| LEGENDS The Sundering of the Orcs Posted by Trevor Salyzyn This period in history has never been quite clear, so here is a collection of the thoughts of several scholars. (names can be changed if anyone desires) Helen Willburn, human scholar: "By collected entries in our vast libraries, the thought has sprung into me that the orcs were once proud and powerful, not like they are today. It is my belief that they became weakened and more weakened by the attacks of elves, dwarves, centaurs, mysteene, and even halflings. In other times, humans have been forced to fight them, because of their rapid reproductive rates. Now, if you'd like to learn more, you'd best be asking the races themselves. I'm kind of busy right now." Yrr'Uggsyard, shaman of the Tribe of the Squashed Head: "ORCS RULED THE WORLD! THEN LITTLE ELVES CAME TO BATTLE ORCS FOR RULING! ORCS CRUSH LITTLE ELVES OF NOW-DELANOR, AND MANY LEAVE TO CROSS TWO WATERS! SOME WENT EAST; NEVER HEARD FROM AGAIN, BUT RULERS WENT NORTH! MORE ELVES? THIS TIME, ORCS NOT STRONG! LITTLE ELVES CRUSH ORCS! ORCS TRAVEL AWAY FROM OTHERS AND TRY TO KILL EACH OTHER! NOW IN DARK TIME! FOREVER HATE ELVES!" Elleth Moondancer, storyteller of the Elves: "In
the old times, the orcs were stronger than anyone could
have ever imagined. My great grandfather was barely a
child at that time, so we are unsure of these records at
best. The story mainly takes place in Delanor and
Liprica, but it does point to many other places. The
elves of Delanor were nature lovers and pacifist; they
ignored the outside world and were carefree. Whereas the
elves of Liprica were scholars and magic-users, although
they did partake in such rituals." Murthan Deepminer, high cleric of the dwarves: "We 'ad nothin' t' do with them orcs from th' beginnin', lads. So, we banished 'em from our lands. They 'ad been botherin' us wit' minor raids, so we retaliated by killin' those that bothered us. Them orcs fled, an' we was willin' t' scare 'em into the water. We ain't sure what they did aftah that, but we 'aven't seen much of 'em since." Hurblin, storyteller of the halflings: "I'll tell ya how the orcs came! In boats, BIG boats, they sailed from across the big ocean! We thought they were pirates, and we were right! They came and tried to hurt our ancestors, but we were TOO smart! We made traps and they didn't lay their hands on a SINGLE halfling! After a while they got SO scared that they burst into many groups! Too bad we burned their boats or they wouldn't be here today!" Unfortunately, no reliable records have been kept by the Centaurs and the Mysteene, so this is the end of my report. Maxin’s Mistake Posted by Tamlyn 150 or so years ago, Maxin Strada ruled the country of Callipsus. He ruled fairly for many years until one fateful day. When Maxis returned from a much-needed rest, his personal guards were missing and a small company of crack warriors accompanied him. He started a reign of terror that Parmakia had never seen. He recruited all of the most vile, unforgiving cutthroats he could find and formed a formidable army. A resistance movement sprang up almost over night. Try as they might, all they could ever do was harass Maxin's troops. When they approached the other nations, they were turned away because it was "an internal matter." Because the resistance was hunted continually, they split into 4 separate groups and started recruiting. This way it made it more difficult for the Wardra (a name given to Maxin's warriors) to find them. For 5 years the 4 fractions of resistance fighters built an army. During that time, they learned that Strada prayed the god Udra. If there was any doubt on anyone's mind as to the level Maxin would lower himself, it was then removed. Once the resistance force reached 400 each, they joined forces and attacked. The battle that followed was bloody and hundreds from both sides died. Maxin watched from a safe distance and when the battle started turning against him, he cried out to Urda. "OH MASTER, IN YOUR NAME, I CRUSH THESE CREATURES!" Pulling a glass orb from his shirt, he cast it to the ground in a flash of bright light and yelled "ATTACK!" Two dozen mages appeared and started casting destructive spells at the resistance force. Mages being used in the name of a god was a mistake Maxin would never forget. Enormous shafts of lightning came down from the sky and left large pits where the mages were standing. Beaten and humiliated, Maxin sank to his knees in tears. "Oh lord, what have I done? I gave you glory and you spit on me." [[STOP, to atone for your sins against me, you will leave this land and build me a temple that rivals all other temples. You will spend your remaining days in my service and build me an empire that makes all other empires cower. And then and only then I will relieve you of your torture.]] Strada opened his eyes and found that his body appeared to be dead for years. Though he appeared weak, he still retained his strength. He gathered up what was left of his army and set sail to an extinct