba
Added on Oct 13, 2005Artist Rendering of a Tembo.
Kank by Amoeba
Added on Oct 13, 2005Artist Rendering of a Kank.
Kuraci Wagon Song by Gaulden
Added on Oct 13, 2005Traditional song sung by Kuraci while travelling.
Oh... I left a girl in blackest 'nak,
She had perky breasts and a slender back,
But the road called out and it called my name,
Said "Hey Kuraci! Hit the plains!"
Oh... I left a girl in old Red Storm,
Had an ass so taught and a kiss so warm,
But the road called loud and the road called strong,
Said "Hey Kuraci! The days are long!"
Oh... I left a girl in the tribal lands,
Had a way of blowin' just like the sands,
But the road called rough and the road called out,
Said "Hey Kuraci! Hitch them mounts!"
Oh... I had a lass in Ivory town,
With bright blue eyes and hair so brown,
But the road shouted louder than it had before,
Said "Hey Kuraci! You gotta leave once more!"
So I packed my things and I packed my load,
And I headed south down the old North Road,
And the road whispered soft when the Luirs gates closed...
Said "Hey Kuraci... welcome home."
Oh... I left a girl in blackest 'nak,
She had perky breasts and a slender back,
But the road called out and it called my name,
Said "Hey Kuraci! Hit the plains!"
Oh... I left a girl in old Red Storm,
Had an ass so taught and a kiss so warm,
But the road called loud and the road called strong,
Continue Reading... Nomad
CHAPTER 1 - The Braxat, The by Cogato
Added on Oct 13, 2005A nomad battles a fearsome braxat.
Desolate, this one word summed up the only way to describe the world that was his. Beasts that could tear the life from the most battle hardy warrior called this place of his home. Bands of evil men who sought to destroy, rape, and pillage were his only neighbors. In its vast scorching sands that spanned the horizon in all directions, there could be found only death and despair for most. But he was not most, he was what most would call a wild man. A renegade that bent knee to no other man, who's path was decided by little more than the wind. He was a nomad.
Though the sand blew with a ferocity that would cause most to take shelter, the nomad would not be found curled up in a hole this day. He slid to the side of his kank, a massive ant-like insect who's hardy nature made it his preferred beast of burden. The fall from the creature's back was considerable, but he landed on slightly bent legs with a stealthy silence that would make the most light-footed street urchin applaud. Silence was of the greatest importance in the barren land that he called home, there were no barriers to keep noise from reaching the keen senses of any that might lurk in the distant dunes. As the nomad knew, there was always some vile beast waiting just beyond his line of vision, poised to strike. If this paranoia was simply due to his own unnecessary fear, or a dire survival tactic was not of importance. In the deep desert, only survival matters after all. The nomad did not make it so many years by taking any chances.
With swift short steps the nomad made his way up to the edge of the ravine, crouching just as he reached its sandstone drop off. For a long moment he stayed just where he was, straight backed and on a single right knee. His deep green eyes took in all that he could through the blowing sand about him. All the while his keen, slightly pointed ears listening for anything he might find alerting. He saw and heard nothing at all accept for the constant grating sound of the blowing sand, in the nomad's home, this was always a good thing. He peered up toward the distant ball of crimson light, checking once more that he was heading in the direction that the trail was going before the sandstorm came to erase all evidence of his prey. Then, laying down on his stomach slowly, he peered over the edge of the ravine.
The canyon below was not large in comparison to most of the massive gouges that dotted many areas of the known world. It only dug into the sandy earth to create a fifty or so foot drop, but its walls were steep, and it ran from east to west for many miles. The nomad didn't take a moment to consider anything more, his prey had went this way, that was all that mattered. After scanning the floor of the canyon once more from his high perch and being satisfied that he saw nothing of consequence, the nomad pushed up to his feet. Turning on a single heel he moved back to the side of his kank and hastily began unlashing his saddle bags from the creature's side. After removing the medium sized leather satchel from the insect's sandy-yellow carapace he dropped to a knee once more and began searching through its contents. In a moment he had his woven leather rope out and was hastily working one end into a loop. He slung the loop around a piece of jagged stone jutting out from the lip of the ravine and then rolled over the side of the cliff, slowly descending.
The nomad held the half-inch thick leather rope tightly in both hands before him, the toes of his rough leather boots finding a small but seemingly secure lip of stone to support his weight. With short hops the nomad carefully picked his way down the side of the cliff face. The face of the sandstone cliff appeared easily scaleable at first with many visible hand and foot holds mottling its surface. But it soon became apparent to the nomad that the coarse stone was brittle, and he scrambled for a purchase more than once when a foothold would break before he finally reached the floor of the ravine.
Down here where the walls of stone rose up around him on two sides, the stinging sands ceased to pelt the nomad. He began surveying the sandy earth at his feet for the trail he had lost earlier in the day due to the storm. It wasn't long before he came up on the clawed tracks that marked his prey's passing. The faint imprint of three toes in the sand, each having a four inch dig mark where the beast's claws protruded into the soil when it moved. The nomad was pleased that he had guessed correctly about the durrit moving in a relatively straight path even in the storm. He set out moving through the canyon on the creatures trail. He hadn't got out of sight of where he first descended into the ravine before he came up on his prey. The durrit was already dead.
