Chronicles of Malossar -- Short Short Story for Class

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Malossar
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Re: The Tales of Malossar -- New Campaign Fluff

#31 Post by Malossar »

The Cripple

Winter had settled on Caledra. The snow deep, wind biting, and the cold - it was always cold, one could never quite get warm. Most could stomach the winter, sheltered in their fortresses or the caves and castles that dotted the landscape. But for some, winter brought only pain, aching joints and sore bones, and memories best forgotten. Talossar the Cripple was one of these.

Malossar looked up from the fire at the sound of a low rasping wheeze that echoed from the corridor. His mouth worked its way to a frown and he sighed. It was obvious Talossar was in great pain, just moving his body took most of the lads energy, and Malossar wished he knew how to make it stop. While not being known as kind hearted or empathetic, the Dragonborne still carried a heavy heart for Tal, but his gruffness or stubborness kept him from showing just how sorry for Tal he felt.

"Uncle -- you -- wished to see-- me?" Mal could see just how hard Talossar was working to speak, his body shaking in the cold night air, pain etched across his face.

"Yes, come, sit by the fire. Take my chair." A brief silence descended on the chamber, only the sound of Talossar's lungs gasping for oxygen was audible. It wasn't until a pack of wolves howling broke the silence that Malossar chose to spoke.

"How long has it been now?" He paused drawing a deep breath. "Since -- Calossar was murdered?"

"It'll be five years tomorrow uncle." Talossar's wrecked frame went rigid at the mention of his brother's name. Calossar was his older brother, wise, strong and of noble bearing. He was a fire mage studying at the White Tower, until an assassin murdered him in a whore house and stole his visage. Talossar was ever the lesser brother, even before the accident he was considered ugly. It was clear that his uncle wished their places had been exchanged, only being able to stomach Talossar's presence in short spans of time.

"I miss him everyday." Malssor took another deep gulp of air. "So, word has reached me from Va-- ahem, The Shadow Prince, of your noble victory. He says you brought honor untold on our house. That you slew 4 Goblin Bosses on your own? What a feat!" Malossar was beaming now, even in the low glow he could see his nephew blush at the praise.

"Honestly Uncle, Adder did most of the work."

"Now now, the ole lizard is fierce alright, but the elf commanding the drake is just as worthy of the laurels." Another pause. "I am so very proud Talossar. I -- I want, no I need you to know that I do love you."

Talossar froze -- was this another one of his games? Another of his lessons of war and battle surely. Tal met his uncle's gaze and for the first time it was an expression of sternness or disappointed or even outright loathing, but a soft expression. It was utterly foreign on his uncle's face.

Malossar continued, "Tal, its no secret that I have no children of my own. Even with the marriage to Aythria, it is unsure whether we'll still be able to conceive. I'm old nephew, I've seen countless wars, fought against numbers untold, and -- and I'm tired. It is about time I start looking for an heir. The line must continue. The ancient line of Mentheus. You, Talossar, must become the Dragonborne."

"But how uncle? Calossar was blessed. I - was a disappointment."

"NO Tal! It is I that have shamed you, and did not accept you and your own strengths. I see the error now."

"Its impossible Uncle. I'll never be more than a cripple." With those words Malossar scooped his nephew up and brought him to the center of the hall. His nephew was so light, so frail he might not survive the transformation. Malossar whistled low and sweet and roared with his mind for Adder. Wolves howled and gathered around the chamber, crawling through portals and bounding into the windows. Talossar looked around suddenly surrounded by the canines of Caledra and heard the rush of great wings descending from the heavens. Athyria was there, the Asrai surrounded by packs of wolves.

"Trust me Talossar, all will be well." And with that, Malossar drew the knife across his nephew's throat watching his lifeblood pump onto the floor, into intricate winding ruins.

