Tag: Kingdom of Elmore

#25 – Purth ‘Swift Storm’.

| November 25, 2012 | 2 Comments

Everyone knew of the Arena. It was a place of myth and legend, a gargantuan, open-air stadium carved into the very mountains around it. It falls in neutral territory owned by no realm or kingdom. Said to have been built by the gods and their offspring to watch the great beasts do battle.

In the current age, the third of men it is used as a source of entertainment, people from far and wide gather on this neutral grounds to watch the greatest warriors face off against each other, to see noble heroes test strength against the most fearsome of beasts from across the great lands. The people come to see the names of new legend, and see men who started the day with no name leave with one.

Purth was not of noble birth; he was but a lowly farm boy. Kind hearted and strong, poor Purth’s life was not to be easy. Ending up a slave to a local land Baron in exchange for his family keeping their farm, he was ill treated, yet somehow keep his kind heart though his strong arms meant he could break a man if he wished.

The Baron had a daughter, a beautiful young maiden, a few years older than Purth; she drew Purth’s eyes whenever she was near.

During the annual summer hunt for the giant four horned stag that roamed the land, the Barons daughter fell from her mount, which was startled by one of the great stags. The beast made to escape, and would have trampled the innocent lass if Purth had not intervened. Throwing himself from his mount he grappled the huge stag, wrestling it to the floor. Locking its huge neck in his powerful arms he cut the creatures air off, it fell unconscious to the floor.

Pulling the maiden to her feet as the Baron, on the back of his own mighty warhorse rode to them, his men at arms all around.

The Barons daughter couldn’t tell her father enough kind things about Purth. The baron himself was reluctant to admit but the boy had impressed him too. The boy had great strength, had saved his daughter and also managed to capture a great stag in doing so. The baron made Purth an offer he could never had expected. The baron was to ride to the Arena in two moons time to partake in the gambling on the events. He offered Purth the chance to enter an event, it would be dangerous for sure but the Baron vowed that if the boy could win the event, and thus a lot of gold for the Baron the boy would have won his own freedom. To sweeten the offer the Baron said that should Purth leave the Arena with all his limbs he could take the great stag he’d taken down as his prize to ride free on.

Purth could not refuse such an offer and so shook the Barons hand to seal their deal.

Two moons passed quickly when the day of your fate is approaching. Purth could barely remember the month long trek to the arena. It was a blur.

The open event for this season was one on one combat with an unknown beast. The list of partakers was short, but the names where all known in the Arena from sessions before, all apart from Purth’s. The Baron laid down a pouch of gold of Purth to great odds and a few chuckles from his fellow gamblers who said he’d never see that money again.

Purth was last to enter the arena. From the sounds he heard waiting to enter no one had beaten the beast, and none had escaped with their lives, let along a prize. Stepping up to the arena entrance Purth was offered his choice of weapon. They all looked brutish and barbaric. It was the trident and net that finally drew his eye. He had fished with is father as a boy and could handle the tools well enough. Snatching them up as the sun poured in, the door opening and the huge arena floor opened out before him.

Walking out, the crowd fell silent. No cheers for Purth like the other combatants. At the other end of the arena stood a massive stone door, a dozen men above it cranked a cog the size of a house and the door started to move. The crowd grew nosier as the full sight of the beast was finally revealed.

It looked like a Minotaur; Purth had heard tales of these creatures. The beast before him was more terrifying however. Standing nearly twenty foot tall, it was wide and muscular, its torso covered in chainmail, its long legs furring and thick. In its hand it held a great axe that was bigger than Purth. He should have been scared but he wasn’t, this beast stood between him and returning home to his family better than he had left them.

The noise was unimaginable. Cheers and chants that could wake the gods filled the Arena. Purth stood drenched in sweat. The Minotaur lay unconscious and wrapped in Purth’s net. Using his speed to his advantage Purth had out lasted the beast for nearly an hour until it finally dropped to one in out of exhaustion. Seeing his chance Purth climbed the beast wrapped his net around its throat and choked the last of its fresh air free. It hit the ground and the crowd erupted.

The Baron left the arena with a new found reputation for training warriors and more gold than he could have dreamed of winning.

