Themo Lock's words of questionable wisdom

*purrring* and its soft, fluffy and cuddly.

 

Genric, Master of Light

Genric was sheep farmer, he had barely come of age,
he trained and learned a light spell and declared himself a mage,
he donned his makeshift cotton robes that he himself had sewed,
and bid farewell to disapproving parents as he set off along the road.

He ventured into Ravenswood unaware of his location,
soon becoming lost in darkness, he paused for rehydration,
in the nearby shadows a satyr stirred and began to encroach,
Genric drank from his water skin unaware of its approach.

Deciding it was time for light he closed his eyes and visualised a glyph,
mistakenly targeted and blinded by light the satyr stumbled off a cliff,
thinking his spell had fizzled he closed his eyes and tried once more,
mistargeting a second time he illuminated a ranger who stood and swore.

"Amazing!" the ranger gasped "i have never seen such display of skill",
"Truly aware of your surroundings and using simple cantrips to kill",
"I am the advance scout for a party of the Novian Adventure Troupe",
"We could use a talented mage, are you by chance looking for group?".

Puzzled but quite excited Genric accepted the rangers request,
though he had a few concerns that he felt needed to be addressed,
"I am not sure of my role" he said "should we find the need to fight",
"Modesty!" the ranger said " from one with such mastery over light".

The pair set off to rejoin the group and were never seen again,
rumour abounds of a party who attempted to slay a dragon in vain,
with a well executed plan that strangely did not end at all well,
when a mage who instead of lightning, hit the beast with a light spell.

 

added my drawing for the dragonfly poem.

 

The Exodus (historical account from the Lockbrier archives, as recorded by Jerison the bard)

Therion Lock sat on his heels at the mouth of the cave system and stared up at a sky in turmoil, what should have been blue skies instead was smoke and fire. In the distance an enormous, jet black meteor sheathed in flame, parted the clouds and plummeted to the ground with a tremendous boom sending up plumes of strange purple dust high into the air. Shardfall, fragments of a shattered moon raining down on the land and laying waste to civilisation. He shifted his attention to the smoking ruins of PaxLair and clenched his fists in frustration and anger, the twin towers had been reduced to rubble and many of the cities homes still smouldered and smoked, a sight that brought tears to his eyes. But it was not the deadly hail of stone that was the cause of this destruction, the bane of PaxLair travelled on leathery wings and had a name of her own... Adelind. The dragon had been driven from her lair by the shardfall several weeks previous and she now sought shelter in the cave system on the city outskirts. For many months the citizens of PaxLair had worked to shape these caves into a new home at governor Winfield's behest, the project was to be a haven from the chaos and a bunker in which to weather the shardfall. Deep within the underground system was a natural spring, stores of food and other supplies as well as an established mushroom farm. The senior mages of the city had also been experimenting with an unstable rift at the back of the cave as a possible last ditch escape route should worst case scenarios come to pass. Losing the caves to the dragon would surely seal the fate of the cities population and all now worked tirelessly to secure the area.

Three times the beast had assaulted the city, each time driven off by Nanoc and the militia but at the cost of many lives. Therion and his family were masons and had been tasked with overseeing the construction, an overwhelming task hindered by tremors and darkness. Construction of the subterranean housing was now halted as focus shifted to the caves entrance, wooden framework was in place and stone recovered from the fallen towers was stockpiled nearby ready to be set in place. Governor Winfield now ushered the last of the PaxLair citizens into the cave system, a long procession of soot-covered refugees carrying the remains of their possessions while Nanoc and the militia worked to repair a damaged ballista and erect earthworks. Therions sons were were off with the foresters gathering timber and he nervously glanced at the distant tree-line before picking up his tools and returning to work. The wide cave-mouth needed to be closed off to a narrower, more defensible size and it was going to require allot of stone to withstand the onslaught of a dragon.

