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Netheril : Age of Magic

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Author Topic: Submissions and Contribution Provided to the Library of Vastiir  (Read 13304 times)

Shantis

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*Aquaria delivers a parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*

"Librarian, here's a copy of one of the search results I've done before. I hope this contribution is appropriate to your respectful library.

- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler
Legend of the 5 Swords
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In ancient times, there was the legend of a powerful arcanum, which the name has already been forgotten. He possessed the gift of forging mystic relics of great power. And for a short time, he dominated a remote region that has now disappeared in time. At the peak of his power, with several servants and followers, he decided that he should expand his power to new lands, dominating everything that surrounded his domains.

For that, for five years, he forged and enchanted five different blades. One for the mind, another for the body, another for the soul, another for life and finally the last, for death.

To his faithful counselor, he devoted the blade of the mind, able to expand his intelligence and wisdom to limits as great as his master.

To his general, he gave the blade of the mind, able to leave it as fast as the wind, as strong as a giant, as healthy and sturdy as a dragon.

To his faithful priest, of whom he preached faith as his leader as a god, he allowed him to have the blade of life, capable of curing any disease, of regaining any injury, of curing any injury. And capable of devastation with one blow only the most dangerous of the undead.

For his spy and killer, he was presented with the blade of death. Portal in various forms, with various types of infinite poisons, capable of corrupting and devastating the lives of those who were injured. Draining to the end his life force, and also able to strengthen the undead.

For his right arm, his chief and faithful commander, he gave up the sword of souls, capable of commanding and invoking any kind of spirit, whether good, evil, nature, hell or other plans.
 
Over the years, each faithful follower has conquered his own lands, built up his own kingdom, paid respect and idolized his master as god. Their kingdoms and domains were different in many ways. Some cruel, others prosperous. But each with his own quality, reflecting the wishes of his master.

But the commander who had the blade of souls listened attentively to the spirits of other planes, from which he became greedy and tempted to take everything for himself. In secret, he attacked his master, defeating him and taking his place as the leader... Thus unleashing a dispute between all five possessors of the blades. One trying to destroy the other, for personal, moral or unknown reasons.

While each of them fought each other, the master, who had even been defeated, had retired pretending his death decided to return, defeating each of his followers personally, considering them traitors. Their lifeless bodies were sealed, with the blades of which they represented their loyalty, deposited in the tomb from which they were forgotten. After having defeated all, and sealed each blade in a different part, the master retired, leaving behind the debris of his lost kingdom, along with the survivors of his great lost empire. His name was forgotten, along with those who served him and idolized him.


« Last Edit: August 01, 2020, 01:27:04 am by Rainman »

Shantis

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Re: Contribution sent to the library of Vastiir
« Reply #1 on: June 03, 2018, 12:13:58 am »
*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*

"Librarian, here's a copy of one of the search results I've done before, this time, about Dwarfs and Moradin. I hope this contribution is appropriate to your respectful library.

- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler
The Moradin's Coin
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Before and in some part in the silver age, when agreements between noble houses and humans were practically impossible, there was record that the few humans who were respected by the dwarves were given gold coins, personally forged by the high priest of Moradin in person. This coin, crafted individually using gold, was known for its rare and intense beauty. Its fine and complex detailing, making the most unsuspecting enchanted with such elaborate beauty, and the most greedy, lost in dreams as they gaze at the coin before their eyes.

This coin was coined only by the high priest, given as the highest honor for the faithful followers of the moral values of Moradin and the dwarven clan of which the high priest represented. These coins represented what was most important and pure for a dwarf, which would be his love of work, his honor and morals forged and carved over the years and all the honor that a family or even a whole clan has won in the name of Moradin for a whole generation of dwarves. Yes, these coins were extremely rare, and for a dwarf would have no greater honor than to meet one of them personally.

When a leader of his clan needed to reward a person of a human race, bronze or copper copies of this coin were given as a symbol of friendship and that the individual was trustworthy of this clan. The name of the human and his family were forged on one side of the coin in human language, while on the other was inscribed in dwarven language the name of the clan that generously, in an act of recognition, provided the coin in the form of gratitude ... that human almost a representative of a group of humans of a region to solve pending and conflicts with the dwarves of that clan, when they arose.

The elves received similar coins, made of silver. Unlike human use, silver coins were used to seal deals and deals between dwarfs and elves on rare occasions. The word of a dwarf was law, but the silver coin served as a physical representation of this agreement, being respectfully returned when the elves could no longer keep their agreement, or for any important reason, broke the agreement.

Wooden coins are also used to represent a sign of good faith in agreements with other races, but the are very rare because many dwarves consider the use of wood models as a subtle way of saying that person do not trust the human enough to trust only in the word directly, and that this is not worth the trouble of mining the metal to produce a coin that would dignify the human in front of other dwarves.

« Last Edit: June 03, 2018, 05:08:42 am by Shantis »

Rainman

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Re: Contribution sent to the library of Vastiir
« Reply #2 on: June 03, 2018, 01:04:38 am »
I shall look over your submissions and we can speak. I may have questions.

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Shantis

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Re: Contribution sent to the library of Vastiir
« Reply #3 on: June 03, 2018, 02:06:21 am »
*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*

"Librarian, here's another copy of one of the search results I've done before, this time, another tale about Dwarfs and Moradin. I hope this contribution is appropriate to your respectful library. I am researching in your library often. I'll be looking for you soon.

- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler
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Silver Mountain Dragon Shield and Sword
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There was an ancient gigantic mountain in middle of the snowlands, which in the dwarven language was called the "mountain of silver," for in its tunnels were so abundant and pure veins of silver ore that were the pride of the Silverhammer clan. The silverhammer clan was known to be the most skilled at working with silver. Their jewels were incredible, while the silver-worked weapons were so powerful that any mystical creature would easily fall at the slightest touch if any priest of Moradin blessed any weapon of the Silverhammer clan.

