An RP in the World of Avernum

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AuthorTopic: An RP in the World of Avernum
Member # 2242
Profile #301
Major Delaris continued his duties in the Solarian army. It was a time of peace however, so few problems ever arose. Occasionally a group of bandits or pirates would rise up only to be disbanded and destroyed again.
As the years went by he worked his way up the ranks of the army, eventually becoming a respected general.
He eventually settled down, married, and had several kids. All of them persued a career in the military. When he died, Kevin did not regret anything, just content.

OOC: A Great Ending Drakefyre for a overall great RP.

"He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster... when you gaze long into the abyss the abyss also gazes back into you."
-Friedrich Nietzsche
Posts: 469 | Registered: Thursday, November 14 2002 08:00
Shock Trooper
Member # 3022
Profile #302
So what are we to say of Linda?

Her actions seemed to influence so much of the Great Imperial Civil War, but viewed from another direction, she seemed to have done nothing at all.

She led no army to victory, and there was no glory for her. Her body was never found in the bloodbath at Coutharan Downs. Official imperial history airbrushed her completely out of the picture - she was a figure too dangerous to be allowed to persist.

But would the world be the same without her? Did not her brief candle set something alight?

Without her, would Sol have been the just Emperor he became? Perhaps she was a warning to us all, a reminder of our own mortality. A voice of caution, a conscience we lacked. Could it have been not just political cunning but shame that made him abandon his birthname, to become not Sol but Ironclad?

Without her, would our culture be as bright? Hawthorne attempted to remove the diversity of the Empire, but he was wrong. Perhaps Linda was a muse of sorts, her tragic tale one that inspires. Without failure, are we truly whole?

Perhaps her life had no meaning at all. Perhaps it was just another tale of madness, in a forgotten past. But perhaps something of Linda - the fool, the traitor and finally the patriot lives in us all. Perhaps she won after all, and we are living in her dream.

This book will never be read. The generations will never remember Linda. It will be hidden away, sealed in the deepest vault. But it will be kept secret not in shame, but as a treasure that we fear will flee from us, as the ages go by.

- Prazac, daughter of Hawthorne, of Ironclad, of Sol
Posts: 269 | Registered: Saturday, May 24 2003 07:00
Member # 517
Profile #303
When Warderson's army first arrived in Aizo, they were met in the recently renamed city Regina by the man Warderson had last known as Colonel Coris, but who was now styling himself Emperor of Aizo. To the immense surprise and disappointment of all involved, Warderson immediately declared fealty to his former deputy.

Their surprise was no less when, somewhat under a month later, Warderson disappeared. At the time, it was assumed that he was assinated. At least, assumed by all but a few...

What happened just under 5 months further on surprised only a few hundred men and women out of the whole continent of Aizo. Coris was one of those men.


The first Coris knew of it was when a guard rushed into his throne room to inform him of a vast army marching on his city. Rushing to the walls, he saw the majority of the continent's armed forces heading for Regina, led by a banner he recognised as Warderson's. Quickly rallying the city's garrison, he determined to make a stand rather than fleeing. Great was his surprise when the garrison opened the gates and cheered Warderson's triumphal entry. Fleeing to his palace, he commanded the one mage of his court to destroy Warderson. Instead, the mage summoned a barrier, trapping Coris in the centre of his throne room to await Warderson's arrival.

Jehan Sol never even recieved word of the Corisian revolt. He was surprised, though, at how long it had taken Warderson to establish proper intercontinental communications...


Let them eat cake!

Polaris Boards: The misc board's thriving, and there're plenty good RPs. Join now! H00rj!
Posts: 2314 | Registered: Tuesday, January 15 2002 08:00
Member # 464
Profile #304
Sam, a sailor of the SAFT, moved on. He was pretty much back where he began since the Falcon incident. The chapter in his life concerning his chase for the doomguard made him jump everytime someone called his attention. It had also turned him into a drinker. Fortunately for his health, a friend of his knew better and took action; gradually, he got off the alcoholism.

