Ieros

Missing costumes for the up coming Masquerade.
THE TOWN CRIER

A note posted outside the castle on the messages and law pillar.
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A robbery a robbery
I am The Rastifer. I have had four costumes stolen for this weeks festival of mask. There is a reward placed for the return of these costume. it will be significantly less after the Masquerade. I will be employing some Individuals to bring these thieves to justice, if these costumes are not returned.

Costumes : Skeleton female
……………Demon Male
……………Apollo Male
……………Minatuar Male

Please contact me at my shop for Bounty details.

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An Undead Sister. Also, I’m a Demon!
Ehcuo's Personal Journal #1

Well here we are, about a week after Jade’s death. Other than the unhealing wounds and the cravings for sentient meat, she seems pretty normal. She smells like a dead person, but she has always stunk, so that’s not a big deal. I do think having an undead on this journey will make things difficult, so it is high time that we bring her back to life. I have been reading my dark book a lot lately and I think I have found a way. Yes it will involve a sacrifice or two and yes they will most likely be painfully torturous.. But if that’s what it takes to sway Thanatos in our direction, it must be done.
On another note, I have been learning a lot about my heritage. It seems my grandmother was quite revered in the demon’s realm. With all of the new information I have come across in my book, I have decided to follow the path of my people. I must figure out a way to unlock my true potential. Grandmother did not make mistakes and nothing happened because of chance. My birth had purpose and I intend to figure out what that purpose is.

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A Day Of Study Pays Off
Ehcuo's Personal Journal #2

I was taking a look around one of the many wings of Zayn’s library and found some old text on curse removal. With this newfound knowledge and my humble, if not somewhat excessive sacrifice to Thanatos, I feel that our attempt to rid my sister her… undead… situation will pay off. The first step will be to find a fair amount of sentient beings to put to death in a dramatic yet personally entertaining way. Who says a sacrifice can’t be a party?

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A Helping Hand, Slapped Away
Ehcuo's Personal Journal #3

I am a man of many skills. I have directed this skill set in a way to to strengthen and enhance those I consider my friends, my family. I studied the magic, I researched the gods, I had a plan to reunite my sister’s soul with her body… But I can only do so much. The problem with being one who enhances others, Is that it leaves me at a disadvantage in completing elaborate plans on my own. I can only facilitate the opportunity, and give the advantage, the one thing I can not do is help those who do not wish to be helped. I tried to rid my sister of the curse and was laughed at and ignored. I am at a loss, but I will move on. It is time to focus on other tasks, ones that will enhance my personal abilities. One day, I will be strong enough to see my plans through, with or without the help of others. I will enhance those I deem worthy, and I will rise above the weak and unprepared. For now, my sisters needs will have to wait. I tried to help her, it is time she learns to help herself. I will let her do the leg work for now.. She is stronger than she thinks and will find her own path to salvation.

We have continued our journey though the desert. We passed through the walled city of Koma Shief. It was fairly uneventful… well, uneventful for us. Only one guard had to die. We were able to procure two horses, an elephant, and provisions for over a week of desert travel. We spoke to the their oracle and received many answers… at a price. I still morn the loss of Lucy, my custom, hand made lute. Kill three dead cats… hmmmmmmm.

We are currently searching the deserts for the River of Air, which will lead us to the Valley of Kings. The oracle revealed that many of our questions will be answered in the Valley. The journey thus far has not been easy. Last night we encountered what looked like a Fomorian. The desert is an odd pace for such a beast, so we helped it on its way. It is now in a heap, half a days ride behind us. Between my sisters aim, Byn’s Dwarven rage, Zayn’s blue eyes, my undeniable charisma and the brute force of our elephant companion, that googlie eyed sand kicker didn’t stand a chance. At one point I think he was trying to stare me down… He was so ugly, it actually hurt.. But I just stared back and that weak minded half brain blinked first.

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Hopefully we will find what we are looking for soon. We all have many things we wish to achieve, and I do not think trudging through this desert is at the top of anyone’s list.