And Athyria began to sing, the verses coalescing into a great undulating chant, sending Talossar into oblivion.

~~~~

Talossar awoke with a start. He was covered in a cold sweat, his body ached. He clutched his throat, recalling the knife, and that awful feeling as the cold steel pulled the flesh apart and opened his arteries... but there was nothing, no scar or mark.

"So this must be paradise." About time he thought. He wasn't surprised his uncle had finally killed him, probably mercifully putting Talossar out of his own misery. But the conversation, of love and pride, had it all been a lie?

He realized he stood at the base of a mountain surrounded by a verdant forest. He could smell the summer flowers and hear the rush of water as it roared down from its snow pack. He stretched lazily and realized --- there was no pain in the action! He looked down and began to laugh, no wheezing but pure laughter. He was whole again. Talossar ran forward, bounding over rocks and fallen trees and began to climb the wounding paths. He wanted to summit, wanted to look out over the world and for once, feel bigger than it. As he ran wolves howled and loped beside him. He wasn't afraid.

It didn't take him long, not long at all in fact to reach the summit. The wolves stayed with him through the journey following along in his wake. As he crested the last obstacle he stumbled on an elf sitting and watching the moon rise. He was hooded and cloaked, covered in the skins of animals. He was shaggy and unkempt. When the elf turned the wolves howled and bowed; Talossar quickly following suit.

The old elf smiled, "Welcome, Talossar the Cripple, be seated. We've much to accomplish in your short visit."

"Who are you my lord? How do you know my name?"

"I am the Hunter God, well, a small portion, for my full might would shatter your mind elf."

"Why am I here?" Talossar wasn't afraid. He felt right, like he belonged on this peak with the aspect.

"To inherit your birthright. You are destined for great things Cripple. Know that I have always watched your actions and been at your side. Yours feats of late have proven your worth to Adder, a dear friend of mine. He has vouched for your transformation, stating your value and your character --- and he is never wrong. Know this, with the dragon's blessing you will be like the rest of your line. This is the pact i made with your forebearer, Mentheus, and this now I give to you. The fury of Kurnous, the ferocity of the dragon and the savagery of the wolf. You are granted with the gifts of magic. Use this!"

The Aspect walked around the peak until he was face to face with Talossar, close enough to rub noses, he put his hand on Talossar's shoulders and said, "Awaken, son of Malossar, and be whole again!"

"Wait, did you say Son of --" And suddenly Talossar was falling, spinning through the blackness until he saw no more.

~~~


The wolves howled. The Dragons roared. Adder shook with barely contained excitement and Malossar, Dragonborne, bellowed his own savagery to the chorus. Athyria's song reached a crescendo and as it did, the elves in the hall who had gathered to watch grew long hair, sprouted fangs, and pupil's became like snakes. Muscles flexed as power of the Hunter God coursed through their veins.

As the song climaxed Malossar sliced his own wrist and drew blood from Adder their blood flowing together unto the ritual site where Talossar's form lay.

With a flash it was over. The Cripple rose and let loose a cry with such that the walls themselves shook. The wolves bowed and the dragons were silenced. There stood Talossar shoulder to shoulder and eye to eye with Malossar the Dragonborne.

The Cripple was made whole.
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Re: The Tales of Malossar -- The Cripple

#32 Post by Headshot »

thelordcal wrote:Talossar froze
As did I! So this is Malossar behind closed doors? I always suspected! You old softy.... :wink:
thelordcal wrote:The Cripple was made whole.
Ah I'll miss the little hunchback. He was a lot more likable than his pig brother! (Who never really should have eyed up Tim's woman... even if he was a Druchii in disguise. :twisted: )

Now I'm looking forward to learning what happens with the Shadow Prince. And what happened between he and Mal all those years ago? They fought together at Anlec. Then joined the Navy under Kurnion's prodding. Ten years roving the coasts of Cathay and Nippon as friends. And then.....???? Something broke the friendship! I have to know!

Was it a girl? :wink:

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Re: The Tales of Malossar -- The Cripple

#33 Post by Malossar »

Had an idea that Talossar was the result of Malossar and Vaal's younger sister out of wedlock perhaps ;)

Or maybe, it was just the result of Vaal becoming the Shadow Prince. He forsakes his old life to take upon the mantle and responsibilities of a sundered people. Mal just cannont comprehend why he would do such a thing!

