Ascenscion Run Rampant...
A story for my character...
_ This is the story of Darkfyre Fyreborn, the Semyaza, the Blackening Druid. But this is the tale not of him as he is now. This is of his rise to power; this is how he cast two seperate eras into troubled times and mournful memories...herein explains how he may one day do so again, in his _
_ ** ASCENSCION RUN RAMPANT** _
The towers around him were burning unchecked now. Darkfyre half ran, half drug himself down the narrow corridors of the central spire's lower landings. Behind him came- he knew, for they'd slain not all!- the surviving and very vengeful brothers of the half dragon things. They shared the same homeland. Hateful towards the family, using an assumed name of Sauroposeidon, and spells to make him appear a mere lizardman, Darkfyre followed them across the ocean, and eventually sought employment for their enemy. Now two lay dead, alongside his recent host in this strange continent. But as luck would have it, Darkfyre had the fortune of a head start in retreating. He was so close, he felt the cool outside air rush to meet his face, even as the tower shook, then promptly came rushing down about him, sweeping his thoughts out upon a black tide...
"Wait!" His cry came out ragged in a half roar, his chest catching painfully as he shot upright in...he wasn't sure where he was. His eyes shone like furious polished platinum in the dimly lit hovel wherein he was interred. It was crowded thick with musty tomes and...were those old scraps of half eaten goat? And the smell was like a mixture of sulphur, alkali, and decayig everything. Surely this must be Hell... Yet movement to his left gave him a start. He focused in on what appeared to be a walking rag bundle with bulbous, glowing green eyes like some frog monster made raggedy flesh. "Halt!" growled the bassen boulder grinder that was Darkfyre's throat. "What exactly is going on..?" The strange creature made some gurgling noises as it began disrobing down to a nigh emaciated frame slung over with silk scarves. And it was a frog furre, yet...not like any he ever had seen before. This one was hard and predatorial, fanged and clawed with fins and spines aplenty. Almost crocodilian. Strange. It spoke broken common, "Me iz Crokg. You's lizRman. Me save you, owe debt debt?" came the curious reply. Darkfyre, stunned, merely sat back on the makeshift cot. Slowly, oh so slowly for the ignorant creature, he spoke like a god malificient, "Where. Am. I? We? If that helps you think..." The amphibious thing shook once, violently, then halted, eyes fixed on Darkfyre's prone form. A strange, pulsing black eye began to form a lambent tattoo, beating rythmically into Crokg's simpler mind. Just as with the lizardman, he came to posses a new guise...and information from the source of such. The enthralled goblinfurre, he knew now they referred to themselves as such, stalked to his side like some deranged butler, affecting a mock bow. Darkfyre allowed a very wicked grin to play across his maw, which began to open impossibly wide. Later, after the wet crunching sounds of his feastig abated, was the door to the ramshackle hovel accosted. Right off the hinges. What followed the devastation was a much healthier looking female goblinfurre. No drab green but a bright violet wih black spotting, and silk garments dressing up pricey- though mismatched and obviously plundered- bits of chain and plate mails. She came up short with an obvious snarl dead on her strange lips. She stood transfixed by this obviously new face before her. He was easily the largest, best groomed goblinfurre she'd ever lain eyes on, patterned black scales hinted at in varied translucent to opaque; a truly horrible green like a toxic, virulent lime or radioactive neon green so lambent, seemed to hold the eye in natural birthmark patterns over his form, though on second thought one would swear they move. Or are even then moving. He wore the real finery of a nobleman in crushed velvet and black wolf fur trimming on a black silk cloak; beneath such he wore a full suit of blackened bone and scale mail from a mixture of shadow and black dragons. The helm was a skull fastened about with more of the horrible scale mail, making a mocking death mask in grinning repose eternal. "Ah. I am... De'Shanz Ra'Laang," lied Darkfyre, now a mighty hobgoblinfurre among goblinfurre. His magick was still budding, but beyond promising. The female knight errant nodded brusquely until she found her composure again. "You muzt bae that nuw acolyte fer thuh Horned Frog Thaw-muh-turgikuh." "Thaumaturgica?" "Ya ya, datz eet." And verily, utilizing his newly stolen memories and the useful disguise, was Darkfyre delivered unto the sanctum sanctorum of the Horned Frog Thaumaturgica cult, and the start of his learning the arts of necromancy and demon summoning, not to mention all sorts of other strangeness, which will be revealed in our second tale of ASCENSCION RUN RAMPANT!!!
_Thus concludes my first little installment. Please rate. The second story I promise to be a real pleasure for fans of Forgotten Realms style fight scenes and choreography. ;) This tale is very pliable towards various style/genre fans so I hope people will read it and give feedback. :D ciao - SINfamy _