Kenser/Entae: Number Nine

Friendly as a cool breeze

That sings in the nighttime

As a flower patch grows

Under a rainbow's grasp

If you find my gold

Perhaps someday you could 

Hope to be as lucky as myself

And my followers can be;

Dice as quick as my hands

And cloves of magic as far as can be;

You who would question my odds:

You are who needs it the most.

My tongue sharp as my blade

With unwanted visitors

From beyond these Otherworlds,

And the realms beyond.

Do you believe
Or do you choose to flee

From the power within your

Soul, your loving heart?

My will is strong,

Stronger than most

And I challenge you

To this game called Life, once and for all.

The odds may not be in your favor,

As a human who walks among us;

Perhaps your can find the joy

You've been missing for so long

And thrive, my dear children,

Thrive further than I ever could

When I was a mere mage

Walking among the trees and the birds.

Ziegwelder: Number One

Unbreakable, my shoulders carry on
And the battlefield plays out
Exactly as I'd hoped
Playing my strengths
Against your weaknesses

My sword always larger
And always swifter
Than the biggest blade of them all

I wonder if my liege, my sole friend
Carries on my wisdom still;
And when I've faded once and for all
Will I still be the strongest?

His gold still plays my fingertips
As our brotherhood lives on inside my head
But the purpose I long for eludes me;

Why am I still here?
I ask The Fates but they won't tell.
The amnesia made me wander for days,
And here I am now, before the lost others,
Wondering why we were born so soon?

Isaiah Solace

Your darkened gaze upon your enemies,
Your victims, your nemesis;
Eyes of night with olive flesh,
The craving hit me first-

Second, the whispering moon
Screaming at me to move;
To say anything to your
Strength, your speed, your heart,

Your determination;
So quick was your charm in third,
Ensnaring, wrapping me
In your dangerous smile-

Your gift unto no one else,
For myself alone to love,
To yearn, to question still,
If any of us was truly real?

Your succor, sweet kiss
'Neath the moonlight timed just right
For your soon departure
Left me without question.