He kept up with the course of events concerning Pralgrad's search for an emperor until Sol the Benevolent turned out to be the chosen one. He learned of the death of the mage, whose name was Linda, and was quite surprised that it didn't matter to him anymore. The restlessness on the land has been quenched; there was no real need for anymore feelings caused by the war. This also led him to search for the whereabouts of his friend Gan, but his attempts were fruitless. He concluded that he must be elsewhere in Pralgrad.

Sam, a sailor of the SAFT, moved on.

You go girl!
All are lunatics, but he who can analyze his delusion is called a philosopher. - Ambrose Bierce
If at first you don't succeed, destroy all evidence that you tried.
Posts: 1158 | Registered: Monday, December 31 2001 08:00
Law Bringer
Member # 2984
Profile Homepage #305
A small, rainswept clearing. Battle had raged through here, as well as everywhere else. Bodies littered the grass, coloring the muddy ground red with blood. Heaps of bodies, humans and horses.

It all seemed to have ended. Here and everywhere, the dead lay thick.

And then, something stirred in the heap. A man was still alive. Short, greyish white hair, a bent old figure. He was not trying to get up.

Taron, unwounded through a miracle, was lying in the rain among the dead, weeping. Their last hope had ended. Before the battle had overtaken their small convoy, he had already heard the rumors of Ironclad's fateful end. Hugo, he learned, was dead as well, slain by Ironclad's bodyguard.

That left Sol. Taron sighed, trying not to think of it. Yet the thought intruded, seeming almost to jeer at Taron mockingly. All in vain. We might as well have never betrayed him. He looked at some of the dead soldiers' swords; one was sticking up point first from the ground, a long finger beckoning at him invitingly.

He hesitated, then turned away. That would be cowardice. And if he died a traitor, he did not want to die as a coward as well.

He turned around again. It was pointless to search for Linda's remains among all this carnage to bury her. They would never find her; and once the rain had rotted the flesh off their bones, no one here would be recognizable anyway. And in the end, it was only a body, not herself. And yet... he felt he should mark the place somehow. There was a tiny boulder lying here, beneath a tree. Taron tugged at it, but was surprised to find it could not be moved; it reached far deeper into the ground than was visible.

Magical carving was taught to first-years at any given school.


A traitor, yet not dishonored.

May this land see better days through you.

Then he pulled something out of the pack holding his potion and reagent supplies. Seeds. Ember flower. Traditionally reserved for the burial sites of the greatest wizards. He chuckled softly through his tears as he scattered them. She must certainly be the first apprentice to receive this honor.


As he walked through the rain, Taron knew what he had to do. The war was over, and soon, the scribes of the emperor would have edited and revised all the records so thoroughly that no one would remember history. Taron was determined to prevent that; even if the future generations would not be able to change their fate, they should at least know their past.

Someone was walking beside him as he went, he suddenly realized. He looked up with alarm; it was Ayin.

For a long while, neither of them spoke. Taron did not know if the mage was as downcast as he was, but if he was, he hid it well.

Ayin spoke.

'It would seem that we have thoroughly botched this up, what do you say?'

Taron was still too choked with tears to answer.

'Tell you what, I think it would be best for you to leave this country behind.'

'Run away?' Taron croaked, half indignantly.

'They will be searching for you all over Pralgrad. But I know a place where you can write your account in peace. That is what you wanted, is it not? There is nothing left for you here now.' And Ayin led him to where he had tethered two horses to a tree. He might have lost, but he was still determined to take on the airs of an omnipotent, omniscient wizard. Taron chuckled again. It seemed an unfitting sound for so bleak a situation, but Taron was relieved anyway. He could still smile, and did so. The rain seemed to slacken momentarily.


The journey South, over the landbridge, took them over a month, but it seemed like no time to Taron. The mage had told him that this was a wild place, still swarmed by monsters in this day and age. Yet they were able to make good progress without being attacked even once; Ayin's magic saw to that.

With no fights and no human settlements to distract them from their journey, there was nothing to do but to talk. They talked a lot during that journey.

