Arrival in New Britannia

He stared at the blank screen almost in a helpless anger. Parron?s brain seized with fatigue from hours of no rest, very little substance, and a deadline approaching with fervor. The rent was due soon, and everything rested upon the completion of this project, for he knew that if no one recognized his work, the contract would be closed and he would be left searching for another apartment in a more desperate area of town. Parron?s experienced fingers could work magic with a word processor, but no matter he tried to run through every exercise for ?writer?s block?, all he could generate was blithering jibberish.
In a frustrated sigh, he decided that it was time to empty his head of the flotsam of ideas still fighting for supremacy. Parron?s ears were greeted by the soft raindrops pelting the windowsill, and at once realizing that he needed a jacket, his eyes turned toward the closet and the rainwear that beckoned him. The arms in his muscles assisted him to an upright position, where his legs could not. His knees took a few seconds to assert themselves, supporting his weight. Grabbing onto the edge of the doorway for balance, he was able wobble his gate towards the array of outer garments, donning the navy blue hooded covering.
With a small smirk, Parron looked at himself in the mirror. The age was catching up to him in his face, robbing his joints of their suppleness and sapping his body of whatever youth remained. He had just turned forty, but his condition placed a heavier burden upon him. His walking continued to wobble has he clung to table and chair. He had learned to compensate despite all his challenges and to live a full and decent life with few regrets. Concentrating more on the immediate task of going down to the convenience store for caffeine and a bag of chips, he let whatever discontent he was feeling at the computer desk at the other end of the room.
He grabbed the arm of his motorized chair and grasped with the normal shake in his hand the familiar stick that guided him to short distances so many times before. The pain in Parron?s back always presented itself in tiny bits whenever he sat down, but only long enough until he could situate his feet upon the rests. He reached down to unplug the contraption and to let the wheels move forward until he could grasp and open the door. From the hook near the entryway, he grabbed the pouch that contained his wallet, cell phone, night glasses, and keys.
Adjusting the lock behind him, Parron glided himself down the ramp to the street below and guided himself along the familiar path of street lights and illuminated signs. His destination only was a few blocks away, something he knew well. There was only one crossing intersection he would have to deal with on his way, and almost by instinct, even there were no cars coming, Parron?s safety training had kicked in. He was so intent on looking for anything coupled with the raindrops, that he didn?t notice anything approaching him from behind.
?Hey buddy. Got a light?? The questioner was decked in full winter garb, complete with a dirty, torn, knitted cap, and breath reeking of alcohol.
?No, sorry. Don?t smoke? was Parron?s reply. ?I think I might have five dollars if you wish to get something to eat.? Immediately, Parron fumbled in the sack for his wallet, taking his eye off of the vagabond. Yet, in mere seconds his ears were met with the sinister laughter of others approaching, and at once he saw four others, dressed in similar garb to the streetman, one wielding a baseball bat and another a chain.
?Guys, I don?t want to fight ? take it all.? Parron?s panic was evident in his voice, and his thoughts seized in a fit of confusion. He threw the wallet on the ground, hoping the men would claim their ill-gotten prize and let him leave. Yet, only one took a momentary look at the leathery pouch and proceeded to surround the chair.
?I bet if we sell that chair, we could make good money.?
Trepidation, fear, all manner of dread seized Parron as the muscles in his arms pushed the stick forward, and a wheel pulled themselves over the foot of one of his assailants. A startled yelp rang from the man holding the bat, and he dropped it on the ground. The device gave Parron a good ten yards before all five were able to pursue him, but by this time his heart was racing, and tears streamed down his eyes. His dry throat would not let him scream for help, not that anyone would hear him anyway.
From behind him, he heard one of the chasers say ?Hey quicks, come back, we didn?t mean it, we were just kidding with ya.? But by this time none of this registered ? all he could think of was to get away from this mob.
Parron?s flight took him down the unfamiliar alleys, only dimly lit with overhead lights and the occasional house lamp. He decided to try to get back home, but the jerk of his hand caused the electronics to seize in the chair, and it buckled enough to jar Parron?s whole body lose and almost on the ground. Before Parron could reseat himself, the quintet had arrived, the two wielding the weapons leading the charge.
Before the chair could again get started, he felt hands on his shoulders in a firm, malicious grip. He screamed.
?I got him.? One of them said.
The restart of the chair forced the grasp of his shoulder to loosen, only to re-clasp once again on the back handle of the chair. Once again, the vehicle buckled against the force holding it and this time Parron found himself collapsed upon the concrete, the ever-worsening rain now pelting his face, matting his hair and beard. Survival. That?s all that mattered now. Survival.
The laughter resumed as two of the gang took him in each arm, dragging him down a nearby hill as the other trio followed, shouting a bevy of insults and slurs. Parron was set prone on the ground, and the one whose foot was still aching then set himself in front of Parron, the bat firmly grasped in both hands.
?We?re gonna teach you respect ? this is our territory now.?
Parron only felt the initial vicious blow to his temple, felling him semi-conscious, in a daze.
?Hey Joe, we don?t need to rough him up. We got his chair. Lets get out of here.?
?No! He ran over my damn foot! He?s gotta ? ?
At that moment, a blue light appeared in the distance, pulsating and bright, but obscured by a grove of trees in the distance. A melodic, undulating sound accompanied the light.
?Somebody called the cops! Run!!!?
Parron was still in a severe stupor from the injury, and he could feel the wetness of the rain pounding on his body, and the pain above his ear. He could not move, and what he could see was nothing more than a dreamy vision punctuated by pulsing shades of turquoise against the darkened night sky. Anxiety again enveloped him as he heard footsteps on the grass approaching him. Help or more harm? The hooligans must have returned to finish the crime.
In one swift motion, the man felt two arms underneath his torso and then helped the injured Parron to his feet, where he continued to stagger.
?Can you walk?? This was a new voice, a kinder but older. Parron looked at him, and beheld a balding man, his grey goatee adorning his face in a stately manner. A dual thin strand of braided hair rested upon his cloak. The silvery serpentine pendant around his neck yet again reflected a foreign source of light.
?Can you walk?? He repeated. In attempt to answer, Parron shook his head and then bowed to the ground in an unmoving heap. Effortlessly, the ambulatory man resumed tending to Parron, this time carrying him in his arms towards the harmonious azure glow. Parron thought he beheld a small circle of stones accompanying the place, but in his state, he wasn?t sure. The supported Parron finally got enough muster to speak to his companion.
?Where are you taking me??
?Where you can get some help.?
?Who ? who are you?? The final question Parron could utter.
?Lord British never forgets his avatars.?

