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Toxic King
Wasteland Wizard
- Joined
- Mar 14, 2025
- Location
- Chernobyl
I find myself creating all these big, complicated worlds full of fantasy, whimsy and grandiose story telling and as an excercise I want to share them in hopes someone appreciates them. English is not my first language, I self-taught myself a lot of it and I like flowery language despite my writing most often falling into the "robotic action-being-stated" style because I'm emotionally hermetically sealed off so expect it to not be everyone's cup of tea. I dislike writing pointless drama or very "humane" interactions and I like dialogue even less, as I'm not a very talkative person, I'd rather listen. At least those are the flaws I see in myself and my writing style, I much rather have introspection (or epic long-winded speeches, preferably the militaristic kind), deeper themes and allow the environment and divine symbolism to do the thingy instead of a gripping relation between two characters. Soap operas can go fuck themselves, I'd rather have a philosophical dissertation disguised as two characters chatting. Call me Tolkienesque, I'm certainly no king-of-realistic-conversation Quentin Tarantino. That being said, if you like anything that I post here, I'd be happy to know as I could use a pat on the back or something, I'm a very isolated guy and if my writing can resonate with somebody I'll be overjoyed. And I will also shamelessly use this to pluck writing samples in case I'm looking for more RP which I doubt will be the case because nobody seems to match my freak but that's my own issue and I already ranted enough. So without further ado enjoy... my stupid stilly stories!
The words, simple yet clear, moved all the men, who could now see clearly and found their resolve reignited like a flame. Their joy, sorrow and determination shared, they begged the Sage if they could do anything to thank him for his help, and the shapeless being was as honest as he could be. "The only recompense I require is fire. Set this accursed place to flame and let me return to mother Gaia. I once pursued wisdom far beyond mortality and in my foolishness I ended becoming this... abomination. I was blinded by my desire and could not see the price I'd pay for my own wishes. I am tired of being an example, existence in this realm of reality is a punishment. Now that I have helped you I want out, and maybe one day, if he wills it, I will return to you, and will be happy with the simplest things in life, such as tending the land and having kids. That is all I ask." and of course, the five men granted the sage his wish, and the library burned like an oven with a powerful fire spell, as the sage could no longer spellcast due to his deformed body. He was brought once more into God's loving embrace, and the men continued their journey with renewed hope and friendship, and even Erlian allowed himself to look back at the library with a smile. "I will not linger. I will keep on fighting. I will carry your will within me, and roam free as long as he allows me to."
QUEST FOR KNOWLEDGE
The visage of the ancient royal library perched atop the Dahlovian hills, like some sort of nesting great hippogriff made out of marble and turquoise stone was even more grand than the old fairy tales that Erlian was told as a child, but now that the party had left the dimly lit halls of the dwarven king and the nightmarish Hrethian Forest, it had become a comforting sight, as if it's distant gleaming towers spoke of great hospitality that they would find within. This, of course, gave the men renewd strength to push through, as all that separated them from the implied warmth of the library was a descending hill that eventually would ramp upwards, the gap between the inclinations forming a vast plain of shimmering green grass. Ommerin, wanting to see the artistry of the jewels carved in the library's walls, was oddly enthusiastic and far different from the grumpy little dwarf that he had been prior to this discovery; Kyzafel the elf seemed to glide naturally under that fresh spring breeze, his elven grace surpassing the sudden spurt of energy that his dwarven friend had displayed. Brünvir however saw little value in the books, and much like Priel, he was much more interested in the man they all sought in the library.
The norse, much more calmer in his demeanor, agreed to help the aged wizard walk there at his own pace, and with an understanding look, allowed his young protegé to go with the other two men, who now seemed to compete to see who could reach the library first. Erlian tried to join them, but he remembered the lesson Brünvir told him about not exhausting himself in case danger appeared at the most inoportune of moments. Truth be told, it was him, the chosen one, who most dearly required the advice of the Grand Sage. The stories about Ulegak, the Grand Sage, dated back to before his birth, as he was said to be the wisest of sages, the most divine of mortal men, and one that managed to tap into the secrets of the universe and defies his own mortality by making a fool of the grim reaper. He was a man that everyone spoke of, yet nobody had seen in many centuries.
