Post by The Mammoth on Mar 9, 2010 22:45:15 GMT -5
Prologue:
The fire cackled as it shifted, sending embers and dust toward the sky. As the embers floated up, they began to glow bright before disappearing into the night sky. The warmth of the fire burned a uneven circle in the snow. A small rodent had taken refuge from the snow in the warmth of the fire, sitting by the fire and cleaning itself. Opposite the rodent sat a towering man holding a small skinning knife. The man was carving a small piece of wood into a spear, the shavings of wood flying off and smacking the fire, spitting sparks. After a few hours, the man held up the spear to his face, inspecting it. His scarred face flickered in the light of the fire, his few yellowed teeth smirking as he could see the spear was satisfactory. As he lowered it, his dead left eye, white from the blade that had cut through it all those years ago, shined in the orange light. It didn’t move. With a flick of his wrist, the rodent that was sitting opposite the fire was impaled by the small foot long spear. The man held it over the fire, and later ate it.
This man, calm and collected, had been hunting a mage for over 10 years. This man was the legend, Lion. A behemoth of a man, standing at nearly 7 feet tall, weighing over 450 pounds, he was known the world over as a harbinger of justice. His scarred body and battered armor were all that remained. His hard life had taken its toll, as he looked worn and wrinkled. In his mid thirties now, he looked as if he was fifty, his wrinkled face contemplating the creature he had been chasing for so long. He was close, and he knew it. Soon, his journey would be over
It had been years since Lion had been home. He left behind his only remaining family, his 8 year old brother. His parents were long dead, killed in the plague that ravaged his people. He and his brother were the only ones left. He did his best to raise his younger brother, but he was a warrior, not a father. He knew better than to think he should raise children, as he was too harsh and foolish to be a good father. He regretted the fact that he could not be there for his younger brother, but he knew that his brother was a smart kid, and strong beyond his years. Lion hoped that he would be okay, but knew that his own purpose mattered far more.
A legend carried by his people, the Wyrris, the Northern Barbarians, of a great evil far stronger than the combined might of the world. His people had lived since the dawn of time, protecting the world that they lived on from the threat of this returning monstrosity. For ages, they warred with any being foolish enough to attempt to control this great evil, and since the dawn of time, they had never faltered. But, two thousand years ago, they remembered a time they failed, and the terrible price they paid to seal the creature back to its home.
A powerful cult had found out about the demon, and sought to resurrect him. The Wyrris, arrogant in their strength, believed themselves unstoppable due to their overconfident new king and recent successes against the cult’s leaders. Their complacency turned out to be their downfall. The remaining cult acolytes successfully conjured the demon, and the end of time began. For the next twenty years, the demon systematically killed nearly all living beings on the planet. When a mere 15% remained, the Wyrris prepared their greatest sacrifice. For their foolishness, they used their own souls to seal away the demon. All of their power as the world’s chosen guardians, unleashed in one massive cataclysm. In unison, they completed a ritual they hoped never to need, sacrificing all but a few dozen of their people to return the demon to its prison. Not even the lord of the underworld wants this blight upon him, as the demon finds himself was returned to nothingness.
This was their punishment for their failure. They had imprisoned the creature again, but had destroyed their own race in the process. The remaining Wyrris set about destroying any evidence of the creature, in hopes that it would never be brought back if there were no lore to learn from. They thought they had succeeded, as the few that remained were never bothered, never had to leave their noble home atop the Northern mountains...
Now, all that remained were two. The Wyrris had failed again. A mage, known as Dace, had discovered how to resurrect the demon, and had set about doing it over the past 10 years. It often took a lifetime, but the relative power of this mage was far beyond anything the Wyrris had ever faced. They feared for the worst. An expedition, led by Lion, was set out with the last Warriors of the Wyrris to hunt down Dace. Lion was the only man left, and a return to the Northern Mountains found nobody remaining. His younger brother escaped, returning to the mourning Lion right before he left to hunt down the mage. Lion knew he had to finish the job, and ten years had passed since his younger brother told him not to fear, and to do what he was destined to do...