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Good or Evil
Ehcuo's Personal Journal #4

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People say that I am Evil… I do not think I am Evil. I think the terms “Evil” and “Good” are completely relative to your audience. When the savages to the north invade and conquer a city to the south, are they evil? Maybe to the South they are evil, but to the North they are heros. When a lion kills a zebra, is the lion evil? From the prospective of the zebra, the lion may be evil. But to other lions, he is a champion and a leader. I strive to be a champion. I am not evil, I am a lion!

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Argal Mel's Shop of wonders and I has horses
Fair warning for a fair Deal?

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“Hello?”

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“yes yes. i Am Argal Mel collector of fine and wondrous things. Come to my shop yes yes. "

“Have i seen the men you seek, no, If i had i would tell you…..dont have to break Argal’s things to make points……YIzer you do not need to point , points at Argal to make your points clearer, Argal will just make your points dull and waist your time.”

“Oh those men. yes yes. they bought transport from me. and traveling grain for many days. "
“May i inquire of their nasty deeds? ….”

“They slaughtered the God Kings guards and many travelers on their way to town. They seemed an interesting bunch. And they are enemies of the kings you say…. Please sir guard you need not hurt the other customers I will answer anything you ask.”

“Yes I know the way”

“I would rather not if they are as dangerous as you say…ok ok yes yes. I will be a guide”
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“I will hinder you every step of the way”
“I need to get my horses some hey”

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Meanwhile In a Different Part of the World
Wild magic its a thing

Fearghus a promising you lad from the Finnegan line was just that , a boy who had just come to man hood. Being a strong man and fit as a fiddle as uncle Tim had always said. was going to become another great warrior for his clan.
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Not to long after his 18th year it was the Harvest celebration and it was not long since there was a battle victorious over the neighboring O’Brien clan. So There had been much to celebrate. Everyone in attendance drank their fill. Fearghus being the Man now and not the boy drank till fighting the ground had become his new battle. In his drunken stooper he wondered into the woods, to contemplate everything.

fearghuspath.jpgDrinking from the bottle he had taken with him, he lost track of time. The stars, the woods , the lights, The path. He stumbled onto a path. Following this path, there she was. The most Beautiful woman he had ever seen. Fearghus had heard tales of magical woman who could pull men from their boats and demons who could make you do things with the movement of their shapely forms. This woman was none of those. The only thing he could think was she must be one of the mystical Fey his pops always warned him about. She had been stuck in a near by bog. Dropping everything He jumped for her to save her, and honestly asking for nothing in return she fancied his good heart and drunken wit.

Fearghus spent the next 3 days in her company. She taught him of the ways of magic and how it courses through him and everything. They spent the whole time in the Irish drink and in the hearts of each other. Her people were returning or so he was lead and he awoke one day in the woods with the worst hang over he had ever had.

Back in town the people looked at him in fear and with worries told him he had been gone for about a year. He told his family and the people close to him of his story and the fey from the woods. They mocked hi and shunned him for running out on his duties.

fearghus3.jpgTo this day Fearghus wonders the lands hitting all the taverns and wondering different woods, for the drink is the only way he can recollect that magical time in the woods, It is also the only way he can call upon those magical talents that beautiful woman taught him.

In his most recent adventure Feargus had found himself awaking from his drunken escapades only to find himself a slave of some foreign race putting his people to work in mines. Searching for something who not what. Knowing hi only savior was that fact he did not look like any spell caster they have run across before. they had placed fearghus in general move heavy stuff part of the camp. If he could only get his hands on a drop of the cure he could cast spells once again and free as many of his brethren as he could. After a few days of unbearable sobriety Fearghus had come up with a plan. Get broken by the giant so they have to take him to the fixers.