I try to incorporate a little of that every time the two interact, such as Mal always defaulting to calling the Shadow Prince by his real name rather than the ethereal title.


I don't know! We might need to set-up a timeline and stories/events with the two together Headshot. Maybe a weekend of drinking and swapping stories at Berkley is called for?!
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Re: The Tales of Malossar -- The Cripple

#34 Post by Headshot »

thelordcal wrote:Had an idea that Talossar was the result of Malossar and Vaal's younger sister out of wedlock perhaps
You blackguard!!!

Mal is lucky to be in one piece if that is the case! :shock:
thelordcal wrote:Maybe a weekend of drinking and swapping stories
Sure Cal. You let me know when you are in town, and I'll buy the first round. :)

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Re: The Tales of Malossar -- The Cripple

#35 Post by Malossar »

There is one other option yet to be discussed.

They are still secretly quite close... but for politics and intrigue are forced to keep the rivalry bitter for appearances sake haha.
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Re: The Tales of Malossar -- The Cripple

#36 Post by Elessehta of Yvresse »

A new heir, in these troubled times the young must struggle to take up the mantle of the Eldars.
I look forward to hearing of your exploits in the coming campaign. I wonder if I learned what I was after with the human navy.
Perhaps I was gauging their strength, I appear to have done a pretty good job hiding my disdain for the race.
I also seem to have forgiven you for beheading my Captain, there have been close ties between Caledor and Yvresse since your father was Morvaels champion.
It's good to see that carried on even today.
[url=http://www.ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=34506][i]Lord Elessehta Silverbough of Ar Yvrellion, Ruler of Athel Anarhain, Prince of the Yvressi.[/i][/url]
[quote="Narrin’Tim"]These may be the last days of the Asur, but if we are to leave this world let us do it as the heroes of old, sword raised against evil![/quote]
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Re: The Tales of Malossar -- The Cripple

#37 Post by Malossar »

Not Asur related (yet!) but a little fluff for my Empire Army Marching in the UB Campaign.

To say that Dietrich was insane would be an understatement, if one considered the absolute faith and devotion of a Witch Hunter insane of course. Dietrich was resolute in his faith, worshipping his God fervently and executing his will with the grim authority only one of the Order of Sigmar could possess. The word was black and white for Dietrich, there were sinners and there were the righteous, if one was not of the righteous than he was a sinner and damned to the torment of the thirsting gods and daemons that dwelt in the Realm. Dietrich’s life was inexorably changed when Archaon, scourge of Mankind, the Devourer of Souls, invaded Kislev and crashed into the Empire. Dietrich was called to bolster the defenses of Middenhiem by his brother-in-law Hans Schmidt, a wizard married to Dietrich’s sister Claudia.

Although Dietrich despised Hans’ chosen profession, he knew that Hans was a righteous man chosen by Sigmar for greatness. The two defended the gatehouse resolutely during the initial siege, Hans burning foes with potent magic while Dietrich fought tooth and nail with pistol and steel. Where the two strode none of the foul spawn of Chaos could stand before them. When the Plague Father, Lord Nurgle, unleashed his beloved creation that the fates of Hans and Dietrich were forever intertwined.
******************

Dietrich opened the door slowly, pistols drawn. The rain rolled off his hat and down the nape of his neck, sending chills rushing up his spine. He held his breath and listened. He heard the movement of furniture, of books being thrown into the bags and boots clacking off the wooden panels. Hunger gnawed at Dietrich, this wasn’t his first siege but it had certainly been the longest, as he cocked his pistols and edged towards the staircase. He started to climb as he thought back to the seemingly endless fighting, the death surrounding him, he had buried more friends in the last six months than he had known in his entire life. He and Hans alone had kept the marauding hordes from outside the city walls, but even they could not stop the plague. It had ravaged the populace, without the place to bury the piled citizens the soldiery merely discarded them beyond the city walls hoping to spread the disease amongst the enemies that encroached. Finally, Valten arrived and shattered the besiegers freeing Middenhiem from the endless nightmare. Dietrich himself had lead the sally to unite the forces. Hans was strangely missing, he was also missing from the victory feast where Dietrich had been hailed as the savior of Middenhiem.

