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orrin [12]

Professional

Posts: 1,271

Occupation: hunter

101

Thursday, April 9th 2015, 10:29am

唉，神秘知识总算升到20了。。。

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orrin [12]

Professional

Posts: 1,271

Occupation: hunter

102

Monday, July 27th 2015, 5:58am

You have come across the notes of a Magmar survivor, things he has written down after visiting Tallaar's Halls.
I'm still alive? That's incredible? I cannot believe I have survived this raging madness ? If I had it my way, I would forever forget this rampage, but I must, I just must write this down as long as the memories are still fresh and vivid. Once, they will read my story. Maybe they will think I'm insane, but this is the truth, this all really has happened to me. My notes break off sometimes, I can't decipher my own writing but I will force myself to remember, to tell my story.
I came to lying on the ground, spread in a most improbable pose, like I was flung to the ground from a giant height. I had a fever, my body was shivering, but I wasn't cold ? I tried to get up, but my strength has left me and I collapsed on the floor. My clothes are soaked in some sticky liquid, I'm sweating, beads of sweat run down my face and my body, adding to the dampness of my clothes. My armor seems to be gone and I ? I am full of blood, that's the sticky liquid, human blood and? You gods? there is also Magmar blood on me! Our magma can't be mistaken for anything else. Fragments of memory crop up. I was killing enemy and friend alike!
These were the first thoughts springing to my mind after I came to, beaten and exhausted. My eyes closed, I wasn't even able to move, just trying to understand where I was. My right eye was swollen tight, I was trying to get it open, without success. The skin around the eye was swollen and hurt. Infernal pain was running through my whole body? then I managed to open my left eye a bit, luckily, it wasn't hurt. The first that struck my eye was the building, this giant bulk casting a shadow all over the place: a huge temple built from slabs of stone, chapped of age and dampness. Terrible pictures floated before my eyes, I could suddenly remember everything that was happening to me during the last few hours, after I have trespassed Tallaar's sinister threshold, sure that I am be uniquely strong, strong enough to resist the urge to kill and maim.
A thin beam of light was breaking through a crack in the massive door, but there was no other source of light besides this dull illumination, and the ancient temple was immersed in darkness. After a time my eyes were used to the darkness, I stopped to take a look around. The walls are covered in scriptures in a language unknown to me and in strange paintings; they were strangely shining through, despite that the walls themselves were covered in blood. In some places the blood was dried, somewhere else it was fresh, like was spilled mere moments ago. Stains of blood were on the floor, too, but there were no corpses to be seen. The place was deserted, silent, sinister? I started to watch the paintings more closely. One of them, in the centre, depicted a warrior run through with a sword. He was clutching a heart in his hands, his face showing pain and tears. Suffering? yes, suffering was the first word that came to my mind. Would I have known how exact my interpretation of this picture was!! I imagined to hear rustling noises, somebody was whispering somewhere, but I could not understand anything. My thoughts were shrouded by a mist, almost like a terrible force was trying to obscure my mind, while my eyesight and hearing were sharpened to a degree I never thought possible. I was tight like a bowstring, ready to let fly a deadly projectile, ready to fling myself unto the next living being, something dark, evil filling up my soul. Rage, I was full of rage. All of a sudden, I heard a long creak. I turned around as fast as I could and saw the door being closed. I threw myself at the door, but I was but able to make a couple of strides as it was shut close with a thunderous bang. My attempts to push it open failed miserably: it was shut dead, dead, dead. Suddenly, a torch lit up, then another, then yet another, until the whole hall was illuminated by their warm shine. This was the moment I have noticed a steel-clad Human staring at me. I felt a tension gripping my body, blood pulsing in my temples, the heart pounding away, my hand adjusting its grip on the sword, my eyes veiled by a red shroud. I believe this is the way a predator feels when sensing its prey. Boundless rage took control of me, I wanted to immediately maim, kill, destroy the person staring at me without fear. I do not understand what was happening to my mind in this moment! I was a different person then, driven by but one thought: destroy, destroy, destroy! I remember throwing myself at him, propelled by the desire to spill blood, my mad battlecry sounding back from the walls of this accursed temple. It was all over within minutes? Parts of the enemy warrior's body were scattered across the floor, the head has rolled into a corner. Breathing hard, I was shaking my head violently, trying to get hold of my mind again; I could not believe this was the work of my hands! The red shroud fell away from before my eyes, freeing my mind for a few moments. I am a warrior, combat is my life and I have often had to kill, but never before was I killing with such a pleasure, in such a frenzy. I felt a presence within: something alien, sinister was spreading like a slow poison, reaching out to even the remotest corners of my conscience. The door opened with a faint creak, almost inviting me to learn more of the temple. There was no going back for me, the exit was closed, I had only one route to go ? head on, forward. One hall came after the other, like links of a chain. Everything within them happened according to a kind of mad screenplay, written by an insane playwright, by death itself! The only difference was that the rage within me was boiling hotter, doubling with every step. I stood, finally, the thirst for blood in me was raging with incredible, unstoppable force, my strength growing, my reflexes were incredibly quick. I did not feel pain, I was craving for a fight, longing to see my enemy sprawled dead before my feet like I was never longing for a thing before in my life. One of the warriors I met in the halls I ripped apart with my bare hands? I can still hear his death screams ? I could try and justify my actions as self-defense, form y enemies were equally possessed, or by saying that I was acting on behalf of the greater good, but to no avail ? I can remember how much I was enjoying this carnage. I was an executioner, a butcher, merciless, unconstrained, cruel. Whatever took possession of my conscience was urging me to attack Humans and Magmars alike. I do not dare imagine what would have happened, if my father or brother would have been in that place? would I have been able to drive back the horrible spirit, I do not dare for I know the answer already, I know the bitter truth. The dark and blind will of Tallaar is the great leveler, forcing everybody under the dark temple's yoke. I would have killed everybody, I was possessed by the temple! I came through all of its halls, and I can recall every detail of each of them like I just left, but I cannot remember what happened afterwards, when the last hall was finished. I can't remember how I happened to lie on the earth in the temple's shadow...