The fixers where a cage of spiritual caster types near the captains tent. And with one solid thumb he was broken and sent fairly quick for Fearghus worked hard in the mine and was strong enough to move a mine cart by himself. A healer a soulless man follower of the god Odin set and healed his wounds. this was the first step into making an escape. During the next few days Fearghus took on many pains to make it back to the fixers shack. Turns out the medicine girl named Flea in the tent could changes shapes and so started the escape plans. Hiding they keys to their manacles and cages. as dog

As we tried to make our escape as always in Fearghus type luck he was instantly spotted and chased. The other slipped out the back. Making his way to Some of the other strongest warriors he had worked the mines with he tried to free them. Oh yes did i mention Flee had brought him his bottled courage and it made the magic flow through him yet again. With his newly bolstered abilities he tried to cast a defensive spell on himself so that he could protect himself more while he tried to free the prisoners. The time since he had used hi magic had been to long and his spell had to much raw power behind it. And fearghus Magic glowed brightly from him radiating a bright green light from his chest. Blinding everyone around him. Both a hindrance and a boon. After many awkward moments fumbling around a hill giant he managed to free about ten or twelve of the slaves. Noticing that the giant was upon them Feaghus sacrificed himself to give the slaves a moment to run. in doing so was batted across the camp with a single swing from the giants club.

The priest having found most of their items of travel weapons and armor helped fearghus with their spells of divine energy and brought him to his feet. The small band made a break for the woods.

It was over the next several days hiding in the woods this now small group had felt a need to go back and get revenge on their captures captain and save some of the men.
after a short recon from the druid Flea they group had found out that the men they had freed had been recaptured and staked to the ground. With some strategy and blind luck on their side. They manage to kill the captain and obtain his orders and the secret coded documents from his tent. The Brave druid cause a major distraction buy ripping the throats out of some of the guards as some Primal wolf. one larger than Fearghus had ever seen before. On the escape from the camp and some unfortunately bright spells from the clerics. who seem to be followers of war gods the group had arrived at the tentri slaves that had been freed before. With a valiant stand against the guards at and and the fact the camp was now in complete chaos the group managed to escape with the remaining 7 of the slaves.

The two Priest have a goal to meet the dwarves and with the agreement they help Fearghus free some of the slave and help get revenge. he would in turn help them. so they make their way to the dwarves…

A long the way the weather grew harsh and cold. The druid even at one point convinced some bear from the woods to lay down its life to save our large group of travelers im second guessing how powerful this young woman actually is. The nature magic she must wield has to be severely powerful to pull off such a feat.

in need of more warmth Fearghus and his companions found a camp abandoned with the remains of 4 or so adventures had come before. With out very much for thought and the cold nipping at everyone they hastily went for the blankets and cold. The Priest of Odin the soulless one was set upon by some sort of huge spider, After hastily drinking one of the bottles of fine wine Feaghus has absconded with from the captains tent he remember. This spider was a phase spider. Paralyzing and warping it its victim to its realm. After fighting them off and killing many of them , that is four by the way. we needed a way to get the soulless one back.. Fearghus drinking to the most access he could finishing two bottles or maybe three of wine came up with a brilliant and crazy idea. " i will channel as much magical energy as i can from all the different types of spell types and blast a whole through the planer wall to save our friend. With the Help of the winged priest and the nature druid. It was happening.

With a loud crack of thunder and a magical ripple through the world around us. We broke through the planes of existence and pulled our friend back to us. Little did we know he had found his own way back and just appeared behind us…Creating some sort of break in reality between the two points. The magical barriers he are upset and i fear for the worse. The magical back lash was severe. Turning Both Fearghus hands and feat to talon like claws and his entire torso to metal . know he only had about an hour to live the priest of oden and the winged priest of crafting said their individual prayers and with the last a bit of fey luck, a bottle of liqueur fell from the branches above. only to know him out for half of his remaining time on the world. waking up for the last few minutes of his life. he drank that bottle and said his farewells to the group proud to have given his life to save his new friends….

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The start of a new adventure!
Fionais' Journal

One night as I was in town, about to sneak my meal from Fearghus, I felt a presence and turned in time to meet a club to my head, and then blackness. I woke up in a slave camp next to some spiritual healers who were tending to my wounds. I don’t know what I was there for, but there were people digging everywhere. My hands were bound to prevent me from doing magic, and I was surrounded by guards. Eventually I learned to trust these two men. They wanted to help and they wanted to escape. Unsurprising to me Fearghus ended up in our tent quite a few times, beaten and bloodied from the giants. As much as I was annoyed with his antics, the lad had quite the charm. Talking to him I never realized how kind of a lad he is, and learned about his need for booze to conjure his magic. It was then that I decided to bring him in on the escape plan.