"Dragonsign!" the shout rang out from a nearby watchtower and raised the hairs on the back of Therions neck, he spun on his heel and cried out to see plumes of fire descending from the skies into the streets of the emptying city. The militia took up position in front of the cave, readying their arrows and spells while Nanoc screamed instructions at a terrified engineer. Therion sought cover behind the piles of cut stone and fumbled to string his bow with trembling hands, he had not fired an arrow for over a decade. A deafening roar from above and the dragon came into view, wings folded back, maw open in a hideous sneer, the beast dove from the sky directly at the militia. "Loose loose loose!" screamed Nanoc as the militia launched a barrage of spells and missiles into the air, very few found their mark. Undaunted, Adelind unfolded her wings and slowed her decent, coming to ground directly in front of the militia. Molten saliva dribbled from her mouth as she inhaled deeply, a look of pure rancour in her eyes. With a loud twang the engineer fired his ballista with surprising accuracy, the oversized arrow piercing the dragons right shoulder and throwing her off balance. The beasts head flung to the side, spewing flame across the hillside as she whipped her tail at the ballista shattering the engine into splinters and sending Nanoc and the engineer tumbling back into the cave. The militia pushed the assault, leaping over the earthworks and baring down on the beast with pole-arms and blades under cover of another barrage of arcane lightning and arrows. With horror Therion watched as the dragon regained her footing and charged, flinging the militia aside and disappearing into the cave. Screams echoed from within and the sound of dragonfire as those remaining outside fell to their knees in defeat, all was lost. Broken and bloodied, the engineer hobbled into view with a large yellow flask in hand "This prize will be her last!" he screamed, smashing the flask into the cave wall. The explosion knocked Therion to the ground, a stone splinter embedded into his forearm and ears ringing. Dazed, he looked around in dismay... the militia were all dead or badly injured, the city was once more in flames and the cave system was sealed. The governor and citizens could not have survived, there was no safe haven from shardfall. PaxLair had fallen.

For yet another wonderful reading by Asclepius CLICK HERE.

 

my entry for Scholars of Novia contest 3

The Magister

Magister Kust is righteous and just, his judgement is lawful and swift,
his knowledge of the law, complete and without flaw, is his strength and a god-given gift.
His court is immune to disruption, he is beyond corruption, his rulings are never in doubt,
he can see through lies, with his piercing blue eyes, secret motives are always found out.
Be you peasant or noble, his process is global, no man, woman or child is exempt,
when called to the booth, you had best tell the truth, or find yourself charged with contempt.
Justice is his goal, he cares not for your soul, it matters not if you apologise or repent,
the innocent will be freed, the guilty will bleed, or to the dungeons will surely be sent.

 

my other contest 3 entry

EDICT 19

Patrons Edict regarding the following crimes
- Murder.
- Thievery and robbery.
- Vandalism.
- **** and kidnapping.
- Fraud and swindle.

Henceforth these crimes will now be regarded as transgressions against communal well-being and the patrons peace. As the true victim of these crimes committed within his realm, the patron will dispense justice in the form of rehabilitation, incapacitation or retribution at his discretion.

Punishment for murders may include, but are not limited to: Public hanging, seizure of property, death by spider, imprisonment, service in the patrons militia.
Punishment for thievery and robbery may include, but are not limited to: fines, night-soil duty, the severing of fingers, imprisonment, service in the patrons militia.
Punishment for vandalism may include, but are not limited to: fines, time in the stocks, night-soil duty, imprisonment, service in the patrons militia.
Punishment for **** and kidnapping may include, but are not limited to: banishment, castration, public flogging, imprisonment, service in the patrons militia.
Punishment for Fraud and swindle may include, but are not limited to: banishment, fines, time in the stocks, public flogging, imprisonment, service in the patrons militia.

Due to his years of loyal service and over-exposure to the hatters mercury vats, Harry "no pants" Maghille has been granted exemption from punishment associated with the sale of his miracle cure for stupidity. Those foolish enough to buy a tincture from a half naked madman who wears a dead pigeon for a hat have been deemed deserving of the often fatal side effects associated with the brew.

 

A Cunning Plan

Come take a knee and listen to me, a plan i have made to ensure our victory.
We must simulate meekness and broadcast false weakness, our true nature quite contradictory.
With our weapons concealed and archers stealthed far afield, we will mock fear as the enemy attacks.
When our foes charge on in we shall strike from within, while our archers pincushion their backs.
When they realise our deceit and try to retreat, we will cut off their path with mage fire.
With their fates firmly sealed we will press them to yield, or force them back into the pyre.
With prisoners in stocks and the dead splayed out on rocks, further attacks will surely be balked.
Our settlement secure, this would then ensure that further disputes are sat down and talked.