But as prosperous as the clan was, one day one of the dwarves discovered in one of the tunnels a large hall, home of white dragon. The whole clan was in a rush. A dragon sleeping in the heart of the mountain, in the middle of a great hall, full of the most gigantic rocks, made of pure silver, the size of houses. Human houses! And though not as cruel as blacks, or ferocious as blacks, white dragons were known for their instinct, killing first, then eating, and asking only in the last, remote case.

The clan leader of the Silverhammermet with the best members of his clan in the same night. The most mystical arcanes, the bravest barbarians, the strongest fighters, the most intelligent wizards, to decide to kill the dragon while sleeping. Only the wisest high priest of Moradin refused, warning that before all should prepare better, because that type of combat, without preparation, would be mortal for the clan, bringind shame to everyone.

The whole clan should prepare for the war against the dragon, not only the best ones go and venture without preparation, to fight the same night they found the dragon. He suggested that everyone should prepare their best weapons and tactics to actually beat the dragon. Because of his sleep, the dragon could be attacked after all the preparations are done, and faced in a dignified manner, like a true war against a dragon showing the value of the whole clan, and not half coward, while the creature slept. Despite being questioned about this, the high priest did not refuse to bless everyone's weapons before the fative fight.

During the fight, all the best were against the dragon. But all the weapons, even blessed ones, did not cause any wound to the beast, who slept ignoring all the dwarves. The weapons were broken or bent as if they were made of second-hand material, or produced by incompetent craftsmen. The clan leader himself broke his hammer until he was exhausted, hammering the muzzle of the white dragon, who solemnly ignored him in his deep sleep.

After five days and five nights without rest, in a ridiculous fight, where no dwarf could even hurt or wake the dragon, they all retired exhausted from the great hall. The leader's son, upon returning, looked at a mace-sized silver stone, thinking that it would not hurt to start mining the place, even with the sleeping dragon. As he bent to pick up the silver nugget, the high priest slapped the helmet so hard, it fell to the floor. All the dwarves stopped to watch the scene, listening to the sound of the helmet echoing through every room.

The cleric's voice was filled with hatred and frustration. His voice echoed so loudly that it made the dwarven's heart stop from shame and fear.

"We have failed to expel the creature for lack of preparation and strategy, acting like kids and not deserving to be called warriors. Now, do you want to tarnish the little that remains of our clan honor, stealing the silver, without having conquered the mountain in the name of our clan and Moradin? And you, and ALL OF YOU only come back here when you can look into my eyes directly as dwarf and warrior, and not as cursed human thieves! Now, what do we have left? Our skills only, and that's all we have left of honor as forging craftsman!!"

All the dwarves turned pale with his sermon, and they become shocked, seeing the dragon lift his head majestically, looking at all dwarfs in a cold silence.

The priest turned slowly, looking at the dragon directly in the eyes, already taking his hammer, holding it with both hands, prepared to die.

"Show me..." The white dragon speaks, his voice echoing through every room like thunder, while his icy breath causes the air to begin to snow softly for a few moments

The high priest looks surprised at the white dragon. Most people say that they are wild and extremely instinctive creatures. But that one looked at him with a look of cold, calculated hatred. And more, asked something...

"Show...?"

"I am the spirit of this mountain, sent by Moradin to test your clan. Your clan only works in silver, forgetting the other metals in the whole region. They stopped sculpturing the rock, in honor of your ancestors and your heroes... Because no one become a hero in your clan! Moradin gave to your ancestors the right to use the purest silver, but your clan were slow, unable to expose your work as craftsmen in other materials and to conquer new jewels, new metals, and to expel your enemies.

Now, after failed, show me. Your skills, as craftman, priest. Your clan does not deserve this second chance, and I would kill them all when the boy stole the silver nugget. But being the only one who questioned the good of his clan and his own honor, I give him the right to try to impress me."

The high priest listened to the words of the spirit of the mountain slowly, carefully absorbing every sound, feeling every word of shame burn in his soul. He knew that it was his fault, too, for not guiding his clan with more wisdom under the teachings of Moradin propely. He let the greed for silver overshadow the other abilities of his clan. The prestige for the purest silver was illusory if he could not prove to all that the clan was not limited to silver.

He turned, looking directly at the other dwarves, sending one of them to bring the forge and the anvil up there to set before the spirit of the mountain. He ordered one to look for a mandeira, the other to mine iron, and another to get fresh leather. His voice chanted unmistakable fury, motivated by pride and shame, to have his own honor stained and his clan in front of the spirit of the montain and Moradin. The dwarves moved like the wind, faster than their legs allowed.

In a few hours, all the materials were in front of the spirit of the mountain, as well as work bench and everything that could be used. When all was assembled, the priest began to work feverishly, singing songs of battle to calm his mind and heart, while his hands worked in the most perfect precision, never expected. The wood practically molded itself before his fingers, while the most impure iron almost shone like the purest silver, after being melted, purified and polished.

Without rest, the high priest continued his work, delivered to prayers and songs of battle without stopping his work. When the fatigue came strong and his voice weakened, he heard the other members of his clan encouraging, singing along with him, motivating.

In the end, a large wooden shield was produced using iron and black wood, adorned with details made of iron with a white dragon representing the spirit of the mountain, which held behind its wings a long sword. The blade was written in dwarf "No matter weapon, no matter the material. My work is the honor of my clan."

The spirit of the mountain smiled in approval, disappearing slowly, leaving a gigantic rock of silver, of the size of an adult dragon. The high priest, exhausted, fainted after so much effort.

Decades later, each gigantic rock of silver was carved or forged in honor of Moradin. And then these statues were exchanged with other clans for iron and other materials, so that the clan would improve itself in the production and creation of new techniques. The Priest and all who came after him carry a version of the shield and sword itself, made of black wood and iron.

The location of the mountain is known only by the dwarfs. But when a dwarf craftsman comes, carrying a black wooden shield and iron blade, any other craftsman of other clans stay in silent, to hear his lessons concerning the making and making of objets, weapons, or armor, or to hear his wisdom and words at respect of Moradin.