That’s when Dietrich had noticed his sister’s absence as well, the lack of word, the slain priests of Mor, it all began to add up. Claudia was dead; her lack of faith finally revealing itself through her succumbing to the sickness that gripped the city and Sigmar knows what Hans was up to. As Dietrich crested the stairs he crossed the landing to the chambers where a faint glow came from under the portal. Dietrich inhaled sharply, steeling his heart for what may lay across the barrier. Reciting the Seven Prayers of Sigmar the Glorious in his mind, Dietrich kicked out the door pistols barred… and nothing in all of his travels had prepared him for what he saw.

There laid Claudia resting ever so peacefully, she looked as if she were asleep the scene would have been so peaceful, if she hadn’t been floating 2 meters off the floor he innards splayed with dark runes carved in her flesh. Hans looked hungrily at Dietrich from across the room. Eyes sunken and cheeks gaunt, his ribs were already beginning to show through the worn robes, it was clear he hadn’t eaten in weeks. Spittle flew from Hans’ lips as realized what was happening. “ABOMINATION!” cried Dietrich as he fired both pistols into Hans’ chest. The slugs melted into lead as Hans cast a furious shield spell, dark magic spewed from his out stretch hands engulfing Hans in a protective barrier.

Dietrich reloaded quickly and fired point blank range at Hans, this time the barrier didn’t hold and one bolt slammed into Hans’ left shoulder sending the wizard spinning to the floor. With a loud crash his concentration broke and Claudia was sent reeling to the floor. Dietrich reloaded his repeater pistol and drew a long rapier in his left hand charging at the stunned wizard. Hans rolled left dodging the sword’s edge by mere inches, but the blast from Dietrich’s follow up shot caught Hans in the femur shattering the bone. Coughing Hans drew all of his magical power to one spell sending dark bolts scything through the Witch Hunter. Three connected burying in Dietrich’s chest as he collapsed to the floor. Wheezing and desperately searching for breath Dietrich witnessed the sorcerer hobble to his sister, scooping her up in his arms and flee from the room. Just before blacking out did Dietrich notice the priests of Sigmar rushing to his aid, drawn by the gunfire, and with a grimace did Dietrich lose consciousness.

****

Since that fateful night Dietrich has been hunting Hans. He has discovered his location in the Badlands and has rallied a mighty army to his cause. At his side march the great Priests of Sigmar, lead by the Holy Arch Lector Lars Faber the army marches with a holy fervor not seen since the time of Sigmar. The Knights of the Griffon ride to war lead by their Grand Master Kurt Beike, the youngest Knight to ever reach the rank of Grandmaster. It is well warranted for few men have ever fought with such skill. The Knights of the Griffon hold themselves aloft from the rest of the Empire, seeing their order as the most holy branch of Sigmar’s armies. Upon hearing of Dietrich’s zeal and bravery, Kurt granted Dietrich hooray Knighthood and burial rights within the fortress keep upon his death.

The final branch, and truly the most numerous and expendable of the forces is Count Sebastian Otto is an eccentric mage who has sent the bulk of his kingdom to march under the banner of Dietrich and the Knights Griffon. He has been promised half of the conquered land to be split with Kurt Beike and his knights. With his forces enlisted, Dietrich and Kurt lead the armies to war under the light of a twin-tailed comet, a certain portent of Sigmar’s blessing in their endeavor. Immediately, the army changes its insignia, banners, and emblems to the sign of Comet held aloft by the glorious Griffon. Dietrich demands the Twin-Tailed Comet branded to his body in the three places the bolts of Hans struck his chest.