Ayin told him of his own experiences; of his desperate attempts to control history and fate, and of his failures and successes. He also revealed to him things previously hidden to Taron. Taron learned about the last victories of the Solarans, the uniting of the Alliance army with the Populists and their defeat in spite of this unification. Ayin had lived for a long time, and he knew much of the previous happenings. It was enough, Taron realized, to fill thrice again as many scrolls as the knowledge he had already gathered. Ayin had failed to change history, but he had recorded it successfully.

There was still one detail nagging him. So all of a sudden, one day, Taron asked about Link Sullust. It had not been great news, of course, but the trick with the fake Doomguard had reached his ears nonetheless.

'You don't seem the type that would betray someone thus to kill him.'

To his surprise, Ayin took a time to answer. When he answered, Taron noticed for the first time that Ayin had been speaking in a far more down-to-earth way then he had been when they had first met.

'I'm not really what you see before you now. Leastways I haven't always been. You see me now as one resigned to the failure of his life's goal. When I was still in business, I was ruthless. I don't know whether I should be ashamed of that now, but I probably am either way. You realize that if two months ago you'd turned out to do something that'd cross my plans for that doomguard, I'd have killed you without so much as a blink.'

Taron shuddered, but was amazed at this transformation. What failure sometimes seems to make of us, he mused.


Nothing much remains to be told. They arrived at the Southwest corner of this great, unsettled continent that Ayin called Valorim after a few more days. When they reached the tip of the land, where it thrust into the sea, Taron saw a little hut standing on a small isle perhaps a hundred or so meters off shore.

'This is where we part, dear friend.' the mage said. 'I still have things to do in Pralgrad, despite this setback. I might visit occasionally, but don't count on it.

'You will find this hovel moderately habitable, and there's opportunity to gather, hunt or fish for your food here. There should also be sufficient writing equipment there. Don't worry about what'll happen to your work; I will come for it eventually to keep it safe.'

Taron crossed the shallow water alone on his horse.

How unreal all the past seemed. Only a year or so ago, he had been sitting on a small block of wood with a book on his lap in a Solaran fort. In a way, he had developed, Taron realized. Just a year had opened his eyes. Treason was often educational indeed. In another way, Taron realized, Linda's death had most certainly not been in vain. He was sitting here now, in freedom to write what he wanted, wasn't he, and not licking the boots of some petty emperor up North, right?

He smoothened the scroll on which he had already drawn, in large letters:

The Pralgradian Civil War.

Being an account of the period of the years 180 to 212, Imperial Era

Compiled by Taron Gregor Merallion, started on the third of Radiane in the year 212 IE, Southwest Valorim.

Taron dipped the quill in the inkwell, thought for a moment, and began to write.


OOC: That's my ending, I guess. The only detail it clashed with was Drakey's mentioning of Taron attending the coronation, which would be impossible under the circumstances.

Nasty trickster stalking the web! 406 victims! "
"It is as if everyone had lost their sense
Consigned themselves to downfall and decadence
And a wisp it is they have chosen as their beacon." Reinhard Mey.
The Encyclopædia Ermariana is growing. ;)
Posts: 8752 | Registered: Wednesday, May 14 2003 07:00
Shock Trooper
Member # 3022
Profile #306
OOC: Sol can get a lookalike. No one knows what Taron and Linda looked like, anyways. It is doubtful that he would allow people like Taron around where they can interfere.
Posts: 269 | Registered: Saturday, May 24 2003 07:00
Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire!
Member # 919
Profile #307
Kellen was no fool, he was no rebel; he swore himself into Warderson's service, thereby pledging to obey the orders of whichever Emperor his new master served. A few years and several assassination attempts later, Kellen had proven himself an amazingly good bodyguard; he bore the scars on his face and arms to prove it. He never forgot Gideon Ironclad, though - had he known that his old Emperor was still alive, still weilding the sword against the enemies of another man, he would have dropped everything, and turned the world upside down to find him.

There was a reason for this lack of knowledge. As Gideon Ironclad fell from his white horse, sapped of his strength by the loss of blood, he had caught a glimpse of Hugo's helmet. But not Hugo's face. Inside this battered helmet, lying on the ground in a pool of blood, was his own face. Then he had hit the ground, ending the hallucination, and almost killing himself.

