The Island of Thain
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02:50:12 PM 02/20/20
I believe it is a blank space

02:33:15 PM 02/20/20
I'm gonna be at work til 6-7 PST, Am. I can take a look after that. Is the name a blank space or a question mark?

11:37:13 AM 02/20/20
Actually, nevermind.

11:23:43 AM 02/20/20
No real rush.

11:22:56 AM 02/20/20
@Falkala. I am still getting the "this character was created by someone else... log in with that player name to use this character" message.

04:33:54 AM 02/20/20
Lom = Evendithus.

04:33:40 AM 02/20/20
Darn, Lom beat me to my post. Could I ask a moderator to kindly move my latest post in Enter the Void to precede Lom's two.

09:39:35 PM 02/19/20
*waves to Am! *

08:59:28 PM 02/19/20
Hey Am! I'm at work at the moment, but are you getting kicked again? I thought our last fix stuck

07:13:47 PM 02/19/20
Falkala... if you see this... any chance you can help me get my doppelganger sorted in-game? Many thanks!

The Island of Thain :: Forums :: Thain :: In Character Discussion
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The Eye of the Desert
Moderators: The Site Master, Squidget, Bonesly, Cuchuwyn, Just Miggen, jewwe, scratch_flannigan, Tuckerr99, Warlord Kro, Oberon, ChaoticDrow, Alanonas
Author Post
02:41:11 PM 03/21/10
Registered Member #1554
Joined: 04:10:47 PM 03/11/10
Posts: 10
[Some violence, rated M to be sure. Questions? Comments? Feedback? -Always appreciated- PM me.]

Many years ago....

The Midday sun beat down upon the blasted red sands like a blacksmith at work in the heat of the forge. The endless desert promised certain death to anyone foolish - or brave enough to leave the cool, shaded confines of the oasis. The earth wept a spring through a crack in the rocks, producing mosses, grasses, and even trees; a near miracle in a place where few things rose higher above the dunes... except for men.

The group of nomads at the oasis drank and watered their camels with the stooped posture of the guilty, their hands resting on their curved, wickedly sharp blades and steel-tipped spears, eyes alert as they went about their business.

A bored lookout kept watch from the outcropping of rocks overlooking the oasis as his tribe bustled below. He smiled as he watched the young ones play in the oasis springs, their laughter distracting him from his duties. His people had traveled hundreds of miles to reach this place, and they had hopes that the water supplied here would sustain them the hundreds of more to the fresh grazing grounds for their cattle.

A series of shadows flickered across the sky, as if a large flock of birds were passing overhead. The lookout thought nothing of it, and then realised that no flock of birds could survive this deep in the desert. He had enough time to look up into the sky before an arrow fletched in pure white sprouted from his throat. The nomad lookout, wide eyed, clawed at the arrow in his throat and fell from his perch on the rock face, landing in the springs below, staining the pure water red.

The rest of the swarm of arrows bore toward the nomads, threatening to turn the oasis from a sustainer of life into a blood-soaked graveyard. The shaikh of the tribe, a man beyond his years, senses dulled from time, reacted just in time to throw the tip of his spear into the air in desperation and cry a word of power.

The air around the nomads shimmered, and the arrows slowed, as if shot through water, and impacted harmlessly against their targets in such numbers that it created a sound not unlike rain.

The enemy shaikh dispelled his invisibility and blinked into existence, screaming in fury at the failure of his spell.

As if on cue, dozens of camel riding warriors shifted into existence, giving away their arcane camouflage. They screamed screamed their battlecries for the death of the nomads, for the nomads had stolen water from them, and the punishment for stealing water in the desert was, and always would be, death. A battle born from water would soon end drowning in blood.

The nomads scrambled for their blades and spears, and as the two opposing forces met, their ululating battle cries drowned each other out. The camel riders met the nomads with the full force of a cavalry charge, tips of spears punching through leather, chain, and scale armor alike.

The son of the shaikh looked on in horror as his father was taken in the initial charge, lanced clean through the heart by a triumphant camel rider.

The boy's grief was short-lived, and he took up his father's spear, lunging at the killer recklessly. The killer, turning toward his new attacker, saw a boy who could not have been older than nine years of age. He let loose a bark of laughter, and speared the youth in the shoulder. The blow drove the boy back into the oasis pool, where, as he sank, weighed down by his armor and belongings, the sounds of battle seemed to fade.

He felt his father's spear slip from his grasp as he continued to sink, and as he began to drown, he thought it odd that he should sink for so long in a pool that had looked so shallow from above. He thought of how nice it would be to stay there forever, in the depths of the water. No worries, no concerns, no responsibilities. The battle raging above, staining the oasis red, it was someone else's battle now, not his. In fact, as his mind began to give way, he wished that he could stay here forever, at peace.

The child felt something in the world give way, and he fell through the oasis, through existence, and found himself painfully deposited on a cobblestone street, puking up lungfuls of water and clutching the spear wound in his shoulder. He slowly pulled himself to his feet and noted remarkably that, aside from the water he had vomited, he was perfectly dry.

He looked about himself at the metropolis that now surrounded him, amazed, having never seen anything so grand in his entire life. The city extended before him in an impossibly long lane, ringing around into the sky, until it came around again, forming the ceiling of the city far above his head.