volcano he visited earlier in his life. He built a church and empire that even until this day has not fallen. In memory of Maxin, the island was called Strada. Magic’s Demise and the Return of the Gods Posted by Green Many centuries ago, centered on the lower half of Chi'lore's western peninsula, in what is now known as the Ice Desert, there existed a powerful civilization dominated by wizard lords which in turn held sway over the world. The capital and center of this grand nation, whose name is now forgotten, was the grandest of all wizard academies ever built, and the lore it collected was said to hold every secret of the world in its pages; it was truly the height of magical power in the world. But, like in all things, power breeds greed, and greed breeds discontent and war. Before long, the great nation began to crumble under its greedy lords, many of whom now struck out to rule the world on their own. Some only sought to stop the others and restore the nation to its former glory and wisdom, but all attempts failed. The conflicts raged everywhere. Some lords perished, but many fought continuously to little effect but the death of their servants and the magical pollution of the land, being protected themsleves by their seemingly impenetrable magical wards and shields. Finally, their armies revolted and betrayed them, killing many. Others vanished without a trace. The wars of these times, now almost forgotten, have left a deep mark on the minds of all civilizations, especially humans, who now shun all magic but that of the gods. Following the collapse of their oppressors' rule, however, many tried to lay claim to the knowledge and magical treasures of that shattered nation, fighting yet again for the rights to such power. However, a strange thing happened then. The remains of the nation were swallowed in a blizzard the likes of which had never been seen before, and in its place remained a frozen land of ice. Soon afterwards, the gods made their presence known to the world, saying that they had left the world to their creation but had returned when they seemed intent on self-destruction. They then forbid the practice of magic and empowered clerics to advance their causes and suppress magic. The gods quickly won over the devotion of their people, whom had never known their presence before. Many old and seemingly false religions were abadoned for the more tangible presence of the new, and what came to be accepted as the ONLY gods. These are the gods known today. Rordin’s History Posted by Keryon Rordin was a young dwarf that lived in the mountains that now surround the nation of Rordin's Falls. In that time, only a few dwarven communities lived in the region, for the place was still not civilizated both orcs and knolls lived in the region. Rordin's younguer brother, Tharon, was a very ambitious dwarf, and he thought that, if he could clear the caves of the largest mountain of beasts, he could became a king and rule the great valley below. So, with a company of a twenty five valiant dwarves armed to the teeth, Tharon set out to complete his plan. One year passed, and Rordin didn't hear any sign of his brother or his company. One day, a wounded and nearly dead dwarf appeared in his village. The dwarf was Calles Dutsor and he was Tharon's most trusted companion. From him Rordin gathered that the inner tunnels where not filled with orcs or knolls, but with demons! Rordin, instead of forming a company of dwarves that would probably die just like his brother's companions, decided to go alone. Without looking back, Rordin, dressed in fine dwarven armor, and carrying his father's blessed axe, entered the caves of the unnamed mountain alone. First he only found minor demons, which he killed easely with his blessed axe. But, the further he advanced, the more powerful the demons became. Finally, on one fated night, he was ambushed by a horde of demons that had lead him into a trap by taking the shapes of his loved ones. At the end of the battle, Rordin only had his axe and his destroyed clothes, his armor having been melted by one of the demon's fire spells. After days of wandering through the maze-like tunnels, Rordin found a big cave whose center was dominated by an anvil, and before that anvil stood no other than Tharon, Rordin's lost brother, working at forging some weapon. Rordin was going to approach to his brother, but then he saw the anvil's twisted shape and his brothers firey eyes. He knew than that he was not looking at Tharon, but something which possessed him. The evil dwarf laughed loudly and said, "Well done Rordin! For a moment I thought that I would kill you with this simple trick, for I'm Astafas, demon-prince, and this is your brother's body. If you kill me, you kill him. So little dwarf, what are you going to do?" After saying this, the demon took the dark hammer he was working with and attacked. Rordin blocked the first blow, but the second one almost broke his left arm. Rordin counter attacked with equal fury and succeeded in