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Faith Seeker [12]

Intermediate

Posts: 164

103

Saturday, August 15th 2015, 11:05am

還有人在玩嗎？

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orrin [12]

Professional

Posts: 1,271

Occupation: hunter

104

Sunday, August 16th 2015, 1:51am

Quoted from "Faith Seeker"

還有人在玩嗎？

有吧。。。

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orrin [12]

Professional

Posts: 1,271

Occupation: hunter

105

Sunday, August 16th 2015, 1:52am

sk22

You have happened to come across the Lastoldiya's ship's log, a vessel with the hailing port in Virigiya, bound to Grand Fort Harbor but vanished under way somewhere on the Balluar Ocean. The rotten and soaked log was caught by a fisherman's net. 4-rise of Mirrow after the departure We are hurrying east under full sails, thanks to prosperous winds that allow us to go run at full speed. If the weather stays this good and we won't be forced to change our route, the Lastoldiya will reach its destination in due time. However, if the ship herself is in an excellent state, the crew's mood is bad after last night's events! One of the new seamen, recruited in Verigiya, has stirred everyone with his tails about a terrible monster, Flangariy Korr, a giant squid dwelling in the unfathomable Abyss The sailor was convincing the crew that this monster attacks ships, gripping them with its giant tentacles and cracking them like a nutshell, dragging the flotsam to the ground! No one can escape his fate, for even if somebody manages to jump overboard, he will be dragged down by the giant maelstrom that appears when the beast dives. But he managed to escape somehow. I deemed necessary to quote his tale in the ship's log. That was a night to remember! Dark like a Iguraon's soul, but our ship was heading steady on course. The lads down in the caboose were really rummed up to the rim, to the Captain's most evident displeasure. They were singing scabrous shanties. The lad we've hired as a ship's boy was feeding the fishies all night long, he was just turning inside out. I had a barrel of rum on my shoulder and was just staggering back to my room, looking forward to a nice game of poker with the cook when I felt the ship shaking ever so slightly. One thousand hobgoblins, I thought, an underwater rock is just what we need now! Then the ship trembled again, harder this time. The ship heeled. I paused to get a better hold of the rum, when the ship's boy ran into me. I was about to smack him when I saw that his face was chalky white, dread in his wide open eyes. He was trying to say something, but only some inarticulate whispers came from his shaking lips. This was the moment when I saw the reason for his fear. Something giant was crawling over the ship's board from the water! Ye Gods above! It was a giant tentacle! You should have seen this thing, a mile long! Its smooth and glossy surface was reflecting the ship's lanterns, the inside was covered in giant meaty suckers. This was also the very moment I recalled the old divers? tale that this suction cups were meant to drain the squid's victims from all their juices. Fear gripped me, a fear I have never felt before, my limbs were frozen, paralyzed. I could only watch the gargantuan tentacle glide towards the mast. It wound around this heavy pole and jerked at it with incredible strength! Crrrrreak! The mast, breaking with the noise like a thunderclap made me come to again, whilst wooden chips and splinters were raining down around me. The heavy sailcloth came down, covering the deck. I started to scream and propelled myself to the captain's bridge. The ship was shaking violently, being tossed to and fro, but not die to the ocean waves. A horrible monster was attacking. We were doomed. I saw the heavy tentacles gliding through the water, bringing up fountains of water, crushing down on the ship again and again. The ship was groaning, breaking up along the joints. A few steps away from me, where a mere second ago the cook and Beardy Rasmus were standing, there was a shapeless mass. It was? the tentacles have turned their bodies into? I don't even know how to describe it, Hell and Damnation! The next strike hit exactly the spot where I was standing and I was flung overboard. I was helplessly floundering in the water, when a big splinter from the mast floated by, which I gripped with a viselike grip. Only after that I dared to look up. Compared to the giant tentacles protruding from the water, your ship seemed to be no more than just a tiny boat, crumbling to peaces before my very eyes. Flangariy Korr himself was nowhere to be seen, only his tentacles were above the surface? I started to row away from this terrible place with all my strength, stumbling upon pieces of wood and corpses. Then I felt a terrible force dragging me back! The monster was diving back into the abyss, carrying with him everything that remained of the ship. A gargantuan maelstrom appeared , sucking everything into the depth, devouring corpses and living men alike. Lads, it's a wonder I've survived. Looks like I've managed to bring enough distance between me and the maelstrom. By all the Devils of the Sea, it seems it's too early for me to part with this world! Anyhow, I never have seen such horror before. This thing from the ground of the Balluar ocean is a spawn of Hell, I'm telling you!? The sailors are a superstitious folk and this tale made a great impression on the Lastoldiya's crew. They were exchanging glances, whispering into each other's ear now and then, and if not for the story the new man has told yesterday, I would have thought there is a mutiny going on. I have to admit, I was disturbed and scared myself by this Flangariy Korr: our route was crossing the route of the ship in the tale? and then, the weather? a dead calm! An ominous sign in the eyes of a sailor?

