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SB lorematers


Drunken
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       If there are any more Shadowbane loremaster like myself plz post your stories.

 For those that dont remeber every so offten ont the forums they would grant the title of lormaster to story tellers like myself.

I have draft or the longest of my storys maybe 20-35k words long Dwarf story that I will be rewriting and posting over the next few weeks in the creation section.

Edited by Drunken
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"The Avari"

 

Gelmir Vanimedle’s Tlanarion whisked through the air as he flung the human gore from its polished surface. Carefully sheathing his weapon, the heavily armored elf surveyed the villager he had just killed. A villager? No this man’s hands were calloused, and even in death he held his sword as a swordsman might. Though the man wore a tunic and breeches, Gelmir could see the creases in the wool where a breastplate had dug in on the previous night’s patrol.

“There are no innocents in the Age of Strife, though that wouldn’t have stopped us.”

Gelmir turned from the corpse and strode purposefully towards the village center. The village was barely even that, it was more a collection of houses and shoppes around a walled stockade. These people would have a long walk back from the nearest city if they thought to rebuild, not that he would let them. They had built their hamlet far too close to Eglan Berriador, the last Deathless refuge on Tyrranth. The fragment had once been a province of the Deathless Empire, but now only in Berriador did the Elves hold sway.  A few High Courts had attempted to build a realm around Eglan Berriador, though they had all sought peace, and co-existence with their neighbors, a fatal mistake. He knew better. He knew that the lesser must be wiped clean from Tyrranth if ever the Deathless were to reclaim the world that was theirs.

Gelmir smiled to himself. His father had always told him “start small”, and those worlds accurately described the situation before him in front of the stockade. The small band of elves that had attacked the hamlet were all who followed him. They were no army, but they were a start. Most were soldiers, like him, who had come to the same conclusion: the lessers must be eradicated so that an Elven Spring may come again. Others were dispossessed Thaelostor, abandoning their titles to strike back at those who had brought down their Empire. Some were magi or lore masters who could not bear life among lessers in the Conclave, and had turned their arcane secrets into weapons. What brought them together, and what brought them to him, was what made them the same: a refusal to submit. They refused to embrace the Tyrant and his commandments. They refused to bequeath their world to his creations. And now, in the Age of Strife, they refuse to allow the lesser to shape Elven destiny. He had named them “Avari”, those who refuse, and they bear the name gladly.

The stockade was a small fort of timber, built on raised ground above a trench. Archers poked their heads up over the wall at regular intervals, a cluster of them over the gate with burning pitch. He could not assault the structure directly without taking massive casualties… casualties he could ill afford so far from Tirion. If they simply left the town without finishing the last of its inhabitants, they risked being tracked and later destroyed by the inevitable relief force. The “Avari” were observing the fort from the shelter of a half burned home, while the Thralls had begun stacking burnt and bleeding corpses nearby. At once Gelmir recognized Kishijo and Rrast arguing heatedly.

“It is clear that Arrugast sired our race while wearing Pandarrion’s guise. Why else would he neglect us so, even in the Age of Twilight?”

“Rrast, Pandarrion’s infinite faults and wrongdoings are no reason to label another as our sire. I think, rather, that we sought an escape from Pandarrion’s rules and meddling. Arrugast and the others gave that to us, only to have it stripped away by our father and his jealousy. “

Crossing his arms over his chest, he spoke up, “Are you two done arguing over history? We have filth to dispose of.” Gelmir nodded towards the stockade.

Rrast sighed and rose from the crate he rested on to address his leader, “If you want me to simply burn the thing down, I have already tried. I have expended my ability to weave the tapestry, and I need some time before I can start making things explode once more. “

“I believe I can speed things up, my good channeler.” Kishijo offered while producing an ornate harp from her pack. “A Calming Melody may restore some of that ability, though you won’t be burning down Forts any time soon.”

“We don’t have time for this, we should be moving on already.” Gelmir said, deep in thought. “Wait, both of you with me, I have an idea.” Gelmir flashed a wicked grin at this two compatriots. “And bring your harp.”

