Campfire Stories

CAMPFIRE STORIES After each session your character is allowed to tell the party one campfire story. How this works is that you can tell only one short, long, creepy, cute, etc story. Once you post your story the other characters can add onto the story, tell an alternate version they might of heard, or tell an entirely new story. Everyone can respond to each story and make their own story but that means you can only post a total of six or seven times a week. Your posts must be story based, we are not having conversations in the thread we will handle conversations in session. They should be in your character's voice (Messages out of character OoC will be deleted. Some will become canon so take it seriously. This is less story telling and more filling the world with lore. I shall get this started... "Deep in the jungles near the Eternal Citadel lies a small village and unlike the rest of the settlements on the island the Council had no influence over this small village. It is a fairly new village that seem to originate from residents of the holy city that have been exiled. The village accepted runaways and those that were hiding from the law of man. Even though it was illegal no one punished them and they did not bother to defend their inhabitants when lawmen came knocking. For the most part it was going smoothly until one day a lady came to the village seeking help with fertility. Everyone but the village leader turned her away. The villager leader could see her long lost sister in the stranger so she decided to help the stranger. In secrecy they called upon darkest sources of magic to thwart the curse that had left the woman barren. It took nine whole days but worked... too well. Once the curse was lifted the woman immediately sought her love. Once she became pregnant for months she had horrid nightmares in which she or her one friend was eaten alive by her demonic child. Seeking help from the seer she was told that the force that helped her become fertile cursed her child would live off what it first gazed upon and since logically the midwife or mother would be the first thing seen the baby would feed off human flesh. Frightened she sought the help of her dear friend, the village leader. Together they constructed a secret room where she would give birth and raise the child. When the time came the village leader would blindfold the baby as soon as it arrived and they would bring it a bowl of goat milk to gaze upon and they did just that. The birth went without a hitch along with the blinding of the baby but when it came time to give the baby its meal it simply stared into the milky white bowl. The room became silent as the baby stared not at the milk but its own reflection at the lip of the bowl. Immediately the child started to gnaw on its fingers. Freaking out they had to restrain the child and call upon the seer. Once the seer explained their mistake the room fell silent as they gazed upon the screeching baby. It only took two days of failed attempts of feeding and crying for them to succumb to the child's demands. They tried to feed the child dead man's flesh and they tried a variety of flesh, all of which did not satisfy the child. Seeking the seer for help one last time they discovered that the child would eat only itself or beings similar to it, in other words other babies. This is where the three drew the line but they were too weak to handle the cries of starvation. The three made a sisterhood sworn to raise the child righteously in an attempt to balance out the evil they would soon embark on. So it came to be that the three would abduct children near and far, grinding their bones and mashing their flesh to feed their precious miracle baby. And that is why you must always heed Aaris's prophecies, they always come true..." As the mysterious stranger brings the story to a close he pulls out his chain around his neck to reveal an array of holy symbols. You can identify one or two belonging to different gods but he ignores them and simply grabs the silver heart pendent, a common symbol for Aaris. He grips it meaningfully then shoves the necklace back under his shirt.

Submitted by Ty: In a long and windy voiced: “A boy planted an walnut tree on his farm, which was surrounded by plains. There was no other tree within sight of the farm, and the plains stretched off into the horizon He tended to that seed that grew into a sapling as he would the crops his family grew. As the sapling grew, the now young man would straighten the branches. As the generations passed, all of the children were taught to tend and be mindful of the tree, giving it water and fertile soil. When it grew hearty enough, a rope was attached to its straightened limbs, much to the delight of the children, as the parents and relatives frequently picnicked under its branches. Each seasons that the tree would drop its fruit, the children were tasked with collecting the walnuts, which sustained the family in the colder months, when the crops did not grow. One night, many generations having been passed since the boy had first planted the tree, a powerful storm hit the farm. Luckily, the crops had already been harvested for the season. Unlucky, the main support beam of the barn had been cracked. The man of the house, and his older sons rode for the next few days, desperately looking for a beam strong and dense enough to replace the increasingly damaged beam, but with no luck. Defeated, one by one they returned from their travels. With tears in his eyes, the youngest, still a boy, pointed to the tree. Furious, the father slapped his son across the face and stormed to his room, exhausted. In the middle of the night, the father awoke to the sound of a collapse. Panicked, the father ran outside, to see the barn still standing. With a breeze in the air, he made his way towards the tree. Kneeling before the tree he sighed, “You have given so much to us over the years, your shade, your fruit, and a multitude of joyful memories. How can I ask that you give yourself for us, when we have given so little back to you?” A whisper on the breeze replied, “Your family has supplied me with water to drink, discontent with the amount that the sky provides. Your family has given me premium soil for me to grow. Your family has given me memories to cherish for generations.” Surprised at a response, the father falls asleep underneath the walnut tree. The father awakens to a crashing boom. Finding himself in his bed, he rushed out, expecting for the barn’s beam to have given away in the night, as when he heard the sound in the middle of the night. To his surprise and horror, the walnut tree, uprooted, laid on ground, missing the house, barn and fence. Seeing that no wind that affected the surrounding landscape, he whispers to the tree “thank you”. With the help of his neighbors and family, the men shaped the tree into a beam, and with much skill, replaced the main beam of the barn. The youngest son was tasked with collecting the walnuts of the new fallen tree, while the women and children prepared a celebration feast. As the family and neighbors settle down to eat, the father calls over his youngest son. “You are much wiser than I, even though it pained both of us, I should have followed your course of action.” Holding his son tight by his side he continued, “Pick the seed you think should best replace this gods-send of a tree, you shall be its father and provider.” With tears of joy in his eyes, the son picks the smallest of the ripe seeds from his day’s harvest and plants it, marking the spot with a small branch from the fallen tree. Given the right-hand seat by his father, the son and company feasts.” "The moral of this story is twofold, that of balance and harmony. Civilization can peacefully use and interact with nature, if tempered. Nature is there to be used, but without replacement or renewal, the utility of nature will disappear. Had the family not replanted the tree, they would have no barn. However, there is still a need for balance. Had more than one tree (in a land with little trees), the family would not have the patience, resources and care needed to grow the tree to a size of usefulness, compared with the tree in the story. The land would not have been able to sustain more than one. Beware, we are living in a time of imbalance and excessive use that needs to be corrected." - Bristlecone

Submitted by Clark: A pale man with his hood over his head saunters up to the fire and sits down with his lute. He gives a slight smile and say, “Have any of you heard the tale of the Night Brothers? No? Well if you will allow me let me string you a yarn of the two fabled brothers.” He plays a light tune on his lute creating an ambiance of wonder between the people around the fire. “It is said that around 300 years ago a child was born out of wedlock to a powerful and wealthy family, who would be later known as E. E was treated as an outcast among his siblings and his step mother would routinely beat him over small mistakes or whenever she finishes a bottle of wine. Not even E's father loved him too much, saying that bringing the boy into the family was all the love he could give to a bastard. E never knew his real mother and his father never wanted to talk about her but E always believed that his true mother must be kind and loving, or at least he hoped that she was like that. E dealt with his family for another 10 years until one night his step mother gave birth to his newest sibling, C. E watched C grow up, becoming more jealous of him each day for the love his family showed C. E watched as he was praised for every little thing he did, whether it be folding clothing or catching rabbits in the backyard. E had finally had enough of C and decided to make his life a living hell, or at least make him feel what E has been feeling ever since he was born.” The lute’s music gets a little more sinister as the man tells the story further. “E started to pick on C, telling him he will never be a proper heir to the family, he was too small and too stupid to ever be seen as an equal among his siblings. E would play jokes on him like dumping salt into his water glass or breaking C’s rabbit traps. E would play these pranks for 3 years, never being caught by his family, to C’s dismay. Finally one night E played a horrible prank on C where he dumped water on his head, pulled down his pants and pushed him down the grand staircase right in front of the whole family. Everyone looked at C, wet and exposed and started to laugh hysterically at the boy, some of the siblings calling him a failure and his father giving him a scowl of disapproval. C ran out the front entrance, into the night by himself. E had a good laugh for a while until he realized it was getting very late and C had not yet returned. E went to his father and asked if he was going to search for C, to which his father replied ‘If he is truly my son, he will be able to handle himself’. E looked out the window and still didn’t see any sign of C coming home.” The music starts to get intense, as if a chase or a battle scene is about to commence. “E ran outside and looked throughout the entire forest near their house for C. He climbed trees, ran through caves and tripped through brush to find his younger brother, but to no avail. Just when he was about to give up hope he heard his brother scream from within the forest. E sprinted to find him being circled by a pack of wolves. As E looked at the sight, all he could think of was his entire life, where C reminded him of himself and the wolves reminded him of his siblings and parents. E ran at the wolves and started to take them down one by one, getting clawed and bit by each one multiple times. E was finally able to get rid of the wolves, at which point he fell to his knees, completely exhausted.” The music slows down, going back to the light feel it had at the beginning. “He turned to C, trying not to show the pain he was in and asked, ‘Are you okay?’. C responded with a hesitant nod, as if he was worried this was another one of E’s pranks. E grabbed him by the shoulder and said ‘Listen, I’m sorry for torturing you all these years, and I know now that I shouldn’t have because I was treating you like our family treated me before you came along. It was always hard for me to see you get praised while I was left in the dark. But no more because you and I are one in the same, we are both small, we do not get all the respect we deserve and we can be good people, unlike anyone else in that house. So how about this, let’s team up and show this family who the real failures are?’ E holds out his hand, hoping that his words reached his little brother. C looked at his hand, wondering if he was just going to pull away at the last second but he looked deep into E’s eyes and knew that his words were sincere. C grabbed E’s hand and said, ‘Yeah, let's show them how real families should act!” From that day on the two were known as the Night Brothers. They trained all night and studied all day so that one day they could be known as the world’s most powerful siblings.” The music slows and then comes to a stop. “Well that’s all I have in me for tonight, but maybe another time I can tell you the adventures of the Night Brothers and how they came to their separation. For now I’ve been Emery Dupree and don’t forget to tip your waitress.” The pale man slings his lute on his back, revealing a claw mark on his arm, and walks off to the tents.

