Tactical Gamer - Blogs - LordMeatwad http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/ Tactical Gamer is the PREMIERE mature online gaming community. We feature games such as PlanetSide 2, Battlefield 3, Armed Assault (ARMA2), Natural Selection 2, DayZ, and more. Our community is geared around teamwork, strategy and tactics in a mature environment. en Wed, 19 Jun 2013 03:49:22 GMT vBulletin 60 http://www.tacticalgamer.com/images/styles/UndergroundStyle/misc/rss.jpg Tactical Gamer - Blogs - LordMeatwad http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/ Glory of Wanilan page 15 http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/822-glory-wanilan-page-15.html Thu, 06 Oct 2011 16:38:42 GMT * * * Kirthanas walked from his room ready to go to dinner. His thoughts were of the quest ahead and all it could mean if he succeeded. His father would be healed and forever rid of the illness that has rapidly decayed his body. As Kirt ventured through the many halls that he new all too well...
* * *


Kirthanas walked from his room ready to go to dinner. His thoughts were of the quest ahead and all it could mean if he succeeded. His father would be healed and forever rid of the illness that has rapidly decayed his body. As Kirt ventured through the many halls that he new all too well he came upon the dinning room. The massive doors stood about fifteen or more feet tall, the handles on the door were elaborately decorated will gold and jewels. Kirthanas’s elven hands wrapped around the handles and with amazing grace swung open the two doors in a slow and steady fashion. Gantan and his father had already arrived and waited patiently for Kirt’s arrival. The room was a decent size for a castle not the biggest by far. The room was of rectangular shape with a beautiful painting marking each wall’s center. The vast rectangular table in front of him had but a single chair on each side. The king himself sat at the head directly across from him. Gantan sat on his fathers left and he was to take the seat at the foot as he always had. The seat to Remnit’s right was empty, an unusual occurrence. It was usually filled by Remnit’s personal guard, his right hand man.
“What of your right hand man?” Kirthanas coolly asked.
“He is outside I await someone else’s arrival I mentioned him before I believe.”
“Excuse me sir, but Sir Mercaitor has arrived.” Called a voice from the door behind Kirthanas that was slightly cracked open.
The doors were flung open by Remnit’s guard and from around the corner walked a man of great perseverance. His helmet lay rested under his right arm, his armor gleamed although little light entered the torch lit room. He stood tall with a beautiful sword at his side and a well decorated shield on his back. His armor made of many intricate pieces that overlapped for flexibility. Alongside him came a woman of astonishingly beautiful with blond flowing hair. She was dressed in white robes and carried a staff with a silver angel on the top holding a wonderful white gem.
“Who is this fine lady Mercaitor?” questioned a cheerful Remnit.
“She is Carana Lightlily, a cleric by trade” Kirthanas’s eyes lit up only to be disappointed by Mercaitor’s next words.
“…and a new one at that.”
“Well I’ll just pull up another chair. Hendal, another chair for the lady, set it next to Mercaitor’s.” Ordered Remnit. “As you know Mercaitor I’ve called you here to partake in a special mission. You, my son and Kirthanas,” Remnit said pointing his eyes at each person as he named them, “will travel to The Great Mountains of Altefin where you will search for a cleric by the name of Kelmidon. He is said to have great power and he may be able to heal Kirt’s father who is very ill.”
“Maybe I can heal him.” Interrupted Carana.
“Sorry my lady but not the most powerful clerics under my command can heal him and you are just beginning. Anyway, Kelmidon is somewhat of a hermit so it will be hard to find him but he is up there, so after a nights rest you will depart.”
“May I go along my lord?” questioned Carana.
“That is up to you, cleric. For you are neither under my command nor do you have an interest in this matter, it is your choice.”
“Then I will join your quest and meet this Kelmidon.”
“Very well you may stay here and depart with the others tomorrow. Enough talk lets eat, Hendal bring our dinner!”

* * *


Litar thought time and again where in the world could they be heading but every time she drifted off in deep thought she would lose her sense of direction. The path they had followed was boring. It was a simple dirt road traveled often that was surrounded by a thick forest. She saw nothing new and even wondered if she had past a tree here or there more then twice. Then she would mumble who cares and forget about it.
“Jenrig, where are we headed anyway?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know!”
“I’m just walking I thought you were going some where.”
What a fool she had been he was just walking well wandering anyway. Where did she want to go?
“Where are we?”
“Litar I believe we are about an hour southwest of Telmilor.”
“You mean the village across the river of Castle Remnit?”
“Same one.”
“Let’s go there then. The are many people there who deserve to be set back a bit.”
“Oh no, not in my company. Sorry but you are not stealing from anyone period. Even if you think they deserve it.”
“Your not my father I can do as I please!”
“I will not defend one who promotes trouble. Besides we have enough money to rest in the town and eat we need nothing else.”
“So you’re saying if I stole something and they attacked me you wouldn’t defend me.”
“No way, you would have to get yourself out of trouble if you wish to bring it upon yourself.”
“Fine then I just won’t get caught.”
“Suit yourself.”
Another word had not been spoken until they reached the village. One of the most beautiful villages in the realm sat before them. Buildings were made from pure marble and were at least two stories high. The glass that lined the beautifully designed windows and were covered with silk drapes. The roads were limestone and showered with flowers growing around the edges. Lovely trees could be seen every so often in a pattern of the symbol of Remnit when seen from the sky. The only down side to this lovely village was the walls around it and the guards inside of it. The walls that surrounded Telmilor were not climbable and impenetrable. The beautiful streets were almost lined with guards both personal and city. The gates were of gold yet its glimmer was dimmed by the silver of blades and armor that protected them.
“A bit over cautious, you think?” sneered Jenrig.
“Amazing actually. You know about what we discussed before, forget it my hands are tied.”
“Well it should be fun getting into this place.” Jenrig added sarcastically as the continued to walk toward the armed gates.
“Halt! State your business and make it brief.” Commanded a guard.
“Just let us in you abominable…” Litar yelled being interrupted by Jenrig who calmly waved his hand in her direction in order to silence her.
“We have traveled far and wish safe lodging for the night. Also I seek an audience with Lord Remnit I will be traveling to his castle tomorrow and I wish to have no complications.”
“Blue Boy what do you want to see our King for.”
“That sir is none of your business. I have stated my intent and have given a job go to it. If you underestimate my importance I will have your sword and armor.”
“Whatever, what do you want me to tell the King.”
“Simply that Jenrig Hero of the Blue Flame wishes to see him.”
“Very well. You can stay in the Inn of the Forest Path and I will leave a message for you there about your audience. The Inn is to the left of the gate be on your way.”
With a satisfied glance to the guard Jenrig walked through the opening gates with one eye on Litar who followed close behind. Once through they started off to the left down towards the Inn.
“How come that guard listened to you Jenrig?”
“Warriors of the Blue Flame hold rank in Lord Remnit’s Realm”
“Why?”
“When the Blue Flame was created near the end of the War of Steel and Magic several realms agreed to our terms in order for our help in rebalancing Wantilan. We in a sense let the Lords have their land and protect it. Even if sometimes we protect it from them. Part of our condition was the ability for our members to move freely throughout Wantilan so we may protect it.”
Jenrig led yet still knew exactly what his new companion was up to. When they reached the Inn the second sun was just meeting the hills in the far distance. Wonderful colors of white and purple filled the sky as a finally before the dark night came. Jenrig turned to look at the wonderful display only to realize he had lost track of Litar. But before he could move her hands slithered around his stomach meeting at his side and her body leaned upon his her head resting on his chest. Jenrig was, at first, taken by surprise only to relax and put his left arm comfortably around her. They watched the sun dip into blackness together.
With a sorrowful sigh that it was over Litar relaxed her grip and leaned off of Jenrig. She turned and walked into the Inn without saying a word. Jenrig caught a faint glimpse of her as she walked inside. He saw her in the faint darkness that now surrounded them and he was lost in wonder. He thought he saw a tear fall from her eye but he was unsure and by the time he entered the Inn she had already reserved two rooms for them. Jenrig shook his head in confusion and barred himself from anymore thoughts of his lovely companion.
“Your on your own Litar, I’ll be up stairs. It has been a tiresome day for me that only the gods know of.”
“I to shall retire to my room I will meet you tomorrow down here ok.”
“See you then.”

The next morning Litar walked down the steps to find Jenrig at a table with a breakfast already ordered for the both of them. As Litar sat down Jenrig commented on her late arrival in a joking fashion. Jenrig asked her how her sleep was and if she had pleasant dreams. She answered yes and thoughts returned of her night thinking about him. She thought about how she wanted to book one room but wasn’t sure how he felt about it. She thought of days ahead if they were together and how she would follow him were ever. His night was also filled with thoughts of him and her together. Although seemingly hers were not the same since she booked two rooms. He simply shrugged it off as he finished his breakfast. Looking around he decided that there wasn’t much to see. This Inn, although beautiful, rarely housed anyone of interest since anyone of interest probably couldn’t get inside the gates. The room was fairly large with two windows, tables and benches for eating and the clerk’s desk. The hard wood floors were cleaned often and the marble walls showed no signs of weathering. The day outside was a beautiful one as expected of this time of year except for two nights ago. The rain was evil and Jenrig knew it. The rain meant bad times ahead for every time Jenrig thought of the rain a feel of evil ran over him.
Shrugging off the eerie feeling Jenrig stood up from the table. He then walked over to the clerks counter and asked if a message had arrived for him. The clerk nodded and handed him a sheet of paper folded over three times with a seal in the middle. Breaking the seal Jenrig walked back over to the table where Litar still sat and ate her breakfast. Reading the note Jenrig quickly pick himself up and motioned Litar to do the same.
“We will meet lord Remnit at noon. We must leave now if we to make it to the castle on time. Quick go up stairs and ready yourself. I will do the same and wait here for you.” Litar nodded and rose from the table.
It was not long until she returned to first floor where Jenrig awaited patiently. “Let’s go!” commanded Jenrig and out they walked. ]]> LordMeatwad http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/822-glory-wanilan-page-15.html Glory of Wantilan page 14 http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/769-glory-wantilan-page-14.html Fri, 29 Jul 2011 19:57:59 GMT * * * Her travels this day was not a hard one. She stopped in a town about a mile back and had stolen a crafty looking short sword and about sixty or so gold crowns in a pouch. She was a pretty skillful thief back in the day before she trained to be a mage. Still she was not skillful enough or... * * *

