Blood of the Chosen (adult content warning) [Archive]

Thrizz

03-09-2008, 04:59 PM

I tried to write a solid fiction based on a character before, and he's retired however... and now that I have a character I can truly say I am into... it's time for me to tell his story "pre-ROK launch." Anycase... I am going to go ahead and give a "Dramatis Personae" and list the characters and their significance to this tale. (yes, there will be "indirect" appearances by NPC's and the like in here, but I feel its needed to tell this tale.)Then, the Prologue will be up tonight.

Thrizz

03-09-2008, 05:12 PM

<div align="center">Blood of the ChosenDramatis Personae((Not all these character are actual in game characters. Only those in red are))<div align="left">Ssithaar Drexxiliz - Iksar Shaman and servant of Cazic Thule. Ssithaar is devout, and serves fear in such a manner that is suitably terrifying; yet when Venril Sathir comes into power as Emperor of the Iksar, Ssithaar must find allies to strike out against the self proclaimed deity... or face death at the hands of a heretic.Rizzgrill Ixlizz - One of Ssithaar's fellow shaman, Rizzgrill too once served Thule, but has since turned his back on the Faceless, and has become a servant of the Emperor Venril Sathir. Rizzgrill leads a campaign to strike out against the Fear Shaman.Telkon Al'Rok - A loyal Soldier of Gorowyn, Telkon has just been awakened in the Breathing Pools, ready to fight in the defense of the sieged volcanic city. His first task to help push back the Aviaks from the volcano, but when the fear shaman Ssithaar finds himself washed up on the shores, the Sarnak must choose between security or honor.Verkon Al'Rok - Telkon's "Father," Verkon is one of the oldest of the Gorowyn Sarnak, awakening the very year of the first wave of Gorowyn Sarnak. With his son, Telkon, the two work a dangerous mission to prevent the Sathirian Rizzgrill from discovering the location of Gorowyn.Sarrok - A very cynical Sarnak roughly the age of Telkon, Sarrok is a battle priest bent on discovering the origins of his spells. Caught up in the need to defend Gorwoyn from Sathirians, Sarrok ultimately is faced with a tragic sacrifice.</div></div>

niko_teen

03-10-2008, 09:32 AM

well I've never been a fan of the lizard races but i must say that you've got me intrested so hurry up and knock out a post.

