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 Posted: Sun Oct 12, 2008 1:34 pm
The way up the hill was a bit steep, but his boots and stick would see him making easy progress.
It was as if Nature itself was trying to hold him back though... the higher he got, the windier it was. The snow started falling again, blowing back in his face, daring him to continue. Temperatures dropped dramatically, and the air was filled with white. How curious this event, when Scarker should've been able to clearly see the change in environment and weather from the bottom. And yet, it was no farce... the cold slapping against him was real
But eventually... it'd end. It'd all simply break when he got to the top of the hill, the whole weather anomaly clearing itself up with little trace of it having ever existed.
Before Scarker lay a valley as level as the area he'd just climbed up from. The closest things of note were a large frame of some sort, steel and cloth. From this distance, the size of that skeleton-like frame was unable to be discerned exactly, but it was clearly as tall as some of the trees around. Some short distance from that was a river and deep hole with large chunks of broken, painted glass.
Ah, but the river, the trees... the air, the sky. It was quite a bit more colorful here. Not exactly perfect fantasy rainbow, but the grass was green, the sky was a softer blue and purple, and warm reds and oranges found themselves snaking through the area via animals or some other trees.
Welcome to a place that you wouldn't know was there until you were there.
Welcome to the Garden of Guldor.
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Posted: Sun Oct 12, 2008 6:19 pm
Scarker made his way shivering up the mountain to be greeted by a definitely welcomed sight. His cleats disappeared as he walked out onto healthy grass, running his ungloved hand through it to be certain it was no illusion (although tricking the mage's vision would indeed be a difficult task.)
He grabs his second camera (only 5/24 shots taken) and starts snapping. First a view down the hill, with enough grass in-frame to show the transition. Then a handful of shots of what he could see from where he was. Once that was done, the camera went away and he started jogging out to explore.
The river was first. He was thirsty and water was usually a good thing. He'd grab a good amount of it in a cup of energy and then make a quick filter with a very tight trellis of energy. Nothing but water would stay in the little cup so that he could drink safely.
Next stop was just turning around to get a really good camera angle on the steel and cloth... thing. That was certainly a curious thing, but the pit of glass was what he ran over to investigate first. Painted glass meant that there had been/were people here (as if the structure wasn't enough clue.) He took a few pictures of the pit, making sure that it was well showcased, before walking up to the frame.
This didn't catch his attention in any of the same ways as the rest of the place had. The pit had been an oddity, but the mage could understand a pit filled with broken glass, although why the glass was painted was beyond him. But this... Thing... He couldn't fathom a reason for having a piece of cloth in a metal frame that was so damned tall.
He had to investigate. He needed to satiate his curiosity. And most importantly of all, when faced with such an odd thing, a basic urge beckoned to him, an urge that burned in a way that was far to epic for its importance.
He had to poke it.
A lot.
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Posted: Thu Oct 16, 2008 7:16 pm
Animals, not used to humans, would scatter would he neared... it was an expected response. Truly, in his drinking and wandering, Scarker'd find that nothing bad would happen. Despite the presence of beasts that were known for their size, ferocity, and bad temper, any he happened to see simple regarded him with a scrutinizing eye and turned their heads to watch more important things.
The pit was filled with only enough glass that would've covered the top of that hole... a roof. It was about six feet deep, with red streaks visible on the glass and on some of the wall, under what glass hadn't broken off.
As for the steel skeleton, poking did nothing. No energy remained in it, mechanical or biological. However, at this short distance, Scarker could see that some of the ragged cloth was attached to some sort of bulk. When two and two are put together, one could figure that it was whatever flesh hadn't rotted away-- despite being in the Garden, the pit and skeleton was on the edge and thusly still quite cool, and less susceptible to rotting.
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Posted: Fri Oct 17, 2008 5:18 pm
Scarker stepped back from the skeleton. Putting two and two together was fine and all, but now the mage was left with wondering what flesh was doing attached to steel.
Were he his normal self, it would have been a perfectly reasonable leap of logic to say the creature, whatever it used to be, had a skeleton with a ferrous base rather than carbon, but without his memories, such thoughts never occurred to him. So, he just quietly put it on a 'list of weird s**t' and moved further into the Garden.