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orrin [12]

Professional

Posts: 1,271

Occupation: hunter

106

Thursday, August 20th 2015, 7:27pm

sk 23

You have come across the tale of How the Corvus Became a Mount and Rescued a Whole City
A page torn from a handwritten fairytale tome, brought from distant lands by some travelling merchants.

Once upon a time, when a deep blue sea was where now this little creek flows and the faithful Corvusses were wild and dangerous giant birds, feasting upon the crops of and the work of people, there was a town at the sea where good and hardworking people lived, people working day and night, never lazy or sitting idly, people that knew no discord among them nor with the neighbors. This was a town of artisans and craftsmen! Nowhere in the whole world were there better weavers than in this port town; no one in the world could forge better swords and craft better cubes like the master craftsmen there, no one could trim a lace as intricate as the masters of this town. The town was renowned for its craftsmanship throughout the region, all secrets of the trades were passed on from father to son, from mother to the daughter. Never mind how hard they tried, the artisans from the surrounding towns were never able to match the artisans from this town, they could not reproduce the intricate patterns on the tablecloths, the razor-like sharpness of daggers. Every day ships full with all kinds of goods took anchor in the port, sailing away filled with silver and gold. The people were living in peace, they knew no worries and no sorrow. But danger loomed in the East ? the attack of warmongering nomads caught the people unawares, besides, the town was inhabited by artisans, not by warriors. The enemy quickly dispatched the hapless people, utterly destroying the once prospering community and killing all the inhabitants and burning the glorious ships to prevent the news from spreading. No one would have ever learned of these atrocities if not one of the inhabitants had managed to survive. Romengo the Weaver was lucky enough to hide in the woods when he noticed what was happening to his town. He ran for the harbor to take to the sea in a boat and to warn the adjacent towns of the impending threats, but all he could see were smouldering carcasses of the once proud flotilla. A deep wound in his side was hampering him, every move was agony, as if he was being pricked by thousands of needles. This was the moment he saw a busily crawling about Corvus, seemingly looking for food in the soil. There was no fear of the human in this bird. These marvelous beings were most peaceful and docile despite their menacing look. Pressing one hand on the bleeding wound in his side, Romengo slowly moved towards the giant bird. The animal backed away without running, carefully watching the man's every move. The weaver touched the bird, carefully caressing the bird's tar-black feathers. The Corvus still remained surprisingly calm. Then Romengo mounted the giant runner and the latter was, to the weaver's endless surprise, still did not cry out or try to free itself from the sudden burden on its back. One more minute passed and the Corvus was running at full speed, pressing its huge wings to the flanks. Romengo was holding fast, filled with fear: The wind was whistling in his ears, while the beast still continued to run in leaps and bounds, seemingly not even noticing the rider. The weaver knew the Corvusses are not capable of flight, but he could only just now witness the speed at which they could run. Who would have been able to imagine it: He's mounted a Corvus! The giant raven was still running ahead and ahead, and it was not before the bird took a sharp turn when the weaver started to slide from the Corvus? back, unable to hold on with his numb and tired hands that the bird gently shoved him back with its beak. A few minutes later Romengo was feeling better and more confident, he even decided to take a risk: he pulled the feathers on the bird's neck to the right, and it turned, according to his wishes, to the right, he pulled the feathers to the left and the giant raven reacted smoothly. Steering the intrepid mount, the weaver came to the next city and reported the attack. He has arrived at the city forestalling the raiding enemy's army. His people were saved thanks to the Corvus. From this time on, these good-spirited giant birds were honoured among the city's inhabitants. They were tamed and trained as riding beasts. Freshly hatched nestlings were petted and raised with loving care, the full-grown birds became most valuable helpers in combat, tough and swift.
After his recovery Romengo had not only had a rescuer, but also a faithful friend. He and the Corvus were inseparable until his very last day. But this is how the tale goes, but if it's the truth? how can say that, who?

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orrin [12]

Professional

Posts: 1,271

Occupation: hunter

107

Thursday, August 20th 2015, 8:33pm

Quoted from "Narcissus"

stop flooding pls

我就存下神秘知识的文本~

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orrin [12]

Professional

Posts: 1,271

Occupation: hunter

108

Tuesday, August 25th 2015, 4:13am

sk 24

You have got your hands on some very interesting notes. .

One of the pages from a journal from an expedition by the first explorers of the northern lands of Khair, found in cave in distant mountains.