After the pillaging of his village by the savage orcs, Erlian needed answers, guidance, a divine hand to guide his path beyond that of prophecy, a prophecy that had given him great pain and sorrow and had only made him an above average swordfighter. Brünvir was more experienced, larger and far more dangerous, plus he was a true leader of men. Priel was elderly, frailer with each passing day, yet he was also a sage of great knowledge and magical power. Ommerin was a dwarven master blacksmith and like any dwarf, knew how to fight with tooth and nail, and was as sturdy as a dwarf could get. Kyzafel was elegant, analytic and borderline angelical in his demeanor and tactical prowess and agility, and he never missed a shot. Meanwhile, Erlian was nothing more than a big and strong farm boy with lofty dreams of becoming a knight, and the unberable curse of an oracle that claimed he was destined for great things.
Getting up the hill was not easy, as Erlian recalled every single tavern brawl, every bruise suffered and wound sustained and was terribly happy to remain alive, yet it had been that string of struggles that had eroded at his soul and made him a man now. The posh elf, the intimidating northerner, the elderly wizard and the moody dwarf were now his trusted allies and friends, and he could only hope that, to them, he was something more than just a lost village boy.
It was upon the ivory gates that Erlian regained his senses, and was mesmerized by the doors that were at least twenty times his own size. There were no signs of a keyhole or any system to open the gates, and Priel had to investigate the cold stone surface of pure white to try and discern a way to open a passage inside. Ancient incantations came to the old man's lips and the longer he went on and on, the more the party's doubts began to fester once more, as they all feared their wizard was about to reach a senile downfall. The original distrust had lingered, never fully disappearing, for the men were all of different races and their gods and customs, their upbringings were vastly different and while cooperation helped, the need they all had for the answers held within the library could really bring forth the worst in all of them if things were to go south.
Thankfully for the entire group, the sole proprietor of that space had felt their arrival and an unantural glow preceeded the opening of the doors, that silently retreated inwards before parting in opposite directions, almost sinking into the building itself as if they were nothing but teeth in the mouth of a giant creature. What they saw was a deep dark, one that hadn't seen light in many years, and the smell that came next almost brought them to their knees. It was foul, demonic, and absolutely rotten, as if centuries of decadence had befallen the sanctuar yof knowledge. Such was the odor that all of them drew their weapons before heading inside, and when they did, the horrifying spectacle continued.
Torn pages littered the mosaic floors of the library, the shelves were in complete disarray as if someone had trashed the place and there were skeletons everywhere: some where on top of piles of disorganized, rotten books, others seemed to have been squished like bugs under tons and tons of books, and the sounds of rats scurrying away in the distance from the piles of unclear urinated floors was fully recognizable. As the outraged group of adventurers proceeded, more and more of the library was unveiled, as the candles in the place seemingly ignited once more to illuminate the way and reveal even more distubing sights. The shelves eventually seemed to be used as coffins, burial grounds, and what should've been the sage's servants were now unrecognizable bones scattered everywhere.
Priel spoke, due to sheer concern: "Dost thou lieth in this here sanctum, o Grand Sage Ulegak? What cruel fate has befallen a fellow member of the order? Hath the wind crystal been taken by the enemy?" but his words were not answered, instead, a noise caught their attention; a heart beat, as intense as the ground itself and coming from below. Cicling around the many isles of books, the group reluctantly climbed down a wooden ladder to the lower levels, where the horrors were even worse than above.
They all had to resort to using their arms to cover their mouths and noses from the smell, and yet, when they saw the one responsible for that heartbeat, they all shared a moment in awe and despair. Before their eyes was a shapeless mound of flesh, bloated meat that was no longer recognizable as human, and yet it seemed to pulsate like a beating heart or a lung breathing. It was impossible to determine where it was it's face, arms or legs, but it had developed tentacle-like appendages that seemed to move books around the shelves without any rhyme or reason, as the same books would be placed, then grabbed again and placed somewhere else entirely different before going back to the first location and repeating on loop. The sage that they had longed to find was completely insane, yet they still had doubts that the formless being was actually as brilliant as was claimed. Just like how a fisher has to think that the rulers know what their are doing, they all had to hope that there was a method to the creature's madness.