Submitted by Robby: The members of the Burning Retribution sat on the cold dungeon floor in silence for the fisrt time in awhile. They had been discussing there next move in this cold, dark dungeon of horrors. They needed something to take their minds off this foul place while they rested. "Did I ever tell you lads about me cousins?" Barlo asked the group. "Weirder bunch o rednecks ya'll never meet. Technically they be Ironbloods, but we don't really claim em." "See when my da was little, him and his brother had a fallin' out. His brother had a little "fling" with one of the Goreblood girls...his cousin...that's right, me uncle slept with his cousin. Not a first cousin mind you, but still close enough that its weird. Weird and frowned upon...it was a cursed union from the start. Anyway...Gorna Goreblood ended up pregnant. With twins. So they got married, but there was an accident in the mines and me uncle sadly died. Gorna too had complications with the pregnancy and she died in child birth. The children were placed in an orphanage. We were the last of the Ironbloods now and me da didn' want anything ta do with the bastards. As they got older I heard one of the brothers, Gorn, apprentised on a chicken farm and became a chicken farmer. Nice enough lad, but a little touched in the head. The other brother, Dorn...well, a necromancer took a liking to him and took him in to help with menial work around his workshop. Well as the story goes, Dorn didn't have many friends now that he was older and his brother was away farming, so he took a liking to a female goblin worker/slave in the workshop. Now this goblin wasn' as dumb as she let on and she was sick of being used for the necromancers experiments. She asked Dorn to help her escape. Poor Dorn wanted ta help her, but he wasn't stupid. He knew the consequences would be grave indeed if he let her escape. He knew they could never have a family together anyway. Months later, Dorn walked in and saw that the goblin lass was having a baby. They thought she was just sick at first, but one of the experiments the necromancer performed on her must have done something to allow her to become pregnant! Dorn knew he was in trouble if the necromancer found out he was sleeping with his experiment, so he helped her escape. Dorn opened the cage for her to leave, and showed her a secret tunnel out, but when she started to leave without the baby Dorn asked her why. She said, "I want no part of that hideous thing, or you!" She jammed a dagger into his chest and left. The story goes that the next morning, the necromancer found poor Dorn laying in a pool of blood, but what happened to the little freak child...no one knows..."

Gather around everyone and listen to a tale that I picked up a few years ago in a tavern of some renown. Hello, my name is calsetes. I am a human fighter who has lived through and finished the whole adventurer thing. Maybe I can share some tales of my exploits to help you new adventurers out. It was our first adventure together. Nothing crazy. Clear out the goblin cave, retrieve the relic. Simple enough, it was more than enough for us to get our feet wet and used to being a new group of adventures. We had to retrieve the artifact to show we were worthy of entering a grand tournament. Being human and lacking the ability to see in the dark, i light a torch. After some goblins manage to find us, grom, our half-orc barbarian, attacks. He ripped the torch out of my hand and tried to impale a goblin with it. The fool. Time for another attack. Finally time to draw the greataxe? No, let’s dropkick a goblin instead! Consider both attempts failed due to bad luck, finally grom tried something much more standard and finally pulled out the greataxe. Small green creatures were finally being cleaved in two. Usajik our half elf paladin friend and I had been doing fine, and Grom had to catch up. He proclaimed loudly that he "couldn’t be outdone by a human or a knife-eared Half-Elf!" As we traveled deeper and deeper into the caves, we discovered something troubling: All goblin clan caves were connected. And all the clans were here, in a grand cavern, having a landsmeet. The three of us. Over a hundred goblins. But we had a job to do. Grom got thinking… He was slightly green. So were the goblins. In HIS clan, the strongest ruled. Maybe it was the same for little green things, too? While in the shadows outside the grand cavern, Grom managed to find some oil the goblins had been using for various purposes. He decided to coat his axe in it. And so, Grom calmly (Well, calmly by Half-Orc standards) walked into the center of the meeting. “GROM CHALLENGES FOR LEADERSHIP OF THE CLANS!” Silence. From everyone. The goblins, usajik, and even myself. During this silence, Grom walked in a small circle, kicking away the dust covering the stone floor of the cavern. Apparently, the strongest did rule their clans. Out from another cave stepped an Ogre. Grom VS Ogre Solo combat Grom was the first to attack and charged. But not before dragging his axe against the stone, igniting the oil. Flaming greataxe! I was thoroughly shocked that Grom managed to do something so smart! Grom and the Ogre traded blows for what seemed like an eternity. Grom managed to get enough swings into its face, particularly its left eye area. It had a bit of trouble aiming at him after that with its greatclub. Grom was battered, covered in blood. A lot of it was his own. The Ogre’s face was gouged deeply, one eye missing chunks, and deeply wounded. The next person to land a blow would undoubtedly be the victor. It was the Ogre’s turn. He does a mighty blow the shatters Grom's armor. Grom is down… all of our jaws dropped. We had been cheering. Some goblins had begun cheering for Grom. But he was out… Then I realized, Grom was a half orc. And half orcs don't die that easy, GROM WAS STILL GOING! But he had nothing else after this. One final attack. And it’s a good one. The Ogre collapses, greataxe still stuck in its skull. Grom throws his hands up in triumph. Usajik the Paladin rushes to his side to heal him. I ensure that nobody tries to pull any funny business. Grom, now referring to himself as “King Grom, Ruler of the Goblin Kingdom, selects one goblin to accompany him, Calsetes “Sgt At Arms” and “Ambassador” Usajik on our adventures. Back in the city, and at the start of the first round of the tournament, Grom demands to be treated like nobility. He even managed to procure a cheap, copper crown he proudly wore. During his adventures, Grom would spend his downtime talking with that goblin about how their kingdom would rise to prominence, and how they could fix the goblin economy. Whenever Grom did something that’d get him into trouble, he would often scream “DIPLOMATIC IMMUNITY!” at town guards who would attempt to arrest him. Of course this would never work.And that, ladies and gentlemen. Is why even in bad situations a little creativity can go a long way. Sure being strong is fine and can keep you out of trouble, but sometimes all you need is a little wit...and a half orc barbarian. I for one hope we can all learn a little from Grom. I don't know for sure if he is even real, maybe that fighter was just trying to tell a boisterious tale to get himself noticed by the tavern girls, but I for one like to believe Grom the goblin king is out there. Guiding his "kingdom" into better times whether they like it or not.

Submitted by Zat: Sir Lander and the Oracle had ridden through the night on the road the next night Sir Lander could see how tired the girl was and would tell her a tale about his father Baron Bonnovian and his lands near the Dagger river. My father's full name is Clarence Bonnovian he was born in the Kingdom of Breland his father was a baron and his father was a baron. My father Clarence was during his younger years most assuredly a drunk his father did his best to keep him from court by sending him to school at a covenent of the lady and sending him away on minor missions of collecting taxes from the peasent clas.s I should mention many of the peasent class are Halfling's in our lands the ruling class is humans and the servantile class is mostly Halflings important part of the story later on. Girl now where was I ah yes. My father though a serious man and not one to converse with the peasent class, he was also a kind soul and a happy drunk he would often forget to collect the taxes or get drunk on the way there his father would often call him an abysmal governor. Well like all old people do my father's father died of old age and My Father Clarence became the new Baron of Bonnovia sadly sine he was not bred well for the title he lost it at the first gathering of the King of Bre Lands birthday usually a most joyous affair but when you invite a drunk to a party and say free booze well ....you know , yadda yadda yaddda my father ends up so drunk he propsitions the queen with a romp in the shitter and then proceeds to smack her royal bum it is still a matter of great gossip to this day in Breland Well the king was furious and only stopped himself from executeing my father because one he knew my father was a drunk and two because his father was a great friend and advisor to him so he spared my father with exile and told him never to return to the lands of Breland buut my-- - Sir Lander will look down and the young Oracle will be fast asleep ah well I guess I can finish the tale another night as Sir Lander Props himself against a tree and keeps watch while the young girl sleeps.

Submitted by Mike: The tavern had been hosting a place of song and drink in the city of Sharn. Music of all variety and voices of many colleges walks of life had come forth and sung. Some sang of love, some sung of war, and some sung ballads. But one musician, a bard, would be remembered for his performance that night. The stage would be cleared and left empty for what seemed eternity to those who had gathered to hear, even to the point in which a few voices of protest would call out. Then suddenly, from the very walls, bells rang . (Play in background for full effect) The air shook with an unholy sound as the tavern's lights dropped low, an instrument loud and screaming mingled with the crash of drums and a cymbal. A silhouette appeared from nowhere in the middle of the stage as the music continued to play. As the music rolled over the crowd, a growling voice would spring from the bard, now fully revealed with the now flaring fires of the tavern. The bard would be revealed as a tiefling, a half crown of horns sprouting from his rosey scalp, cradling a wild head of hair that flowed as wildly as the dancing flames around him. He would be dressed in a long, black, sleeveless, leather trench coat, studded in neat rows. His sharp, white teeth would gleam as his voice raked across the crowd in a pleasing manner, his words echoing clearly to the masses as his stringed battleaxe screamed and his other instruments clashed, //Made my fight in the hells below in the early days, Constant chill deep inside!// //Shouting run, as he comes through the endless black and grey, On I fight, for the right, yes, But who's to say?// //On I kill, for the thrill, Why? I do so know, Suffered wounds, test my faith// //Men alive, still alive, through the raging world, Gone insane from the pain they now know// //For whom The Bell calls// //Souls still march on// //From whom The Bell calls// //Take a look at the sky, just before I die, I thought it would be the last time I will // //Blackened roar, Massive roar fills the crumbling sky// //Shattered goals steals, so let this useless soul die// //Stranger now, are his eyes, to this mystery// //I hear this silence so loud// //Crack and gone, except the will to be free// //But now they will see what will be, blinded eyes now see// //For whom The Bell calls// //Souls still march on// //From whom The Bell calls// //Keep Meee!// //Keep Meee!// //Keep Meee!// With the song's end, the tiefling would take a sweeping bow, battleaxe mimicking the motion behind him. Returning to a standing position with another flourish of his arm, a symbol of The Keeper would be brandished, held high above his horned crown. "Ah! So nice to leave the pits of Hell and return to the land of the living." Suddenly, a magical darkness would overtake the stage, the tiefling's voice calling out through the now darkened tavern with the same growling voice as before, "Dirge is back, boys!"

