The coming of a plague

[Greco]

:: positioned curiously in a shadow-laced corner sat an unusually disportioned youth, shrouded in an equally black cloak. his multicolored irises flickered quicky between the patron's of the tavern, and a queer halfsmile was etched to the angular surface which was his face. clearing his throat, he piped up in a smooth voice, pitch as deep as the distant rumbling of thunder ::

`` Would one of you fine individuals care to purchase a drink for a thirsty man of magiks? There might be a bit of entertainment in it for yeh. . .

[Zugarok]

A burly Ogre walks to the bar and takes a mug from a startled human. He stomps over to the corner and lightly (for him) kicks the man and hands him a drink.

[Slyfoot M'Zors]

( Gosh darn it if I was alive.....then I would say. "Slyfoot, amused, sits in the corner and watches the strange man, drinking her 3rd ale of the night" Ah well, timing is everything they say)

[Greco]

:: the youth slides about ten feet to the left, pure velvet collecting a good bit of dust and debris. standing and dusting himself off, the youth accepted the drink with a head nod and grunt ::

`` Ah, a good . . . er, man, indeed! Sit, sit, you oaf. I will spin for yeh a tale of might and magik. Yes, yes. ``

:: he tosses a sideways glance to the other patrons of the tavern, the half-grin widening to a pearly-white smile ::

`` And to any of yeh who were too d**n cheap to bring up a drink, I will excuse your ill welcome and invite you to listen as well . . . ``

(Aww, I was hoping you could join us.)

[Rhabuka]

Before the youth can begin his tale, a large brown bear ambles into the tavern. The young man holds his breath for a moment, then realizes that the creature is a shape-changer.

He watches as the beast moves over to join the burly ogre who had given him his drink moments earlier. It seems to be looking for someone.

Shaking his head slightly, he takes a sip of his drink and prepares to tell his story...

[Greco]

:: licking the crimson wine from his lips, the battered boy set the cup aside and again took up a seat in the deep corner of the tavern ::

`` Ahh, wine as that does a man good. But, yes, a story, eh? I can tell a story, any story. A story about a man not so different than I, an owl, a woman, a leaf. . . but, I assume you would not wish to hear that, being creatures of war? No, I suspect not. . . Then I will spin for you a tale of war, bloodshed, and deep-rooted malice.

I am Greco the Heavyhand, slayer of my only blood and rider of the waves of light. Things I can tell of in this life can turn red blood blue and blue blood yellow, that it can. But what I'll speak of here is an even greater evil, one that shall remain nameless here and everywhere, for eternity.

You see, a native of the (now defunct) nation of MorDent-Shi're desperately wanted to learn the magiks of the world, for his greatest enemy was a mage who was quite powerful. This mage, who simply called himself "Zelidul", could summon forth deities fashioned of the very elements of creation. With his minions, he terrorized MorDent-Shi're and all of it's inhabitants, raping it's women and robbing them of their most powerful magic relics.

Our hero, in this case, managed to conceal an ancient tome, its pages bound by a pact of blood. This tome, called "the Scripts of Dominion", bled with the malice of all undead beings. Inscribed on it's cover were ancient vampiric proverbs, which bound their reader's fate to that of the book. By fusing his soul to the book, an ordinary man could receive the darkblessing of necromancy and unsurpassed supernatural strength. . ``

:: at this point the adolescent reached for the bronze jug and dipped his lips into it, savoring the blood-like taste. with a devilish smirk, he spoke again ::

``Would yeh like to know more? ``

[Greco]

(I guess not ;D)

[Rhabuka]

(I'm sure someone will fill me in, as I'm off to find wee Slyfoot... please continue Sir!)

[MerriMekko]

( or maybe cause of you being a bard, may find the curiosity too much and you could always follow the grp for there may be exciting new stories to be sung)

[Greco]

: : setting aside his drained chalice, the young man swept back the crudely cut locks from his face, revealing an ugly series of scars criss-crossing an otherwise handsome countenance : :

`` The still-growing native awoke to ear-splitting screams and ground-shattering blasts of thunder. He scrambled from his bed and, taking up a plain iron gladius, lifted the sewn cloth doors of his tent-home and looked outside.

The scene before him brought him to his knees in pained agony, and a sense of sadness took place in his heart. Decapitated corpses lay slain in the street, scorched by the dry flames that swept throughout the commongrounds. Thick rivers of blood ran in between the makeshift homes, and the ground itself was stained a shade of greenish red. People ran bewildered from their homes, robes streaked with the vile vitae, shoes squashing nastily in the saturated earth.

As flames lept from tent to tent and gruesome earthly creations terrorized the fleeing population, colossal boulders of fire fell from the sky. The world above, however, was no longer a serene shade of blue. Chaos is the only word to describe the sky as it was: a fierce shade of vermilion, shattered by the continous bolts of lightning. The clouds were thin, cirrus, and threatening. A storm raged, and it was called forth by the mage Zelidul. He rode through the wreckage on a silver-sheened black horse, immune to the destruction around him. His minions, which he commanded wordlessly, ran from house to house, and as he examined his work, Zelidul's face was twisted in pure joy.

` What . . . what . . . WHAT MADNESS IS THIS!? ` the native sobbed in a pained voice, tears brimming in his eyes but refusing to fall.

Fearing for the well being of his nation and his family, the townsman retreated into his home and picked up the afore described relic. Clearing his throat and saying a quick prayer, he recited the verse on the cover. Tears streaked his now soot-stained face because now, he had surrendered his humanity.

Inexplicable power instantly surged through his veins, throwing him, writhing, to the floor. He was seized with convulsions, and the air around him became thick with mystical substances. His standard-issue armor melded into his flesh, bones were broken and remade, flesh ripped and re-stitched, organs destroyed and recreated. At the end of his transformation, the man stood, admiring his newly aquired physique. His skin was pitch black, as was his hair. He stood the height of 3 men, and was as muscular as the beastmen from the South. His fingernails and teeth were starched white and wickedly sharp. His eyes, however, were the same haunted gray.

He flicked his coal colored fingers toward the ground and muttered an incantation, calling forth the undead. Many half-decayed cadavers sprouted from the ground, screaming gibberish, shaking with unfocused rage. Smirking devilishly, the necromancer turned, and walked out into the storm.` `

: : pausing to allow his audience a chance to absorb his story, the boy summoned a second chalice from thin air, taking a small sip of it's contents : :

`` Would yeh like to know more? ``