Our Tales

[Dakirennis 959]

Within the taverns, clan halls, the keep or by a brazier upon the walls surrounding Vivec, stories are passed. Tales of triumph or tales of loss. Stories of monsters to frighten misbehaved children or heroes to encourage them. Whatever the tale may be, the mali'ker have always been a people of story and song as well as shield and blade.

 

So come, my kin of onyx, regale us with your fables. Or simply stay a while and listen.

 

 

We've done little threads like this in the past for fairy tales but this thread is for any Ker'nor dark elf that wants to tell their story. What ever it is. Bards and their songs, parents and their stories, guards and their combats. What ever it may be.

[Mirtok 2853]

*Grimwald of Clan DeNurem steps up and clears his throat . . .

 

“I have a story of bravery and sacrifice; One that has been retold in my family since before I was even born.

 

It was way back in the lands of the original Aegis; The first world of our ancestors and birthplace of Malin. The Undead had come back and made quite the resurgence into the mainland. The nations of the world were on the brink of total destruction at the hand of the dark forces of Ibless. It seemed to most that we were doomed to be consumed by hellish fire and face an eternity of suffering under the tyranny of the hooded ones. That was until a plan was formulated.

 

All the leaders of all the nations came together in one room and discussed the last best hope for their kind. The kind Aerial of the old Ascended following told of the Nether, the domain of Iblees. She spoke of a great wide gate in which his dark following filtered through into our world. However, the Nether was certainly no place for the living and any who were unlucky enough to set foot into it were met with a constant and waning feeling of pain that would eventually result in their death.

 

It was clear that said gate would need to be destroyed if we were to at all have a chance at surviving for future years to come. The nation leaders of the time offered up their support; King Syrio of Alras with his coin, Rex Mogroka of the War Uzg and his fierce warriors; Dwarves and their relentless heroes, Hanseti and their elite soldiers and the Elves and their keen archers. Each nation also gave the names of three champions that embodied the best of each respective flock. Though it was Aerial who offered up the most important and most significant piece to the whole plan; Her own life force to be transmuted into sets of incredible armor that each champion would wear into the Nether, negating the taxing drain it would have on them and allowing them to complete their most important task- destroying the Nether Portal.

 

Many brave souls were offered up for this otherwise suicidal mission as once the portal was destroyed, the link between the Nether and the world above would be severed and those left inside would remain there for eternity. However, this particular story revolves around a single Orc name Maur Azog.

 

Maur was a follower of Aerial in the Ascended and later on became a Sariant of the Teutonic Order under Gaius Marius. When Mirtok DeNurem returned from the world council bearing the news of the fatal mission that required champions, Maur was among the first to volunteer immediately. He along with two of his fellow Sariants- Abeam and Segari- put their names forth for selection and blessings by Aeriel before she converted her soul into the life saving armor they would wear. The armor was of the finest Elven steel and the strongest Dwarven bonding. It glowed with the light of Ariel and was truly a masterpiece to behold. On the eve of the plan’s execution, Maur said his goodbyes to his brothers and sisters of the Order. It was likely to be the very last time anyone would ever see him and he would see the sky above. He joined the rest of the champions who were selected for the mission and awaited the opening of the portal that would take them into the Nether.

 

Not much was known about the Nether past it was the home of the dark lord Iblees himself as well as his massive cult following of the dead and decayed. It was a place of great horror and anguish. One of crippling pain and blinding darkness. With so few details to work from, the orders were simple; Escort the Axe of Krug all the way to the Nether Portal and tear it down. The loss of the axe would mean the failure of the mission which would then in turn mean the end of all that is good in the world above. The death and destruction of several great nations and countless lives. To these brave champions, failure was simply not an option and if it meant they had to die to complete the mission then so be it.

 

They were cast into the Nether, quite a distance from their intended landing point and even farther away from their destination. The Nether was a place of intense heat and blinding fires but also of clouding ashe and pure abyss if one were to look over the cliff sides to nothingness. An aura of sickness was felt among all our heros but the their blessed armor prevented them from feeling the growth of death in their bodies. As the last of them stepped into this hellish landscape and the portal closed, the world both above and below shook violently as a booming howl echoed in all planes of existence; Ibless was very much aware of their presence and was likely all too aware of their mission at hand.

 

It was unclear who issued the first order among the champions but before the howl had finished bouncing around their heads, Maur was running. He had been able to group up with his brothers of the Black Cross and together they made a mad dash in the direction of the Nether Portal. Dozens of other champions sprinted with all their might alongside them, dodging blazing bonfires and pits into bubbling lava. But the deeper they ran, the more obstacles began to stack up in front of them.

 

The legions of the Undead were clawing up from the very ground beneath them. Massive floating and bloated monsters launched fireballs in a barrage pattern, tearing up the landscape around them and every so often hitting their mark and blowing an unsuspecting champion into pieces. Skeletal archers rained arrows over their heads while ghouls slashed with rusted blades at their bodies. It was a battlefield like no other before and no other since. Many were killed within the first few minutes of combat. Maur’s group had been surrounded, cut off from the rest of the champions charge towards the portal.

 

The Undead artillery continued to boom all around them, flashes of light drowned out the shadows around them every so often. The horde of Undead closed in tighter around them. The three lashed out with their longswords, cutting down a countless number of the shambling corpses. Eventually the petty minions were depleted and replaced with blade wielding monsters which seemed to feel no pain upon being hit and instead only grew more ferocious. Maur using his skilled training and insurmountable orcish strength tore through a section of the heaping undead, buying himself a moment to breath.

