Tales of LoC [Archive] - Wizards Community

Tales of LoC [Archive] - Wizards Community

Post/Author/DateTime Post
Return of the Flumph
07-16-07, 08:40 PM This thread is for short stories, vignettes, and other blurbs pertaining to the Lords of Creation universe. These can be to flesh out a certain aspect of the campaign setting, to elaborate on something not adressed thoroughly in the other threads, or just for the fun of it.

If it ends up being just me, that's fine.
ewancummins
07-16-07, 08:44 PM Oooooh, storytime! I like this idea.
Return of the Flumph
07-16-07, 09:35 PM The living dead do not sleep. However, they have very vivid daydreams.

Icoscol sat on the sand, looking out across the empty plain. There was nothing in this desert besides sand, and sky, and him. He was the last of his kind; the others had vanished into the sky. Wistfully, he looked up into the air. Stared.

Because he was lonely, he decided to build a sand castle. It wouldn't be a real castle, of course, and there wouldn't be anyone living in it, but building it would comfort him. After walking for several minutes or hours, he came to a pond, which he used to wet some sand.

He started with the great hall. It always had to start with the king's building; everything else depended on it. He packed the damp sand into a rectangle, and drew a door and large windows with his fingernail. He put more sand on top and made a pointed roof, to keep snow from building up during the winter, and a chimney, so the king and his attendents could keep themselves warm.

To protect the king, he built a wall around the building, with a few raised patches to represent outbuildings, storehouses, and barracks along the interior. The walls were much higher than the keep, and studded with little battlements for the archers to hide behind. There was no gate in the walls, for the vaati could fly. The castle was well built and secure.

Icoscol stood up and beamed at his creation. He decided to make a city around it, a place for the commoners and merchants to live. He beat a trail of sand leading up to the castle for a street, and began shaping many rectangle and square buildings on either side of it. This was the marketplace, where goods from around the empire were bought and sold. Next was a tall, airy spire, the temple, where Morintu was thanked daily with prayers and sacrifices for their prosperity. An air womb, where young vaati would be born. An amphitheatre, where dramatic and magical displays took place. A servant house, where the lung dragons were kept. Icoscol could almost hear the voices from hundreds and thousands of people walking and flying through the streets, the laughter of children as they played under the awnings and behind the market buildings.

When he had completed the entire city, Icoscol stood in the one blank spot beside the castle and felt an incredible pride flow through his living veins. This was peace. This was society. This was his home, and he had made it himself.

He heard footsteps behind him.

Turning, Icoscol saw a collosal shape on the horizon. Huge, black, and ominous, it was a mound of hair and muscle that blotted out the sun. He smelt its rank breath and unwashed mane as it befouled the sacred air. Icoscol held his breath. Could it be?

The giant came closer, and Icoscol saw that a third arm grew from the center of the monster's chest. Instead of a head, a grotesque, oversized hand sprouted from its neck, fingers waving in front of it like tentacles. Three-Arms-And-Four-Hands.

Icoscol looked up at the towering horror. It looked over his head, not taking the slightest notice of him.

"Please," Icoscol said, as loudly as he could without sounding angry, "can you please not ruin my city?"

Three-Arms-And-Four-Hands stood there, a mountain of brute flesh, not registering a thing. Icoscol stepped to the side, so that he stood between the leviathon and his city.

"I don't want any trouble," Icoscol said, "please don't wreck anything."

Three-Arms-And-Four-Hands inclined its head downward, so it could see the sand city (at least, it would have seen it if it had eyes). The massive fingers waggled pointedly toward the city. It still did not notice Icoscol.

Impossibly, Three-Arms-And-Four-Hands breathed in, puffing its chest outward. Icoscol felt a huge amount of air being sucked up into the creature's fingertips.

"NO!" Screamed Icoscol, jumping up and down, waving his arms, doing everything he could to make the beast notice him, "DON'T DO IT! KILL ME INSTEAD! NO! NOOOOO!!!!!!!!!"

Three-Arms-And-Four-Hands blew with all its gigantic might, and the city crumbled. The outer walls were hit first; the protection they had provided was undone as they fell backward, crumbling on and crushing the houses they had been built to defend. The loose sand from these walls and houses blew forward, cutting into the next row of structures, collapsing them as well. The amphitheatre fell inward and covered the seats and stage, quelling the musical performance that had been taking place in a chorus of screams. The lung dragons panicked as the roof of their shelter caved in, crushing every one of the noble beasts inside. The market, the armories, and, finally, the castle itself, all fell before the stupid, unthinking wind. In its wake, there was nothing but a few uneven bumps on the clean sand.

