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JaegendarMon 13-Jul-15 06:22 PM
Member since 30th May 2014
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#3228, "Lectral's story, maybe someone will like it."
Edited on Mon 13-Jul-15 06:47 PM

          

Without the story, the logs don't make sense. Hope I am not breaking log forum rules.

Lectral's background

Lectral Vizagorath, was born to a family in a nomadic group of wood-elves that
spent the seasons travelling Thera to pre-prepared sites throughout the wilds.

Captivated by campfire songs and epic narratives, his spirit resonated with
song and prose molding his spirit into that of a bard. However a hunger was
ignited within him, for the real stories, the epic battles. Not seen on the
sidelines, but as one of the participants.

This drove him to leave the traditions of his clan, seeking the struggles and
the epic confrontations. Out of the woods and into the cities, mountains, caves
and swamps. No place was beyond his curiosity and need to satiate his hunger of
composing and playing in his beloved flute.

His life was not meant to be an easy one..., not only because of the dangers
of his chosen trade but mostly because he is not able to keep his damned mouth
shut. Once a story or an idea gets in his head he cannot help but speak it, or
even worse, make a song and let everyone around him hear it.

Lectral constantly fell into the same repeating scenario: he would be accepted
among a group temporarily to entertain them or inspire them, only to be
violently kicked out and or beaten up after the charm of his composing would
fade and his flaw showed.

Just a matter of survival eventually created and honed fighting skills. Learning
to turn aside a punch, eventually evolved into parrying a thrust or a cut. And
so he stumbled upon an unintended set of skills that would become a part of him
just like his music.

Lectral's second curse

And so stories of the titanic struggle of the dwarves of Mortorn reached him.
His ability to draw the blood-thirst of Ludan's men, quickly earned him a spot
with the front-line of the dwarven resistance.

And so began the carnage..., the line held against the unrelenting waves of dark
elves. Seizing upon the momentum, the dwarves advanced and the gore rained...
a bloody frenzy born of indignation and outrage of what had been done to their
ancestral home.

The drow who were initially caught off guard, made use of their best weapon.Their
cold and calculating nature. A trap was quickly improvised and executed to
devastating effect. Half of the dwarven line was slain, the rest were forced to
retreat and Lectral was captured. The unusual presence of the wood elf was much
too tempting for the drow archmage that commandeered the counterattack and he
decided that magically dissecting the elf would be a good reward for all his
efforts.

The mage needed a good place to work and, lo and behold, a stone slab engraved
with dwarven runes was conveniently near their position. A cursory analysis done
with a quick incantation did not reveal any danger, but little did he know that
the intricacies of the power encased in the ancient altar of Kor couldn't be
revealed with such a basic cantrip.

Lectral was quickly secured, spells were cast around the altar to immobilize him,
a field of invisibility and silence was set in the area to make sure that noone
would interfere with the drow's entertainment.

The drow reached into himself, sliced a cut in the veil using his own essence to
harvest raw magic for him to mold, just like he had done so many times before.
But as soon as he directed the shaped mana unto the creature in the altar, a
line was drawn between the veil, the mage, the altar of Kor and the eyes of
Lectral (that which the mage desired to remove first from the elf).

In the next second, something amazing and terrifying (even to the Gods) happened
by simple and raw coincidence.

- First, the drow's essence was sucked into the altar, as it became a flimsy
barrier between the veil and the holy power of the artifact.

- Then empowered by being fed a direct line to raw magic, the force was fed into
Lectral's eyes(a natural conductive platform for the etheral).

- In turn the eyes drew a second line that shot through them and reached through
the canvas of reality and the divine and hooked permanently upon a sacred
artifact of the gods that sits upon their homeland, "The Armoire of secrets".

One of the most cherished artifacts of the immortals that keeps the peace in the
heavens, by guarding the most obscure secrets (even facts or realities past or
present) of the gods from the eyes and minds of the other deities (thus reducing
unnecessary conflict among them).

It was weeks before a scouting group of dwarves stumbled through the field
of invisibility and found Lectral, lying comatose upon the altar. Eyes open and
glittering with the color of silver. Kept hibernating by the power of the altar,
his mind began to heal and normalize as soon as he was removed from the stone.
But the connection in his eyes would remain the same, cursed to gaze upon that
which should never be seen by mortal eyes.

The stage is set

It took a couple more weeks before Lectral would wake up fully recovered. He did
not feel different, even as the color in his eyes changed. He only remembered
being captured in battle, but nothing beyond that. It was not long before the elf
sought to rejoin another fight against the drow, emboldened by his adventure and
daring escape. The dwarves didn't impede him, amused at the antiques of the crazy
elf with the weird eyes (the dwarven priests didn't find anything unusual in
them).