The pointer of the old compass, trembling nervously under the opaque glass, pointed steadily to the north. We are moving in the right direction, and this is indicated by the crescent moon hanging heavily overhead, in the light of which everything looks to be a smoky blue color, opaque and fuzzy. Mirrow is not visible from here, and a thick fog is gradually enveloping the district in an impenetrable shroud. The last few hours after we set for on this land, we have constantly had the feeling that we are not alone here. It is as if something is following in our footsteps and watching us furtively, hiding behind the grey rocks. It seems that I am having hallucinations, due to tiredness and a shortage of fresh water. I thought I saw the figure of a warrior, encased in some strange armor not far off from our night camp…. *The lines are crossed out, so that the writing cannot be made out.* We all need a good night's sleep… I have the impression that we are crossing some invisible frontier and entering foreign territory, so we should make a bivouac before continuing our journey into the dangerous forests of an unknown part of the mainland. .
…Twenty sixth day of the journey 74°49′ 17°49′ Bivouac by some large rocks.
We did not manage to get any sleep. Our group was awoken by a loud growling that echoed around the district. Jumping to our feet immediately, we grabbed our weapons and readiness ourselves for attack. However, the battle had already begun… On a small hillock not far from our camp, a bloody drama was unfolding. Not believing our eyes, we watched as two giants fighting each other. Their unusual appearance, which even from a distance was unlike anything we had ever seen, and their skillful method of fighting, attracted our attention. The first was encased from head to toe in silver armor, which covered his powerful body without restricting his movement. It seemed that the warrior had fused with it, and it had become a second skin. The blue crystals with which his armor was studded emitted a weak magical light when the stuck a crushing blow against his opponent. But the strangest thing is that none of us were able to make out his face. It is possible that at such a distance we were unable to see his features, but when we were discussing it later, we all agreed that the flesh of the first fighter was invisible. Only the eyes, enormous twinkling eyes in the depth of a dark helmet…. The second participant was more like a giant demon, with eyes burning with anger and hatred. His powerful torso was not protected by armor, only massive golden bracers could be seen on his strong arms, which held a double-handled axe. He flapped enormous, fleshy, membranous wings with claw-like limbs at the end, and constantly screamed – hoarsely but with unconstrained frenzy. But it was clearly visible that it was calculating its every move. Long, sharp horns grew from its forehead, with which it deftly repelled the blows of its enemy. Both opponents looked at each other with such hatred that only sworn enemies could feel for each other – a hatred consolidated by centuries of opposition. Overcome with fury, they did not notice anything else around, their attention was wholly concentrated on each other. The eyes, filled with bloodlust, of the horned monster against the incorporeal being with eyes glowing in the visor of his helmet. Their battle was like an encounter between two elements. The blows of the first were smooth and majestic, but at the same time they were swift and blinding, like flashes of lightening against the backdrop of a dark sky. He was a master with a sword and he seemed to soar over the battlefield. The movements of the second warrior were sharp and jerky, like curls of flame in a huge forest fire. He stood firmly on the ground, like a mountain that could not be moved by wind or earthquake. He rained down blows with such strength that it was difficult to believe that anything would be able to deflect them and repel his attack. We had never seen anything like this before. The power with which these beings were imbued was like nothing ever experienced in the Human or Magmar worlds. Lunge, blow, parry, lunge… We were unable to move from our spot, amazed and frightened by this astoundingly cruel scene. This was one of the…..
The next page, on which the tale was continued, has been lost.

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orrin [12]

Professional

Posts: 1,271

Occupation: hunter

109

Wednesday, August 26th 2015, 3:56am

sk 25

You managed to find the text of a myth about the battle between Aladeya and the God of the Cursed and the Dead, which gave the people of Faeo the right to choose between them.

The scroll of text, which has yellowed with time, has nevertheless been well preserved.

The pure envy of a venomous snake crept into the thoughts of the God of the Cursed and the Dead and took possession of him. He was unable to satiate himself by enslaving the souls of the dead. His contemptible nature demanded total worship, which is why an inevitable war broke out between himself and Aladeya for Human and Magmar souls. This fight was terrible and ongoing. Both opponents were powerful and menacing. The beautiful countenance of the fertility goddess burned with righteous fury, but she did not give in to this destructive fury, and allowed her reason to take control. She entered into battle, having summoned to her side a massive army of wild animals and predators birds – all of nature rose up on her side. In opposition, the one who was not even given a name at birth summoned corpses from their graves. The stench of rotting and decaying flesh filled the air. These warriors knew no mercy, they could feel no pain. This resurrected army radiated death, and they brought death with them. The two forces . the dead and the living – collided in a merciless battle. The animals gathered in a pack and attacked the undead. Thick vines enmeshed the monsters and strangled them in their green embrace. But it was impossible to overpower the corpses. They lifted rusted swords over their heads and brought them down with incredible force on the army of Aladeya. This battle continued for many weeks, but neither side was able to claim victory. Then the God of the Cursed and the Dead summoned the forces of darkness to his side. Terrible and enormous, like mountains, the monsters emerged from the bowels of the earth and joined the battle. The knocked over cliffs and hurled them at the enemy, and they scooped up the abyss and threw it in the path of their opponents. But the beneficent Aladeya found the strength to resist the underground giants, she called on the trees to defend her. These powerful giants lifted up their giant roots and curled them around themselves like armor, and they provided a powerful defense against the powers of darkness. This fight continued for many days, but neither side was able to claim victory. Nobody knows for how long this battle would have continued if wise Bolivaker had not intervened. The wise god appealed to the irreconcilable enemies with a speech in which he reminded them of how senseless and endless their fight was. He proposed to them to allow the inhabitants of Faeo to decide for themselves who they would worship. The God of the Cursed and the Dead did not like this solution: how cold mortals be trusted to decide for themselves? But he calmed his anger and looked inquisitively at Aladeya. The custodian of harmony merely bowed her head to Bolivaker in gratitude for his advice. The gods reached an agreement. This is how the choice was given to Humans and Magmars. From then on the tribes were able to decide for themselves who they would worship – Aladeya or the God of the Cursed and the Dead, and to those altar they would bring sacrifices and gifts, and to whom to pray for help.