The nomad quickly dropped into a crouch his gloved hands instinctively moving to the bone hilts that protruded from his belt line. His eyes first darted up to inspect the higher ground, only the constant roar of the howling wind graced the ravine on both of its upper sides. Then without a conscious thought he moved to the wall of stone nearest him and placed his back to it, taking comfort in the solidity of this one defended side. After many long moments of watching the upper crests of the two canyon walls and growing confident that if an ambush was to come it was not from above, he moved closer to the dead durrit.
One hand still held firmly to the bone hilt of his obsidian sword as he approached the site of the massacre, fore that's what it was. The corpse of the biped beast that would normally stand head high was now on its side in the dust, a massive section of flesh ripped from its narrow chest. One of its legs was almost completely severed from the body at the hip. An arm lay a few feet from the corpse, seemingly ripped straight out at the shoulder socket. After surveying the area for a single instant and the shredded corpse the nomad saw what he had feared to see, a single set of tracks that spelled dread.
Fifty feet above back where a slender rope dangled over the edge of a cliff and a single yellow kank stood skittering slowly about, there loomed the beast that would strike fear into any traveler. A braxat it was called, a hulking beast that stood at a towering twelve feet on its back legs. Though it often moved at tremendous speeds with the aid of its large muscular arms. Both of its five fingered hands ended in large razor sharp claws that could tear straight through a wooden shield, or crush any being unfortunate enough to get caught in its grasp.
Despite looking crude and barbaric at first glance with its bone spiked leathery flesh, the braxat was not a stupid beast, simply cruel and savage. Above all else a braxat loved to bring torment to the humanoid races of the world. They loved the sound of a screaming elf or human as their limbs were ripped from their bodies or their flesh severed with large raking claws.
It had seen the single half-elf traveler earlier in the day a few miles back from where it was now, and decided then that this one and his mount would make a fine meal. It reasoned that the tiny humanoid was tracking the durrit that had strode through earlier in the day and rushed ahead quickly, wanting to reach the durrit and put its ambush into motion. After catching the durrit at the bottom of the canyon it now stood next to, the braxat made short work of the beast and left it far below to lure the single half-elf away from his mount. The beast's plan was sound, kill the traveler's swift mount and strand him. Then the hulking monster could slowly hunt him into exhaustion where the braxat could then enjoy his slow death.
The braxat used the harsh weather to its advantage, its double lidded eyes able to see much farther in the blowing sandstorm than those of its prey. Ducked behind a stone outcropping a hundred feet away the creature watched as the half-elf slid down his rope into the ravine, and its trap.
The giant ant like creature that now stood next to the ravine alone seemed skittish, probably somehow sensing that the braxat lurked nearby. But Arrow would not flee from the point where its trusted master had left it, it would remain there facing whatever peril befell it until Elios returned to fetch it.
Breaking the revered silence for an instant the nomad said in a low whisper the only word that came to mind. "A braxat".
As if to answer the words and substantiate what the nomad already knew, a distant roaring thundered throughout the canyon from somewhere above. It was immediately followed by the screeching sound of some distressed beast. The nomad turned quickly pulling his short foot-long obsidian dagger. The nomad knew what the sound was, knew that he had fallen for the ambush that was not intended for him. He had faltered, and he knew that if he did not make haste, Arrow, his only trusted companion would soon pay the price for his mistake.
In an instant the nomad was in a dead sprint back toward the rope he knew he could not possibly reach and climb in time to save his mount. In a matter of just a few seconds the nomad had sprinted the full ninety or so feet back across the rocky canyon floor to the rope still dangling from the cliffs edge. Taking his obsidian dagger in his clenched teeth he quickly took up the rope in both hands and placed his feet in the first secure holds in the sandstone wall preparing to climb. Another high pitched squeal echoed down into the canyon. The nomad's sinewy slender arms pulled against themselves then on the verge of snapping, propelling him straight up the rope without the slightest bit of aid from his boot clad feet. In just a moment the nomad was half way up the rock wall when his look of fear quickly turned to one of terror.
Twenty five feet above the large form of a kank slipped over the edge of the ravine, letting out a gurgled screech as it started to topple straight down toward the nomad.
Boot clad toes quickly scraped across the sandstone cliff face and the nomad swung out from the wall and to his right. His eyes never left the rapidly descending creature as his feet went into motion trying vainly to propel him out of the kank's path. Just as the kank was reaching him he knew he could not completely get out of the way. Then, as if knowing its masters peril even though it could not, a spasm in the throes of death caused the kank to turn slightly in fall. Its thorax struck the wall turning it completely over onto its back as it descended. The nomad did not miss his chance and he quickly fell flat against the wall, bruising his right cheek and chest in the process. The desperate maneuver saved his life then though as the kank's corpse barely missed him in its head long roll.