As Lectral was heading down the stairs to the frontlines, his hand touched a
banner dedicated to Lord Boltthrower and a connection was made.... Falling to his
knees he found himself elsewhere, his vision transported to another time and
another location.

The first vision: Lord Boltthrower's secret

-Where am I?, Lectral wondered. As he found himself sitting in the middle of a
massive cathedral adorned with stained glass windows that depict the spheres
as they influence the different planes of reality. Beautiful bas-reliefs cover
the walls as they show key points in the history of the realms as time turns in
its eternal procession.

Just as Lectral was about to lose his mind to the images about him, voices near
him refocused his attention. Two huge beings bequeathed in majestic battle armor
chat nonchalantly of epic battles of the past and valiant sieges.

*PAN**PAN**PAN**PAN*, a strange sound can be heard about the cathedral as
Lectral and the two immortals turn their heads at the source of the noise. A
deity, shorter than the two, but stockier... particularly on the lower part of
his body as two disgustingly fat legs batter each other as the deity walks,
making the horrible sound.

Lowering their voices, they say: Who is the fatty?-ohh, that's just good old
Thunder-thighs...-huh?, you mean Boltthrower?.
Yes, as a mortal he was ferocious in battle...but the sound of those legs was
what actually struck terror in the minds of his enemies, a horrible image that
would accompany the mages to their graves....

Badly concealed laughter resounded as the dwarven god shuffled past them, trying
to act as if he didn't hear them...but with a pointedly lowered head and a soft
lonely tear escaping his eyes....

*pan**pan**pan...**pan...*
As the vision begins to fade, the voices can be heard in the distance saying:
-And you don't want to hear how he got the name of BoltThrower!...hahahaha...oh
the smell!...hahahahaha!.

The price of visions and a loud mouth

Lectral found himself in Mortorn once again..., slowly climbing to his feet. He
followed the dwarven fighters, mindlessly walking, trying to make sense of what
had happened but admittedly stunned.

As the fighting began he absent-mindedly recited the rhymes that he had
prepared before hand to aid his allies.

The battle progressed and the elf droned on...until the drows stopped attacking
and silence enveloped the corridors once again.

But suddenly a gigantic Drider with a drow priest mounted on it's back
materialized before the dwarven company leaving everyone frozen in place.
That's when a stunned expression of surprise escaped the mouth of the elf:
"BY BOLTTHROWER'S THUNDERTHIGHS, A DRIDER!"....

Just as sudden, the mouths of everyone in the corridor dropped and remained
like that as they turned their eyes on the elf. Including both the drider and
it's rider who apparently spoke common fluently.

After 30 seconds of stunned silence...the air reverberated with the sound of
mad laughter emanating from the dark elf. As the laughter overtook him, his
concentration broke and his drider conjuration vanished.
Even as he fell to the ground,he lay there convulsing with laughter as the
dwarves remained frozen in place. Except for a particularly quick thinking
dwarf who dispatched the drow with a single swing to the neck.

Lectral found himself the victim of the worst beating he had ever encountered,
and he had certainly had a few before. The dwarves were without mercy after
such afront, and they let the elf feel the immensity of their anger.
Many bones were broken...and once they were done venting their fury, they took
him to the gates and unceremoniously kicked him out of Morton.

The once wood-elven bard found his hands broken beyond healing, and lacking
the grace to use his beloved golden flute. But with enough strength to wield a
sword. After some time of healing in the woods he returned to his travels,
resigned to continue on his quest. Armed with a primordial need to compose
epic music or in lack thereof, epic songs and poetry. And a strange curse that
feeds him with forbidden material.

  

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JaegendarMon 13-Jul-15 06:33 PM
Member since 30th May 2014
136 posts
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#3229, "RE: Lectral's history, maybe someone will like it."
In response to Reply #0


          

As a note the secrets of the immortals with their stories were going to be as follows:

-Thror .- After he had lost his hand, the people at the dwarven village where he lived mocked him because he would always lose at rock-paper-scissors

-Baerinika.-She had a huge black mustache she couldn't get rid off when she was still mortal, so once she ascended she often took the shape of a black jaguar to hide it.

-Zhulguinlor.- He had huge, threatening, fiery sideburns.

-Whyisdan.- I didn't get to write his story completely but basically, he turned into a goat for 1 month and terrorized udgaard's mountains with his bellows when he lost a bet. Luck goes both ways good luck and bad luck.

Destuvius.- He kept a collection of cristal kittens hidden in his library/shrine, and he would play with them everyday.

Amaranthe.- She being the lady of the seasons, She became an intimidating and terrifying fury whenever she was on her period. Therefore she got associated with that sphere.

I wanted to make all of this, but unfortunately time got short and writing the stories/roleplaying lectral took way more effort than I anticipated.

  

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