The Great Library of Palanthas
An Aesthetic shows you to a small reading room.
Stories of Ansalon from the view of Luerk.
A little gully dwarf runs by and says 'Wordwrap Off 65 80.'
The gully continues 'Eyes hurt? Turn Color OFF!! (regular story dates)
Astinus says 'Enter the main library here to view only the author list.'
Astinus gently places a giant book on the table in front of you.
You note the spine bears the word 'Luerk' scribed in dark yellow ink.
Author: Luerk Date: Sun Feb 17 08:48:37 2008 Subject Blackwood Contingent: Finer Diplomacy I
Lord Luerk Trell, Highlord of the Green Dragonarmies, sat quietly in his hall, sitting deep in his throne. The gnarled wooden seat once stood proudly in an elven chamber, an heirloom of some obscure lord. It was a thing of beauty then, intricately carved and luminescent -- but it stood broken now. Dyed a dark hue and the captive of a darker men. Lord Trell treasured it, and also loathed it. Yes, he was pleased to own such a display of artistic skill. Imbued and blessed, it was without a doubt a grand display. But Lord Trell knew what it really was -- a reminded of what he once was. And from time to time, the back was uncomfortable. But as he sat, his delicate fingers massaged his brow in an attempt to alleviate his headache. The current state of affairs exhausted him, as all efforts to recover the Dragonarmies' most prized tool proved fruitless. The Knife of Dracart. The dagger was an instrumental cog in the creation of draconian soldiers, and now the dragonarmies were left vulnerable. The eggs stood as dead assets, while ranks steadily thin. The Knife must be recovered quickly. Luerk saw now end to his troubles. It was boggling enough that a single man sowed monstrous chaos, but a member of the Conclave? This did not bode well at all. White robed magi tend to be smug and irritating, but they are rarely fools. Luerk found it hard to believe that the dead magi acted alone. Any number of Conclavians could be responsible. High Archmage Lelthas, Highmaster Elinos, or the fool Jendaron! Luerk gritted his teeth, agonizing at the thought of his rival landing such a devastating blow. Delicate. Luerk would have to proceed delicately -- there were forces greater than himself involved. Perhaps he could engaged Jendaron or Elinos alone. But the thought of facing magi two was not encouraging. But how he longed to lash out! His ire was great, and he craved for someone to abuse. His own turmoil did not help his mood. But he was only a smolder compared to the Emperor. No, the Emperor had not been kind, ..., though he wasn't known to be a gentle man. The strangled page was evidence of that, the poor lad's throat crushed shut by the Emperor's strong fingers. Luerk recalled how the boy gurgled, how his eyes pleaded for mercy. Luerk hoped somewhere, in the nethers of the abyss, in between his squeals of pain, the white-robed intruder wept for the innocent blood on his head. The Emperor quivered with rage, causing the ragdoll body to tremble too. It was beyound grotesque, like some sick marionette made too real. Luerk sneered as he recollected, his long fingers restlessly tracing lines in his throne. The Emperor rules with fear, but he was a reckless, wasteful man... (Continued...)
Lord Luerk Trell detested the Emperor. Whether or not he was chosen by the Queen, he was careless and arrogant. Even the great lizards constantly tested his will. Finally, Luerk withdraws from his own thoughts and opened his eyes. Nothing had changed in the last hour, though he half expected various subordinates to scurry forth, nervously announcing the Emperor's arrival. Almost daily the man demanded good news from Luerk, and when disappointed growled orders to scourge harder. Scheming for the unforeseeable future is exhausting, but Luerk also cast his mind into the arcane corridors. Opening his awareness to the flow, Luerk hopes to catch a passing flux of the Knife. But his aggressive searching was difficult and dangerous. Though the Knife is powerful, Krynn is deep and wide. Easily enough, Luerk managed to recreate the magi's portal. But from there, the trail goes cold. Luerk also fears being detected by any Conclavians. If, as he suspects, the Conclave conspires against the Dragonarmies, then he must be wary. Glancing to a simple pedestal to his right, Luerk peers into the ichorous juice contained. It swirls ceaselessly, though painfully slow. Through the vile portal, the Lords of Doom pour black, acrid smoke into the air. The precarious city of Sanction bustles below, a surviving hub of crime and cruelty. Luerk gently strokes his chin, wondering if the Knife has eluded his enemies. Is it possible, such an immensely powerful artifact unknowingly smuggled and stolen? Curious, Luerk mutters aloud "I suppose there is only one way to be sure..." Gripping the arms of his throne, Luerk lightly lifts himself. His arms creak slightly, though the pain soon subsides. Gathering his uniform at the throat, he motions to his aid...
