Knacnar BloodStomp the Commander of Battle, Smith of the Noldarian Forge

Role

Chapter 4

Blinking in confusion, Knacnar barely dived to the side as the
flail passed inches from his temple. The memory that captivated him
only moments before was a lost thought as only the whispers of a
sweet and seductive sirine echoed in his mind. From the corner of
his eye, he noted the alluring dark elven figure, socializing and
chatting with her peers while an aura of magic surrounded her
frame. It was for her that he lived, breathed, and died.

The flails were coming exceedingly closer. A primal sense of glee
shined through the minotaur's eyes at the thought of stripping the
giant's flesh. Roaring with rage, Knacnar crashed into the minotaur,
knocking the two flails from its bloodied hands. Sharp untreated
teeth snapped near Knacnar's throat, seeking for a place to bite.
However, as the times before, the initial gladatorial competition
was done. Amidst the loud chanting of "Bloodstomp! Bloodstomp!",
Knacnar erupted as a volcano, hugging the minotaur closely as his
embers ignited, unmercifully consuming the minotaur's hide and flesh
until only the blood and bones remained. And even they were soon to
be consumed.

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Immortal Comments

Role

Chapter 1

Following like lemmings, the crowd roared and cheered as a new day
emerged in the gladiatorial competition entered its finale. For weeks
after weeks, the Empire had sponsored a competition to know the most
brutish of creatures to join their ranks. The quality of their minions
had fallen to the creeping tendrils of Thar-Eris. The blazing shields
and swords of the indomitable Fortress of Light swept through their
ranks like a farmer scything weeds. Mere citizens failed in their
dutiful tasks, only to pass away, forgotten. A competition to pit
the mightiest of slaves against the most renown of mercenaries. In
the coliseum, status, prestige and wealth were but a fading presence
before the thunderous roar of the crowd. The announcer steadily rose
to meet the challenge, his magically enhanced voice overpowering the
spectacles, his colorful outfit, a tribute to the greatness of the
Empire, befitting only the Herald of the Empire.

"For the glory of the Empire, let us commence!"

Role

Chapter 2

Five gladiators emerged, enfueled with charisma and deadly focus by
the rampant cheers of the lemmings. A minotaur slave, cut and bruised
in everlasting torture - his naturally thick hide barely concealing
the overlapping callouses covering his body like a carapace, wielding
spiked flails that even his mighty muscles struggled to lift. A master
assassin, surreptitiously stalking the outer perimeters, carefully
gazed at his opponents as he mentally and astutely planned his
victory. A human, who appeared to be quite the ladies man, smiling
and cheering along with the crowd as he posed his magnificence. His
eyes belayed the dangerous aura cocooned around this man - his
daggers were known to be quicker than his wit. A half-breed trudged
towards the starting point with a sullen expression. She never enjoyed
showing her skills nor the games that her father made her play only
to gain personal wealth and status amongst the Imperial ranks. The
emerald insignia blazened on her silver tunic introduced her status
as a member of the Councils close advisors. She sighed again, annoyed
at the fanfare, as she approached the the other contestants. More
than once she heard crude and suggestive remarks. Her senses were
honed to the movements of a ranger within the wilderness - indeed,
her favorite hobby was to decapitate the rangers.

Emerging last was a terrifying sight of brimstone. The crowd cheered
even louder at the rookie who rose from the lowest of the slaves
somehow overcame all odds and had the fortitude to reach the finales.
Piercing golden eyes, beaten until the fires that surrounded them
cooled to an inky black substance, mechanically accounted for his
opponents. The crowds were a dull presence in his mind as his
opponents locked their eyes with his. A brief moment passed, however,
each exchange seemed to last many moons as the giant understood that
they viewed his triumph as the greatest threat. With a final grunt
of acknowledgement, Knacnar leaped in the foray of skill, blood and
death.