It took the nomad a moment to reorient himself after striking the wall. By the time he had re-set his feet against the wall to push himself out to arms length, the corpse struck the canyon floor with a sickening crack of chitin. The nomad peered down toward his fallen comrade, his only trusted friend. He knew he could do nothing for the now dead beast. Suddenly a shadow cast down on him from above and he looked up just in time to see the huge form of the braxat leaping out from the edge of the ravine, following its latest victim down.
Massive leg muscles flexed and supported the braxat as it hit the canyon floor next to its newest kill. It knew the creature was dead but in its blood lust it did not care, it needed more. It tore into the corpse ripping at it with its viscous claws and tearing out huge hunks from the corpse's exposed flesh with its sharp teeth. When at last the braxat's animalistic rage had come to an end, it peered around looking for its soon to be victim. The half-elf should be close by, it had just saw him in the bottom of this canyon. But its prey was not where it should be, its prey was not falling into its plan.
The nomad climbed the rope quickly once more, but his movements were not driven by fear as one would suspect. The nomad's movements were now driven by an anger and a hate. An anger at himself for leading his companion to its death and a hate for the creature that had deceived him. The nomad scaled the edge of the ravine and rolled on his side before coming to his feet. He spotted what he had hoped to find, his saddle bags still laid on the sandy earth where he had left them. The nomad ripped the satchel open sending the button clasp flying off into the sand and he quickly produced a small leather quiver of arrows. Next he reached over his shoulder toward the horn longbow that was secured to the side of his backpack with a leather tie. Pulling at a single protruding length of the tie the bow fell free into the nomad's waiting bronzed hand.
The bow was fabulously crafted from a length of curling horn. The horn came from a large antelope like creature that grazed on the distant dry grasses of the northern plains, rightfully named a duskhorn due to the dark hue of the curling horns that were its namesake. The bow was not adorned with intricate carvings as most bows and was not even sanded to complete smoothness. Too many years in the hands of its current owner in the deep desert had turned it into a rough, rugged, practical bow. But, its slight re-curve fashion made it very powerful and its slender frame made it an easy pull for the slender arms of the half-elf that now held it.
The nomad stood slowly, his frame seeming to shake slightly with the tenseness that now was apparent in his whole body. A tan leather quiver in his left hand and a duskhorn bow in his right the nomad stalked up to the edge of the ravine, peering down toward the vile beast that had just slain his only friend.
The braxat turned its large head to see the rope still dangling from the wall, but the half-elf couldn't possibly have climbed out of the canyon in the short amount of time it had taken to kill the mount. Why would a puny being like that even want to climb up to the waiting claws of a braxat, especially for a mere kank? The braxat peered up toward the crest of the ravine anyways, despite the logic. There he saw only the blowing sand of the storm that always plagued these badlands. The braxat decided that the half-elf must have fled further down the canyon looking for some escape from his certain doom.
Just as the braxat took a long step forward his reasoning quickly changed. He had no choice but to see a different point of view, looking down to witness the grey-fletched arrow now protruding from his upper thigh. Though the projectile was relatively puny compared to the braxat's bulk, its sting rang clear enough in the creature's nervous system. The braxat quickly turned its gaze up toward the lip of the ravine, ready to face this new rival that had stupidly stood to face it.
If a braxat's rough facial features could display total shock, then the nomad certainly would have been the first to witness the spectacle. He stood there defiantly, his deeply tanned face staring back at the beast now peering up at him. His long golden-blonde hair blowing about wildly in the wind the nomad reached into the quiver now slung over his left shoulder. Another arrow was notched into his bow and the nomad quickly lifted it once more, pulling back on the plant fiber string firmly as he took aim. The nomad released as the braxat took a step forward toward the sandstone wall and the arrow missed its mark, skipping of a large stone where the braxat had just stood.
The nomad cursed himself silently for not buying more arrows back in Luir's Outpost. Though he could not have known he would be doing battle with anything more than a durrit this day. He pulled his bow once more and released another arrow straight down just as the braxat reached the wall. The crude projectile of stone, wood, and feather struck true this time though, digging six inches into the braxat's right shoulder. If the beast even noticed it didn't give any outward sign. Still full of anger, his fallen friend in his line of vision, the nomad pulled and released once, and then again, and then a third time.
The creature was still coming up the wall at him, he had two arrows left.
As the viscous bite of three more arrows rained down upon it, the braxat only grew in its anger, and thus its rage. It could see the new stems of fletched wood clearly. Their sting drew its eyes down to see them, two protruding from its upper left shoulder and the other from the right side of its bulky neck. It knew that it was not seriously injured, and even if it had been its boiling hate for its new enemy would not have let it flee. The coarse stone of the wall was brittle though, and even with the aid of its large claws the climbing was difficult for the braxat. Mostly because in its thrashing climb it tore its handholds straight from the wall, the stone falling the twenty five feet below to shatter on canyon floor. A simple wall would not keep the beast from the pathetic being that dared to stand against it though. It turned handfuls of sandstone into gravel as it progressed up the wall, pulling its self closer to the one that had caused it pain.