 

Great story!

 

Journey Onwards

I sit here waiting. The sky filled with clouds, colours so dark you know it cannot be natural. My eyes glazed, I cannot look up any longer. Slowly I bring my view down to those rocks, the ones that on so many times have marked the gateway to other worlds. My brow grows heavy, I turn my gaze inwards as I stare at my weathered body, the stories these scars could tell.

Once I travelled to his call to thwart many a foe believing that it would bring his land piece. From shadow lords to evil mages to lords tainted by words so venomous even the gods would tremble. Even the guardian himself could not stop me as I had the virtues on my side or so I believed.

That all changed on the day I shattered that gem. How many people suffered because I acted so hastily? How many would forgive what I had done? Would he, the one I call liege?

Avatar, the saviour of worlds, ha who am I kidding, more like Avatar destroyer of worlds.
I wonder if there is even a world left with people to forgive me. My brow grows heavy.

I clasp the ankh at my neck, it feels tighter than usual. Will he ever call me back to make amends? Is it even possible to make amends? I stare outwards again at those stones, the stones that have haunted my dreams for so long. Why has he not called for me?

The sky begins to grow darker and darker, rain begins to fall. Faster and faster, covering everything in sight. Lightning flashes across the sky soon chased by the deafening sound of thunder. I hear it strike the ground in the distance. I remember how frightened I and everyone else way once of the lightning as anything it stuck caused change. Ah the Serpent Isles, how I miss thee.

The storm grows more intense. It pulls me from my solemn thoughts as now I need to batten down the hatches as this one looks like it will be a rough one.

With the house secure I turn on the television to see the news forecast. The reporter looks nervous. I grab the remote to raise the volume. WAIT, what is this? She is mentioning that strange portals are opening up all over the country. The appear circular in shape and shimmer as if filled with metallic liquid yet hold images of another place. Could this be?

I race to the rear door and before I can opening I hear a loud thunderous cracking noise as lightning strikes the ground. I swing the door open and gaze up to the stone circle. What was once an empty space now sits the orb the reporter has described, could it be? But why is it an orb and not a gate like doorway like before? Has he found a new way for me to see him again? Am I forgiven?

I race through the trees and up the hill only to stop suddenly before the orb. Wait I tell myself. It is not the only one. The reporter said that they were opening all over the country, perhaps all over the world. Could this mean that whatever lies beyond is more than one person to handle?

Hope now turns to dread as I fear what I may yet have to face. I turn back to the house and take a deep breath to calm my nerves. My eyes flicker, a thought races through my mind. This time at least I will not have to face it alone. People from all over, other Avatars, will rise up to aid me in what is to come.

I turn once again to face the sphere, this time with a strong surge of determination. I take one last breath as I stride forward yelling ?Fear not my Lord British, I come to your aide and this time I shall not fail thee?.

 

Nice Intro

-Stile
Guild leader of Caverns, Dungeons, and Beyond
www.thecaverns.net

 

Born in 2512 AD, DavenRock had a rough childhood living in poverty and duress and never knew his parents. Much of his life was spent searching the world's apocalyptic regions for spare parts, engineering his way to success and triumph over mankinds trivial hierarchy never shared between the rich and poor. After several years of creating and inventing devices and selling them to strangers and passersby. DavenRock had finally amassed a savings that would parallel even the most tranquil of the hierarchy. One day, while walking on a bridge between cities, a lowly humbling presence entered his mind. This spirit of sorts drains his thoughts about invention and directs DavenRock's attention towards a very sharp and massive skyscraper. He wanders towards this tower, and the spirit immediately releases the thoughts of invention back into his mind.


While standing underneath this massive tower, a rather large man whispers from around the corner, "psst.. hey, I've been expecting you.." Daven, reluctant to appreciate this man's sudden inspiration, decides to hold this man to his word and follows him around the corner. The large man says he is an inventor and offers Daven an opportunity he cannot, and will not, refuse. The man opens a side-door to his hover-car and pulls out a very small and strange looking device that is filled with an energy that Daven has never seen before. The man says, "Once you activate this device, you will never come back to this world. However, you will have many choices ahead of you. Activate this and you will have to decide which path to abide. Daven says, "I don't believe you, this is a scam!" The large man looks offended, hands Daven the machine, touches a small lever and says, "Take it, your the one who invented it." Daven, eager to leave the world and trusting his own invention, somehow already knows how the device works. "Press the button..." The spirit says. He presses the most obvious button protruding out of the device, and suddenly disappears from the world and enters a new unknown.