Shantis

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Re: Contribution sent to the library of Vastiir
« Reply #4 on: June 04, 2018, 08:17:03 am »
*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*

"Librarian, due to my line of work and research, I have not been able to find you in person yet. I hope you do not mind, here's another contribution to your library. I will continue with my personal searches in your library, and as fair payment, as far as possible, continue with my small contributions..

- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler
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Golden Lion Helm.
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There was the story of an adventurer named Leonardo, distinguished and coming from a family of warriors in an important region during the silver age. His father was known to be the champion of the kingdom, and his grandfather, the leader of a group of knight, protecting the regent directly while he was alive. Leoarndo was a rare type of warrior. He was left-handed, always using the sword in his left hand, and the shield on the right. This allowed him to develop a unique combat ability, distinct in his execution, and deadly in use.

Wanting to take a different path from his father and grandfather, Leonardo decided to anonymously join the arena fights in a famous coliseum in the capital. In order not to be easily recognized by anyone, he had a gold helmet shaped like a lion head, with a showy mane and as red as his red hair. His family and close friends knew how he fought, they decided to keep it safe, until the young gladiator developed a well-deserved fame for himself.

For months that followed, Leonardo began to win fights against all kinds of opponents. He began by fighting off thieves and criminals, applying the death penalty with his long sword. Then he faced off with monsters and creatures of the most incredible types and shapes hunters could capture alive. Every Sunday, the "Golden Lion" fights were what motivated the people to leave the house, to see the hero of the arena toasting everyone with incredible and exciting combat.

However, wishing to increase his profits, the nobleman who owned the Arena, decided to start a tournament, where the best of the arenas of the known world should go to the capital, and fight before all. Leonardo was excited because it was the challenge he wanted. Creatures were incredible and the audience applauded him, but he went on to fight more in an interpretive way than with his skill, holding the show. Whether pretending to lose the sword, or having the shield broken, his "mistakes" only known by the staff members of the arena raised the stakes and excited the audience. Against real opponents, other gladiators, that would be unique to him.

The fights during the tournament were vivid and unique in their own right. First was the half-orc barbarian called the mountain-breaker, with his gigantic hammer, able to make the whole arena tremble with its powerful blows. The second opponent was faster, an young monk gnome named Gimthi the windy, small, tricky and swift, capable of jumping as fast and agile as a flea, and punching as hard as an ogre. The third opponent of the tournament was an half-elven sorcerer fighter named Dramei, who knew martial arts. His left arm was skeletal. He was not as nimble as the gnome, but his movements were fantastic, as he mixed spells of illusion and arcane tricks in his movements, such as the slippery floor, the snap of fingers that sounded like a banshee cry and even the touch of death of his skeletal hand.

Each one of his fights became legendary in itself, but the last championship, among many, was the most decisive. He had to fight an Amazon. His sister. In his family, Leonardo had a younger sister named Samantha. He learned the same fighting styles as he did, and following in the footsteps of his brother, decided to start his life as a gladiator on the other side of the continent, in another arena. She was as popular as her brother, besides having a rare beauty. They both knew who the other was, but Leonardo was already well-known as the possible heir to the noble house of his family. Her sister, however, had no privilege, struggling in the arena to create a name for herself and not to be overshadowed by any nobleman who was forced to marry

The fight between the brothers, in the final of the tournament happened at noon, with the sun on top of the sky, strong and bright. His brother's style did not bring him more advantages, since his sister had trained with him since she was little. He was stronger, she was more agile. He knew how to use shield and sword, and she, a kind of spear with a semi-curved blade at the end, giving it a great range of attack...

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The brother's lion's helmet was his own, for it gave a feline agility and a leonine force to him. Already, the sister's weapon, a kind of naginata, was so fast and her movements made sparkles drop dramatically. The combat was impressive, for they were two unique types of combat, each with its own merit, strengths and weaknesses. Her electric speed, against his unique fighting style, which broke the standards of normal gladiators and warriors. But the fight ended unexpectedly when her sister struck at his helm, his blade held in the jaws of a lion that were adorning his brother's helmet. This was a unique helmet maneuver, designed only for that, but that interrupted the flow of combat unexpectedly. The sister stopped, respecting her brother's secret, refusing to pull the naginata back, tearing off the helmet and exposing her brother. Leonardo gave up the fight, refusing to win to keep his secret. Leonardo dropped his sword and shield, indicating that he had given up, to everyone's surprise. The brothers retired from the arena after that, and were never seen in any arena again, like gladiators.

A year later, Leonardo assumed the rank of knight on merit in a remote and distant region. And  Samantha went on to become adventurous with groups, hunting creatures and monsters. The helm and the naginata are still stored somewhere in the family mansion, with the helmet with their fangs pressed into the lamina of the naginata, and no one has been able to separate them until today.
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« Last Edit: June 04, 2018, 08:28:21 am by Shantis »

Shantis

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Re: Contribution sent to the library of Vastiir
« Reply #5 on: June 05, 2018, 05:49:25 am »
*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*

"Probably this ancient story may upset some people of the Arcane Guild and their old way of seeing the world and how it is shaped. I advise to leave in your records for future research for someone who has an interest in this subject.

- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Spoiler
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Strrambarek's theorem
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At one point in the past, at the beginning of the silver age, there was a single, exentric arcane named Julius Strrambarek. Son of a blacksmith and nephew of a carpenter, he worked hard for years, trying to learn to read and write while producing his objects from days to days as carpenter, tinker and blacksmith apprentice. But in the little town that lived there existed an arcane tower in the limits of the region, of which an old arrogant arrogant and his pupils, children of nobles of several different regions, often made their commands and desmandos by all region, without fearing a trial of the authorities.