Role

Chapter 3

The minotaur bellowed in rage as he went on a murderous rampage,
swinging his flails in wild abandonment, or so it seems. Before
he became a prized member of the Competition, his master
employed him as a torturer, skillfully flaying political
prisoners for information, and more often than not, amusement.
Even moreso, his unnatural cunning with his flails emerged from
brutal beatings during his torture to mold his mind into the
perfect torturer. Under the grotesque and disfigured expression
lied a malicious hint of cruelty and a sharp mind in torture.
Rotating like a tornado, he lashed his right flail towards
Knacnar's legs and his left flail towards Knacnar's head. As
they purported towards their destination, screaming profanities
amidst the crowd, a vague memory nudged Knacnar's head...

Blind eyes, clouded over through the misfortune fated to the seer,
scrutinized Malnch as if gazing in his destiny. The low thrumming
of the murmuring red skinned giants reverberated around the cave.
Eyes of molten lava seemed to pierce into him as what seemed like
his own confused voice gurgled into the night. The seer pricked
his finger and watched as a trickle of fire and blood dripped
down onto a platter. Wrapping a thin vine around the finger, a
gout of blood erupted from the wound - and still, his voice did
not tremble, nor bawl, but stayed vigilant basking in front of the
pain.

As the seer slowly rose from his crouching position by the baby,
the murmuring the giants toned down to a dull silence. Growling in
intensity, the flames of the seer flickered in rage as his embers
evaporated the water and air around him. The blinding intensity of
the light and the smoltering heat emerging from the seer began to
melt the ground on which they stood. And yet, the baby remained as
he was, the blood was untouched, unfizzled by the heat. The seer
continued to stare at the baby, taunting him with piercing eyes,
daring him to cry out in pain or shame. None of that was to be.

An uproar emerged from the mouth of the seer, followed by the
mouths of the gathered giants, as they celebrated the birth of
a strong, undaunting new member of their family.

Skill List

Role

Chapter 5

As the last remnants of the minotaur's charred flesh dropped to the
ground, the assassin, clad in the black sigils of the Imperial Codex,
leaped in the air and came crashing down on Knacnar's back. The
assassin noted that the scarf surrounding his neck became engulfed
in flames. It was a prize memento from his last victory in the
coliseum - however, crippling the giant in front of him brought with
it much more prestige and award. Noting the third vertebrate in the
spinal cord, he attempted to plunge his sword and finish this
upstart quickly. However, it was not to be, as by some sixth sense,
the giant whirled around and grabbed the sword in a tight grip,
halting its movement completely. Staring at the dead eyes of the
assassin, who calmly scrutinized the situation, a flicker of pain
crashed into Knacnar's head, and a distant memory emerged...

There were many dead corpses around him. Most of them were members
of another tribe, seeking to capture his women for their own harem.
Others, however, seemed to be mercenaries, paid by the coffer and
blood of his kin. And all of them accused him with dead, unblinking
eyes, screaming into his soul at the atrocity he had just committed.

It was not always this way - tribes did not fight against tribes,
villages were united under a common ownership. That is what was
stated by the elders, before a period of great nothingness that
seemed to confuse even the wisest of them. A period where no one
can remember the flames of the furnace and the relaxing heat of the
volcanoes. Yet, what was certain now was that Knacnar had to do his
duty and protect his Village. He was swiftly becoming a giant that
his brethrens looked up to - not only because of the fate the dead
seer announced upon his birth, nor his strength and finesse at combat
or forging, but rather because of his wit. Ambush after ambush
carefully crafted by his village's enemies were foiled because of
Knacnar's carefulness. His was not a way of enjoyment nor conquest,
but a way of duty.

Role

Chapter 6

Sometimes his duty was too heavy. Seeing the dead eyes of his kinsmen
staring up at him, sometimes he wondered if he should just conquer
them all and bring an end to these ridiculous battles.

