As the World Burns

Tsar is mine!

The dark shape appeared, high overhead, merely a dark spot in the sky. But even from that great height, it spotted you easily. As it dove, it became clear that it was a dragon. Then, it was clear that it was a large dragon. Then it became clear that it was truly immense. In a low rumble of a voice, it roared:

‘The city of Tsar is mine!’

And you knew that you were going to die.

The giant was the first to turn and run, his long legs carrying him into the distance, with Marina trying to keep pace. But Hargrev Ghontasavos stood his ground. As the dragon dove, its mighty jaws crunched through his armor easily.

Realizing that his companions had left him, Hargrev called upon the holy power of Aroden to speed him. As he turned to escape, moving at a speed no mortal man could match, a massive claw reached out, crushing flesh and bone, and smashing him to the ground.

In Draconic, the low voice spoke:

Non es dignus adversarium

And the massive weight lifted from Hargrev’s body. He didn’t look back.

View

JUL/14

Fast-forward

OOC: Ok, we’re behind schedule. So, I’m going to railroad you a bit to stay on schedule.

Having done what was possible to learn about Bishop Fiosa, you have decided to stop waiting. She clearly isn’t coming to attack the camp, and you’re making no progress toward your goals just sitting here.

The city of Tsar lies ahead, and within it, perhaps Fiosa and certainly the anvil that Justicar Gerrant needs to finally leave this world. You buy your provisions, and travel north, slowly slogging through the steam and mud of the Boiling Lands, your trip only made bearable by the stone shelters that Pendrais has created one day’s march from each other.

While there are are still some dangers in the Boiling Lands, none of them are your equal, and you spend almost two weeks moving northward, until the ground rises and you grow near to the Chaos Rift. You’ve been scried upon a few times as you travel, but still no sign of the Bishop. Perhaps the slow curse of lichdom has finally taught her patience, you can’t say for certain.

The gargoyles are few as you skirt the Chaos Rift, and they have learned to give you a wide berth indeed. The road seems same aside from the occasional wandering undead. While little more than slavering madmen, the poisonbearer ghouls charge anything they detect, the pain of their eternal hunger forcing them onward. Tactically, they’re predictable, and with two Arodenites, you have little to fear from their contagious filth.

As you get further north, you carefully adjust your course to avoid both the halfling dig site and the roaming menace of the Battlehulk. As Grumell guides you up hill after hill, you eventually top a rise that shows something of interest in the distance.

There, atop the next ridge, is the remains of a small fort. And though it’s defenders are long dead, they guard the battlements still. Some await silently atop the walls, while other giant undead, following the commands given them many decades ago, attempt to load stones into catapaults that have long since decayed. Once released, the stones crash through the framework, and roll to the bottom of the slope, only to be retrieved once more.

For these defenders, the war still rages….

View

JUL/14

Failure

With a shimmer, the black horse with flaming hooves appeared in the tower once more. After rearing up on two legs, the burden it was carrying fell to the ground. It stomped on the ground twice, and waited. After a while, a man appeared, an older gentleman with a well-groomed beard.

’Your rider seems to have failed. Pity" he spoke. "But you have done well in returning her to the Tower. For this service, we will remember your true name, and call you again when it is time to ride forth and wreck havoc. I will see that you have a reward that suits you better than mere coin.

“Take your prize” continued the gentleman, heaving a heavy saddlebag over the creatures back. It snorted fire in appreciation, and faded away as suddenly as it had arrived.

“I suppose we’ll have a visitor soon. Ill have to see that Fiosa’s remains are waiting for her arrival. We’ll let her get comfortable, then we’ll discuss her failure.

View

JUN/14

Testing

this is a font test

View

JUN/14

Reinforcements

Focusing her will into the fresh corpses, negative energy pulses into their bodies. They slowly change, absorbing the energy. Energy enough to live on. Energy enough to rise anew.

The dry rasping voice croaks “Follow, you are needed”

Art by Richard Pace

View

JUN/14

Talking to oneself

A dry, rasping voice begins to muse “Can it be? So long ago, it is hard to remember, before. But how many spellcasting imps can there be in the world. I remember that bitch, and her skanky clothing and her whispering. Always whispering, trying to get them to be more selfish, more greedy, less caring. Then, they all vanished, never to return. Gone, when they were needed most. Gone, when troops needed a general.”

The small figure idly picks through the ashes that were once Titus Oberigo. While most of his possessions have been utterly consumed by the fire, her skeletal fingers grasp a heavy book bearing a pentagram on the cover that is completely unhurt by the fire. “Interesting. The White Walker will want to examine this.”

“Now, which way? Probably best to guard the vampires, they will be vulnerable until tomorrow’s night comes. And when they are renewed, they will be able to watch as Lord Asmodeus answers our questions”

Turning toward the pit, Bishop Fiosa raises both of her hands. Bolstered by the negative energies surrounding her; she incants the words that cause the dead to rise, as she has so many times before. But this time, this time was special.