Lion sat by the fire, having forced the mage to flee into a small port town. He needed his rest if he was to finish this fight once in for all. By the time the dawn came, Lion set out toward the town and its massive bonfire in the center. The mage was waiting there, knowing his defeat was coming...
When Lion arrived, there was nobody left alive in the town. That was not his concern. He knew the world was doomed should he fail to stop the mage here, and he refused to fail. 10 days of battle passed...
The battle had come to an end, and Lion was victorious.
“Ahh... The legend...” Dace laughed, coughing out blood.
“Can it, Dace... Do you understand what you’re reviving!? He would have ended everything, including you... I couldn’t let that happen.” Lion spat out.
“Hrmm... I guess we’ll... never know if I could control it....” Dace said.
“You couldn’t... That is why I stopped you...” Lion said, gutting the mage, and ending the journey. His people had not died for nothing.
As he left the port town, he stopped at the bonfire and looked at it, his journey was over, and he felt a sense of relief...
“But you only secured my victory.” Dace said, laughing. Lion spun around, raising his sword, and was impaled by a spear of bone. He gasped for air, blood shooting out of his mouth as he coughed. He stared a risen Dace in the face, his body, dead as before, animated there. Lion fell to his knees, the legendary warrior, fading to nothingness.
“You see, the people of this town were my preparations for undeath. The demon comes to exterminate life, but can those already dead do more? When I complete my work, we’ll know. The interference of your race dies with you.” Dace said, disappearing into thin air as Lion began to fade.
Lion kneeled there, his blood running down the spear into the bonfire. He tried to hold on to consciousness, but it only reminded him of his failure. How had their noble race fallen so far? As he began to give in to the darkness that awaited him, he heard a familiar voice.
“LION! LION! no....”
A hand touched his shoulder, and he opened his eyes.
“Mammoth...” Lion said.
“Lion, don’t talk... I’m getting’ ya out of here...” Mammoth, his younger brother, only barely an adult, was here.
“No... it’s over for me... Brother... I have failed you... I have failed our home... I have failed our ancestors. You were always smarter than the rest of us. Don’t make our mistakes... Don’t forget... for...”
No other sound but the wind and the cackling fire remained.
Lion fell limp, held up by the spear through his chest...
Mammoth lowered his head, touching his forehead to his brother’s, weeping. He had just lost the last remaining family he had. He was now the last of his race...
Mammoth had been tracking his brother, hoping to learn from the experience. It was likely that Dace did not know he existed, which gave a small advantage for now, as he was not a threat to Dace’s plans. When he finally reached the site of the final battle, Mammoth saw what remained. There was nothing left but death, and the blood that had been spilled, obviously showed Dace was dead, but Mammoth knew something was odd. There was no corpse, and the blood had not coagulated. There was no doubt something unnatural occurred here...
Mammoth leaned there crying against his dead brother for what seemed like an eternity. When he finally rose, he grabbed the massive claymore off the ground that belonged to Lion, and stuck it in the ground. No normal man could ever lift that sword, as it weighed thousands of pounds to someone not of the Wyrris bloodline. Mammoth left it there, to signify that a great man had died there that day. Putting his brother’s body on the fire, Mammoth turned and left, returning to the mountains of the north.
He knew he was hardly the warrior his late brother was, and that thought tormented him, as he knew the responsibility to protect the world from the demon was now his. However, he was not able to come to terms with the loss of his brother and that he was all that remained of a once grand race. Retreating into exile, Mammoth never made his presence known. He returned to his ruined homeland, and ventured further into the northern mountains, where the cold was so extreme none by the Wyrris could survive staying there. He considered it his punishment for his weakness. Mourning there, and training there, Mammoth did not emerge until 5 years had passed. His body had matured, as had his mind. He promised there, on that hallowed ground where his bloodline had left him, that he would not falter in the face of these odds. He knew better than to make the mistake of promising victory, for he knew the chances were slim, but he would face them as the Wyrris were destined to do.
“I will not forget... Rest in peace, Lion.”
With that, Mammoth moved south through the frozen tundra, toward the city of Findlay. The northern nations were centered in Findlay, and Mammoth could learn of what he had missed in the time he spent in exile. The sky was not black, the world was not burning, so the demon had not returned, but without a doubt, Dace was closer to his goal...