At 14, Julius already knew how to prepare almost everything in wood and metal, thanks to his great intelligence and manual ability. But he and all the young men of the region lived under sneak attacks of magical relatives and victims of irresponsible spells, in the constant provocation of the six pupils of the old mage named Maeir. Master Maeir have a good prestige and acted wisely and fair with the people of the village. But the pupils always threatened the residents, saying that if they were denounced, all the money they spent in the village would go to the other, from which they would move without a second thought. The money weighed heavily on those who lived only on agriculture and wool.

Julius discovered something unexpected in one of his days, arranging to the furniture of the local tavern... Every Friday, the group of wizard-apprentices brats visited the local tavern, to drink and make fun as never before, spending heavy bags of money and destroying everything. Money paid for everything, and silenced people. Thinking that it was time to do something about it, he decided to wait until next Friday ... And when the brats (same of Julio's age) decided to drink and party until he fell, he would steal one of the pivotal grimoires, to see the despair of them, compensating for all the chaos and mess they caused in the region every weekend.

Said and done, when one of the elders was busy drinking and flirting with one of the girls in the tavern, Julius took the distraction to take the apprentice's purse. Nothing important, other than a book about constructs and the grimoire. The grimoire was ridiculously simple, with 3 sheets outlined, and nothing more ... Then Julius left the library in a barrel full of trash, taking the book to read hidden in the workshop of his father, the local blacksmith.

Julius was happy to see so many diagrams, design drawings, and references that opened his imagination. There were things he did not understand, but he understood metal and wood. Gears and wires ... Then he proceeded to produce the design of a kind of mechanical arm, following the instructions of the book. The first model was full of flaws, but after a few days, he created a second model more improved, able to move the elbow. The fourth was able to turn the wrist, and the ninth model had the movements of opening and closing the fingers. All the movements were by strings and wires, and where there are strange marks and texts, Julius covered the fault or lack of information with simple and practical solutions.

For the next two months, Julius worked hard, mining iron, and picking good timber carefully, always working his hours off. The arcana pivetes did not appear any more, perhaps punished by the loss of the book. Julius did not pay much attention, for his work flowed and developed rapidly, leaving him proud of himself and his skill, but afraid that that knowledge might never have been shown. Julius went on to hide the materials and the result of his development in an abandoned mine, far from everything and everyone.

Over the next 5 years, Julius went on to do something that many arcane fail: Develop your own version and unique skills in arcane knowledge. His knowledge of the production and manufacture of wood and metal objects, including weapons, armor and shields served as the basis of knowledge. And in those five years, Julius began to develop his own arcane knowledge without realizing it, being able to generate magical energy capable of activating and moving parts of his creations.

In his first year working in that mine, he was able to build a construct armor, capable of ridiculously alone, slow and extremely noisy, but which protected its creator as if it were an exo-skeleton, protecting it from the elements and giving strength and resistance much higher than normal. In the third year of his solitary studies, Julius had developed a second complete version of his armor construct, called "Iron", as this was the main element he used as a raw material. "Iron" was as strong as a giant when used, but slow. Julius made a sword and shield, and when night was out to hunt, no wild creature was a match for him. He was always in a gray and gloomy fog, the effect of the strange runes he had reprinted from the book. His footsteps became more real, less massive, after Julius learned by trial and error every kind of rune in the book.

But, the few who rarely saw him from a distance, thought they were a new monster. Master Maeir was attentive, but neither his students nor he himself had found any trace or clue, discarding, as if it were a local rumor.

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When he turned 22, Julius had a version that he considered perfect of his armor. And he decided it was time to get what he thought was right... Respect!

Julius walked resolutely to the front of the arcane tower, wearing a cloak that covered his body and helmet with his visor open. He stops some distance from the entrance, and respectfully claps his hands, making the sound of his metal gloves echo as loud as bells, making everyone in the area hear hum.

"I am Julius Strrambarek, son of Marcus and Marion Strrambarek. I request a formal meeting, under the most civilited and respectable terms allowed to all, to meet the master of this tower, Master Maeir!"

Julius had read too many books during his childhood thanks to his priestly mother. He decided to present himself in a not very pompous, yet respectable and direct manner, determining a knightly way to deal with the situation. But pupils of the arcane master soon recognized the name. "Son of a dirty blacksmith, now comes with all pompous knighthood? How ridiculous!" One shouted. The other, from the top of the tower window, threw a bowl of water, which narrowly missed Julius. And the third one, opened the door, leaving with a staff and an angry look. "Here we only deal with real mages, or officials of the empire, or nobles. You are no one to want our attention, or even worthy to meet our master!"

As soon as the young man left the entrance of the tower, he began to fire, without warning, a rain of mystical spheres, which flew like comets. Julius lowered his face quickly, making the visor of his helmet go down, shielding his face. In a gesture, he raises his left arm, pulling from beneath his old cloak and patched a beautiful polished iron shield whose edges glowed with a sequence of runes that none of the pupils knew. The shield received a two, four, six magical beads and reflected them, making the boy fall unconscious on the floor, size shock of the impact.

The second pupil left the tower, grunting as it turned into a gigantic troll, already moving to take a right punch. Julius already had real combat experience, and he knew the strength of a real troll, and especially his. With his right hand he grabs the troll kid's wrist, breaking in two. The pain of the arm being crushed by Julius's metal glove made the boy fall to the floor, sitting in his human form, pale and frightened.

The other four pupils decided to take Julius aside, since the defense of the arcane tower was part of his training and responsibility. They invoked a strange horrid being reading a parchment stolen from their master, spawning a demonic and vampiric creature reflecting their hearts and minds distorted by power. The first brought the creature, while the second invoked a protective shield in his black clothes ... And the third, a black mystic lamina, while the fourth was to protect the creature with a porous rocky skin. Julius saw the four pupils doing their spells carefully. He recognized some of the symbols and words, but many were unknown. Respectfully he waited for the preparations to be ready. After long and ridiculous moments, where 4 arcane worked feverishly to protect their creature from the night (invoked in the midday sun), they finally gave the order of attack.