Darkness consumes Daven's sight, "Where am I? Am I blind? Will I ever be able to leave this darkness?" Daven quietly asks himself. A shimmer of light appears, as if a distant star lost in the sky and a voice calls out to him, "Greatness follows you DavenRock, but should you turn to find it, you would find weakness in its place.." That was the last time he heard that particular voice, but Daven was somehow certain it wouldn't be the very last. Thinking to himself, and clinging to the small device like a newborn infant, he finally attempts to walk but is struck on the feet by emptiness and is consumed by a sensation of floating. As soon as DavenRock gives up on trying to see in the dark, he notices a tear above him with light shining through it as if sun rays shining through clouds and as quick as he saw the rift it moves in front of him as if he floated towards it with control. He reaches his arm through the rift and faints.

 

Whoops! I just found this thread today. I started the topic over, not realizing that this Thread was already here. Perhaps they should be merged? My Thread is here: https://www.shroudoftheavatar.com/forum/index.php?threads/intro-to-new-britannia.2357/#post-29575 If a Dev can/wants to merge them, that is fine, of course.

And whoops -- here's another thread on the same topic by another person. We need to get more organized, don't we?
https://www.shroudoftheavatar.com/f...a-green-sky-in-new-britannia.1925/#post-28401

And another!
https://www.shroudoftheavatar.com/forum/index.php?threads/the-return-of-azaran-valis.1926/

 

(Just a little subnote for background. I am Azaran, once leader of the Soldiers of Virtue(SOV) Europa, and Paladin of the Duchy of Trinsic(DOT) Europa. I'm also known as Dargalin, former Baron of Trinsic DOT. I thought I'd better clarify as I've seen a few more Azarans out there since I originally created him back in the second age

Thanks to Fireangel for pointing my way to here, I didn't realise that the stories were to be posted here, I hope you all enjoy reading my little tale, and please feel free to offer critique or praise as you see fit)

Prologue

Azaran sat staring at the fireplace. Pops and crackles sent tiny wisps of orange sparks up the torrid currents of hot dry air above the campfire. The scent of dry burning wood was heavenly to his senses.

He sat in the center of a wooded glade next to his tent. He just had to get out of the city into the woods to remind himself what nature felt like. The technological, concrete and tarmac life that he led since his return from Britannia played on his nerves. He felt like he had spent decades in Britannia though only a few years had past and no one seemed to have noticed his departure let alone his return apart from a few raised eyebrows at his attire and his perfectly pronounced olde english which seemed to be hard to shake.

His attention snapped back to the fire, its allure pulling him back to memories of his house on the main road between Trinsic and Britain. The sounds of birds flapping around in the darkness above him, brays of animals off in the distance. His mind wandered further inward places and faces faded in and out, smells of freshly baked REAL bread, foul smells of swamps and open sewers made him blink subconsciously. Honor, courage, honesty, valor, justice, sacrifice, spirituality and humility he repeated to himself in his mind for fear of losing touch with his fading memory of a place that seemed so far from reach.

With a sigh, Azaran propped a couple more logs onto the flames and shored up the fire surround with a few more stones before laying back on his bedroll.

Sleep beckoned, and he answered its call...

Through the veil of sleep the past beckons

He had slept badly, the battles in the final days of his life in Sossaria haunted him. Demons, Ghosts and strange machinations chased him through the Jungle south of Trinsic as he frantically searched for the site of the moongate. He needed to escape as he held an orb of moons. Should the enemy ever get a hold of one of those, Earth may be next. He had to destroy it, as it was the only way to ensure the same fate did not happen there.

There he saw it, the light of fires in the north... Trinsic, or what was left of it. The City of Honour and home to the Paladins. He paused for a moment to catch his breath, leaning hard on the spongy moss covering one half of the giant palm tree that had only just stopped him from toppling to the ground with exhaustion. His laboured breathing masked the sound of something approaching from behind.

"Sir Azaran" a voice whispered from behind. Glancing around he saw a tall thick set figure in blackened armour, grey hair protruded from beneath his heavy plate helmet. "Brother" he sighed heavy with relief, the voice continued "You must go, take this, they are almost upon you. The deed must be done.. but know this, the Dragon must awaken, as must the Lion." A small bag landed at Azaran's feet, glancing back up, the figure was gone. "Bomb?" Azaran whispered genlty looking around.

"My thanks to thee, Lord of the Sleeping Dragon" He whispered again, unsure if his friend would ever hear the words.

Opening the bag he discovered some food and a small selection of round bottomed bottles with wispy liquids.

He pulled out a Yellow bottle and pressed it to his lips. The sweet taste washed a day of running from his dry mouth, the liquid warming every part of his throat then chest. He felt renewed.

Tucking the bottle back into the bag, he set off again, with the sounds of heavy footsteps far to the south behind him. "They come" he said to himself. "Let them come... for it shall be too late"

Fording a stream he saw a feight blue glow through the trees, almost overpowered by the yellow flickering light of the raging fire that was Trinsic, he pulled himself up onto the bank and walked towards it.

Falling to his Knees at the unexpected drop, pain set through him. Before him the unstable whirl of the moongate granted him a moment of relief as he realised that his duty was almost done. He dragged himself towards the moongate, pulling himself up next to one of the large boulders that surrounded it. This was the place that he must do it, the sage was quite clear. You can only truely destroy an orb of moons in the presence of the moongate that it first appeared from, and this was the place he had first set foot in Sossaria.