When he had regained consciousness, surrounded by the anxious faces of the priests, he had shared their elation at the fact that he was still alive. Then he looked past the comforting circle of their white robes, and saw only death. Severed limbs, headless bodies, burnt, tortured corpses - and in the center of it all, General Hugo's head, still inside its helmet, weighed down by the double crown. The vision of his own head inside the helmet, crowned in death, filled his mind once more. Then it was gone.

He lay back, drained of energy, and signaled to one of the priests to lean closer. He whispered in the holy man's ear that he was Emperor no longer, that whoever had survived the battle could take that curse upon himself. Looking into his eyes, the priest had understood - he had removed Gideon's armor, switched it for a dead man's armor, and given the 'Emperor' a discreet burial.

Days later, when the priests had healed him to their own satisfaction, he had ridden off alone. His last order as Emperor was that none who knew he was alive should let this be known - none ever did.

Many years later, an old, old veteran died in his bed - and old veteran with one lung, in fact. A strange priest was there at the time - an old, old priest. No one knew where he had come from; they knly knew that he had appeared as soon as rumors spread of this old soldier's ailment. Afterwards, it was said that with his dying breath the old man had whispered, "Now let there be peace." Why such a fighter would say something like that with his dying breath, nobody knew. But those who saw him always said afterwards that as the old man had slipped away into whatever fate awaited him after life, a smile had softened his wrinkled old face. A smile that made him look positively Imperial.

[ Tuesday, January 20, 2004 18:44: Message edited by: Sir David ]

And though the musicians would die, the music would live on in the imaginations of all who heard it.
-The Last Pendragon


Les forum de la chance.

In case of emergency, break glass.
Posts: 3351 | Registered: Saturday, April 6 2002 08:00
Member # 3320
Profile #308
OOC: Well here is my ending for my character.

IC: The news quickly made its way to Turin about the outcome of the war. The names of the people involved meant very little to Petoria. She sat in the mayor's office and listened intently to the most recent events to occur. He talked about the occurrence of the Populist leader and her assistant that had passed through the city. They had given him a fine sword as a token of their gratitude for his help. He then went on to tell her about the great battle that had taken place on the Coutharan Downs and how Emperor Ironclad, Hugo, Linda of the Populists, and Karadas had died in the battle. As he went on, he mentioned how their bodies were never found and how Jehan Sol was to be crowned as the new emperor of Pralgrad, as an Ironclad.

Petoria listened carefully to all this. She then looked directly into the mayor's eyes to ask him a seemingly very important question.

Petoria: (With a serious, yet gentle look) "Julius, don't think me odd when I ask you this, but do you know what color robes Sol wears?"

Mayor Flagstaff: (Gives a Look of bewilderment) "Well, he wears red robes preferably..."

Petoria: (With a look of slight horror) "Red robes?!! Oh dear god!!!"

Mayor Flagstaff: (Looking slightly annoyed at being cut off) "You didn't let me finish, Petoria. I heard that he plans to court Lady Cathera Ironclad in order to become the new emperor. If that happens, he will most likely start wearing her colors instead of his. I heard that the Queen wears blue and gold robes. They are supposed to be the same as her ancestors, it you are willing to believe such a story. Personally I..."

Petoria: (Suddenly filled with hope and excitement) "What?!!!! Did you say blue and gold?!!!! HA HA!!!! The Prophecy is true after all!!! Thank you Julius!! You made me a very happy woman! I am sorry, but I must leave Turin now! I promise I will be back eventually. A certainly city official has caught my eye and a burden is about to be lifted from my shoulders. Bye mayor, I mean Julius!!"


The mayor utters a goodbye before she disappears out of his office. She calls a cab in the streets and tells the man to ride to the tavern as quickly as possible. The cabman makes a mad dash to the tavern and she pays him well for it. She rushes inside, gathers up her stuff, pays for her room, and dashes out. She finds Belmont with a young woman. She tells him to come with her quickly as he will be a witness to a singular moment in the history of Pralgrad. He tells Petoria he wants to bring the young woman with, as he has just proposed marriage to her and she accepted. Petoria agrees and they head to the stables to get Petoria's horse and cart.