Her travels this day was not a hard one. She stopped in a town about a mile back and had stolen a crafty looking short sword and about sixty or so gold crowns in a pouch. She was a pretty skillful thief back in the day before she trained to be a mage. Still she was not skillful enough or she didn’t travel at a quick enough pace. Soon she heard the stampeding hoofs of a horse traveling at an accelerated pace. Litar turned only for a second to see her victim ride hurriedly upon his horse. Quickly she ducked off the path and into the woods that surrounded her. The tracker was not fooled he quickly stopped. He called to the hidden thief her position known to him.
“I know where you hide insolent girl. Show yourself at once!” He turned his horse again and again in a circle waiting for an answer. He looked beyond and saw no movement the dashing tracks below him spoke a story more clearly to him than one acted out for him. She had looked for cover quickly when she saw him and he knew where she hid.
“Your game is futile.” He spoke as he reached down and lifted a bow and strung upon it an arrow. Holding the bow high into the air he pulled back the string as far as it could reach. He then lowered the bow slowly yet in a tight arc pointing straight at her eye. She realized he was not kidding nor bluffing. She lifted herself slowly, hands raised in a sign of peace, and walked forward without making a sharp movement.
“I am a noble man and do not care for violence.” There was a brief pause as his face turned from stern to forgiving at the sight of the seemingly frightened girl. He did not know that she hated all that was noble. Her true father was noble and a bastard at that. “
“*******” she muttered to herself at the thought of her narrow minded, weak brained father.
“Just give me what is mine; the purse and short sword and I will leave you unharmed and to do as you will.”
“These things are of no use to you but will serve me well. Why bother? You can just get more gold and another short sword by snapping your fingers.”
“Lady, that isn’t the point. What you did was wrong and must be righted one way or another!” His speech ended in a violent tone that offended her edgy state.
“No! In fact if you wish I will kill you with the sword I stole!”
“Insolent BITCH!”
“Insolent nothing.” She retorted and as the man descended his mount for combat he was struck by an electrical bolt flowing from the girls extended hand.
The man lay upon the floor very much alive but stunned by the blow. He looked up to see himself stripped of all clothing and his horse. I must have been knocked out, he thought. Naked and in the middle of the road he stood thinking to himself, what a waste of time. Ha, he thought, never mess with something you don’t know anything about.
“A magic thief of all things a magic thief.” he chuckled just happy to be alive.

Litar speed at a quick pace unsure if the noble would continue his pursuit or not. After a while the horse grew tired and her pace slowed. Up ahead she saw a couple of farmers walking towards her. She looked around seeing no fields of any kind for them to plow. She came closer to inquiry them.
“Excuse me kind sirs, but is there a town up ahead that I may rest.”
“Tired are you.” One man said with a devilish look upon his face. “Well I guess you won’t be much of a challenge then.” Amazed by a change of tone and the now voracious look upon his face she did not hesitate to find out what she new was going to happen. Speeding past the farmers and avoiding an ambush she ran but her horse was tired still and slowed to a halt toppling over. With amazing grace Litar leaped off the horse’s back as it crumbled from exhaustion. She drew her newly acquired short sword from her fallen horse and quickly gathered her belongs she could hold. Looking back she saw the small group of five men still running for her and behind them walked a man at a casual pace. The man stood proud in well decorated armor his men were obviously mercenaries just looking for money even if they have to steal it. Litar took a final look at her poor horse and promised to it that she was sorry for ridding it so hard.
The main path was to open for her to fight all of these men. Still she ran hoping to find cover. Sprinting with a few glances back she saw the men gaining on her and the well decorated man still close behind them. She came upon another trail leading off to the west that was narrow enough for her to maybe face these men. She sprinted on her vision became blurred from running and trying to watch her advancers. Suddenly to her fear she was scooped up in a strong man’s arms that held her fast. The embrace was so warm that her initial reaction was to endure this grasp. Her head lay upon the man’s armored chest, hearing the beat of his heart she forgot the pain that followed her. Then the silence of warmth was broken and she pulled from his grasp.
“What’s wrong, young lady.” The man spoke in almost a whisper.
She never spoke just turned back as if to show him his answer. Now six fully armed men ran for her and a big man behind, probably the leader the man thought.
“Fear not I will help you.”
“No need I will take them myself.”
“I think not! Although I’m sure you normally could your face is grave and tired rest while I dispose of this filth.” Litar finally saw her savior as he went to face the enemy. His mouth and nose were covered by a blue bandanna. Similar bandannas were tied around the top of his head and around his elbows. He was built like a house and yet his eyes were so tender. As he passed her side her eyes and body also turned to follow him. Litar finally realized what he was when she saw the two scabbards at his sides. The swords that filled them had the irregular handles and the fabled connector piece. He drew the two swords and connected them to make his taimar. He was a Warrior of the Blue Flame peacemaker and lawman by trade.
“Men stop your pursuit of this lovely young lady!” He yelled to the six battle raged men. Seeing before them only an obstacle to overcome the ill educated men rushed forward not fearing the clan member. Their leader, however, did notice the man as a Blue Flame. The leader’s easy pace turned into a charge at the skillful warrior. Making no warning to his men which he cared little for he rushed forward far behind.
“Stop now!” Exclaimed the warrior his left hand held high.
“I warned you fighting is not the way!” The Blue Flame continued to shout now in his fighting stance. The six men came forward not halting to the warnings. Litar watched as the warrior disappeared into the crowd of six men and as each second went by a man fell. A shower of blood surround the clansmen as he spun, parried, blocked and slashed each man in seemingly one motion. Split apart, decapitated, and lacerated each of the six men lye dead at the clansmen’s feet. Their lives ended in an instant, the clansmen’s battle cry started as they reached him and ended as the last man fell. The warrior stood tall with the pride and slowly looked at the speeding leader.
“It will be an honor to kill you Blue bastard. In the name of Johan!”
“I think not!” the warrior exclaimed as he disconnected his taimar and sheathed his swords. The Leader did not waver and ran leaned forward and sword risen at his side. The Warrior crouched tensing his muscles lost in concentration. A flaming blue sphere formed and his right hand. His eyes gleamed in an outward steak of blue magic. The clansmen’s body turned leading his right hand forward. A blazing beam shot from his hand the blue beam spell was intended to kill. The blazing beam speared through the leaders armor and shined straight through the other side. The leader was thrown from his charge and flown back about ten feet. His lifeless body fumed with blue flames that seemed and was as harmless as steam. The foot wide hole in his chest poured little blood, the fiery magic closed the wound as quickly as it opened. The warriors spell although weak grow to enormous strength as he built it up in his hand until it reached its’ full potential.
Litar sat in amazement, she could not believe so many could fall to one man in such a quick time. It was only a minute not even and seven men who would’ve torn her to pieces lye dead.
“A shame they did not heed my warning.” Claimed the Warrior as he walked toward the befuddled mage. His head was held low he did not wish to fight these men and if he could’ve reasoned with them he would have.
“Young lady I am sorry you had to witness such…”
“Please, I have done worse myself.” She retorted interrupting.
“I do not doubt it crimson mage and you are a thief as well?”
“What? You know nothing of me!”
“Ah, but my eyes peer upon the crimson robes under the nobleman’s cloths not to mention the crimson insignia ring you wear on your left hand. I am Jenrig, Hero of the Blue Flame.”
“Hero! If you are the Hero of the clan then why do you wander?”
“Today is my Day of Wandering and also my first day as the Hero I need experience in life before I can truly obtain my title.”
“I am Litar Amberpeak.”
“Pleased to meet you but now I must continue.”
“Not without me.” Protested Litar in a girlish giggly voice. She paused in amazement never had she acted in such a manor especially in front a male.
“Excuse me?” exclaimed Jenrig in a confused voice.
“I mean let me accompany you so that I may be safe.”
“As you wish. Just one thing. Steal nothing from me what is mine only needs to be asked for, deal?”
“No problem I only steal from those who deserve it.”
“Deserve it in your eyes anyway.” Jenrig added to the bold statement.
“So anyway who is this Johan character?” questioned Litar
“I’m not sure, maybe his ruler or a false god”

* * * ]]> LordMeatwad http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/769-glory-wantilan-page-14.html Glory of Wantilan page 13 http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/756-glory-wantilan-page-13.html Fri, 15 Jul 2011 20:07:02 GMT “Well we must get going now, I wish to reach my kingdom by nightfall and the road seems to be full of thieves.” * * * Kirthanas gathered his stuff since he would live in Lord Remnit’s castle from now on. He looked out at the beautiful morning remembering the evil night. The fresh... “Well we must get going now, I wish to reach my kingdom by nightfall and the road seems to be full of thieves.”

* * *

Kirthanas gathered his stuff since he would live in Lord Remnit’s castle from now on. He looked out at the beautiful morning remembering the evil night. The fresh morning of the first day of his new life, a life without his dear mother and father nor his brothers and sisters. He already said his good-byes and his mother was in tears as was his father. He could not stand to face them again. He walked out the door tears of his own pain stinging his face. The only comfort he now felt was knowing he would be with his best friend forever. He knew he would see his family and visit often after a few years have passed and Gantan matured in his father’s eyes. Till then they will be only a memory. After taking the first step forward the pain grew greater and his heart seemed withered and alone.
His travel was boring as he finally reached his destination. The guards at the gate, knowing him since he was a child, had a warm conversation with him about the past a times that they only remembered, for Kirt was too young and elven years seemed like human months so little things were barely ever remembered. After many laughs the guards let him through and escorted him to the Great Hall. Upon arrival he was greeted with a friendly hug from Gantan and Lord Remnit himself. His pain seems to dwindle as he remembered his second home in this castle. Kirthanas had not been here for three years since his father had first become ill. Since then his sickness grew until now and his father couldn’t leave his bed for long. Lord Remnit expressed his inner most gratitude for Kirt’s help and told Kirt how he missed him. Lord Remnit then told Kirt of a great cleric that could most likely help his father. Kirt looked up astonished to hear this as he was trying to forget his family for the time.
“Yes, this great cleric has been seen by one of my men in the Great Mountains of Altefin. This was part of the reason I offered this job to you. Gantan wanted to go alone but I protested and since I hadn’t seen you in seemingly forever I thought of this wonderful way to surprise you. Don’t get me wrong all the previous arrangements stand and you will live in my castle as my son’s guardian, this is just a bonus. I will tell you more of this later when my friend Mercaitor arrives. I have sent for him to aid you on your first quest. Gantan show Kirt to his quarters and then prepare for dinner where we will finish our discussion.”
“Thank you, my lord”, Kirt expressed deeply.
“Think nothing of it; I know how much you care for your father since I haven’t seen you in years.” With that Kirt and Gantan exited the Great Hall. “I love that boy almost as much as my own son.” Remnit confessed to himself as he saw Kirt and his son leave.