Submitted by Jeff: [Discovered in the journal of renowned chef Invidia, who had taken local legends and turned them into poetry due to his insatiable metromania.] Hero of Eldeen Hear, hear, this story of woe, of the hero that all the legends foretold. Chest like a tree trunk, and arms of great strength, the people of the world in him had great faith. A boy in the towering woods of Eldeen, he grew under the eye of an ailing queen, who, one day, called him to the throne, and spake thusly, "Your future is known." "Released from here, to the world at large, to find the Luminary's barge. It will take you to the Nati-Cin, where the fruits are ripe and the waters are clean." As he left, her conviction was firm, that the hero indeed, would not return. She had given her best -- given her all, but the quest would end with the hero's fall. Mendicant, the Luminary's name, took him first to a city of great fame. There, he reveled, for revelings' sake, but left, leaving gems and jewels in his wake. Bold, he stopped next at heaven's door, where he learned of the future, and of before. He learned of his end, but continued, resolute, with a brilliant mind, and the body of a brute. Exiting, he finally reached the land of the Nati-Cin, whose cities were grand. Clean waters, ripe fruits, all were given freely, and even a house with construction quite seemly. The seasons passed, and at the end of one Spring, he saw a child who approached, carrying nothing. He stepped out of his home, eager to help, when a bolt pierced his chest -- a fatal blow dealt. His body was taken, his soul was thus trapped, but he rose again, his visage intact. Moaning in sorrow, he follows his master, who only goes by the name of Craster. Carry this tale, this story of woe, of the hero that all the legends foretold. Listeners, listen, and beware the zombie, of the great hero known as HARAMBE.

Submitted by Ty: “I learned this tale while traveling with a gypsy Bard that called himself The Rover, a couple of hundreds of years ago, when I was last awake: There once was a man named Big Jon. He was a mountain of a man,” a small smile touched his lips as he looked towards Mountain, “as black as obsidian and as tough as a nail. Joining a mining crew, he rarely spoke a word, although rumors circulated that he had killed a man over a woman, tearing him in two with this bare hands. Mining for industrial metals, with the occasional gold and silver vein, the company’s progress increased ten-fold with Big Jon’s involvement. One day, with Big Jon leading the way, the miners picked through a wall, landing them inside a glistening cavern, with gemstones as big as a, human-sized, fist. The six men with him, ran ahead, picking up anything they could fit into their pockets when a crash, akin to thunder, blasted across the room. A violet worm crashed through the room, consuming an unfortunate miner and destabilizing the mine shaft. Big Jon, utilizing his brute strength and powerful will, held the collapsing mine, long enough for the gem-struck men to escape upwards, toward the surface. Following a crash, a splintering of wooden beams, and a deep yell of fury, the mine grew silent and still, as the five surviving men, panting, listened. Saddened over the loss of their silent, hulking savior, they reported back to their foreman. The foreman, both saddened by the loss of Big Jon and gladdened by the lives he saved, closed the mine. The survivors, using the gems they had collected from the cavern before the collapse, commissioned a marble grave marker, standing in the entrance of the mine reading, “At the bottom of this mine lies a big, big man. Big Jon”. The Rover insisted that story was true, but never lusting over gems and with no real love traveling underground, I never looked into it. You all seem to be the type to run after wealth, ever if that means chasing after tales, of which now would be a legend, with all the time that has passed since I had learned the story. I pray that you don’t forget it as a tale of self-sacrifice, a willingness to do what is necessary to preserve the lives of those who live around you.” -Bristlecone

Submitted by Zat: Things sure have gotten bad here ever since our lord's three son's left his health has been declining." do you think its depression? now pyle you don't nothing about head cogs so keep quiet We'll do what we've always done and serve and pray our lord gets better Who were the sons that left? Pyle I swear to the passions you better get your lopsided head out of your hayfed Bum. YOu know who the sons our we sing the damn song every night! Three brothers bold went there way Leaving home to save the day searching for another way to become heroes each there own way The first brother is Lander the Brave cocky sure and full of pride Fought so true would never cave We know that he will never die The second was Sir Dom the dark His beloved is sure to cry Left with a forbodeing remark If he returns she will surely die The last was Strom the true He would never tell a lie His noble pride grew and grew Talk to him and your sure to sigh Lord Bonovian had a fourth but were not- "You there your not to be singing that song!!!" "Run!!!"

Submitted by quinn: Ra-shem has a far away look as he suddenly begins to speak."As we sit here by the fire I think of home which could not be more aptly named The Blade Desert. We are a strong clan who's lives are riddled with blood, sand, and blades. Those who prove them worthy of the Scout class are held above the others who are Tenders. Scout's are warriors who have wondered, alone, into the desert after one century of life with no more their chosen weapon, two water skins, and there wits. Yes that means they are naked and where you smoothed skins would burn in the heat we are made of sterner stuff." Ra-shem holds is hand close to the fire and you know that if you were to do it it would come away blistered and burned. " This is may seem cruel but the desert is for the strong! The goal of this is for you to spend at least a week along in the desert and then to find your way back to the clan, which moves every three days. Most bring back some type of trophy some animal they have killed to add to their worth. For every four that go off to prove themselves one is promoted to Scout class, two are tenders(because they give up before the week is through, are maimed, or sick), and the last doesn't come back at all. Our women and I mean in my clan only are even stronger then men because if they become pregnant they must once again prove them selves worthy of returning to the scout class after their child is old enough not mothers milk." Ra-shem chuckles," I doubt you guys would come back without injury after spending a night with them." Ra-shem pauses to look into each of your eyes. " The reason I tell you of my people is so you know why, if there is ever a situation like what happened in the fey where we are subjected to disturbing visions of people or loved one being harmed, that I will not have batted an eye or seemed effected." "Lastly I will now speak of myself. In my clan I am one of a kind. This is not some way of boasting, it is just the truth. My people are Scouts or Tenders which means either warriors or housewives as an old companion of mine put it after hearing about Tenders. I am a cleric which is something that doesn't happen seeing as my people have little faith in anything but strength of body. Even I was like this before the Sun God use the very sand of the desert to smite my traveling companions for their thievery and to give me the most painful infusion of divine energy I have ever heard of. So being the way I am spent my time with the Scout warbands but alone in every way besides the physical sense. After years of not exactly getting the respect Scout got but not actual being a Tender I left to explore the world and gain power in service to Ra. One day I will return to he Redsand Clan and change its perception of power. I have talked enough." Ra-shem lays down and stares into the fire.

Submitted by Ty: Sitting at the campfire, beside a weak Lucian, Bristlecone begins slowly, “Of the many things I’ve forgotten, this story is the one thing that has stayed vivid in my mind for as long as I’ve been traveling the land. I learned this one in my first cycle, and I don’t understand why. Maybe because it reminds me of The Mossman, if he even exists. I only ever remember seeing him in my dreams, but that’s beside the point. Many, many generations before you were born, as it was old during my first cycle, there was an imbalance in the world. A great lumber company, ran by dwarves and men, stripped trees for themselves, but unlike the lumber camp we stumbled upon, they had no desire to preserve and regrow the forests. They saw no need, as their greed and power grew, but rather sold the land for mining, when advised by the dwarves to do so. The company was headed by an arrogant, ambitious man, who had inherited the business and improved upon it ten-fold. He was a man’s man; he worked with the laborers cutting down trees and drank with them after a hard day’s night. He never ended up marrying, but that’s not to say he didn’t sire some children along the way. One day, as the work was winding down, a figure emerged from a fog that had been lingering since the early morn. Jaspree emerged from the mist, towering over the men, dwarves and otherfolk of the camp, as big and hairy as a brown bear in the prime of its life. The foolhardy company head met the beast of a man near the edge of the clearing, from which he had emerged. “Chop another tree down, and it still be your last. You have disturbed the balance of nature and it is time for you to work to right that balance.” With tears running down his eyes, the man laughed as the unknown man left the clearing, ignoring the threat of the wild man. Gasping for breath, “Looks like we need to down one more tree for the night, boys.” Felling one last pine for the night, the men spent the night as they always did, drinking and partying to sleep. Sleep was cut short that morning, as animals, led by a snarling Jaspree, attacked the camp, slaughtering everyone but a single man, who escaped into the night. The man claims that even the trees assisted the bear man that night. When I first heard this story, the lumber company it’s about had already failed, with its head cut off that night. I tell this story to every tree I have Awaken over the years, as I teach them to tend to the forests and lands as I have done over my many cycles. May it inspire you to do the same, when you can.” -Bristlecone