The fire cackled as it shifted, sending embers and dust toward the sky. As the embers floated up, they began to glow bright before disappearing into the night sky. The warmth of the fire burned a uneven circle in the snow. A small rodent had taken refuge from the snow in the warmth of the fire, sitting by the fire and cleaning itself. Opposite the rodent sat a towering man holding a small skinning knife. The man was carving a small piece of wood into a spear, the shavings of wood flying off and smacking the fire, spitting sparks. After a few hours, the man held up the spear to his face, inspecting it. His scarred face flickered in the light of the fire, his few yellowed teeth smirking as he could see the spear was satisfactory. As he lowered it, his dead left eye, white from the blade that had cut through it all those years ago, shined in the orange light. It didn’t move. With a flick of his wrist, the rodent that was sitting opposite the fire was impaled by the small foot long spear. The man held it over the fire, and later ate it.
This man, calm and collected, had been hunting a mage for over 10 years. This man was the legend, Lion. A behemoth of a man, standing at nearly 7 feet tall, weighing over 450 pounds, he was known the world over as a harbinger of justice. His scarred body and battered armor were all that remained. His hard life had taken its toll, as he looked worn and wrinkled. In his mid thirties now, he looked as if he was fifty, his wrinkled face contemplating the creature he had been chasing for so long. He was close, and he knew it. Soon, his journey would be over
It had been years since Lion had been home. He left behind his only remaining family, his 8 year old brother. His parents were long dead, killed in the plague that ravaged his people. He and his brother were the only ones left. He did his best to raise his younger brother, but he was a warrior, not a father. He knew better than to think he should raise children, as he was too harsh and foolish to be a good father. He regretted the fact that he could not be there for his younger brother, but he knew that his brother was a smart kid, and strong beyond his years. Lion hoped that he would be okay, but knew that his own purpose mattered far more.
A legend carried by his people, the Wyrris, the Northern Barbarians, of a great evil far stronger than the combined might of the world. His people had lived since the dawn of time, protecting the world that they lived on from the threat of this returning monstrosity. For ages, they warred with any being foolish enough to attempt to control this great evil, and since the dawn of time, they had never faltered. But, two thousand years ago, they remembered a time they failed, and the terrible price they paid to seal the creature back to its home.
A powerful cult had found out about the demon, and sought to resurrect him. The Wyrris, arrogant in their strength, believed themselves unstoppable due to their overconfident new king and recent successes against the cult’s leaders. Their complacency turned out to be their downfall. The remaining cult acolytes successfully conjured the demon, and the end of time began. For the next twenty years, the demon systematically killed nearly all living beings on the planet. When a mere 15% remained, the Wyrris prepared their greatest sacrifice. For their foolishness, they used their own souls to seal away the demon. All of their power as the world’s chosen guardians, unleashed in one massive cataclysm. In unison, they completed a ritual they hoped never to need, sacrificing all but a few dozen of their people to return the demon to its prison. Not even the lord of the underworld wants this blight upon him, as the demon finds himself was returned to nothingness.
This was their punishment for their failure. They had imprisoned the creature again, but had destroyed their own race in the process. The remaining Wyrris set about destroying any evidence of the creature, in hopes that it would never be brought back if there were no lore to learn from. They thought they had succeeded, as the few that remained were never bothered, never had to leave their noble home atop the Northern mountains...
Now, all that remained were two. The Wyrris had failed again. A mage, known as Dace, had discovered how to resurrect the demon, and had set about doing it over the past 10 years. It often took a lifetime, but the relative power of this mage was far beyond anything the Wyrris had ever faced. They feared for the worst. An expedition, led by Lion, was set out with the last Warriors of the Wyrris to hunt down Dace. Lion was the only man left, and a return to the Northern Mountains found nobody remaining. His younger brother escaped, returning to the mourning Lion right before he left to hunt down the mage. Lion knew he had to finish the job, and ten years had passed since his younger brother told him not to fear, and to do what he was destined to do...
Lion sat by the fire, having forced the mage to flee into a small port town. He needed his rest if he was to finish this fight once in for all. By the time the dawn came, Lion set out toward the town and its massive bonfire in the center. The mage was waiting there, knowing his defeat was coming...