As the horrid vampire creature began to move, sword in hand, Julius knew it was serious now. The movements were skies and dangerous, the look thirsty for blood was not a lie. And the enchanted blade was a real problem. For long minutes, Julius dodged and blocked the attacks using his shield, while saying one, dua and finally the third time "I come here to speak in a civilized and respectful way with your master."

Visibly annoyed, Julius moves his right hand, easily decapturing the horrible creature, making his body fall and fall like a sack of potatoes. The four of them fled into the forest, screaming in fear as they watched the scene as Julius walked toward the entrance, wiping the blade from his sword with a piece of old cloth in his pocket. Blood does horrible damage to metal...

The master, who saw everything through the window descends patiently, meeting with Julius at the door. With a glance, he notices that the entire armor, elaborately crafted with gears and runes, had a powerful, though rustic, mystical aura. The shield had runes that the master had not recognized, making himself wonder what they were.

Julius humbly took from his belt the manual about constructs that he stole years ago, very carefully, returning to the hands of the master, who upon seeing the cover of the book, surprised stayed, already understanding what happened.

"Did you do all this yourself?" Speaks the master, looking at the armor, fascinated by the way Julius created a construct in the form of armor, to protect him.
"Yes, I did."
"Starting tomorrow, you will study with us. I do not take no for an answer. And you will have my permission to teach everything you know to me. And you can also train and learn about our magic style to improve and develop your unique style and knowledge."

Julius became the first constructmancer, a rare thug of arcane, who instead of invoking spells, built them physically. He made each year new armor made of construct, which were servants and protected his masters becoming armor with weapon and shields, or any kind of weaponry that Julius could dream of. Julius developed several wonders, such as mechanical animals, flying books and even at the end of his life, came to create servants who were almost real in terms of expression and thoughts like that of humans.

Julius left several disciples in constructmancy, all of them people of humble origin. His creations are rare and unknown, because other arcana feared that the magical machines of Julius and his followers would dominate the world, changing the magic as it was accepted and taught in the old days. Now the histories of his creations and creators were almost erased in the limbo of time, just waiting for a new generation to continue to expand his arcane knowledge of construct constructs.

The "Strrambarek's theorem" it was an old formula, which Master Maeir thought ... That the most creative mind is capable of molding magic with you own hands, finding means to make real. Once the rules of magic and the process were formed, this person who created them could pass on to everyone who did not have in their minds about the rules already formulated in their minds before other master. Maeir believed that Julius used the knowledge he took from the book to shape his own magic, constructing his constructs in the form of pieces of armor. Julius had a natural gift for manipulating the arcane forces with his own hands, producing anything his imagination created.
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« Last Edit: June 05, 2018, 05:51:49 am by Shantis »

Rainman

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Re: Contribution sent to the library of Vastiir
« Reply #6 on: June 05, 2018, 07:03:49 am »
I have enjoyed your stories over a cup of tea, while watching the fish in the tank.

Quite peaceful I must say.

You will need to come to the Valstiir Library and we can speak over some tea .. yes?

The Librarian
Build it and they will come.

Shantis

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Re: Contribution sent to the library of Vastiir
« Reply #7 on: June 06, 2018, 01:20:32 am »
*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*

"I appreciate the invitation. As soon as I am available, I will visit the library to continue my research on legends, relics, and lost stories. To bestow it with another moment of peace, here is another story, on another parchment.

- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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The Garden of the sisters
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The age has already been forgotten, and the names and places do not matter so much now. But formerly, in ancient times, there was a strange and unique sisterhood, possessing only women. All of them were orphans, widows, or victims of wars. No matter his race, origin or whether he was noble or poor. They were just women. Sisters of suffering, silently watching the world crack and collapse part by part.

Gods had bigger plans for their champions, but none for their victims. Whether they are pale as ghosts, skeletal because of hunger, or bathed in blood, trying to survive a world that even the goddesses themselves can not protect, every woman has become a link of a long chain of sadness or pain, trying to believe that every life matters , and that each victim could be saved.

Turning their backs on any kind of god, be it good or bad, loyal or chaotic, pure or corrupting, they decide to follow their own steps, without lowering their heads, acting in silence, listening to the cries of those who have been, protecting those who need to be protected, healing and walking in different directions, with no destination, just surviving.

They do not have symbols, names or titles, they are just "sisters" among them. They were not noble or possessed, for all they knew and could do was to go forward, trying not to repeat the mistakes of their own past and their sisters... In different places of the world, each group of sisters built themselves a great labyrinth, without traps and monsters, only the frigid sad wind whispering like a faint wail. In its confused and long tunnels, it was possible to see rock plates, carved in detail images of each sister's life, from where she came and from where she followed, until the day of her death. There were no runes or words, only images, leaving for each sister or visitor the difficult task of interpreting everything they saw and heard within that labyrinth.

When walking, gradually it would be possible, in the lower levels of the long maze, several pots, with strange roses without spines, of different colors. Some are pink, some red, some yellow, and even white or blue. The flowers grew in total absence of light or water, taking decades to grow, only fed by the wetness and dust of the gentle wind brought from small entrances at the top of the labyrinth.

The sisters abandoned any mortal faith, whether by gods, entities, or persons. They had faith in themselves and their sisters. Her hands healed, in exchange for the life force of their own lives. They could revive anyone with a simple touch, or regenerate limbs and body parts, purifying in a fantastic and miraculous way.

The only ones allowed to be treated by type of blessing were the sisters' friends, relatives, and husbands. They calculated the value of a person, making a cold, but exact mental calculation of how many days they would have to lose of their own life to heal someone or to revive. Children and mothers were never charged while men were devalued. Good people paid symbolic prices while cruel and greedy had a high price. It was not origin or race, but what each person was in the eyes of one of the sisters. To those who revived, they respectfully demanded that at the death of the final death, that their bodies should be delivered to them, in order to return the other sisters to the life they lost by saving other lives. Whoever accepted, had the respect of a sister. Those who refused were never healed or treated by them again. But an unique trait, each time an sister heal or help someone with her powers, she ages temporarily, like an old exhausted and weak.