 

very enjoyable and I am thankful to find your postings/smiles.... we have much in common, writing and creating.... /bows
am afraid to start another thread as mine was locked... can 't get in or add to it/bows sadly.... but still creating/winks

 

If it was locked due to inactivity perhaps you could request it t be revived ^.^

 

perhaps, I did take time off to volunteer and learn how to DJ for a few months to be of more use here and ingame.... now back and trying to pick it all back up offering to help but still just grinding away/shrugs ... but have new paintings and am inspired to do more again/hugs.... is a spiral pattern it seems... adding the two space inspired paintings to my online gallery/was wondering if there is a way we could add our art to frames ingame? perhaps I could use Unity to turn part of my row into an art gallery ingame? looking into the magical printing press and such/waves.... really do have to get more out of this dev level.... pledge/nods ...... wishes there were Unity group projects/nods.... am so bored.....

 

I am hoping we can add our paintings also eventually

 

am at work meeting now/bows.... trying to find list/wiki?lol

 

Added audio link for The Exodus http://thecaverns.net/Podcasts/the-exodus-by-themo-lock-narrated-by-asclepius/

 

Service With A Smile

Come on in and rest your bones, the hearth is nice and hot,
you will find a lamb stew cooking there, help yourselves to the pot.
Welcome friends to Lockbrier tavern, hail and merry met,
if you see a bobcat kill it, the beast is sadly not a pet.
Our ale is spiced, the mead is sweet, the wine is light and fruity,
our rooms are clean and reasonably priced, your comfort is our duty.
These ale-soaked boards are neutral ground, take conflicts to the street,
if to your room you require company, our courtesans are discreet.
Upon departure please spread the word of your warm and pleasant stay,
travel safe, stick to the roads and please come another day.

 

The Rift

What came through the rift? this face... these arms and legs are not mine,
yet they are and always have been, it is a feeling that is hard to define.
What came through the rift? these feelings and thoughts are not my own,
am i a projection? did i travel and transform? or am i some kind of clone?
What came through the rift? i remember electric lights, aircraft and television,
but now i also remember dragons, how to field dress wounds and craft with precision.
What came through the rift? am i dead? am i real? am i here?
on the other side am i slumped in my chair, or did i simply disappear?

 

No Sympathy From The Broken

The abused often defend the cruelty of strangers,
violence by proxy, apathy forged by the whip.
When you have had self worth beaten out of you,
you find yourself in acceptance of a sadists grip.
It becomes easier to identify with a torturer,
than the victims of cruel and violent crime.
Gravitating towards pedallers of grief and torment,
a mindset not lessened but amplified over time.
A survival instinct triggered and locked in place,
silent screams and trauma soaked words unspoken.
Trapped with a perceived inability to escape,
you will gain no sympathy from the broken.

 

Suet

"Tell them your name is Jack, as far as the outlanders are concerned we are ALL Jack." this was the edict of the master of the lamp-lighters guild, and Telly now silently repeated it in his mind like a mantra. He remained still and silent, watching on in horror as outlanders descended on Owlshead in mass, slaughtering livestock and pillaging the community. Sheep carcasses were strewn across the town, blood and entrails filling the streets and flowing down into the river like a visceral glacier. The screams of pigs being burned alive rang out from behind the tavern as nearby, two blood spattered outlanders danced a merry jig beside the twitching corpses of several sheep and chickens. They were stealing everything! from farm equipment to food and kitchenware, should the townsfolk survive this invasion they would likely not last out the winter. Telly flinched as lightning seared the air, two outlanders battled with blade and magic, fighting over a wounded pig like vultures. Terrified, a nearby guard meekly addressed one of the outlanders and pleaded that he make no trouble in the tavern and to not harm the small herd of sheep he was charged with protecting. In response, the outlander popped the head off one of the animals and sent it sailing into the air with a single tremendous blow from a great-sword. Eyes wide, the guard turned on his heel and pretended not to notice as he reprimanded a beer barrel for loitering. A prison guard ran half naked from a nearby alleyway "The outlanders have freed the prisoners!" he screamed "We were overrun, murderers run free in Owlshead!". With pure unmitigated terror, Telly realised that an outlander was approaching him, smiling as if strolling through a meadow on a quiet summers day "Hello" the outlander said "What is your name?". Telly steeled himself and defiantly replied " I am Jack, we are ALL Jack." and closed his eyes to await death.