“The Empire is going to war blessed by their Divine Emperor Sigmar, who can stand before us!” - Dietrich upon departing Altdorf.
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Re: The Tales of Malossar -- A little Empire UB Campaign Fluff

#38 Post by Larose »

Who doesn't love witch hunters with their coooool wide hats, haha good stuff :D
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Re: The Tales of Malossar -- A little Empire UB Campaign Fluff

#39 Post by Elessehta of Yvresse »

Heh I posted my opening campaign fluff so long ago now ^_^ I'm assuming you'll take over the empty corner where the Beastmen were, before they got annihilated by the comet.
I'm probably going to get beaten by what remains of them this weekend ^_^'
[url=http://www.ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=34506][i]Lord Elessehta Silverbough of Ar Yvrellion, Ruler of Athel Anarhain, Prince of the Yvressi.[/i][/url]
[quote="Narrin’Tim"]These may be the last days of the Asur, but if we are to leave this world let us do it as the heroes of old, sword raised against evil![/quote]
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Re: The Tales of Malossar -- A little Empire UB Campaign Fluff

#40 Post by Malossar »

It was raining sideways. The gathered party had protected themselves with spells or umbrellas while the smarter ones remained guarded under balconies and doorways. Except for three. Three figures stood, stalwart, defiant against the storm daring it to try and strike them down. One resembled the lion pelt draped across his shoulders more than the standard gracefulness of an Asur Prince. The white of his pelt was a stark contrast to the two standing to his left. On the far left was the tallest, hood drawn, a cloak darker than midnight clung to his ancient and dented armor. The court had accepted him only by their Lord’s command; for the bitterness between the Kingdoms of Nagarythe and Caledor is as long lived as Aenarion and Caledor’s descendents. The last stood in the center. Face revealed to the elements. He bore fresh scars, some easily visible like the eye patch, and others, deeper and darker that hid from the outside.

Malossar Dragonborne had returned to Caledor in shame. They hailed him as a hero. The Host had burned a keep, slain the Hand of the Witch King and slaughtered three different Druchii armies as they retreated to the coast. Tales of his own personal bravery had abounded across the Ever Empire and the head of the Black Drake he had slain with his own hands was now staked over the gatehouse. But he had failed. Athyria was dead. His queen, his wife… his love… had been taken into slavery, tortured, and took her own life before they ravaged her. Tarabeth had spoken of her bravery and how she had refused to betray her husband. She had died with honor, but honor is seldom comforting.

At an unspoken command Malossar scooped his bride’s body into his arms and began the long walk to the ship in the harbor waiting to bear them back to Athel Loren where she could be laid to rest with her kin. The funeral procession followed behind, but only a few bordered. At the shore Kurnion bid farewell, his duty forcing him to return to Chrace. Into the Storm the Host of Nagarythe and the War Council of Tor Caledra sailed toward foreign shores.

~~~~~

“He’s not the same Tim.” Narrin’Tim looked up from his cards into the face of the Caledorian wizard and saw that this was no jest. Tim sighed and set his cards down.

“Who? The dammed high lord? Didn’t realize you Caledorians couldn’t handle death.” A few chuckles sounded from the gathered Shadow Warriors, some raising their mugs at the slight.

“Guess they’re not so tall without their dragons!” More sounds of mirth and more jests. Talossar blushed his blood was rising but what could he do?

“Why’s this Asrai broad so important that He’s pulled us off patrol for anyway?”

“Aye! Shadow Prince must be going soft,” roared a newly appointed Shadow Warrior, he was on his fifth cup of wine already, but at this comment only he was laughing. He looked to his compatriots to see how they had failed to see the humor at such a brilliant comment when he noticed all of them with their heads bowed. He turned to see the Shadow Prince of Nagarythe standing behind him.

“Oh Sh---, I mean, ahem, forgive me my Lord.” The Shadow Prince sneered.

“Does anyone else have any more comments they’d like to bring forth?” Silence greeted the question. The Shadow Prince stalked through the crowd glaring at each of his warriors. “Tim, how would you feel if Annalyth was taken from you? And you there, how many of you’re family members have been taken from their beds by the Druchii? If the Dragonborne had heard these comments, there would be little I could do to prevent him from tossing you into the sea.” With that, he turned on his heels and marched out of the cramped cabin.