With words hard to escape their lips, the men shared a concerned glare, and decided to go straight to the point, with each one of them formulating their questions to the being that allegedly knew everything in the world that could be known. Brünvir went first: "If thy judgement is guided by Orlin himself, then let me this know: who is the man that keeps uniting the witch covens and how do I find him so that his head can be from his shoulders departed?" the dwarf followed: "You know much, yes? Then pray do tell where the rarest of gems do rest inside the mountain so that my clan may rise once more?" and the elf went right after him: "The woodland creatures speak of a poison much older than even my kin, and yet not even the grey fountain has answers as to what is injuring the forest. What is this sickness that brings the land itslef to it's knees and how is it stopped?" and finally, a sadenned Erlian asked: "O Grand Sage... paragon of wisdom most secretly kept... nothing remains of my place of birth or my people and a great anger ails me. What must I do with it? How do I live up to the prophecy that the witch gave me?" but they were met with a concerning silence. The faceless being, whose enormous body had engulfed many shelves and was as gross to look at as an open and heavily infected wound, seemed to refuse answering, to the point where the wizard and the dwarf began hitting it in anger, causing the other two men to try and stop, all while Erlian's face became it's own tragedy, as realization began to sink in. The journey, rendered pointless by embelished tales of prophecy, all the monsters slain, miles walked and words shared with those men that were suddenly becoming strangers once more... he felt the weight of the world upon his shoulders once more. That's when, a voice resonated in their minds at the same time. The sage was speaking after ages of silence.
"The man you seek, norsemen, is none other than Utheric the Vile, who did not perish during the Karvnian War, many winters ago. He has used many unholy potions to warp the mind of unhappy maidens and has created a demonic cabal of wretched men and women that fornicate with animals and contaminate the land with their blasphemy. You are to head towards Runnilad's Keep far in the Northeast for he sits in the forgotten throne of the early kings, there you must kill him and his transgressions will come to an end. To you, master blacksmith, I can't answer fully. If fortune is what you seek, stick to gold and diamonds and don't let anybody devalue your treasures, because the greatest treasure that the mountain has is it's people, your kin. Ah yes, the plight of the elves, how long has it been known to me, yet how stubborn your people are about it. Truth is, the land suffers from it since the primordial era, and it works in cycles. You must allow the land to die slowly, for I can assure you, unlike most of us, it will be reborn again. You simply happen to live in an era where you get to witness the finality of one cycle of life. You have not asked me anything, my fellow sage, yet I know what your heart desires. Sadly, you won't find what you want. That time passed and you did nothing, my friend, so now you're at the crossroads of letting the darkness rot your heart from the inside or try and follow a path that will lead you to looking exactly like me. Let me advise you against it. And you... oh noble Erlian. Yours is a situation most uncommon. Bereft of anything to tie you down yet hopeful that you can fix everything. Will you allow prophecy to lead you astray or will you claim your own destiny? You certainly are now a way better fighter than you were. I can't see you, but I feel your heart, your soul... you are alone, feel alone, miserable, misunderstood, as if you can't make the words that your heart feels so everybody thinks your struggle is far lesser than it actually is. Ain't that the greatest gift? Why waste time crying and lamenting a past that you can no longer hold when you could sweat and suffer until you become the man you want to be? Don't trust other advice than this: kings are made out of strife and of those that persevere. So fight. Fight hard, until you become more than a man, an ideal, something to strive towards. Look how far you've come. Think of the next mountain you will climb. Think about the fact that you're now face to face with a being you once thought a myth. Let that thought guide you, and you will surely become a myth of your own."
The visage of the ancient royal library perched atop the Dahlovian hills, like some sort of nesting great hippogriff made out of marble and turquoise stone was even more grand than the old fairy tales that Erlian was told as a child, but now that the party had left the dimly lit halls of the dwarven king and the nightmarish Hrethian Forest, it had become a comforting sight, as if it's distant gleaming towers spoke of great hospitality that they would find within. This, of course, gave the men renewd strength to push through, as all that separated them from the implied warmth of the library was a descending hill that eventually would ramp upwards, the gap between the inclinations forming a vast plain of shimmering green grass. Ommerin, wanting to see the artistry of the jewels carved in the library's walls, was oddly enthusiastic and far different from the grumpy little dwarf that he had been prior to this discovery; Kyzafel the elf seemed to glide naturally under that fresh spring breeze, his elven grace surpassing the sudden spurt of energy that his dwarven friend had displayed. Brünvir however saw little value in the books, and much like Priel, he was much more interested in the man they all sought in the library.
The norse, much more calmer in his demeanor, agreed to help the aged wizard walk there at his own pace, and with an understanding look, allowed his young protegé to go with the other two men, who now seemed to compete to see who could reach the library first. Erlian tried to join them, but he remembered the lesson Brünvir told him about not exhausting himself in case danger appeared at the most inoportune of moments. Truth be told, it was him, the chosen one, who most dearly required the advice of the Grand Sage. The stories about Ulegak, the Grand Sage, dated back to before his birth, as he was said to be the wisest of sages, the most divine of mortal men, and one that managed to tap into the secrets of the universe and defies his own mortality by making a fool of the grim reaper. He was a man that everyone spoke of, yet nobody had seen in many centuries.