Luerk Trell growled in pain has the cleric tightly wound the lord's injured hand. Shielding them from the rough cleric, Luerk gently flexed his fingers, testing his delicate hands. His hand ached, and already blood stained through the clean white linens. Lord Trell cursed silently, lamenting the toll his injury would take on his spellcasting. "Clean wrappings in the morning Highlord. I will personally prepare the salve." Luerk waved away the cleric, who saluted and took his leave. The injury was not critical, but Lord Trell dared not risk a serious infection. His hands were damaged enough from his Test and severely sliced fingers only mad casting more difficult. "Curse you Dante!" Luerk hissed the name as he rubbed his eyes in annoyance. "You are cause me more irritation than you?re worth." Lord Trell blamed the man for exposing the Dragonarmies too soon. How else could the mercenary have identified them so easily in Sanction? Gathering his uniform at the neck, Luerk Trell walked through a sidedoor to reach the parapet overlooking the keep. Dante was too hasty, too eager to whet his blade. The mercenary, and his minotaur companion, had gathered valuable information. It seems that word concerning the Knife of Dracart spread quickly. The Dragonarmies were not allow in their search. The mercenary, Valas, and the minotaur Kaiba, were the only leads Luerk had to the Knife. The two surrendered easily enough, it was obvious that both Dante and Luerk heavily outmatched them. Luerk frowned, remembering the brawl. Valas was too keen, Luerk noticed the man's eyes on him as he entered the Blue Baroness. The Sanction tavern was dirty and gritty, even for the inferno-town. Several leads led the Highlord to the city, though he did not expect to apprehend two mercenaries. The Knife was arcane, and he expected magi and clerics. But two simple sword sells? Hmm, but perhaps not so simple. The human, Valas, intrigued Luerk. Valas and Kaiba had a simple plan. The hulking minotaur was the front, the decoy. He poked and prodded until he found someone willing to talk. All the while, Valas avoided attention and gauged the interest of eavesdroppers. Dante would have been easy to spot. Far too cliche, too interested in too detached of a way. But Luerk wondered why he was as easily caught. Indeed, Valas had directed his partner to charge the Highlord. So, Luerk admitted he was easily spotted, but also vastly underestimated. He easily befuddled the minotaur's mind, downing the huge beast. But it seems Luerk underestimated Valas as well. The mercenary winged a dagger at the Highlord, which Luerk only managed to avoid. (Continued in the next story)
The blade slide through his fingers and palms, spilling blood onto the grimy tavern floor. But Valas' attack cost him, as Dante took the opportunity to engage. Dante was easily riled by Valas, though Luerk guesses the soldier would have easily beaten the man into submission. The two crossed blades until Luerk's timely intervention. Valas danced around Dante well enough, but Pitted against two superior opponents, Valas reluctantly Dante was easily riled by Valas, though Luerk guesses the soldier would have easily beaten the man into submission. The two crossed blades until Luerk's timely intervention. Valas danced around Dante well enough, but Pitted against two superior opponents, Valas reluctantly submitted. Both the minotaur and Valas were taken into Luerk's custody, though they came peacefully. Luerk mused over how to best deploy his newly acquired assets. They couldn't have been working independently -- they knew too much about the Knife. But mercenaries are mercenaries. They're all after the same thing. "Pity", Luerk thought, they're too short-sighted to see past the steel coin. Luerk smirked as his plan came together, as Valas fell prey to Luerk's mastermining. "Simple incentives tend to disguise the obvious threat." "The mercenary doesn't have much of a choice. Nontheless, I must make his lack of options ... more appealing." Luerk frowned as he wondered if the man could be trusted. Certainly not yet, but even in the future? Valas struck Luerk as a crude man. Cunning and skilled maybe, but surely low in ambition. "Yes, Valas is my key. But will he hunt for the dragonarmies? Of that I must be certain." Luerk stared intently into space, wondering how to win over the man. Then, smiling cruel to himself, he traced a crude circle into the stone parapet. "This man isn?t looking for power. Not yet. He's looking for his "This man isn't looking for power. Not yet. He's looking for his fortune." Drawing his hands together, Luerk turned to withdraw from the parapet. In his planning, he nearly missed a slinking figure slide across the sonte courtyard below. Dante, Lord Saige's underling, made his way to the prisoner "It seems that I must guard my prize ham against the greedy wolf.' Lord Luerk Trell turned away from the parapet and made his way to Valas. (OOC: This is Luerk's memory of the brawl involving Dante, Kaiba and Valas. It is also a prelude to Dante's latest story. Luerk's version of that to come soon!)