From ten feet above another arrow found its mark. At the close range of the shot the braxat keenly felt this arrow sink deeply into the left side of its chest. Pausing for an instant to let out a roar filled with what could be determined as pain or rage, the braxat sprang forward with a single pull of its massive arms. It sailed the remaining ten feet straight up the wall, it was now in striking distance of its intended prey. One clawed hand dug into the lip of the wall, its other bulky arm reached back preparing to unleash the fury of its anger. In a single mortal swipe that the half-elf could not hope to dodge or survive, the braxat would find its ecstasy in the demise of the one that had dared to rise up against it.
The nomad, his bow drawn taught and his eyes narrowed on the hulking beast that now loomed before him did not budge. He knew the horrible claws of the braxat would steal the life from his body in a single blow, but still he held firm. This was the creature that had stolen his only companion from him, the beast he would not flee from or let escape. As the massive claws came forth, the nomad held firm.
Nimble fingers held the bow string taught, the bite of the plant fiber cord painfully digging into the calloused flesh. At the last instant the fingers unfurled, releasing the plant fiber string and sending the stone tipped projectile forth. It was only a couple of yards between the nomad and the braxat, and the arrow had been shot from a bow that was pulled to the point of snapping in on it's self. The sharp tip found its mark then and the right eye of the braxat exploded back into the beast's skull, three quarters of the shaft looming grotesquely out of the creature's head. The impact caused the massive beast to wail and thrash and it's razor sharp claws flew harmlessly high above the now crouched half-elf's head.
An arrow protruding grotesquely from its now empty ocular socket and gore streaming down the side of its face, the braxat still managed to somehow hold firm to the lip of the ravine with its other hand. The nomad saw his chance.
Dropping his bow in the dust beside him the nomad lunged forth. He knew that if the beast regained its senses before he could dislodge it from the edge of the ravine, he would be sorely pressed to even survive the impending battle. The distance was short and the nomad slammed his shoulder heavily into the elbow joint of the braxat's anchored claw. Though his movements were fueled with anger and desperation, he made a serious mistake in estimating the hulking braxat's sheer strength, fore the joint did not budge. Then, almost as an afterthought, the nomad released the bite of his tightly clenched teeth and his foot long obsidian dagger fell down into his right waiting hand.
The nomad dropped both knees onto the digits that were dug into the sandstone at his feet then and drove the point of his wickedly sharp blade into the top of the hand they were connected to. The braxat let out a thundering roar and immediately loosed its grip, it toppled backwards and at that moment it realized its mistake, but it was too late. The large beast fell the full fifty feet backwards into the canyon, landing just next to the corpse of the kank it had slain. The nomad peered over the edge of the ravine to witness the unmoving humanoid form, the fletching of his arrow still securely sticking out of the creatures head. Turning on a heel then the nomad moved purposefully away from the edge of the ravine, bending over to retrieve his bow and satchel before moving on.
The nomad would not lament his fallen comrade, the one who had saved him time and again from the cruel world that was his, and kept him company in his many months of solitary travel. In the deep desert, one could not afford to waste the precious water of tears.
Desolate, this one word summed up the only way to describe the world that was his. Beasts that could tear the life from the most battle hardy warrior called this place of his home. Bands of evil men who sought to destroy, rape, and pillage were his only neighbors. In its vast scorching sands...
Continue Reading...Before Dawn by Anonymous
Added on Aug 14, 2005Jihae sets over the Shield Wall north of Luir's Outpost.
Matrim's Armageddon Website by Matthew Fung
Added on May 17, 2005This Armageddon website was created by a handful of players in an attempt to offer other players and potential players a useful and fun resource. Content includes art work collections for visual suggestions, newbie walk throughs, cap files, and other game resources.
http://ambushpaintball.com/armageddonLittle Black Gem, Part I
"Discovery", A by Spencer Sisson
Added on May 15, 2005A shady deal in a back alley leads to surprising inner revelations.
His name was Eight-Stone.
Actually, it wasn't. No one names their child Eight-Stone. It was likely Amos or Lo or Malnes or some other gutter name, the kind given to a baby in his mud-brick tenement when there's ten other kids to worry about and not even a cup of water between them.
But Eight-Stone was what he called himself. It was the name he used when dealing with Westsiders like us.
He was an elf, of course; most of those Eastsiders were. He had the long, spidery limbs and dark hair common to a sharpear, his lean frame shrouded with a grimy sandcloth cloak. In his fingers he held an obsidian dagger which he flipped every so often, sending it tumbling about in the air over his head before it fell back into his palm.
The room was barren except for two simple bone chairs, the seat and joints lashed together with leather scraps, and a desk of similar construction. The furniture seemed out-of-place in the gutted tenement, standing out amidst the filth-streaked planks of the floor and the rags and rubble strewn about.
"Sit," The elf ordered, indicating the chairs with the tip of his blade.
I glanced over toward my companion, Kali. His grey eyes were trained on the gleaming obsidian as the elf gave his dagger another flip. "I thought we agreed no weapons." Kali said evenly.
"Shut the feck up and sit, roundear."