He has scarcely a moment to assess himself when a group of smelly, gap-toothed men approached him. The boy looked on, confused, as they jabbered amongst each other in a strange, foreign drawl for a moment. They eventually came to a consensus, and before the boy could react, they rushed forward and beat him savagely. They beat him until he could no longer move, and when he could no longer move, they took his pack, they took his dagger, they took his chain shirt, they took his gold, but most of all, they took what remained of his pride.

Laughing, they threw him into a gutter to die from his wound, covered in his own vomit and blood.

That was the longest day that Zayed, son of the shaikh of the Hadid nomads ever lived. He would forever remember it as the day his childhood died at the tip of a spear, and put him on the path of service for the rest of his life.

[ Edited 11:40:29 PM 03/29/10 ]

Zayed "Shaikh" al-Hadid - Wanderer and Priest
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03:05:34 AM 03/28/10
Registered Member #1554
Joined: 04:10:47 PM 03/11/10
Posts: 10
A long time ago...

A crude alchemy set sits on the stone dais next to a boiling cauldron of red liquid. A line of young men, all tied at the hands, stare at their feet, resigned to their fate.

A child of no more than six lies tied to a stone altar caked in sacrificial blood, as wizened old men stand over and circle him with sharp knives, cutting shallow designs into his skin, and dipping their hands into the boiling cauldron to coat the wounds in the red liquid. The boy screams in agony and prays for the sweet embrace of unconciousness, but knows that should he fall into a sweet sleep, he would fail the test. He forces himself to remain awake until the ritual is complete.

One of the old men reaches for one of the bound men, and a guard cuts the man free and leads him to the altar...

[ Edited 11:40:37 PM 03/29/10 ]

Zayed "Shaikh" al-Hadid - Wanderer and Priest
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12:26:32 PM 03/29/10
Registered Member #1554
Joined: 04:10:47 PM 03/11/10
Posts: 10
Zayed had thought that he had finally found solace, peace in the stone. It's unchanging nature, the manner in which it withstood -everything-. An escape from the cycle.

The solace, was, of course a lie. It always had been. He had hidden from the fires of battle and the torment of war many times over the years, hiding in the arms of peaceful, weak, pathetic gods that had failed to cool the boiling of his blood in the least.

He had arrived on Thain, penniless, thrown off his ship due to his incompetent seamanship, marooned. Robbed of his possessions, keeping only what was strapped to his back. He needed to replace them.

He stood in a dark, tiny, cramped forge in the city of Steinkries, turning an ancient, chipped spear in his hands. He remembered the feel of the steel, the clash of sword against shield, the smell of the horses, the sound of boots clacking against the ground, oh, the marching!

The sound of feet cracking against the ground, hundreds of them, in perfect time, perfect rows of men, perfect columns, the embodiment of military discipline. The ecstacy of perfection. He began to sit on the street corners in Steinkries just to hear the city patrols march by, hear the sound of their feet, the creak of their armor.

He felt the old urges rising. The Aspect of Earth remained silent, as it always would, as the Earth is. It offered him no solace for his torment, and this land was too green to offer him peace either. He went for a walk to clear his mind.

Deep in thought, pipe gripped in his teeth, he found his path blocked at a bridge, a pure flame stood before him on the bridge, the wood of the bridge unharmed.

The Aspect of Fire had a message for him, an offer he could not refuse. It opened a door for him.

He stepped through.

The Fires of War burned in him once again, and the cycle began anew.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Days later, he returned to that dark little forge in Steinkries. He tossed the shopkeep a coin, walked up to the spear in the corner, and snapped the head off it. He regarded it for a moment, a lopsided grin on his face, and tucked it into his pocket.

[ Edited 12:26:51 PM 03/29/10 ]

Zayed "Shaikh" al-Hadid - Wanderer and Priest
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01:50:23 PM 03/31/10
Registered Member #1554
Joined: 04:10:47 PM 03/11/10
Posts: 10
Many years ago...

"...Zayed al-Hadid, leader of the Three Suns, for these crimes against our nation, you are sentenced to execution in the manner of a traitor. May your pain be great, and the depths of Carceri consume you for all time."

Zayed al-Hadid began to laugh, a long cold laugh. He laughed as he lay shackled to the stone, staring up at the beating sun.

He did not stop laughing as the footsteps of his executioners faded into the distance.

He did not stop laughing as the hot stone beneath began to burn his flesh.

He did not stop laughing as the birds began to circle above.

He did not stop laughing as they landed on his chest and began to slowly consume him, tearing the flesh from his body in long, thin strips.

When the vultures came, he began to scream.

[ Edited 03:01:57 PM 03/31/10 ]

Zayed "Shaikh" al-Hadid - Wanderer and Priest
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04:55:59 PM 04/07/10
Registered Member #1554
Joined: 04:10:47 PM 03/11/10
Posts: 10
Morganthe had a point. All the rest of the Aspects had their shrines. He had heard of the Wind Aspect having a shrine on top of a mountain, the Earth Aspect was said to have a shrine in Hammersong (though he had never been inside Hammersong, the dwarves were quite xenophobic it seems), and he had actually visited the shrine of Water.

If these three Aspects had their own shrines...then the Aspect of Fire must, as well... right?

He would have to find out. And if one could not be found, he would have to build one.

[ image disabled ]

[ Edited 04:56:32 PM 04/07/10 ]

Zayed "Shaikh" al-Hadid - Wanderer and Priest
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