Branded Mage

[Mestvin 947]

The Brand

And The Cowardice

 

 

 

In the dimly lit forest road two dwarves would meet their old king now turned into an undead abomination,

they draw their weapons not realizing the real threat lurking behind them. Two undead emerged from the dark together with their

fallen master, they apprehended the young female. The Mage did cast the vortex of voidal flames to save her yet the Weaver

fast as the shadow themselves caught him with his hand by the face. Many thoughts ran trough the Magi's head as he

caught the glimpse of familiar silhouette.
 

 

"Tho-"

Yet the attackers piercing gaze, as cold as the grave, was locked onto surprised dwarven fire mage marking his demise.

The child used this moment to run away, dodging the ghoul king's spear choosing cowardice over honor.

 

The Mage fell down lifelessly on the dirt path shortly after with black handprint seared into his forehead, contrasting sharply against his sun-kissed skin.

The Weaver mocked the child with an eerie laughter as he turned towards her, already out of his reach.

 

Then the fallen were gone with the body and only silence remained, for now...

 

 

 

[gremlockgremlin 755]

A red golemeye would stare at the child as they ran. Leaving the other dwarf behind.

 

"Tell yer father Thurgrim oi await 'im..."

 

The undead would dine upon the defeated dwarf rellishing in his victory.

 

"T'e dwed seem ill prepared for w'at es commeng... t'ese es onleh a test of t'eir strength..."

[Jihnyny 5233]

 

“Rest well, Warden”
______________________________________________________________________________________________
 

From the sparse and rugged forest of the Confederation he had sworn to protect, Hefjhor gripped the worn handle of his axe. He rode atop his goat, seeking the spawn of Iblees, and their creatures of untold horror. 

 

Beside him rode the party that he had rallied upon the sight of the fallen mage. Including his rival, Velkon. Despite the countless time, the Darkspawn remained hidden, their vile presence felt but unseen, by descendants and beasts alike. 

 

As night fell, Hefjhor’s heart sank. He laid in his bed, having felt nothing but failure. His fists clenched, and his eyes burned with unspoken oaths! He could not afford another defeat.

 

Not again.

 

 

[Samler 1564]

The masked elf Ibar had been tending to the branded dwarf, the lack of proper medical supplies had not bothered him, as in the very least he had the ability to knock the dwarf out prior to the scorching of cursed flesh, a grim smell had eminated from within the house of the procedure as water were then poured upon the face, realizing the burnt face would be troublesome, he traced sigils upon a steak gifted to him by a traveler, flesh barbs spouted out as the enchanted meat were placed upon the dwarf, giving quite the absurd look, how he missed the mushroom bread he usually used for the spell, none the less, the branded one were saved, scarred by the elf now instead of the dark forces which happened upon him.

[Youngone 54]

Velkon stood, overlooking the ambers of the forest he calls home. Anger fills his bones as he sits, staring into the pond, thinking of what could’ve happened. He slammed his fist hard into the tree beside him, bark falling off. He let out a grunt, before walking off, blood dripping from his torn fists. He stopped in his tracks.

 

“Oi will finish w’at ya started, Ragram.”

 

He said to himself, as he walked home.