 

Occupation (historical account from the Lockbrier archives)

The skeleton flailed its fleshless arms in what could easily be mistaken for frustration, bony feet clasped firmly by the tangle vines that tightened with every jerky movement. High above in the treetops a scout watched on in silent amusement as she packed a pipe from a pouch of mixed herbs. The tangle vines grew thick and fast in Lockbrier forest, nourished by the seemingly endless waves of undead that wandered from the ruins of PaxLair. It was these vines and the wiry brambles that shielded the town of Lockbrier from the madness and dangers of the outside world. Paxlair itself crawled with undead, a blanket of flies and rotting flesh that sleeplessly wandered through the rubble and ruins in an endless circular patrol. Nobody knew where they came from, they had just risen from the scorched earth shortly after the exodus of Paxlair two generations past, preventing reconstruction and driving the survivors to take refuge in the forest. Clearing the undead scourge had proven impossible, no matter how many were slain they would simply rise and take up arms again the following day. The elders theorised that some dark power had embedded itself like a tick into the heart of PaxLair, calling forth and lending power to the undead hoard, though what that power actually was remained unknown. It was the scouts job to wait and watch, looking for any unusual activity or clues that may aid in deciphering this century old mystery.

Bored with the spectacle below, the scout drew a dagger and carved her name into the sturdy branch that supported her weight, lit pipe between her teeth. "Ghella" a name she had inherited from her foster mother whom she now remembered fondly as she ran her fingertips over the carved letters. Her attention was caught by a glimmer in the distance as the midday sun reflected off metal, off to the west something was moving along the edge of the tree-line. The scout capped her pipe and raised a spyglass to her eye, scanning the distant tree-line with peaked interest. Crouched in the under brush, she counted a party of eight men, seven clad in heavy armour and the eighth draped in the robes of a mage. Ghella did not recognise them as locals and wondered at their intentions, the perils of PaxLair was clear to see in the light of day. The scouts grip on her perch tightened as the mage raised his arms and glowed with arcane energy, the nearby undead noticed immediately and lumbered towards the party like a rotting tidal wave. A thunderclap split the air as lightning forked out from the mages outstretched hands, dropping a dozen or more of the lead skeletons as the ironclad warriors locked shields and braced for impact. Explosions tore through the ranks of the undead as the fallen skeletons detonated like powder kegs, the party slowly advanced under cover of the mage, expertly dropping foe after foe. Ghella almost cried out in amazement as the very ground surrounding the party rumbled and violently shook, obliterating countless undead where they stood like so many twigs. The men were gaining ground, Ghella could not believe what she was seeing, eight men were slaying what had to be hundreds of living dead and pushing slowly but surely towards the city centre. A fire elemental now floated alongside the men, lighting up the ground behind them with rising flames as they advanced. Could it be that this party would accomplish what the Lockbrier militia had failed to do so many times? Could these men be the saviours of PaxLair?

An unearthly scream rang out from somewhere within the city and the warriors halted and looked back at the mage. Rays of dark energy leapt from the ruins of the fallen city and enveloped the party of adventurers, dropping them to their knees. Ghosts, dozens of them fed at range from the shadowy ruins of the city and the panicked mage now went on the defensive as he struggled to revitalise the fading health of his men. Something else emerged from the ruins, a huge lich the likes of which Ghella had never seen glided forward, flanked by two of its kind. The creature pointed at the prone warriors and cackled as once more, the undead masses surged forward. There was no stopping them this time and Ghella looked away as the party was overrun. Below her the skeleton had become aware of her presence and now screeched and clawed at the air in a frenzy, still firmly rooted in place. Ghella's heart skipped a beat as in the distance, the undead army turned and stared directly at her position. The scout dropped her spyglass in a panic and rose to her feet, it was time to leave. Nimbly jumping from branch to branch, she made her way back into the safety of the deep forest towards the town of Lockbrier. For the first time in years she had something to report.

Another fantastic reading by Asclepius

 

This is the funniest story I've ever read!

 

The Heavy Drinker

He opened a bottle with the swipe of a dagger and returned it to its sheath,
he gulped the whiskey deeply, straining the glass between his teeth.
He had left his family long ago for a serious relationship with a flagon,
he belched at a candle, breathing flames that were worthy of a dragon.
He was paid in ale and whiskey, it was a wage exceeding his worth,
to end brawls inside the tavern with his more than ample girth.
He had got the job one evening when he became to drunk to communicate,
the locals had tried to throw him out but could not shift his weight.
The bartender turned the situation in his favour with some lateral thinking,
unleashing the giant drunkard on troublemakers by interrupting his drinking.
He had been known to break men clean in half or with his dagger run them through,
pity the man that comes between the heavy drinker and his brew.