As we sat, our host began to pace, keeping to the other side of the desk and continuing to toss that dagger like he was a juggler down in the big bazaar. By the way he moved, with his yellow sneer and slanted eyes glinting in our direction, it was clear that this feck thought he was twenty cords taller than Kali and me.
I was starting not to like our dear friend Eight-Stone.
After a beat Kali spoke up again, in soft, deliberate tones. Kali had a way with words, a strange way of talking that made everything sound like a good idea. His tongue was like a merchant's rod, pulling one thing from another without even leaving his seat. I decided to leave the talking part up to him, and concentrate on that blade as it floated through the air like solid smoke. "I'm Kali, and this is Arad, and we represent this alley. I understand your tribe wanted to speak to us about something?"
"We require more territory."
A smile creeped across Kali's sallow features. "Well, Eight-Stone, we've already granted your tribe the freedom to travel through here whenever you like."
"No," Eight-Stone snarled as he gave his weapon another flip, "we require control of the buildings as well."
"I don't understand. That wasn't part of the agreement we had with your tribe."
"We're making a new agreement." The elf plucked the blade from the air, and gave it another toss.
"But Eight-Stone, those are people's homes!"
"This isn't negotiable." He caught the dagger again. I heard his fingers tap against the leather grip.
"I'm sure we can work something out, here, Eight-Stone, if you'll just-"
"Either you give my tribe the fekking buildings, roundear, or we take them."
Flip. Catch. Flip. Catch. Eight-Stone continued his paces, and I chanced a look over towards Kali. He was sitting in his chair, straight-backed and firm, but in the missing teeth of that practiced smile, in that extra wrinkle on his forehead I sensed a seething indignation. He took a deep breath and continued, saying, "I don't think that'd be wise, Eight-Stone."
"And why not?" Flip.
"Now Eight-Stone," Kali began, rubbing his hands together. A tongue that had fooled countless vendors and militiamen flashed between his teeth as he continued, "let me just say Arad and me know what you're saying. I mean, you and your tribe are clearly in charge here. We're just people. Krath, we're not a threat to you, and if you want our alley, it's yours. What we're concerned about..." he glanced over at me, as if he expected me to add something. He shook his head as he continued. "What we're concerned about is that if you and your tribe take our alley, some of the boys deeper in the Westside might not like it."
"What do you mean?" Catch.
"Well, the Westside gangs have been gaining influence these days, you know? And this alley is pretty close to Eye territory. Feck, you might even upset the Guild. And then you've got a real spider's nest on your hands."
The dagger stopped moving.
"Are you threatening me?" Eight-Stone hissed.
Kali blinked several times, and shook his head. "No, man! Feck, no. Like I said, we're just people. But what I was saying-"
"Because my tribe won't tolerate threats. And weren't not afraid of your shortleg friends!"
I could feel Kali tensing up beside me. "Eight-Stone, you're not hearing me!"
"I've heard enough from you round-ears."
Eight-Stone stepped towards us. There was a rustle, followed by a queer little ringing noise, like some one dropping coins on a stone floor. I looked over towards Kali and saw that his face had been split open by a long, ebon spike.
Eight-Stone's dagger.
I toppled off my chair, and hit the ground, scurrying away from the horrid spectacle. Kali's mouth hung open in silent protest, his head swung backwards from the force of the blow. He'd been hit right in the eyes, and it had happened so fast I didn't even see it. From over the table I saw Eight-Stone reaching into his cloak, and a garbled string of syllables escaped my mouth in terror.
Suddenly, there was a brilliant flash, and my eyes were filled with night.
When I woke up, I smelled smoke. Lots of it. I raised myself up from the ground, and saw that the tenement was burning. Clay bricks and bone slats groaned and snapped with fire. The desk had been overturned, tendrils of flame creeping along it, but Kali's lifeless form still sat in the chair next to me, arguing with ashes. An acrid heap of cloth and flesh smoldered in the far corner- Eight-Stone, I realized. My senses were floundering in the smoke, and my groggy mind groped about for the cause of the fire. And that's when I saw my hands.
They were burning, yet they didn't burn. My hands were engulfed in flames, from the tip of my fingers to my wrists, but I felt no pain. My flesh was somehow undamaged; it was smooth and tan beneath the fires, unlike the crisp husk the elf had been reduced to. I stared at my hands for a long moment, among the falling timbers and ember rain, when suddenly a single word came to me. A word that tore through my mind, a word that was sharper and straighter and colder than any dagger.
Magicker.
Soon other words came, all of them terrible, like a volley of arrows. Suk-Krathi. Fire witch. Sun mage. Panicked, I stood and ran, escaping the smoldering tenement for the perpetual gloom of the alley. I kept running, my hands still aglow, like twin torches leading me through the Labyrinth. I couldn't go to the Eastside. They'd kill me. I couldn't go to the Westside. They'd shun me. And so I headed south, stumbling through the twisting alleys, passing beneath the cold, knowing gaze of the templar's statue. I passed beggars and orphans, who didn't look at me, but rather, the fire I carried. The fear in their eyes stoked my own, and I ran even quicker. I ran until my lungs frothed blood. I ran harder than I ever had before, with my hands flaming and my chest aching and all the fires of Suk-Krath, the great crimson sun, searing through me.