Needless to say it didn’t go over quite how I thought. There were dogs everywhere, and I assumed I could get away with changing into one unnoticed. The boys took quite a beating during my quest to find the keys and some wine for my friend. The tent was surrounded by guards so my only option was to hide the loot, catch their attention, and run…or fly…

We managed to get out and were able to go back to free some of the people. Which caused quite another ruckus. During our quest to find these dwarves the two spirituals keep talking about, we came across an abandoned camp. Yearning for more warmth (the bear I managed to convince to give it’s life only had enough fur for one of our men) we started rummaging through the remains in search of clothes. Only to be attacked by these monster spiders! With a little help from my eagle form and help from the others we were able to defeat them, but not before one took one of our guys and disappeared. Who knows where he went, some other realm it sounds like.

But crazy Fearghus hatched a plan to merge all of our magic and somehow rip a hole into that other realm and went in for him. Came out of it looking like a puzzle. He died soon after that. As much of a loner I am, I feel an emptiness without him. He was easily the closest person to me, and now he’s gone… And the damn boozer took my shapeshifting with him! Maybe these dwarves know a way for me to get it back…and maybe Fearghus as well. But for now, we march on.

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The King is Dead

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As of last knight in the palace a group of invaders made it into the castle. Once in the castle the invader managed to separate the king from the rest of the masquerade. In doing so managed to throw him from the balcony. In some feat of magic managing to survive the fall a Dwarf now identified as Bynzhamyn Mahkgrudyr was the main slayer or the king. A few other a bit out of sight on the balcony were also witnessed there.

The archmage Archmage Paraxas Interview many of the guest and and skulked the area. It is said he is using his magics to try and find the people responsible But as for the past few days there has been no response to the public. IT has been a month now and no word from our archmage and only few mentions of the king from the palace. In one week the kingdoms from all over will be sending their princes to inquire on the princess hand.

top of the lists to be coming to our fine city is the prince of the Ikarii and the high prince of the Yaun-ti people. We will see their offers. no one has heard fromPrincess Lina’apollis’reeves One whom unlike her father has made seldom a public appearance.

Where are these assassins, Who is behind this great plot. Where has our archmage gone. What is in store for our city of light in these dark days.

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The Story of a Half Giant

Mother, Agatha:
A rather ogre-ish, very large woman (7", 400+lbs) with striking green eyes and hair of fire. Lead a solitary life; hunting, fishing, gardening, woodwork. Lived in a log cabin outside of town. Skilled hunter, trapper, and woodsman. A very talented brewer of honey mead, though only her and her husband ever got to indulge, and indulge they did.

IMG_20160327_231907.jpgFather, Razmagog, Outcast:
Runt Cloud giant (12’ 8", 2500+lbs) typical cloud giant grey skin sky blue hair and eyes. Outcast in adolescence for small size and preferring the valleys and lowlands, though still loving the fog and clouds. He kept the home in a state of perpetual fog, except on the clearest of nights in the summer. He slept outside the home because it was too small, and he preferred it that way. Though he had not quite reached full maturity, he was gathering large stone slabs and objects and materials of particular beauty and rarity for his future cloud castle.

a743c39aa8f0f76bce7ed770498fe798.jpg“Treeb” (formerly Treeboy) aka. Miltiades (meaning ‘red earth’), son of Razmagog, Outcast:
8’9", 976 lbs
Fighter, Battle Master
Light ashy grey skinned half cloud giant.
Hair color: the greyest of blues, including his facial hair, he wears it all in a wild mane, unkempt and untrimmed.
Eye color: a peculiar mix of blue and green, the observer can never quite tell if the eyes are blue or green