If he were simply to leave now, the stone would remain here, though he was not sure what would become of him on its destruction.

He placed it on the boulder and drew his sword, praying to all eight virtues for the strength to carry it through.

A large explosion rocked the small glade. a massive red winged figure landed and glared over to where Azaran stood, sword in hand. "Give me the stone" it bellowed at him.

Glancing around, Azaran put all his strength into his sword and brought it down just as a massive fireball from the demon connected. The stone shattered just as the blast of the fireball blew Azaran, the fragments and the boulder careering into the moongate.

He awoke screaming, opening his pained eyes to a small wooded glade, the world seemingly drained of colour.

The smoke of what was left of the campfire wisped up into the blue sky above. He gasped and lay back down again sighing with relief. The dreams were getting far more frequent.. what could it mean, he thought to himself.

Back to reality?

He poked the fire readying it for its morning work, heating his coffee. "What's this?" he pondered, he moved the ashes to reveal a shiny black stone in the centre. "Funny, it looks just like" his eyes widened as he flicked it from the fire with his poking stick. Cold to the touch, it sat comfortably in his hand. "Stone born from oak and fire" a voice in his mind spoke "Speak my name and thou shallst know me"

The coffee went down nicely with a little sliced cured ham and some home made bread. Azran's mind was set ablaze by possibilities. Perhaps Sossaria was not destroyed, maybe there was a way back. It was not quite like his orb of moons, but it was a similar size with flecks of a shiney black substance shocked through it instead of being jet black. Each time he placed his hand on the stone he heard the same voice "Stone born from oak and fire, Speak my name and thou shallst know me".

"Riddles...", Azaran sighed, pacing around the glade in the morning light. "Virtues preserve me, why must it always be riddles". "Carbon" he said, staring at the stone, though nothing happened. "Fossil?" again nothing. "Obsidian? no... I am thinking too much of earthly things... I would think blackrock, however that has nothing to do with oak.." "Blackrock" the voice repeated. "Joiner of worlds, born of the celestial oak, and sacred fire" "Thou dost know me, but I am gone of this world and must be laid to rest"

"An orb of moons, though you look nothing like the one I had" the voice did not reply, the stone was silent, but was now warm to the touch. Azaran's mobile phone burst into life, vibrating and ringing over by his backpack, leaning on the tent. The world seemed full of colour again, and the stone seemed to be an ordinary pebble, the fire long cold and he felt freezing. "I must be taking leave of my senses..." he murmured picking up the mobile. A lost call, his work. looking at the date on the phone, the 18th? a day gone!

He packed his things quickly, subconsciously pocketing the pebble and left the glade for home.

There must be better than this…

Days passed uneventfully. Azaran had returned to the drone of normal life in the hustle and bustle of Scotland's capital. The last few days had seen the normal stormy weather of April, absolutely nothing akin to the wash of usual, but remarked to as unseasonably warm weather.

16:46 caught Azaran's attention in the lower right of his screen. Friday afternoon and nearly time to head home. The office windows bowed with the wind, decorated by spats of rain. "Summer... I can't wait for summer" Az remarked to himself... "Best day of the year in Scotland" he grinned though thought that he should take a note of that for later use.

Rose street was particularly busy as he left the office outer door, the station was just down and across Princess Street, though with the freezing cold wind whistling through and the sea of faces, whose soul intention was to get out of the wind and rain.

As he sat on the train home, he discreetly observed the people around him. Three girls sat a little further up the aisle, completely silent except the tapping of fingers on plastic as they used their phones, probably to converse with each other. An old gentleman sat wearing a tweed sports jacket, his hands impatiently twiddling with his hand carved pipe, ready to spring into action as soon as he was off the train.

Azaran could smell the pipe tobacco in his mind’s eye after seeing it, not at all unpleasant like cigarette smells.

Another woman sat at the other end of the train, staring at Azaran. She was slightly overweight, with messy curly hair with white shocks through it. "Like Frankenstein's bride" Az chuckled to himself, until he realised that she was truly and intently staring directly at him, making him now feel slightly uncomfortable.

The moment was broken as the train thundered through a tunnel, and the world went black for a moment as the lights flickered on, though the woman was nowhere to be seen. Gone.

"Maybe I'm losing it" he thought.

He arrived home, to be greeted by his cat, Ginge. Sitting patiently waiting its master? Nope... lazing unconscious on the radiator next to the door.

He closed the door to the elements behind him, kicking the envelopes from the post to the side of the hall before walking down towards the study.

He sat in a leather backed chair, hot cup of coffee in hand and gazed at the computer screen.

Reflected in it, he could make out the armor stand behind his chair, addorned with the armor that he wore on that fateful last night in Sossaria.

He reached out his hand to move the mouse, but stopped for a moment as a scratching noise rather than the smooth movement of the mouse followed.

The stone that he had found in the fire sat in his palm, the mouse far away next to the screen. "You have a habit of landing in my hand... I think it's time I found out what you are."

Answers?

*tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap* Azaran's hand tapped the stone on the table unconsciously as he read an old book on geology. While Blackrock was rare in Sossaria, it was almost unknown on Earth. The stone responded to blackrock, however it did not look much like the blackrock orb of moons that he destroyed upon his final moments in Sossaria.

Mystery upon mystery, theories and thoughts rattled around Az's head as he flipped yet another page in Mershart's compendium of mineral substances circa 1620.