Thrizz

03-11-2008, 03:32 PM

PrologueExile “By the order of the Emperor Venril Sathir, any found worshipping the false god Cazic Thule will be executed. His excellence has ascended, he is your new god, and under his rule, the Iksar Nation will dominate the lesser races!” Ssithaar hissed under his breath as the herald spoke those damning words. Sathir, a god? It was a blasphemy; how dare the Emperor claim divinity, how dare he denounce the Creator. Ssithaar clenched his scaled fists at those sickening thoughts. Now, he and his brood would need to flee. No, it was not a mere case of escaping a great foe, it was going into exile. The Iksar moved quickly, through the village as various broods began to gather. Those loyal to Sathir stood together, clutching their swords and spears as their venomous gazes locked on the few Thulians left in the haven. Ssithaar felt naked – he needed to get to his home, so that he might grab his staff and his book of rituals, aptly named The Book of Unearthed Terror. The shaman was devoted to the Faceless, even more so then most. It took a special kind of devotion to serve terror the way Ssithaar did. The shaman has endured loss, in fact, he had sacrificed his own mate and hatchlings for Cazic. The work of a shaman was always brutal. Averting his snake like eyes, he ducked into his yurt. A hiss of surprise escaped him as he saw his latest mate impaled upon a spear. Blood dripped from the lethal wound, and a look of malice was written on the female's face. Ssithaar shook his head and scournged through his belongings. His staff and book lay among the various trinkets and potions, astrew from whomever decided to attack. The shaman picked up his book and staff, and was on his way. Despite not challenging the authority of the Emperor, Ssithaar felt eyes burning a hole in his head as he moved through the village. He was being watched, no doubt, by everyone. The shaman was well known. In fact, before Sathir returned and became the ruler of the Iksar, the shaman had been regarded as a prophet to some, a herald of Cazic Thule's terror. His name had been mentioned in passing as a potential emperor, even if he himself was not even planning on seizing such strong reigns. Yet as he walked, the Iksar quietly wished he had seized those reigns, that he had made himself Emperor. At least then a false god would not rule. As Ssithaar walked through the dense jungles of Kunzar, he could have sworn he heard something. Leaves were crackling behind him, yet when the shaman turned there was nothing to be seen. He frowned deeply, only to give a startled cry as he turned back to see two other Iksar before him. He scanned their manner of dress and hissed under his breath. “Swifttails... what a pleasant surprise,” the shaman said sarcastically. “Mind your words, shaman,” the first responded coldly. “You know we will not let you live, right?” Ssithaar narrowed his eyes, “I am leaving the homeland. I am no threat to you or your Emperor.” “Ah, but you are,” the second monk chimed in. “Indeed you are,” agreed the first of the Swifttails. “Your faith can still create chaos and disorder. What we need, what the Emperor wants... is order. Law. Order. Obedience.” “You mean slavery,” the shaman snarled. A quick jab planted Ssithaar on his knees as he doubled over, gasping for breath. The Swifttails seemed to tower over him menacingly. The shaman was defenseless... if only he could appeal to their sense of pride. “We serve the Emperor... and we shall carry out his will.” Ssithaar hissed, “Listen to yourselves! You both act as mindless slaves!” Hesitation. That was all the shaman needed as he hissed out the words needed to summon the aid of the spirits. A sickening mist covered the two monks, forcing them to double over and heave. Ssithaar rose to his feet and sprang into action, running off, far away from the two Swifttails. He lost all sense of time. His one true desire, his one true hope, was to get to the coast and get off the mainland. Even if it meant slaying his own people he would do so to survive. At least one person had to live to spread the word of the Faceless, to stand up against the evil Emperor Sathir. Finally, night fell. After ensuring that there were no pursuers, Ssithaar set up a small camp, where prayed and butchered several animals for his Creator. Unfortunately for the shaman, he spotted the lights of at least a half dozen torches. He began to run again through the night, and into the day. His trek took him far away from the Kunzar, and night fell again. Once more he set up camp, and once more he sacrificed animals his Creator, Cazic Thule. As day broke yet again... he made his way into the Fens of Nathsar. Days became weeks... weeks... a month... and he found himself running from the Sathirians faster then ever as they continued to seek him to slay him. He was in the Kylong Plains when time was running out. As he ran, the shaman heard a rumble from behind. Glancing over his shoulder, he beheld the sight of three rhinos, each with an Iksar warrior on its back, charging for him. The first warrior aimed and threw a spear for the shaman, but Ssithaar moved out of the way, and picked it up out of the ground. He waited, anticipating the approach of the stampeding beasts. “Come on,” he muttered. The rhino riding Sathirians did not falter as their charge increased. They were gaining ground, and they were gaining it fast, The shaman pulled back his arm and thrust his spear at his enemies. His positioned, his posture; all was perfect, however; the rhinos were too fast – the spear went beyond all three. Ssithaar had failed. He fell to his knees and closed his eyes. He would accept his fate. The shaman then noticed more rumblings as he awaited death, and as his eyes popped open, he saw at least ten rhinos charging from behind himself – moving past to the Sathirians. The shaman hissed at first in delight as the Sathirians broke formation. Delight turned to fear as Ssithaar examined the riders of the other rhinos. Their heads were dragon-like. Their tails were barbed. They were Di'Zok... no. Ssithaar had seen Di'Zok and they hardly looked so fearsome. They wore steel armor, far more advanced then he nearly extinct Di'Zok had worn. They wielded weapons that were almost... superior to the weapons of the Iksar. Ssithaar's eyes widened as he watched them bark orders in such a disciplined manner. These were not the same Sarnak that he had known, that he had watched rebel against his people. These were not the creatures that had rebelled against Atrebe Sathir. They were far more advanced... “Let no Sathirian find our home!” one particular warrior yelled. The fierce Di'Zok-like-Sarnak charged their rhinos into their opponents' and blood spilled on the ground. The beasts hopped from their large mounts, and swords flashed as the ten Sarnak dispatched each Sathirian with terrifying ease. The lead warrior – one with golden scales, raised his sword in victory. Every one of the creatures then cried out, “For Gorowyn!” He rose to his feet, turned, and ran. All the shaman could think of was escaping the beasts that had butchered the Sathirians. They were not Di'Zok, yet they resembled them. They looked and seemed more fierce, more deadly. The former slaves of the Iksar were dangerous, but Ssithaar did not see such. He saw creatures of fear. Abominations... that is what the Di'Zok had been. Abominations meant for slave labor. Abominations meant to break their bones and their backs for the Iksar... but they had somehow acquired souls. Somehow... Atrebe had failed... and now... many years... many generations later...these deviations from the Di'Zok were here, and they fought with such terrifying power... power only Cazic could be proud of. He didn't even pay attention as he tripped up and fell into the waters off the docks of the plains. He swiftly began to move back to gain footing, but a sharp pain pierced his back, as if one of the Sarnak had found him, or as if the Sathirians had taken him. He tried to turn in the water, and he saw the dragon-like face of the beasts, and he cried out as he was jerked up out of the water. Ssithaar struggled against the beast. “Get... off of me!” the shaman hissed. “Time to die, Iksar! FOR GOROWYN!” the Sarnak cried. Before the Sarnak could strike, Ssithaar hissed out a curse. The beast dropped the shaman, and stumbled back, as if blinded. Ssithaar clutched his book from out of the water, as well as his staff, and proceeded to rifle through the pages as he winced in pain. His eyes turned black as he began to channel his spells of fear, more necromancy then shamanism. Spirits that were once merely beneficial became angry, as if dominated by fear. They began to tear at the Sarnak, searing its scales. Ssithaar hissed out his victory as he clubbed the creature with his staff, but as he howled furiously, a song of fear to Thule, he began to feel light headed. The pain.. the pain in his back was too much. He put his hand back to feel the wound and growled in surprise as he felt ripped and broken scales. He brought his hand to his eyes and saw the blood. Victory was his... and with one final prayer to Cazic Thule, Ssithaar fell backwards into the water, allowing the clutches of death to take him.