Another day, perhaps, he thought to himself as he shifted the grasp
on his twin swords. The cacophonous cries of vengeance and rage emerged
from all around him as giants after giants fell to the ground. No,
he will protect what is his. Acknowledging the urges of his brethrens
as they stomped on the ground and crushed skulls to dust, he growled
in rage as the flames within him flickered and illuminated his figure
as a clear target for his enemies to see.

Let them. Death awaits.

For a brief moment, the assassin hesitated. The fierce look of
bloodlust and hunger that was usually exhibited in Bloodstomp's eyes
melted as a look of understanding and wisdom replaced it. Fighting a
barbarious brute was different than fighting a skilled combatant.
Twisting his body in an acrobatic stunt, he barely escaped the ferocious
swing of lava seeking his head. Something was amiss in this coliseum.
He stared upwards toward a gilded seat where a dark-elven mage rested.
It was she who promised a position of power and a life of luxury
within the empire. It was she who told him everything there was to
know about Knacnar Bloodstomp. And apparently, it was she who was lying.

Grinning in satisfaction at the unknown element introduced in this
monstrous figure, he slid back into the shadows, waiting for his time
to strike.

Role

Chapter 7

For a brief moment, Knacnar clutched his head as memories and thoughts
clashed with the orders given to him by his mistress. Roaring with
frustration and pain, he vaguely recognized the figure, clothed in the
most regaly and priceless clothes within the Empire, approaching him.
Some said that the human was Death born again in the guise of Tyrant
Enlilth's favorite human. Others say that he is but a fool, flippant
and flaunting what the Gods granted him. Of course, those others somehow
ended up dying to his daggers.

Swishing back and forth in a dancer's movement, the human quickened his
speed, seeing Knacnar's moment of hesitation and pain. Why the assassin
just didn't finish his job was a mystery. However, one dead giant is the
same as any other dead giants, regardless of their state. Humming to
himself, and already tasting the escargot and women who would be with
him after this match, the human made a mad and coordinated dash at
Knacnar, with both his prized daggers ready to stab Knacnar in the guts.

The speeding and blurred figure approaching him brought up another memory...

Role

Chapter 8

Anger that moves mountains burned in his eyes as he stared at the
murderers in front of him. They were a band of robbers, uncivilized
barbarians who hide in the caves, barely scrounging off performing the
most unscrupulous acts. A minor annoyance to his village, usually, until
they became bold and raided the village itself. In the process of their
theft, five elders and children were killed, dropped to the ground at
the last quenching of their embers. Even now the frost surrounding their
bodies caused a deathly fume in the air, seeking to tarnish and suffocate
the flames of their village.

He was a young leader, surpassing the challenges of his brethrens and
guiding their fate with a burning hand. To have his family purged of their
existance by the enemy that they hate the most, frost, was beyond
insulting. Within the memory, a strange alien-like voice emerged from his
throat.

"Judgement passed. Skins of thief will keep the families warm. Blood will
be stored for ale. Bones will be used as tools. All that you were will be
consumed by us!"

Even amongst the cheering and loud voices of anger from giants that were
barely containing themselves before ripping out the murderers' heads,
Knacnar heard a strange voice coming from one of the thieves. Narrowing
his eyes, he slowly and regally stomped toward the woman, a dark-elf by
nature. Once more he looked at the figure and the other bawling thieves -
she was different. Her clothes were cleaner and gleaming of a strange aura.
Her eyes were Commanding, unafraid and seemed to be smirking at the foolish
notion of her own death. She was the one piece of puzzle that did not fit
together, that was not meant to be in this situation.

The only hint he had was a growing ball of ice emerging from her hands and
devouring her surrounding in a storm of frost and death.

Role

Chapter 9

Apparently, the flamboyent nature of the human did not confuse Bloodstomp.
Nor did the silly human realize that the barbarious Bloodstomp had receded
into his consciousness. Sensing something amiss, the dark-elven mage focused
her attention on the battle below. Her pet's movements were different than
what they were in the past. Her champion should have crushed all the
gladiators already. Focusing her magic onto the mind of her pet, she suddenly
widened her eyes in fear. His will seemed to have erroded her magic, and
her grasp on his psyche was barely holding on by a string. She had been
too complacent in controlling the beast. With a great deal of concentration,
she focused her magic into re-establishing the link. However, from his far
away, it would be a difficult task.