Highlord Luerk Trell sat comfortably at a new chair, one with a high backing and plush armrests, but lighter in construct than his usual throne. He rested his arms on the velvet rests, waiting for the last of his guests to arrive. The Highlord sat in contemplation, lightly stroking his chin. He sat at a long stone table with a smooth polished surface. The bindings were skillfully etched with motifs of the Dragonarmies. Seated along the stone table were several others, high ranking officers and commanders of the Green Dragonarmies. Luerk's gaze drifted lazily, picking out his hand chosen council. The recent growth in the armies' size brought considerable talent to Luerk, though he bitterly accounted for those who'd never returned. Dante. Kevril. Athin Kantiran. But in the end, no matter, for Highlord Trell had been industrious. Highlord Trell gathered to him a wide array of personnel to further the goals of the Queen. At last the herald announced the arrival of Colonel Filbas Tragarus of Ergoth. The bald man strode forth arrogantly, taking his seat at the high end. Behind him, his goblin wretch Dr'Gath slinked behind. As silence finally settled, Lord Trell coughed slightly to signal the beginning. He rose out of his seat, taking a moment to adjust his uniform, and then spoke. "Hail and well met, loyal of the green armies." The council saluted in unison, thumped their left breasts with closed fists. "Do you know who you are? Do you know who I am? Yes. Look deeply children, peer around. Do you know who WE are?" Luerk's speech spilled off his tongue, charming even the most coarse soldiers at the table. The men and women seated nodded grimly, most already well aware for the secretive meeting. Nontheless, Luerk continued. "No doubt our unfortunate situations has reached your ears. Yes, the Knife of Dracart is indeed missing. Our armies have been thrown into disarray." Luerk leaned over the table, laying his blackened hand on the cold stone. "We lack discipline. Unacceptable." Luerk snorted in disgust, straightening again. "In our current state, the green armies are the strongest. Our brute friends of the red and blue are still in shambles. Therefore it falls to us to retrieve the Knife. I'm sure you'll agree, no others are capable." Some members at the table murmured agreement, though most remained silent. They eagerly awaited what their Highlord had to say. Luerk reached into a dark leather pouch which sat unceremoniously on the table. He withdrew a fistful of rough sand, and scattered it across the table. "NNyrk yslpsid, nrettap otni soahc." At the arcane bidding, the sand gathered together to depict a map of the continent. The map was impressive, as it even measured to scale. Gathered grains formed piles to show mountain ranges, forests, capitals and so forth. As the last particles arranged themselves, Luerk swept his hands over the table. "We will be everywhere. Our army will stretch from Sancrist to Mirthas and Kothas. Every stone will be overturned, even dark corner scoured. We will find this Knife." (OOC ... continued)
The gathered council examined the sand grain map, reveling in the attention to detail. Several muttered to themselves, taking note of some unidentified markers. A woman, beautiful but for the terrible scar that took his left eye spoke up, "Where shall you send us Highlord? But say the word and we shall be gone with the black wind." Highlord Trell smiled grimly at his protg, Captain Kestra Brine. The Nordmaarian woman was a skilled assassin, a true diamond in the rough. Luerk Trell had recruited her as a mere child, seeing to it that her training was complete, and difficult. But Captain Brine shode brightly, fueled by a deep passion to find approval. She owed her better life to Luerk, and she accepted it. Highlord Trell held up a hand, silencing the murmured of voices. Each guests pondered their fate, wondering where they would be asked to prove their worth. Some had already guessed it, but the unnamed markers accounted for all present and one extra. These ranged through the lands, from Taman Busuk to Ergoth and even Icereach. Luerk spoke once again, addressing the question at hand. "Indeed, I speak the words. Your attention to the map." Once again Highlord Trell reached into the pouch, but this time produced seven roughly carved miniatures. Each was unique, though simple in make. With little effort, Luerk also cast these on the table. Again the sand stirred, carrying each token to a marker. As the emblems slithered and slide across the sand, each guest found them bearing names. Highlord Trell called out names and posts, so that each token could be tracked and followed. Captain Kestra Brine, the young woman who had spoken, watched her token (a wickedly curved dagger) scurry into Palanthas. Latercomer Filbas Tragarus (a proudly war banner) saw his sail to Ergoth and Sancrist. He smiled smugly, as he was returning to his homeland. Colonel Than-Kar Salan (a dwarven hammer) also returned to his domain, the mountain kingdom of Thordbardin. The theiwar dwarf nodded solemnly, knowing his task would still be difficult. Lieutenant Darien Di Caela, a gruff looking Solamnic (and likewise a Solamnic shield) settled between Mirthas and Kothas, while a single token represented the twin conjurors Judicators Krythis and Lilith Krell. The half elven mages (crossed elven bows) scoffed as being assigned the simple area of Taman Busuk. But they understood that they?re talents required them to remain nearby. And lastly, the extra token bore the name of Highmaster Ayasana uth Matar. Her token remained in Neraka, though she might have made some comment at being left behind. Ayasana uth Matar, though a member of the blue dragonarmies, remained a confidant because of her connection to Highlord Saige. Lord Trell also knew her dragonmount would be instrumental into his plans. "Well then children, you?ve your tasks before you. Do not disappoint me." (OOC ... continued again.)
