[RP Plot]: Season of Chimera
Season of Chimera
This is the tales of many, none forgotten. Balorac the jackal, Lady Elyssa of the House of Aithne, Ashlin the smith, Fihn, Seichan, Shiva, Darshan, Tielan, Manikan the Eagle and many more. It is you who have made this story what is is.
It's a pleasure and a privilege to be a part of this wonderful plot slithering it's way so vibrantly through the hyborian landscape like a viper in the grass.
I started this thread on the old forum on the 4th January 2011, 20:05 (5,171)
OOC: Like the other stories I have posted here this one have been moved (reposted) from the European forums. Since whole threads could not be moved, I took the liberty to Copy +Paste comments and stories from friends as well.
Dear Balorac, your comment was so good that I had to steal it. *hugs*
Tales from the Eiglophian Mountains
Tales from the Eiglophian Mountains
One tale the Settlement of Dinog often tell in dark winter nights, were the tale of Gorm Heimdul, Chieftain of Diong and a young warrior called Rann.
There were several murders during the time that followed the darkest months of the year, one night a female victim was sacrificed close to the village walls. The remains of the poor girl´s body were found shattered over the landscape. The cultist had not only been able to scarify the girl close to her home, but managed to get away without being seen. After that cruelly defiant gesture, the cult committed several murders in broad daylight. The native inhabitants of the region lost all confidence in the clan and their ability to stop the slashing’s and killings of the powerful Stalker men. There were talk about that the cultists might truly have the ability to shapeshift into humanoid dragons and to fade unseen into the shadows. Some whispered that the chieftain himself was too close to the cult, maybe in fact a member himself.
The villagers were becoming unnerved. They were trying to stop an enemy who was essentially invisible. They struck without warning after preselecting their victims by a process that evaded all attempts to define it. There was no way to determine who the cult's next victims would be or to guess where they might strike.
One summer night a young man called Rann was awakened by the warning growl from his dog. When he rose to investigate, a four-foot-long, barbed arrow whistled by his head, narrowly missing him and embedding itself in the wall. The next morning by the camp fire, he learned that two of his friends had also barely escaped death that previous night.
Rann decided to attempt to set a trap. On the path to a village where several slayings had already taken place, he sent two of his best men, posing as easy targets. The two walked side by side toward the village while Rann and a dozen other warriors concealed themselves in the bushes and snow at the side of the path.
Suddenly, issuing the blood-curdling shriek of an attacking dragon-like humanoid, a tall woman in dragon robes charged headlong at the two men, swinging a large club. The young man struggled with the leopard man, but before Rann and the other men could arrive on the scene, the cultist had smashed in the boy's skull with the club and fled into the bushes.
Rann had lost one of his best warriors, but the knife that the young man still held in his hand was covered in blood. They would now be able to search for a woman with a severe knife wound.
Rann was about to have some men take the bodies of the two men to the burial grounds when he had a sudden flash of intuition that the cultist woman might return to the scene of the slaughter. While the others searched the neighboring villages, Rann hid himself behind some bushes overlooking the trail.
When the moon was high on the night sky, just as Rann was beginning to think about returning to the village, a nightmarish figure crawling on all fours emerged from the snow, pounced on the young boy's corpses, and began clawing at their faces. But rather than claws raking the body, Rann caught the glint of a two-pronged steel claw in the moonlight. The killer had returned to complete the cult ritual of sacrifice. Rann advanced on the Stalker woman, and the robed murderer snarled at him as if she were truly a big reptile. When she came at him with the two-pronged claw, Rann imbued his sword into her chest.
With Rann's act of courage, the natives of the region had been provided with proof that it was possible to fight against the cultists. With their newfound courage they faced the chieftain of Diong, whom they suspected had a larger part in why the cult had such a hold in the vicinity. When they raided the chieftain’s house, Ranns men found a dragon mask, a dragon-skin robe, and a steel claw.
During the chieftains captivity the cultists increased their slaughter and among some of the victims were the wife and daughter of Gorm Heimdul, the imprisoned chieftain. The desperate village inhabitants had hoped that the sight of the mutilated bodies of his family would anger Gorm Heimdul into betraying the cult members who had so obviously turned on him, but the shock proved too much for the chief. When he saw the bloodied corpses of his wife and daughter and realized how viciously his fellow men had betrayed him, he collapsed and died of heart failure.