When Lion arrived, there was nobody left alive in the town. That was not his concern. He knew the world was doomed should he fail to stop the mage here, and he refused to fail. 10 days of battle passed...
The battle had come to an end, and Lion was victorious.
“Ahh... The legend...” Dace laughed, coughing out blood.
“Can it, Dace... Do you understand what you’re reviving!? He would have ended everything, including you... I couldn’t let that happen.” Lion spat out.
“Hrmm... I guess we’ll... never know if I could control it....” Dace said.
“You couldn’t... That is why I stopped you...” Lion said, gutting the mage, and ending the journey. His people had not died for nothing.
As he left the port town, he stopped at the bonfire and looked at it, his journey was over, and he felt a sense of relief...
“But you only secured my victory.” Dace said, laughing. Lion spun around, raising his sword, and was impaled by a spear of bone. He gasped for air, blood shooting out of his mouth as he coughed. He stared a risen Dace in the face, his body, dead as before, animated there. Lion fell to his knees, the legendary warrior, fading to nothingness.
“You see, the people of this town were my preparations for undeath. The demon comes to exterminate life, but can those already dead do more? When I complete my work, we’ll know. The interference of your race dies with you.” Dace said, disappearing into thin air as Lion began to fade.
Lion kneeled there, his blood running down the spear into the bonfire. He tried to hold on to consciousness, but it only reminded him of his failure. How had their noble race fallen so far? As he began to give in to the darkness that awaited him, he heard a familiar voice.
“LION! LION! no....”
A hand touched his shoulder, and he opened his eyes.
“Mammoth...” Lion said.
“Lion, don’t talk... I’m getting’ ya out of here...” Mammoth, his younger brother, only barely an adult, was here.
“No... it’s over for me... Brother... I have failed you... I have failed our home... I have failed our ancestors. You were always smarter than the rest of us. Don’t make our mistakes... Don’t forget... for...”
No other sound but the wind and the cackling fire remained.
Lion fell limp, held up by the spear through his chest...
Mammoth lowered his head, touching his forehead to his brother’s, weeping. He had just lost the last remaining family he had. He was now the last of his race...
Mammoth had been tracking his brother, hoping to learn from the experience. It was likely that Dace did not know he existed, which gave a small advantage for now, as he was not a threat to Dace’s plans. When he finally reached the site of the final battle, Mammoth saw what remained. There was nothing left but death, and the blood that had been spilled, obviously showed Dace was dead, but Mammoth knew something was odd. There was no corpse, and the blood had not coagulated. There was no doubt something unnatural occurred here...
Mammoth leaned there crying against his dead brother for what seemed like an eternity. When he finally rose, he grabbed the massive claymore off the ground that belonged to Lion, and stuck it in the ground. No normal man could ever lift that sword, as it weighed thousands of pounds to someone not of the Wyrris bloodline. Mammoth left it there, to signify that a great man had died there that day. Putting his brother’s body on the fire, Mammoth turned and left, returning to the mountains of the north.
He knew he was hardly the warrior his late brother was, and that thought tormented him, as he knew the responsibility to protect the world from the demon was now his. However, he was not able to come to terms with the loss of his brother and that he was all that remained of a once grand race. Retreating into exile, Mammoth never made his presence known. He returned to his ruined homeland, and ventured further into the northern mountains, where the cold was so extreme none by the Wyrris could survive staying there. He considered it his punishment for his weakness. Mourning there, and training there, Mammoth did not emerge until 5 years had passed. His body had matured, as had his mind. He promised there, on that hallowed ground where his bloodline had left him, that he would not falter in the face of these odds. He knew better than to make the mistake of promising victory, for he knew the chances were slim, but he would face them as the Wyrris were destined to do.
“I will not forget... Rest in peace, Lion.”
With that, Mammoth moved south through the frozen tundra, toward the city of Findlay. The northern nations were centered in Findlay, and Mammoth could learn of what he had missed in the time he spent in exile. The sky was not black, the world was not burning, so the demon had not returned, but without a doubt, Dace was closer to his goal...