The massive beast had died in the war, and it no longer mattered what side it had initially served. As she watched the bones form into the shape of a massive draconic creature, it was clear that it now served Asmodeus, as she herself did.

As she floated down atop the creature, it began to stride off into the distance after the vampires.

“And our first question will be: Has Viggo Blackbriar finally returned?”

View

JUN/14

Here they come...

As the halflings watched from within their palisade, they saw this…

Death was coming…

View

MAY/14

Tangent: the real world

Here’s what real battlefields look like 100 years later, for reference.

Link :)

View

MAY/14

Of Battlehulks

A Battlehulk is a huge-sized construct, apparently used to mow down formations of enemy soldiers. Initially slow-moving, it is capable of accelerating to great speeds.

Armed with stone rollers on the bottom and massive stone arms on the sides, a battlehulk’s principal weapon appears to be the heavily spiked front end. Massive chains trail behind, and are capable of crushing the life from even a skilled adventurer after a few swings.

Thus far, there is no known method to defeat a functioning battlehulk. Recommendation: flee

View

MAY/14

The Smell of Dreams

“Papa! Papa! Tell us a story!”
Viggo smiled at the two youngsters bouncing in front of him. He took a deep pull from his pipe and sent a smoke circle floating over their heads.
“A story? Well, what story would you two rascals want to hear?” He leans forward in his chair and smiled at his sons. “Hmmm? Would you like to hear about how Papa stole back Mama’s sleep from the Lord of Dreams, Beebo? What about you, Tiggy? Do you want to hear how your father single-handedly chased the Shadows from Westcrown?” A snort sounded from Tysa, who sat quietly reading a book near the fire.
“Well, perhaps your ol’ man had a little help with that one . . .” Viggo muttered, winking at the boys.
“Tell us about the Exodus, Papa!” the boys shouted in unison. They had a strange way of doing that. Something about being twins, he supposed.
“Oh, you boys don’t want to hear that old story again . . .” Viggo teased.
“Please! Please!” the two shouted, pulling at his trousers. Beebo climbed up onto his head and shouted in his ear. “C’mon, Papa! Tell us!”
“Alright, alright! Get off me, you two maniacs,” he growled. As his sons settled down in front of him, Viggo began.
“So your mother and I, having bargained for our people’s freedom from His Darkness, the High Priest of Asmodeus, and having cleared the Rego Cader of the walking dead . . .”
“What about Auntie Risa and her Marshals?” crowed Beebo.
“Yeah! And Auntie Fiosa and the Children of Westcrown?” shouted Tiggy.
“Hey! Who’s telling this story?” Viggo cried. “Give me a second, for crying outloud! As I was saying, your mother and I . . .” Viggo felt a warm hand on his shoulder.
“Why don’t you tell your sons how your human friend burned me to death, Viggo.” He looked up, and Tysa stood before him, her skin burned black, her hair gone, her eyes smoking holes . . . Viggo gasped and tumbled out of the chair, away from the horror.
“Tell your sons how you watched Rufus be torn apart in defense of your “tall folk” allies. Tell them how you failed your people a hundred years ago, leaving them in bondage, to be ravaged by a devil that you and your comrades set loose upon Westcrown and the world.” The blackened corpse staggered after him. Viggo looked down at his sons and saw the bloody bodies of his brothers at his feet. He felt charred, hot fingers close around his throat as he began to scream . . .

“Viggo.”
His eyes opened to find Titus standing over him in the dark. The darkvision spell still in effect, Viggo could see clearly in the Arodenite’s stone shelter.
“You were thrashing in your sleep,” the human said. “Besides, it’s your watch.” Titus crawled into his sleeping blankets and was snoring in seconds. Viggo sat up. He could still smell Tysa’s burning flesh as he slid his harness over his head and checked all his knives. The foul odor followed him as he made his way around the sleeping bodies of the others. He crawled over the simple-minded ogre who referred to him as “half-man”. He slid around the human sorcerer who killed Tysa. He worked his way past the tiefling who argued not to “waste” the diamonds on bringing Rufus back from the dead. He stepped over the priest who was not there when his friends died, too busy following the orders of the God of Humans. Finally, he was out in the night air, but the stench was still there. Viggo walked about fifty feet away from the camp and knelt down in the dirt. Rummaging in his pack, he pulled out a twisted statuette of obsidian and placed it in front of him. Then he drew the Blade of Von Selar. Taking a deep breath, he slashed the knife down his forearm, and let the blood drip down onto the statue.
“Hear me, Crooked Man,” he whispered. “Here my prayer of vengeance. Help me against my enemies. Help me so that I might watch them as they suffer and die . . .”

View

APR/14

← Previous 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 … 14 15 Next →

‘The city of Tsar is mine!’

Non es dignus adversarium

I'm sorry, but we no longer support this web browser. Please upgrade your browser or install Chrome or Firefox to enjoy the full functionality of this site.