~~~~~

“You seem angrier than normal.”

“Do I? Pity. Shall we recount what’s happened over the course of this month? Pretty dull right? Oh wait, no, my hair’s been mutilated, I’ve lost an eye, and my wife was kidnapped and died in Naggaroth. Other than that life’s great!”

“I did not mean to provoke you Mal, but merely a comment on your current mood.”

“Damn Nagarathi and your perceptions.” Malossar growled to the Shadow Prince. They’d been sailing for a week and were two days from the hidden harbors within Athel Loren. Malossar drew his sword, “Come, I would have some exercise before we dock.”

The two elf lords sat back to back. Chests heaving as they drew ragged breaths from their most recent bout. “We haven’t crossed like that in ages,” Malossar said as he traced the outline of Zyion, “Damn near cut my head off with that Riposte!”

The Shadow Prince smiled, to himself, “Aye I learned that one from that Nipponese Warrior Monastary. Do you remember? The one in the mountains?”

“Aye, how long did we stay there? Six months?”

“Six years. You think you would have remembered something.”

“Bah! Master Hiroto was just some bald eunuch with a pretty sword didn’t know the first thing about a real fight! We should visit him soon.”

“Mal he’s been dead for over a thousand years.” They both sat in silence after that comment. Some say that the elves were blessed with the longevity of their lives, but the endless procession of years, the endless fighting… it grows heavy on the soul.

“You’re getting slower Malossar. You’re left side is weak. Tend to it.”

“I am missing the eye responsible for the left side. Or did you forget that you cut it out?” Spat Malossar, his temper was rising.

“Do not seek pity from me Son of Mentheus. It’s a weakness. Tend to it or you’ll be killed by it.”

“Fine.” Another long silence and then, “What do we do after she’s buried?” The Shadow Prince hesitated, not sure how to answer. “Well, you’ll return to Tor Caledra and I to Nagarythe to continue the long war.”

“Right. Tor Caledra.” Malossar sighed, “No. I have no desire to return to empty halls and meetings and training grounds. My thirst for conquest has abated and been replaced.”

“By what?”

“Vengeance dear Vaal, vengeance. I want to cut out the hearts of every elf that calls themselves Druchii. I want to look them in the eye and watch as they realize that I am their doom and hate me for it.” The Shadow Prince absorbed this in stride, waiting to see where the conversation turned. Malossar continued, “Let me ride with you, like we once did, let us spill blood together once more.”

“Mal, you cannot do this. You have duties in Caled—“

“To hell with Duty! Dammit Val do not keep me from your side. What did you call me once?”

“Brother.”

“Narrith lessa kynn'barr!" Malossar stretched out his hand and the Shadow Prince grabbed it, “Narrith lessa kynn'barr.” The Dragon and the Raven stood on the deck of the ship hands grasped and fire in their eyes.

“Vengeance is coming Shadow Prince,” Malossar said bowing. “Then let us be the instrument Son of Mentheus.” The Shadow Prince said concluding the old saying. War was coming and the blood of the Dark Ones would flow.
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Re: The Tales of Malossar -- Vengeance is Coming

#41 Post by Malossar »

My Lords,
I greet you in the name of our dread Lord the Witch King of Naggaroth, True Son of Aenarion and Rightful Heir to the Phoenix Throne. Much has happened since our last meeting, in fact it's safe to assume that much will have happened by the time this missive arrives to your great halls. The Dragonborne and the traitor Sons of Nagarythe have infiltrated the borders in fact they've grown bolder over the course of the month. No longer do they only attack supply tains and pillage villages, instead they've take three castle, two watch towers and have even sacked and burned a Black Ark. They hunt like the very Gods themselves; a host of vengeful spirits come back to plague all Druchii kind. In fact, it's safe to assume that the Host is already dead and they're merely spirits manifested by the fell sorcery of our foes, surely some trick by the false King. Soldiers from the front report Shadow Warriors riding great wolves, and the knights of Caledor are no longer elf but are some twisted dragonkin from legend.

