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Seuss

The Fall of a Giant

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In the deep forests north of Haense, a large wagon lays on its side by a river. The wagon has lost a wheel, and tumbled onto its side; the cover cloth was ripped and became useless against the harsh northern winds. Nearby, a small campfire was set up by a rock wall, fueled by the tiny twigs that were close by. A giant sat against the rock wall, feeding sticks to the fire with what strength he had. This giant has aged quite a lot, and does not resemble his old self anymore. His large frame became a hindrance in his old age and required more energy to care for. His breathing was slowing down, and it has become hard to walk. His cane laid close by, snapped in two during the wagon’s tumble. 

As the sun falls on Arcas, the moon creeps along the horizon, slowly brightening up the sky in the sun’s absence. The weather grew colder, and the giant had no blankets or extra clothes. He tried to sit up against the rock, but he lacked the ability to gather any strength. His body aches in pain, and his eyes water in disbelief. The giant knew this day would come eventually, and he could never accept that he too must pass on from this world. As his legs grow numb and his vision slowly fades, the giant thinks back on his life; the time he spent in this world, the people he met, and the adventures he had.



“Misteh Bog!” Called out a small child, too young to pronounce her words correctly, but tried her best. She wore a little purple dress and a bow in her hair. She came up to the man she called out to, tugging on his shirt to grab his attention. The man seemed to be day dreaming and could not hear the child until she came closer. He looked down at her, a large smile on his face. “Hello, Isabella.” The man spoke. Although the man was a giant among men, his voice was filled with joy and harmony, unlike what others would think. “Who is your little friend?” the man points out to the small boy behind her. His black hair stood out the most, and was almost familiar. “Bog! This is Damian! He is my best friend!” she said.


In the fields of Markev, a crowd gathered to watch a spectacular occurrence. Queen Sophia watched in awe at what happened before her. “Is that all you have, Brog?” Sigmar exclaimed with arrogance. He was breathing irregularly,  and was hunched over a bit with his hands out in front of him. “You have yet to see anything, my lord! Her Highness is going to have you carried back home!” The large man exclaimed with joy, taking Sigmar in his arms, bear hugging him and slamming him to the ground. The crowd gasped. “Get him, Bog!” called out a small girl. Although the guards were hesitant they did not jump in, all was fine. The large man and Sigmar laughed away as they wrestled out in the fields. Like two brothers chasing one another around the dinner table.


“Now close your eyes.” A woman exclaimed. The man did such and began to focus. “Feel the ground around you. Listen to the voices of life and feel your connection to them.” She suggest to the man. Sweat ran down the side of his face, but he focused his breathing and slowly began to understand. As he opens his eyes, a dark green glow reflects from his eyes. He looks up with a smile of joy. “It worked, Quill!” 


The blacksmith hammered away at what he was working on. His old ways having never left him. The tattoo on the side of his head was iconic, and hard to miss. “Care for a break?” The man asked. The blacksmith turned around, and a smile grew on his face. “Well look who et is! Come in, brotha’! Let us drink!”


The man knelt down in front of the young prince. He had a smile on his face as he spoke. “You will make a wonderful king, just like your father, Robert. But remember to enjoy your childhood just a little longer. Before you are thrown into the world.” The man always cared for the safety of the children of Markev. He could not bare seeing them suffer or have to deal with the troubles of life all on their own. “Do not worry, Mister Brog. My father has taught me all I need to know. Thank you.”


“You do not seem to understand the situation you are in.” The female’s voice echoed in the halls of the ancient fortress. She sat on a large white throne, clad in a bronze armor with blood struck across her helm. The man had a blade to his neck, and was on his knees before the throne. “You have no idea what you are doing.” He spoke out. But her voice was filled with confidence. She knew exactly what she was doing. “You are from Yrodholm, yes? Or at least, what is left of it. They call it Markev now?” She waves her hand, and her knights begin to mobilize. “Throw him in the dungeon. We’ll kill him later.”


“What are you looking at out there?” A familiar voice questioned the man. Outside the window was a towering phenomenon of ice, dividing one world into two. “Nothing. . .” The man replies. “I thought I saw something out there.” The air was freezing, and painful to inhale. A fire roared further inside the house, to which the voice beckoned he relocate to. “They will not return so soon. Come warm up, Wall.” The man nodded, taking one last look out the window, then turning to sit by the fire. “Of course, Scholar.” 


“Welcome, guests! Welcome!” The excited voice calls out. The man was in a strange room with his team. The man was confused. It felt like an inn, but was far better looking. There was a counter before him, and a man behind the counter. “Vaeldrin, why are you calling us guests. Don’t you remember us?” The man questioned. This situation was strange. He has met with Vaeldrin many times already. They are far from strangers. “We-We’ve met?” His usually excited tone seemed concerning. “Oh no. . .”


The man presented a bag full of items; different jewels, relics, and items. He held them out to the man in bronze armor who stood before him. “. . . .Why? Why would you return these to me?” The armored man questioned. “These were not ours to begin with, Vaeyl. We did our job, and you helped us save our people.” He hands the bag over. “It is only right we give you back what we had to borrow.” The armored man went silent for a bit. He looked up, and for once, it seemed like he was not some neutral being who never cared. “Maybe not every human is as bad as we thought.” This brought a smile to the man and his team. As they were about to part, the armored figure left them with one last piece of advice. “Arcas is home to the Aos. . . I suggest you keep your people and them far away from one another. . . to be safe.”