"Nothing" he exclaimed, closing the book gently and pushing it next to the rather large pile of tomes that had built up over the last few hours. He gazed down at his hand, still clutching the stone to notice dust under his palm. On closer examination, what had originally seemed to be stone, was actually baked on clay, chipped and crumbled away by his unconscious tapping. "Unexpected... that must have been from the fire..."

As if a light bulb had sprang into existence above his head, he lurched for the tool drawer half way down his study desk and fished out a small flat-bladed screwdriver and a brush. Carefully he removed the baked on deposits of clay from half of the stone, taking great care not to damage the emerging jet black object beneath.

After a few painstaking moments, the object revealed itself completely. It was jet black and shiny like fresh cut coal. It was round, but had a hole in the middle, torus shaped, though not a ring, it was far too big for that, and too small to be a bracelet.

Something caught his eye. The hole was empty, but he passed it in front of a light bulb and he could not see the light on the other side. It was as if the bulb was turned off, he could see the element as plain as day but not red hot.

He put the stone to his eye and looked around the room. Everything looked normal, the chair, the fireplace, the books, his armor hanging behind him.. Wait, the armor glows and the sword used to shatter the orb of moons, faint but yes.

Azaran looked at the stone in amazement. What are you... he thought. Magic doesn't work on earth any more, not since the link to Sossaria was broken.

The wind, which until now had been happily battering the other side of the house, changed direction; hailstones hammered the study window bringing Az back to his senses.

Noticing the clock he sighed heavily "Bed time... and I still haven't eaten." and with that he decided to go raid the fridge and get some sleep.

Strange dreams visited him that night, no demons or cities on fire, but a green grassy field on a summers day (real summer, not what we get in Scotland) and a small picnic. He sat there next to a child and an old woman. Seemingly oblivious to his presence, the old woman recanted a tale to the child of Thomas the Rhymer who had travelled to the land of the fay and returned with the power to see what had not yet come to pass. They say he had a magical item that allowed his to see magic, a black stone. Sudden realisation swept over him, the child was he, and his grandmother telling him the story of..."

Azaran awoke covered in sweat shouting "Rhymer's Stone!" He could see the Ether... with great excitement, Azaran grabbed some breakfast and prepared a backpack of items he may need. "This day I may return to my beloved Sossaria... I must prepare".

Before his time in Sossaria, Azaran was skeptical about such things, but he had seen many miracles that could never ever be explained by science. Travel from one end of the world to the other with a few pinches of strange herbs and an incantation of 'Kal Ort Por' or friends brought back to life by resurrection magics. This was only merely a feeling that it may be a way back, but he had to try, he had been gone for so long that this world was his no longer, polution and technology gone rife.

Slipping his armor into a larger canvas sack, he grabbed his backpack and headed out towards the car. The crisp morning temperature bit his face slightly, though the warmth of the rising sun breaking the hills comforted him and warmed him once more.

With that he drove off, to Rhymer's Stone.

The return?

He remembered seeing the sign one day while driving home. It took a while but he found it again on a busy stretch of road next to the hospital outside Melrose. He'd never actually been there, but there it was, a Scottish heritage sign saying Rhymer's Stone 1/2 mile.

He followed the country road around a few bends and past a rather peaceful looking cemetery until he reached a barrier closing off the road. "Looks like this is as far as you're taking me Bessie" he said, patting the steering wheel gently.

He left the car and gathered his belongings, leaving the key's in the ignition so that Bessie may find a new owner.

Vaulting the barrier, he walked slowly up the narrow road, the sun disappearing behind the Eildon hills.

Checking his map against the hills around him, he wasn't far from the wooded glade that he found the stone, it was just on the other side of the big hill behind him.

His boots rasped loudly against the roughly tarmacked road. A warm breeze carried the scent of freshly cut grass from ahead, a variety of different birds whistling and tweeting happily around him. There he found it. Rhymer's Stone

Brushing off some of the dry moss, the inscription on the stone read "This stone marks the site of the Eildon Tree, where legend says Thomas the Rhymer met the Queen of the Fairies"

"The Eildon tree?" Az said, looking around. "I see only bushes.. the tree must be long gone." Remembering the stone, he put his hand into his pocket, the stone moved on its own, gently pulsing. Nervously, Azaran removed it from his pocket. The hole in the center had a dim light pulsing from it. Carefully, he brought the stone closer to his eye, but a safe distance away and meekly looked through the hole.

The twilight grew darker around him as the Sun decended deeper into the hills; The moon peeked over the other hill, not far from the stone.

Looking through the stone, Azaran could see the faint outline of a tree towering over the stone marker, a proud oak, its branches seemingly reaching far into the sky. In place of the stone marker was an ivy arch, passing through the tree. "The Eildon tree.. The Celestial Tree?" He moved forward cautiously, passing through the stone marker as it it was not there, to a small wooded glade, with ancient looking stones positioned around, looking much like a sossarian moongate, though different.

Lowering the stone from his eye, the tree and passageway behind him vanished, the moon much more prominent in the sky, and unnaturally larger than he had seen before.

He looked around for any clue as to what this place was as the Eildon hills were no longer on the horizon, and the bushes surrounding the glade seemed impenetrable.

A breeze stirred around him, making a shiver run down his spine. He reached for the remains of his long sword from the side of his backpack, though more a dagger after it was shattered by the orb of moons and demon fire, though a calm washed over him, the moon now occupying most of the sky above his head.

The stone now pulsed and shifted in his hand with veracity, he could not resist the urge to lift it to his eye. The Center of the glade now had a stone floor, with a marking in the shape of a cross made up of four differently sized triangles of black shiny stone. A line of light crackled from the centre of the cross upward into the sky and bowed out to form a sphere of light, shielding his eyes, the light grew bright, the breeze now a wind whipping leaves around in circles following the outside of the glade.