Ignoring his shouts and curses, Three-Arms-And-Four-Hands turned around and dissapeared back over the horizon.

Icoscol screamed himself hoarse at the giant's dissapearing back. He felt a needle in his throat and dagger points behind his eyes. As his voice gave out, he fell on the ground and cried, each tear burning his flesh as it ate its way out, his breathing ragged and uncontrollable. Beneath him were the bodies of millions of innocent men, women, and children, his friends, his family. It was just him. Just him, forever.

...

"Your imperial majesty."

Icoscol looked up from his throne at the human who was kneeling before him.

"Yes, magistrate?"

The human stood up, but kept his head bowed.

"The latest report has come in from the ezera task force. The militants have retreated back into the mountains. We can start building the new city as soon as you give the order."

Icoscol gazed at the human from behind his bronze mask. Red flesh, yellow skin, brown hair. A human.

"Excellent," said Icoscol, "the supply trains are to arrive at the building site in one month."

"A month, your majesty? If we send them now they can start building in-"

"One month, magistrate. The ezera will have time to prepare themselves. We will see, in that time, if they are truly ready for us yet."

"Yes, your majesty."

The magistrate bowed again and backed out of the throne room, closing the mahogany and gold door behind him.

Icoscol lifted his hand, and a mirror appeared in it. He looked at his polished mask with its serene, implacable expression. He had worn it for hundreds of years now, but that was merely a fraction of his lifetime.

Keeping the mirror in place, he removed the mask, putting it down on the armrest of his throne. A cracked, half fossilized skull grimaced back at him. In its eye sockets were nothing at all. No windows to the soul. Just blackness.

Icoscol sat on his throne.
Delfedd
07-16-07, 09:40 PM Wow. That was great. That is EXACTLY how I picture Icoscol acting. Very very good.

Very good symbolism.
Return of the Flumph
07-17-07, 01:12 AM Will get back to this one when I've thought it through better.