Submitted by Robby: After playing a few songs at a local tavern, Brenlyn and the band were hanging out with the locals, swapping stories. When asked if Brenlyn had any good stories, she thought of one. “Here’s a story me brother Barlo told me about our great uncle Torr. Like most Ironbloods, he as an excellent weapon smith. Well it so happens that he created a very powerful axe he named ‘Blood Biter.’ A rich noble from south of the plains heard about the powerful axe and demanded that Torr come to him and sell him the axe. Now Torr didn’t want ta sell him the axe, but he knew better then ta say no to a noble, so he finnaly decided ta head south into the plains. Well, sure enough he found himself lost and it started ta get real cold in the night time in the plains. Now Torr was an excellent weapon smith, but not so smart of an adventurer, so he didn’t think ta pack warm enough clothes. As it got colder and colder he thought he was gonna freeze ta death fer sure. Well he tried ta make a fire but couldn’t get one started so he just gave up and lay there in the cold. Soon he hears a stompin’ of large feet and sees a huge dinosaur standin’ over him. Well he knew he was a gonner fer sure and closed his eyes waitin’ fer death. That’s when the dino took a big crap right onto Torr, covering him in poop…warm poop. So warm in fact that Torr began ta feel better. Well the dino left and old Torr was feelin’ so good that he begins ta sing a dwarven bar song. Sure enough, a passing ogre hears him singin’ his song, comes over, digs him out of the poop and kills and eats him. Now it’s a sad tell fer sure, and maybe its true…maybe its not, but there be 3 morals ta learn from the tale. Everyone who shits on ya ain’t necessarily yer enemy. Anyone who digs ya out of yer shit ain’t necessarily yer friend. And 3…if yer warm and happy in a pile o’ shit, keep yer mouth SHUT!” With that Brenlyn tips her mug to the others and winks as she takes a long sip.

Submitted by Mike: "Hold him down!" A cleric of Boldrei cried out over the screams of the survivor. Another burly half elf cleric and an even larger half orc paladin pinned down a thrashing man, his race completely unrecognizable due to the severe burns covering every inch of his body. "I said hold him down, Tyruun!" The half orc paladin would growl a response, his muscles visibly straining as he attempted to follow his party's healers instructions, "I'm trying Winney, but he's got the strength of a giant! Malacus--help me!" The pair struggled, but the survivor continued to convulse violently, the stubby remains of his legs wildly flailing. All the while, the victim screamed, "HE'S COMING, OH GODS! DEMONS! ANYONE, HELP, HEEEELP!!" Winney, seeing that her patient would not be holding still anytime soon, attempted to wrestle her way in between thrashing limb and straining brawn, shouting above the screams, "What happened? Tell me!" A healing hand channeled the holy energies of her god, quick prayers begging to save her patient's life. "What did this Winney?" "Acid, poison - something like that. Or at least it looks like tha--" Her hand quickly withdrew from the horribly burned lunatic instinctively at the touch of something sharp. Her eyes snapping on to its source, Winney steeled herself, "He's got something in him! Hold him! HOLD HIM." Her patient's screams doubled in volume as Winney extracted the thing from her patient, her companions barely able hold down the screaming man, "MESSENGERS OF DEATH. HE SENT MESSENGERS OF--HAH, AHAHAHA" The screams turned to laughter as the followers of Boldrei looked upon their patient with horror, "WE'RE JUST TRAVELERS, PLEASE NO, HAHAH NONONO, MY LEGS! AHAHA, ME LEGS, ME LE--!!" And then suddenly, the victim was as stiff as a board, a frozen, horrified grin plastered on his melted face, leaving a stunned party to look upon the terrible death of their patient. Malacus would eventually break the silence, a tinge of fear and mounting anger in his voice. "What evil would inflict such a painful death on a traveler and his companions?" Tyruun would sigh heavily and stand straight, gently laying the now dead man on the ground. "Well, whatever it is, it dies this day. What did you find, Winney?" Silently, Winney would reveal what had apparently killed the man, "A dart. Tuffed with some sort of strange leaf... I'll have to identify it when I get back to the temple. It's some sort of alien plant, possibly from another dimension, but--" Winney was interrupted by a sharp, rapid buzzing that caused Malacus to slap the side of his neck, screaming as he did. Tyruun's shield would be raised defensively as Winney ran to the now screaming elf, "IT BURNS, IT BURNS!" Suddenly, a barrage of sharp needles came from all directions, pelting everyone in the holy party. "Get down!" was the warning called out by the paladin, but it was too late. The unarmored cleric now joined her companion, screaming as a sickly green haze enveloped around them all, their flesh burning similarly to their late patient's. The half orc paladin coughed viciously, his lungs being poisoned with gasping breaths as he bellowed outward, "Come and fight, demon!" From the green fog, a small, gnome sized figured immerged, a strange shaft in its hand. With an enraged bellow, Tyruun charged forward, holy magic emanating from his greatsword, "Your evil ends here, foul crea--" Not three steps foward and Tyruun's feet stepped on something squishy, plant-like. With a series of terrible explosion, the paladin found himself blasted prone, now missing both legs and his right arm. With a horrified expression, he heard a child-like laugh as the small figured came forward. It was covered in fur, hidden by a camouflaged cloak and a bowl shaped helmet, its ears poking from the top. The sound of a blade scraping out of its sheath sounded through the screams of his companions, "Leave them alone, demon! Who are you? WHAT ARE YOU??" The last thing the paladin of Boldrei heard were the grim words of the demon, "You want Teemo? Come and get him."

Submitted by Robby: While regrouping on the shore, soaking wet, Barlo tells the Burning Retribution a story. "This whole situation reminds me of a story I heard awhile back. A group of adventurers like ourselves found themselves on an island they were investigating. I forget where the island was exactly, somewhere in the west, or why they came to the island exactly, but they were new to the area and what they found there wasn't quite what they expected. They thought it would be a deserted island, but instead it was a paradise. All the people there lived in a beautiful, wonderful harmony with one another. Wonderful meals in the day time, parties and fun orgies at night. No one ever seemed to fight, it seemed TOO perfect. So perfect that the adventurers became a little suspicious. That's when they found a robed man gesturing to them in a dark corner. "Thank the gods you're here," he said. "This land is under the spell of a powerful magical artifact. Makes us live forever, but soon you lose yourself and get lost to its magic. You have to help me destroy it!" The adventurers agreed to help him destroy the artifact and traveled with him to the center of the island. The island threw some beasts at them to defend itself, but the adventurers managed to destroy the artifact in the end. That's when the cloaked man began to laugh at them. His cloak turned into bat-like wings and he revealed himself for the demon that he truly was. "Fools!" he said. "This island was a prison where evil criminals were sent. The magic of the artifact kept them good and happy. By destroying the artifact you have helped me to release the criminals to the world again! HAHAHAHA!!!" With that the demon spread his wings and flew away and some of the worlds most heinous criminals from the past escaped the island to terrorize the world once again. I heard this story a couple months back in the bar from a man who says he heard it from a halfling named Yulo. Yulo claimed to be the only one of the adventuring band to make it off the island alive.

Submitted by Clark: A group of peasants are sitting around a campfire late at night swapping stories. A man walks out of the shadows with a cane and black cloak and sits down next to a half drunk man. The man pulls out a lute and says "You know I once knew someone, a lady, who was a noble woman. When I met her in hell she seemed alright at first but when we fought I noticed a change in her. This is a song I wrote about missing that woman from before the fights" He strums his lute, puts on some kind of eye wear that has slits where the eyeholes should be and sings, "I miss the old Renfri, straight from the Go Renfri The lost soul Renfri, set on her goals Renfri I hate the new Renfri, the evil brooding Renfri The always rude Renfri, the evil paladin Renfri I miss the sweet Renfri, chop up the monsters Renfri I gotta say, at that time I'd like to meet Renfri See I invented Renfri, It wasn't any Renfris And now I look and look around and there's so many Renfris I used to love Renfri, I used to love Renfri I even had the suit of armor, I thought I was Renfri What if Emery made a song about Renfri Called "I Miss The Old Renfri"? Man, that'd be so Renfri That's all it was Renfri, we still love Renfri And I love you like Renfri loves the Raven Queen" With that he walks away and says just before he leaves "I've been Emery Dupree, don't forget to tip your waitress!"

Submitted by Ty: Unsure of the being that formed from himself, Bristlecone sings a low, breezy rhyme for the young one as Pinecone edges toward sleep. “The pecks of birds are soft and soothing, Their chirps are a song, wild and moving, If the world ever feels overly looming, Remember the birds.” “The otter looks playful, joyful with glee, Be careful its teeth, it will sting like a bee, If the world ever feels too good to be free, Remember the otter.” “Bugs will scurry, dash, hide, and scatter, Be mindful, though, they really do matter, If the world ever feels like it’s going to tatter, Remember the bugs.” “The Mossman sleeps and will be awaken, In the eve of ruin he will stand unshaken, If the world feels lost, broken, forsaken, Remember The Mossman.”