Purth left the arena with so much more. He left to chants saying he must be half Ashen; they had dubbed him Purth Swift storm, a name that would live on in the Arena. The trident and net he taken into battle had been given to him as gifts, they hung nicely at the saddle of his new great stag mount. He called the creature Storm in honor of his arena name.

The Baron nodded to Purth as he passed him, true to his word Purth rode out a free man. He rode back to his family. He longed to be home.

#21 – Ajax of Ashen.

| November 21, 2012 | 0 Comments

Ashen is the oldest of the human races. Said to be the direct descendents of the demigods, made in their image. The Ashen people are tall, most standing at seven feet once at full maturity. Their eyes burn in hot reds, oranges and yellows, whilst their hair grows all manner of colors. Their skin is bronzed from the hot climate of their island home of Ashdeep.

The island is self contained and only the Ashen live here, surrounded on all most all sides by dangerous ever growing coral and sea creatures not seen anywhere else only one entrance can be made by sea and the Ashen rarely share this secret. The island is said to have a huge crumbling stone staircase at one end of it, which in lost decades lead all the way to the heavens.

As a people the Ashen are known for great feats of strength and noble deeds, even the most common and meek among them is a hero in the eyes of the greater realms of Elmore. They are gifted with long lives for humans, long enough to rival the old races such as the Ivory elves.

Ajax of Ashen is far from meek; he is one of the greatest living Ashen heroes. Tall even for an Ashen standing at nearly eight foot tall, his body is lean and muscular and the rumors say he can best an ogre one on one. His hair is fire red and hangs long past his shoulders; his eyes match and burn bright. Throughout the different realms and kingdoms he is known by many different names, Ajax The Giant Slayer, Ajax Godsright, Ajax of the Stars he is a man of honor and happy with plain Ajax.

Sailing the seas on his vast ship The Wings of Wind Ajax seeks out adventure and to bring glory and honor to his homeland. His crew is made up on every race he has meet on his travels, good brave men are always willing to follow the great Ajax. His crew have become his friends and family over the years, some even know the route to the island of Ashdeep should the day come when Ajax’s body needs to be return to rest at home.

Wherever Ajax arrives his feats and deeds are plain for all to see. His body covered in the magical, shimmering chainmail given to him by the Dwarven king whom Ajax had fought side by side with during the battle for Underpass. On his back hangs the shield he forged from the first black dragon he slew to protect a young princess, whom the locals seemed to want to sacrifice. Every weapon, from is longbow, to spear to his axe and long sword come with a story, as do every cut and scar that he wears with pride.

Today the people of Saal will get to witness Ajax first hand as the Wings of Wind sails into port.

#14 Vireo Corsant

| November 14, 2012 | 0 Comments

To the far east of the great and proud city of Saal is the jungle kingdom of the old race, the Ivory Elves. Living at one with nature in the magnificent yet dangerous jungles of Locaviurta, the ivory Elves are fearsome warriors and hunters, protective of their lands and traditions. Living under the darkened canopy of the jungle has left their skin ivory white, and their eyes perfect for low light conditions. Tall and lean the elves are an intimidating site to behold.

The elves are a rare site outside of the Locaviurta jungle, however each elf is given the choice to leave and explore the world at the age of maturity. Most return home within a year, others find a new life in the other realms and free cities.

The Ivory Elves live in large tribal communities, but are all look to one elf, chosen by the people as their leader. Vireo Corsant was that leader.

A migration of storm Trolls had moved down from their mountain home to the jungle in search of food. Their numbers had grown too large to all be supported by the mountainous regions. The trolls had been eating livestock, elven mounts and even a few elves out on hunts. The outcry of the Elves for justice and retribution for their lost brothers and sisters, lead Vireo to gather a band of his most fearsome warriors together. They headed out to confront the Trolls.

Within a day of tracking them the band of elves where set upon by the huge hulking Trolls. The battle was savage and brutal but over fast. Out numbered and out powered by the Trolls only Vireo escaped with his life.

Returning to his tribe alone Vireo was exiled and stripped of his rank as leader. Left with nothing but his sword and loyal jungle cat mount, Greenshadow Vireo left.

From that day forth he pledged to wander the lands in hope of redeeming himself in the eyes of the Ivory Elves.

Forty years later Vireo and Greenshadow are passing through Saal on the trail of an Ogre when news of a King looking for an army sweeps through the city. Vireo hears all the tales of this great King Dontas Godart and feels a kinship with him.

