A visit

A Visit Posted By Knight of House Turon Kenyon McBain On 3/8/2003 1:12:00 AM. Views: 30 The Black Rose Society and The Duchy of Stormstone Sound – Member’s Forum ——————————————————————————– A Visit Posted By Knight of House Turon Kenyon McBain On 3/7/2003 5:04:00 PM. Views: 12 As Kenyon lay in the Societies infirmery he can not remeber how he got here last thing he could remeber was being caught in the beasts jaws and the pain .The infirmery was dark except for one wall lantern across the room was lit , the shadows seemed to be moveing and he heard faint whispers comeing from them aswell. He...

Fool!

“You tell Master Farthingsworth,” said the Duke behind his desk, pointing his quill menacingly at the distraught page before him, “that eighty-thousand gold crowns is highway robbery, all I’m asking him to do is fix a bloody door. You tell him that.” The page nodded nervously, though visibly relieved that the fifteen minute tirade concerning the downfall of an “Honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay” and the decidedly dubious heredity of the Duchy’s chief stonemason was nearly at and end. He let out a squawk, however, when the door to the office burst open and a wizened figure stormed in with a flurry of violet robes. “OUT!” the figure (who seemed to the page to be at least eight feet tall and breathing fire) roared, and out the page...

The Line Departs

“You summoned me, Captain?” said the wizened old librarian from the door to her rooms in the city barracks. She looked up from the desk she had been resting her head on, eyes red and cheeks wet with tears. “Do you know what’s going on out there?” she asked quietly. “Mmm…seems a few of your men are a touch disgruntled,” he replied, his small but smooth voice soothing her as it had nearly every day since the company had arrived in Trinsic. He shuffled across the room smoothly, his slippers and robe making whispering sounds against the stone floor. Once or twice a month she made a habit of asking him about his upbringing, if he had ever served a noble – perhaps as a castellan or bard, and each and every time the man managed to deflect her...

Signal Fires

The arch-demon Agjax, perched expectantly upon his throne of bone deep within the bowels of the earth, clucked his forked tongue vexedly. He had known that the man-child was coming, it was the only next logical step in the mortal’s blazing trail through the demonic warlords and thanes of the underworld. Admittedly, he had looked forward to the man’s arrival, to his chance to end the destruction and all the future opportunities for gloating it would allow him in the unholy courts. Agjax’s vexation was directed at the entrance to his small cavern, from which came the sounds of quite a tussle. He secretly hoped the extra imps and warriors he had placed before the giant double doors weren’t up to the challenge. He had never met this particular man-child in...

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...