Submitted by Daniel: He sat on the barstool curled around his ale like a mother hen over her nest. I could feel through the aether that he was touched by the gods. The waves of divine power rolled off him like the fog off the coast. I sat down next him gently. His soul burned me as I approached. "Sir?" I ventured. "Ain't no sirs here, boy. Best you keep movin'," he said. He was a mountain of a man - nearly ten feet tall and at least six hundred pounds. He looked to be solely of muscle, scars, and hate. One eye was drooping and at first I thought it gone. "I only mean to ask if I can be of assistance. I have some experience in the arts and -" The rest of my speech was cut short as he wheeled around and snatched me up like a child's doll. My feet dangled nearly foot off the floor as he held me by the front of my tunic. His face was close enough to mine for me to count his pores. His breath reeked of stale bread, bad wine, and something else. Something darker. "Listen boy, I don't give a shepherd's fart what your experienced in. I said leave me be." His voice never raised above a low rumble but every ear in the inn heard him plain as day. He dropped me to my feet and I stumbled before righting myself. "You're cursed, is that it?" "Ha! Ha! Ha!" His laugh was more frightening than his words. It was the laugh of a madman with nothing left to lose. "Cursed? Nay, no mere curse could torment me so! I am favored! Favored of all the gods!" The ale had clearly gone to his head. "I have sat in this inn on this very night nineteen times, mage," he said. His words were venom and insanity in one. "Some of those times I have sought your help and others I have forsaken it. Neither path makes any difference. Some nights I take a wench back to my room and others I lay alone, awaiting the coming dawn. One night I even took to slaughtering every soul in here - but nothing changes." He slumped at the end back onto the stool. The fight had gone out of him and melancholy was replacing it. The black dog was nipping at his soul. "Your words make no sense, friend." I tried speaking to him as one known to me, hoping it would heal him. "Friend. Ha. Yes, we have been friends and brothers even. But my torment is my own. The gods cast me back to this night when I fail." Every eye and ear in the inn was upon us. I had suffered when attention was on me before but this time I scarcely noticed. "Fail what?" As long as he was talking, he wasn't killing. "The Necromancer of Korth. Demons always come into this world because of him." The room held its breath as he spoke. "The demons are old and vile beasts. The gods are weary of letting them into the world. They chose me as their champion. I go battle them. They kill me. The gods resurrect me. This very inn on this very night. Tomorrow will be the twentieth time I have died. Do you know what that is like?" I shook my head. "Pray you never do. A man is allotted one death for a reason." He stared into the fireplace and became silent. "How ... how can we help?" My own voice felt small and weak in my throat. "Ha! The times you journey with me, you die even before I do. It is not help I need. Rather it is apathy. I need the gods to stop caring -about me, about this town, and about these damned demons!" He slammed his fist down so hard, part of the bar splintered. His hand bled and stained the floor. He looked at the crimson drops as they fell. "It doesn't matter. Nothing does." He threw a fistful of gold on the bar. "I'll see on the morrow or on the yestereve. ''Tis all the same." He climbed the stairs to his room. None in the bar spoke as we heard the wood creaking under his weight. We all hugged our families closer that night.

Submitted by Clark: A large group of citizens from Korth start to set up camp on a road, having guards keep watch for any demon group trying to kill them. As the citizens make a campfire and begin to eat food in silence a man saunters up to the group and sits down. The man looks at everyone and says "I see that you have lost a lot, some your homes, others your families but we must remember that no matter what there will always be hope and where there is hope there is a chance of peace. So let me try to reignite that flame of hope in all your hearts. Let me sing you a tale of trusting others, even when all they can do is heal. The lesson, don't underestimate anyone, even the weakest person you know." And with that he strums his lute and begins to sing: You’re in a large cave and something evil’s roaming In the dark In the torch light you see something pass by you Like a dart You feel a chill as a huge claw rips through Your body You start to faint as something touches you From behind It’s a godly light It’s your healer, saved your life You just got 50 hit points from a guy who doesn’t Fight Healer, Healer might You still have your life thanks to a healer Healer tonight You head deeper looking for some magic Weapons You hear a dark voice starting to control you through Possession You try to scream but you cannot escape from the demon’s Grasp You look to see if the healer will save you Just in time But no one is in sight Where’s your healer? Save my life! But there’s no one to save you now from the demon out Of hell Healer! Save my life You’re about to lose your life to a killer Killer tonight You start to black out you fear that death is knocking On the door You see a bright light and know you will never wake up Any more But out of the sky you see a hand descend towards Your body You open your eyes and notice that you have Survived You’ve been revived By your healer, just saved your life Now you can get back up and teach that demon How to fight Yeah your healer, shows his might Now you can kill that demon like a killer, killer Healer It’s your healer, saving your life 'Cause you’re back up to full health and ready to do Some damage All because of your healer, now show your might Cut off that demons head like a killer, killer The blood oozes from the demon’s head As you sheathe your sword with blood dripping red In the back you see a horde of gold Wealth beyond measure the likes have never been told And as you look on at the wealth and glory You realize this fight could have been much more gorey If it were not for your cleric’s aid You would be dead and your honor fade So go ahead and give him his fair share Because of him you have cleared this demon’s lair And for all of you that believe healers do nothing That they cannot do any killing, stealing or buffing I pray for you because your fate will be worst of all For when you fool hardly face a task too tall You won’t receive any hit points or life From the power of the Healer He slings his lute on to his back and leaves before anyone can ask him his name or how he became such an amazing bard. He started to walk away when he turned around and said "I've been Emery Dupree, don't forget to tip you waitress" And with that he continued walking into the night.