They meet Winston along the way and manage to drag him with. They grab provisions for several days and set out. After three days, they make it to Blackstone and are admitted to see the soon to be new emperor. She tells him that on the day of his coronation, she will have a surprise for him. She explained that a responsibility had befallen her to carry out in the event that a certain Prophecy should come true. He accepted her potential gift and gave orders that Petoria and her friends should be given rooms at the castle to stay there until the coronation. She graciously thanked him and waited for the day of her release from her burden of responsibility.


As she stayed there at the castle, she got to know Winston better and better and soon the two of them fell in love. They arranged it that both them and Belmont with his newfound fiancée, Denise, would be married on the same day as Jehan Sol. Finally, the day of the coronation came and all three couples were married. Keeping true to her words after the coronation, Petoria told the new king the whole story of her ancestry and of the responsibility of guarding the vault handed down to her. Than she told the king that he needed to come with her, so she could officially hand over its rights to him. He agreed to this and with his bodyguards, they made the day and a half trip to the site.


Upon reaching the site, Petoria casts the spell removing the barriers protecting her hovel and the vault. She then led the king, his royal mages, and her friends into the basement of the hovel to the entrance of the vault. She instructed everyone to stay outside until she was finished inside the vault. After pulling on the torch to open the door, she lit the inside torches and then said the spell she had been dreaming to one day say aloud to unlock the treasures of the vault to the outside world of Pralgrad and to the new emperor.

Petoria: (With great anticipation and loudness) "Haseema Ontol Fer Disag Nevimae Vauscos Des Sim Cramigral!!!!

A very loud mechanical click is here and trumpets begin sounding. Various clicks can be heard throughout the room as all the magical traps are disarmed. The activity soon ceases. However, as Jehan Sol is about to enter the vault for the first time, the wall facing the doorway begins to swing away. When it is completely out of the way, a single room can be seen. Torches light automatically, throwing illumination on the room's contents. They soon find out that it is the tomb of the original ruler of Pralgrad. He is laid out in a glass case and is completely preserved. Laid across his chest is a tablet.


On the tablet are the words:

You have come very far great warrior. To look upon this tablet is a privilege giving to no others except the true king of Pralgrad. Do not forget your civil duty of peace. If you break the sacred law, it will be upon your head and you will die by the same sword you used to win you your power. Go forth now and rule by an iron fist and a kind heart. Bring peace back to Pralgrad and always remember the way of the holy trust. Make the nation proud and your name shall be known forever in this land.

The knowledge, wealth, weaponry, and power of the original ruler of Pralgrad passed into the hands of Jehan Sol, who later became known as an Ironclad himself. He indeed took the new gotten treasures to heart and shard them with all the people in the land. Peace, prosperity, and love reigned free and the Prophecy was completed fulfilled in every way.


Petoria later returned to Turin with her husband, Winston Carbuncle. Upon their arrival, the mayor met them and asked them to come with him to the Hall. He sat them down and they shared their adventures with each other. Before they got up to go, the mayor gave Petoria a piece of news.

Mayor Flagstaff: "Oh, before you go Petoria, I need to tell you of the singular discovery that was made in an abandoned house in a part of the city close to the docks. We found that mysterious crate. You will never believe what was in it."

Petoria: (Total surprise encompassing her face) "You found it?!!! Well what was in it?!! Speak up!! You got me on edge now!!"

Mayor Flagstaff: "Better than tell you, I will show you instead. Follow me."

They make their way to the center of town with the mayor leading the way and there, standing in the middle of the square is what looks like a large statue. The mayor explains to them that they found this in the crate along with a scroll explaining it. The mage Ayin had left them with an inert Doomguard as a remembrance piece. The mayor went on to explain that they found some special names engraved on the Doomguard along with a short message. The names surprised the mayor as much as they surprised Petoria and Winston.


The names were:

Gideon Ironclad, Dorian Kylen, Jehan Sol, and Ayin Yuvak.

The short message read:

The sign of the four friends of power. May death come to those of us who break the chain of friendship by the hands of those who want to keep it intact. Power cannot be divided four separate ways and still exist as a whole unless the circle of friend remains unbroken. God save us all.