“This is going to be great Kirt, you and me on a real adventure. Maybe we’ll encounter massive monsters or maybe even a dragon.”
“Gantan, a dragon would tear us limb from limb without a second thought.”
“Maybe us, but I hear this Mercaitor fellow is one of my fathers finest men. He probably could slay a dragon by himself.”
“Don’t be foolish. Dragons massacre armies by the minute, one man would last less then a second, if that.”
“Ah, your no fun, were is your sense of adventure.”
“Gone! Probably with the three years I was forced to lose my sense of immaturity.”
“You sound like my father, this will be a great adventure or else my father wouldn’t have sent for Mercaitor.”
“Wake up. He sent for Mercaitor for your added protection. He wants you to gain experiences and grow up. I’m going along because it is for my father and so you must travel with me.”
“I think it’s more like you have to travel with me.”
“True. Yet in case something does happen Mercaitor will probably be asked to lay down his life for you.”
“Please. I am a great fighter. Proven time and again.”
“Bull****! All you’ve had is training nothing more. Real life is so different.”
“Oh, like you’re one to talk.”
“Maybe not, but at least I’m being realistic.”
“****! I thought this was going to be fun.”
“Yeah and I used to think your father was wrong about you.” The two boys looked at each other realizing each other’s points. After a break of silence Gantan looked up realizing that Kirt was forced to grow up as he himself stayed as young as he was aloud to. In Kirt he saw what he must become, he saw what it takes for a kid to become an adult. The fighting ended there. Kirt continued.
“Look I shouldn’t have said that, but your seventeen now Gantan, you need to start facing reality. Still it isn’t your entire fault, you’ve been locked up in this castle for to long. When we return from this journey, no this adventure, your eyes will see the light, I’m sure of it.” As the final word left his mouth they parted to prepare for dinner.

* * * ]]> LordMeatwad http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/756-glory-wantilan-page-13.html Glory of Wantilan page12 http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/736-glory-wantilan-page12.html Wed, 22 Jun 2011 02:28:03 GMT Her night was finally over and today was the first day of her new life. She rose from her bed of wet leaves and put on her cloak that she used as a dry sheet for her bed. A little wet but mostly dry now from the morning sun she looked around. So today is the day my life begins she thought in a... Her night was finally over and today was the first day of her new life. She rose from her bed of wet leaves and put on her cloak that she used as a dry sheet for her bed. A little wet but mostly dry now from the morning sun she looked around. So today is the day my life begins she thought in a happy tone. She started to walk off and then realized she had forgotten something. She turned scared of what might have happened to it, it could have gotten stolen or worse. But to a sigh of relief it remain next to her make shift bed were she left it. She bent down and picked up the staff that her father gave her and then pressed on to nowhere.
Traveling for a few hours without incident she got careless and her mind drifted off. Not long after she lost concentration she was jumped by four men dressed in rags obviously outlaws and thieves. She only had the little combat training she learned from her boasting male friends and the self defense lessons her father had taught her over the years. She was no match, one on one she could have taken them but the overwhelming number attacked her faster then she could cast one prayer to Dyvinia. Their intent was rape and it seemed as if they were about to reach their goal on this lovely fresh untouched victim. Her screams gave pleasure to these sick individuals who were trying to get her down to the ground. But her screams would not be in vain.

Raising his head as a reflex to the horrible screams of a lady in trouble he quickly
pinpointed her location and ran in full sprint to the area. In a matter of seconds she was in sight and he saw the men who just got her to the ground and were attempting to hold her still as the fourth man was preparing himself. Sprinting he removed his cloak and drew his sword all in one motion. As soon as the bandit’s pants fell Mercaitor sliced the back of his knees causing him to fall to them, kneeling finally realizing what happened he let out of cry of pain that was instantly silenced as Mercaitor pivoted lifting from his crouch needed to inflict the first blow and brought his sword back striking the bandit dead with the opposite side of the sword from the initial slice at his knees. His sword completely covered with the bandits blood he was again using his two handed style he turned his head to the other three who were just beginning to fumble for their weapons. Mercaitor struck another dead before he had a chance to reach his weapon but now the remaining two men were armed and ready. Charging at Mercaitor the left one first and the other behind him on Mercaitor’s right. Mercaitor prepared himself for the stunt he was about to pull. As fast as a blink of the eye he blocked off the first bandit’s chop that came from over head as he was telegraphing during the charge and spun low tearing open the second bandit’s stomach. The bandit fell to his knees first choking on his own blood, arms covering his mortal wound and then fell face first to the earth curled in the blinding pain before death.
The last bandit stared around in terror as his companions lye dead and dying around him but before he could react he was impaled from behind. He looks down at the cause of his death that had gone straight through him and out his upper stomach right below his sternum. The silver angel sit there covered in blood mocking him the razor wing reflected the light of the suns as the bandit went blind from the pain and died. Removing the staff from its victim Carana sat there amazed and hurting. It was the first life she had ever taken but she just did it without thinking. She was awoken from her nightmarish day dream by the man who had rescued her that had his hand around her shoulder shaking her out of her blind stare.
“Are you OK, miss?” she without thinking pulled from his relaxed grasp and readied herself for battle her staff in two hands looking at him with the same blind stare. As her eyes came in focus she studied him, he made no attempt to defend himself and she lowered her staff and relaxed her muscles.
“I don’t think it was meant to be used like that”, Mercaitor told her referring to the life blood dripping angel staff. For a moment she had no idea what he was talking about but soon realized laughing at her idiocy.
“I suppose so.” she retorted still dazed from the kill.
“Your first kill, huh?”
“That it is. Is it normal to feel bad even though all I could think of a second ago was slaughtering each and every one of them?”
“As normal as the weather is unpredictable.” He said staring at the sky remembering his drifted thoughts. “But soon you will realize it was them or you and as long as you are never the aggressor there is nothing you can do about it.”
“My name is Carana.” she said realizing that this man had saved her without knowing who she was.
“Please to meet you, my name is Mercaitor Icewolf. What is your families name?” taken back for a moment he realized he meant her last name.
“Lightlily. Thank you for saving me kind Sir.” noticing his unique and well decorated armor of a Knight. His armor was uniquely fashioned like none she had seen before. The shoulder pieces were the most striking seemingly made of three pieces of metal they overlapped outward with sharp points curving up and down.
“Mercaitor, will be fine Cleric.”
“You may call me Carana.”
“So Carana I suppose you are new to the cleric thing as well as the killing.”
“This is true I have just received my calling and have begun my journey”
“To where, might I ask?” Mercaitor asked grabbing his cloak off the ground and draping it over his broad shouldered armor.
“That I do not know?” she said gather her things that lay scattered around her by the bandits.
“Would you like to accompany me? For I am returning to my ruler, Lord Remnit, also as you may have learned, cleric or not, some dangers you cannot overcome on your own.”
“I have heard much of Lord Remnit’s realm and greatly admire what he has done for Wantilan. You are one of his Knights?”
“Yes, my Lord is the greatest ruler Wantilan has ever known. I gladly put my life to his mission of freedom and unity for all of Wantilan’s races. His kingdom was even built to honor the true gods. The walls split his vast city into eight sections one for each God and their children. Even the evil Imfel’s children have a section all their own in Remnit’s land.”
“Even Imfel’s children? You mean orcs, punrigs and goblins live their too.”
“In fact yes many more monsters then that but Remnit believes all creatures have a good side and the ones who don’t make trouble are free to stay.”
“That sounds extremely dangerous to have those wild creatures in the city.”
“The city is sectioned off into the eight parts like a wheel around the castle. The Imfel section has much sturdier walls and guards then some other sections but you would be surprised how well some of the monsters seem just like you or me when you get to know them. So would you like to see Remnit’s city?”
“I will be glad to accompany you, for maybe what my path leads to is you, or maybe you are meant to lead me to another path. I guess only time will tell.”
“Well we must get going now, I wish to reach my kingdom by nightfall and the road seems to be full of thieves.” ]]> LordMeatwad http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/736-glory-wantilan-page12.html Glory of Wantilan p11 http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/686-glory-wantilan-p11.html Fri, 29 Apr 2011 17:47:06 GMT Benlow congratulated Jenrig with a hand shake and stepped out of the circle. Desmin, the third general, was magic crazy and casted everything he was allowed to leaving his body weak and stressed from the pressure of casting spells. Jenrig managed to dodge, parry, reflect, and even absorb all... Benlow congratulated Jenrig with a hand shake and stepped out of the circle.

Desmin, the third general, was magic crazy and casted everything he was allowed to leaving his body weak and stressed from the pressure of casting spells. Jenrig managed to dodge, parry, reflect, and even absorb all of Desmin’s spells. Having out lasted his enemy Jenrig closed for the kill and finally caught Desmin on the side of his knee drawing blood.

The last General, Tolant, matched Jenrig blow for blow. Jenrig was tired from constant fighting and spell casting, yet held in. His muscles begged for a rest but his pride drove his body. His mind running out of spells and his muscles running out of strength he pulled back. If he had not he would have lost right there for by pulling back he could see that Tolant had casted the flame rope spell, a spell that connected sword lance to hand by a magical blue rope that obeyed their mind. It was used to perform the throws that the blue flame warriors had mastered and also could act as a yo-yo giving Tolant extra range without changing his maneuvers. Tolant then performed a spin throw, throwing the taimar like a discus at the enemy. This maneuver would cut an enemy in half but Tolant threw it only to nick Jenrig and so lied Tolant’s downfall. In a real fight Jenrig would now be split at the waste but by throwing the lance far right, perfectly to cut Jenrig, Jenrig was able to send it off coarse by casting another blue beam spell. As the beam left his left hand striking Tolant’s taimar Jenrig used the momentum to spin hurling his taimar from his right hand like an arrow toward Tolant in a perfectly straight line. The taimar just caught the under part of Tolant’s arm raised in an attempt to dodge, but he was too late. If the throw had missed Jenrig would have most certainly lost for without his taimar his dance, used to dodge spells and attacks, would have been off balance and he would certainly be cut before he could reach it. A chance he was willing to take and it paid off. Tolant greeted Jenrig with great respect for trying such a dangerous move in combat.