"This is it!" Azaran exclaimed "I'm going home!!!" He clutched the large sack and backpack tightly as the sphere of light turned red, the wind pushing him inside whether he wanted it or not. Thunder crashed and darkness consumed all.

Epilogue? Or the next prologue?

He regained his senses as he landed on his knees, the shock of pain rushed through his entire body. Azaran had the misfortune to land upon his bag of armor and it hurt like the nine hells.

He dusted himself off and looked around. He stood in a similar glade, with a stone circle and a pulsing aura of energy in its center. He could see a place beyond the aura, but it was not clear and it certainly wasn't where he came from.

He did not know where he was but it certainly was not Sossaria.

(OOC) That's all I'm going to write for the moment. If you've been listening to my tale, I hope you enjoyed it. Please feel free to leave comments/praise/criticism. The next chapter of Azaran's story will be written when more lore is available on New Britannia.

Regards,

Darg, AKA Azaran Valis. (/OOC)

 

Enjoying the lazy life of sipping rum from a cup shaped like a coconut on a tropical beach, I empty my mind of worldly stresses. Life has certainly changed since my return to Earth. After years of no contact from Britannia, I decided to embrace my life here, beginning a career in international business, and finally settled down, starting a family of my own. This is the first day of our family vacation, where I wanted us to get away from the tech and stress of modern life and enjoy each other's company for a change. All it's been so far however is complaints about the lack of cellphone service, and 'when will we be able to get back home to real life?' Oh how I wish they could understand the real life experiences I had in Britannia, but to them these were mere bedtime stories.

Jarring me from my afternoon slumber, my son draws my attention. He points up into the sky, “Father! The sky is falling!” Following his gaze, I see it, a distant streak in the sky - no there’s another.. dozens! As daylight visibly darkens, I realize a shower of meteors is darting through the skies from every direction. Instinctively I gather my family and run up the beach trail leading through the jungle to higher ground. Almond sized rocks whiz by like bullets, sinking into the ground all around us as we run for our lives up a solitary hill. Then just as it began, it was over. The skies were blue and empty in all directions and all seemed peaceful once more.

..a little too peaceful. Listening carefully, I could faintly hear a distant humming from beneath the earth. Suddenly a shaft of blue light shot out of the ground, and a shimmering rift appeared in front of us on the hill. This was a sight I thought I would never see again. Wiping tears from my eyes, I looked around and realized many of these rifts had appeared, possibly all over the world. Gathering my resolve, I held my frightened family close and told them not to worry, but our vacation had only just begun. Hand-in-hand we walked through the rift together.

 

Ah! Loved all of these stories so far! Dargalin's was wonderfully written and kept me reading through the entire thing. Great work all around!

Inspiring me to write my own now. ♥

 

Miracle Dragon - I love the idea of bringing your family along for the journey! Most stories don't really address the loved ones left behind when we leave Earth and travel to New Britannia.

 

NB: I have attempted to recreate my UO character Venom d'Orsay in several games, but it never quite fit for various reasons. As I see SotA as an evolution of UO, what follows is a story of transcendence, rather than an origin story. I hope you enjoy it!

"Old Bones"

A story of new beginnings.​

​

As new worlds come into being, they are built upon the bones of old. This is how it has always been, and likely how it always will be. But whilst a majority of these skeletal relics are devoid of life and purpose, malleable to new needs and wants, some retain the ghosts of their former existence and refuse to be reshaped. Neither law of universe, nor science, magic, or miracle can explain why this is so. Sometimes, all it takes, is the force of will.​

​

As the first dawns and days passed over New Britannia, new land and life shaping itself and drawing breath, some things also began to stir at the edge of everyone's perception. A furtive motion at the edge of your vision, the rustle of a leaf without wind, a broken blade of grass where no one has walked - you will know the sort. It is here then, at the dusk of these early days, cradled by the darkness of new nights, that something old awakens.​

​

Old bars have been broken, old chains shattered, and what was once imprisoned was released. Devoid of its old form and purpose, it strains to remember what it was, and to understand what it has become. Twisted by the scars of its former existences, it writhes and strains as, visions of the past flash before its consciousness; a birth and life in luscious comfort, loving parents, twisted by jealousy and hatred, murder, death, incomprehensible sadness.​

​

Time is a healer, and it brings solace in the shape of other memories. It brings remembrance of warmth and love found in the arms of another, the joys of a new life springing from it. The faces of old friends and lovers, smiling and happy. The memories of times spent together, in joyous occasion.​

​

But time passes and is never kind for long. The pleasant memories dissipate, overshadowed by loss, chagrin and worse. Demons and ancient evil taking hold, twisting and ripping. The consciousness of old screaming without voice at the agony remembered, writhing and straining at the bonds of its past life. Breaking free, fleeing from darkness towards the innocent new world. Half-falling, half-flying towards the lights of a new civilization, seeking a shape, seeking a body, seeking a mind.​

Far below, a hapless stranger leaves the warmth of a tavern common room, taking in the gentle midnight air as the door falls shut behind him, cutting off the bustle and commotion within. The mild scent of herbs, grasses and dust on the breeze, bringing a smile to the stranger's face. Lanterns flicker behind him, as darkness shrouds him from all sides. The sudden weight of a consciousness of old throws him to the floor, driving all air out of him. The vehemence of the blow robs him of his senses. His own consciousness at first is subdued, then devoured to strengthen something much older, much stronger.​