making a deep cut in Astafa’s leg. Grunting in pain, the demon-dwarf said, "Oh, Rordin! It's me, Tharon. Don't hurt me, please!" Rordin stopped, and the demon-dwarf snarled out, "Stupid, sentimental dwaf!" and attacked the surprised Rordin again, smashing his left leg with the dark hammer. The force and pain of the impact made Rordin fall. The demon-dwarf was going to strike the final blow when Rordin heard a chorus of familiar voices echoing through the chamber, telling him to destroy the anvil. It was than he realized that if he could destroy the anvil and if the demon’s powers came from it, he might be able to banish the demon. Rordin, with a costly burst of speed, dodged another hammer-blow and charged the anvil. He lifted his axe and the daemon cried out, "No! Don't do it! We’ll all die!" Rordin delivered the final blow with all the strength he could muster, but it wouldn’t have been enough without the spirits of all the dwarves of Tharon’s company to help him. The anvil shattered, and it destroyed the cave and all the nearby tunnels. A great subterranean river was changed from its path by the explosion and formed a great number of falls when it entered a large chamber. But these were no normal falls, for there were 27, one for each dwarf that had perished with Tharon and one for Tharon and Rordin, the two largest. These falls are said to possess the souls of all the warriors who died in that cave, and their water born souls are said to have cleared the mountain of all dark powers. Thus came to be the country that we know as Rordin's Falls. The Beginnings of Darkhaven Posted by Keryon Carwenagan the Snake, an evil magician whose mind was lost to madness, once plagued the travelers of Parmakia. Being a wizard, he was forced to live the life of an outcast and practice his art in secret, but his attempts to do so had failed time and again. Thus, his mind was broken from countless attempts on his life and the death of his family at the hands of the faithful (see world themes). He despised even the followers of Eilorria and Wenvardor; hating all gods and humanity alike. One day, when Carwenagan was waiting in ambush somewhere below the mountains of Parmakia, trying to find someone to torment, he was delighted to see a man dressed in purple robes wandering alone. Eagerly he followed him, deciding to attack when the sun set and his victim went to sleep. But, when the night had passed and his victim still continued to travel, leading him farther and farther into the mountains, he decided to act, launching a powerful fire spell against him from behind. His smile disappeared though when the fire, burning the ground down to charred soil, left the traveler unharmed. Carwenagan, outraged by his failure to slay the man, conjured a magical lasso and seemed to entangle him. As Carwenagan drew him closer, however, he could see his victim showed not fear, but mirth. Seeing what he thought a smile of cruel mockery on the man’s face and his utter confidence, Carwenagan grew afraid. Having heard rumors of terrible creatures haunting the mountains, he thought, "Is this a beast disguised in human form, some shape-shifting horror or vampire?!" In his hysteria he believed the man must surely be a demonic creature of great power and would rip him limb from limb or suck the life from his body until he was naught but a dry, lifeless husk. Panic filled him as he watched the man dispell his lasso with a single word. He then watched the man raise a dark blade and saw fires light in his eyes as he prepared to cleave his neck in twain. As the sword climbed just before its downward arc, Carwenagan cried out, "Oh please Wenvardor, save my life and I promise to mend my evil ways and serve your cause." Much to his amazement he heard the creature say, "Then, my son, stand up, because I have spared your life." Realizing he still lived, Carwenagan looked up to see a mysterious figure cloaked in the same purple robes, but with a vista of stars were face and hands should be. He watched mesmerized as planets and comets wirled were there should be skin, and he was made dizzy by what seemed to be the terrible depths held within that purple hood. Carwenagan knew suddenly that this was Wenvardor himself. He could only stand there, frozen in shock, as Wenvardor told how he had come to exact retrobution from him and had drawn him into the wilderness to slay him in private, for Carwenagan had gone so far as to slay some of Wenvardor’s servants. Now though, he had looked into his soul and seen a chance to succeed were all other attempts had failed, to build a safe place, a dark haven, for mages persecuted everywhere. Then, with the power Carwenagan possessed, a pact was made and the surrounding lands were cleared of foul creatures and faithful wizards were gathered from all over Parmakia to build a secret city for mages. Today, in a small glade in that valley where Carwenagan made his pledge, and at the heart of Darkhaven, rests the temple of Wenvardor, a safehaven hidden from the