His direction was roughly straight into the center, and assuming that nothing happened for a while, the mage would suddenly stop and let his head put two and two together to notice something he hadn't checked since he crested the hill.
There was a source of energy. That source was strong enough that he could feel it at many times the distance that he could see it from, so if it was the Garden that it was leading him to, where in the Garden was it coming from? Was it all of the Garden that gave off this energy and he was simply too distracted to see it through his mage sight before?
He concentrated on finding the energy that had been his beacon to this place. He wanted to know what could be so strong.
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Posted: Sat Oct 18, 2008 5:01 pm
All of the Garden, indeed. It seemed to be self-sustaining, somehow managing to keep away the cold air all around it while being a lush paradise. The energy was all around and was definately the beacon that drew him here.
But, ah... he also looked for an actual source, right? Then his magesight, from he center, would be directed skyward. Far in the distance was a dot on the horizon, and the two were inexplicably linked through a sort of... beam of power. Of course it was invisible, but like so many magical strings that lay under the vision of many beings, it truly was there.
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Posted: Sun Oct 19, 2008 11:23 am
The horizon... An impossible concept for the blind mage who had never seen further than half a mile away that he could recall. Thus, the dot was lost on him, but the connection, the magical string? That he could see with little effort.
The question was, did the mage want to follow this string to its distant source? It would certainly make for a more in depth-story than just 'here's the garden, have fun,' but if he went to investigate, he'd be gone for who knows how long, through who knows what sort of place.
He walked as he considered, traveling to the edge of the garden that was nearest where the string passed out of it.
But, before he got a third of the way to the edge, he thought to try something. If he was going to use the string to travel, the energy would have to be flexible, malleable enough that he could siphon a relatively small amount to lift him through the air. With his concentration on almost nothing else, such a relation to what was essentially a ley-line would allow him to fly at a grand pace so that he could completely disregard such things as distance and terrain. Otherwise, it was more worth his time to return to Barton with just his pictures and his map.
So he would attempt to gather energy, straight from the 'magic string.' If it was no more difficult than normal, his decision would be made, he would float himself up to the string and travel along it at about 30 mph (50kph). However, if the beam offered notable resistance, the mage would simply reach the edge, click a picture in the direction that the string went, and head back to Barton with a few more pictures on his way out.
Still, with the flight providing entertainment and a potentially exciting adventure, it would take a fair amount of resistance on the energy's part to dissuade him.
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Posted: Sat Oct 25, 2008 4:20 pm
Scarker would find the stream of energy dark-- not in element with a capital D, but in origin. It was base, primal, ugly, and despite the fact that it was one of the main reason that the Garden maintained its state, it was wrong. If such mattered, of course.
But energy types aside, he'd also find a great deal of resistance to actual connecting to and siphoning from the line, and an insanely oppressive amount, so much that most people would wonder if it was impossible, were he to use that to fly up to its source. Indeed, deciding to take a snapshot of it would be best, lest he completely spend himself in trying to pursue that angle.
With that done, if Scarker found nothing else that interested him, he'd find no resistance to his exit back into the cold, and subsequently back to Barton.
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Posted: Sat Oct 25, 2008 5:59 pm
Regardless of how 'wrong' the energy may have been, with so much resistance to being pulled that was all that the mage would ever know about it.
A boring hike back to Barton awaited him. He'd make a stop back at the cabin and finish the map, but otherwise, he'd make a b-line back to the city.
So yeah, Back to Barton Fortress! arrow
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Posted: Thu Oct 01, 2009 4:33 pm
The vast tundra was a desolate wasteland most of the time, blowing winds, the landscape a frozen land where the only creatures that moved were so thickly furred that they would not feel the snow. But it was only just beginning to become winter in this land, snow drifts only just beginning to form on the low hills, the trees still zones of harsh life. The bison herds that roamed the land had steadily begun to move to warmer climates, gathering on the last vestiges of good grass left.
One particular snow drift seemed somehow off, somehow, out of place. Looking at it, one could almost see that it had been constructed, the snow carefully piled so that it looked natural, yet bubbling out. It might also have been the dark spot that kept moving, no bigger than a baseball. It skimmed slowly along on a level plane before disappearing and reappearing 2 feet from a central point.