His name was Eight-Stone.
Actually, it wasn't. No one names their child Eight-Stone. It was likely Amos or Lo or Malnes or some other gutter name, the kind given to a baby in his mud-brick tenement when there's ten other kids to worry about and not even a cup of water between them.
But...
Continue Reading...You're a Liar! by Priestess
Added on May 2, 2005Bawdy drinking song commonly overheard in inns.
Three old whores in Allanak
Were drinking a brandy wine,
Says one of them to the other two,
"Yours is smaller than mine."
Chorus: Tend to tha walls me hearties,
There's nothin ta waste but time,
Guard them doors, you lousy whores,
None is bigger than mine.
"You're a liar," says the other old whore
"Mine's as big as the silt sea,
The wagons they sail In and out,
And never a bother to me"
(chorus)
"You're a liar," says the other old whore,
"Mine's as big as the moon,
The wagons drive in on the first of the year,
And don' come back till it's nigh thru."
(chorus)
"You're a liar," says the other old whore,
"Mine's as big as the air,
the wagons drive out and the wagons drive in,
And never tickle a hair"
(chorus)
"You're a liar," says the first again,
"I'd blush to be so small,
Many's the ARMY that marched right in,
And never come out at all."Three old whores in AllanakWere drinking a brandy wine,
Says one of them to the other two,
"Yours is smaller than mine."
Chorus: Tend to tha walls me hearties,
There's nothin ta waste but time,
Guard them doors, you lousy whores,
None is bigger than mine.
"You're a liar," says the other old...
Continue Reading...Words on the Wind by Silence
Added on May 2, 2005Traditional folksong.
The wind blows softly in the cool dawn air
Drawing the sands along, not caring where
I cannot follow it, can only stare
As it leaves, racing towards my lover fair
Fly faster along the road, wind, be fleet,
Wrap my final words in your song so sweet
Carry them to my lover's distant street
So that she may know why we will not meet
Oh, wild wind, obey me only in this --
Bring my love news of all that went amiss
And I shall lie in peace, and only miss
The chance to bestow my last dying kiss
The wind blows softly in the cool dawn air
Drawing the sands along, not caring where
I cannot follow it, can only stare
As it leaves, racing towards my lover fairThe wind blows softly in the cool dawn airDrawing the sands along, not caring where
I cannot follow it, can only stare
As it leaves, racing towards my lover fair
Fly faster along the road, wind, be fleet,
Wrap my final words in your song so sweet
Carry them to my lover's distant street
So that...
Continue Reading...When I Was Young by Bhuff
Added on May 2, 2005Written by the bard Kelinna Hessa.
Written by the bard Kelinna Hessa
The air were so much hotter then
. . . My mother was a bard then
And times were very hard
. . . When I was young
. . . When I was young
I puffed my first spice at ten
. . . And for boys I had that yen
And I had quite a ball
. . . When I was young
When I was young it was more important
. . . Pain more painful and laughter much louder, yeah
When I was young
. . . When I was young
I met my first love at thirteen
. . . I had brown eyes, and his were green.
And I learned quite a lot
. . . When I was young
. . . When I was young
When I was young it was more important
. . . Pain more painful and laughter
When I was young
. . . When I was young
My heart was so much stronger then
. . . I believed in the love of men
And I was so much older then
When I was young
. . . Oh, When I was young
When I was young
. . . Oh, When I was young
When I was young
. . . When I was young
When I was youngWritten by the bard Kelinna HessaThe air were so much hotter then
. . . My mother was a bard then
And times were very hard
. . . When I was young
. . . When I was young
I puffed my first spice at ten
. . . And for boys I had that yen
And I had quite a ball
. . . When I was young
When I...
Continue Reading...War Under the Sun by Narffle
Added on May 2, 2005Traditional Folksong honoring those lost in wars.
Legend will tell us that we won the war, that we suffer the pain of oppression no more,
that we fought with the sun shining on our attack, but where was the sun on the road headed back.
Eamin was a farm hand, who held his mate tight.
Told her he loved her, but he had to fight.
He wanted the freedom for his sons to be won.
So he marched off to war to fight under the sun.
O - it was long ago that our kinsmen died, fighting for freedom, their children and pride.
Many fine men lost their lives that day, and they told us it was glory under bloody Jihae,
Marawyn was a young lass who answered the call.
Her father had fallen defending the wall.
Her heart had to make sure that justice was done.
So she marched off to war to fight under the sun.
O - it was long ago that our kinsmen died, fighting for freedom, their children and pride.
Many fine men lost their lives that day, and they told us it was glory under bloody Jihae,
Lenatir owned a shop where he peddled his wares.
But he'd just had enough of the 'naki's damn stares.
Took his sword off the wall, for he'd never run.
And he marched off to war to fight under the sun.
O - it was long ago that our kinsmen died, fighting for freedom, their children and pride.
They told us it was glory under bloody Jihae, but remember the men not with us today.