Submitted by Clark: Again a man in a dark cloak walks up to a group of Korth citizens around a campfire. After he had gone and healed some of those who were injured he sat down and said "Seeing all these people hurt and killed by this evil it reminds me of a story" He puts down his lute and moves closer to the fire. "This story is not one of hope, nor is it a story about overcoming obstacles but is one of warning, I tell you this before hand good people, never let this evil change you, never let it cause you to act in a way that isn't yourself" He then rubs his hands together near the fire and starts to tell his story. The cold embrace of death The eternal slumber, the never ending dream Will be felt by every person who lived or will live It is unavoidable, unexplainable and absolute Though the living will die And the dead will slumber for eternity I have known of only one man Who has awoken from the endless dream A man who wrote beautiful music And was a loyal companion to those he trusted A man who loved his only brother But never gave the thought to speak to him This man, Emery, never expected to die so suddenly Nor to die without knowing how But as Emery began to dream, pondering these thoughts He would never expect where this dream would lead him Falling down a deep dark abyss A fall that felt would last for eternity Emery could hear whispers of figures he couldn’t see And felt the grasp of hands and claws that he couldn’t touch The whispers started to become louder And the hands gripped harder and the claws ripped deeper Emery could hear the voices of the dead say in unison “Doomed! Doomed to suffer for eternity! Doomed to wander in complete darkness! Poor wandering soul! Your death was not yet to come! And now you will suffer for crimes you have not yet committed! Poor wandering soul!” Emery, looking into the void, the absolute nothingness Lets go of his struggle to resist Closes his eyes and allows his body to go limp As he is hurled downward for eternity Minutes pass, then hours then what seems to be days Emery stays limp, unable to even feel the sensation of falling Until a noise is heard, a rustle in a patch of grass? Then a feeling, a slight breeze past his face, and a hand on his back. To his surprise when Emery opened his eyes He was in a clearing surrounded by hedges Though a feeling of dread washes over his body As he realizes this is neither earth nor heaven The ceiling is higher than he can perceive Only seeing absolute darkness as he looks up Below him the grass is burnt and red Though the hedges look lush and full The smell was of the dead A putrid odor of not just one but millions of corpses Though he could not see any bodies The smell seemed to come from the hedges themselves Gone were the whispers of the damned, Sympathizing with the poor bard, Replacing them were wails of the eternally tortured Ringing out from the very ground itself As the sounds started to rattle within his head A clear voice spoke to him, silencing the damned Emery turned around to see a man with a hand on his back And a grim look on his face “You must be the last one, the musician I presume, I am Carin, the hunter, one of the chosen, But come, the message will reveal more” He starts to walk between the hedges, gesturing for him to follow As the two walked into a new clearing Emery could see more people like himself A woman whose hair kissed the ground, A man wearing armor and carrying a sword And a creature in a cloak standing alone, As Emery inspects its face he sees that it is a skull Under the cloak, a mass of bones With only fragments of skin, which are being consumed by maggots Carin shows Emery a wall of hedge One that has burn marks along the entire wall Creating a bar of text, A message? No, a warning. “Five are summoned, a hunter, warrior, dryad, bard and corpse Will work together or betray each other to complete the deadly course All can leave and live, all can die and suffer Find the exit of my maze, and you will see another summer There are perils, though, that will test more than just your will For hear these words of wisdom, the sword is not as mighty as the quill If you lose your mind or yourself you will be beaten and chained But remember, whoever escapes hell will forever be changed.” As he reads the last line the text bursts into flame The fire spreads and burns down the hedge Revealing a passage that was hidden until now Leading down a path with turns and bends The group gets together and creates a line With Carin and Emery at the front, And the woman and warrior bringing up the rear, Leaving the corpse safe in the middle They descend into the darkness Cold breezes rushing past them A moan is heard further down the path And the burnt grass crunches with each step They head down passage after passage Each one ending in a dead end The woman in the back begins to question the group As the dread of the maze affects her more and more after each dead end As the group turns around after another dead end They notice the dryad has left the line They search up and down the maze and find no sign of her Until they hear her scream from the other side of the hedge The warrior tries to slash his way to the other side But is caught by the vines of the maze, pulling him into the hedge The rest of the group free him from the vine’s embrace Just as they hear a loud scream from the woman and then nothing Emery looks at the hedge, blood begins to flow down from it All he can think about is why he didn’t try to help All he did was stop the warrior from being taken as well Still he could have done more, maybe even save her If he looked out for the group instead of things around him, the dryad would be alive As the party catches their breath and realize what kind of real danger they are in A hedge slides out of the way and reveals a path The group looks at each other and give a nod They continue on down the maze, one man down As they walk the walls start to get tighter and tighter Seeing a turn at the end of the path the party runs Vines start grabbing onto the men They are shuffling sideways down the maze as it is about to crush them First Carin jumps into the opening, then Emery then the skeleton But it was too late for the warrior As the three look up from the ground They see only the torso up of the warrior has made it out They look down at the warrior, blood oozing from the bottom half of him The maze opens again and the lower half of his body falls to the ground The skeleton goes to the body, as if to bury it But the earth opens up around the body, dropping it into an abyss Emery glances at Carin the grim look on his face change to horror “The message said we could all make it out It said no one had to die so why has this happened? Where is the justice?” Carin returns to his grim face and says “If you expect justice out of hell, you won’t find it All we can do is keep moving So that at least one of us will make it out” “I could have been faster, I could have just let him pass me then he would be…” Carin stops him and says “There is no time to dwell on it, keep moving” They continue down the maze Winding passages and familiar routes occur often And finally when they feel they have gone in circles The three find a room full of red flowers The flowers are growing from the vines of the maze The flowers are unlike anything on earth Fire red petals and a black center with red light shining from each one The room gives off a bright glow of red as they walk in The skeleton goes over to the flowers and gets a closer look While Emery and Carin keep moving towards the other side On his way Emery picks up a flower and puts it into his pocket Hopefully, he thinks, it will bring him good luck As Carin and Emery call out for the skeleton to head out He starts to laugh uncontrollably, writhing on the ground The maze starts to close on the opposite side of the room And from where they entered a dark figure appears A hulking creature made out of pure shadows enters the room It looks at the skeleton and moves toward it No matter how much they shout the skeleton will not move And in an instant the creature jumps on the skeleton ripping into the cloak Emery is in shock of seeing this but feels a tug on his collar Carin pulls him through to the other side before the maze closes “There was nothing we could do for him Now like I said, let’s keep moving” says Carin “You’re right” Emery says, “We just need to get on of us out” More moans and screams are heard from within the maze Heading down the halls Emery could only hear screaming He could only see visions of death Of the dryad, of the warrior’s corpse and of the attack on the skeleton As he is worrying about this, he is not keeping up with Carin Suddenly the maze cuts off Emery and Carin Emery tries to get through the hedge but to no avail Then the hedge changes form and a face now stares at Emery The face opens its mouth and says “So you would like to leave To escape me and live, I’m sorry But not all games are won so easily” “I have a riddle for you, and if you are correct I will give you a choice, do you accept?” Emery looks at the face and hesitantly says “Y-Yes I accept your game” “A simple question for a simple man Prove I am real” Emery ponders the question, racking his brain for an answer He stays silent and the face then forms back into a hedge, disappearing Emery drops to his knees Punching the burnt grass Spreading blades of it every where in his separate room Then a minute later the face comes back to him “Your friend did not want to take my deal, So I will ask you.” says the maze “Anything to get me out of here” Emery says instinctively The maze smiles and says “One lives, one dies Choose your fate And your friend’s” Emery is shocked and a rush of emotions fill him He remembers his friends who are alive The crowds that love his music And his brother whom he wishes he could see again Than he thinks of Carin How he helped him get through the maze Who first met him when he arrived Who chose to leave his fate in Emery’s hands Emery looks up at the maze and says “I want to live Kill Carin That is my decision” The maze gives a wicked smile and disappears again Opening up to where Emery could see Carin again Carin looked at Emery in a disappointed manner Knowing exactly what Emery had told the maze Before Emery could speak a black void appeared in the room Emery and Carin looked at it together It was a black hole that had dark lightning swirling within it The maze’s face appeared again to the two “There is only one way you can leave me One of you enters the void And ages until their bones turn to ash And the ash turns to air, while the other can leave” Carin looks at Emery and tosses rock into the void The rock aged to dust which then became air The two looked at each other, horrified of its power They stood in front of the void in complete silence A minute goes by and Carin says to Emery “Maybe we can just wait it out Or we can find an escape somewhere else?” Emery continued to look blankly into the void, not hearing Carin Carin puts his hand on Emery’s shoulder to wake him But Emery grabs his hand and shoves the flower from his pouch Into Carin’s face, smothering him with it Emery lets go and Carin begins to laugh uncontrollably Carin with fear on his face but a huge smile Drops to the floor of the maze Unable to reason with Emery Unable to cry out for help Emery went to Carin’s side And looks down at the man who helped him get through the maze He thinks one last time of the good man Carin was And pushes him into the void Carin’s body begins to wrench in pain His face and body started to age, causing wrinkles to show His face still having the image of pure pain on it And yet still he could not stop from laughing even now His skin then began to decompose and his bones started to show Even as a skeleton the man was still able to laugh His bones then changed to ash and that ash to air But on that air a laughter that would stay, forever The maze opens up for Emery Revealing a light at the end of the passage As Emery walked towards the light he could still hear laughter And he still saw the laughing skeleton in his mind as he walked out of hell Once Emery returned to the plain of the living He began his journey to see his brother again He planned to find his friends He was some how happy he could play his music for crowds again But when he tried playing at bars or at plays He would choke, and see Carin’s skeleton all over again He could never get through a song Most crowds would force him off the stage whenever he performed When he found his friends They were already dead and buried It appeared the same way the dryad, the skeleton and the warrior died Was the same way his friends had met their end He finally reached his brother But as if out of a nightmare His brother looked exactly like Carin And always had a smile on his face So that is the story of the man who cheated death Unfortunately for Emery, death likes to cheat as well As the message told Emery in the first place “But remember, whoever escapes hell will forever be changed.” As he finishes his story he starts to look at the faces of the people around the fire, some or moved by the story, holding their children and loved ones, others are looking into the sky at the massive amounts of demons swarming out of the massive portal. One of these people is an old dwarf who raises up his tankard to the sky and says "Those bastards will never change us! We are Korthians! Our will is iron and our hearts pure, no evil will ever break us!" With that everyone around the fire starts to lift their tankards and start singing local tavern songs. Emery gives a smile and walks away. Just as he is about to leave he begins to open his mouth to give his usual farewell, but tonight he thinks it is best for them just to be happy, even though the world is falling around them. (Note: This is not a fully accurate representation of what happened in the hell session, this was an essay I turned into my gothic literature class that was based off of the session.)

Submitted by Austin: (Daniel if I could make a request I would like to make this canon due to it being more history than a campfire story but I feel like it should be here all the same.) As Hive wakes from painful unconsciousness inside the Keep/Monastery still sitting next to the girl, his voice starts slow and softly rumbles with a large amount of wistfulness and no small amount of sorrow Hive deep voice starts. "My grandfather was a great warrior in his day," Hive laughs "He most definitely should have been at this time he had already lived to his second thousandth summer. The rages he went into on the battleground were something to see and see again in nightmares to come if you somehow survived. But... that is not the point of the story the point of the story is that he chose a different path, now it was nearing the end of the battle of the Five Glades 600 years although, it had been going on for so long that no one knew what side they were on anymore, battles would just break out for no reason forests were, pillaged and villages were destroyed, so to avoid anymore loss and to avoid the political catastrophe the soldiers of each glade sent a respected warrior to a neutral zone long forgotten, to talk peace." Hive pauses here, emitting a warm orange fire seeming to be happy to remember the story so well. "The warriors met, my grandfather being one of them as a sign of peace they left their weapons at the edge of the of the neutral and met in the middle, but unfortunately in war they were all soldiers and soldiers fight in the end, an argument broke out and someone was bound to draw a secret dagger in this case it was an illusion on one of the soldiers that was lifted to show an one of the Elder Trees a master of magic, this Elder wanted the war to go on for the riches it brought to him were great and many. When he was found out he started attacking everyone about him with fire, lightning, cold, and all other matter of magics. While all the other warriors went for the weapons at the edge of the neutral zone my grandfather the great Coniferuius ThunderStruck decided to do something else. He decided to not go for his weapon and instead became a shield, rushing forward he seized a hold of the Elder tree in a deep hug of sorts making it hard for him to hit the other warriors as they came back with weapons drawn the Elder tree goes instead for the one causing his problem striking at my grandfather with all he could,” at this point Hive lets out a breath with a distant look in his eye. “In the end he lost most of his body he had then the only real limb he had was his right arm which he then used to create me,” looking down at his own right hand “I know soon you will realize who is to blame for this tragedy and I am truly sorry but if you do come for revenge remember my story.” and with one last look at the crying orphaned girl Hive looks off into something only he can see and becomes still as a tree, resting.

Submitted by Lurik: As we sat around a campfire cooking our game a mountain of a man, well orc um... goliath... screw it. This giant person just walks on up takes a seat and grabs a piece of meat. Mind you we are all scared shitless so we just sit there and my wife says. "Hey there... big guy... you uh lost or something?" I'm thinking man why does she always have to say something. Then the mountainous figure speaks. "Something... Let me tell y'all a story I thought I'd never tell but seems I need to remember them all now. There was once a goliath named Torq, he was just a simple guard when a group of travelers ran threw his area chasing something and causing a panic. Torq caught up to them once they had gotten the person they chased. They told him the story of theyre troubles and he decidedo to join them to help protect they're squishy body's from danger. You see Torq knew he was tougher and strong than the three combined. He knew they wouldn't stand a chance against what they faced. So uuuhhhh... Oh yeah Torq joined them leading in front with his great axe in hand. It is told he always charged into battle, axe first never minding what he charged into. He battled Dragons and lizardmonkeys on this plane. Void creatures and demonic monstrosities in another and all manner of creatures in the fey. He met a giant crocodile in the fey by leaping at it, axe in hand, directly into its mouth. The croc turned out to be friendly and threw him up but the point stands, he would face anything that poses threat to his friends. The Great Torq Stark is the best Fighter this world has ever seen and he is the greatest friend any person on this or any realm could have. He was a protector and Destroyer" As the giant finished his story we all looked at each other confused but remained silent as he stood. "Ok I should really work on that story to many different stories in one story makes my brain hurt. Bye." Then this guy just fucking drops 10 gold pieces at my feet and walks into the woods.