Jenrig was granted a short rest which was longer then he needed to recover. He even memorized some quick spells. He returned to the ring to face his final opponent, the Chieftain. This promised to be an amazing battle between the two best warriors of the clan. The entire clan gathered at the thirty yard in diameter circle ring. This battle was mentally prepared in Jenrig’s mind from the second he defeated Tolant. Jenrig muscles relaxed as he stepped forward through the crowd and knelt to his Chieftain who rose from his throne in acceptance. The Chieftain stepped down from his throne and was handed his taimar as another man removed his royal robe. His eyes held a fire that Jenrig had never seen before but not even the respect for his Chieftain would sway his readiness for this battle. The Chieftain was dressed in his full battle armor and he never looked so intimidating. As the fighters squared up in their poses the Emperor took the throne as the referee. With their taimars whistling in the wind they danced in a circle sizing each other up as they crossed leg over leg. Finally Jenrig made the first move swinging his taimar in a beautifully executed tight arc yet the Chieftain blocked it off with great strength forcing Jenrig to turn off guard for an instant giving the Chieftain time to give a swift jab to Jenrig’s kidney. Quickly Jenrig pulled from danger and squared up again despite the pain.

The two men clashed like rams butting heads steel clanging and sparks flying. The display of skill was outstanding as every attack was countered and then countered again. Soon the mix of magic and physical blows entered the fight. Still every punch, kick, fireball, beam, and slash were being blocked, reflected, rolled against, and dodged. The two men finally clashed spun and clashed again deadlocking each other’s sword lances, the Chieftain kicked the inside of Jenrig’s knee releasing the tight deadlock that held their weapons fast. The blow broke Jenrig’s balance and then Chieftain spun one more time lost in the rage of the fight taimar fully extended. Jenrig fell completely to his back to avoid decapitation, as he fell he shouted the words to cast a blue beam straight up at his ruler. The bright blue beam blazed from Jenrig’s left hand about four feet in diameter lifting the chieftain high into the air. Spinning in pain and confusion the Chieftain lost his taimar and fumbled his roll when he returned to the earth. The Chieftain lifted his head his lower lip smeared with blood from the fall and his ribs bruised due the elevation from which he fell. He tasted the metallic, bitter taste of his defeat but all he thought in his mind was how proud he was of Jenrig; for his son finally surpassed his father in skill. Jenrig was not only a Wanderer and a Warrior of the Blue Flame but now he had become Hero of the Blue Flame all in one glorious day.


* * *


Mercaitor’s long walk tired him, he got no rest due to the infernal rain and so the bright suns of the morning gave him a chance for a rest. Staggering over to the side of the path he sat down, closed his eyes and huffed a sigh of relief. He relaxed his muscles and laid back in the pleasantly warm damp grass. Staring up at the clouds he admired the way in which weather controlled the lives of so many. It influenced choices, moods, and even affected plans. The weather was the most uncontrollable force in nature, you could fight it but you will lose. It’s the most pleasing thing in the world, it added variety to life yet still its’ force could be deadlier then a hundred dragons. Weather constantly changed, for just an hour or two ago the miserable rain was still falling and now the beautiful suns shined on his aching body. As he looked up he saw the bright blue of the sky blotted and meshed with the bright white clouds that seemed to be the essence of good. The clouds of rain held everything evil in his eyes. The dark clouds blanketed the sky covering the land in their misery then they spewed their rain that cleansed the earth of evil yet brought it at the same time. Still he thought how the most pleasing thing his senses ever experienced was not the glory of battle and not triumph of a long campaign but one of the most simple things in life. The most pleasing moment to him was the peacefulness of air and land after a rain storm. The cleansed earth smell as if reborn, the ground glittered in the suns’ rays, and there was always a light breeze sweeping away the last remains that the rain left behind. Truly today was a special day, he just knew it. With that he stood up and walked once more now relaxed and thinking of the simple pleasures of life.

* * *
]]> LordMeatwad http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/686-glory-wantilan-p11.html Glory of Wantilan p10 http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/674-glory-wantilan-p10.html Wed, 20 Apr 2011 04:49:50 GMT A wish gladly granted by Remnit and so tomorrow Kirthanas left for Remnit’s Castle. * * * Litar scoffed at the rain pounding against her cloak as she looked for natural shelter in the moons light. She could not believe she was on her own again. Once again cast off. Litar was orphaned as... A wish gladly granted by Remnit and so tomorrow Kirthanas left for Remnit’s Castle.

* * *

Litar scoffed at the rain pounding against her cloak as she looked for natural shelter in the moons light. She could not believe she was on her own again. Once again cast off. Litar was orphaned as a young child from a royal background. Her father was of the proudest warriors and wouldn’t have a magic user as a child! It was unheard of since The War of Steal and Magic. But the young girl was very proud of her power. Her pride is what drove her on and one day she found a teacher who saw the true power she possessed. Abandoned at the young age of ten and she was taken in by Frendle, a great wizard of Ramus the god of fire and the red moon, at almost the age of twelve. For nearly two years she survived on her own, roaming from town to town, giving her a cynical outlook on life. Her evil was suppressed by Frendle when he saved her and trained her in the ways of the magic user for six long and productive years. Litar studied day and night her nose always buried in the ancient text Frendle had gathered. She read every book she could get her hands on. Now a beautiful eighteen she was one of the most powerful wizards for her age. There was nothing more Frendle could teach her, and so as others before him he sent her off. Frendle gave her a ring with the symbol of the crimson robed mage. He told her that the crimson robe was secretive and only the wizards with the ring will be trusted. Litar trusted no one and really didn’t want to leave her father for anything. However he was not her father and needed to teach others. The fastest learner he ever had, Litar accomplishing in six years what takes some decades. Her magical strength paralleled that of the greatest mages of legend. She had the true making of a great wizard and would no doubt return one day even more powerful than himself. Frendle sent Litar to the mystical lands of the southwest. There she would find the Circle of Corphious to learn her true destiny and realize the full potential of her magic. They said their good byes and she was off on her own again. The cruelties of the world returned but with past experience and her new skills she would be just fine. The craving magic gave her drove her onward thirsting for power, a thirst that even this relentless rain could not quench.

* * *

Early morning arrived and the rain had finally cleared. The rain seemed to cleanse the land of the evil and darkness it held. The morning was the most beautiful Jenrig had ever seen in his many years of life. Dew drops lay everywhere glistening in the suns, dancing to the sunray’s dance. The leaves and bushes that surrounded and encircled the complex swayed in the gentle breeze. He thought of the day ahead of him as he tied his blue bandanna around the top of his head just under his hair line, holding up his short thin brown hair. He reminisced of all the intense training as he folded another blue cloth into a triangle. He then pulled it over his nose and mouth and tied it behind his head. Pulling the unique breastplate, he himself forged, over his head he remembered his teachers wise words of magic. Tying his arm guards to his forearms he closed his eyes in pride and a feeling of finally accomplishing something rolled over him. His thigh and shin plates were then attached to his legs. He equipped his triceps guards next. Lastly he tied the blue flame bandannas around each elbow. With the final tug on his right arm bandanna he started for the door. This traditional dress mixed the armor of a warrior and the robes of the ancient wizard represented by the bandannas. Jenrig walked forward out of his house his head held high. Today was his day and everyone knew it. His honorable choice was to become a wanderer and this was his Day of Wandering. He was the most skilled warrior the clan may have ever seen. He walked to the Chieftain’s throne and bowed to his ruler. The ceremony began and Jenrig couldn’t be happier. Toward the end of the celebration the Chieftain made an irregular gesture for Jenrig to approach the throne.

“Jenrig, you are the finest warrior I have ever seen and your magical power matches that of the ancient pure blue flame wizards. You are truly blessed by Corphious as well as Enevyr. Today you become a true Warrior of the Blue Flame! Yet for you a tradition that is reserved for the select few will be held, if you choose to accept it.” Jenrig very confused yet extremely excited to be chosen for anything special eagerly accepted. With his word of acceptance the chief yelled for his generals, the finest warriors of the clan. The chief told the clan as he told Jenrig of the final challenge he will face. Jenrig was to fight all four generals to first blood and then fight the Chieftain himself. If Jenrig was hit by any of the generals or the chief he loses. If he wins versus everyone he will be given the title of Hero in the clan, second in line to the Emperor of the clan who lives in the original encampment of the first blue flame clan. This was the highest honor any one could receive. If he won he would be successor to the Emperor. Jenrig was confused on how the Chieftain could make such a huge choice by himself until he saw the Emperor. The clan fell to one knee their heads bowed. Jenrig was asked to rise and the Emperor spoke to him.

“You have been recommended for a high title and after your display in the ceremonies today I have chosen to give you a chance to acquire it. The warriors of this clan are my finest. If you defeat them you will become Hero of the Blue Flame. You still will honor your choice to become a Wanderer and in your later years you will start your own clan and if you win today you will succeed my throne. Good luck. Do you have sufficient spells in you memory for this battle?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then let the battle commence!” The Emperor then finished the traditional ceremony by handing Jenrig his taimar, or sword lance. The taimar is two long swords with specially forged handles that are connected at the hilts by the unique blue flame connector piece. Any warrior of the blue flame could forge the handles of any two long swords and then from the metal left over forge a connector piece. They are taught this from early childhood. The taimar is a part of the warrior’s body and without it they are not complete. The weapon is generally used by being spun and some maneuvers resemble that of a quarterstaff.

Jenrig took his taimar and enter the fighting ring. Nirton, his first opponent and a great general entered the special ring. Since Jenrig was still inexperienced the Generals and Chieftain could only use medium to weak, one on one spells. Some spells were spells that Jenrig couldn’t use until years from this date do to complexity and experience needed. Other spells could wipe out large groups. Some spells in the chieftain’s arsenal could decimate armies.
Since spells couldn’t shed blood unless intended to or powered up, weaker spells of Jenrig’s arsenal would also be used. The call to fight was given by the Chieftain and the fighters entered their combat stances. Nirton’s stance was traditional, both hands spinning the Taimar on his right side. Jenrig’s stance was unique and ill experienced, yet fit his every need in battle. Jenrig stood slightly crouched with his left leg leading and his left arm extended forward, his left hand held in a claw like position. His right arm was extended back spinning the Taimar faster then most could with two hands. The Taimar in his hand became almost a blazing disk blurred by ill vision.

