Thomas-Gro-Ruz' Literature Library

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ThomasRuz
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Post by ThomasRuz »

Normen verse about Shorn (their version of Shor):

Woe, woe to old king Shorn!
Who rules under the earth, a frigid palace forlorn.
Who saw shadows from above, and chose to remain on his throne.
And his servants went, and his servants went scrambling to the top!
Leaving him alone in decrepit halls, afraid of what was up.

When old king Shorn saw first light and day,
He saw his servants gone astray, they became kings and queens
In their own way.
They ruled a new peoples, the Normen of Balothian Bay.
Angered and resentful he conspires against his own,
In the unwelcome halls old king Shorn stands alone.
>This is when ThomasRuz made a new discord channel about maps and the conversation died.

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ThomasRuz
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Post by ThomasRuz »

Normen poem

The cowardly King Orel

King Orel sat on his throne, pompous and well-fed.
Being served on a whim, while servants came and went.
Where one day, outside the hall, came the many voices of his people, that were at war.

King! They cried out loud, the many dead come for us, and you won’t come out!

Pallid Orel looked at his door; why would he?
He had no need and no want, let them die for their king.
Honour meant nothing to him at all.

And so his people were butchered to the man.
Screams fizzled out, and were exchanged by the guttural sounds of the damned.
The pounding on the door turned to cracking wood and splinters, servants rushed to the front, the men who served him many winters.
The dead rushed the defences in mere minutes, Orel was nowhere to be found.
He fled to the clouds, before his servants’ axes clattered to the ground.

And so King Orel the coward fled. He failed to protect his people, forsaking them to the dead
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ThomasRuz
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Post by ThomasRuz »

Arceigh, he who whispered mortality

Arceigh, grandson to King Shorn and son to Maire, was curious about all of life’s resplendence. Always eagerly awaiting Maire’s stories she would tell amongst the forever-hearth. Where she told of honorable warriors of numerous deeds celebrated beyond time. As she told and told around the ever-comforting hearth, the stacks upon stacks of story-packed books grew ever thinner and thinner, until but few remained. A book of black cover stood out amidst the meager piles, a book Maire always tucked away, for it seem to have her much sorrow.

And so when the pile came to an end, Maire briefly left the hearth unattended, so she may gather more stories for the ever-curious Arceigh. Though the inquisitiveness Maire invoked in Arceigh, intrigued Arceigh about what she had hidden away. With her hearth unattended Arceigh took the opportunity and seized the book for his own. His hands opened clasps of a book existent before time came into existence. His hands grew cold, but as soon as his eyes touched the page, they read feverishly; every word on every page. His gaze growing ever fixated, but ever so horrified.

As all words stuck to his mind, and all meanings coalesced, his form grew wrinkled, and his body frail, his hair went white and a mind aged beyond proportion, but equally wisenend. It was not long before Maire returned and saw to her horror what became of her son, to hich still held the Book of Death in his spindly hands. Tainted by the very words no-one should here; Arceigh embodied now – not only her spirit of life – but also became a being which whispered of mortality. Her hearth now grown cold.

It was no sooner than Arceigh recited the whispers that others would perceive them. The gods closed their ears, but his words reached nearly all of creation. For all those that couldn’t do but hear, mortality was recited a thousand-fold and thereafter recited a thousand more.

The Kings and Queen on the surface were dismayed, for he turned their servant mortal. Once their warriors knew all there was, but now their servants had to relearn all and all again, after they would be reborn. For his hubris he was now indebted to Orel, Magnor and Kyne.

Where Maire once raised him in the comfort of her hearth, now Orel tutored Arceigh. Orel knew much of the glib tongue, and of the tact of words. Arceigh’s tong now a slippery eel. He also instilled duty upon him, So he may know the responsibility he has on those below.

One day out of sheer bitterness and grief mad Shorn opened his doors and plagued the surface with his loyal men. His once servants – now their own Kings and Queen – now stood against their old monarch.

It was Orel’s duty to challenge Shorn personally in his halls; for what is a King, if he cannot fight for his own people?
It was Magnor’s duty to stand at the gates, to protect the surface; for what is a King, if he cannot protect his own lands?
It was Kyne’s duty to rally those who would honour the King’s and Queen in battle: for what are the people, without their Queen?

