Post/Author/DateTime	Post
Huan 06-17-06, 10:13 PM	June COCO Writing Contest! In the city of Gladius, there are dozens of exciting events happening daily, so why not play the bard and eulogize about the best character in the world…. Your own! Rules: -Write a creative/cool/intriguing tale about a COCO character. The theme is open (mystery, adventure, action, horror) so have fun! -The story can be about anything (keep it appropriate please!) but must not be about an arena fight. -If your story is about, or includes, another COCO character that is not your own, then make sure you have the permission of the owner to use their creative property appropriately! -Extra consideration will be awarded to those who write within real-world locales across the world of Gladius (see World Map (http://boards1.wizards.com/showthread.php?t=580765)). -There is no maximum or minimum length, but surely your incredible tale is longer than a single paragraph. If your tale is longer than one post, please link your story pieces in the submission thread (see below). Prizes: The winner nets a cool 3 credits, while anyone who is deemed worthy into the Tales of Gladius will earn a nice 2 credits (included in the winning prize). Judging: There will be a poll set up for the entire COCO to vote for their favorite tales. The poll is public, but in order for your vote to count, you must have an active character in the COCO, and you must write a short review on the stories, more-or-less explaining why you choose as you did (not just “I liked it”). Remember, constructive criticism is the aim, and will only help our applicants for next month! Submission: Submit right here! Reserve a post if need be. Deadline: Given recent events, the deadline this month will be the 24th, so get cracking! Questions: Please PM Huan.
Hawkeye_60 06-18-06, 03:04 AM	The history of Ash-Del Oghoth, Part 1 Ash grew up in the poor section of Kellshar, a rather corrupted city. He wore nothing but rags, ate scraps and leftovers from other people, and was always filthy. Though he was bigger than all the other kids, he was always being picked on and beaten up. Ash had no hair, his skin was grayish-blue, and his eyes were pure white. His mother, whenever she was around, would always tell him that violence never solved anything, so Ash would never fight back. One day, Ash came home from wandering the streets begging for food to find a strange man in his doorway. The man was tall for a human, and fairly muscular. However, it was the glistening blood dripping from the man’s hands, and the cold, lifeless stare fixed on his mother’s face. As Ash watch, the man kicked his mother’s limp corpse in the stomach. Forgetting everything his mother ever told him, Ash flew at the man in a rage. The man had taken the only person that cared whether Ash lived or died, and he was going to pay. At first, the man seemed unfazed by Ash’s onslaught of fists and feet. Hesitating to catch his breath, Ash caught a fist to his gut that expelled the air from his lungs in a painful breath. Doubling up and dropping to his knees, Ash sucked at the air, trying to draw a breath. Out of nowhere, a boot flew into his chest, sending him sprawling across the floor, where he landed in a heap. Looking up at the sound of footsteps, Ash’s view focused on the man’s blood-covered hands. Getting to his feet, Ash’s hand formed a fist that seemed to glow. Ash waited for the man to make a move before striking. As the man lashed out to grab Ash, Ash swung with a strength he had never felt before. The blow struck the man squarely across the lower jaw, sending him careening into the far wall, where he crumpled to the floor onto his back. Springing onto the man’s chest, Ash started punching the man’s face, streams of tears mixing with rage to blind him. Hearing a rather loud crunch, Ash stopped his beating to find that he was nearly pounding the floor; the man’s face had been all but smashed in and was undistinguishable. After dumping the man’s body in the rive that ran through the city, Ash buried his mother under the shade of a willow tree growing atop a hill just outside the city walls. Returning to his home, Ash once again found a man standing in his doorway, obviously looking over the side effects of the killings. The man, or elf as he turned out to be, was dressed in a rather garish outfit; he wore lime green pants and a blazing orange tunic, with bright blue boots. He had blonde hair, which stood spiked atop the man’s head. Somehow sensing Ash behind him, the man turned around and spoke. “My name is Valandil Carnesîr. I sensed an awakening of psionic powers, and traced the emanations here. Perhaps you would tell me what happened here?” Ash gave Valandil his name and retold all that had occurred. “I am sorry for your loss Ash, and I can understand your anger. The same thing happened to me, although I was quite a few years older than you are now. Come with me.” Asking where they were going, Ash was told they were going to a part of the city where Ash would be at home. Passing through a gate, Ash looked around and saw all sorts of new sights. Fewer buildings crowded the streets. There was even an open area, roped