Love and Cold Winds, Part 7: Finale

    Darkness as thick as a curtain surrounded them as the dim light behind them was shut out and the doors ground back into place. It was not long before lights from high above turned on with a loud click and revealed the shape of the room.
    A grand arena of sandstone blocks formed a high wall to rows of empty stone benches, with sandy floor space broken up by massive pillars and several foot high walls of wood.
    "Reminds me of somewhere, only bigger." Vort said, the dragonborn close to his side snorted.
    "Not very nostalgic considering there's a vicious monster in the room somewhere." Garn replied.
    "I found the monster." Norra said, pointing at the other end of the arena where the shadows shifted.
    From the dark stepped a figure no smaller than a child. He was dressed in dark purple robes with ruby red thorn patterns spreading across the shoulders. The hood was pulled up but they all could see the glowing yellow eyes peering at them. Although said robe seemed to be far too big for the thing it was quite disarmingly cute.
    "This isn't what I expected." Lym broke the silence of the collective staring match.
    As if to prove a point the wee being waved his hand in a conjuring sort of way, and the shadows among the edges of the room pulled themselves toward the boss wizard, sharp edges cutting their way into three dimensional space and weaving a body.
    The amalgam of shadow shaped itself into a towering 8 foot tall humanoid with glowing red eyes and a battle axe equal to the malice in the monster's glowing red eyes. Topping this visage literally born from shadow was the magic user, somehow emanating an aura of smugness from atop his new seat.
    "Well that's a little more of what I expected."
    "Scatter!" Shouted Norra as the beast charged toward Lym.
    The party broke their formation, Lym sprinting in a semi circle as far away from the approaching monster as possible while Norra took cover behind the closest pillar. Garn strode forward to face the monsters back with a trigger happy mage shadowing him.
    "Think I can harm something made of shadow?" the dragonborn asked, almost stumbling over his feet when he felt Vort's hand brush his.
    "Well, now I think you can," the mage said, as the edge of the warrior's blade began to shine with magical current. "I'm right behind you."
    With no time left for a reply Garn rushed forward, a huge grin on his face as he prepared to strike. His smile was turned rather quickly as a bolt shadowy flame grazed his side and calve.
    With a grace far beyond its size, the shadow giant's axe whirled towards the warrior's body in an attempt to vertically slice him in two. Once again despite his stout frame his reflexes put the flat of his blade between  him and bloody death. Instead he found himself sailing though the air with a pair of numb arms and a bruised spine as he landed ungracefully in the sand.
    Norra covered their prone dragon born with a hail of flaming arrows, taking cover as the return fire came from its personal magic turret of a hat. The bard had found a place to hide with decent acoustics as his magical songs kept morale (and hit points) up. 
    "You alright?" Vort called out, slashing runes into the air as energy crackled around him.
    "Fine," he pushed himself to his feet, catching sight of the three bolts of electricity that striking the chest and arms of the giant, knocking it off balance. Norra took her chance and fired a flaming bolt into the little wizard, and following suit Garn found the strength to charge.
    With a battle roar he charged, gouging ephemeral chunks from the thighs and shins of the giant, and the collective effort toppled it to a knee. The wizard, now a foot closer to the ground, summoned up a geyser of black fire that shot into the air, raining little spheres of death across the whole arena. Garn swore as he felt the flame graze his scales, sword raised to block the larger fireballs that were making most of the terrain around him difficult to get through.
    The axe blade coming to vertically bisect him from behind was conveniently out of sight as the weapon made of shadow was rather quiet while tearing through the air. He did see and feel the lightning wreathed mage push him out of the way. He once again felt his feet lose touch with the sand, flung backward as  he saw Vort deflect enough of the blow to keep himself in one whole. But it wasn't enough to stop the blade and the splash of blood as momentum sent the smaller body the same direction.
    Many things ran though Garn's head as he hit the ground and rolled himself to his feet. Vort crumpled nearby, robe torn and increasingly blood soaked. Blood and battle wounds were not unfamiliar companions to the dragonborn in this and his old career, nor were others getting injured around him.
    But the feeling of shock, heartache, and unbearable torrent of violence welled up in his chest at the sight of the fallen mage. Such passion for one known only for a short time was not uncommon in the adventuring world, as their kind made fast friends and bedfellows due to the work. But Garn had gained something not even he presently comprehended, the natural evolution of a crush to full blown infatuation.
    And to quote a overused saying on the emotion in question: it makes one do crazy things. And so as the giant haltingly rose to its feet, the warrior charged in once more, battle rage allowing a brief window of clarity to spot Lym running toward his fallen friend with potion and bardic magic in hand. And while his enchanted blade cut another ghostly chunk from the monster's shins his true attack was rapidly building within him.
    As an aside for a brief biology lesson of the Great Swamp Dragonborn, all dragonborn have a breath weapon based on their scale color. Being of green scales, Garn's breath was quite poisonous to those who inhaled it, but due to a unique strain of passive algae that their main staple food consumed, their breath weapon gained the rather unique mutation of being quite flammable. 
    And whether or not Norra knew this rather obscure tidbit, she fired another volley of flame tipped projectiles into the thick Green cloud Garn had spewed into the monsters face and chest. The gas erupted into flame and set alight the mini mage. The blaze made Garn step back as the high pitched screaming rang though the arena, and it was a good five minutes before it fell silent along with the shadow giant evaporating to leave behind a treasure chest.
    It was ignored in favor of cauterizing Vort's wound.

                   OXO

    "Honestly its the biggest scar I've ever received, but not the worst." Vort cheerily spoke from the confines of the towns medical building, which was conveniently located a block from the dungeon's entrance.
    Garn smiled and refrained from asking a follow up question to the mage's statement. The burly lizard had insisted on carrying the unconscious Vort out of the dungeon along with the treasure chest, and had not left his side since. He had even used a portion of his own earnings to get a private recovery room, and even now he sat at his bedside watching the scarred man gingerly pick at the bandages encircling his bare chest.
    "I'm glad your feeling better," Garn said, "The doctor said another day of bed rest and you're free to go."
    "Good, I owe my avenger a drink."
    Garn smiled and shifted awkwardly, words dying before they could get past his teeth. After a few breaths, his self confidence came back, and the thought that this shouldn't feel like a boss fight pushed him to look into Vort's eyes.
    "Actually, if you don't mind could we... Get dinner together?"
    Vort's mouth slowly morphed into a sly grin, "Why. mister Garn, are you asking me out on a date?"
    The big man sputtered and stumbled over his response, which in turn made Vort chuckle and pat his scaly knee. After a breath of his own he beamed at him.
    "Of course I would like dinner, but if we end up at a pub I expect at least one show of strength in my name."
    "It's a date then," Garn returned Vort's grin. "Don't be surprised if there's more just one show of strength." 