Submitted by Flare: The trip back to the Glittering isles was uneventful, and boring. Ex had been playing his violin, laying on deck rather than bellow deck in a hammock, since the sight of the sea was the closest he'd felt to freedom since his last escape attempt, and the night-time stars were still a strange and beautiful sight to the Triton. "Crow, would you like to hear a story?" the green-haired male put, rhetorically; since Crow had been so kind as to get Ex nearly killed, Ex figured that the least his bodyguard and jailor could do was humour Ex a little: In the depths, lies a beast, he began, continuing to gently play his violin all the while. T'is a great and fearsome creature, larger than any boat or vessel I have seen on land thus far. My people know it well, many protectorates loosing powerful warriors to its attacks, while I have been so fortunate as to see it and live to tell the tale. As it slithers from darkness you would be faced by the head, with a body so long that you cannot see his end. Its teeth are sharp its stare can kill, watch out for you face the Darazil. Though his body is long, his tendrils are many, with glowing bobs that will fight built for luring and maiming, a great many warriors to this beast must fall, before he will be satiated from the blood in his maw. He attacks those who pierce him, the Darazil scarred all along, though revenge on the Tritons is the primordial beast's song. Cast out from his hiding! A creature so tall, bitter for the home it's lost for the Tritons' great war. Warriors each, from a great wave unlike all others, whose duty is sworn to protect the land-lovers. They had left their home - all of their own free will, to protect others from horrors like the Drazil. So though this beast is fearsome as it breads chaos and death, fear not good hero! For deep in the sea, there are those who will fight it, Tritons! Protectors to their last watery breath. With the end of the song, and the Tritons' tale, Ex looks up at Crow who is, of course, ever-present; a big smile on his tan blue lips "There now, don't you feel better knowing this?"

Submitted by Erica: A dwarven bard approaches the fire, a distant look in her eyes, emphasized by large spectacles. She sits down and an excitable hush falls over the other patrons. She clears her throat and waits for silence before reciting her newest tale... We meet in the Glittering Isles, Surrounded by gold for miles. Wumber Frusk is in charge, And his belly is large, From the slaves that he trades all the whiles. Human Nala teaches his youth. They’re arrogant, fat, and uncouth. They taunt the lizard Dorn, Bare as the day he was born, And proclaim their self-assured truth. Outside, the city’s a stir, New slaves arrive in a blur. Ex the triton pays nothing For his slaves – I’m not bluffing! Deschain and Thistle are the sir's. Wumbar brings the party to dinner, Where his guests are noticeably thinner. He says they must travel To find Deadwood Isle. And survive an awful adventure. The group convenes in the morn’. Most feeling pretty forlorn. With a map named Carter, And little to barter, They fulfilled the promise they’d sworn. Deadwood Isle came into view, And the orchard was there for the crew. They walked with ease Amongst the trees Until strangely, the world…it grew? The party was suddenly small, With no help in sight at all. Our heroes grew weary When out of the clearing Came bugbears, ready to brawl. A wood elf appeared to the side, “Run away! There’s a bird!” she cried. Crow the Dragon helped Ex, And what happened next? The bird pecked until the bugbears had died. The group met new friends in a basket, They were annoyed, but they tried to mask it. The folks weren’t too happy And far too scrappy, The group knew they’d go home in caskets. But they realized they had to go out To learn what the shrinking’s about, So they walked on, All hope foregone, And large rain forced them into a hideout. They came upon a drunkard named Derrick Whose singing was simply barbaric. A snake came just then, They nearly died again, But were saved, and in need of a cleric. Soon they approached a large table, A few of them still feeling unstable. The climbed to the top, But came to a stop When they found the source of this fable. Freya told them to destroy her focus. Dorn punched her and said “Don’t provoke us!” She cried out in pain, Sure this monk was insane, “Killing me won’t stop this hocus pocus!” Her focus was stuck in a tree, So the party split up into threes. Some made their way up, Without any hiccups, Until they were swarmed by bees. Finally, the orb was destroyed. And they grew tall, as sure as the void! The elves rejoiced Their concerns were voiced, And Freya vanished, clearly annoyed. Derrick then showed, now sober, Relieved that the nightmare was over. Almost dusk, He sent word to Frusk, To give the party some closure.

Submitted by Mike: A bard, with a wild, tangled mess of raven black hair and even more complicated beard shoo'd the dwarven bard off the stage. "That was lovely, missy. A round of applause, yes?" Whether or not the crowd complied, the unruly bard would hoot and hollar until she left. Adjusting himself and picking a disturbing looking lute (a strange face carved into it, its opening the mouth of the face), the bard would start to speak before bursting into a twangy song: And behold, my friends and enemies, as I regale you with something I witnessed naught an hour ago! A band of brethren, who stray to the shade and shadow of the city, called together. A common bond, they seem to share, as they called in a singular whisper. Take heed, and listen well, or it may be the lightness of your coin purse you will curse! About the market place of Sharn, I solemnly swear, I was conducting the usual business and enjoying the filthy air. I saw someone bump into another, both common, good folk. A tip of the hat, a sweep of the arm, and nothing was at all wrong. Except as he passed, I attest to this, as words of whispered tones fell upon my ear: "T for things I call my own." Thinking nothing of it, as odd remarks are often made, I walked around for a little while, enjoying the building shade. But from the ground, I noticed a beggar small, she looked up at me with a missing toothed grin as she whispered, "H for hauling all the gold!" Again for the second time, though I'm sure it was nothing important, I shrugged my shoulders and tipped my hat as sauntered forward. But not ten minutes later, a young woman sidled over, a foxy sway on her hips. I opened my mouth to woo her closer, but a finger was placed on my lips. A whisper then found itself, right next to my ear, as words wormed themselves right in, I swear she said: " I for the thing that matters most!" This has to be a tricky trick, an elaborate ruse thrown into the throng. As she walked away, I couldn't help but ask myself, should I have sang a song? Deciding these games are enough, enough I say, enough! I almost grabbed her by the arm, until a gentleman did the same mine, my footing all gone wrong. Having my attention, he looked me dead in the eye, his one meeting my two. I gulped and prayed to the gods, if they were even watching, as he reached inside his ragged coat. I began to beg and plead, and he just laughed, as he pulled out a sack of gold, and handed it off to me with that. But before he went, I grabbed his coat, which a frown did return. I asked why and then he replied, "E for everything belongs to me" Shrugging me off, I stood there dumbfounded, completely aghast, to the rich fortune that I had stumbled upon. Suddenly a shrill of whistles, lots of loud shouts, and people running for their lives. Quickly all the people I met, rose and vanished like smoke. The crowd grew loud, the chaos ensued, as the law descended from above. And that's when I heard the rest of the song. They sang: "F for fuck you all, I'm out, good bye!" As I ran away with the stolen goods, I saw, what it all spelled out in a whispered song. A thief is a thief, not matter what he wears or where he walks about! So be wary of those lurking in shade, to all those who listen from afar. Check your coin and pray to the gods, you still have something that glistens in your arms! With a flaunting bow, the bard giggled to himself as many of the patrons immediately clapped their hands to the coin purses, only to find that the bard had somewhere vanished into the crowd.

Submitted by Zat: Alrighty you were nice and all but now I got a tale that all be true. Its about The Fall of Hellion Hacke. the noise of stools and chairs moveing over hard wooden floor could be heard through out the tavern as the Story teller Gomer the gnome was known as a great story teller as a hush grew over the crowd Gomer began. The Fall of Hellion Hacke The greatest pirate ever was called Lady Hellion Hacke, and she captained a ship called the Crimson Sail. From her early twenties and onward, she made a name for herself on the high seas by stealing from merchant vessels, plundering ancient tombs, and sinking any dogooder vessel that would try to make good on her bounties. One day, her pride got the better of her, and she sailed to an isolated, island volcano in the middle of nowhere, after hearing a tale that a slumbering, wealthy dragon lived inside. Seeing no entrance to the dragon's lair, she ordered her crew to begin mining their way through the rock of the mountain. For months they labored, and though the work was dangerous and exhausting, no man dared speak against their terrifying captain. Lady Hacke was driven by her greed, and in pursuit of the largest score of her life, she lost all regard for her crew. Scores of souls were lost to cave-ins, or were simply worked to death while the Lady took a handful of sailors back and forth to the mainland for supply runs, detaching herself from the plight of her crew. Every night when they returned to their bunks, she would berate them, her resentment at the slow progress turning to manic anger over the course of the long days at sea. Finally, they broke through into the dragon's lair, finding the wyrm unmoving even after weeks of closeby mining. While it slept, they carted wagonfuls of coin and gems back to the Crimson Sail... but of course, the dragon's ear was keen to hear its hoard disturbed, and after most of its treasure had been taken, its great eyes opened, and it roared in fury! Lady Hacke roared back, attacking with sword and spell. Though she was getting on in years, her vast experience made no one her equal on the battlefield, and she was determined to show that this dragon would be no exception. She underestimated her opponent, though, and many times she was almost slain, saved at the last moment by her loyal crew. In the end, after exhausting her spells and shattering her enchanted cutlass on the dragon's hide, Lady Hacke knew the battle was nearly over. The dragon was utterly spent, its claws dulled, teeth broken, breath wheezing so that it could produce no flame. It grasped one of the largest chests in its hoard, lifting it above its head as it sought to crush her. Seeing her doom, the Lady used the greatest treasure she'd ever stolen to steal her victory: a ring of three wishes. She wished that the dragon's greed would trap it here forever—the chest became as weighty as a mountain, slamming the great wyrm against the rocks and crushing it dead. Hellion bellowed a victorious cry, but none of her allies responded. In the aftermath of the battle, she sorrowfully realized that every last one of them—from deckhands to her trusted first mate—had all given their lives so that she could have this fortune. It was said that she gave up her pirating ways right then and there, and drifted the Crimson Sail out to sea, never to be seen again.

