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Writer
Join Date: Apr 2005
Location: BC, Canada
Posts: 26
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Torrential Reign - Style Draft
I have mapped out a storyline in my head, and have now put most to paper and began writing the 'meat' of it all. Just looking for a few thoughts from outside perspectives before I get too far into it.
Cheers.
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Introduction
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Dust weighted halls filled throughout by the relics of yore; flickering candles spread a blank luminance across the fitted stone floors. The Keep of Xeric, home to the Undrenguard Legions, and the finite point of knowledge known to the surface races. Here in the dark halls of studies, trophy rooms, and laboratories stood an aged creature, huddled over his workbench mixing alchemic agents in the search for the recipe to recall the most sought after relic of all of the ages, the Origin.
The Origin however does not always exist, and is not always able to be found. It must first be summoned from realms un-marched by the feet of mortal men, brought to the mortal plain. The power of the Origin assumes control of an object of the realm. What exactly becomes the focus of the Origin is unknown, and apparently random. As legends would tell the clerics of today, the Origin has held its power within the Stone of Aynor, the Black-Scythe Blade, the Waters of Candor, and even the Mountain of Billon. All inanimate, and all destroyed by the greed of the power hungry graves that line the locations where the Origin was found and fought over.
If the summoning recipe could be recreated, what object would hold the relentless and unascertainable magick of the Origin?
What land or weapon would be abused to its own destruction and the destruction of everything within its grip?
What if the Origin returned not as a mountain, a sword, a crystal or a lake, but as a man?
What then would the world face, and how would it choose to approach controlling the fragile body of such a creation?
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Dawn of the Origin
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Phaxe Ri’Elder stares pointedly across the tavern towards a table next to the front door. The handful of cracked ashen seats played host to a pack of Heldron Bounty Hunters. A ruthless band of creatures resembling lizards, standing fully on their hind feet to heights beyond ten feet, bound in muscle and protected by two layers of hardened scales. Their eyes and ears keen to the depths of darkness and silence throughout the tunnels of the Underdark. They seem oblivious to the peril they are in, chugging on cheap ale, whilst tossing dice in a game of Gaedz. These creatures, with such a reputation of terror, have not the senses about them to find the plans of their execution within the eyes of their hunter.
Three months ago these men had appeared in the city of Phelincarranzen, home to two and a half thousand Sharone Elves, a hybrid race of Drow Elves holding trust in the natural magicks, and forbidding the practices of the rule of the cruel Spider Deity of the Drow, Lloth. The higher houses of Phelincarranzen were more than eager to hire this party to eliminate some of their enemies within the city, as well as protect shipments of cargo through the tunnels. These Heldron however made the mistake of taking a mission to execute the leader of the local militia, Sentrios Vaigh.
Vaigh having been the Sentrios of the city for 11 years, having put down many rebellions and been at the head of destroying three ruling houses that acted unjustly towards the lesser houses within the city, was a political target of a number of the higher powers within Phelincarranzen hoping to extend their power. Two days before, Vaigh and his three personal guards were attacked while traveling from the Academy to Vaigh’s home.
Vaigh and his guard, caught by surprise and slightly outnumbered fell to the defensive quickly, losing two guards before they realized they were being attacked. The third falling to a rake of claws as he turned to guard Vaigh’s back. Vaigh would not have escaped with his life if it were not for the help of Phaxe. Using one of the innate magicks of the Sharone Elves, Phaxe had summoned cloaks of darkness around each of the lizards’ heads and levitated Vaigh beyond the reach of the hunters.
Surprised by the sudden blindness about them, the Heldron fighters hit the ground and rolled away from the fight instinctively, only to look ahead and find that their prey was nowhere to be seen. Defeated this night, and not wanting to draw more attention, the assassins slipped back into the night without the Elves knowing who had ever attacked them. Free from recognition and blame, these men were hoping for another assault in the coming weeks. Little to their knowledge, they had been seen by a single elf, Phaxe Ri’Elder.
Not wanting any more attention than he needed himself, Phaxe lowered Vaigh from the darkness of the cavern ceiling, and fled back through the dark streets to his room in a local inn. Phaxe having his own agenda, and not needing the prying eyes of the High Council or the militia had decided not to report the matter to the authorities, thinking that it would be better to deal with this matter himself. So it would be done this night, and this night would begin the final stage of Phaxe’s plans in the Underdark.
Deciding it wiser to allow the larger opponents to drink the night away and in itself make themselves a weaker foe, Phaxe sat back in a darkened corner of the tavern observing and noting characteristics and equipment on each of the hunters. Two of the fighters sat roughly humped over the low table, backs to the wall. Bearing two-foot long daggers on each side of their belts, a single long blade lay resting against the wall next to each of them, readied for action and set loosely in its' scabbard. Early dawn would bring these weapons to life as they had never been before. The weapons' masters would pay for their actions; the only bounty collected would be one of blood.
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