Post by Skaar il'Wulfsiger on Apr 20, 2008 23:34:37 GMT -5
((I thought I'd go ahead and post this here since I know a few of you, my friends in Mittelmarch, are interested to know just what the heck this crazy guy with the weird costumes and goggles is all about. So I'm reposting this stuff from the NS boards for your enjoyment.))
Vae Victus!
The Romans know well these words of the great warlord of Gaul, recorded by Livy in Ab Urbe Condita. The words are harsh, bitter -- much like the world which they described. "Woe to the Vanquished!" Those who have been conquered in this world have no rights, and thus must live in woe, for their vanquishers had control of life and death; the victors were as gods to the defeated.
Indeed, such it had been with young Malek Grigori. He truly understood the meaning of these words, as he was now very much living a life of woe. Conquered by his lust for security and fraternity, the Northman had been conquered by fate itself -- no rights; even life and death were subject to destiny now. Wandering the world as a nomad, he struggled with the hardships of the road. One day he defended his honor, only then to give up that honor the next out of necessity for survival. Even more woeful than ever, though, was today, for he now found himself crawling through the desert -- half alive, half delerious. Delerious, he thought, for it was today that he smiled for the first time since the uprising which slew his family. He smiled now in the face of his greated hardship, because he knew that he would finally die alone in this wasteland. He would die, and he feared it not; he welcomed it, for he found an inner peace within the thought of death which he could not explain had there been anyone there to listen. His consciousness faded off into a haze of light and strange visions.
After the young wandering prince, son of the late Thukar, Baron of Darkhaven Stronghold opened his eyes again, he believed he had died and gone to the darkest lands of the Underworld. Strange cloaked figures hovered over him. Surely they were evil spirits come to torment him for all eternity. Malek still feared not; indeed, he welcomed it. Should his suffering continue until the end of Time itself, at least he knew his destiny; nothing had changed. He would remain conquered by fate, subject to endless woe. Eventually, however, his vision came into focus and he saw the strange men with their even stranger, knowing faces who hovered over him. He also saw the crest they bore upon their banners, cloaks, jewelry, armors, shields...the crest of an elevenfold cross.
These men, he learned, were known as the Mystic Brotherhood of the Watchers, and had rescued him from the desert, taking them to a secluded place to nurse him back to health. The Brotherhood, he also learned, had secretly governed over many events happening in the world since nearly the beginning of recorded history. They had power; science was on their side. What most considered magic they had broken down into its base parts and reconstructed into powerful new technologies the world had never dreamed of. The Brotherhood had arranged the fall of the once influential baron, for Thukar had been initiated among their lot but had become a threat to their secrecy. He had been thrown from his place of power, murdered by the mobs, all to preserve the integrity of their order...and for a means of testing the mettle of his son, Malek. He had survived the test, barely, and attained a shread of illumination when faced with loss, adversity, survival, fear, and even death itself. They were quite pleased with young prince Malek.
His trials now complete, he was given the option to remain with them; to become initiated in their secrets, fight their battles, seek the greater Mysteries, and eventually replace his deceased and blundering father. His other option was to have his memory erased -- abandon it all and wander the world again, no family, no home, no purpose.
Torn between the thought of vengence for his family, and the opportunity these men offered, he took some time to decide. Coming to the deduction that the end justified the means, yet still bitter over the situation and untrustworthy of these men, he reluctantly accepted their offer. Malek was sent to the Northern Steppes to begin his work. He was to pass himself off as an assassin for hire, learning what he could of another mysterious group -- the Legion of Dragoons.
Malek nodded, and began his long and fateful journey to the Land Between the Lands...
Vae Victus!
The Romans know well these words of the great warlord of Gaul, recorded by Livy in Ab Urbe Condita. The words are harsh, bitter -- much like the world which they described. "Woe to the Vanquished!" Those who have been conquered in this world have no rights, and thus must live in woe, for their vanquishers had control of life and death; the victors were as gods to the defeated.
Indeed, such it had been with young Malek Grigori. He truly understood the meaning of these words, as he was now very much living a life of woe. Conquered by his lust for security and fraternity, the Northman had been conquered by fate itself -- no rights; even life and death were subject to destiny now. Wandering the world as a nomad, he struggled with the hardships of the road. One day he defended his honor, only then to give up that honor the next out of necessity for survival. Even more woeful than ever, though, was today, for he now found himself crawling through the desert -- half alive, half delerious. Delerious, he thought, for it was today that he smiled for the first time since the uprising which slew his family. He smiled now in the face of his greated hardship, because he knew that he would finally die alone in this wasteland. He would die, and he feared it not; he welcomed it, for he found an inner peace within the thought of death which he could not explain had there been anyone there to listen. His consciousness faded off into a haze of light and strange visions.
After the young wandering prince, son of the late Thukar, Baron of Darkhaven Stronghold opened his eyes again, he believed he had died and gone to the darkest lands of the Underworld. Strange cloaked figures hovered over him. Surely they were evil spirits come to torment him for all eternity. Malek still feared not; indeed, he welcomed it. Should his suffering continue until the end of Time itself, at least he knew his destiny; nothing had changed. He would remain conquered by fate, subject to endless woe. Eventually, however, his vision came into focus and he saw the strange men with their even stranger, knowing faces who hovered over him. He also saw the crest they bore upon their banners, cloaks, jewelry, armors, shields...the crest of an elevenfold cross.
These men, he learned, were known as the Mystic Brotherhood of the Watchers, and had rescued him from the desert, taking them to a secluded place to nurse him back to health. The Brotherhood, he also learned, had secretly governed over many events happening in the world since nearly the beginning of recorded history. They had power; science was on their side. What most considered magic they had broken down into its base parts and reconstructed into powerful new technologies the world had never dreamed of. The Brotherhood had arranged the fall of the once influential baron, for Thukar had been initiated among their lot but had become a threat to their secrecy. He had been thrown from his place of power, murdered by the mobs, all to preserve the integrity of their order...and for a means of testing the mettle of his son, Malek. He had survived the test, barely, and attained a shread of illumination when faced with loss, adversity, survival, fear, and even death itself. They were quite pleased with young prince Malek.
His trials now complete, he was given the option to remain with them; to become initiated in their secrets, fight their battles, seek the greater Mysteries, and eventually replace his deceased and blundering father. His other option was to have his memory erased -- abandon it all and wander the world again, no family, no home, no purpose.
Torn between the thought of vengence for his family, and the opportunity these men offered, he took some time to decide. Coming to the deduction that the end justified the means, yet still bitter over the situation and untrustworthy of these men, he reluctantly accepted their offer. Malek was sent to the Northern Steppes to begin his work. He was to pass himself off as an assassin for hire, learning what he could of another mysterious group -- the Legion of Dragoons.
Malek nodded, and began his long and fateful journey to the Land Between the Lands...