Love and Cold Winds, Part 5: Sympathy for the Midboss

    There was nothing but a heap of discarded weaponry, cast aside armor, and magic items sucked dry to purpose their ether. And of course the vast array of smears across the floor and walls like a impressionistic painting were all that was left of this floor's monsters.
    "Well, this is equal parts impressive and morbid." Garn said after shifting though the remains of a smashed treasure chest.
    "Yeah, that's hard core Grinders for you." Vort said, scooping a few gold trinkets into a bag.
    During the silent trek though the maze-like hallways of the dungeon proper, passing mauled traps, cleared out treasure rooms, and the slowly dissolving remains of minor spawning pits, the party knew there had to have been a particular group of Grinders. These were adventurers who neurotically enter dungeons and ruthlessly clear them out, often times leaving to allow the dungeon to reset and re-spawn its denizens to do the aforementioned sweep all over again.
    Done to attain better loot, better experience, or hoard rare resources, those dubbed Grinders often left a trail of cast aside gear and trinkets as they collected new and better ones. Some believed they did this so the dungeon could remake what they left behind into something even better, others thought it was they didn't want to haul what they deemed junk around. 
    "Should we be concerned?" the dragonborn asked as the group as they headed for the stairs downward.
    "As long as we stay out of their way there wont be issues." Norra checked the stairs before allowing the others downward. "More than likely they'll clear the floors their level allows them and then leave."
    Garn nodded, lagging behind with the storm mage as the expert hunter and tracker made her way downward. The next few floors were more of the same, monster-less and loot-less with only the occasional straggler for Garn to bisect with his blade. The large rough stones that made up most of the dungeon soon changed into solid smooth dark marble that arched into wooden beam and arch accents with everything lit with large amber sconces.
    Another (less talkative) set of carved doors stood at the end of the hall, a group of people standing by it and bickering. The party quickly ducked behind the pillars, dragging the dragonborn with them, making space a bit difficult for everyone. Voices were certainly raised among the other group before a whoosh was heard. Peaking out, Vort quietly informed everyone their party mage had opened a Gate back to the outside, and they had made their way through.
    "Odd," Vort said once the party came out of its hiding place, "They usually take on this floor's boss."
    "Well, We can actually get loot then!" Lym said cheerily as he approached the door.
    The party gathered around the halfing and began to push, but they all found that the door usually meant to be easily swung open on its hinges to have a grand reveal, were completely locked. They continued to push, and then push even harder, eventually going into a full on assault to get the firmly locked doors to budge.
    "Go away!" A deep bellow from behind the other side of the door pushed the adventures away from it. " I will not suffer further humiliation form you all!"
    "What..." Lym said looking between the group, finding equally perplexed looks.
    "I think that's the boss." Vort said.
    "Can they just do that? Bar entry into their rooms?"
    "Yes I can! The Dungeon Master put me in charge of this floor so I can bar you horrible monsters from killing me over and over again!" The fearsome beast wailed, akin to a small child being bullied.
    "Wow." Norra said flatly.
    "Never thought I'd feel bad for a floor boss," Mumbled Lym.
    "Hey," Vort knocked on the door. " We aren't the other party, we can have some tea!"
    Garn blinked looking down at the little mage standing at the door, he wouldn't be surprised if the beast behind actually complied to the request. And almost exactly after he had this thought the door cracked open a peek.
    "What kind of tea?"
    In a short amount of time the party found themselves sitting in the center of a circular arena around a short table, a well maintained tea set placed before all parties. One cup was daintily being held by a marble gargoyle big enough to eat a plow horse in one go. They had all heard the tragically hilarious story of the Midboss' 5 weeks of solid pummeling from the Grinders before finally reaching a threshold in the rules of this strange place that allowed him to lock his doors and regain his composure.
    "That's terrible." Vort said after the gargoyle concluded his tale.
    "It is horrible, sometimes I didn't even have time to fix the traps and get my minions spawning." The beast took a sip from the tea cup carefully held in his claws. "So, this question may be redundant but what brings you down here?"
    "Oh we were planning to head through the dungeon as normal." Lym said, "Your typical affair."
    "Oh of course, its a shame I'm not up for the usual affair." The Gargoyle said, setting his cup down. "As a consolation I will allow you to pass through my gate to the next floor."
    "Wait, really?" Garn asked, "Just like that?"
    "I am absolutely not up for a fight I'm afraid." The Gargoyle stood up, moved to the other end of the cathedral arena and pushed open a well hidden door with a grand staircase leading downward.
    With very little fanfare, the tea and table were packed up and the group bid their goodbyes to the monster and made their way deeper.
    "Did you plan for any of that?" Garn finally asked Vort.
    "Nope! I had no clue any of this would happen." The mage cheerily stated, patting Garns arm.
    "I doubt the next boss will be as talkative." Norra said, "So let's prepare ourselves."
   