gaze of any Parmakian nation and a center of magical knowledge. The denizens of Darkhaven are some of the most powerful mages of all Parmakia. Its exact location though, is known only to the most trusted followers of Wenvardor and all are practitioners of the arcane science of magic. Its citizens are sworn to defend its temple and academy to the death. Darkhaven is the only known city of all Parmakia in which wizards can go without the fear of death hanging over them. Written by a founder of Darkhaven and kept safe within the vaults of the academy’s library. Elven Legend of the Origin of the Races Posted by Feral The elves claim that long ago only their numbers filled the world, even though today they are one of the smallest in number. They tell a tale of a younger world were elves lived in harmony with all of nature. A world devoid of disease, predators, and evil. They lived this way for centuries until one day they were visited by a powerful entity of chaos and malice, who stole the beauty and wisdom of some after tricking them in their great pride, creating humans. Its power increasing with the chaos and malice spread by these humans, it touched all nature, spreading disease, hunger for flesh, and death. Through the various tricks it played on the humans, it created six new races, dwarves from mans stubborness, halflings from mans wild children, knolls and orcs from his vileness, carnal compulsion, and malice, as well as the odissa, which it further split into the mysteene, and finally it created the centaur, for man’s want to return to elven harmony. Following this, the being disappeared, although some believe that it simply lives in all of us now, seeking to undulge in lust and chaos in our darkest hours for all eternity. Fenwald Gontwain of Dalekeeva The Gloves of Raqnor Posted by Tamlyn A long time ago, there lived an evil, young man by the name of Raqnor. He was obsesed with the Mysteene and wanted to perform a ritual on one of them. He tried to reason with them and coax one of them away but all he recieved was rejection. He then attempted to enslave one of them but the Mysteene found out that one of their own kind was held captive, they rescued him before Raqnor could perform his ritual. During that rescue, Raqnor was mortally wounded. Believed dead, the Mysteene left and never returned. The battle left Raqnor insane. Shortly after the battle, a kindly old man found him and nursed him back to health. Raqnor told the old man he was attacked by wolves. During the time Raqnor was recovering, he discovered the stranger was a wizard. In Raqnor's insane mind, a plan was forming. He begged the old man to teach him the ways of magic. Though the stranger refused at first, time soon broke his resolve. Years went by and Raqnor learned with astonishing speed. Whether it was a keen mind or the insane desire to learn, he soon felt he was ready to fulfill his plan. Early one morning, while the stranger was gathering wood, Raqnor poisoned his teacher's breakfast. When his mentor felt the poison coursing through his veins, he looked up to his student and realized his death was coming. Raqnor smiled and watched his mentor's life fade away. While Raqnor waited until the appointed time of the ritual, his mind drifted back to the time he recieved his spell of Necromancy from the Lord God Malladorian. Raqnor recieved the spell only after he gave his word that he would join the Mysteene and gain control of them. What Malladorian wanted of them was forbidden to him and he would be told when the time was right and in Raqnor's mind, that suited his plans just fine. At the midnight hour, he placed the body on the table and started the ritual. He gathered all the power into the stranger's hands and then removed them. Discarding the useless husk, Raqnor finished his ritual on the hands. After everything was completed, Raqnor held the magical gloves in his hands and an evil glint reflected in his eyes. You see, the stranger was a Mysteene and Raqnor held the gloves that would allow him to appear as a Mysteene and granted the wearer all the racial powers of one. What happened after is unknown. To this day, no one knows where the gloves are or if they really existed. The Everfull Flask Posted by Trevor Salyzyn Once, in a time long ago, there was an adventurer by the name of Smerna who was said to have sailed across the sea which was named after him, all the way to the great desertland of Qualida. It is said that he tried to cross the desert, but, after many days, he found himself weak, hungry, and out of water. It is also said that he stumbled upon a hut that was empty of everything except for a single flask of water. He drunk from it, and after a few sips, his hunger and thirst were gone, and the flask was still full. It is said that he rubbed it on his sunburn, and that vanished, and, after rubbing it on his eyes, he was no longer tired. He took the flask, and whenever he grew tired or thirsty, he drank from it. After he became the first to cross that desert, he