O - it was long ago that our kinsmen died, fighting for freedom, their children and pride.
Remember the men who saw the war won, men that loved, men that died - that fought under the sun.
Legend will tell us that we won the war, that we suffer the pain of oppression no more,that we fought with the sun shining on our attack, but where was the sun on the road headed back.
Eamin was a farm hand, who held his mate tight.
Told her he loved her, but he had to fight.
He wanted the...
Continue Reading...Tuluk Gate by Stonewolf
Added on May 2, 2005A traditional dwarvish song, sung by Sergeant Brock, a dwarf of the T'Zai Byn
I left my love at Tuluk's gate,
When I turned back it was too late.
A fine stout lass with emerald eyes,
Return to me my heart cries.
But you are just too far away,
>From that gate I left that day.
I loved you once in the shade,
And in your arms I should have stayed.
But these boots had to travel on,
A new day for a new dawn.
But now that I've hung up my boots,
Settled down and taken root,
Where are you, my tawny lass?
I wonder as the days roll past.I left my love at Tuluk's gate,When I turned back it was too late.
A fine stout lass with emerald eyes,
Return to me my heart cries.
But you are just too far away,
>From that gate I left that day.
I loved you once in the shade,
And in your arms I should have stayed.
But these boots had to...
Continue Reading...Tribute to a Fallen Soldier by Bhuff
Added on May 2, 2005Originally written for Sergeant Timmic of the Kurac militia by the bard Kelinna Hessa.
Originally written for Sergeant Timmic of the Kurac militia by the bard Kelinna Hessa
Spears, . . . Short, obsidian-tipped spears,
Pointed around him . . . In a call to battle.
Straight, shining, polished spears, . . . Pierced the soul in the dun cloak,
The glory of his bandy legs, top-knotted hair, and darkened skin,
Laughing was lithe soul in the dun cloak.
We now watch the walls singing songs of tribute, war chanties.
Shovels, . . . Flat, bone shovels,
Scooping out his oblong vault, . . . Loosening sandstone and leveling dirt.
I ask you . . . To witness in his triumph . . . The shovel is brother to the spear.Originally written for Sergeant Timmic of the Kurac militia by the bard Kelinna HessaSpears, . . . Short, obsidian-tipped spears,
Pointed around him . . . In a call to battle.
Straight, shining, polished spears, . . . Pierced the soul in the dun cloak,
The glory of his bandy legs, top-knotted...
Continue Reading...Tilted Stool, The by Narffle
Added on May 2, 2005Sung by Kune, of House Kadius.
Sung by Kune, of House Kadius
Der's a spot in the bar dat's real special ta me, 'cause it's got me more action than my paysack, see...
...I dunno how it makes da ladies think in dat way, but it keeps all comin' an' I don't gotta pay...
O' - it's da old, tilted stool at da end'a da bar,
Ya give it a sit an' women come from afar,
Dey don't wanna talk about try'n der luck,
Dey just wanna take ya home an' give ya a...
Well..now...
...me'n mah friend walked inta dis place, a purty woman 'cross da way with a real nice face,
Mah friend says, "I got da drinks, 'cause I seen her first", but I knew a better angle than da quench her thirst...
O' - it's da old, tilted stool at da end'a da bar,
Ya give it a sit an' women come from afar,
Dey don't wanna talk about try'n der luck,
Dey just wanna take ya home an' give ya a...
Well...now...
...dis shapely young lass was slummin' from uptown, scannin' o'er da crowd with a big ole' frown,
We started ta talk, but it wasn't quite fair, der's just somethin' about dat lucky old chair...
O' - it's da old, tilted stool at da end'a da bar,
Ya give it a sit an' women come from afar,
Dey don't wanna talk about try'n der luck,
Dey just wanna take ya home an' give ya a...
Well...now...
...one night this old hag stumbled in all late, not enough teeth, but plenty'a weight,
...a fella next ta me scooted down toward the end, so I got up an' said "Ya can have MY seat, friend!"
O' it's da old, tilted stool at da end'a da bar,
Ya give it a sit, doubt she can see dat far,
Nah, I don't mind neighbor, you can sit right here,
Gonna get me some sleep, but you should start on the beer.
'Cause it's da old, tilted stool at da end'a da bar,
Da women see ya sittin' der, dey don't care who ya are,
Now every now an' den I gotta give up mah seat,
but it sure beats dodgin' them on my feet.Sung by Kune, of House KadiusDer's a spot in the bar dat's real special ta me, 'cause it's got me more action than my paysack, see...
...I dunno how it makes da ladies think in dat way, but it keeps all comin' an' I don't gotta pay...
O' - it's da old, tilted stool at da end'a da bar,
Ya give...
Continue Reading...Three Drunk Half-Giants by Bhuff
Added on May 2, 2005Story of three drunk half giants, writted by the bard Kelinna Hessa.
Written by the Bard Kelinna Hessa
Some friends and I in a common room
. . . Was playing Spice Run one night
When into the bar a commoner ran
. . . His face all a chalky white.
"What's up", says Mruk, "Have you got me Egg?