Miltiades, his parents called him Milli, age 12, was out playing and heard a commotion.
He returned home to see his mother and father bleeding, several bodies strewn about. He hid in the bushes and watched the battle rage on.
His parents were putting up an impressive fight but there were just too many of them.
First to fall was Agatha, a strike from behind while she used a woodcutter’s axe and cauldron lid to slay 3 foes ahead.
The sight of his fallen wife caused Razmagog to enter a frenzied rage and he cleaved through the 5 soldiers before him with his giant’s great axe. He fought valiantly, but again the numbers were too much.
They took out his Achilles tendons but he fought on, slaying 3 more. He let out a mighty roar and just then, a well timed arrow caught him straight in the throat.
Not dead, but close, they loaded his body onto a large cart and secured him down with some kind of magical chain. They left the dead and carted the giant away.
They never saw the large boy hiding in the bushes, but he saw them. And 2 faces would haunt his dreams for many nights to come, the leader of this foul band of mercenaries, and his mother’s killer.
He grieved his mother and father until nightfall and fell asleep next to his mother’s body. He was plagued by terrible nightmares that night as he watched his parents fall over and over again, the men laughing in his face. He awoke to his dead mother’s lifeless eyes staring at him, he shrieked and scrambled away.
Then he cried again.
But Miltiades was very smart for his age and he knew no help would come. He gathered up 2 bundles of items.
The 1st was a collection of valuables and objects that he thought might be of worth. This he hid in a secret spot he made beneath a tree a few minutes from the cabin.
The 2nd bundle was the pack he planned to take with him; some crusts of bread, dried fish and meat, a few fruits and vegetables, a small sack of nuts, several pieces of flint, a small knife, a ragged doll his mother made for him, a healing potion hidden in the cupboards, and a large water skin.
He decided to try his mother’s honey mead for the first and probably last time, it was wonderful.
He put on his newest hunting jerkin, received just a few days earlier. And finally he went outside and grasped his mother’s hand, slowly removing a worn golden ring, a gift from the giant’s courtship.
He grabbed the blood-spattered woodcutter’s axe next to her body and began to depart. He paused and turned back, he couldn’t leave her to rot. So he dug he a grave, shallow, for he was just a boy. He placed some sticks in the shape of an A atop the grave. He put on his pack and picked up his mother’s axe, then he grabbed the spare axe next to the home and departed, tears in his eyes.
He followed the path of the mercinaries for several days, never on the road, but just beyond the treeline. He didn’t notice when the tracks split and the carts trail disappeared in the woods on the opposite side, nor did he care. Either his father was dead or he would crush them all. But his mother was dead and he would make them pay, somehow
Eventually he heard them, and the loud and raucous chatter of drunk men. He stopped, and proceeded slowly, being sure to keep his large bulk in as much shadow as he could.
He watched these men, these terrible, wicked men, carry on and revel. He hated them, he wanted to see them pay. But he knew he was too weak. They had killed his mother and father both. So he had to become stronger.