The bison payed no heed to this, grazing just nearby, which only told Damion that he had done a good job as he pulled his scope back in, settling into his suprisingly warm and cosey little nook, digging into his bag to pull out his scroll. The Hydra had been camping here for only 2 days and had seen nothing that could possibly have had strong enough muscles to be usable for his plans. He'd been told that there were Worgs around, but he had only seen tracks to even hint at their presence.
He turned and looked out his scope again, examining the bison once again. There didn't seem to be wrong, but he could have sworn there were more earlier, and a small frown began to spread on his face. He counted slowly, mouthing the words and coming up with a smaller number than before. Where he had last seen the creatures was a large red spotch, the grass and some of the snow stained red. Eyes widening, He began clawing his way out of the snow, popping out in a rush and sliding down to the ground, almost stumbling as he ran towards the bloody patch.
The bison fled before him, running a short distance away before going defensive, stamping their hooves in the ground and snorting at Damion as he examined the blood. His nose twitched rapidly as he knelt, sniffing the blood and the surrounding area rapidly, lifting his head swiftly." Cat....big one..." The blood trailed off away from his small shelter, spattering in different sizes into the distance. Damion trailed it on his hands and knees, sniffing rapidly before he got up and ran back towards his shelter to grab his bag.
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Posted: Fri Oct 02, 2009 7:03 pm
The blood spots had trailed away after a mile or so, ending in the ripped carcass of one of the bison Damion had been watching. Crushed bones poked out of ripped skin, revealing still steaming innards to the air and the elementals inspection, leaning close to one broken rib, examining the splintered end with interest. He had already shuffled around the body, looking at the huge paw prints that covered the ground, wide padded cats paws predominant. But each of those cat prints was as big as his chest. The creature must have been huge.
A sudden shift in the wind shot Damion's head up, the cold scent of the surrounding landscape replaced by the hot smell of blood, faint yips and barks carrying to him aswell on that gentle breeze. His pointy ears twitched some, shaking his earring gently before he began to move towards the hills that the breeze had come down, moving in a half crouch with knives drawn, crawling on his belly the last distance.
The sun reflected oddly off his body, helping him to disappear amonst the snow and dead grass until atleast he reached the top, peering over and down at a scene of battle.
5 huge wolves danced around the much larger figure of what appeared to be a cat, its' snow white form making it hard to keep track of. Even as Damion watched, one of those huge wolves charged in, only to have its' neck snapped with a swipe of the monstrous cats huge paws, sending the corpse toppling end over end to the left. Even from his height, Damion could see the huge cuts ripped through the beasts thick fur, its' lifeblood pouring out onto the ground as its fellows tried attacking in unison, one latching onto the cats shoulder.
The beasts continued their Dance down below, Damion's eyes going wide as he watched. In a flurry, 2 more of the wolves dropped, their spines snapped with savage blows of the cat's big paws. The hydra began a slow descent down the hill, sliding mostly and using his hands to direct himself and slow his descent, knives safely in their sheaths. Even as he descended, yet one more was killed, thrown from the cats back and to the ground, massive jaws closing around it's neck and shaking it roughly. That left only one, it's fangs still lodged in the larger creatures shoulder, it's claws digging in the white fur, leaving pinkish trails where they cut through the tough hide below.
Damion got to his knees on the other side of the first wolf dropped, peeking over the edge as he pulled the Fangs from their sheathes, dropping them to the ground before pulling them back out, long handles attached to their backs making them into light one handed axes, their sharp blades perfect for what he had in mind. Clutching one in each hand, he stepped out from his cover, the two fighting creatures so focused on one another they never noticed the humanoid coming out towards them. His camoflauge still activated, he blended in with the surrounding snow, splashes of pink appearing when he passed infront of blood smears in the snow, his axe-fangs appearing as floating brown sticks.
The giant cat spun in place, trying to dislodge its' canine assailant, and as it did Damion lopped off its' tail, a good 4 foot section, a single swipe of his axe-fangs enough to leave the furry section of flesh and bone to wriggle about like a worm. It spun, or tried to, falling onto its side as all symblance of balance was lost, the wolf pouncing further up to latch onto the cats neck. Blood stained the snow in greater amounts as the strong jaws of the canine worked hard, the Cat struggled for amoment before with a sound similar to clothe tearing it's throat was rended loose, great gouts of blood pourng out of the wound as it thrashed. The giant wolf hopped loose, still not seeing or smelling the Hydra that stood next to it, that is, not until the axe fang descended into its' skull with a crunch.
