Ok, I put Strolen as king because he started this board, and Its supposed to have everyone involved. Second, a lot of dragons is a lot too many. Also, this band is being led by a dark magician, he can easily control his creatures, so they work well together. Also, they stay away from each other except at meetings. This wizard wants to expand his borders, and the poor kingdom of Strolen's Citadel is closest.
Third: A history of the hermit:
He was once a great warrior in far off kingdom, whos name has been forgotten. He was fierce in spirit, and fiercer in battle, and whole army's quaked at the sight of him. Yet one day as he was walking an old, dusty path (as warriors often do) he came across a rather odd looking artifact half-hidden in the sand. From what he could see, it looked like a jewell necklace. Without thinking as to what it could mean (a rather uncharacteristic move for him) he reached down and grabbed it. Instantly it wrapped itself around his arm and became a rather evil looking glove, stopping just below the elbow. At this point he found his spirit draining from him, and new an evil spell had befallen him. As he strained to take it off, the glove only grew larger, and started to constrict itself even more. When it had grown to the size of his entire arm, all fight left him, and he collapsed on the ground. Upon waking he found himself in a dark, small, musty cell, chained by hand and foot to the wall. Just as his head began to stop pounding, the door creaked open, and the most hiideous thing he had ever seen slunk into the room. It was huge, 15 feet at least, and seemed to contain no depth at all. Like a shadow, it seemed there, but not there at the same time. Then, as it leaned closer and lifted its hood...FIRE!! Where its head should be was nothing but the shadowlike substance. But its eyes, they were not eyes, they were fire, leaping out at him with long, burning flames, ready to scald the flesh off his body.
"I am the great wizzard Nazereth" it hissed, a small forked tongue darting in and out of its mouth as it spoke. "You will obay me...or else."
Ever the fearless warrior, our hermit (remember, his name is forgotten), spat at the wizard, and matched him glare for glare. "Or else what? You'll kill me?"
"NO!" it hissed, "if you fail to comply with my demands, you will beg for death before we are through!"
Quaking inside with fear, the hermit (he wasn't a hermit then but I'll just say that from now on for sake of simplicity) stood tall in the face of the enemy, and whispered one phrase.
"Bring it on."
"Fool." the wizard hissed, "you will be sorry you ever crossed the wizard Nazereth." And he swept out the door.
The next day, the beatings began. Harsh beatings 3 times a day, every time they would whip his back until he cried, and then give him 10 drops of water and 3 crumbs of bread, then he would be locked back up. After several weeks of this, the hermit was so weak he could barely stand, and his spirit had finally been crushed. Yet there was still the faintest trace of his old self, hidden deep within him just waiting for the right moment. That moment came the next morning.
He woke later then usual that day, and wondered why they had not come in to administer his first beating. It was then he realized there was a new companion in his cell with him. A small boy, porbably only 4 years of age, and he was quivering with fear, so much so, that the hermit could not get a word out of him. Then the guard came in with his whip. At the site of this weapon, the little broke broke into harsh wailing sobs.
"Shut up!" yelled the guard, and whipped the little boy. Upon seeing this, the small trace of fight the hermit had in him erupted. Seing such a small child maddened him to the point where he cared about nothing, excpet to get the guard. With this newborn ferocity, he ripped the chains clear from the wall, and began to beat the guard 10 times more violently then any he had recieved himself, and the guard was dead within seconds. Grabbing the keys and sword the guard was carrying, he quickly unlocked himself and the small boy, and ran out the door, straight into the middle of the wizards army. (it wasn't anywhere near as big as it is now, but still a formiable force)
Running for the nearby forest, he had nearly made it when the boy yet out a yelp of surprise. Looking down, the hermit saw an arrow was embedded in the young ones stomach, and the white haze of death had crept over his eyes. Blind with grief, the hermit fought his way through the wizards ranks with a force unheard of by any other creature to this day. Even despite his beatings, and lack of food or water, with a sword in his hand he was a perilous beast once again. He whipped through the army, leaving death everywhere his sword travelled, and eventually made it to the outskirts of he woods, where he escaped under the cover of the trees. He travelled to the hills he could see in the distance, and upon reaching them, barried the young boy who he didn't even know, and still racked with grief. It was at this point that he decided never to fight again. Well, the wizard was not letting an escaped prisoner get away easily, and sent several platoons to fetch him. It was these constant annoyances that caused him to turn is mountain into a labyrinth of traps and guardians. After the wizard was forced to continue with his march towards war (or risk a mutinous army) he left, and the hermit was soon forgotten. Yet the people who are fighting against Nazereth have not forgotten this man, who still wears the black glove of the wizard, and it is thought that, if someone can navigate his mountain (a feat no man has accomplished yet) then they can enlist the help of the hermit himself, and turn the tide of the war in their favor.
There, I think thats pretty good seeing as I just made it up on the spot there. :-) Go to Comment
Orcs record their deeds through symbolic mutilation, scarring and tattoo. Perhaps creating the medium of skin as art, which humans followed later. Perhaps tattoos remind the elves of orcs and make them angry...