He followed the band of mercenaries for years. They referred to themselves as the Arrowhead. His mother’s killer, Artem, turned out to be the leader, Leon’s, second in command.
He watched them. He watched them fight. He learned from them. He swung his axes around day and night.
He ambushed a scout several weeks in, cleaving his axes into the back of the scouts skull. He took the man’s bow and his clothes, leaving him naked back on the road.
Not long after, stories started around camp of the mysterious “Treeboy” that seems to lurk in the trees. Some men were scared and some were only amused. They would call out to him, “come on Treeboy, let us see you.” And they would try to ambush him, but his cloud giant blood helped him to escape them again and again.
He followed them on their missions and their raids. He was spotted a few times early on and the story of Treeboy grew. But as he watched and he learned, he used the hunting skills his mother taught him, and he began to thin the herd.
At first it was a straggler here and there, or a scout. He would surprise them from behind and most never saw his face. Those that did had the most curious looks of surprise and realization. He was not a scared boy or a curious creature, not a ghost or apparition. No wild boy following them for protection or companionship. He was a hunter and they were his prey. He was a messenger, delivering them to Hades for their sins
As time went on there was never a shortage of new men and woman hungry for coin and loot and blood. But he never touched the two he longed to kill. He wasn’t strong enough. He didn’t want to ambush them, he wanted them to see his face as he used his mother’s axe to take from them their precious lives.
He began to eliminate small groups of 2 or 3, ambushing them at first, then finishing his smaller, weaker foes, the younger and less experienced of his enemies.
Occasionally he would select a veteran, using the ambush to weaken them, then he would put his skills to the test. He was by no means a skilled warrior, as the various scars and wounds that riddled his body would attest, but he was stong, and his conviction kept him alive.
He felt the rage of his father many times over the years, but he suppressed it. He would talk to himself and talk to his mother and he would explain that he wanted to be a whirling tornado, born in the clouds, he loved the clouds. But the rage was a volcano, it would poison the clouds with its black smoke, and that he could not allow to happen.
He began to call himself Treeb, for he was no longer a boy in his eyes, and the name of his father was too sacred. This was the time he began to understand the mist and the fog. They were his and he was theirs. It spoke a secret language, that of dampness and silence. And secrets, for he knew that the men could not see in the fog as well as him, for they were not of the clouds. He was careful and meticulous. Never making fire near them, and keeping his axes razor sharp. Always ready for a scout or an ambush, always watching and always listening.
He grew older and he could feel the strength filling his body. And he knew that he needed more so he began to train. He would fell trees in the deeper forests, for hours at a time he would chop. He used only the spare axe for this, for his mother’s axe had a thirst for blood and nothing else.
As he got bigger and stronger and his skills with the twin axes improved, he grew bolder. Dispatching 6 or 8 of the lesser men, even taking on a pair of grizzled veterans. He knew the time was drawing near, he would have his sweet revenge at last.
He began with the great leader of this terrible band, start with the lesser joy so he could savor the death of his mother’s killer. He waited until the scarred and well worn veteran was alone, he thought he was safe in his latest victory. Treeb never knew what the missions were, nor did he care, all he saw was the red death of his enemies. The man, he did not even know his name, for he did not care what name the man had, he only wish for the man’s blood to join the stains of his mother’s upon her axe. He did not ambush the man like all the others. He merely killed the guards outside his make shift command room and walked through the doors, smiling with blood spattered teeth, blood dripping from his axes. But Treeb did not see the look he was expecting in the man’s eyes. Not surprise or confusion or fear, but of knowing and understanding and realization.
The man spoke to him, “Ah, I can see him in you. The king did not know the giant had a son. I see that the playful boy that leads in many a campfire story told by my men is actually the thorn that has been piercing my side for years. Treeboy—”
“Treeb.” He interrupted
The man chuckled, “Of course, Treeb, for you are a boy no longer. Come to get your revenge I suppose?”
“Yes, Mother thirsts for your blood.” When had he started calling the axe Mother? It did not matter because he could feel her thirst. “But not as much as she craves the blood of her killer.” He laughed a dark laugh.
“Well then,” the man rose from the chair he had been sitting in, “let’s see how well you fight with those axes.” He pulled out his large, dark blade and held it at the ready. Suddenly he charged.

It was a vicious, hard-fought battle, with both sides giving and receiving several blows. In the midst of the fury they both paused, blood dripping from their blades. “It’s too bad you won’t be leaving here alive.” The man said breathily, before smiling an evil smile.

And in that moment Treeb thought of his father for the first time in many years. He had never found out what happened to his father or where the cart went. But now his memory told Treeb what he had to do, and so he let the rage in for the first time. And the Rage felt so good, he could feel himself getting lost in it, and he knew that he might not be able to come back. Still, he let it wash over him and it flowed in him, through him, and he was full.
He met the man’s charge and it overjoyed him when he saw the smile turn to fear. And with some unnatural speed and strength he broke the charge and planted his axes in both sides of the man’s heart, killing him almost instantly. When Treeb removed the blades he saw a neat little slice of the man’s heart stuck to mother’s blade, and in his rage he ate it. Somewhere in his mind he knew he shouldn’t but the rage clouded his judgement, and he satiated his hunger for revenge with a piece of his enemy’s heart. He could taste the warm metallic blood as it coated every surface of his mouth, the flesh tough and chewy in its raw state. His deeper mind was horrified by what he was doing, but the rage wanted it, and the rage felt so good.
After swallowing that piece of the man’s heart he began to use mother to hack up the man’s body. He used the parts and entrails to send them a terrible message.
“I’m here.”