Nirton made the first move and charged forward, Jenrig chanted the words of a blue beam in a war like yell as from his left hand blazed a beam over a foot in diameter at Nirton. The blast sent Nirton back into the air phased from the surprising strength of such a usually weak spell. Slamming into the ground he hesitated from pain and then quickly rolled to his feet and back into his stance.

“The strength of his magic is outstanding!” exclaimed the Emperor in great surprise, “But the rules are long written and the generals may not use more powerful spells then Jenrig could possibly have, other wise this tournament would be impossible to win. The tournament is to measure skill and talent in battle not experience which Jenrig had no chance to obtain.”

Phased still by the magical blow Nirton closed in and attacked Jenrig again. This time Jenrig blocked Nirton’s swing outward and spun with his blocking swing crouched almost under Nirton’s arm. Instead of going completely under Jenrig stopped almost leaning his back on the side of Nirton’s stomach and planted his elbow right under Nirton’s sternum, which hurt Jenrig more then Nirton since Nirton had armor on. Then Jenrig swiftly rotated his arm upward smashing the back of his fist right into Nirton’s nose causing blood to flow freely from it. The first battle was over, Jenrig was triumphant.

The next general, Benlow, entered the ring. The two danced until Benlow cast a blue fireball. The ball of pure blue pulsating light flew at Jenrig with unrelenting speed. With only an instant to react Jenrig chanted the one word spell of shield. Flexing his left arm against his body the blue fireball dispersed in a wave over the bubble the surrounded Jenrig. Relaxing his arm the bubble of faint blue light disappeared and Jenrig counter attacked by spinning low and holding his Taimar still and fully extended. On the second full spin toward Benlow the tip of Jenrig’s Taimar barely nicked the upper waste of Benlow, but the unarmored area dripped blood none the less. Benlow congratulated Jenrig with a hand shake and stepped out of the circle. ]]> LordMeatwad http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/674-glory-wantilan-p10.html Glory of Wantilan p9 http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/654-glory-wantilan-p9.html Wed, 13 Apr 2011 18:34:00 GMT Combined with her clerical gift she would become a true hero and he knew it. * * * The night was hell and all Kirthanas wanted to do was go home. He had not yet shot any game, for all the animals seemed to be hiding. Frustrated he stumbled and finally found something for his family... Combined with her clerical gift she would become a true hero and he knew it.

* * *

The night was hell and all Kirthanas wanted to do was go home. He had not yet shot any game, for all the animals seemed to be hiding. Frustrated he stumbled and finally found something for his family to eat. A deer wandered aimless toward the south moving at an accelerated pace. The elf is a hunter by trade, and as good with his sword as his bow. Elves are a gentler race then men, their skin is slightly paler and their frame is thinner. Elves adore nature and all that is living following strictly the laws of their goddess, Venquin, of the green moon. As the purest of Venquin’s children elves protect nature and the animals of the forest. Conflicted Kirthanas lifted up his bow and pulled back the on the bow string. Lining up the arrow he justified the killing as to feed his family and fired as his lips whispered a prayer to Venquin. The arrow whistled through the air and tore through his prey plugging it into a tree behind it. The blood flowed down the tree in one single stream forming a small puddle on the ground. The deer died instantly causing it no suffering, for only this Kirthanas was thankful.

The elf walked into the back door of the house and into the kitchen. He was drenched from the rain and dripping with a little bit of blood from the game he had over his shoulder. “Your late son.” scolded his mother, “Your father is getting sicker by the day and everyone is hungry.”

“I couldn’t find anything; the game is growing very scarce.”

“Well go to your room, change your clothes and then help your brothers clean dinner.” Kirthanas rolled the game off his shoulder and onto the table for his brothers to take out back. He then walked to his room and changed into dry clean clothes. His slender yet toned body stood tall for an elf. Kirthanas was tired and irritated from the rain and the pressure that his stalking skill places on him. His two brothers and his sister were already helping his mother so he went to see his father. His father lay in his bed, diseased and deathly ill. He awoke to the sound of his son’s footsteps and greeted him with a smile from ear to ear. Unfortunately a shaking cough followed that shriveled up his once illuminated face. Kirthanas helped his father out of bed and then to the dinner table. The game that he hunted was just being set on the table, an hour late but nobody really cared. Kirthanas was forced to take on a more responsible role now that his father had fallen ill. At a young age of seventeen it was more then he could handle. He had to hunt and gather almost all of his family’s food. On top of that he had to find work to bring in some gold for the extra pleasures that the family was accustom to.

He had finally found a job with the lord of his realm. The human lord employed Kirt, as humans called him, to watch over and protect his son. However, Lord Remnit’s son is quite capable of handling himself. He was trained in the complex art of Minfo, god of the wind and the yellow moon, by a komonos. Komonos were a lot like elves, considered their cousins by ignorant humans. Komonos shared some physical similarities such as slender frames and almond eyes but many similarities were much deeper. Both races believed themselves to be pure children of their god and worship them with great reverence. Both races believed in collectivism opposed to the humans focus on individualism. Honor and social status means everything to them even almost more then life itself. However, Minfo’s children are more warlike then the harmonious elves. Komonos had developed an art of fighting with a conviction unparalleled by any other race. As children of the wind komonos moved faster than some races could even see, their natural speed matched only by elves. Fuesung, a great komonos Wind Knight, trained Gantan Remnit the wise arts of Minfo passed through his ancestry. Lord Remnit thought the way of Minfo would give Gantan much needed discipline that he lacked. When the Lord campaigned in the East he had met Fuesung, they fought together to extinguish a growing threat. The art that the komonos race protected for so long had been stolen. A new power rose in the East as the birth of the Shadow Art was revealed to Wantilan. Much like the komonos Wind Knights the Shadow Knights used the art of Minfo but they added deception and dishonor. Shadow Knights struck at night and in small numbers. They are silent and swift knowing no mercy and no remorse. Wind Knights had forever lived strictly by Minfo’s code. The fight was all that mattered to them, the challenge of another’s blade. Shadow Knights kill without warning; kill the innocent in their sleep. The Shadow Knights pledge to Imfel and the dark side of the yellow moon. Their growth was a continuing threat; Lord Remnit pledged his forces in the East for eight long years. With the alliance with Wind Knights humans and komonos fought side by side to finally defeat the Shadow Knights at their temple, a battle that raged for over a year. However, the Shadow Art was not defeated; the Shadow Knights live on as the alliance has. Fuesung’s teachings gave Gantan a killer instinct and a special talent with the komonos famous weapon, the katana. The katana was a long slim sword, metal folded over many times to achieve great strength despite its slender build like the komonos themselves. Gantan’s use of the katana was greater than that of most pure blooded komonos. He is one of few humans to master their skills and pray to Minfo’s name.

Gantan and Kirthanas were longtime friends despite the prejudices that humans and elves share. Only in Remnit’s realm elves and other races are created as complete equals. Elves live in almost every realm across Wantilan. They do not obey the laws of the human lords nor are they expected to. Lords of the realm are lords of humans and imaginary lines; not nature or of elves. Kirt and Gantan met in the forest as young children and have been friends ever since. Kirt gladly accepted the job as it was: an unwritten gift to the elven family that didn’t invade the honor of the elves to take a gift from a human. Although traditional prejudices have faded, sadly, they will always remain. Still Gantan and Kirt treated each other as more than equals they had become brothers. Kirt knows he is much more responsible then Gantan and would protect him with his life. Of course Gantan would do the same; together they became a deadly force combining skill, wisdom, strength, and bravery. The only down side to the job is Kirthanas had to leave his family, a choice that had to be made for them to survive. They couldn’t live day to day by the hunt, game was becoming dangerously scarce. Remnit promised Kirt that if he became Gantan’s companion and looked after him he would give Kirt’s family fresh food everyday, give special care to his ill father, and supply them with whatever they wished. Gantan meant everything to Remnit. Letting him go will be tough and Kirthanas served as a security blanket. Lord Remnit would give anything for his son’s safety. Kirt’s only condition was that no matter what happened to him, his family would always be taken care of. A wish gladly granted by Remnit and so tomorrow Kirthanas leaves for Remnit’s Castle.

* * *
]]> LordMeatwad http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/654-glory-wantilan-p9.html Glory of Wantilan p8 http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/634-glory-wantilan-p8.html Tue, 05 Apr 2011 20:32:50 GMT * * * “What a woman cleric? But women can’t have power that great!” cried Riesus, a male taught the way of his people and just as arrogant. “Why? Other women in the world have power why can’t it change here to!” retorted Carana. “In Lord Remnit’s realm all people are created equal, whether...
* * *

“What a woman cleric? But women can’t have power that great!” cried Riesus, a male taught the way of his people and just as arrogant.

“Why? Other women in the world have power why can’t it change here to!” retorted Carana. “In Lord Remnit’s realm all people are created equal, whether they are dwarf, elf, or even a woman. The Gods children are meant to equal. We all watch the same moons in the sky. Besides it really doesn’t matter now I am moving on! I’m done with this sexist town and everyone in it including you guys and my parents!” With that she stammered off from her four friends, all males as her women friends were already married and doing house work.

When she reached home she burst through the door, water dripping from every part of her body. Her eyes soaked with tears and her face flushed from the cold winds that bite her face as she ran home. She hesitated at the door for a second to catch her breath, taking only light breaths after a second or two despite the speed in which she ran. With fire in her eyes burning away her tears she walked calmly into her room. After a few minutes she burst back out of the room fully clothed and chalk full of provisions. Then her father confronted her. He got right in her face attempting to intimidate her yet she shoved him aside and walked toward the door. He reached out with his strong arm and spun her around. He quickly embraced her, wrapping his two strong arms around her.
In her ear he whispered “The truth is I couldn’t be prouder of you. Be careful and return someday please! Also send word every now and again.” Next her mother gave her a huge hug and told her the same. They loaded her up with all she needed to survive and gave her gold to use in the towns ahead.
“Listen to me”, her father said, “I want to give you this.” he handed her a staff. The staff was beautifully crafted with an angel at the end. Its two wings curved up and meeting at a point an inch or two above the angels head. The wings were razor sharp and the angel held a white gem in its hand poised in front of her stomach.
“It is the symbol of Dyvinia, one of her angels, like you. This staff was your great grandmothers and it was only time before you got the call. As you know I have no sisters and the staff is to be handed down to the women of the family, a long tradition that was thought to be broken. But it apparently just skipped a generation. Good luck and gods speed!” with that he began to cry and watched his daughter walk toward the door hopefully to return someday.