The bodies were cremated, for the ashes to feed the special roses of the sisters, whose petals possessed the gift of reviving even gods. And these petals were prepared, with a special recipe that only a sister knew ... A strange green elixir, that when being shed a drop in the tongue, healed completely or revived a person. If a disease affected a region, it was possible to see a sister discreetly emptying a bottle of elixir in a river or lake, gradually returning to life the nature of the region.

But among the strange mysteries and stories involved all the sisters, they were recognized only as one recited a song, of which upon being heard by another female voice, her eyes gleamed silver, while her heart pulsed in a green light , revealing that the elixir bottle resided magically in her body. The song was actually a sad and distant song, only sung by them when a sister died trying to save lives, or when they wanted to pay homage to another woman. The song is distant and almost forgotten, and today, when recited, rarely people can remember.

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« Last Edit: June 06, 2018, 03:27:52 am by Shantis »

Shantis

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Re: Contribution sent to the library of Vastiir
« Reply #8 on: June 06, 2018, 05:23:55 am »
*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*

"Sorry for not visiting the library yet. I'm in the middle of an important field research process, looking to discover details of a mysterious locked door of stone, in a unique place, probably ancestral in some way. As an apology, one more story for you. In part, a brief and unique legend about gods.

- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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The anvil of Souls
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There is an ancient legend, a larger entity, larger than all races, larger than all the gods together, decided for reasons that only he knows, decided to create the whole universe. First he created himself, expanding his consciousness in all directions, for instants later, to create his own hands and body, to be able to shape reality to have the consistency of realized dreams, and the physical sensation so that everyone knows not it's just a dream. By clapping, he created all the elements we know and others we will still learn. And in separating them, he created for himself the anvil of souls.

In order for his creation to be perfect as he or she, so infinite of possibilities and variations, each with a small trace of his infinite creation, he had to create the anvil, so that with each hammer that gave, reality took form, generating life, which would generate more lives and by itself, more new infinite life forms. With his willpower as a hammer, and his body as a cosmic force to create everything, the creator began to work, using the anvil, forging the reality we all live. The sparks of this forge have shaped lands, seas, and all living things. Everyone who has soul who saw creation, with their own lives watching the creator forge life in his infinite work, have become gods. And they started to sing a song that echoes for all eternity...
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At the birth of time, the beginning of beginnings
One cosmic soul was created
A bringer of life, a universal creator
Born to smith his life in the all races

Like a spark of a hammer hitting, it spreads in all directions
Creating life among the skies
I'm struck with awe as I join the great smith
Now it takes flight to the brightest star of all

On a quest for life, through the sable skies
What a show! behold!
The anvil of a million souls

On a bold crusade, in the realm of shade
What a show! behold!
The anvil of a million souls

Through the glowing mist, like a fog of the creation
I can see the forming of new lands, new races
I've been struck by thunder as I witness all the splendor
And I realize how small we really are

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On a quest for life, through the sable skies
What a show! behold!
The anvil of a million souls

On a bold crusade, in the realm of shade
What a show! behold!
The anvil of a million souls

Ooh, I can see forever
On the wings of dreams I fly
Is this real or is it just a fantasy?
What awaits me now at the end of this ride?

On a quest for life, through the sable skies
What a show! behold!
The anvil of a million souls

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The creator continues to forge the whole life of the universe, all forms, be they plants, animals or even people. When the common life cease to live, their souls return to their gods, the Creator's earliest creations... To be created by their gods again and again, and if they are sublime enough, they ascend to become new gods, to watch the cosmic spectacle of creation by some eternities, and thus to return, to guide the new creations of the creator to watch the creator and the anvil of souls...


Shantis

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Re: Contribution sent to the library of Vastiir
« Reply #9 on: June 07, 2018, 04:55:03 am »
*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*

"This time, a brief story about an old song about the druids in a florest. Hardly we will find a druid to confirm the story or song, but certainly has some truth behind it. I hope this contribution will help encourage others to do the same, as well as provide more extensive material to the researchers or readers who attend your library.

- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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The Druid Stone Song
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In distant times, in a distant forest, an evil creature was defeated, at great cost. The forest guardians, wounded and tired, saw the destruction of their beloved home, now in ruins, gradually becoming a desert due to corruption caused by the creature. His name could no longer be pronounced, or revived easily. The adventurers turned their backs, returning to their cities with glories and prestige, but behind them there was only the ruined forest, which slowly died, corrupted and poisoned by the poisonous blood of the dead creature. Animals became sick, plants became weak and dead. And the Druids silently mourned.

The druids gathered around the creature's evil body, emanating corruption, wickedness and even dead malice. And slowly, the Druids circled the body in a circle with 12 members, beginning to sing a serious, sad and melancholic song, expressing their pain and agony, sacrificing their own lives, becoming part of the forest, turning into a circle of statues , sealing all the corruption of the body of the creature, and slowly purifying the forest, making it thrive and grow more vigorous and pure than ever.

After this, once a year, their descendants and apprentices approach the statues of their former mentors, and again sing the same song on the day of their sad death, to reinforce the pact of protecting and loving nature and that forest, renewing the bond of respect and understanding for life ... and to protect it in all its forms.

In place of the body of the vile and corrupt creature, in its place grew a gigantic tree, the largest of all forest. Its fruits are especially tasty, and its leaves are medicinal. Birds of all kinds and species live on their branches, while other animals, even the wildest and most dangerous ones, act graciously and peacefully before everyone as they approach that tree.