. . . Or have you seen your Aunt Mariah?"
Me Aunt Mariah be Krath'd!", says he,
. . . "The fekkin' bar's on fire!"
And there was Mruk upside down
. . . Lappin' up the whiskey on the floor.
"Booze, booze!" The commoner cried
. . . As they came knockin' on the door
(claps twice loudly)
Oh don't let 'em in till it's all drunk up
. . . And somebody shouted Dwire! DWIRE!
And we all got blue-blind paralytic drunk
. . . When the Old Grey Kank caught fire.
"Oh well," says Mruk, "What a bit of luck
. . . . Everybody follow me.
And it's down to the cellar
. . . If the fire's not there
. . . Then we'll have a grand old spree."
So we went on down after good old Mruk
. . . The booze we could not miss
And we hadn't been there any bit of time
. . . Till we were quite pissed.
Then, Ogan walked over to a wine barrel
. . . And gave it just a few hard knocks
(claps twice loudly)
Started takin' off his old brown pants
. . . Likewise his shoes and socks.
"Hold on, " says Mruk, "that ain't allowed
. . . Ya cannot do that thing here.
Don't go washin' clothes in the wine barrel
. . . When we got naki beer."
Then there came from the old back door
. . . A local Serjeant of the land
And when he saw our drunken ways,
. . . He began to scream and curse.
"Ah, you drunken sods! You Krath'n clods!
. . . You've taken to a drunken spree!
You drank up all the fine wine
. . . And you didn't save a drop for me!"
And then there came a mighty crash
. . . Half the tavern roof caved in.
We were almost covered by all the sand
. . . But still we were gonna stay.
So we got some tacks and some old sand sacks
. . . And we nailed ourselves inside
nd we sat drinking the finest mead
. . . Till we were bleary-eyed.
Later that night, when the fire was out
. . . We came up from the cellar below.
Our bar was burned. Our booze was drunk
. . . . Our heads was hanging low.
"Oh look", says Mruk with a look quite queer
. . . . Seems something raised his ire.
"Now we gotta get down to Kurac Bar,
. . . I need some Spice to get higher!"Written by the Bard Kelinna HessaSome friends and I in a common room
. . . Was playing Spice Run one night
When into the bar a commoner ran
. . . His face all a chalky white.
"What's up", says Mruk, "Have you got me Egg?
. . . Or have you seen your Aunt Mariah?"
Me Aunt Mariah be Krath'd!",...
Continue Reading...Stay A Little While Yet by Morninglight
Added on May 2, 2005A lover requests of their lover to not leave yet.
Crimson streaks the night-dark sky,
And dawn has come much too nigh.
The city begins to stir and wake,
And my arms you must forsake.
Stay a little while yet, love,
Till the sun is high above.
It will be long ere we meet,
So stay here a while, my sweet.
Let your day's work bide a bit,
While my lamp's still brightly lit.
My bed's soft, your arms are tight,
Surely it can still be night.
Stay a little while yet, love,
Till the sun is high above.
For many days we must part,
Give this morning a late start.Crimson streaks the night-dark sky,And dawn has come much too nigh.
The city begins to stir and wake,
And my arms you must forsake.
Stay a little while yet, love,
Till the sun is high above.
It will be long ere we meet,
So stay here a while, my sweet.
Let your day's work bide a bit,
While my...
Continue Reading...Salarr Sword Song by Barzalene
Added on May 2, 2005Thanna Salarr paid to have this sung every tenday for a month as an advertisement.
They all come to Nak,
When they want to buy a sword.
They go to Salarr,
They go to Salarr.
They all come through Nak,
When they're on their way to war.
They go to Salarr,
They go to Salarr.
Everyone know my baby,
Got the best blade in town.
Everyone knows Salarr man,
Got the sharpest blade around.
They all come to Nak,When they want to buy a sword.
They go to Salarr,
They go to Salarr.
They all come through Nak,
When they're on their way to war.
They go to Salarr,
They go to Salarr.
Everyone know my baby,
Got the best blade in town.
Everyone knows Salarr man,
Got the sharpest...
Continue Reading...Runner Song, The by Barzalene
Added on May 2, 2005Purchased by a T'zai Byn Sergeant.
The best day of the week is Nekrete
If you don't mind all day on your feet
As you shovel latrines
Until they are clean
Then it's back to the Gaj for a drink
But I'm drink with the runners again
Yes, I'm drunk with the runners again
On a new contract bid
We all made some sid
And I'm drunk with the runners again
I'm sitting back at the bar
With pride for the Byn in my heart
We hunted and rode
And we fought till we won
Then we all headed back to the Gaj
But I'm drink with the runners again
Yes, I'm drunk with the runners again
On a new contract bid
We all made some sid
And I'm drunk with the runners againThe best day of the week is NekreteIf you don't mind all day on your feet
As you shovel latrines
Until they are clean
Then it's back to the Gaj for a drink
But I'm drink with the runners again
Yes, I'm drunk with the runners again
On a new contract bid
We all made some sid
And I'm drunk...
Continue Reading...