Post/Author/DateTime	Post
Return of the Flumph 07-16-07, 08:40 PM	This thread is for short stories, vignettes, and other blurbs pertaining to the Lords of Creation universe. These can be to flesh out a certain aspect of the campaign setting, to elaborate on something not adressed thoroughly in the other threads, or just for the fun of it. If it ends up being just me, that's fine.
ewancummins 07-16-07, 08:44 PM	Oooooh, storytime! I like this idea.
Return of the Flumph 07-16-07, 09:35 PM	The living dead do not sleep. However, they have very vivid daydreams. Icoscol sat on the sand, looking out across the empty plain. There was nothing in this desert besides sand, and sky, and him. He was the last of his kind; the others had vanished into the sky. Wistfully, he looked up into the air. Stared. Because he was lonely, he decided to build a sand castle. It wouldn't be a real castle, of course, and there wouldn't be anyone living in it, but building it would comfort him. After walking for several minutes or hours, he came to a pond, which he used to wet some sand. He started with the great hall. It always had to start with the king's building; everything else depended on it. He packed the damp sand into a rectangle, and drew a door and large windows with his fingernail. He put more sand on top and made a pointed roof, to keep snow from building up during the winter, and a chimney, so the king and his attendents could keep themselves warm. To protect the king, he built a wall around the building, with a few raised patches to represent outbuildings, storehouses, and barracks along the interior. The walls were much higher than the keep, and studded with little battlements for the archers to hide behind. There was no gate in the walls, for the vaati could fly. The castle was well built and secure. Icoscol stood up and beamed at his creation. He decided to make a city around it, a place for the commoners and merchants to live. He beat a trail of sand leading up to the castle for a street, and began shaping many rectangle and square buildings on either side of it. This was the marketplace, where goods from around the empire were bought and sold. Next was a tall, airy spire, the temple, where Morintu was thanked daily with prayers and sacrifices for their prosperity. An air womb, where young vaati would be born. An amphitheatre, where dramatic and magical displays took place. A servant house, where the lung dragons were kept. Icoscol could almost hear the voices from hundreds and thousands of people walking and flying through the streets, the laughter of children as they played under the awnings and behind the market buildings. When he had completed the entire city, Icoscol stood in the one blank spot beside the castle and felt an incredible pride flow through his living veins. This was peace. This was society. This was his home, and he had made it himself. He heard footsteps behind him. Turning, Icoscol saw a collosal shape on the horizon. Huge, black, and ominous, it was a mound of hair and muscle that blotted out the sun. He smelt its rank breath and unwashed mane as it befouled the sacred air. Icoscol held his breath. Could it be? The giant came closer, and Icoscol saw that a third arm grew from the center of the monster's chest. Instead of a head, a grotesque, oversized hand sprouted from its neck, fingers waving in front of it like tentacles. Three-Arms-And-Four-Hands. Icoscol looked up at the towering horror. It looked over his head, not taking the slightest notice of him. "Please," Icoscol said, as loudly as he could without sounding angry, "can you please not ruin my city?" Three-Arms-And-Four-Hands stood there, a mountain of brute flesh, not registering a thing. Icoscol stepped to the side, so that he stood between the leviathon and his city. "I don't want any trouble," Icoscol said, "please don't wreck anything." Three-Arms-And-Four-Hands inclined its head downward, so it could see the sand city (at least, it would have seen it if it had eyes). The massive fingers waggled pointedly toward the city. It still did not notice Icoscol. Impossibly, Three-Arms-And-Four-Hands breathed in, puffing its chest outward. Icoscol felt a huge amount of air being sucked up into the creature's fingertips. "NO!" Screamed Icoscol, jumping up and down, waving his arms, doing everything he could to make the beast notice him, "DON'T DO IT! KILL ME INSTEAD! NO! NOOOOO!!!!!!!!!" Three-Arms-And-Four-Hands blew with all its gigantic might, and the city crumbled. The outer walls were hit first; the protection they had provided was undone as they fell backward, crumbling on and crushing the houses they had been built to defend. The loose sand from these walls and houses blew forward, cutting into the next row of structures, collapsing them as well. The amphitheatre fell inward and covered the seats and stage, quelling the musical performance that had been taking place in a chorus of screams. The lung dragons panicked as the roof of their shelter caved in, crushing every one of the noble beasts inside. The market, the armories, and, finally, the castle itself, all fell before the stupid, unthinking wind. In its wake, there was nothing but a few uneven bumps on the clean sand. Ignoring his shouts and curses, Three-Arms-And-Four-Hands turned around and dissapeared back over the horizon. Icoscol screamed himself hoarse at the giant's dissapearing back. He felt a needle in his throat and dagger points behind his eyes. As his voice gave out, he fell on the ground and cried, each tear burning his flesh as it ate its way out, his breathing ragged and uncontrollable. Beneath him were the bodies of millions of innocent men, women, and children, his friends, his family. It was just him. Just him, forever. ... "Your imperial majesty." Icoscol looked up from his throne at the human who was kneeling before him. "Yes, magistrate?" The human stood up, but kept his head bowed. "The latest report has come in from the ezera task force. The militants have retreated back into the mountains. We can start building the new city as soon as you give the order." Icoscol gazed at the human from behind his bronze mask. Red flesh, yellow skin, brown hair. A human. "Excellent," said Icoscol, "the supply trains are to arrive at the building site in one month." "A month, your majesty? If we send them now they can start building in-" "One month, magistrate. The ezera will have time to prepare themselves. We will see, in that time, if they are truly ready for us yet." "Yes, your majesty." The magistrate bowed again and backed out of the throne room, closing the mahogany and gold door behind him. Icoscol lifted his hand, and a mirror appeared in it. He looked at his polished mask with its serene, implacable expression. He had worn it for hundreds of years now, but that was merely a fraction of his lifetime. Keeping the mirror in place, he removed the mask, putting it down on the armrest of his throne. A cracked, half fossilized skull grimaced back at him. In its eye sockets were nothing at all. No windows to the soul. Just blackness. Icoscol sat on his throne.
Delfedd 07-16-07, 09:40 PM	Wow. That was great. That is EXACTLY how I picture Icoscol acting. Very very good. Very good symbolism.
Return of the Flumph 07-17-07, 01:12 AM	Will get back to this one when I've thought it through better.