Lord Trell saluted grimly, dismissing his guests. Some left quickly and quietly, hurrying to prepare. However, others remained to study the map, carefully plotting out their course. Luerk left the sand grain map lie, though he knew eventually the magic would fade. No matter, as the Highlord was wise enough to copy the plans to parchment. Each guest would find a smaller version in their chambers. Lord Trell?s own private hall was dominated by a full scale copy, with matching tokens as well. As Luerk passed along the table to retire, he stopped for a moment the look over his carefully laid plans. He swept the map, placing two fingers in two barren spots. From his pouch he retrieved more tokens. The first was a snake devouring a wolf, meant for Valas and Dante. He dropped the token lightly, and the sand carried the token away. The token followed the path the pair took, via the insignia Luerk had pressed to Valas. And finally, Luerk looked to Icereach. He removed his last token, two mighty horns. Luerk did not yet know who would be represented here, but the Queen guided his hand, and her servant would make themselves left known. Done, Luerk swept his hand over the grains which were blown away by an unfelt wind. As Lord Trell turned to leave, he was surprised to find the twins Krythis and Lilith. They saluted the Highlord and approached him. Krythis, a nervous twitchy man, spoke. "Forgive us Highlord, but where will you yourself be headed? Should the need arise, we must be able to contact you immediately." Luerk disliked Krythis, deeming his nervous nature to be a lack of courage and faith. But nonetheless, the conjouror?s talents could not be denied. But Lilith, Krythis' female counterpart, was another story Lord Trell was attracted the silent women, as she was the opposite of her brother. She was calm, with piercing eyes -- Luerk saw this as the mark of strength. To Krythis, Luerk replied. "The Queen bids me to see about her champion. Then, I must tend to the matter of meddling tower." Krythis inhaled sharply, fearful at the mention of the Conclave. "Then it is true? The Conclavians are to blame?" Luerk squinted at the man before answering. "Their involvement is undeniable. It was one magi who blundered the Knife away from us. Unfortunately, I was unable to gather much from the fool." Luerk sneered, remembering the broken corpse at the feet of the Emperor. "His body was ... beyond our power to repair. The Emperor is not a merciful man." With that, Luerk left the twins to their thoughts. (OOC: To note, the unnamed champion of Takhisis is Lars, as the set of stories here are in part connection to him. More to come, hopefully sooner rather than later.) (OOC: Also, please forgive any typos and such. It's late and I wrote this story rather quickly. Thanks!)
Highlord Luerk Trell slowly circled a great wooden table, his light robes making a soft swishing sound as he pads quietly around the empty room. A single glass of deep red wine sits on the arm of his throne, untouched but waiting patiently to be drunk. However, for the moment, Lord Trell is too deeply concerned by the desk. Or rather, the intricate map atop the grand mahogany table. Laid out perfectly is a complete reproduction of the Taman Busk region. Finally completing his round, Lord Trell takes a moment to ponder his plans. With spider-like motions, he gently rolls a simple figurine with his long fingers. The hand-carved token, a coiled viper, represents one of Trell's various contacts throughout the continent. Setting the wooden viper down, Luerk slicks back his white-blond hair. At the motion, the ink shudders and muddles together, collecting in a pool of black ichor before reorganizing into a larger view. The map now encompasseslands from Taman Busk to the Silvan forests. Satisfied with the scale of the map, Lord Trell places the viper in Blode, just at the southern tip of the Taman Busk mountain ranges. With a wicked smirk, Lord Trell walks his fingers the short distance between Blode and the edge of the Silvan forest. With the Knife of Dracart securely recovered, Lord Trell has finally begun to set into motion his plans for his forgotten homeland. Having convinced the mercenary Valas Lynch to remain with the Green Dragonarmies, Lord Trell had the lynchpin for his campaign. "The End is here my friends..."