As she reached the door she turned to say one more good-bye to her father and mother. Now tears of anger were replaced with tears of joy and fear. Her vision was blurred with confusion and insecurity but with one look at the staff she knew that she had to go. She turned her head and walked out choosing a path. She walked through the muddy and puddle full path not knowing were it lead and not caring. Her father ran to the doorway to see his pride and joy stride off. For the first time he really saw her, she was of average height with long blonde hair just about to turn seventeen and already a woman. Her body was that amongst the finest of the women he had ever seen yet her grace and beauty hid the fire that made her a deadly force. Combined with her clerical gift she would become a true hero and he knew it.

* * *
]]> LordMeatwad http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/634-glory-wantilan-p8.html Glory of Wantilan p7 http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/622-glory-wantilan-p7.html Fri, 01 Apr 2011 06:10:00 GMT * * * As the lightning crashed to the ground Mercaitor’s stalker sprang into action. Lifting high into the air the attacker meant to come down all at once with one fatal blow. Mercaitor gracefully unsheathed his sword clashing against his opponent’s strike. Both fighters were pushed back...
* * *


As the lightning crashed to the ground Mercaitor’s stalker sprang into action. Lifting high into the air the attacker meant to come down all at once with one fatal blow. Mercaitor gracefully unsheathed his sword clashing against his opponent’s strike. Both fighters were pushed back from the force of contact sliding to a halt in the slick mud. The thief or assassin was not greatly skilled and stumbled at the surprising grace to which his target countered his attack. Now squared up the two men danced in a circle aware of every move the other made. Mercaitor’s cloak lay on the floor taken off as he rolled against the thief’s initial attack and drew his sword. His uniquely decorated armor now felt the cold sting of the freezing rain. The thief saw his mistake for the first time. The brash knight stood tall and every inch bulged with pure muscle. Yet despite his massive strength the seemingly twenty year old man possessed a dancers grace with a sword.

The thief was armed with a dagger which he tossed to his left hand and held fast. Then with his newly freed right hand he reached behind his back and pulled down a blood smeared short sword. He slid it out slowly as if he enjoyed the slight shaving sound of the cold metal. Mercaitor Icewolf sized up his enemy then grabbed his long sword with two hands, a style that he preferred in a one on one battle. Using his sword with two hands increased its speed, strength, and accuracy making every strike count.

The obviously ambidextrous opponent made the first move with his short sword leaving his dagger behind to guard against a counter attack. Mercaitor easily swept the thief’s thrust sideways knocking him off balance. Mercaitor with almost a playful look about himself instantly followed the parry move with a quick slice at the thief’s leg. The cloak was perfectly sliced so that if blood had not smeared the cloth you would never know he hit his opponent. Rain relentlessly poured down on the fighters as they continued their battle dance. This time even more wary of a counter the thief attacked. In a beautiful display of skill Mercaitor brought the short sword across his body rolled on the thief’s arm as if it were a track never breaking physical contact until he reached the shoulder of the thief. Now standing side to side and back to back Mercaitor thrust his sword behind him never looking back, knowing his opponent would still be there shoved forward and stumbling due to his swift action. The sword tore through its target forcing the thief to arc his back in unbelievable pain. As the sword ripped through the front of the thief it dripped with his lifeblood. The world began to fade out; each blink seemed longer and longer as he felt himself fall to the ground in seemingly slow motion. After the sudden impact against the cold, wet, hard, muddy ground it began to feel comfortable to the thief as he closed his eyes for the last time. The rain fell down onto his lifeless face in a mocking fashion. Once the thief observed the calmness of his target in battle he knew he was in trouble. He put his mind to rest attacked, failed, and died all in a matter of seconds.

Mercaitor stood unmoved except to pull back his sword and sheath it. He now turned around to see the aftermath of the battle in which he had engaged. The pitiful thief was no challenge in battle but was a great stalker; maybe if Mercaitor was not so aware the first strike by the thief would have been enough. He lifted his head in wonder and felt the rain beat against his face blurring his vision and stinging his eyes. Now the rain felt good cooling his heated body, relaxing his battle ready muscles, but he had to move on, striding forth even more aware of his surroundings then before. The air was even more relaxed and the occasional breeze seemed warmer then before. The trees no longer looked withered but pained by the freezing rain that robbed them of the suns during the day and beat them down during this eventful night. Mercaitor once again fell into his repetitive stride walking to his destination seemingly forever away. Time seemed longer in the rain and he didn’t like it. The days walk seemed like a month and the nights travel a year. But soon he would arrive. Tomorrow he thought.

* * *
]]> LordMeatwad http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/622-glory-wantilan-p7.html Glory of Wantilan p6 http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/609-glory-wantilan-p6.html Tue, 22 Mar 2011 19:31:05 GMT The rain of the gods flow for few, The rain of the gods brings things that are new, Things of evil and good to their sacred land, Things that will play into the palm of their hand. Upon the rain of the gods champions will entered the field, Upon the rain of the gods the game did yield,...
The rain of the gods flow for few,
The rain of the gods brings things that are new,
Things of evil and good to their sacred land,
Things that will play into the palm of their hand.

Upon the rain of the gods champions will entered the field,
Upon the rain of the gods the game did yield,
When the rain disappeared the game began,
The gods cheered like fanatic fans.

The Gods of Good choose their warriors long ago,
As they awaited for time to flow,
The God of Evil has gathered his hordes,
Only to die upon Good’s faithful sword.

So is the legend of Wantilan Realm.


“WELCOME TO WANTILAN”


The rain poured down his face like small marbles, they rolled into one another gathering strength and speed as they endlessly dripped toward the ground. The night progressed and the air held danger with every breeze. Even the trees seem to be holding secrets in their withered appearance. Mercaitor continued to walk ever strong without breaking his stride. His eyes roamed the path secretively without showing the paranoia he now felt. Every second was now an hour. The moons seemed to look at him with a grim smile through the dense storm clouds above. His every breath stung his nostrils. Without breaking his repetitive stride, he loosened the hilt of his sword with a slight of hand. The air grew tense as all around him seemed now to still to be safe. The wind stopped blowing and the trees held fast. All noises ceased as if everything drew a deep breath before an unstoppable outcome. Then it all made sense as finally something caught his wandering eye. The trees again seemed to move as the cruel storm’s breeze relieved his tense muscles. He slowed his stride, closing his eyes as he lifted his head to the heavens and drew a deep breath of his own.

* * *

The rain outside seemed to depress Jenrig’s mind and body. His face ridged and defined, his body toned as if etched in stone, his appearance reflected the many years of intense training and work. Tonight was his last day as a member of his clan. Tomorrow when he awakes it will finally be his Day of Wandering. He is to rightfully become a true Warrior of the Blue Flame. A ceremony he trained for his entire life and one that would not be ruined by the depression of the rain. The Blue Flame Clans had become the most feared fighters in all of Wantilan.
These few warriors battle for survival everyday dedicating their lives to the destruction of all that which is evil. They are so powerful that they are said to be of the purest of the children. Jenrig enjoyed the idea of being of the finest gems on Wantilan; he knew the pure blood of many gods flowed in his veins. He felt their gifts, learned to love and embrace them through his hardest trials. He heard their voices speak when others didn’t, he felt special.
He felt invincible.
Tomorrow marks the day of the eighteen rotation of the white moon. Hard to believe that so many years had past, but he knew he was ready to be a man. The life ahead of him will be a grand one. He looked out and pondered what was past the village he had never left. He wondered if the choice he made was the right one. Finally he just sat back in his hut and relaxed once more. To think about it further would only cause him confusion and fill his mind with doubts. He laid back and closed his eyes, rolled into a comfortable position and his next thought would be of triumph when he awoke.
* * *


Her hair was drenched as she greeted her friends coming to retrieve her from the lake. Her eyes were wet with tears and her body wet with the cold dense rain. She was curled up in a ball with her arms wrapped around her knees and her head in her lap. As the tears continued to teem down her face, her blurry vision made out the silhouettes of her four close friends.
“Carana! What happened? Why are you out here?” exclaimed Telinian from about twenty feet away. “Your parents called for us to retrieve you!”
“Only so they could yell at me more I suspect!” screamed Carana in a tear jerked tone.
As her friends neared they sat around her despite the cold rain and the muddy damp bank of the lake. They decided to stay until she returned with them, no matter what. Noticing this she relaxed her curled up body, wiped her tears away and began her story to release the weight on her chest that pained her so. She told them about how she had dreamed of a goddess and how the goddess spoke to her of faith and power. This well documented occasion was known as the calling of the gods, when a god has chosen another disciple to teach his or her wisdom and heal the land. She told her friends, who now seemed more distant then usual, of how she fought with her parents and was cast out of her home. When she left her house a bright light swirled around her invigorating her with new life. The light lead her to this lake and the goddess appeared again. Dyvinia, goddess of life and the white moon, had come to tell Carana she was a chosen. Carana was told she had the power to heal and that the heart of the world ached for her comfort. Most of what Dyvinia spoke Carana could not understand but truly the point was clear; Carana now had to search for her own answers. When she finished her story her friends stared at her not knowing what to say. For in her town females are seen as less then men and powerless, Carana was always brought up to know her place and to perform as expected. Now her mind was open, no longer clouded by the words of others she had a new purpose to dictate her life. ]]> LordMeatwad http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/609-glory-wantilan-p6.html Glory of Wantilan p5 http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/595-glory-wantilan-p5.html Thu, 17 Mar 2011 17:01:41 GMT The endless rush met Lark’s fury as he now cut them down like saplings defending his father’s sword at all costs. A voice called over the battlefield that stung like glass shattering in the ear. The rush stopped, the punrigs fell back and into lines surrounding Lark and the sword. The mindless... The endless rush met Lark’s fury as he now cut them down like saplings defending his father’s sword at all costs.