went north and travelled the lands of Chi'Lore, using the flask to rub away any ailment that he had. He went to the tip of the world, and then he went back to the desert of Qualida so that he could travel it once again, to be the first to not only travel it once, but twice. But, the stories have it told, that now that he used it for selfish purposes, the flask failed him, and he was stranded in the middle of Qualida with an empty flask. He tried to cross the desert, but he failed, and the flask is still said to be on his remains, now filled for the next person to use for unselfish reasons. The Fall of Gershnak, Doraniter, and Mordregga Posted by Vacithius Once, long ago, two opposing nations battled for generation upon generation with the goal of dominating one another completely, but their armies were equal in size and might and little ground was gained on either side. These two nations had succeeded in conquering all other nations on the continent of Parmakia except for one another. Now they battled to lay claim to the entire continent for themselves, were as before they had been allies. One of the nations left torn apart in the wake of their distruction was Mordregga, then a relatively peaceful nation ruled by a good king. After the siege of Gershank and Doraniter though, the capital was sacked, the king slain, and its army crippled beyond repair. The king's son however, Prince Tarian, had managed to escape unharmed. Like many shattered nations of the time, left to recuperate as best they could while the rivalry of Gershank and Doraniter persisted and the ruler of the conquered lands remained disputed, Tarian returned home to his shattered home and had the capital walls hastily rebuilt and tried to reorganize a new army, hoping to resist the southward march (both nations occupied the western most peninsula of Parmakia, were the battle now also raged) of the victor of that great rivalry, whose outcome hanged like a dark cloud over all the lands of Parmakia. Finally the battle was decided, and Doraniter marched south to take possession of Mordregga and the lands beyond. The army of Doraniter, upon approaching the capital city, found the gates closed and a puny army before them. Weakened as they were by the terrible war with Gershnak, Doraniter's army was more than a match for the small and inexperienced army of Mordregga, which it quickly squashed. Tarian, seeing all hope of resistance lost, and mourning the death of his beloved father, cried out to the heavens, "Give me strength ye gods, so that I might have revenge on my enemies!" All the gods saw fit not to interfere but one, Malladorian, Who responded, "Revenge will be yours Tarian, but I do not offer my assistance freely and you must pay my price." Tarian replied, "Anything my lord, but let it be done now." In response, the walls of the city crumbled and Tarian thought himself betrayed, until among the rubble, he saw men of stone arise. In triumph he watched the stone men march forth and smash the skulls of his enemies between their black m rble fists. In the end, not one man remained standing and the gods alone looked down in horror at what had been done, wondering at the daring power of their brother and were hesitant to act against him, not knowing the extent of his power. Standing atop the final gate of the city, the only one not to have fallen (and it is preserved still today), Tarian's throat barely contained a cry of anguish as he paid the price Malladorian required, eyes filled with tears at the realization of the loss of his father's kingdom and his soul. Resigned to his fate and honoring his oath to the end, Tarian became the first priest-king of Mordregga. He watched as the army of stone men rebuilt the walls of Mordregga and arranged themselves atop its circumference poised to gaze enternally toward the center of the city, were the king's palace lay, as yet undamaged by all the wars Gershank and Doraniter had waged. Malladorian left him to rule in his name, proclaiming that all future priest-kings would uphold his will or an army of stone would exact retrobution, completing what Doraniter had begun. Thus was the enscription carved into that infamous gate of Mordregga in an ancient language th t only the arcane may speak, "By the will of Malladorian you live, or as Doraniter, die." Mordregga went on to claim the lands of Gershank and Doraniter, and many priest-kings since, it is still guided by the will of Malladorian. The Great Sage Posted by M. Vil Ancient Elven legends speak of the wisest sage of the
forests. The sage would know the names of all the
creatures in the forests, the ages of all the trees, the
scars of all of man's attacks, the blessings of all the
elven care, all the power of nature, all the knowledge of
the forest... It is said that the tree knows the answer to all questions. At this, elven children gasp, and inquire where it is now. The storytellers always answer: "Somewhere, in the forest, the sage lives on, with all the knowledge in the world..." |