The sound was most troublesome. Long have I been prisoner to Kormack and his evil designs, and the torturous sounds my heart has been cursed to endure has left me cold inside. I endure and ignore. Cold to the pain and the suffering of poor souls around me. Their Fate forsworn as soon as they enter His lair. But this, this atrocity has pierced my now icebound heart and cracked deep into my very soul. The children... The mewling babes that know nothing of their future, nothing of the joys of life. Innocent of horrors of the world and the dread future it holds. How short that future is. I can not get the sound of the mewling infants from my mind, it is seared into memory as a brand on an animals flank forever to remain. Some have even laughed right up till the end and nothing is more damaging to ones sanity than a broken childs laugh.
Master Blacksmith Heaf Astes
Ah, you are awake now I see. Wondrous news. I realized that you have no idea what is transpiring so I will be blunt so you may understand it. It is rumored that you are one of the best jewelers and metalsmiths in the region and for that you are lucky enough to have been chosen to create an item that will change the world. And afterwards, you shall be set free. My word on it.
I watched in horror as the final pieces were infused together with dark magics granted to the mighty Kormak by Shivenhusk Himself. The head from Lord King Vyrkril was placed on a base of blacked bone and thrust into the cold burning fire. I swear I hear it scream in agony. Decnus Kormak smiled at his late king and when he pulled the chalice from the blue flame bare handed, he clutched it covetously. That alone made me afraid.
Those who wear this item are usually laughed at and scorned for its appearance at first. It looks odd adorning the head of any warrior as it always seems a little too small and its thin strap that secures it in place seems far to fragile and loose to keep it in place when worn in a melee. However, when the wake of its powers catches up to those who scorn, their attitudes and lives change abruptly. The knowledge about this helm is vague but throughout history, events of a chaotic nature seem to follow in the path of this item, sowing the seeds of disorder and discord. However it is when all four of these set items are found and placed together, does true havoc reign.
The stone and I have the same desires,
Day in, day out.
We want by each other to be sought,
And we want to embrace each other taut.
The stone and I have the same desires,
Day in, day out.
An often misunderstood poem of the Heartstone rings.
This item has been moved about the lands throughout the ages, lost and found by various people. Always it seems that the unsuspecting are the usual and unfortunate ones to find them. It is vague but throughout history events of misfortune and chaotic nature seem to follow in the path of this item, sowing the seeds of disorder and discord. However it is when all four of these set items are found and placed together, does anarchy truly reign.
Nobody, as long as he moves about among the chaotic currents of life, is without trouble.
- Carl G. Jung
“Malghoul Etra Galad Morta, Malghoul Etra Galad Morta!” This booming chant repeats itself over and over; I clutch my head wishing it to end. Physically it doesn't cause me pain, but my brain seems to want to explode from some unseen pressure. Wait something is happening, the bloodied mist has finally settled and I feel refreshed from my hard days. I wonder what this bloodied chalice has in store for me.
-Torren Wayhon, Adventurer, lost soul
This item is not listed in many tombs of magic, nor is it detailed in any text books among the arcane. It is however sung about in many a tavern and bar across the coastal cities. The tale is sung more about the man who created it. His tale has been embellished time and again until he seemed more a god than the coward that he was.
My fellow councilor’s, the entire watch was assassinated by the Arch-Duke of Torr wanting to open up a hole in the defense of the city. His intent was obviously to try and make it easier for him to conquer us.
But ser, how do we know for sure that you are right in your assumptions? After all you just recently arrived to the city and were unaware of the murders until we spoke of it here.
Ser! That is because I am a genius and you are not.
- Ser Marcus Hadokk, self proclaimed genius.
The crowd erupted in a bright flash of multi-colored light, red and green flashing once each blinding those to near. The clash of metal on metal rang over the dinn of the voices of the market place. Cries of a fight swept through the streets ending up at the ears of the city watch.
“Someone broke a seal again. Thats to bad, as I didn’t want to have to kill anyone today.”
- Corporal Watesan, 2nd Shift of the day watch. Cerb City, Cerb.
The shamans of the Keirn tribe Ge’stam, would perform rituals of bonding on young warriors who had passed for their right to become warriors. The totem that bonds with the warriors spirit is powerful, yet needs to be cared for as would a suckling baby. Only the proud warriors of the Ge’stam know how to balance the two.
Griffin is the brother of the King. He used to live in the royal court at the capital city, but that all changed when his wife was called to testify before the court against a friend of Griffins. She lied under oath to protect her husband about a hidden issue. Her lie was discovered. She was summarily executed and her husband was reprimanded not punished, being the brother to the King. His offense was very minor even in this kingdom, but this opened his eyes to the fact that his family’s kingdom despite being lawful and protective of all its subjects, it was not as good as it portrayed.
The eyes of the all seeing are never ending. The truth can only be revealed to those willing to bear the burden.
His eyes opened in disbelief, the battered spectacles rising slightly on his brow. To everyone around him, everything was normal. As it should be. To his eyes, the light was nearly unbearable. An aura of energy filled his vision completely. He knew what it was he saw, what the others could not. He knew he saw the impossible, and he wanted it all for himself.
This is a Quest Submission for the Shards of the Storm Quest.
The shards of Typhoon and Monsoon were recognized by the Wind and Sky, and so the lands beneath them permitted them to exist, and thus remembered, so they continue to exist.
But what of the shards themselves? When the hands of mortal interfere with the Gods, woe to thee who believes them worthy.
You should feel proud today, knowing that you will be the reason why another person will live. Why they will escape the brink of death and be able to heal all injuries. This is a great thing and you should feel elation knowing because of you, they will live. Unfortunately you must die for them to live; such is the way of the world.
-Inganno - Follower of Caedmon, Alchemist of Shadow
A family heirloom, worn by the son of a fisherman, that raised them out of squalor and into nobility. What is in a man’s heart that can not be corrupted? What can turn the untainted into rage? Pray to the God’s and you never know the outcome.
This is a listing of every Ring thought of and put to submissions here at Strolens. For a far better solution to finding what your looking for.
‘I told Sir Ursus not to take the amulet, to leave it be in it’s resting place. But he would not listen. We now trek to his place of hiding to remove the amulet and return it, and to destroy that which Ursus has become. ’
- Arch-Danath Maccalas of the Dark Step Tribe
In a time when magic was more plentiful and times more disturbed with war, these items were created to protect those in power but ultimately used for assassination attempts. A King had five chokers commissioned for his family in time of great need. He paid handsomely for these chokers as they were to keep his family safe if war was brought to their doorstep.One of which was used on the King and his own family.
Jemas Lorne, the most celebrated poet of the age, was found dead, clutching a fragment of verse torn from his journal. The tantalizing fragment spoke of wealth:
Golden sands, empty and cold,
Treasure's crypt, forgotten gold.
Under stone, ancestor's doom,
Noble's prize, troubadour's tomb.
Rumours claim that the poet's father, an eccentric nobleman, had hidden much of his wealth before his death. Perhaps the missing journal has more clues?