Elves feel honored to see that tree in person, while other druids only feel in full harmony with nature spend at least one night near the circle, feeling the presence of life in all its splendor.
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The moon sheds no light on the eastern florest
The day turns to night and the bonfires cease burning

The druids gather round and the chants fill the air
Their echoes resound and the living world stops turning

The magic words are spoken
As we leave the woods in silence
Now the circle stands alone
And the druids turn to stone

The dawn shines its light on eastern florest
The day floods the night with gilded rays of sunshine

The magic words were spoken
As we left the woods in silence
Then the circle stood alone
And the druids turned to stone

The rising sun is dancing on the edges of the stones
Casting shadows, creeping down the woods
Into the heart of the world

I marvel at this mystery, beholder of the stars
A holy temple, a sacred burial ground
Guarding well its secrets from us all
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Shantis

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Re: Contribution sent to the library of Vastiir
« Reply #10 on: June 08, 2018, 02:03:57 pm »
*Aquaria delivers another parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*

"a really unusual story about gypsies. Good reading."

- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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The stranger cards of Amanda Blueriver
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There was a group of gypsies who traveled from city to city, setting up their encampment in distant regions in the forest. Among them was a gypsy named Amanda Blueriver. She was the daughter of the family matriarch, a powerful sorceress, full of knowledge of spells, curses, and rituals. By learning various different forms of ancestral magic, her mother taught one that is no longer easily seen... The glamor. This type of spell is distinct, since unlike sorcerers, from which comes a lineage of blood, and the magicians, which comes through studies, Glamor develops in the channeling of the mystic arts through art. Or was this what was spoken at the time...

Gypsies are known, among other skills, in their production of incredible and unique art objects. And Amanda, being a skilled in drawing and painting, was soon tasked with producing her own tarot card deck, with her mother's teachings. Normal Tarot Cards let you read the luck of others, but never of themselves. Tarot cards enchanted with Glamor, the effect was very unique and distinct: It guide the reality, weaving a strange line of events to achieve the result indicated by each card, no longer suggesting a possible event, but forcing it to happen. And with Amanda, knowing her mother's instructions, she decided to make her own modifications.

The first rule she broke was to use real people as a reference, rather than creating them within her imagination. He used reference of several people he met in his years of travel with his gypsy camp, having reference nobles, plebeians and other people he has ever seen or talked to. The second rule she made a point of forgetting is that this tarot should be black and white, but she did not resist and decided to paint all the cards by hand, so real that the colors gave life to the delicately painted images.

The third and final rule was that any object or artifact created with Glamor should have only a single drop of blood from its creator. Amanda decided, within a month, from which she prepared, drew and painted all of her deck, used one drop per card, not one for all the inks used for all cards.

At the end of thirty days, on the night of the full moon, she decided to present the pack to her mother. Taking advantage of a visiting adventurer, with no one but Amanda and her mother  to know, those cards were used to read the luck of the adventurer

She first pulled the card "The Chariot" and one of the gypsy camp carriages moved slowly toward the group, without anyone noticing at first. Immediately afterward Amanda showed the Emperor's card, making the emperor of the country himself come tumbling out of the sky without any explanation, falling in the middle of the river that by luck, was near the gypsy camp.

Quickly the gypsies near the river were quickly assisting the well-dressed noble stranger, not knowing yet to be the emperor himself. Amanda, her mother and the adventurer, still focused on reading luck, paid attention to the next 2 cards... The Tower and The Lovers.

And under the full moon in the sky, a gigantic tower falls from the sky, with a naked couple in its tower, screaming desperately falling in the middle of the river. Undeniably, Amanda's mother immediately noticed what had happened. The tower fell in the middle of the river, expelling in a great wave of water the emperor and the gypsies who ran to help him. The tower was fell and stayed put in the middle of the river, as if it were built there.

The emperor looks at the tower, pale and extremely confused, seeing his chief of guard and his empress naked on the balcony, fainting from the shock of falling from the sky with one of the towers of his castle.

The adventurer ran, recognizing the emperor, imagining what had happened, as confused as everyone in the acampament. Amanda smiled, loving the new power of her deck, recognizing her powers, pulling the next card... The Death!

The carriage that moved slowly out of nowhere caught supernatural speed, thrusting at Amanda, killing her instantly, running over the girl and throwing her into the river, already dead.

The mother silently collected all cards before someone notice anything, and tried for years to destroy the cursed cards, without success. She tried to burn, tear and even throw in the sea or the river. The next night the cards came back to her as she woke up, in her hands.

In the end, she hid each of the 78 cards in different places in the world. All the cards were individually hidden within locked wooden boxes, with a sacred silver box holding each card a letter explaining their cursed power, and that if they are all collected, their total power will be awakened.

Sometimes it is possible to hear the spirit of Amanda Blueriver fanning adventurers to find one of their cards, using a softly voice, asking for help in their dreams or even as a ghost. But the only cards that were found were the Hanged Man and The Fool, along with the body of the two adventurers in different places.
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« Last Edit: June 09, 2018, 03:17:14 am by Shantis »

Shantis

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Re: Contribution sent to the library of Vastiir
« Reply #11 on: June 09, 2018, 03:57:47 am »
*Aquaria delivers a parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*

"This time, an old legend about an elven woman and her hive...

- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Kaylessa, The Wasp Queen of Guillan Florest
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There was a time, near the beginning of the silver age, from which a group of elves hated the expansion of human civilization. This small group of elves were led by an elven woman, the daughter of a druid and a powerful sorcerer of the elven people. The origin of her hatred was well known among the elves: Her parents were attacked by human bandits, who tried to make the Guillan Forest their new hiding place.

Kaylessa is her name. And by surviving the attack on her mother's cave, and after the circle of druids of her father was eliminated, she came to believe that all of humanity was a unique plague that would consume all natural resources and would dominate all races if they were not tamed or eliminated. Collecting the remains of her mother's research and the knowledge she learned from her father and other druids, she began to develop fantastic creatures through magic, but many of them were too dangerous to be released into the wilderness, being carefully kept in hibernation in her mother's cave , of which it is still sealed.

After decades of hard work, with her thirst for ever more intense revenge, she developed a dangerous and cruel species of bees and wasps. The bees, which had a serrated wound, were capable of stinging (and sacrificing) by administering a kind of special poison, which would make any animal or humanoid species obey in a servile and passionate manner. While the wasps, in turn, were the greatest horror of all ... Their stingers were capable of causing the living flesh to turn into rock, with only a slight injury.