For a while the men were vigilant, much more so than usual. And the killer, that is what Treeb knows him by, again, his name is unimportant. He took his place as leader of the mercenaries, but as Treeb watched from the shadows he could see fear in the killer’s eyes. He questioned his own men, he was suspicious of each of them.
Treeb had his own fear. The rage. It was a feeling so delightful and exhilarating, but at the same time horrifying. He knew he to remember the moment always, so he would never give in to the rage again.
Treeb gave them a time of peace, he knew they would begin to let their guard down. He was waiting for the right time and he knew that time was coming.

The men were hunting a pegasus. They cared nothing for the creature, they wanted only its wings. And Treeb listened to their plan, like he always did, and he knew this was the time. They were going to rain arrows around it so it wouldn’t take off. Funnel it through a narrow canyon carved into the nearby mountain, it had sheer sides that wouldn’t allow the pegasus to take off. Then on the other side of the canyon is a cliff, where the pegasus would try to fly, but they would have men with nets and chains waiting to stop it. It was the perfect place to make his own ambush. The men could fit no more than 2 or 3 across while in the canyon and they wouldn’t be worried about what’s behind them. And best of all, as a show of strength the killer wanted to lead the chase. Perfect.
And so Treeb sharpened his axes to perfection and waited. He called upon the fog, willing it out with more conviction than he ever had before, and it filled the canyon and the area around it. He was going to kill as many as he could before finishing off the killer. Finally they began to get into position, the fog was no obstacle to them, for the plan was almost perfect, almost. They left a few behind to stay with camp, Treeb took them out first. Cleaving heads from bodies, he killed almost without sound in the fog, his axe blades slicing their flesh like one would slice an apple.
He set the camp abaze as soon as all were dead, all but a boy, no more than 14. He appeared to the boy through the mist and told him to go, for this would be a place of great violence. And just as swiftly, he disappeared back into mist. Treeb followed the path of the men,and found the 6 archers foolishly grouped together after their job was done. 4 of them were dead before the others could let out a quick shriek of surprise. Then they too had their cries cut short, like his father. Whenever he thought of his father he could feel the rage creep up, but he suppressed it. He traversed the mist until he found the entrance to the canyon, and the slowest of those that were chasing the pegasus. 2 men side by side, each leaning on a side of the canyon wall catching their breath. He wanted the voices of these men to echo through the canyon, and whisper through the mist. He kneeled behind the men, flipped his axe blades around, and with 2 reverse strikes he removed both of their legs. The 2 men screamed as their legless torsos fell to the ground. He rolled them both over and quieted their screams with axe blades to the face. He knew this would be the final battle and he wasn’t going to let any of them escape with their lives. He began to walk down the canyon, each heavy stomp vibrating across the canyon floor. He wanted them afraid. As a precaution and a scare tactic he planted the axes in the walls behind him while he walked, causing the pathway to become blocked with rocks and rubble and creating a quiet thunder that both roared and whispered through the canyon. He could see some men running towards him, so he stepped through the mist directly in front of them, removing their weapon hands before their heads. This pattern continued, with the walls falling behind him and men running to him, getting dismembered and eliminated.
His flesh bore several wounds from stones and blades when he finally sees the 2 men with nets and hears the cries of the pegasus trapped beneath them. He removed their arms and then their heads. He could smell that it was just him, the killer, and the pegasus. And then he smelled something else, something he couldn’t quite remember. He sees the killer, his greatsword planted in the ground before him. Then he feels a strong gust of wind that blows away the fog, and at that moment Treeb was slammed to the ground by a bolt of lightning. In the brief moment after the flash but before the bolt, Treeb thought, ’that’s the smell’ and he saw the killer smiling.
He was stunned and everything hurt, but he knew he had to get up. He grabbed his axes and rolled away from the killer, just in time to miss a mighty downward chop. He got to his knees and blocked another cleaving strike with Mother. His eyes widened as he saw the notch in Mother’s blade where he caught the greatsword.
The man laughed, “Hahaha, I see that the giant had a son. And is that your mother’s axe? The king would find that very amusing. It’s too bad you’ll die here today.”
Treeb smiled his own bloody smile, “Mother has been thirsty for your blood for so very long.” He said it not to the killer, but to his axe. He rose to his feet, an 8 foot mountain of a man, covered in his own and the blood of his enemies. The real battle began.
The killer kept up his gust of wind so the fog and mist could not help Treeb. Still he held his own. The killer was a master with his blade, striking with both his downswing and upswing. And Treeb was his own masterpiece, swinging and twisting and twirling his axes with uncanny deftness. Each side landed their own minor blows but neither of them made another sound. If one were somehow witness to this great battle they would hear nothing but the clang of metal and the occasional cry of a pegasus.