The man sat at a desk, in his hands was a journal. He received it from a young girl earlier in the day. He recalled her mentioning who it was from. He was hesitant, but he opened the book anyway. . .
“Hey dad.” He read first. His emotions changed with each journal log. He cried, he laughed, and he screamed. He was filled with agony as he read on. “I miss you.” The last log finished. He remained silent for a long time until he left his house. He came upon the girl who gave him the journal. The man hugged her as he cried what little tears were left. “Thank you, Karia. Thank you. . .”


The bushes outside of Reza were splattered in blood. A stranger was bounded to them by the roots in the ground, as if the plants knew to hold him in place. The stranger’s legs were broken. His wrists were shattered, and blood leaked from his face. Standing above him was a giant. The giants fist were covered in blood, and his face was red like a tomato. His eyes emitted a dark green light as he cursed the stranger. “You promised me, Landry! You promised me you would protect her!” The giant’s voice echoed in the strangers ears. His face was beyond recognizable, and he could not respond to the giant. “You said Karia would never be harmed!” The giant yelled. There was not a soul in sight besides the two that night.


The man stared up at a large obelisk. It had a strange feeling surrounding it, and did not seem normal. The man heard a noise behind him, and as he turned around a group of adventures presented themselves. They were seeking knowledge and the truth behind the obelisks around Arcas. This brought a smile to the man’s face. “I think I can be of some assistance.”
 



So much has happened in the giants’ life. He could recall some memories as clear as day, and others fleeted by like the wind. He could no longer feel his lower half, and the cold picked at his skin like crows by a carcass. The giant remembered how he fought a giant champion of the grove. He remembered his battle trip through dimensions. He remembered the people he fought in wars with, and his many friends who passed on before him. With the little energy he had, the giant clenched his left hand, raising it up to wipe his eyes. A smile slowly grew on his face, and he chuckled. It was a weak laugh, but he managed to get it out. The giant was overcome with joy, and as the energy left his body, and his hand fell cold onto the floor, he no longer was afraid to die.

The giant lived a wonderful life, and he was fine with passing. Although he knew he would no longer be able to see his loved ones, he will join his brother and sister Druii in the next world. Continuing to do what he can for his people, even after his life on Aos. The giant. . . Brog Dhoon, passes from this world.



0iasBQt-f2LP1dMIwj3JKgD6e6LW2t6iW5UvcWYMHBDiv8vdhORKZ3HmX-9Ujui7CcOtnqdw7UJurboxKZkg4A8gNMKpGnhMvS1mJfKFtG2FuRVkWc_6b4CWLZ_XMjvyodiidxWy
Brog Dhoon
The Wall/ Uncle of Haense/ The Giant

1635-1749
Died at age 114

 


 


OOC:
This is the official PK post of Brog Dhoon the human character. It was a blast playing this character, and I had a great time with all the friends I made on this character all around Atlas and Arcas. People like Julius, Ark, Alicia, Ave, Legoboy, Knox, Security, Dreams, IchorDruid, Xarkly, Poseidon, Frost, Kary, Farryn, Elizabeth, and so so SO many more of you guys. I wish I could name everyone who has really made me feel like my time on this character was not a waste. Some of us may have had OOC issues, and some of us are no longer friends anymore, but I do not regret our time spent on this server. Thank you all.

 

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Ajax ‘The Nut’ Ironwood stands in his GOLDEN painted armour. He hears of the loss of arguably one of his best friends and comrades as he compartmentalizes the loss. One could say this displeases the nut, others hear the distant sound of trees being felled by a blade. The man knows no rest.

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Rhys and Marius welcome their friend with open arms.

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 As hammer was falling down upon anvil, time after time, so did thunder roar far away. Finally, the perfect piece of weapon was complete, and – seems like right on time, as old friend finally came to his workshop. With wide grin old man that was missing an eye would offer Brog the little bundle. ”Vows made in ash brodir. We finally get ta’ drink again.” Bellowing laughter followed, as two old friends finally reunited in afterlife – no matter what God or gods would try to set them worlds apart, at least one drink had to be shared.

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Somewhere, a red man mourns.

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An Archdruid bows her head, as she feels nature stir to a mournful song at the passing of a Brother Druid, “Blessed be.”

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Feeling the loss wash over him like distant waves, a Druii looks up from his reading, his features pinched in worry. He feels no familiarity in this loss, which eases his soul somewhat, but the loss of a brother is no light matter. He closes his book- much to the curiosity of his housemate and bows his head, whispering a quiet prayer that whomever was lost finds peace in the Eternal Forest.

 

”Blessed be.”

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Theodosia Barbanov would rush over to welcome Brog Dhoon into the seven skies, having dearly missed the years of her childhood with him around. He had always been the protector for all of the children roaming about the red city. “Thank you, for everything you’ve ever done for Haense.” Without a second thought, she could recall all the great memories that her family – Sophia, Sigmar, Robert – all had with him around Markev. 

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“Drog Bhoon, you will be missed.” says Fyodor correctly.

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Harold Bell hears about the news during his travels with the Grand Sariant. The duo shortly after arriving at a local festival, where they would share the tales of Broog The Giant

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Robert would enter into a hug with the old man. “Outlived us all you did, suppose my prediction was accurate?”

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Isabella and Karia hand in hand greet Brog with a smile on their face “Welcome home Brog” they say together. A family reuinted and able to be in peace as one ~

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Ser Bjolfr Nord Welcomes the man who yeeted him over the wall of Markev into the seven skies

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