Submitted by Travis: Crow had been 'watching' over Ex for days now, this Triton that proclaims he is a man, but has the frame of a woman, and gets called both “ Sir ” and “ Madam ” by Wumbar Frusk's crew. Thoroughly confused Crow still shadowed Ex around the ship, keeping an eye on him, making sure he would stay aboard and not flee. While Crow's body was there on the ship, his mind couldn't help but wander back to his days on Argonnessan…. It was raining, lightning would light up the sky, and then thunder would come crashing a few seconds later. He and his unit were rushing towards one of the Dragonborn tribes that outline Argonnessan. To Morkrax they were nothing but savages who were growing too bold and thought they could take on the Stormhorn clan. The storm would mask their approach, at least for a short a while. The troops were anxious and excited. Morkrax was toward the front of the troop, wanting to show these savages the gravity of their actions personally. Horns began to sound in the distant ahead of them; the enemy knew they approached. As a grin began to crawl on Morkrax's face, he knew it was too late for the savages. Arrows began to join the rain falling on Morkrax and his unit. Morkrax dodged the few Arrows with ease. He began to draw his swords and tucked them behind him, almost like the wings of a eagle that's diving towards its prey. The initial clash of opposing troops seemed to match the sound of thunder. The fight had begun. Skirmishes ran across the battlefield, soldiers and savages were slamming and twirling around each other. Morkrax would run from skirmish to skirmish, cutting down the enemy one by one and then moving on to the next scuffle. Spending no more than mere seconds on each enemy. Within a couple of minutes, the battle was over; bodies littered the floor. Particularly four enemy bodies laid cold and rigid directly around Morkrax himself. Some savages began to flee, while others savage Dragonborn being thrown in chains, but this held no interest with Morkrax. Killing or capturing weaklings would give him no honor and so he sheathed his blades and let the rain clean the dozens of Dragonborn savages blood off of him. As he stood there looking up at the sky, letting the drops sprinkle all over his body and face; he heard a familiar voice close by. “ And that's why we call him Crow .” said the voice Morkrax turned to see the friendly face of his commander, Grax. Next to who Morkrax could only assume is a recruit. The recruit with a look of awe and confusion. Grax sighs. “ Because you idiot, a crow represents death; and whenever Morkrax arrives on the battlefield, the enemies death is absolute. ” Morkrax gave the commander a smile and replied, “ until I can take an army by myself I am no symbol of victory. ” “ C’mon Morkrax” commented Grax as he approached the now clean black Dragonborn. “If you were to take an army by yourself, you might get your pretty little face hurt; and we know your face is the only thing that can attract the ladies. Ain't that right Crow. ” ….." Crow " ….. " Crow !" “ Damnit Crow! ” Crow’s mind returned Wumbar Frusk's ship. He found himself standing in the latrine with Ex. “ Crow I'm going to the bathroom! The only window in here is barred from the outside. I couldn't go anywhere if I wanted to. Now can you please leave! ” Crow observed the room and realized Ex was indeed correct. There was only one exit. As he stepped out, the door slammed behind him. “…. Damn, ” thought Crow The way Ex had said his name made him believe he was back at Argonnessan. Made him remember that the name Crow is no longer said with admiration, but instead with malice. How no one looks at him and sees Morkrax, all anyone ever sees is a Damn Crow.

Pockets eyes went distant for a minute after listening to the other people's campfire stories. They had been... nice, but a little boring. In her opinion the scary ones where the best – mostly because they had a huge effect on everyone but her. Being a Kender payed off quite well with that. She had a whole library of scary stories ready to spook people with, but which one to choose, which one to choose. Ah. A smile crept across her face. „If you wouldn't mind lending me your ears, ladies and gentlemen, I shall tell you a story my mentor told me a couple of years ago. There once was a hunter in the woods, who, despite of his best efforts, managed to get himself lost. It was getting late and he was about to give up hope when he finally saw a house on top of a hill. His heart sank, however, once he recognized the building. It was Lady Keilstein's old villa. Lady Keilstein had been called a weird old lady at best and a crazy woman at worst. The dame had been convinced that a demon prince called Orcus was after her and everyone who dared let their guard down would disappear and be turned into a soldier in his unholy army. That paranoia eventually caught up with the old lady and about two years ago they found her dead on the floor of her kitchen. A heart attack, according to the local cleric. A case of an insane brain killing itself, according to the town. So the hunter was, unsurprisingly, not to enthusiastic to spend the night at a place of lunacy and death, but was there another option? He approached the house to find the door ajar and – just in case – readied his bow. Making his way through the villa he couldn't find anything but a couple of raccoons sleeping in the attic, and since he had no interest in their fur or meat he left them be. Now, the building's owner may have been gone for a while, but that did not keep the house from having an aura of religious madness. After searching through room after room filled with idols and paintings depicting the wars between heaven and hell, the hunter finally settled for a small guest room. Although – even this chamber, as small as it was, was crammed. The carpet on the floor was covered in runes in a language the man couldn't understand, different dried herbs and bones dangled from the ceiling and the walls had shrines partially embedded into them. Some of the gods he knew, some he had suspicions about and some the man had never heard of. The ones he could identify, however, were all good and kind. Tonight, this was probably the safest place the man would find. As he lay down to go to sleep for the night he took another look at the room – only to find some more things that may bring him nightmares. Right above the window frame there was a skull, humanoid, but misshapen. Perhaps an odd keepsake, he thought to himself. To the right of it was a liquid, which despite having not been touched in at least two years, was still swirling and slightly glowing. A potion Lady Keilstein never got to use, obviously. To the left of the window there was another portrait. While this one did not depict the holy – or unholy – war, it most certainly still fit the tone. It depicted a tall, macabre creature with elongated arms and legs, with pranks for hands and a bald, roundish skull. While the grey, buldging out eyeballs were... eerie, it was the creatures torso that caught the hunter's attention. It had a hollowed out ribcage that was holding a partially devoured – hopefully dead – humanoid, seemingly reaching out to him with it's face distorted in horror and pain. At this point the hunter grew too uncomfortable to look around any further and turned his back to the room. Eventually, he fell into a restless sleep.“ The Kender took a break and watched the fire for a couple of seconds, then continued. „The next morning, the hunter awoke and quickly turned, blinking in the unexpectedly bright sunlight. Looking at the room now he could see that everything was still in it's place and neither him nor his things had been touched. The carpet was still covered in runes, the shrines and herbs and bones were untouched, the liquid was swirling and glowing on next to the skull. And across from him, there were two windows.“

The clap of hands ring through the night, overlapping the sounds of a crackling bonfire. Angus steps into the centre and bellows out. "Right, this ere is a tale for you fighter folk, a story that will stir the blood in yer bellies. Once upon many moons ago, i mean years of moons ago, aye that will do.., One man was renowned across the kingdom. It is said all that crossed his path, where fated for death, for he was the reaper, a harvester of souls. Orc's claim he was Orc kind, Some humans say it was a farmer who was plagued with madness, Dwarves claim he was the tallest Dwarf to walk the lands standing over 6ft tall and built like 5 tree's. Truth be told no one knows the origin of the mad axe man.  The best description to date, is he was 6ft tall, and was on average around 300lbs. A size to be reckoned with, now am no one to shite over a story but i think i speak honestly when i say it was clearly a dwarf with the gifts of growth, but all that pish to the side, let me continue with the story. The mad axe man walked through a town one mid evening, a simple place, filled with farmers of many races. He tore his way through the small place killing everyone who had settled their. Woodsman rushed to the aid hand axes raised, picks and spears rallied against the mighty man, but not one survived. It is said that his skill with his great axe was so legendary that when he slayed his foes, not an ounce of blood was spilled his cuts where that perfect in precise, other's say there was dark magic involved, an ancient right that gave the mad man the power to harness the blood of his victims into his very soul". However one man survived the trials of that day, a lone woodsman, a human who was but a shadow of the size of the mad axe man. Torn over the grief of his friends, his wife and his child. The man named Sverga Uthrind swore to the heavens he would end the carnage of the man who committed the crimes that caused him such grief. Two years of searching, Sverga found him, with his wood axe and a runed carved battle axe he charged the mad man." Licking his lips and now leaning on his great axe Angus looked to see if he had a captivated audience. Satisfied he continued, now walking around behind each person sitting around the bonfire, his words ring out clear. "The fight yeh see raged on for hours. The mad man slashing and hacking like a savage beast enraged and berserk un-wavering in stamina, like a demon of battle or a god of war. But Sverga was enraged but through his grief his moment was here, the day he had wanted for many moons, with a "QUICK" step back Sverga opened his arms in an embrace as if accepting death, the mad man, the axe man that killed so many...."SWUNG" the blade of the axe into his stomach. It is rumoured Sverga looked into the man's face in that final moment and smiled, the great axe pierced no flesh, instead it was met with the hilt of the battle axe. The family axe he used to chop wood that day he remained the only survivor only because he went further than he normally did into the woods, cleaved into the mad mans neck. Some say he beheaded him in one fail swoop other's say it took over twelve attempts. But Sverga regardless,  slayed the mad axe man. But the story doesn't end there, no, no, no. After that Sverga vanished, as did the mad mans axe. Now rumors say a new mad man walks the land's, some say it's Sverga other's say Sverga died to the axe man, but one thing is for sure, ever since that day, not one small town has been hit. Instead...It is said that stalks the roads, and finds himself at camps in the night 'Slam, Angus's Axe smashes into the centre of the camp'. Har hah hah, of course it tis all just a story told to scare children from running away at night i suppose, never seen no axe man m'self.