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orrin [12]

Professional

Posts: 1,271

Occupation: hunter

110

Friday, October 30th 2015, 4:51am

You managed to find a copy of the ship's log, found among the remains of the ship.

Extracts from the log from the pirate ship Cutthroat, which sunk on top of an accumulation of Gollade pearls in mysterious circumstances.

Day since the start of voyage: 18. Position: 10 leagues to the north of the main shipping lane.
Keeping a ship's log is the duty and privilege of a captain, but due to the fact that for three days in a row the captain has been drinking grog, the log was not being properly maintained. Therefore I, First Mate Herrax Mill, going by the nickname Fishfood, have decided to keep my own journal, so as to later hand it over to the owner of the merchant ship that sent me a letter with a job offer not more than a month ago. I will say straight off: after the dissolute and depraved life on board the ship, I am ready to settle down and bid farewell to my pirate past forever. The mistakes of my youth will be a lesson to me forever: I will not take part in any more Cutthroat voyages.

Day since the start of voyage: 18 (evening). Position: 3 leagues to the north of the main shipping lane.
The Captain, as usual, is dead drunk. To our misfortune, among the valuable freight on a ship that we boarded, we sound a consignment of excellent rum. Alas the crew did not get a chance to appreciate its taste, as the captain took it all for himself, and threatened anybody that objected with the cat o' nine tails. Now the captain, known in this neck of the woods as Hagar Claw, has gone on a drinking binge. I am afraid that it will all end badly: last time, in a fit of rage, he cut of the ear of the cabin boy and threatened that he would throw overboard all the wild Kretches that had overrun the ship. Needless to say, he had only imagined those monsters.

Day since the start of voyage: 21. Position: 100 leagues from the nearest shore. We are setting our course by Mirrow.
The atmosphere on board is despondent and suspicious. I tried to figure out for a long time what was wrong, and even asked some of the crew the reason for the anxiety. The sailors are silent, as if they have made a pact, and only the ship's cook made some mention of the evil place over which our ship is sailing. Allegedly, he hears some strange melody? Voice? Sound? “The spirits of the drowned,” said Buoyant Willy, looking around anxiously.

Day since the start of voyage: 30. Position: 15 leagues from the shipping lane. We are sailing over underwater reefs.
The lead that we drop to check the depth, brought back something interesting this time. The lucky sailor that hauled up the freight, noticed that in its strands a Gollade pearl had become entwined – a real rarity in these parts. (However, his joy was short-lived, the captain took the pearl for himself, threatening the sailor with a beating). When they say the find, the crew perked up. Many of them suggested jumping overboard, in case there were a lot of these precious pearls on the sea bed. I dampened their enthusiasm by reminding them that in these latitudes, in addition to pearly shells, it is possible to catch good-sized sharks, as long as the bait is large enough.

Day since the start of voyage: 31. Position: holding a straight course on the shipping lane.
The captain is becoming more morose. The sailors are afraid to pass his cabin, even I, whose duties include reporting on the situation on the ship every morning, try not to remain in his company for too long. On the floor of the cabin empty bottles stand in even rows. At night, mumbling and cursing can be heard coming from the captain's cabin.

Day since the start of voyage: 31 (an hour later). Position: 12 leagues from the shipping lane.
While the captain was wandering aimlessly around the hold, looking for a new stash of rum, I entered his cabin and had a look around. At the bottom of a half-empty bottle there was a strange liquid that had the appearance of rum, but had a totally different color and smell. I had an irresistible desire to take a mouthful from the neck of the bottle, although I realized that this would not be wise. I struggled with myself, but the aroma continued to tempt me. Suddenly, the swearing of the captain could be heard nearby, as he staggered back from the hold, and I got a hold of myself and left the cabin.

Day since the start of voyage: 32. Position: 35 leagues to the north.
I am starting to seriously think that the captain has lost his mind. He gives contradictory orders, and if you mention this to him he gets into a rage. Two loose-tongued sailors are already dangling from the yardarm. I am considering organizing a mutiny and putting the captain in a locked cabin until we return to harbor. But on the ship his power is too great – the crew are afraid to stand up to the madman.

Day since the start of voyage: 37. Position: 60 leagues to the north-west.
This morning the captain staggered onto the bridge. I made my way closer and looked him in the eye. I was overcome with horror when I saw his eyes – expressionless and motionless. They were the eyes of a corpse. Not looking at anyone, the captain shouted hoarsely: “Below, everybody below!” The boatswain thought he was talking about the hold, and asked why the hell we should go there. But the captain, with a soundless laugh, said that he should go a lot deeper – to the seabed.

Day since the start of voyage: 40. Position: not established. We have lost our way.
The boatswain and I, along with the Second mate, Buoyant Willy and a few other sailors decided to seize the captain and lock him in his quarters. If the fates smile on us, we will be able to turn things around. We will sail for the nearest port and then we will let him go. This requires a level head, but something is worrying me…. So, a mutiny? I await the coming night, when everything will be decided, with trepidation.