​

The consciousness of old willing itself into the mould of a new host, squeezing, pushing, and compressing itself. The stranger's mind is unfamiliar, and far too young and fresh to accommodate the vastness of its new inhabitant. The strain is increasing, pressures are building, and finally the consciousness implodes in a bright white light within the stranger's mind.​

​

Life returning to limbs, the stranger begins to stir, lifting himself off the ground. The lanterns reflect from eyes shining icy blue, as a stiff wind tugs at unkempt hair, and brushes dust from simple clothing. He raises a hand before his face, turning it to examine it from all sides, oblivious of cuts and bruises.​

​

Of the consciousness of old, compressed into new shape and purpose, distilled from the memories of its former existence, only one thought remains, whispered into the air of a new world through unfamiliar lips, smirking.​

​

A name.​

​

"Venom."​

 

Wow thank you for the kind feedback . Hopefully I will continue once we know more about our wonderful new land

 

As the name of the thread implies, here is Loony Loyd's arrival.

Journal of Lawrence Lancelot Loyd

July 29, 2013

Nice. I am now sitting in some type of ancient town prison with a feather to write with. I don’t know how many days beyond my birthday it truly is, but I’m gonna try to write what I remember.

I find myself standing near the circle of small stones two days after my 38th birthday. If my suspicions are true, the stone with a half circle should represent the half moon. The half-moon is tonight so something should happen here. I’ve decided to bring my journal with me for “instant memory” purposes. Yeah, right.

For some reason ‘my’ voice hasn’t contradicted any of my thoughts these past few nights. Actually it’s quieted down since my night out with Alyssa. As the minutes drag on into hours, I keep waiting for ‘my’ voice to drop some complicated equation that ends with making me look foolish for believing in free will. Or that I should get back with Alyssa to give it the newborn sacrifice that I was supposed to be when I was born.

I walk out into the middle of the circle. Perhaps because the stones are so small, whatever is going to happen is going to be small as well? I wait for a sound or a feeling like static or a tickle… nothing. I think at this point I am so disappointed that I tilt my head back and sigh into the night sky. And that is how, out of my right peripheral vision, I see a shooting star streak by. Naturally the sight brings back the memory of my father joining that cult in mass suicide during the tail of a stupid comet. I feel myself sink further in disappointment. Why was I thinking that these stones were going to prove he was right? That one truly can travel to another world. That he and perhaps my mother truly are out there still. ‘My’ voice occasionally taunts me that my father is imprisoned somewhere. Sometimes even with my dad’s voice.

The thoughts flash by in an instant and I find my attention brought back to the present. The sinking sensation I’ve been feeling is actually physical. The shooting star burns out as I look down. A light of spherical energy instantly rises and enlarges to encompass my whole body. Just as instantly my hiking boots, jeans, and t-shirt are replaced with some loose fitting worn out shirt, pants and shoes. There is also a pendent around my neck with three symbols. The first one looks like a strange ‘L’ or a stiletto heeled boot. The second symbol looks like an ‘F’. The last one is like two letter z's joined and turned 90 degrees. I hear murmuring and realize I’m not alone.

I am standing in a backwater town with its citizens walking about doing their nightly chores. Or maybe they’re just the local drunks. They keep staring at me. ‘Of course they do dummy’, states my pre-adolescent voice. It’s actually the voice that I listen to the most because I really do believe it’s my own. I ask where does a stranger like me get help from and their response was finger pointing to a guard. When I state the same message, with the added story of how I got here, to the guard his eyes grow wide before he says one word: follow. Do these people speak English or do I instantly understand like my clothes were instantly changed?

The guard leads me to a sheriff’s office type of building. The guard asks for the captain and tells the captain my story when he arrives. The captain opens a cabinet and removes an expensive looking crossbow. Hard road to where we’re going to? I ask. The captain responds with: For you, absolutely. He then points the crossbow at me and fires a projectile at my chest. I think he got me in the heart but for obvious reasons I blacked out.

I awaken inside of a jail cell. As soon as the guard sees me stand up and stretch he yells at me to walk over to him. When I get there he hands me my journal with a box and says that due to a friend of the captain’s, I am allowed to write more journals. After sitting back down I open the box to see a feather and bottle. Is this a quill? Wait, I’m alive?

A video of my concept for the character: Concept Art Video

 

The Avatar


Sitting at my desk going through all these forums, posting replies, argueing with others, agreeing with others as well, boredom sets in. Im looking around my desk, theres my sword, over there is my dagger set, i also have a nice battle axe that was custom made to look like a phoenix ("Fire Talon" is her name), My Broadsword, "Sacred Strike", with its intriquet design, hilt to look like a helm with horns coming out of the sides, the skull compass on the sheath, my Helm smithed by the finests blacksmith i know, to replicate a wolfs head (sign of my household), but nothing attracts my attention more than my Battle Hammer, flat with a concave head, sharp spike on the other side of the hammer head, for the finishing blow, giving mercy to its victim for i am merciful, eventhough i seem merciless! Being a Cleric, it is my chosen weapon and its name "Judgement" that is my favorite of them all!
A portal opens up to my suprise right next to me, and a voice beckons "Come forth Hospitlar!, your skills will be needed, more so now than ever! You have proven your worth so many times before in Britannia, and have held true to your Virtues, so many are broken now, suffering is a daily occurrance here since the world broke apart! Men and beasts alike have fallen to the roadside, lost in thier thoughts". "What have we done? What has happend to us? Why has the world gone dark?" "You! - Hospitlar, are our only light in these darkend times, many souls need healing, many of the broken virtues need mending, many vile dark beasts need be put back in the depths of the earth forced back to thier darkend holes! We need light, and guiding, and this is where you come in Hospitlar, protect us from the the dark, wipe the tears from our childrens eyes, and forgive us for our past selfish behaviour, that has brought on the chaos, and have fed the fuel of its power ever consuming us! So please, we beg of you Avatar, Hospitlar, we need you and we need you now!"