Blood and brain matter shot into the air around the stone and bone weapon, a wet sucking noise proceeding it as Damion yanked it free." Stupid mutt."
The cats blood steamed on the snow, a rank smell rising into the clear blue sky as he stepped up next to the body, looking over it slowly. In death it was an ugly thing, so large a creature now demoted to stillness. He set his hand on its' chest, imagining he could feel the slow rot that had already begun to take place. A dull thump came as his axe handles dropped to the ground, his fangs once again held bare in his grip as he leaned over, preparing to take his bounty.
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Posted: Fri Jul 22, 2011 10:15 pm
One would imagine the sight to be something right out of legend.
The iron gray sky, crying down sheets and flakes of white suddenly parts and a pair of cold burning horses come galloping through the rift. Bystanders below would be shocked and amazed by the sight. Only there werent any.
Below the descending carriage was snow, and more snow, as far as the eye could see it. It stacked in lumps and piles, and waves, like a frozen white desert stretching on and on with only a few skeletal trees and the occasional long stone ridge to break up the blankness.
Maximos began closing up his violin, wiping off flakes of snow from the delicate wood before laying it back in its case, then back in its bag, and finally back in its closet space. He had never really done this sort of thing before, so he reached into the closet space pulling out a large black fur blanket, which as he began to fold it was revealed to have enormous sleeves fit for Tomorrow's arms. He placed the large coat, a new shirt, new jeans, and a new set of snow appropriate boots down on the seat beside Tomorrow...and he waited.
And he would continue to wait, having donned his own knee length jacket and face muffling scarf, for Tomorrow to wake up. Or alternatively perhaps for him to not wake up.
The carriage finally set down beside a very large white hill, what a house might be if the snow rose up and ate it whole. And Maximos, ever patient, simply waited.
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Posted: Fri Jul 22, 2011 11:33 pm
And he would wait.
And wait.
But John did not die in his sleep.
He looked like he was dead. His body was limp on the seat, his hand sat limp in his lap. He head was bowed to his chest, his hair hanging lank around his face, shielding it from Maximos' view. The only sign of life was the long bouts of vapor wafting from the bigger man's nostrils as he breathed in his silent slumber. Snow fell upon him. A thin layer began to cover his body, caking in his hair and over his exposed arm. His tanned, scarred skin seemed to take on a slightly pale hue, as if the cold was sucking out his warmth...
...Before he coughed.
A great gout of breath vapor was emitted from John's lungs as he coughed once, then twice, before he slowly moved his hand, the palm dragging across his leg as if to brush the snowflakes off like they were motes of dust. He paused for a second as he reached his knee, before slowly lifting the hand up, his head rising to look down at the wet palm and fingers. His eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot, his slumber obviously not giving him any respite, and finally he spoke.
"...We're here..."
He lifted his head again, lolling it like he was drunk, to look over to Maximos, as if checking to make sure he was still there, before looking down to the clothes beside him. He stared at them for a moment, watching the snow pile down upon them like little tufts of angel down, before his hand slowly reached out for them, taking up the coat, the snow falling off it like sand from a beach-towel to scatter upon the carriage floor.
"...Thank you"..."
He rose unsteadily to his feet and reached behind him to pull off his own tattered shirt, replacing it with the shirt Maximos had provided him, before stepping off the carriage, ignoring the rest of the clothes as he looked out over the wide open space, before turning to look back over the hill of white driven snow.
Clutching the coat in his hands still, as if unsure whether to put it on or not, he began to walk towards the hill, staggering through the snowdrift as if he knew exactly where to go, the snow crunching audibly as he waded through it. "...I'm sorry....I'm sorry..." He muttered, his voice barely audible over the growling wind...