As Orel went to the unwelcome halls, Arceigh watched as Orel’s flamberge wavered and shook before the might of Shorn’s hammer, and was ready to bolt and flee to his palace on the clouds.

Arceigh watched as the first of Shorn’s men battered against the shields of Magnor’s knights. Seeing Orel about to run, Magnor betrayed the cause and sacrificed the few, to save his other knights, as he retreated to the sky-palace.

And so only Warrior-Queen Kyne stood between Shorn’s loyal men and his mighty hammer, and their battle ensued.

The normen clashed against Shorn’s men with might and zeal, but all we’re now ensnared by the mortal coil, and mighty warriors fell one-by-one.
Arceigh witnessed and saw all, and remembered his duties to Kings and Queen, to those he served and he who mentored him. To those that betrayed the cause, were to flee and stood fast against a great enemy, he opened his mouth once more.

Words of mortality once like whispers now like waves. Where once his words could be denied, now his eel-tongue, curled and coiled with ever-strengthening force. Orel and Shorn shrieked as the words shook into them like tolling bells. But the Normen heard Arceigh’s words a thousand times before, and were unphased.

Arceigh’s shriek penetrated the unwelcome halls, and his words bore down like the breath of Winter. The unwelcome halls covered in the rime and cold of Death. And so too, it clung to Orel and Shorn, who now stood frozen in place. But Shorn’s heart still remained, by its loyalty for his servants still bound; his men undeterred.

Kyne suffered a heavy loss, the Normen who went lay still and defeaten. But as they lay still, loyalty and duty remained in the fire of their hearts. Arceigh knew it’s comfortable warmth as Maire’s hearth.

And so he took their embers one-by-one as the God between dead and living, and stoked their fire. And so they were reborn once more, and so they stole the heart of Shorn.

The heart was given to Kyne, who kept it in her scattered wind-palace, Arceigh’s debt to here unresolved he continues to serve her dutifully. For the heart must be protected at all cost, for if he reclaims his heart, the surface will meet its demise.
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ThomasRuz
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Post by ThomasRuz »

The exile of Meredie

In the star-court of the kingdom in-between, Magnon saw all, and many knights were gathered to his table.

Among them one starknight reflected Magnon in every way, and outshone every knight gathered at the table; Meredie. The collective of knights were in a fierce discussion over what should be done, and what actions should be taken. Shal’s disease had spread amongst the divinity, and Ariel had fallen ill. The knights were divided in what was the right thing to do.

And one side pressed not to interfere, to separate the star-court from the mortal world was the right decision.

And another saw it only right to cure Ariel’s disease before it overtook him, or purge him if it was too late, before the world crumbled. For all starknights together might subdue him.

Meredie, the most luminant of the starknights was the most captivating of all, but internally she had greater doubt than all equally. Her conscience asked for security, but her temper and zeal asked for action. Meredie uttered her favor for ridding the divine of the disease, and all other voices were silenced. The knights solemnly agreed, because who could disagree with her in Magnon’s light?

And so they followed her will-of-purpose, and went to the world of mortals.

When Meredie and the knights arrived the situation was worse than expected. The disease affected both mortals and divine alike. They found themselves swarmed and surrounded by the ravenous diseased.

The starknights pushed on behind Meredie’s banner, cleaving the disease out of mortal flesh with Magnon’s light. But the more Meredie purged them, the more doubt deepened and entrenched.
Meredie shouted that the disease had to be eradicated out of all of the diseased, mortal and divine. As such, she made her oath.
And so they carved, and carved, and used the Eastern Star-King’s light to form a path.
But all around her she saw disease, and all around her, the knights slowly fell.

“Was this not her purpose, was this not the way?”
Her light faded, her will was drained; but a pale imitation remained. She became only a weak reflection of Magnon’s light.
And Meredie’s retinue noticed,
And so their will-of-purpose shattered,
And so they fled to the star-court.

But an oath she had made? Magnon shall not accept her, and without her compatriots she shall perish because of her weakness.

And so Meredie left the battlefield.

And left for a place outside the star-court and the mortal space, carving her refuge out of Magnon’s stolen light.

There she remains, to lend her aid to those who wish to see her oath fulfilled, to win back Magnon’s grace, and return to the star-court glorious.
>This is when ThomasRuz made a new discord channel about maps and the conversation died.

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