Love and Cold Winds: Part One: When Losing a Tournament is a Good Thing

   In a world as fantastical and filled with adventure as Tellardrin, one could not contest that huge shows of spectacular violence makes everyone happy. The small Colosseum, built by some hopeful entrepreneurs, literally banked their hopes and dreams on it. And by the grace of the Gods of luck and gambling it was paying off.
    This was mostly in part to Garn, of whom to the proprietors had crawled out of the western swamps just to claim the title of champion. It helped the alligator-like Dragonborn was 6'7" and built like a barrel with several logs wrapped in dark green hide topped with another log filled with teeth. He had even gained enough money to gather enough leather and metal to create an intimidating metal sleeve and threatening belt. Of course, arrogance and a swelled head followed, as who could beat a literal giant lizard with a sword that could double as an ironing board?
    Garn certainly didn't think it would be the tiny human who cheerfully entered the ring, his friends equal parts wishing him luck and asking why he believed this was a good idea. He toward over the little human, watching the cloud of storm colored hair and dark grey robes flow as the wind kicked up.
    He had with him a long and thin sword covered in strange marks, and a overly friendly smile. Garn raised an eye ridge at this newcomer. The proprietors had informed him he would be fighting a formidable adventurer, but the little thing before him looked out of place within the rough sand and high walls of the arena.
    "And who are you?" Garn bellowed over the crowd, as it wasn't hard with all the bass in his voice.
    "Vort of The Grand Peninsula." He returned, only loud enough for his opponent to hear.
    "Let us hope you fight as grand as your title." the dragonborn moved into a fighting stance.
    Vort simply smiled and took up his own stance. And when the call to begin came, he flew. Garn watched as the little human dashed forward and hopped into the air, sword poised in a thrust which led towards his opponents un-armored shoulder. He managed to just barely avoid the blow, staggering back as Vort skidded to a halt and retook his stance. 
    The objective of this battle was simple, hit one another until one was incapacitated. The local Mages had enchanted the stones of the arena to dull any attack so one could not be killed, only bloodied. Garn steadied himself and grinned as he raised his blade.
    "I didn't know I would be fighting a Mage." he said.
    "What gave it away?" Vort called back.
    "No normal swordsman would use such attacks."
    Vort laughed, and came at Garn with a fast horizontal slash. Despite his size, the Dragonborn could move with surprising bursts of speed, and stopped the attack with the flat of his own blade, bringing his free fist down toward Vort's head. He rolled out of the way before the scaly mace could make contact,and jumped further back as Garn's massive blade cut the air where he had just been. He let loose a stone-shaking roar as he went on the offensive.
    His massive blade whistled though the air and sent clouds of dust as it hit the earth were his nimble opponent had barely managed to get away. Vort managed to move in close enough to land a blow, but was sent flying by a punch to the stomach. And so they went, partners in a deadly dance.
    Both had equal reach with their weapons, and what Vort lacked in Garn's impressive strength he made up for in his astounding speed and precision. They continued to trade blows, stepping back and coming at each other with ferocity given to those who quickly grew to respect the other's prowess while all the while the crowd cheered, screamed and bet on the outcome of a fight no one would ever guess would be so intense.
    It was when the pair pulled away, Garn knew he had to finish this soon. While the injuries he had sustained were not fatal they were steadily compiling against his stamina. It seemed a much similar case for Vort, blade bobbing with each breath he took. He would have to buy an ale for this one after he won, he thought, prepairing his final strike against the human.
    He had just enough time to realize the long and thin blade coming toward his face like an arrow, and quickly raised the flat of his blade to deflect it. He didn't register the impact of it though, as Vort had seemingly materialized in front of him, hovering in the air as the back of his hand made contact with Garns face.
    This humble narrator would like to pause on this moment to quickly explain something to you dear reader. Many of you are aware of the phrase "love at first sight" but within Tellardrin's western Dragonborn culture (and a few Dwarven ones as well) is the concept of "love at first blow." Sparing the long winded cultural history as to how it came to be, it boils down to similar concepts: a connection with another which brings about strong feelings, outside of the physical feeling of being struck.
    This was the feeling that struck Garn, along with a slap empowered by a storms gale that sent him flying into the nearby wall and into abrupt unconsciousness. It is fairly obvious to admit that it was something absolutely no one had expected, at all.