Petoria went on to become a well known alchemist in Ironclad's kingdom and is written down in history as the one of the greatest alchemists Pralgrad had ever seen, under her ancestor of course.

"Keep your wits about you, the game is afoot!" - Sherlock Holmes

Mrs. Peacock: "Everything all right?"
Colonel Mustard: "Yep, two corpses, everthing's fine."0;br />
"What do you think I asked you here for? COMPANY?!!!" - Bette Davis
Posts: 935 | Registered: Friday, August 8 2003 07:00
Shock Trooper
Member # 3377
Profile #309
[ooc] *sigh* Lose my internet connection for one day and the world still moves on. Oh well. 'sbeen fun, all.

The grass was dust; the wood, ash. Even stone had melted under the onslaught of magefire. All that was left of the great walls and long echoing halls of the SAFT compound was rubble. Yet underneath the surface where the wind stirs idle tendrils through the fine layer of unswept soot to touch flagstone and glass shards, underneath the fallen arches and the empty doorways where once merchants passed to and fro, beneath the odd fine cloth now soiled beyond use or repair, and the broken stairwells that seem dank caves cluttered with fallen beams, underneath all is the maze of basements and cellars, storerooms and labyrinthine secret passages that lay long forgotten and empty.

And in later years, after the wars that swept across the lands grew to be but a dim memory and a story to tell the great-grandchildren, and rubble shifted to make new buildings, and grass grown again in the soil that settled over broken flagstone, a child might find in his aimless wanderings a small opening, big enough for himself and no other. And he might explore, and find a mouldering carpet or two that once was finely stitched and richly dyed. He might find a sparkling gem, solitary in the darkness, lying where it came to rest after slipping from a careless looter's hold. He might find, behind a stone door split asunder, a long winding passage. And if this simple awed child were brave, and feared not the dark or the things hidden in the silence, he might follow this passage to its end. He would sit there, for the way is long for small feet, gazing about the cave lit to twilight by the noon sun far beyond the cave's mouth. The cave is empty and flat; water swirls in a rock-formed bay, where rotting posts are all that remains of the jetties. The child would sit, satisfied with his find, and imagine what this place must have been. A smuggler's cave, surely, maybe even a pirate's. He would listen to the steady pounding of the waves that came and went and came like the great heartbeat of the endless sea, and imagine what the pirates were like, and why they abandoned this cave. And if he closed his eyes and listened hard, he might see them, shadowy apparitions that move on the edge of blind vision; he might hear their cries, more piercing than the gulls.

"Morgan, no!"

Fire casts an orange glow; the ships burn in the water. Victorious shouts ring ever closer.

"Go now! They have blocked the bay, but you can still make it beyond the city into the hills. Quickly, they come!"

The pursuers and the pursued clash. Cutlass and dagger is pitted against well-kept armour, shortsword and soldier's bow against linen and velvet. She smiles, and her face is of one who weeps, though no tears fall.

"Once a pirate, always a pirate."

The child would leave then and never return, for though he is brave, he is not so brave as to look again on that face upon which grief and fury and despair is mixed beyond separation. But though he does not look back, the story spreads, and grows, and becomes a legend of the Pirates' Treasure and the Pirates' Ghosts that guard it ever against the greed of some ancient army.

And like it are other stories told in the dead of night, when all else is still and nothing stirs but the adventuring youths camped on the edge of the sea; stories of the pirate fireship who's name is Freedom, and of her fiercesome captain Collinegan, who's scowl makes the seawater boil. The fireship that stood alone against a fleet, sinking her grand but guileful sister Illude, and survived. The fireship that, for many a long year afterwards, sailed freely on the open waters around Pralgrad and was marked ever by the burning of the ill-fated ships that crossed her path, until her bow was turned to the south and she sailed beyond the known borders of Aizo.

And so it is that those who believed in no law but that of the sea and who set their fortunes upon the perilous balancing of three double-edged blades passed into history, whence they became naught but tales and echoes upon a moonless night, and the name that survived them belongs to an organisation that is no more than a pale mirage of what it had been and could have become.

The End
Posts: 356 | Registered: Saturday, August 23 2003 07:00