A sailor of the vessel "The Leecher" laid still, face down in black grainy sand. The soothing roll of the surf sounded quietly as the foamy whitewash surged back and forth around the body. The rising sun shone brightly, endeavoring to cast back the gloomy chill of the great storm. Gulls called in the distance and small crabs scurried along, leaving tiny tracks in the wet sand. The waves continued to crash and retreat. The cries of seabirds grew louder as a small flock landed nearby. The simple creatures scavenged, greedily gobbling anything edible. A few tried floating flotsam, while others inspected beached barrels and crates. Two crates in particular seemed quite special. They were dark metal and big enough to be carried in two hands. Heavy too, as they sank right down to the twin bronze bands running it's perimeter. But the unassuming birds were not impressed, the crates were hardly appetizing. "Food is more important, nothing more important than food!" the birds thought sagely, nodding to themselves in their stupid fashion. A single bird ventured toward the hardly breathing body, tweaking it's head from side to side. The Highlord lay in serious condition, half drowned and badly beaten by the storm. Open sores attracted flies, and irritation from salt and sand kept them from healing. His face was pale, and it looked as if the cold would take him soon. "Food is food." the bird thought. And taking a quick nip, the bird torn at a meaty finger. Nothing. Again, the bird snipped. Slowly, bright red beads of blood began to form before running down the finger's length. The greedy wretch stared unblinking at the dribbling blood. A compatriot appeared behind the first, squawking a simple question. "Food?" This startled the first, making it hop in fright. Irritated and quite ruffled, the first looked back to see who was so rude. The second was a distant relative (by marriage thankfully!), and the first rather disliked the second (he was always dropping in at the worst times.) "Now see here fellow, this is my food. I've found it and you've no righ..." The birds never saw the net they stood in, nor the hungry looking buccaneers who tightly held the ends of the trap. The rough looking men howled with glee, gloating over their snatched prey. For a week now the few remaining survivors were forced to scourer mile after mile of Southern Ergothian coastline. They hunted the very same crates that held so little value to the gulls. A slim shadow fell across the sand from behind the sailors. The cackling crewmen suddenly fell silent, for they knew who watched them. Highlord Luerk Trell of the Green Dragonarmies watched the hapless gulls struggle through the net. The men grew nervous, and began to shuffle to the nearby crates. "We was only grabbin' some eats Highlord." The elf glance sternly at the sailor, who cowered away. " Judging from the mottled feathers, the birds are diseased. But do me a favor and go ahead and eat it." Highlord Trell sneered as he collected one of the crates. The Emperor would not be pleased to lose nearly the entire shipment of eggs.
A lean shadow slide across the faded walls of Tarsis, making its way through the near empty streets and alleys. It slipped from building to building, across doorways and tents, growing and shrinking upon the surfaces it traveled. It moved with purpose, rarely pausing before continuing on again. There was a sense of urgency in its movements, but controlled and disciplined. Skirting the dying marketplace and shabby taverns, the shadow slowed to a halt before the docks. In ancient times, Tarsis was a hub of trade and commerce. A powerful port city run by wealthy merchants and guilds, its powerful navy withstood even the might of Ergoth's empire. Even now you can find traces of long lost glory, The architects of the city were true masters, geniuses of physics and aesthetics. Exquisite guild halls once glimmered in the fading light, tall white sailed ships bobbed gently on the water. The Library of Khrystann was revered long before the proud city Palanthas was founded. But the few building still standing were nothing more than old bones. Dried and stripped, harking pitifully of a forgotten time. But the deceased carry with them dark secrets. Our man paused in the last length of shadow before the open docks. Docks that led nowhere but into an endless wasteland. For when the gods struck down Istar, Tarsis was ruined in the Cataclysm. The great ocean drained away, leaving the city to wither and die. Few remained in the Tarsis, and all struggle to claw life from the Plains of Dust. Our man, a slender and lithe figure, stood transfixed by the vast badlands. He drew in ragged breath, already exhausted by some encounter. Dried blood crusted around wounds, and his tattered robes fluttered in the light breeze. He calls out to the empty docks in a rasping voice. "Everman, you cannot hide from the Queen any longer. Cease this futile game, and we will grant you the rest you so desire." The word fade into silence, overcome by the wind stirred dust. But our figure is not convinced, he stands highlighted by the dying sun. He glances around, murmuring under his breath. Again the lone figure calls out. "How long have you fled across this continent Berem? Two, three hundred years? Return what you have stolen and she will grant you sleep!" The wind bristles, sweeping dead vegetation across the bleak landscape. A low howl moans through the air, a sorrowful wind playing across the fields. Finally, another voice calls out to answer. "You know nothing of my suffering! I have died countless times, only to be wrenched back to this coil. I have been stabbed, cut down, starved and drown! But still I live..." From beneath a ruined dock crawls another man, a man who hungrily stares at the first. This second man, Berem, is drenched in blood and leaves messy tracks as he moves. But he moves without hindrance, no mortal wound afflicts him. "Take this cursed stone, I beg you! Ripped it from my flesh and let me see Jasla once more..."