After short thought i don my armour piece by piece, as i recite my Mantra...........
- "I wear this helm so that evil may not look upon my face and so I may not look upon evil without sheilding my eyes"
- "I wear this armor so that evil may not touch me, and i may not be stained by it!"
- "I wear these boots so i may walk upon sacrilege grounds and stay sanctified"
- "I wear these gauntlets so that i may not touch evil and may not be tainted by its blood"
- "My shield is to defend the helpless and the weak, shelter them against the blows of evil"
- "My War Hammer armed, to cast crushing judgment upon the evil that spreads its leathery wings, for its judgement is absolute!"

I step through the portal............

(start theme music here! grin)










....The heat is almost unbearable as i appear on the other side! gathering my senses i look around, apparently im in some sort of burned out house! The embers still aglow, sounds of battle outside, people running everywhere, an axe comes crashing down on its unfortunate victim (dealing blunt trauma?... and eventually death!) no time to think that through! Im a "Stranger in a strange land" unfamiliar with my surroundings i need to exit this area with stealth and speed to get somwhere i can absorb whats going on around me! I need a mount! Looking around i see none..well theres one over there but i beleive its only for decoration, since i cant seem to get on it no matter how hard I try!? Theres a cloak laying on the ground with some kind of serpentine device on it! Ill use that cloak to cover my armor and disguise myself as a fleeing victim of this town! I jump in with all the chaos, fire reigning down from the sky! One lone dragon flying over head! This cant be good! As im running out of the town an armored hand grabs my shoulder and an evil laugh comes forth from behind me! Immidiately i spin around out from under the cloak a glowing hammer appears, abruptly ending the laughter in a gurgle of blood and bone caught in the throat and lungs of my assailant! Pulling my cloak back over the deadly weapon i continue, he never saw that coming! Running to the nearest house for cover im magically transported back to the gate entrance! "Damn i should have paid 200 plus dollars for a house and deed!" No time to fret over that, i need to keep running! Jumping over the dead bodies and weaving in and out of battles, every now and then swinging the hammer low, i crush what appears to be the bad guys knees in this situation, halting that fight and giving the upper hand to he who once was its victim! I continue down the street. Up ahead i see a tavern, theres a sign that reads "Fire Lotus Tavern" -closed for renovations. It appears that magically no damage has been done to this particular building!? What the hell? Anyway i need to continue, my lungs burning from running so hard and breathing in all the smoke i finally see where the town ends and the forest begins, I grab a couple wounded people and tell them to grab the women, and the children, and the wounded and follow me! They give me an astonished look, like some how it was written in prophecy somewhere I was supposed to be here! "No time to gawk follow me!" I yell out! pretty soon i am no longer alone i have a small band of villagers in tow now! An arrow flys through the chest of one of the villagers spraying blood on those around him, he falls to the ground! "Leave him it is too late for him, he is already with his God and safe!" We find some dense foilage, I tell the people to "get down and hide behind it", they follow my directions without thinking twice! I tell them "to stay hidden until i return and make no noise!"
I walk out to the middle of the road throw back my cloak exposing my armor, and the tell tale device emblazoned upon it "An Ibex in contourney ore(" A yellow mountain goat with grand horns facing to the right), and a flaming shield branded on the right side of my neck (The "WarSworn" symbol") I pull out my war hammer and wait! within moments appears the archer! he throws down his bow and unsheaths his sword! A grin on his scarred face, he yells out "No one shall escape the grasp of us! and that includes you Priest and your petty followers!" He charges forth with much speed and power, I turn my body sideways barely missing the cut of his sword so close i can hear the air being cut in half! I toss the hammer to the left hand and raise it up past my left cheek, grab his sword hand taking control of his momentum, as i guide his arm onward i swing the hammer back to his face, meeting it with precision and power! The sound of crushing bone and a spray of blood, his grin replaced by a hole of caved in bone, and teeth! He lays motionless on the ground! Wiping the blood off my helm and hammer with his cloak, I see a chaotic emblem from the Vale. I rip it off his surcoat, and pocket it for further investigation into this chaos ive appeared in so suddenly. I turn to the foilage and say "It is now safe to come out!" they appear out of the greenery and look at me in amazement, I turn back to the fallen victim and say his last rights as I cross his arms over his chest for his eternal sleep. "We must continue now!" After about an hour of travel we find an opening in the forest and set up camp. I tend to the wounded healing thier wounds as best i can with my magic, and bandaging up other less damaged people. As im tending to the wounded i see the group talking amongst themselves, apparently picking one to be the liason. A young man walks up to me and says "Avatar?"

"I am Hospitlar"

 

That's actually a big part of the purpose behind my story. Past Ultimas we had to face alone, and being that they were 20 to 30 years ago, many of us probably didn't have family to worry about anyways. But now The Ultima crowd has matured, and for the most part, we have families.

Shroud is specifically designed with selective multiplayer to allow us to play together with our friends and family, and I felt it would be important to reflect that aspect of Shroud in the introductory story. Since we all can play together, why not enter New Britannia together to represent that principal metaphorically?