Pages from Flint’s Journal, pt. 3 (Dark Prophecy fiction)

8/1 ————- It’s been a few days since I’ve written in here. The contract’s kept me fairly busy, and family matters fill what small breaks I’ve had. The contract itself is in jeopardy. Actually, it’s probably just null and void now, I don’t know. I found a shrine dedicated to the Harrower, a legend only whispered of in the tombs of Khaldun. It’s a horror beyond comprehension, most say. The very tentacles that emerge from the vortex in Khaldun are enough of a threat to the soul of any who dare venture there. It appears Thorne had us gathering the champions’ skull to summon the Harrower. Five out of the six pedestals have skulls upon them, and only Lord Oaks’ head is needed to complete the...

Greed (Dark Prophecy fiction)

All was not going as he planned. The rogue gazed upon the shrine. Six pedestals, five of which had heads on them. The empty pedestal bore the name of Oaks. What puzzled the man was how there could be five heads, instead of four. He knew that the gypsy Barracoon was long since dead, before the assault even occurred on Felucca. Barracoon was a legend amongst the ratmen tribes that led the Vermin Horde, and it’s highest shamans honored the befriended human’s memory by taking his form when the most elite of the forces needed the morale of a leader. This head of Barracoon was not the first, and surely not the last. The skull of the Cold Blood’s leader, a trophy of power and dominance. The Rikktor was simply a name of rank amongst the Order, a...

Gathering (Dark Prophecy fiction)

—Felucca: 3 days ago— “The Necropolis did not receive my presence well,” groaned a weary and ragged looking Alexander Thorne as he removed the charred leather armor from his body which stank of deadly magicks recently used. “Of course not, you were foolish to think a human would be welcome, even if his agenda was a dark one,” replied an unearthly voice coming from a tall figure before Thorne. “You reek of Trammel. You should stay there, Thorne. -I- will deal with the Necropolis denizens myself. I can win them to our cause yet.” “And how do you intend to do this?” The once human creature cackled briefly. “I have a history with them. Or rather, my pets do,” it replied as one bony finger...

Watching (Dark Prophecy Fiction)

The sounds of mirth and merriment could be heard a safe distance from Kinship Tavern. He watched from the shadows, garbed in a dark purple hooded robe. Not his personal choice of color, but at least if he were seen it would be assumed a True Britannian had come to this area, one of the few places in the land where plant life still fought strong against the decay and death that hung in the air like an unending fog. Some Roses could be seen leaving the tavern now, heading south. Probably to their headquarters, the robed one mused. He was impressed by their resourcefulness and their commitment to the contract. All had been going as close to his plans as possible. The Sergeant’s rivalry with the Rikktor was known to him, and he has no doubt the Cold...

Pages from Flint’s Journal, pt. 2 (Dark Prophecy fiction)

—————————– 7/16 “The Black Rose has been stationed in the village of Kinship now for two days. The hospitality and generosity of the Ri and the townsfolk has far exceeded my expectations. I would have never imagined we would be given such a large building to use for the duration of our stay. Melanie and Anmoch appear to have the supplies in order, and just about every currently active Rose is slowly but surely becoming involved. I’m taking a small risk at assigning the Privates on these recon missions. I don’t know if I would have been so eager to when I was in direct command of the Recruits Division. However, Ben’s familiarity with the Lost Lands and Tarth’s experience in...