The two elves followed their leader out into the open ground before the stockade, drawing shouts and curses from the small structure’s defenders. Arrows were knocked and trained on the three, though no order to fire was given. Gelmir noted the discipline, however unexpected. The three halted before the gates of the stockade and stood motionless, waiting.

Finally, Gelmir raised his right hand and spoke in perfect Common, “Greetings, I wish to speak to your leader”.

“Yeah? What do you want?” came back from over the wall.

“I wish to offer you safe passage out of the town.” Gelmir replied.

“Why should we believe a no good lyin’ elf?”

In a slow, deliberate movement, Gelmir removed his tall helm. “I swear, on the memories and grace of the Immortal Sidhe, my ancestors, that you will not be harmed by any of elven blood until you reach the safety of your Capital.”

Kishijo had begun stringing a blissful tune on her harp. It was an ancient hymn, one of Rathelion’s own make. Even from this distance, Gelmir’s keen eyes could see the wonder in the eyes of his foes, both at the beauty of the hymn, and his own eloquent oath.
 
The humans spoke amongst themselves in hushed tones until finally their “leader” spoke, “Al- alright we’re coming out!” The stockade’s gate unlatched and the two dozen or so humans came out one by one to stand before the three elves.

“Well, uh… if that’s all then we will be going”

As their leader took his first step towards freedom, Gelmir called out a single word, “Granageth!”

A beastial roar sounded in reply, and half a dozen Minotaur Thralls fell upon the assembled humans with Axe and Pike. Gelmir did not flinch from the bloodbath, even as his golden armor was stained by the gore.
 
Their leader, an older man with a few lines of white in his beard, fell to his knees before the Warrior. The human looked to him in askance and mouthed a single word: “Why?”

Gelmir looked down at the man with a mix of hatred and disgust. “For so many reasons, Eccin’her, reasons you fragile mind cannot comprehend.  However, I shall grant you this boon: We will not end our war, not until your kind leaves this Fragment forever.  Tell your masters that when you arrive.”

The human opened his mouth as if to speak, but his eyes bulged instead as Garaneth split his spine with a Great Axe.

“GRANAGETH SMASH”

 Gelmir, motioned to Kishijo and she blew recall from her horn. Before long, the Avari gathered outside the now blazing hamlet, awaiting their leader’s instructions.

Stepping up onto a boulder, he addressed his soldiers, “You have all proven yourselves worthy of the Deathless Legions of old. Some of you remember the glory we won in those days, some of you are yet to know it, but be assured- those days shall come again!”

The assembled soldiers and magi roared “Faolchuan!”, or “vengeance!” in the tongue of the Sidhe.

“Now, sons and daughters of the Deathless Empire, we have a relief force to ambush!”

The Avari rode off into the night, a night that would be repeated for many months to come as the last remnants of the Deathless Empire forged a legend in the north of Tyrranth.

Shadowbane - House Avari/Hy'shen
"Gimp elves get good elves killed." - Belina

Avari Discord - https://discord.gg/Bch24PV

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  • 2 weeks later...

someone say roast elf!!

Know me and fear me. My embrace is for all and is patient but sure. The dead can always find you. My hand is everywhere - there is no door I cannot pass, nor guardian who can withstand me.

694a6f04-03a1-4af3-8e11-ddd1baa87348.jpg

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  • 3 weeks later...
  • 2 months later...

Yes, come.

It has been too long since our blades have tasted the blood of men.

It's because you suck with swords. Blademasters rule, blade weavers drool!

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facerip was a Loremaster, as in a 4 realz Loremaster.

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Scourge of the Shadowbane community, Public Enemy No. 1 to the SBEMU Forum Moderators, and member of the "Suppressed Person" faction on the Ubiforums. The man responsible for hooking up Ceska and CheckYoTrack. Also a 21-time World Heavyweight Champion of Shadowbane.

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