 

He turned his head to look upon his brother Segari standing his ground with an intense focus and the finesse of a great warrior. He was happy to call such a man brother and to be fighting by his side as the last thing he would ever do. But within a blink of an eye, a mighty explosion erupted just a few feet away from his brother, blasting the many undead creatures to pieces but also throwing him off his feet and into a pit of lava. Maur had hoped that Segari had been killed by the blast and was spared the pain of melting slowly to death as he heard no screams from his fallen brother as he sank into the orange glowing heap of molten rock.

 

But there was no time for remorse, not yet, not until the mission was complete thought Maur. He called out to his last remaining comrade Abeam and the two stood side by side against another incoming tide of corpse soldiers. In front of them was torrent of black, like water rushing over rocks in a stream. Behind them lay their goal, the Nether Portal and the salvation of their world above. If they had ran, the new incoming horde would surely overtake them before they reached their goal. As such, Maur was ready to stand shoulder to shoulder with Abeam for the last time and meet his enemy head on; But Abeam had a different idea.

 

He pleaded that Maur was stronger and faster, that he would be needed when it came time to dismantling the portal once and for all. Maur wanted to argue, that he was needed right there with him and to fight with him until the end but as it were there was no time to even get a word out. Abeam had already sprinted towards the incoming monsters leaving Maur with no choice but to head in the opposite direction. With a final look over his shoulder, he saw his Sariant comrade clash with the servants of Iblees, their twisted fleshy forms swarming around him as he cut them down three at a time. He did not see his brother’s final moments but he knew that he had fought until his foe had torn him apart forcibly limb from limb; And even then, Abeam would have been singing the Teutonic war hymns until his last breath.

 

So few had made it too the very end. Many had fallen in the savage charge to the Nether Portal. Humans, Orcs, Dwarves and Elves alike gave their lives so that what remained of the world's greatest heroes could complete the mission. The Axe of Krug had survived the battle, a glimmer of hope glistened in an otherwise hopeless situation. Those who had made it took satisfaction in this fact- Maur included- and though they may not be able to enjoy the results of their honorable sacrifice, they had achieved victory in the face of the most darkest of evils.

 

But the celebration was short lived as the red hills around them were blown apart by an eruption of undead artillery from their ghast legion. Arrows once more flew overhead and punctured the ground all over. A new and severally more menacing army of black plated hell knights marched towards the meagre band of champions. Iblees had committed everything he had left to stopping them before they could destroy his portal. Without so much as a thought, Maur barreled forward in an attempt to buy some time for the Axe wielder to do his job. Others followed in his wake, leading one last charge for the fate of the world.

 

On the world above, thousands waited with baited breath for any news to reach them. Since the initial departure of their champions and the howl that shook the landscapes, nothing was known about what was transpiring inside the Nether. Everyone was huddled onto several large boats as they looked out over the horizons to where their homes used to be, only being able to see rising plumes of black smoke hovering in the sky. Still no word. The sun was quickly falling over the land, causing a red glow to overtake the sky. Still no word. Light sparkled off of the water leading out to sea and to lands unknown. Still no word.

 

Then, just as twilight almost drifted into night, the ground on shore rumbled and cracked so violently that the buildings in the port were nearly leveled to the ground. All across the visible landscape, the earth shook and split. Crags formed in seconds and whole hillsides were converted into deep holes that seemed as if they went into the earth for miles. The water sloshed and tumbled the boats to and fro for a good number of minutes before eventually leveling out with the rest of the world as the violent shaking ceased. It was unclear for several minutes if their champions had succeeded or failed in their task.

 

The citizens of the Aegis regained their composure and stared out back at shore for what felt like an eternity, looking for any sign as to the fate of the world to be. Had Iblees been defeated or were the darkest of days truly upon them? A light flickered from the Cloud Temple. A few glowing particles drifted up into the air from beneath a tree canopy leading to the docks. The guards that stayed on shore to facilitate the evacuation all turned their attention inland, as did every other soul on board the ships. From the gate leading to the Cloud Temple emerged a small handful of battered, broken but not defeated warriors in suits of beautiful armor that shone with the light of Aerial herself. A few Dwarves, a Human and an Orc.

 

A boat bearing the Black Cross of the Teutonic Order and the Realm of Hanseti erupted in joyous cheers as they recognized Maur among the survivors. Several of them rushed off their boat and to Maurs side, aiding him onboard. He had been severely injured; burnt, bitten, cut and exhausted. But despite it all, he stood on his own without aid and gave a hearty salute to his Hochmeister, Samuel Bealcrest.

 

The Champions of Aegis had completed their most important task, the Nether Portal had been destroyed and the Nether itself collapsed in on itself. Though the lands of Aegis were subsequently destroyed in the process, Iblees had been defeated once and for all. They could then go out in search of a new horizon without the looming threat of the dark lord's influence corrupting their way. None had expected to see any of their heroes return, in fact none knew how they could. Once the Nether Portal had been struck with the Axe of Krug, its power began to dissipate and the link between worlds quickly began to severe itself. In their last moments, before Iblee’s forces overwhelmed them and the portal was closed for good, they took their soulstones in hand- their link to the Cloud Temple above- and crushed them. Their last ditch effort had paid off and they were returned to the realm of the living just mere moments before they would have been trapped below for all of eternity.

 

Maur would later go on to do many great things with his life. Promoting to the rank of OrdernMarshcall of the Teutonic Order and even stepping in as Hochmeister in moments of great crisis. He also would go on to expand the influence and glory of his own Orcish clan, Azog. It is to him, and all those who gave their life in the Nether that we owe all our lives too. For it is without their bravery, strength and sacrifice that we would not have been able to cast aside the darkness that was Iblees and his Undead sorcerers who turned our own dead against us.”

*Grimwald would then bow his head, muttering an old war hymn in honor of Maur and his fallen comrades.

[Elad™ 560]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.