Day since the start of voyage: 41. Position: not known.
Curses! He foiled us. It turns out that the madman was watching us. Some traitor informed him of our plans. An hour before everything was to happen, we were thrown onto the deck like sacks, were beaten for a long time and, finally, stuffed in the quarters. I hung onto the ship's log – I kept it under my shirt, but it is unlikely to fall into the right hands. I am afraid that now the ship is cursed…. Help us, Sheara.

Day since the start of voyage: unknown. Position: unknown.
We have been without food for three days.. overhead we can hear shouts and abrupt orders. It seems that the sailors realized too late how bad things were. The boatswain is lying unconscious, soon it will all be over. Water has started to seep through the gaps …. It seems that the Cutthroat is on a course to the bottom of the ocean.

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orrin [12]

Professional

Posts: 1,271

Occupation: hunter

111

Friday, October 30th 2015, 4:52am

27 now

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orrin [12]

Professional

Posts: 1,271

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112

Friday, October 30th 2015, 4:53am

26 by quest

Ultramarine Book

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orrin [12]

Professional

Posts: 1,271

Occupation: hunter

113

Sunday, May 22nd 2016, 2:15am

sk 28

you have managed to discover the text of a tale about the Bone Dragon and the conceited warrior.

A fragment of one of the manuscripts belonging to the secret order of the Juggernauts, members of which have collected extensive information from over the world on various monsters and ways to destroy them.

For many centuries the order of Juggernauts destroyed cruel super-beings that came to the expanses of Faeo and grew fat on the blood of poor mortals. The lot of the order's knights was the darkness of caves, the gloomy lairs of monsters and forgotten pathways leading nowhere; constant travels and battles was their fate. The warriors of the order avoided regular people, whey were reticent and taciturn and, although many people asked them about their battles with monsters, they preferred to remain silent. But once every several years, late in the fall, the warriors that were still in one piece gathered by the fireside and talked about the deeds they had accomplished, so that they would be remembered for posterity and would not be washed away by the tides of time. Year followed year and ever more terrible monsters were discussed to the sound of crackling logs. Wolfer, Cerberus, Uborg… Along with the brave warriors, I too, a once skilled hunter, listened to these tales. I, who had with my own hand plucked a diabolic flower from the intermingled bog filth and wet slime on the breast of Bog Elf, who was now an old man and a modest chronicler who had been fortunate enough to live to old age and chronicle the deeds of the knights of the order in my memoirs.

One day it was the turn of the next warrior of the order to stand by the bonfire and start his tale, when he was interrupted by a shout from someone. A young warrior, who had only joined the order as few months previously and had not yet managed to prove himself in the hunt, staggered out of the darkness and fell to the ground in front of the assembled company. His face was covered with blood and his body was wounded, but his face shone with joy and celebration. The Juggernauts rushed to him and pulled him away from the fire, and a wise old sorcerer fell to his knees in front of the wounded youth and looked at him, shaking his head: he was a lost soul.
The warrior was delirious, calling out some woman's name through his moans, cursing his own weakness and dodging imaginary blows. It was as if the was whispering strange things through his delirium to his brothers from the order surrounding him, he spoke of indistinct, frightening things and about a terrible monster struck down by his own hand. From these tangled snatches of narrative was created a tale, truth of which, I am afraid, can no longer be attested by anyone - but which there is no reason to reject.

His tale was strange, interrupted by heartfelt moans through teeth clenched in pain. He spoke about some girl, haughty as Striagorn and beautiful as Sheara, for the sake of whom he set off on a journey to distant lands, to where there are not even nay traces of Humans or Magmars, where the dead watch over their bones and curse everything living. He was not lured by skeletons, or corpses or even vampires, thirsting for fresh, red blood. No, it was another goal that drove him on: he wanted to find the Bone Dragon and, after defeating him, to present the magical ashes of the monster to his loved one, as a wonderful gift and a pledge of love. Needless to say, he was not able for this task, and even the most experiences warriors of our order would not take on such an insane project. He paid the price of his passion and impulsiveness, but I am getting ahead of myself.
So, he wandered through lands where since time immemorial evil spirits and the dark spawn of darkness has held sway. The dead and lifeless lands gave him no refuge, the charred remains of trees bore no fruit and the poisoned water of the rivers gave off an evil stench. But what were hunger and thirst to him? The youth survived using his scanty reserves which he had taken with him, and walked onwards, carrying always in his mind the image of the haughty beauty and the shadow of his spectral target. He did not say how many evil fiends attacked him during the night, when he tried to snatch a few moments sleep and how his hand reached for his sword at every sound. He also remained silent about how many monsters fell before his blows, whose claws left wounds on his body. But the Bone Dragon was no among these dead monsters, and the youth continued to desperately search for it. Day and night he wondered whether shards of rock would turn out to be fangs, whether the flap of rotting wings might suddenly be heard and whether a deep dark cave was actually an empty eye socket
So, exhausted by his travels and practically out of his mind, he wandered among the mountainous crags and scorched valleys and a song with which his mother had frightened him as a child, when she was annoyed at his pranks, went around and around in his head. lf]
”With wings sickly flapping and the creak of dead bone
The monstrous dragon soars high all alone.
All life flees before him, nothing comes near,
Even death now deplores him and trembles fear.
The fangs in his mouth are still as glistening and white,
His leathery wings are still faster than light,
Just as they were over a century ago
When he flew like a predator over the land of Faeo.…»