Berem dropped to his hands and knees, sobbing uncontrollable. But the first man shows no pity. With a sneer he says, "Search for your Jasla in the abyss Everman, for the Queen does not lightly forgive defiance." Berem screams in pitiful rage, clawing at his assailant's legs. "Who are you, wretched man? What is your name, so that I might curse you in my search!" The stand man presses two fingers against Berem's skull. "I am Emperor Luerk Trell, chosen of the Queen. Go and curse my name Everman, it will be but music to her ears. " A single dark jet erupts from Emperor Trell's fingers, knock the hapless Berem flat into the ground. "I have seen you cut down with my own eyes, your flesh ripped by fangs and claws. Your body beaten and trodden over, the light faded from your eyes. Heart pierced and bowels oozing from open belly." "And yet you rose every time, escaping our grasp. You are slippery Berem Everman, but we cannot lose you to the clerics of Paladine. Today's victory marks the end of the world Berem, bear witness to it." Berem only whimpers, his limbs trashing heavily against ground. Luerk Trell traces a finger down Berem's chest, slicing aware clothing to reveal an embedded glowing emerald. A piece of the Foundation Stone. Luerk grins nastily and reaches for the sickly colored gem. He hesitates, allowing himself a moment of pride. Years and years this man was hunted, sought after by the Queen. Recent reports revealed him to be hiding in Tarsis, but Luerk did not anticipate Solamnic presence so close to Neraka. The Dragonarmies lost several important officers, but in the end a lone goblin brought down the Everman. Lahrag of the recently acquired tribes will be greatly rewarded. Luerk gazes into the multi-faceted gem before grasping the emerald fused into Berem?s chest. Through clenched teeth, he strains to rip his prize free. And for a moment, the world stands still as the two are charged with sickly green energy. For Luerk, the pain is unimaginable. It is as if a flight of dragons unleashed their mighty roars inside his head. He cannot react, he cannot even think. He is aware of only his heart beating impossibly slow and the tearing feeling inside his soul. ***************************************************************************- As the Dragonarmies regroup to disembark, high ranking officers report they cannot locate the Emperor. Magi and clerics alike cannot scyre or divine his whereabouts, though there is a massive mystical disturbance generated within the city. High Clerics of Takhisis, fearing the Queen's chosen to be mortally injuried or ambushed, order a city-wide search of Tarsis. To be continued ...
Floating effortlessly on the eternal thermals of the desert, an ancient vulture slowly circles above the baking land below. It drifts along, stretching its old tattered wings wide, watching his prey with terrible yellow eyes. Coming to rest on a ragged cactus, the vulture caws loudly at his prey below. Groveling in the dirt is a wandering vagrant, an emaciated wretch dying of starvation and dehydration. The ragged man gropes blindly in the sand, feverishly searching through the hot coarse grains. His burnt and blistered hands sifting and digging, unable to find his treasure. The man is pathetic to behold, he has not bore the elements well. His fine blond hair is dirty and matted, while his bare back raw and bleeding. He has little to protection himself from the fierce sun, and no visible pack for provisions. This man did not enter the Plains of Dust prepared. Emperor Luerk Trell of the Dragonarmies cursed softly to himself, feeling out with unsteady hands. The burning grains are a constant irritation to his sensitive skin, as are the ever-present buzzing gnats. He swats at them, but it only provided momentary respite. If only he could see, then he might find the proper components to open an arcane portal. But the Emperor's eyes were ruined, badly damaged and scarred from the encounter with Berem Everman. Luerk had the man in his grasps, the Queen's most sought after enemy! With the Foundation Stone recovered, the Queen could finally reemerge from the Abyss. However, Berem's fate was not yet realized and the Emperor was foiled. As Luerk reached for the emerald, he was assault by some formidable force. As if the gods themselves smote him down, a brilliant green light tore through him, a sundering flash from the Foundation Stone and then darkness descending. "Ground marrow, essence of a scavenger and red salt of the Golthan Sea. Curse this eternal blindness, where are my ingredients?" Luerk pounds his fist against the sand in frustration. For weeks now he's crawled across the wastelands, surviving on his severely waning power. The flare of the Foundation Stone disrupted his ability to control the arcane. Cast spells was murderous torture, as if some unseen fingers dug into his flesh and slowly extracted some vital essence. What was once ecstasy now only brought suffering. And what's more, each spell cast only meant the next was harder to accomplish. "Thginot etirw ot derit oot mi." Filthy water gurgled through the red sand, and Luerk drank greedily.