The killer swung wide and Treeb went in for a death blow, but he realized, too late, that it was a feint, and the killer carried through with the swing, spinning around entirely and driving a great blow to the back. It was after this moment that Treeb began to lose the battle, taking more blows than the killer. After each blow he felt the rage rising, but he thought of mother and forced it down. He was breathing heavily now, not making his own attacks, only dodging and blocking, and resting when he could. But the killer was relentless. Treeb jumped back from another mighty sideways blow but the tip caught his chest and he dropped to a knee. Again he felt the rage rising, but before he could suppress it the man spoke, “Your father would be disappointed.” Instead, he thought of his mother and father’s great battle and in his mind he saw his mother smile. He let the white-hot fury of Mother’s revenge and the blood boiling rage of his father intertwine within him, and he let it into every corner of his being. The killer saw his eyes grow wide and bloodshot, and the peculiar color shift to black, as he rose to his full height, somehow taller and larger than he was just moments before. He bellowed a mighty roar. “Ah,” the killer chuckled, “there it is.”

Suddenly Treeb struck, the blows coming hard and fast. There was rage but it was focused. With the memory of his parents driving him, Miltiades, their son, was a whirlwind, a raging tornado of death. He swung blow after blow, some being blocked and dodged, some drawing blood. The killer drew nearer and nearer to the cliff edge when a sudden back swing caught square him in the side and he landed face down on the ground, unmoving.

Treeb stood above the man, kicking his sword away. He needed only Mother for this final blow. With a great swing he planted his other axe in the ground beside him. Then he brought Mother high in the air…
Unbeknownst to both men the lighting bolt had caused the cliff to crack. And the great battle taking place above weakened it even further. Treeb cleaving his axe into the cliff was the final straw. And as he was raising Mother up, the cliff side collapsed, sending both men tumbling to the forrested valley below.

Treeb woke up sometime later, for a moment, it was night, then he passed out again. He awoke the next morning in agony, his left leg was broken as were several ribs, and everything hurt. He had to splint his leg but he had to set it first. He put a stick in his mouth and wedged his foot under a root. He pulled himself away with speed and heard a loud crack. He passed out again. What happened? Where was he? How did he even know what he was doing? This wasn’t the body of a 12 year old boy.
The last thing he could remember was burying his mother’s body. A flash of memory; his mother’s axe stained with blood, a notch in the blade from something… Oh no! Where was Mother?! He got to his feet despite the pain screaming at him not to move and started to look around him. He found an axe, but it wasn’t the right one. He began to search frantically, shoving rocks and tree branches around. He came upon a particular rock that looked to be split in half, but it was large. He pushed off with his good leg and pushed with all his might, it wouldn’t budge. Without thinking, he put his broken leg down and pushed again. He passed out.

When he woke up he looked around him and there was Mother in the crack. He thought again; What happened? Who attacked my family? Another flash of memory; “…The king didn’t know the giant had a son…”, “… The king would find that amusing…” The king? What king? The king of where? He didn’t know. But what he did know was that the king had to die, and if he had to kill every last king in the world, then that’s just what he would do.

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