Surprisingly, Bloodstomp leaped back as the twin daggers barely scratched
his clothes. The human was surprised at his agileness - perhaps he was not
the pushover that he once thought. Unfortunately, that was the last thought
he had. The momentum that he had built into his dash could not be stopped.
A thrust of Knacnar's fist crushed his windpipe, and the blazing embers
burned his blood. His harem will have to wait in the afterlife.

Role

Chapter 10

The half-breed stared at Bloodstomp with a new sense of appreciation. She
was tired of these games, of participating in the coliseum for her family's
prestige. There was no feeling and challenge in slicing rangers out of their
element, although it was fun, nor of decapitating vagrants and barbarians.
Bloodstomp, however, had just shown a moment of insight and combative
prowess. And within his eyes, where there was once a sense of bloodlust and
obedience, shined an example of proud warrior, although conflicting at this
moment. The challenge that awaited her pumped her blood and moistened her
loins. Weaving between stance to stance, she cautiously slided across the
bloodstained battlefield where her greatest triumph awaited.

Knacnar saw the half-breed dimly. Memories, thoughts and feelings collided
in his head. As he focused on gathering his mind, he unconsciously stared
up at a dark-elven mage focusing her attention on him. Smiling mirthlessly,
he knew without a doubt that she was the enemy. She was the one who
interrupted his past. She was...

The sound of loud contraptions, vials popping, and the sulforous smell of
chemicals awakened him. Knacnar could not move his head due to the straps
pinning his body to a table. He vaguely remembered pain like nothing else,
then ... emptiness and darkness. And now, a strange dark-elven female
standing over him with a smirk on her face. Hovering next to her was another
female of the same race. Their tongues were quick and spoke in a strange
dialect. Perhaps a barter, a trade?

Finally, both females kissed each other in the cheek. It seems like the
trade was done. To finalize the moment, the first creature slid a dagger
within the second creature's ribs. Surely it was done.

A strange voice emerged in his head.

"My pet. You will bring me glory."

Role

Chapter 11

Growling in rage, Bloodstomp began to march at the mage, who was trembling
with fear, ignoring the half-breed walking towards him. A mistake, perhaps,
as a clean slice nearly took off his head. A thin slice of flame recoiled
and spewed blood across his arm. And yet, it was as if the half-breed was
but an annoyance.

Huffing in disgust, the Imperial Royalty stared at the back of Bloodstomp
with disdain. Apparently, he was not fully committed to this battle. A
shame. He could have provided her hours of entertainment, and perhaps
brought her family more riches and power. With a snap of her finger, her
tournament was done. Sliding next to her was the assassin, her personal
bodyguard, quietly scrutinizing the evaporating crowd.

The mage was confused as the large figure of Bloodstomp climbed up the
walls. Why did everyone depart? Why was there none other to witness her
triumph? Why was her pet out of her control? She stared at the assassin,
the one who she promised riches to - stared at the lips that whispered 'My
Lady despises your kind. You have no place in the Empire.'

A Trap!

The hulking fire giant was near. The bloodlust in his eyes were evident -
it was as before, when she controlled him, but with focus at her head. The
reconnection was not working, and she had to escape. She had to flee. She
had to make him forget.

with a last burst of reserved power, the mage slammed her mind into the
giant's head and cut off all memories, all thoughts and all feelings.
There would be nothing for him to enact his vengeance against. As the last
syllable of her magic came into play, the fire giant appeared confused for
a bit. However, it was but a split second before the target of his
vengeance emerged in front of him.

Not knowing much of his past, he crushed the fledgling mage just his grasp,
just before she escaped with her magic. Magic. His vengeance begins with
magic.

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