For days the emperor trekked across the burning dunes, stumbling and crawling blindly as the angry sun scorched on. He staved off death and the harsh elements with his dwindling arcane arsenal. One by one, spells for water and nourishment, shade and warmth were expended, a climax of aching pain as he wretched the power from his coil. He cursed his foul fortune daily, agonizing over mightier spells wasted in Tarsis. But most curious to him was any attempt to disrupt the portals of time and space. When he could muster the strength, the hallways of the arcane would open at his beck, but he could not enter them. A great weight suddenly came upon his being, as if a heavy chain no tethered him to the ground. He recalled days when such spells were simple for him. In the Tower of Wayreth, his instructor Archmagus Leodas broke down very fabric of matter before his eyes. And in the same way, he counseled his own pupils in the art. Emperor Trell was gifted, oh yes, quite gifted. He counted himself (arrogantly) among the top tier of magical prodigies, the cream of Nuitari's children. It was no wonder the Dark Moon's own mother desired him, a perfect irony of elvish perfection. Studying the art of war from his predecessor Highlord Saige, Luerk Trell quickly rose through the Queen's army. Successful campaigns saw him given the charge of the Green Armies themselves, the pinnacle of his desires. With an army at his disposal and sloven lands ripe for the taking, it was only a matter of time before Luerk amassed a collection of rare arcane artifacts. Rings, circlets, scrolls and spellbooks! Cursed urns, blessed toads, boots from Istar and cloaks made of demon skin! The arrangement was simple and effective. The Queen would receive her world as Luerk grew in power. But the Queen was jealous and cunning, she foresaw a champion in Luerk Trell but for his arcane lust. Intent on stealing away her son's disciple, she gathered her powers and set into motion her plan. Highlord Trell became Emperor Trell following his genius in retrieving the Knife of Dracart, and all that remained was Berem Everman. Takhisis expected her servants to capture the Foundation Stone quietly, quickly bringing down the barrier that barred her entry. She anticipated on her godly form to awe Luerk and demand his full allegiance. But the arrival of Paladine's whores decimated any hope of a silent retrieval. When her primed champion could not fetch the Stone from Berem, she cursed him in rage!
Luerk Trell loved his magic, craved it and was wholly addicted to it. He was not yet empty of love, and so was barred by Jasla's spirit. Takhisis' wrath was no passing pain for the Emperor. She crushed his soul, raking at the arcane infused blood and pouring her malice into him. She chained his soul to the world, set barbs in his mind and slowly began to bleed him dry. Luerk Trell endured her wrath for hours, and perhaps he was cushioned by the barrier that severed the Abyss from Krynn. His soul was flayed slowly, and the Queen took delight in it. She would strip him bare, and rebuild her champion from the soul out. And look at him now, a starving wretch struggling to keep the sand from his mouth. And so on he ventured, driven by some mad wind, that unholy force pushing him farther and farther in the hard wilderness. He was granted no respite, but he knew death would come soon. On the eighth day, he could move no more. He collapsed in the smoldering grains, gasping for air through cracked and bloodied lips. He reached out, crying for some god to save him. Nuitari was no longer interested, ignorant of some conjuror of cheap tricks caught in his own tangled spell. No other gods came, because no other gods heard. The Queen guarded her price jealously, keeping him capsuled in the desert. And on that eighth day the Queen sent someone to him. "Poor wretched child, groveling in the dirt. Can you not see the wellspring that provides life before your very eyes? You body is broken and your mind shattered. The Queen is most gracious to you." To Luerk, the voice was heavenly! Like some wonderful thing he was deprived of for so long he had forgotten it existed. A voice! A voice to break the incessant howling of the wind, the dry scape of sand against sand. Luerk nearly wept, but his dried eyes prevented it. "Please ... please help me. I'm dying and will not survive a moment longer! For the love of the gods, I need water!" The voice was silent for a moment, and Luerk was afraid it was only in his weakened mind. But finally the voice spoke again. "So you are blinded in body as you are in soul. You are already dead Emperor Trell, but the Queen has revived you! Reach out a little farther, the water you seek is before you." **** To Be Continued ****