...And if Maximos had ever seen this place before it became a barren tundra, he would know what John meant. The skeletons of hundreds of thousands of bodies lay deep under the cold snow, laid upon the cold earth, some clutching weapons in their hands still from when the Final Days had set upon them, heroes brought forth from Valhalla to fight the gallant fight of Ragnarok...the bodies spread for miles upon miles in all directions, seemingly without end, seemingly for the entire tundra...
He was stepping on the bones of heroes. Left on the cold earth after that immense battle. Unable to pass through the life giving and life ending fires of the funeral pyre. Left to rot and waste and finally be covered by cold wind and snow...
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Posted: Mon Jul 25, 2011 11:15 pm
Maximos was quiet.
Where John was a whisper, Maximos was a shadow. Silent, and dark. He wore a knee length black coat with a hood lined with black furry fluff. As he stepped silently off the coach, Max flicked up his hood and simply followed behind Tomorrow speaking no words of guidance or instruction.
Max knew, that while the temple was most obviously buried beneath the snow on the nearest and largest hill, he was curious to see if the memories which lead Johnathan here would tell him such.
After a few steps, however, the Shadow stopped in his tracks and cringed. He knew that sound, the popping and cracking of dried and frozen bones. While the Shadow did not the same reverence of the battlefield that John might have, he knew from first hand conversation that the dead did not take kindly to having their remains simply trotted upon. A gentle white glow overtook his right eye making it seem almost as if it was burning in his skull. Souls...countless...a war...some even still seemed lost in it, fighting with old foes over grudges that no longer existed. Some, simply wandering about unsure what to do now.
Max heard his friend apologize, and while his deeper instincts said to stay quiet, his time and experience with Death told him to speak. After a few steps, he finally did.
"John..." Max said, pausing. "...forgive me if my understanding of your culture is incorrect."
He reached down, dusting a layer of snow away to reveal where grass had grown through and around a helm, and then in turn brushing the white from the helm. "They...wanted this, didnt they? This was the purpose of their entire lives, to fight and die for something more. So many...mortals...vanish ignominiously into the night, this..."
Max knelt down, resting his hand on the forehead of the helm, cracked by some sort of violent impact. "...was a chance for something more. I dont know that you should apologize..."
The Shadow paused, looking up and yet not at Tomorrow. He seemed to be squinting slightly with his left eye, as if to make his right eye see clearer something that was around but not John himself. "I do know...that places like this exist around the worlds. The...system...is not perfect. We miss places and things and then they are lost in the ages. You and I...if you wish...can let them pass on and back to your sacred halls...but only if you wish..."
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Posted: Tue Jul 26, 2011 4:45 am
John had been walking almost mindlessly up the hill, his footsteps trudging wearily through the thick snow, the coat falling from his limp fingers to land on the flakes which covered the bodies of fallen heros.
"They...wanted this, didnt they? This was the purpose of their entire lives, to fight and die for something more. So many...mortals...vanish ignominiously into the night, this...was a chance for something more. I dont know that you should apologize..."
"Aye..." John called over his shoulder, turning his head slightly as he trudged on, even having to lift his legs as he waded through a particularly thick patch of snow, seeming to not heed the crunching bones and creaking old iron beneath his wet boots. "...Every day, the Midgard heros would dream of Ragnarok and the glory of Valhalla on the battlefield...and this is what they got. Slaughtered by gods, giants and beasts of all kinds....fat and lazy and overconfident from lusty drunken brawls amongst themselves within Valhalla's mighty halls..." He raised his hand to press it against his temple, his head seeming to throb. Why were these memories so fresh now? It was like something had unlocked within him whilst he'd slept, and was now begging to spill out and wash over him... "They were truely heroic...not one of them deserved this...what we...what I...did to them..."
"I do know...that places like this exist around the worlds. The...system...is not perfect. We miss places and things and then they are lost in the ages. You and I...if you wish...can let them pass on and back to your sacred halls...but only if you wish..."
"NO!"
John whirled around suddenly, looking to Maximos with wide, almost horrified eyes. "The halls are gone, Max! They would not find peace even if they could reach it - only unending torment!"
He was breathing heavily. The effort of walking through the snow was affecting him, but it wasn't just that - his eyes, bloodshot and full of terror, were also full of other things now - regret. Guilt. Torment. And as he turned back to face the hill, Maximos would see him shudder visibly - but it was not from the chill of the wind or the snow on his skin...