The intensity, intelligence, and ferocity of their bees and wasps also depended on size. The smaller ones attacked in swarms, with light poisons, but when attacking several times the same victim, she was controlled and defeated. The larger ones, the size of dogs and even horses, were extremely intelligent, coordinated the attacks and tactics of the swarms and those who were under the power of her master Kaylessa.
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In a march with no one able to interrupt her, Kaylessa began to dominate villages, travelers and even human adventurers, half elves and elves who had the misfortune to find her... And under the control of their bees, they passed the obey and he adores her as master and goddess. Before the end of spring, hordes of human servants marched toward the largest city near the Gillan Forest. She intended to exterminate or command all humans as her slaves, but something happened.

It started the winter season.

In her plans, she did not take into account the extreme cold. Their wasps and bees fell asleep, while the effect of bee venom lost its effect ... And those that were turned into rock gradually returned to normal. Knowing that her plans needed to be revised, she disappeared without a trace, taking her few servants she still had control, along with her bees and wasps. Rumors and stories tell that she created her own personal realm, her private domain, a gigantic hive hidden inside of a distant cave, from which she is gathering her troops to attack humans again. This time, sometime during the summer or spring. But never in winter.
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« Last Edit: June 09, 2018, 04:01:14 am by Shantis »

Shantis

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Re: Contribution sent to the library of Vastiir
« Reply #12 on: June 09, 2018, 06:27:57 pm »
*Aquaria delivers a parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*

"Greetings, master Pendragon. This time, a tale about a cursed Blade and a tragedy. And maybe a warning...

- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"
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Soul Blaze
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There was a human hero in the silver age known for having an incredible sword, called Soul Blaze. Its blade was capable of decapturing any creature, while there was a flaming aura around the blade. This looks like a common arcane spell, which we all now know. But the blade had a much more evil secret... It fed souls. To each enemy the hero killed, the blade quenched its thirst, draining the souls into its metal, eternally torturing them, and its suffering made it create the incredible flaming aura that all the others saw, not knowing how the blade acted . Everyone, including the human hero, believed that the weapon was blessed, becoming the symbol of their troops hunting orcs.

However, years later, the hero retired, passing to his son the blade. And so, for almost five generations the cursed weapon was collecting souls, without anyone noticing. One night, the hero's descendant, his fifth descendant decided it was time for him to pass on the legacy and the name of his family forward. And he was ready, preparing his son to come of age, and to receive from him the Soul Blaze that went through so many generations.

When the blade was delivered to the young, the blade flashed with an intense black flame, and immediately began to expel the souls of all it captured and consumed slowly, turning them into slaves. Men, women, orcs and even dragons made of the purest and most intense flame left the blade, attacking everything and everyone around them.
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To each person killed by the flames, a new guns and flaming equipment was created on the remains of their bodies. They were spears, bows, swords, shields, helmets, and all kinds of beautiful equipment of incredible quality ... The bodies of the whole kingdom, instead of becoming ashes, became weapons. Even plants and animals have become some kind of equipment or weapon. The lands became a barren wasteland, with no life.

The cursed, contented Soul Blade buries itself in the center of the desert, generating itself a lair, full of servants made of flame carrying its "sons and daughters" from which the soul has taken to itself. And the entrance of this dungeon arises only at noon, in remote places, where the sun shines brighter. This entrance attracts adventurers who explore there and die in their cursed corridors, becoming eternal victims of the weapon. Those who manage to escape carry with them cursed weapons and pieces of equipment that protect them against fire or have aura of flame...

Now, in the present day, various weapons and even relics with this power is seen with care. No one can know if it is a real or cursed object. With each life that it takes, it feeds Soul Blaze in its lair, sending to the lamina the souls that it collected. And so, it awaits the propitious moment to attack and devour whole kingdoms, savoring for eternity its present victims, while it accumulates power to attack again.

Beware of warriors and adventurers with guns and equipment with flames. If your behavior changes completely, or you feel pleasure in feeding your weapons with the blood of your enemies, it is surely the influence of Soul Blaze through your servants in the form of weapons and equipments.
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Shantis

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Re: Contribution sent to the library of Vastiir
« Reply #13 on: June 11, 2018, 04:13:31 am »
*Aquaria delivers a parchment with a freshly copied story from her own research, with a note to the librarian.*

"Greetings, master Pendragon. Sorry, not in the mood to enter in details. But the notice reach you soon...

- Aquaria Blackstone, Relic hunter"

Spoiler
The fall of Snacks

We enter this distant place
Here in this vast hall where even life fear the shadows - Here we must confront our past.
If you have killed, beware of the Baron or Lord for greedy for men.
There, the disembodied will of the lost and losers in the world becomes flesh once more.
I pity the men without honor and ones with weak will.
For here blood runs cold...

The cries from the grave resound in my ears
They hail from beyond my darkest fears
Faces of the past are etched in my brain,
All women they deceived, the men they slain.

Shades of the dead are sliding on the wall, demons dance in the tomb hall.


I call upon my leader and our knights of the a distante tale, grant me the courage to stand to this test.
I call upon an old sword, the mighty of the lady, grant me the skill to fulfill my quest.
I call upon the bard, a priest or a huntress. Grant me the magic to end my pain.
I call upon the spirit that lives in a noble heart, grant me the passion that's within my veins.

Shades of the dead are sliding on the wall. Demons dance in the tomb halls.
« Last Edit: June 11, 2018, 04:24:06 am by Shantis »

Rainman

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Re: Contribution sent to the library of Vastiir
« Reply #14 on: June 11, 2018, 09:10:10 am »
My dear Relic Hunter,

I hope you enjoyed your tea.

If you would like, I have an offer for you. I have a spare office in the Library, would you be interested?

A place for you to reflex on your current and future works of art.

Albert Pendragon, Master Librarian
Build it and they will come.