Lost in reverie, the young warrior repeated the words of the song, quietly singing them to himself. The song agitated the youth, reminding him of his home, and so he failed to notice a shadow sliding along the base of the cliff and concealing itself in a mountain pass. The Bone Dragon has noticed the hunter and now he is waiting in ambush for the right moment to attack. However weak and exhausted the warrior was, he was still one of the Juggernauts, with a lot of experience in killing evil monsters. Therefore, although the youth was not thinking as clearly as usual, his sword was nevertheless not in his scabbard, but in his hand and the warrior had his ear finely tuned to hear the slightest noise. The slight creak of bones had put him on his guard. Staggering slightly, he straightened himself up to his full height and shouted out: “Who's there?” Realizing that it would no longer be possible to attack the warrior unawares, the dragon rushed towards him. Its bones darkened by time seemed to have been enlivened by an otherworldly force. Its skin and muscles had long ago decayed, and no saliva dripped from his bared fangs, but with its entire being he radiated horror. Its powerful jaws snapped over the warrior's head, its claws slashed at the warrior's chest causing him to fall. Terror froze the warrior's arms and legs and it was a huge effort to look into the eyes of the monster. Suddenly he remembered the lessons of the Juggernauts and, overcoming his pain, he reached into his backpack. The Elixir of Fearlessness lay at the very bottom, in a small vial. Cursing himself for not immediately recognizing the magical horror cast by the monster, the warrior drank the acrid liquid. His fear abated and the warrior jumped from rock to rock, and the claw that had been hanging over him struck the bare ground. The dragon became enraged. Its maw hung over the warrior radiating the stench of decay, its hangs pierced his wounded side. Feeling the blood seep from his mutilated arm, and the fear returning and the pain spreading through his body, with the last of his strength he lifted himself up and drove his sword into the dark eye socket of the giant skull. The dragon shook his head from side to side wildly and screamed so loudly that it did not seem possible that ordinary bones could produce such a sound. Everything around came to life: stones flew in all directions, the cliffs trembled and the bony frame of the dragon crumbled on top of the wounded warrior. The fallen fragments of rock deafened the wounded warrior and he fell unconscious…

The Juggernauts listened silently to the hoarse cried of the dying youth, even though they had many questions on the tips of their tongues. What happened then, and how did the exhausted warrior manage to make it back from this terrible place… all this remained unanswered. The youth moaned one last time and fell silent. A decrepit old witch, the custodian of the order, closed his eyes with her gnarled old hand. “This is what will happen to anyone that goes to meet evil face to face with nothing other than mindless passion and a pure soul,” she spoke over the lifeless body.

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orrin [12]

Professional

Posts: 1,271

Occupation: hunter

114

Monday, October 3rd 2016, 2:09am

sk29

You were lucky enough to find a fragment of the story of the discovery of the northern islands by the crew of the glorious Garibaldera.

The text was written by an unknown author who, by all appearances, sailed along with the crew.

We dreamed so long of dry land when we handed over our Ship
to be torn by the winds, and we prayed to the sea for mercy!
The miserly embrace of fierce waves, the infamy of the ocean–
We waited for our deliverance and cherished thoughts of home in our minds.
And to spite us the wind grew fiercer and it became deathly cold, the hull of the ship creaked against ice.
The Garibaldera finally struck land on some frozen shore.
The whiteness blinded us and our skin suffered from the cold.
The enormous island, covered in ice, seemed like a wondrous creation.
After stepping on the snowy land, we looked around in amazement.
Huge icy mountains and valleys filled with silence -
Everything is alien to us here, everything is strange....
But the silence did not last for long, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would have thought it was a dream!
The mountains themselves came to meet us, causing the earth to tremble under foot.
The most terrible vision imaginable appeared before our eyes:
Fpur snowy giants dressed in bear skins,
holding terrifying clubs and snarling, they rushed towards us!
Out of our minds in terror, we all scattered.
I heard shouts behind my back, but I ran.
I ran like a Kodrag that senses an evil Dugrkharg,
and looks for refuge among the rocks.
After squeezing into a crack in the cliff, I observed from my refuge
how the giants roared and swung their clubs,
how they smashed out boat into splinters, cutting off our way back.
****
It grew dark. The captain and crew, made up of those that had survived,
rush to leave their refuge and give the signal to The Garibaldera
to send boats for them as soon as possible, so as to get off the icy island.
But a strange call, that echoed dully aroudn the region
immediately catches their attention. Who could be making it?
The sailors are worried by the sound... It might herald some new misfortune....
Taking two sailors with him, the captain decides to get to the bottom of it.
Stepping bravely out of the cave, he sees a terrible sight.
One of the terrible giants is fighting against a horde of Yeti!
(If you have heard of them, you will never mix them up with anythign else!)
There is no beast mroe terrible that the Yeti! But there are not many people that have seen them.
Hairy, evil, bad-tempered, they are sly and malicious.
The leader is commanding the attack, and is guiding the beasts skillfully,
and before the captain's eyes they kill the giant, painting the snow scarlet.
Tying up their prey with ropes, the contented Yeti drag the carcass through the snowdrifts.
Oh God, get me off this island quick — that is the one wish on everybody's lips.
But the desire for glory and discovery is sometimes stronger than the feeling of terror.
Supressing their terror and forgetting about the hardships and the harsh climate,
the capotain and his crew decide to stay here and explore:
to find out about these giants that wander here in bear skins,
and to study the cursed Yeti that everybudy knows only from legend.