After the pillaging of his village by the savage orcs, Erlian needed answers, guidance, a divine hand to guide his path beyond that of prophecy, a prophecy that had given him great pain and sorrow and had only made him an above average swordfighter. Brünvir was more experienced, larger and far more dangerous, plus he was a true leader of men. Priel was elderly, frailer with each passing day, yet he was also a sage of great knowledge and magical power. Ommerin was a dwarven master blacksmith and like any dwarf, knew how to fight with tooth and nail, and was as sturdy as a dwarf could get. Kyzafel was elegant, analytic and borderline angelical in his demeanor and tactical prowess and agility, and he never missed a shot. Meanwhile, Erlian was nothing more than a big and strong farm boy with lofty dreams of becoming a knight, and the unberable curse of an oracle that claimed he was destined for great things.
Getting up the hill was not easy, as Erlian recalled every single tavern brawl, every bruise suffered and wound sustained and was terribly happy to remain alive, yet it had been that string of struggles that had eroded at his soul and made him a man now. The posh elf, the intimidating northerner, the elderly wizard and the moody dwarf were now his trusted allies and friends, and he could only hope that, to them, he was something more than just a lost village boy.
It was upon the ivory gates that Erlian regained his senses, and was mesmerized by the doors that were at least twenty times his own size. There were no signs of a keyhole or any system to open the gates, and Priel had to investigate the cold stone surface of pure white to try and discern a way to open a passage inside. Ancient incantations came to the old man's lips and the longer he went on and on, the more the party's doubts began to fester once more, as they all feared their wizard was about to reach a senile downfall. The original distrust had lingered, never fully disappearing, for the men were all of different races and their gods and customs, their upbringings were vastly different and while cooperation helped, the need they all had for the answers held within the library could really bring forth the worst in all of them if things were to go south.
Thankfully for the entire group, the sole proprietor of that space had felt their arrival and an unantural glow preceeded the opening of the doors, that silently retreated inwards before parting in opposite directions, almost sinking into the building itself as if they were nothing but teeth in the mouth of a giant creature. What they saw was a deep dark, one that hadn't seen light in many years, and the smell that came next almost brought them to their knees. It was foul, demonic, and absolutely rotten, as if centuries of decadence had befallen the sanctuar yof knowledge. Such was the odor that all of them drew their weapons before heading inside, and when they did, the horrifying spectacle continued.
Torn pages littered the mosaic floors of the library, the shelves were in complete disarray as if someone had trashed the place and there were skeletons everywhere: some where on top of piles of disorganized, rotten books, others seemed to have been squished like bugs under tons and tons of books, and the sounds of rats scurrying away in the distance from the piles of unclear urinated floors was fully recognizable. As the outraged group of adventurers proceeded, more and more of the library was unveiled, as the candles in the place seemingly ignited once more to illuminate the way and reveal even more distubing sights. The shelves eventually seemed to be used as coffins, burial grounds, and what should've been the sage's servants were now unrecognizable bones scattered everywhere.
Priel spoke, due to sheer concern: "Dost thou lieth in this here sanctum, o Grand Sage Ulegak? What cruel fate has befallen a fellow member of the order? Hath the wind crystal been taken by the enemy?" but his words were not answered, instead, a noise caught their attention; a heart beat, as intense as the ground itself and coming from below. Cicling around the many isles of books, the group reluctantly climbed down a wooden ladder to the lower levels, where the horrors were even worse than above.
They all had to resort to using their arms to cover their mouths and noses from the smell, and yet, when they saw the one responsible for that heartbeat, they all shared a moment in awe and despair. Before their eyes was a shapeless mound of flesh, bloated meat that was no longer recognizable as human, and yet it seemed to pulsate like a beating heart or a lung breathing. It was impossible to determine where it was it's face, arms or legs, but it had developed tentacle-like appendages that seemed to move books around the shelves without any rhyme or reason, as the same books would be placed, then grabbed again and placed somewhere else entirely different before going back to the first location and repeating on loop. The sage that they had longed to find was completely insane, yet they still had doubts that the formless being was actually as brilliant as was claimed. Just like how a fisher has to think that the rulers know what their are doing, they all had to hope that there was a method to the creature's madness.