A voice called over the battlefield that stung like glass shattering in the ear. The rush stopped, the punrigs fell back and into lines surrounding Lark and the sword. The mindless creatures were organizing something not seen since the myths of Imfel. The Dark Mistress was leading them and they obeyed her will over their own conquering instincts falling into ranks behind one another. They almost took the fight out of Lark, his only advantage was their blinding rage and they stripped him of it. Then the earth below him cracked shaking him slightly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father’s sword illuminated green with bolts of green lighting twisting around it. Lark let his axe go dropping it to the ground with a thud that signaled the attackers’ second wave. Maybe they thought him to have given up, dropping his weapon in compliance with his impending doom. Lark grabbed for the sword keeping his eyes on the swivel. As his grasp clamped the hilt everything was clear to him. As if time stopped the whispering words told Lark of how the earth strengthened the sword and obeyed the sword. The earth around the sword cracked outward like a spider’s web from the pressure. Lark tore the sword from the ground and raised it high into the air above him. Swinging down with all his force he struck the earth only moments before his attackers reached him. Striking the earth the sword let out a thunderous boom. An invisible wind rushed out blowing back the punrig army like leaves in a wisp. The ground split forward from the sword accented by bolts of green lightning. Zigzagging onward the earth tore apart rising and falling, blowing debris and punrigs everywhere. The split earth drove forward toward the Dark Mistress clearing everything in its path.

As the crushing wave was about to reach her she leapt high into air and straight at Lark. Landing on the aftermath the Dark Mistress skillful dashed over the jagged landscape. Leaping from mound to mound over the split earth she met Lark head on with her black blade. This time Lark did not fall so easily, he met her sword with a force that halted her charge into a deadlock. Larks sword was severely weakened but thin bolts of green lightning still danced about his blade as it shook against the black marble sword. Lark’s eyes locked onto hers straight into the beautiful velvet purple. In them Lark found no hatred only bliss, she herself then let out a smile from the corner of her mouth as her hair draped playfully over her eyes. Her grip loosened slightly and so did Larks; ending the stalemate. Given the moment she took it swiping again at Lark underestimating him in her excitement, something he was also often a victim to. Over excitement and impulse decisions was one of the many things Lark attempted to fix in creating a better self. Still it was this very fault in him that caused the death of his family and now it was that fault that would lead to their retribution. Twisting his shoulders and dipping backward Lark narrowly avoided the onyx blade as it screamed through the wind. In her haste she over-swung; Lark only ever needed his opponent to make one mistake, to give him on inch and he always took the yard. Whirling his sword over hers he tapped her blade slightly adding to her over swing and not underestimating her. Both Larks hands gripped firmly on the hilt as he straightened his sword to its target and thrust forward at her heart. His father’s sword had enough magic left to pierce cleanly through the black and purple armor driving deep and through. Lark let go of his father’s sword catching hold of the woman as she fell limp dropping her sword to the ground, it was the only sound Lark heard. Lark held tightly not letting her fall, her head rested solemnly on his shoulder. Her hand gripped his arm as she amazingly forced her head up to meet his gaze. The beautiful velvet eyes held no surprise, no wonderment, and no hatred. In them Lark saw only happiness her face lifted to a smile. Reaching up behind his neck she grasped him gently and kissed him. It was unlike anything Lark had ever experienced. He had been with girls before, he had felt the butterflies and the sweaty palms but never had life been so clear to him. The passionate kiss ended in her last breath as her head fell again to his shoulder. So clear was life at that moment, for that instant Lark felt true happiness only to be ripped away from him. Now life had never been more confusing. Never had so many questions filled his head at once with no one and nothing to help him. The few remains of the punrig army retreated swiftly, their leader and controller defeated they dissembled in chaos running into the forest aimlessly. Lark and the Dark Mistress knelt alone on the battlefield silhouetted by a magnificent sunset. A sunset only seen once every ten years, the two suns set together with all eight moons on the horizons. Each moon hugged the horizon like a mountain in the distance. The white moon was in the north moving east was followed by the purple then green, the blue, the black, the red, the yellow and finally right to the white moons west the silver. The colors blended and bled throughout the entire sky a display held with much celebration and joy throughout Wantilan. Lark hadn’t seen it when he was seven his spiteful brothers locked him in the shed, where he first found his father’s secret. ]]> LordMeatwad http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/595-glory-wantilan-p5.html Glory of Wantilan p4 http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/594-glory-wantilan-p4.html Thu, 17 Mar 2011 16:59:09 GMT With that past lost behind him Lark looked to the horizon with hate in his eyes aimed at letting himself define Lark. * * * An entire day and night past and Lark took little rest. He needed little rest his mind constantly screaming with rage fueling his body. The first and second sun... With that past lost behind him Lark looked to the horizon with hate in his eyes aimed at letting himself define Lark.


* * *


An entire day and night past and Lark took little rest. He needed little rest his mind constantly screaming with rage fueling his body. The first and second sun rose almost one after another indicating the seasons changing and the shortening of days. Lark wouldn’t have light for long and he desperately needed it. There was no way he could attack the punrigs in the night. The black moon at night gives the punrigs added strength, their vision and senses were actually heightened. Lark couldn’t afford to give them any advantages, his only hope lye in him being swift enough to reach the Dark Mistress. If he could defeat her hopefully the mindless creatures will disband in fear.

The two suns began to dip low in the sky glazing the atmosphere as Lark finally caught up to the army he’d been tracking for almost three days. His original plan was simple: scout out the army, find the Dark Mistress and the shortest path to her. As he crept close trying to get a good look a voice rang loud.
“Lark, son of no one, come out!”

Lark stepped out of his hiding spot and walked far until finally reaching a large green grass pasture at the border of the forest. It was a wonderful battlefield with a view stretching far out to a mountainous horizon. It was a great place to die. The Dark Mistress stood far away from him at the head of her whole army. Actually in the open their numbers didn’t seem that great. There could be no more then two or three hundred of them… the filthy little bastards didn’t have a chance. Lark drew his sword from one of four sheaths on his back, two behind his right shoulder and two over his left, all of them now empty as his sword hung in his right hand.
“I believe this is what you came for!” The Dark Mistress tossed his father’s sword high into the air over her entire army. The sword spun around a center axis flashing in the sunlight as the blade caught the rays of the suns. The sword arched high above the warriors on the ground, its blade grasped for the stars reaching its apex and then swung down hard as if an arrow piercing the ground right next to Lark. At first Lark reached for the sword but something deterred him. As he reached again he heard Venquin’s soft words. Before retracting his hand the sword told him to protect it and to leave it standing in the earth. Before Lark turned his attention to the hordes in front of him he noticed small green lighting began to dance along the blade, seemingly lifting up from the earth. Lark’s grip tightened on the hilt of his own sword as he looked back to the Dark Mistress’s gaze.
“Fetch for me the invaluable prize my children and it shall be yours.”

The punrigs bolted in a charge fueled by greed and bloodlust. All of their eyes locked at the prize as their filthy figures griped hammer, sword, and mace alike. Lark stood with no fear, he had nothing to live for and everything to fight for. Lark could feel the magic emanating from the sword next to him growing stronger with every passing moment. Lark’s composure was calm as the first of the punrigs reached him. Lark swung high beheading the first two creatures and then cut low chopping the next three at the knees. One after another Lark decimated anything that got even remotely close to him. Hard slashes drove straight through the feeble creatures pushing through the attempted blocks and parries of the putrid army. Cutting downward Lark split another in two slamming his sword into the ground slowing him and leaving him open for the next rusher. The mindless punrig trusted a spear at Lark who sidestepped the near fatal blow leaning backwards. Lark lifted his sword from the earth and straight into the heart of his opponent embedding his sword which he was forced to abandon in the dead weighted corpse, the momentum nearly knocking him over. The next punrig that charged was armed with a mace, which whistled heavily past Lark nearly clearing off his head. Lark grabbed the mace by the shaft on the back swing and with his left hand struck a well aimed blow to the neck of the creature disarming him. Lark gripped the stunned punrig and threw him into an oncoming spear then gripped the mace firmly in two hands. Lark swung with such force he cleared line after line of attackers, smashing them into one another and driving the chargers back. Tossing the mace he crushed another skull while he kicked the enemy next to him whose axe was stuck in the ground. Lark ripped the axe out of the ground and brought it clean through its wielder. The endless rush met Lark’s fury as he now cut them down like saplings defending his father’s sword at all costs. ]]> LordMeatwad http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/594-glory-wantilan-p4.html Glory of Wantilan p3 http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/581-glory-wantilan-p3.html Sat, 12 Mar 2011 03:30:23 GMT His brothers were not cowards… They were not cowards. The pain over took him and darkness flooded his vision. * * * When Lark awoke he made no effort to rise right away. He knew he had passed out and he knew where he was. He knew this was no dream but his new reality and the darkness... His brothers were not cowards…
They were not cowards.
The pain over took him and darkness flooded his vision.

* * *


When Lark awoke he made no effort to rise right away. He knew he had passed out and he knew where he was. He knew this was no dream but his new reality and the darkness of his eyelids comforted him more then it ever had. When Lark finally decided to get up he rose slow pushing himself from the ground and standing off balance. Lark began to search through the rubble for anything. Those mindless thieving punrigs took almost everything burning the house to the ground. Their will for material worth is as great as their instinct to kill and eat. Still Lark knew of a secret underground cellar that his father had. Lark walked out toward his back shed that surprisingly still stood. The rickety shack could have been blown over with less than a baby’s breath but it was untouched. As Lark entered he saw his father’s tools including his shovel.

Lark began to dig his family graves when the first sun was still low in the sky. The whole time Lark dug he thought of what was under the shed; he saw his father go down there many times yet he himself never ventured down there. For he knew his father would be very angry if he did. Lark tended to steer clear of getting his father angry; it never panned out well for him. Lark dug until long after the second sun set on Wantilan and the moons glowed brightly in the sky. Tonight the silver, white, and purple moons shown high in the sky with the yellow and green moons peaking over opposite horizons. It was almost pitch black when Lark padded the last mound of dirt over the grave he built for his father and mother. Lark had no strength to see what was in his father’s secret cellar. It would be there in the morning. Lark slept at the foot of his families’ grave, exhausted nothing could wake him from such a deep slumber.