The Emperor of the Queen's Dragonarmies stiffened as the nameless voice called him by name. In all his power, few dared to insult Luerk Trell, recipient of the Queen's glory. But this voice spoke with confidence, chiding the dying elf. To Luerk, the voice was out of place, too vibrant and melodious for the desert. But as instructed, the Emperor reached out his hand. His fingers trembled feverishly, waiting for some offered water skin or canteen. But instead his hand was grasped by another, smooth and strong fingers curled around his feeble grasp, leading him to his feet. "Rise Emperor Trell, ssendnilb eruc! Return from death and embrace ." And for a brief moment, Luerk stood upon trembling legs and his vision returned. Before him stood an smirking Ergothian, white teeth flashing brilliant against a deep brown face. He was surrounding by a small but lush oasis, the sun's rays reflecting playfully off a small pool. Luerk Trell grinned before fatigue took him and he crashed to the ground unconscious. **************************** Night had fallen when Luerk awoke. He was surprised to find himself bathed and clothed, though he winced through the pains in his stomach. The Ergothian was seated at a fire, tending to a boiling stew. "Good evening Emperor, I am surprised you have revived so quickly." Luerk Trell peered at the man, wondering who this Takhisis worshipping hermit was. "What is your name hermit, and how do you know mine?" The Ergothian frowned, waving off the questions. "You seek the wrong answers Emperor, it is I who should be asking that question. Instead you should ask why you have been brought here, and what transpired in the desert." Luerk tensed, watching the man cautiously. "What do you know of what happened in the desert?" The Ergothian betrayed no emotion, but simply said. "Come my Emperor, there is much to discuss. You suffer from a great addiction, and there is one who will arrive to hinder your progress." **TO BE CONTINUED**
The Emperor was not surprised to see him on the horizon, his short and stocky outline a black figure set against the dying sun. Luerk Trell admired the scene, forgetting for a moment that this approaching dwarf was his enemy. It was picturesque -- a holy man appearing in the distance, a halo of angry red glowing behind him. "But the sun is slowly fading, and the darkness will consume him." Yes, the Ergothian said he would come. "There will be those who seek to hinder your progress, " Luerk repeated the sage words. Indeed, this dwarf was only the first hurdle. "[gA low hurdle indeed" snickered the Emperor, smiling pleasantly to himself. The dwarf swiftly covered the sandy distance and grimly set his mace into the ground. "Stand aside elf, I am here to claim Sameed Ach' Matoor. He has upset the balance and will face judgement." Emperor Trell smiled pleasantly, though the dwarf was not unnerved. "I'm afraid I cannot allow that. The Queen is a jealous god, and does not share her servants often. So you shall not pass, dwarf." (OOC then Luerk unsheathed Glamdring and smote the Balrog... *inno*) The dwarf sneered and spat in disgust. "Then prepare to endure the wrath of the true gods!" With a furious roar, the dwarf charged forward lifting his mace aloft. The head blowed with a brilliant white heat. But Luerk only smiled, lifting his palms out to each side. He chanted to the Queen, thanking her for breaking his addiction and granting him a true gift. And he began to glow with an unearthly light, a sickly blue emanating from his body. And the world began to rumble! Crawling their way out of the sandy rose a phantom army of skeletal soldiers! But the dwarf was undeterred, and the two forces collided. ******************** The Ergothian smiled evilly, bowing before Luerk as he laid the fallen dwarf's body down. "Summon your armies my Emperor, then Queen deems you worth to lead once more!" Luerk did not look, but nodded solemnly in acknowledgement. The clerics of Takhisis were already notified of his position, they would arrive soon enough. (OOC) This is the roleplayed warnote concerning Joreous.
The Storytellers of Ansalon, The DragonLance MUD
Astinus points to the massive wall of books behind him and bids you to make a selection.
Authors: All|A|B|C|D|E|F|G|H|I|J|K|L|M|N|O|P|Q|R|S|T|U|V|W|X|Y|Z
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