With words hard to escape their lips, the men shared a concerned glare, and decided to go straight to the point, with each one of them formulating their questions to the being that allegedly knew everything in the world that could be known. Brünvir went first: "If thy judgement is guided by Orlin himself, then let me this know: who is the man that keeps uniting the witch covens and how do I find him so that his head can be from his shoulders departed?" the dwarf followed: "You know much, yes? Then pray do tell where the rarest of gems do rest inside the mountain so that my clan may rise once more?" and the elf went right after him: "The woodland creatures speak of a poison much older than even my kin, and yet not even the grey fountain has answers as to what is injuring the forest. What is this sickness that brings the land itslef to it's knees and how is it stopped?" and finally, a sadenned Erlian asked: "O Grand Sage... paragon of wisdom most secretly kept... nothing remains of my place of birth or my people and a great anger ails me. What must I do with it? How do I live up to the prophecy that the witch gave me?" but they were met with a concerning silence. The faceless being, whose enormous body had engulfed many shelves and was as gross to look at as an open and heavily infected wound, seemed to refuse answering, to the point where the wizard and the dwarf began hitting it in anger, causing the other two men to try and stop, all while Erlian's face became it's own tragedy, as realization began to sink in. The journey, rendered pointless by embelished tales of prophecy, all the monsters slain, miles walked and words shared with those men that were suddenly becoming strangers once more... he felt the weight of the world upon his shoulders once more. That's when, a voice resonated in their minds at the same time. The sage was speaking after ages of silence.
"The man you seek, norsemen, is none other than Utheric the Vile, who did not perish during the Karvnian War, many winters ago. He has used many unholy potions to warp the mind of unhappy maidens and has created a demonic cabal of wretched men and women that fornicate with animals and contaminate the land with their blasphemy. You are to head towards Runnilad's Keep far in the Northeast for he sits in the forgotten throne of the early kings, there you must kill him and his transgressions will come to an end. To you, master blacksmith, I can't answer fully. If fortune is what you seek, stick to gold and diamonds and don't let anybody devalue your treasures, because the greatest treasure that the mountain has is it's people, your kin. Ah yes, the plight of the elves, how long has it been known to me, yet how stubborn your people are about it. Truth is, the land suffers from it since the primordial era, and it works in cycles. You must allow the land to die slowly, for I can assure you, unlike most of us, it will be reborn again. You simply happen to live in an era where you get to witness the finality of one cycle of life. You have not asked me anything, my fellow sage, yet I know what your heart desires. Sadly, you won't find what you want. That time passed and you did nothing, my friend, so now you're at the crossroads of letting the darkness rot your heart from the inside or try and follow a path that will lead you to looking exactly like me. Let me advise you against it. And you... oh noble Erlian. Yours is a situation most uncommon. Bereft of anything to tie you down yet hopeful that you can fix everything. Will you allow prophecy to lead you astray or will you claim your own destiny? You certainly are now a way better fighter than you were. I can't see you, but I feel your heart, your soul... you are alone, feel alone, miserable, misunderstood, as if you can't make the words that your heart feels so everybody thinks your struggle is far lesser than it actually is. Ain't that the greatest gift? Why waste time crying and lamenting a past that you can no longer hold when you could sweat and suffer until you become the man you want to be? Don't trust other advice than this: kings are made out of strife and of those that persevere. So fight. Fight hard, until you become more than a man, an ideal, something to strive towards. Look how far you've come. Think of the next mountain you will climb. Think about the fact that you're now face to face with a being you once thought a myth. Let that thought guide you, and you will surely become a myth of your own."
The words, simple yet clear, moved all the men, who could now see clearly and found their resolve reignited like a flame. Their joy, sorrow and determination shared, they begged the Sage if they could do anything to thank him for his help, and the shapeless being was as honest as he could be. "The only recompense I require is fire. Set this accursed place to flame and let me return to mother Gaia. I once pursued wisdom far beyond mortality and in my foolishness I ended becoming this... abomination. I was blinded by my desire and could not see the price I'd pay for my own wishes. I am tired of being an example, existence in this realm of reality is a punishment. Now that I have helped you I want out, and maybe one day, if he wills it, I will return to you, and will be happy with the simplest things in life, such as tending the land and having kids. That is all I ask." and of course, the five men granted the sage his wish, and the library burned like an oven with a powerful fire spell, as the sage could no longer spellcast due to his deformed body. He was brought once more into God's loving embrace, and the men continued their journey with renewed hope and friendship, and even Erlian allowed himself to look back at the library with a smile. "I will not linger. I will keep on fighting. I will carry your will within me, and roam free as long as he allows me to."