Awakening

Somewhere deep in the ruins of Myth Drannor a scratching can be heard. Slow, rhythmic, and constant, the scratching sounds like an animal or beast clawing at a tree trunk. The demons and other denizens of the corrupted ruins pay no attention as a low mound of earth begins to shift. Suddenly, there is a cracking sound, as if wood were being broken and then a skeletal hand breaches the surface. Pulling itself out of the barrow, the skeletal form of a long dead moon elf drags its bones out of the earth. A low moaning escapes the thing as it rises and begins to lurch forward. Something has awakened, and its wrath will be terrible.

A Farewell

With a final stroke of his pen, Kineada signed his missive to the Joybringers, and quickly glanced over what he had written. For one so glib of tongue, it was a decidedly short message, thanking the organization for its hospitality, and stating that if they ever had need of his services in the future, merely contact the wu jen and he would be happy to lend his assistance. Kineada rolled up the parchment and pressed one of his magical rings against it, sealing it with his dragon symbol. Calling for a page to collect the letter, he instructed the boy to pass it along to whoever passed for leader of the Joybringers these days. After casually strapping his blade sheathes behind his back, for Kineada didn't anticipate any sort of martial activity this fine day, he set about gathering his meager belongings from about the room. Once the items were stashed away into his Bag of Holding, Kineada once again turned to regard the three items still remaining on his desk. A pendant of a moon, surrounded by twelve bluish-white stars, an ornate wooden staff colored a deep shade of royal purple, and a red, silken sash, all recently delivered to him via mysterious circumstances, and all that remained unpacked. Kineada rubbed his chin, and regarded each item intently. He was fairly certain the items had been delivered by divine providence, all showing up on his desk overnight as he was asleep. Of their source, he was certain. None other than the Goddess Sune. Yet as for their meaning, he had no clue. Indeed, it was odd for Sune to be so indirect in her approach. Shrugging his shoulders, and heaving one more heavy sigh, Kineada gathered up the three items, and placed them into his magical bag as well. With one more glance around the now empty room, Kineada proceeded with the incantation that would whisk him away from the hall, and set him on his latest journey.

Temple of the Brawler

Greetings mortals.

Here me now! I am Kord, your God of athletics, sports, brawling, strength and courage. In my time of need, I require an outlawed temple to be erected far from any form of government land or law.  I require worshipers to construct in secret, a Temple to the Brawler in my honor, which would see outlawed fighting thrive and gather more and more  support in the days to come. Rewards may be given, battles may be tipped in your favor, should you undertake my offer to follow, and build. Should such a temple be founded, great battles and victories will await those who choose to follow their liege. First off, the finding of such a land. Find me the land, where you believe my Temple would flourish, and then worship me on that land. Worship me by speaking your word to me, and I will answer.

Grab your weapon, and prepare for battle. Grab your fear, and harness its power. Take yourself, and kneel to me, and great battles will await...

Kord, the Brawler.

An Epiphany

A single beam of sunlight crept its way through the small, high window of Kineada's bedchambers, rousing the ancient wu jen from his light slumber. What was once an easy task for the mage, simply getting out of bed to face the day, increasingly was becoming a chore, and one he did not look forward to. Swinging his legs off the side of his bed, Kineada slowly lifted his tired arms over his head, brushing his trusty katana and wakizashi hanging from the near bedpost, always at the ready, even in the warm confines of the Joybringer hall. The irony of this caused Kineada to chuckle inwardly, but then take on a more serious demeanor, as he realized perhaps this was the very cause of his current malaise. Being a member of the Joybringers, despite them being a pleasant enough group of people, was leaving a feeling of disenchantment within the mage, a persistent, gnawing feeling that perhaps he hadn't found the right new "home" since the capricious Apostles of Sune dispersed to spread the word of their Goddess to a wider and more far-reaching number of civilizations unfamiliar with the fiery haired diety. How fortunate, Kineada mused to himself, that as he was coming to terms with these feelings within his inner being, that several missives to him had recently arrived. Glancing across the room to his desk, Kineada again chuckled, knowing full well this was no coincidence. His Goddess was anything but subtle, and Kineada could see the hand of Sune in the three objects now resting on his otherwise empty desk. Donning his kimono, Kineada crossed the room to sit at his desk, pulling a blank scroll and writing pen from the desk drawer, and brushing the objects to the side. With a sigh, he took the pen to the parchment and began a letter to the Joybringers that had been a long time coming...

Temple of the Brawler

Greetings mortals.

Here me now! I am Kord, your God of athletics, sports, brawling, strength and courage. In my time of need, I require an outlawed temple to be erected far from any form of government land or law. I require worshipers to construct in secret, a Temple to the Brawler in my honor, which would see outlawed fighting thrive and gather more and more support in the days to come. Rewards may be given, battles may be tipped in your favor, should you undertake my offer to follow, and build. Should such a temple be founded, great battles and victories will await those who choose to follow their liege. First off, the finding of such a land. Find me the land, where you believe my Temple would flourish, and then worship me on that land. Worship me by speaking your word to me, and I will answer.

Grab your weapon, and prepare for battle. Grab your fear, and harness its power. Take yourself, and kneel to me, and great battles will await...

Kord, the Brawler.

The Clue

The thrall's neck snapped back with ferocious force. A small snap was heard seconds before a red crescent moon of a laceration appeared across his neck spewing blood in rhythmic torrents onto the cracked roadway. The thrall's silent screams came as mere sighs through his severed windpipe as a multitude of red slashes appeared across his body from some invisible force. And then as soon as it had started, it ended. The thrall's lifeless corpse slumped into the dark streets of Market Square, blood forming swiftly in a large pool before the fountain. The pool's crimson reflection  gave way to a hunched figure silently slipping through the opposite end of the Square approaching the fountain. Covered in fresh sprays of blood, the stooped figure brushed back a lock of dirty, matted hair. His blood red eyes paid no mind the mutilated body as he passed it, kneeling before the pooled blood at the base of the fountain. He dipped his hands into the fluid so warm it nearly steamed in the chilled fall air, the feeling eliciting from him a snarl as if from a wild animal. Swiftly... Deftly... Furiously he worked. Smearing blood upon the base of the fountain like a madman, he worked with the tenacious force of a starving animal feeding. His hands moved smoothly along the fountain's walls, stopping only here and there to soak his hands in more blood below. Finally he stood, the thrall's blood streaming in rivulettes down his arms. Snarling again in satisfaction, he stalked from the fountain and into the night, leaving behind him the carnage of his kill and the crude mural of a totem next to a river painted red upon the side of the fountain.

Awakening

There it was again, that scratching feeling in my eyes. Opening them is worse. I close them again and wipe a hand across my face. Shards of rubble fall from my skin, I rub my fingertips together, it does not crumble.  Concrete. I drop my hand to my side and feel around me, a few books, some parchment, and large blocks of rock. I remember now, the lower catacombs of the tower where I was studying? Had I misfired that badly? Drawing in a slow breath I cast the spell that would teleport me back to the Church of Destruction.  Nothing Happened. Clasping the insignia I wore I used the magical telepathic link to speak to my brethren, before I had finished, my words had died off, there was no point, the link did not work.  The church was gone. It was time to determine who was left, who was in control, and just what exactly had happened.  But first, to rub this crap out of my eyes!

To be continued.