Vireo decided at once that helping this man is the new path he must take. For if Dontas can return home proud to his people, there is hope still for Vireo.

#12 Garret, Brother of the Silent Sword.

| November 12, 2012 | 0 Comments

The great city of Saal is on the borders of many realms and kingdoms and as such is home to a diverse range of people, whether they call Saal home or are just passing through. Garret is neither; he is one of the few who are assigned to Saal.

As part of the guild of the Silent Sword, Garret is an assassin of the highest order. Trained from birth in the ways of the blade and the dark magics of the shadow the brothers and sisters of the silent sword are the most feared and sort after assassins in the world. Once fully trained and inducted into the guild fully, with the forging and naming of their Silent Sword, they are assigned to a city or province. They will live and die here, assassinating only those they are hired to, a silent sword never being drawn unless is has been paid to be drawn.

Garret has been in Saal for nine years and has taken countless lives over that time. His sword, Tace tasting the blood of noblewoman, brutish men, messengers and priests alike.

The message appeared in the same way as all the others, a vision of the target shown in a mirror. Their name appearing like smoke around them. The man standing before Garret today was the strong and powerful figure of King Dontas Godart. Before the king had even reached Saal a bounty had fallen on his head, and it had fallen to Garret to answer the call. He knew of the king of Elmore, he had heard the stories of the great and noble ruler of the realm, and the woe that had befallen him. Garret knew that Dontas being in Saal meant a changing of the times, he Dontas would be the man to slay him, yet he fastened Tace to around his waist and went to find the king who would be his killer. 

#11 King Dontas Godart.

| November 11, 2012 | 0 Comments

Through out the Kingdom of Elmore youth is praised and celebrated, they are seen as strong and clear of mind. These perceptions of youth are what led to the creation of the Crowning ritual. On the eve of the reigning rulers fortieth naming day a ceremony is held. The first-born son or daughter of the ruler, or if they have no offspring, the first-born child of the noblest family in the kingdom is handed down the crown by the current monarch, whom is then behead by the new ruler as the first act in the changing of the order. It is seen as an honour to part of this ceremony. King Dontas does not feel honoured by the thought.

Dontas has ruled with a kind heart and Iron hand since he had reluctantly beheaded his own father to take his place. His father, Wilhelm had been an honourable and brave man and as such had looked forward to the day when Dontas would take his place, Dontas was just filled with a great sadness to have his father gone.

Now twenty-four years later on the eve of his fortieth name day Dontas has no sons or daughters, his only offspring, Vance had passed in infancy. Dontas lost his wife to the grieve not a year later. He was not ready to hand over his kingdom to the Kulgran family. The house next in line to rule should the house of Godart not be able to. He had a plan, perhaps only a plan a foolish old man would come up with, but a plan none the less.

Dontas entered the grand hall for the Crowning Ritual. He wore full gilded armour made by the greatest Dwarfven blacksmiths in the kingdom and with his late fathers twin axes hung at his side Dontas was a sight to behold. Resting atop is long greying hair was the Crown of Elmore. Sitting in the throne surrounded by his father, mother and siblings was Katto Kulgran, the boy who would be king. The throne is not yours yet, was all Dontas could think as he walked towards him.

Dontas, the Kulgran family and the royal high priest where the only people in the hall. They only people allowed by right to be present during the final acts of the ceremony.

The Kulgrans grinned as Dontas took a knee in front of the fifteen-year-old Katto.

“Hand me my crown old man” spat Katto. The other Kulgrans laughed at this. They had been greedily waiting since Vance had passed to take the crown.

It was now or never. Dontas took one last look at Katto.

“I shall see you soon boy” Dontas whispered as he pulled the shimmering blue vial from a pouch at his waist.

Before anyone could react the vial had smashed on the floor, a massive cloud of blue smoke swirled the room, in an instant and with a sound like the in take of breathe before a leap the smoke vanished. As had Dontas.

As Dontas blinked his eyes open letting them adjust to the searing sunlight beating down on him. He stood in the desert; on the horizon was the great city of Saal, the city seemed to pulsate as the heat rose from the desert floor.

Dontas was a long way from Elmore, but all he could think of was his return, and the army of foreign warriors he would bring with him to keep the throne that truly belonged to young prince Vance.