With the dawning of the first sun Lark arose and said his final goodbye to his family and his past. He had long forged a rough exterior to emotions, sealing his true feeling away behind an outward mask. On this the last day of his old life he had thought he would be more upset. His feelings for his family, the sorrow and the pain seemed hidden now. Anger and rage had already encased his heart. He now had a purpose, for the first time in his life Lark had a goal. A task in which he does not expect to return from, it will be his final quest. With the passing of this moment Larks emotional shell grew stronger and more solid then ever before, almost to the point of unfeeling. Hate and fury burned in his veins as he marched down into his father’s secret cellar. Upon entering the damp underground Lark expected to see a shrine, or maybe even piles of gold coins and precious gems. All that waited for Lark was a single chest covered in dirt and cobwebs. Opening the chest Lark saw what his father had kept hidden. The interior of the chest in no way reflected that of the broken down exterior, it was lined with blue velvet that was untouched by any dirt. Lark slowly lifted out his father’s armor. The armor was beautifully crafted, armor that certainly adorned a knight. The armor was a brilliant emerald green with a shine that Lark could swear was silver. Lark labored hard to lift the heavy chest, stopping several times for his breath as he heaved the wretched thing outside to the light. In the blazing sunlight he saw the armor as if for the first time. The armor was glazed silver over the emerald green base. Marking and symbols decorated the fine craftsmanship. Lark soon found out that the chest was all the weight as he effortlessly removed each piece of armor as if it were bread. In the bottom of the chest lay a large leaf carefully rolled and tied. Lark undid the simple tie and spread the leaf across the ground. At first Lark saw nothing and began to wonder the significance of the leaf then he noticed that the inter workings of the leaf seemed to be some sort of writing. Lark could only recognize one word, Venquin, goddess of the green moon, mother to the earth and the life it breeds. His father had been a Knight of Venquin and never told him. Then Lark remembered his father’s sword that hung in the main hall above the fireplace. The large sword always looked radiant in the fire’s light. The flames danced off the three emeralds, perfectly cut, the largest sat in the center of the sword as the others flanked in the twisting design of the golden hilt. Lark knew those bastard punrigs had his sword, their grimy hands probably already melted it down for its worth. Lark fitted the armor to himself, it was a little large for Lark’s small frame but his broad shoulders held up the weightless armor quite nicely. Lark could never truly be as big as his brothers but he trained and worked hard disciplining his mind and body. The helmet was to large to fit his head and the lower armor was much to long for his legs, but the arm guards, breastplate, and shoulder guards could be worn with little embarrassment. Lark was just glad he wasn’t skin and bone or he would have use for nothing. Leaving the helm at the foot of his father’s grave Lark turned his back and walked away. The second sun was just rising and Lark did not plan on sleeping for a long time to come, he has to much ground to make up.

As Lark began running he could here dull whispers in his ears but couldn’t quite make them out. Lark’s legs pumped harder then ever as he swiftly ran across the forest floor. Lark had run nearly half a days travel without slowing his pace or fighting for breath. Still the whispering grew louder and Lark could hear the words. A language was whispering from the armor giving Lark strength, Venquin’s sweet voice pushed Lark farther and farther like a lullaby encouraged sleep. Bowing his head he gave all the gods his silent prayer and a curse for Imfel. Lark’s father had made sure all his children knew of the gods and the moons that served them. Even the black moon and its god Imfel who plagues the land with his evil and takes those we love with his claws of death. Lark always believed in those gods, he always knew they would protect him, he could feel the presence of Minfo in the wind or Ramus in a raging fire and he never thought it weird, although others would always say he was quite crazy. Lark let out a small laugh, through all the criticism and torment he endured through his life it only ever made him stronger. It made him work to be better, it taught him to fight and well, it never let him slip and it never let up. It defined him even to himself. With that past lost behind him Lark looked to the horizon with hate in his eyes aimed at letting himself define Lark.

* * *
]]> LordMeatwad http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/581-glory-wantilan-p3.html Glory of Wantilan p2 http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/565-glory-wantilan-p2.html Mon, 07 Mar 2011 20:53:37 GMT (continued from last time, welcome back :) , please forgive all format issues as copy and paste does not always work, I can't tab in, and some format/grammer is just plain wrong :(, hope you all will enjoy it anyway)

“Strive for the forever mists great warrior, here is your home.”


* * *


The bright light of the suns shone red through his closed eye lids. Opening his eyes and painfully shutting them, Lark once again awoke to the world. Rubbing his eyes with his left hand, he tightened his grip on his sword with his right hand. Why did he sleep with his sword? Lark’s mind ached and spindled confusion as his vision slowly adjusted to the first morning sun. His first shock came when he went to lift himself. Putting down his hand, it was submerged in a puddle of muck that he had slept in last night. The second shock came with the realization that the muck was his blood. Lark stretched high with his right arm stabbing his sword firmly into the ground and lifting himself with all the strength of his right arm, his strong arm he thought to himself. As Lark pulled himself upright he gritted his teeth in anticipation of immense pain, but it never came. He was covered in so much blood he couldn’t see any wounds. He couldn’t remember anything but his shirt and tunic had been torn asunder. Wiping away the thick blood from his flesh all he could find was a good sized scar slashing down over the center of his chest directly over his heart. Lark didn’t remember ever getting this scar yet it looked as if it was aged with years. From the looks of the wound someone had caught him good, a right hander, with probably a long sword. Where he was became the next question on the long list of his wonderment. Then it all began to come back, his brothers, the wretched punrigs, his…
Lark dashed away without another thought, streaming as fast as his legs would haul him. Now it was forming back to him, the punrigs attacked, so many of them. The foul and putrid creatures were smaller than him, in fact even half his size. They were pure evil and fought with the ferocity of little cornered beasts.
His brothers ran.
Left him to stand alone.
He wouldn’t let the foul creatures pass.
He had too much to protect.
his family,
his home,
his mother was behind him.
He fought the growling beasts that carried swords and shield yet had little mind to hold them less use them effectively. They were no match for Lark, they meet his sword with a quickness that their feeble minds could not comprehend. Lark’s slashes drove hard, cutting deep into the small men-like creatures that crumbled and were tossed aside by the driving force of Lark’s blade.
Then the endless rush stopped.
The snarling creatures fell silent and even fell to one knee.
It was the woman who defeated him.
Lark came to a dead stop from his frantic sprint. His eyes could no longer see the path, all he could see was the woman’s face. Then came an immeasurable pain that drove deep inside of him. Clutching over his heart with his left hand, the pain forced him to one knee. Lark would have fallen if not for his right arm which drove his sword deep in the dirt, baring the weight of his pain. Larks hand had never gripped his hilt so tightly, yet he couldn’t feel it, he couldn’t feel anything but the tearing of his heart. The face smiled with content toward his pain.
She wore black armor lined with purple markings, her purple eyes stared deep into him searching for something. Her face was so beautiful it encased him, nothing else mattered, not even himself. She walked gracefully through the masses of the putrid punrigs that parted for her to pass, bowing to her in silence. She drew a dark sword whose blade was black like that of polished marble. She told him he couldn’t save his mother and she struck him down with a speed he couldn’t comprehend.
As Lark knelt beside his sword he came to bear what had happened to him. His left hand rubbed unconsciously over a scar,
Was this all a dream?
Am I being tormented in hell?
Then Lark realized the torment had not even begun.
Lark bolted up tearing his sword from the earth and carrying it firmly at his side running again at a full sprint toward his home. He thought he was close but coming up on his house he could see nothing, not even a roof top. His legged burned as Lark pushed himself to run faster, farther. Still he could see nothing of his home, no smoke, nothing. Finally Lark was going to reach a clearing surely then he could see. Lark all at once fell to the ground, this pain was worse then before, sickening to the stomach as the heart dropped. Lark’s eyes shut tightly as his mind's eye took in all he had seen. As the truth and reality hit tears poured freely from his eyes, the pain so deep and intense that Lark thought there could be nothing worse, nothing. His minds eye stared at his house reduced to tinder and white dust upon the ground. His brothers and father died defending the house, their bodies made a semi circle around the only entrance. His mother and sister lay slain amongst the grey ashes and debrie of the house.
He lived and they died.
He stood when his brothers ran, they were smarter, regrouped.
If I had been smarter I would have been here fighting as a whole, not split up and defenseless. His brothers were not cowards…
They were not cowards.
The pain over took him and darkness flooded his vision. ]]> LordMeatwad http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/565-glory-wantilan-p2.html Glory of Wantilan http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/553-glory-wantilan.html Thu, 03 Mar 2011 18:49:14 GMT “A Tormenting Game” Silence alone echoed through the air even though the wisps of a strong wind blew about the decaying brush that made up the dense forest floor. Although the forest was teeming with life, in this dark corner, on this desolate night, one young man lays fighting a desperate...
“A Tormenting Game”





Silence alone echoed through the air even though the wisps of a strong wind blew about the decaying brush that made up the dense forest floor. Although the forest was teeming with life, in this dark corner, on this desolate night, one young man lays fighting a desperate battle. This story begins on this dark hour many years before the final date. Here lays the remainder of what had never been and was never known to be a man. A young boy of a large family he was the runt of the litter. Always smaller then the rest, including his many brothers, it was hard from the beginning.Where were his big brothers now?
They all ran, cowards..
Here he laid, a deep wound gushing blood over his hands that had long gone cold. Often Lark had thought what death would be like; what the moment before held for him. The white hot blinding pain sent starbursts and flashes through his faded vision. This moment before death was not a glorious rendition of his life, it was not a flash of all his happy memories, beautiful moments, loved ones, but Lark was not surprised; for he had none of these now in his final breaths or the painstaking days that were his life. Feeling sorry for himself, even in death, he chuckled a blood fletched cough for the irony of the joke that was his life. He was better off dead. If only for his mother the only one who cared for him, loved him, but even that faded, even she found another in the daughter she always wanted, the baby he was.
Darkness blanketed his world once more; once more he began to hear the words. Now he recognized the words, the voice, this all happened before but he couldn’t remember when, it wasn’t important. There was no more pain, black had completely flooded his vision and all he could hear was the voice. The words gave him the feeling as if they were stars forever out of reach to him yet they were spoken by someone who held no joy in teasing; only loving bliss garnished the soft whispered words:

“Strive for the forever mists great warrior, here is your home.” ]]> LordMeatwad http://www.tacticalgamer.com/blogs/lordmeatwad/553-glory-wantilan.html