Rumors abound that the Shadow Prince himself is leading the Host. Others claim that the High Warlord of Caledor leads the Traitors. All that is certain is that a great black wyrm stalks the northern skies descending with the fury of Indraugnir with a mighty warrior atop. If this truly is the Heir of Mentheus then we should rightly be afraid.

We have however surmised the location of their base camp and will surpirse the Host before the sunsets on the morrow and will end this threat once and for all. May the Witch King watch over my deeds and Khaine's mighty hand guide my blows to victory. Death to the Uspurpers.

~Vashnaar, Dreadlord of the Northern Watches


***

Lord Malossar and the Shadow Prince, we found this report on one of the bodies within the small army that sought to end our threat. I thought it might bring you some amusement.

~Palin'Dannyth, Shadow Walker
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Re: The Tales of Malossar -- Vengeance is Coming

#42 Post by Elessehta of Yvresse »

Poor druchii, they never get a break ^_^
[url=http://www.ulthuan.net/forum/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=34506][i]Lord Elessehta Silverbough of Ar Yvrellion, Ruler of Athel Anarhain, Prince of the Yvressi.[/i][/url]
[quote="Narrin’Tim"]These may be the last days of the Asur, but if we are to leave this world let us do it as the heroes of old, sword raised against evil![/quote]
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Re: The Tales of Malossar -- Vengeance is Coming

#43 Post by Malossar »

Has nothing to do with Warhammer but I thought I'd post my first creative writing assignment in here (yay taking final electives!)

Rules: Cannot exceed 500 words (i'm at 500/500) and must have 4 characters. Let me know how I did!


The pall of cigar smoke hung low in the air, barely clearing the heads and caps of the men seated in rough cut chairs and decaying cushions. Men sat and drank—some boisterous and ornery, others silent and alone. The barkeep was a bull of a man, barrel-chested and strong chinned, doing his duty and keeping to himself. Glancing, he spotted among those seeking hope in empty cups, the ethereals. They sat together, paying no attention to those around them.


The barkeep sighed as he unscrewed the top of their choice scotch, a rough blend that left men in drunken stupors forgetting who they were. Men were not meant to drink such poison, but then again that was the point. He crossed the alcohol soaked floor and made his way to the table where the three sat unmoving and silent. The slightest nod let the bartender know they acknowledged his presence.


Mack was older, his face lined with decades of strain and stitched with old scars. An unkempt, scraggly beard covered the man’s chin and most of his features. It was widely known that Mack had been a sailor during the war. Rumors swirled that he served on the Indianapolis but no one knew for sure. They did know Mack drifted back in time most nights, his eyes still searching the sky for enemy aircraft or looking for predators lurking in dark waters.

To his left sat Will. Will had left his small hometown to box professionally. He was known for his ferocity, scheduling fights even on rest days. The papers had foretold of his imminent victory as World Champion, but now he sat, clearly tremoring, face mangled, teeth missing. What no one else knew was Will was fighting himself. As a boy he’d forgotten to lock the gate; when his younger brother came to water the horses, the bronco broke free, kicking his brother to death. Part of Will died along with Johnny. In the years that followed, Will grew accustomed to taking lives, watching the light slowly go out in their eyes, wishing someone would do the same for him.

The barkeep had yet to learn the name of the newest member. Back East, the up and coming novelist was expected to top best selling charts and would eventually win the Pulitzer before he reached middle age. So engrossed was he in writing his novel that when his wife left to run an errand he failed to pay attention to his toddling son. The boy’s body was found hours later drowned in a bucket. Now spectacles framed his glass-eyed blank expression.


The barkeep shook his head. He wondered if these men would ever learn solace could not be found in a bottle. Sad, warped memories linger in a muddled mind. But maybe that’s why they did it. As the night wore on, most filed out until only the ethereals remained. As the moon sank, the men stood soundlessly, ghosted across the bar and departed into the cold night.
Ptolemy wrote:Im not above whoring myself for a good cause. ;)
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