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orrin [12]

Professional

Posts: 1,271

Occupation: hunter

115

Monday, October 24th 2016, 7:17am

sk 30

You have found a fragment from the manuscript of Zoya Glumla, a collector of ancient songs and tales, who dedicated her life to tracking down wonderful legends, myths and superstitions. Students and followers of this passionate fan of interesting stories say that all her life Zoya wrote down transcripts of wonderful occurrences word for word and died tragically with her plume in her hand while making inquiries from a forest witch about the secrets of potion making. lf]
The parchment has yellowed and in places the letters are indistinct, but the text is still legible.

Story No. 14, the account of a gnome that placed gold before friendship and his sad fate.
This interesting legend was told to me my an old man that lived in a little village not far from the Place of Sorrow. The little village was lost among the fields and forests, so not many people in Faeo knew of its existence. Many of the houses had already fallen into neglect, but in one of them, in response to my knock, a candle was lit. The old man that came out initially grumbled, calling down the dragons of Shears on the heads of those that disturb peaceful villagers in the middle of the night, but upon hearing that I collect interesting stories and am ready to pay gold for ancient wisdom, he calmed down and invited me in. After a meal (I cannot say that it was lavish) the old man sat by the fire and, pulling out a clay pipe, he started his tale. I am relating this word for word:
“Ho, ho, kind sir! The clink of a coin gladdens the soul, I can tell you that! Did you know that once upon a time, these coins caused a gnome to ruin all his brethren and bring down a curse upon himself? I can see by your face that you haven't heard about this. This is where I will begin then,. There was this gnome, a small fellow, and young – by gnome standards, he was only a hundred and seven years old. He worked with his pickaxe in the caves and dug up amethysts and emeralds, and nothing made him happier. Until one day some traveling merchants passed by, with all sorts of things in their boxes. They had all sorts of wondrous instruments, artifacts and portions – everything that anyone could want. The gnome's eyes were wide as saucers. He brought out his stones, hoping to exchange a couple of rubies and topazes for the wonderful goods. But the merchants just laughed:”Gnome, our goods are special, destined for kings and sorcerers,” they said. “You will never have enough money in all of your life to acquire them, even if you swing your pickaxe non-stop.” They laughed at the poor gnome and then they left, leaving the gnome with nothing.
He continued living as he always had done, but since that encounter something had changed in his soul. The gnome became a complete skinflint who would not even give you a worthless agate. He caved all his money, and was ready to do anything for a gnome coin. He stopped inviting friends to visit and stopped visiting people himself. Before then he had been popular and everyone loved him, but now people started to avoid him – nobody likes to talk to a skinflint. What was there to talk about after all, if all he had on his mind was money.
And if all you have in your head is gnome coins, and if you see nothing else except valuables, then your thoughts turn to dark things… The gnome started to look at his breather in a different light. He looked at those who had worked next to him all their lives, eating nothing but bread, with envy. One found a precious diamond, another found treasure, while a third boasted that he had accumulated enough wealth to have a comfortable old age. The gnome used to wander at night, thinking about all the money that was so close at hand, but still out of reach!
And then one day he invited home all the most well-to-do gnomes that had ever been his friends and he said:
”I have decided, brothers, to tell you a secret. I inherited a special rune from my dead father. I have deciphered it and I have found out that there is treasure hidden not far from here! I don't need it all, and would like to share it with you.!
The gnomes were surprises, of course, and shrugged. What was going on? Here was a pretty miserly gnome, performing a very generous act! Perhaps he has had a change of heart, they thought. “Where is the treasure?” they asked.
The gnome pointed towards the old burial grounds, as if it were buried among the graves. What there isn't to be found there is not worth talking about: magical artifacts, elixirs, wonderful armor! The entire gnome people will live in clover!
The gnomes believed him and went along. The road was dark, there were not even any stars in the sky. The branches of trees clung to their cloaks, dogs howled in the distance. And further on there were the gravestones, and crypts. They were trembling, and they wanted to turn back. But the miserly gnome pushed them on, telling them that it wasn't much further – to the end of the path and passed by the hill, turn left at the crypt and they would be there. “What are you looking around stupidly for? Don't you want free riches?”
The gnomes turned at the crypt, and there before them stood a band of robbers, smirking. They grabbed the gnomes and slaughtered them, so that they would not cry out for help. They gathered up gold trinkets, and pulled out stones from their sacks. “Not a great haul, of course, but in lean times like these… And where is that traitor gnome that betrayed his brethren?” Having pulled himself together, the gnome sidled along the side of the crypt and made off.
He returned to his cave and opened the gnome chests. Such riches! He filled his pockets with gnome coins, he filled whole sacks. But it did not bring him happiness: he is afraid to move more than a few steps away from his ill-gained riches, or to spend a penny of it. In the end he died from his meanness, the stupid gnome. His riches were quickly dispersed, and the gnome was buried in the Place of Sorrow, away from his dead breather. He did not get a good burial, and nobody spoke and kind words, so his soul was unable to find rest. His spirit now roams the district, gathering gnome coins – driven by the desire to regain his lost treasure. It is said that if he managed to recover all the money and settle his debt to his former brethren, then they will forgive him and he will be able to rest in peace. Perhaps the poor gnome really has repented…”
The old man took a deep pull on his pipe and, with a big yawn, he started into his next story….

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