Old entry from Balorac - "The Green Dragon"
Balorac - Dark Templar Cimmerian // Blackthorn // English server Aquilonia PvP-RP
The Green Dragon
The man who calls himself Darshan Singh looks at the small parchment laid out in front of him.
The note is covered with minute glyphs.
The writing is in a Khorajan language that is spoken by only a handful of people, the survivors of a relentless and seemingly senseless manhunt that happened ten years before, and resulted in the demise of peaceful people of shepherds.
But the language in those glyphs is only revealed if one were to use a certain ring of translation that only the operatives of the secretive Eye of Blackthorn carry.
Unless you are Darshan Singh and you can read what is written on the parchment as if it is your mother's tongue.
And the writing doesn't leave any mysteries either: Rahul is due back in Akhet a day from now, on a Khitan ship called the Green Dragon.
Seemingly innocent words that entice the peaceful and eloquent Darshan Singh to utter the worst profanity in many years.
Accursed fate!
What has that Turani fool done now...
Old entry from Balorac - "The disturber of His peace"
Balorac - Dark Templar Cimmerian // Blackthorn // English server Aquilonia PvP-RP
The disturber of His peace
A man walks into the cool halls of the inner sanctum of the Cult of Set, in Khemi proper. The rustling of his fine cotton robes is the only sound, as the soles of his slippers are custom made to eliminate any sound while walking.
The other man looks up from his desk and smirks.
"Set's Blessings, my brother. What brings you here on this early hour?
Will you not be late for your morning rituals, hmm?"
The 'brother' answers the question by dropping a papyrus scroll on the desk, adding a look of urgency in lieu of words.
"And what am I supposed to be looking at?"
The other man offers in a soft voice. "Complaints. Lots of complaints."
The ast priest behind the desk, dressed in the official robes of someone in the higher echelons of the Administration of Set, goes through the list and snorts.
"And who might be this disturber of His peace that has gotten the faithful of Akhet district all riled up?"
The man with the soft voice smiles thinly.
"One of yours. Well, he used to be one of yours. His name is Settrah."
The face of the ast priest hardens.
"And what has my 'prodigy' been up to this time? Don't tell me he burned another infidel in the market square?"
The man with the soft voice shakes his head.
"Nothing like that... yet. But he went from preaching the gospel of Yig in the streets, to going into the taverns and threatens the citizens with hell and damnation while they are enjoying a quite drink or a courtesan."
The ast priest shrugs.
"It is good that some of them sit less comfortably in the soft pillows, while shirking their responsibilities to Set and His administration."
"If the faithful are unhappy, your proposed rise in levies and taxes will meet opposition."
The ast priest rolls his eyes.
"Haven't we been generous? Opening up the trade through Akhet even more to accommodate the increasingly extravagant needs of the 'faithful'? I think the proposed tax increases are very justified."
"Be that as it may, we have to get him off the streets, brother. How long before he goes into a temple and goes iconoclast on us?"
The ast priest shakes his head and pulls out a scroll from scroll shelf behind his desk. He unrolls it and goes through the text with a long nail of his index finger, until he reaches a passage he is looking for.
Deliberately slowly he turns the page to face the man with voice, and says:
"Read it and weep. Settrah cannot be touched, until he truly goes too far."
The soft voiced man looks from the page to the ast priest with an incredulous face.
"So... they let him spout his blasphemous nonsense about the Set's Righteous Terror, just because..."
He looks at the page again as if trying in vain to make the words change meaning.
"...because they do not know if he is truly the voice of Yig? They are actually afraid that he is what he says he is? Are they insane?"
It is the ast priest's turn to smirk.
"I will overhear that comment you just made, unless you feel it is your time to meet Set's judgement.
Somebody high up made the decision and that should be enough for you.
The gospel of Yig is actually based on the oldest scriptures and just because we choose to disregard them in our daily rituals does not mean they are not valid or even blasphemy.
My suggestion to you is to have the guards 'escort' him to the deep desert, where he gets his 'Truth' and hope that he will not make it back alive. Although I doubt we should be so lucky..."