"...We must keep moving. There is something....someone....I made a promise to many, many bloodlines ago...and I hope I still have the time to fulfill it..."
His voice was full of pain and dread. He was not looking forward to what was about to occur...
If Maximos wished to push the subject further, he wouldn't have the time. The snow-driven hill had a gentle incline, but the snowdrift was thick and the flakes fell constantly, stinging their cheeks and flesh alike. Soon even Maximos' dark body would be covered in a white outline, and unbeleiveably, John continued to trudge forward. He might as well be naked, the shirt Maximos had provided offering little to no protection against the biting cold, but he did not seem preturbed in the slightest - he only had eyes for the forward path, paved with snow and the bones of heroes, shivering from the cold and the memories. For some reason, John did not take a straight route up the hill - he walked steady in gentle curves, as if he was following an actual path, though none could be seen for the relentless white before them.
Eventually, they would reach a small section of the hill which was flat, the incline plaining out almost sharply, and Maximos would see that the bones carpeting the landscape had built up around this area, as if they had all been running to come and gather to this flat scape upon the hill. Looking with his spirit eye, he would see that the ghosts who remained would be gathered at the other end of the scape, facing towards the top of the hill, as if wishing that they had the corporeal legs to proceed up...
The area was wide, expansive, and if they turned they could see almost all of Guldor from their vantagepoint. The flat scape was dotted with black rocks, peeking out from beneath the snow, and John staggered to one of the rocks, wiping it off to reveal it to be a simple stone bench buried under almost a foot of snow, and sat down heavily upon it. "I...I must rest a moment..." He said finally, after a long time of nothing but the crunch of snow coming from his boots.
He sat leaning forward, breathing heavily, his massive back rising and falling with each breath. Red claret had begun to drip from his nose, splattering against the white snow, and he raised a shivering hand to daub it away, looking at it as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.
"...Just ask." He finally said to Maximos, his voice slightly tinged with disgust through his fatigue. Whether it was because of the fact that he was actually tired or because he didn't really want to answer any questions was up to John to know. "Ask. Ask about the 'glory' of Ragnarok. I know you want to know."
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Posted: Tue Jul 26, 2011 2:50 pm
Ravens have been known to sit and trees and caw when near the presence of a weak or dying creature, signaling its death or calling predators to hurry it along. Buzzards fly overhead in tight circles, watching and waiting, and sometimes even swooping low for an early piece of soon to be carrion. Crows haunt and hunt dear the dead and dying, waiting patiently for the inevitable final moment when something warm and breath, becomes something cold and delectable. And Shadows...shadows follow. Waiting quietly before every footstep for the moment a man, touches darkness and for the final moment where he lays down beside it for all eternity. Maximos walked behind Tomorrow without speaking a word. After a few steps even the crunch of snow and bone vanished and Max's stepped in complete silence behind the large Aesir. John's refusal of his offer was not met with anger or even offense. Max had simply nodded and continued along the way. His time on the other side had told him that Valhalla and several other after life religious homes for the dead were still alive and thriving in cyclical patterns. But, that was years ago. Tomorrow knew better, he was part of it. And so, they marched. And marched. As the chill of death surrounded them and waves of white washed the landscape pure. Max marched through and around lost souls and followed his friend. He paused silently as the other man paused, though he stood as John sat, and simply turned to take in the view, almost sad the spirits could not rise up to see this. And then... Tomorrow "...Just ask." He finally said to Maximos, his voice slightly tinged with disgust through his fatigue. Whether it was because of the fact that he was actually tired or because he didn't really want to answer any questions was up to John to know. "Ask. Ask about the 'glory' of Ragnarok. I know you want to know." Admittedly, he was curious. But he did not plan to ask, he planned to let John follow this moment until its close. He could not be sure or why, but he knew that before this day was over...something was coming to a close. After a long moment of silence, Max decided that maybe Tomorrow wanted just wanted a chance to vent the events, to let the memories go free. He turned to face his friend, he knelt beside the bench, almost like a child at story time. A shadow covered in white, seemingly making the seams of his black clothes blend together into a single amorphous shadow, with a pure white light bleeding out from the shadow of his hood, and he said. " Please brother, tell me how it happened."
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