off, where two hulking men grappled. Valandil told Ash of the school where the psionically gifted went to learn how to control their powers. Ash said that he wanted to go, but he could afford it. Valandil laughed, and replied with a wide smile. “My boy, you do not need any money to attend this school. Anyone who wants to attend does so at no charge. However, you will have to attend classes each day for some years, as it can take a long time to fully harness your powers. Is this what you want?” With an emphatic nodding from Ash, Valandil smiled again and told him that Ash would be going to live a his house now. Ash felt as though his life was changing for the better. Little did he know that in a few years, that would change. The history of Ash-Del Oghoth, Part 1 Ash made friends quickly, some of them more progressed in their lessons, some of them not. After classes they would hang out together and talk, go swimming in the river, everything normal kids do. One night, years later, as Ash was heading home after being out with his friends, he got the feeling that something wasn’t right. Hurrying home, Ash’s stomach twisted into a knot at the sight before him. Valandil’s house was aflame, and part of it had collapsed. Rushing into the fiery inferno, Ash began searching for Valandil. He found him, half buried underneath part of the collapsed roof. Lifting the roof and then dragging Valandil out into the street, Ash asked what happened. Valandil told Ash that the city’s Imperial guardsmen had showed up at the door, saying they were to take anyone who lived in the area into custody. Refusing to go with them, Valandil watched as the men set fire to his and many other houses. As Valandil drew his last breaths, Ash vowed to kill all those responsible, but not before Valandil mentioned something about the city of Gladius. After burying Valandil, Ash walked around his new neighborhood, surveying the chaos. Finding a couple slain guardsmen, Ash picked up a bloodied greatsword and headed toward the castle at the heart of Kellshar. Reaching the gate, Ash was stopped by two more guardsmen. Just as the first guard finished asking Ash’s business at the castle, the greatsword came slicing down, embedding itself into the second guard’s head. The guard dropped, and the first guard turned to run but was cut sown from behind. A new fire had filled Ash’s eyes. He was changed. He was no longer the carefree boy of yesterday. He was now a cold, unremorseful killer. As he made his way through the castle halls, Ash slew anyone he came into contact with. Finally coming to the king’s chamber, Ash kicked down the door, finding the king in bed with a young maiden. Quickly killing the girl, ash grabbed the king’s throat in one hand and hoisted him into the air. Staring directly into the king’s eyes, Ash plunged the greatsword, up to it’s bone hilt, into the king’s rather portly stomach. Walking silently out into the city streets, Ash headed straight for the city gates. The guards there, who had heard of the carnage, stood well aside as Ash passed through. Heading into the sun, Ash began his long journey to Gladius. Along the way, Ash passed through many towns and cities, where he did odd jobs here and there, as well as hiring on as an occasional caravan guard. At one point, Ash got sold his services to be a hitman. On the job one day, one of his employer’s henchmen turned up, drunk as was usual with just about anyone working for the syndicate, and exposed Ash. After killing the henchman, Ash quickly caught up with his fleeing target and completed his assignment. Upon returning to his employer, Ash found a hit had been put out on him. After killing the two men that tried to sneak up behind him outside the syndicate’s headquarters, Ash burst into the boss’s office, drew his greatsword, and proceeded to decapitate the man. Hiring on as a caravan bound for Gladius, Ash began hearing things of a coup d'etat being planned in the city. The coup was supposedly linked to an obscure trading company, known locally as the EHTC. Upon entering Gladius, Ash found out that EHTC stood for the East Habari Trading Company. After receiving this information, Ash made his way to the Trading Company’s headquarters and banged on the door. Ash knew that, for better or worse, his future lay here.
Caterane 06-18-06, 05:57 AM	Reclaiming Corona Voluntarily or not, anyhow Ixenthor had relinquished both his legendary weapons Ixenthor's Edge and Ixenthor's Point to the Harvester's avatars. Though he would surely be powerful enough to continue his mission without any other weapons too much was at stake to take any chances now, and this was the reason why he left the region for a couple of days and ventured northward, always northward, far beyond the last reaches of human civilization. To understand the reason behind this one has to be versed in ancient lore. The archangel roamed the land tens of thousands years ago at the dawn of humankind when they had just invented scripts, and even elven history barely had any mentionings about this time. Still, in all these writings the celestial was known to wield a mighty artifact called Corona. This blade is said to be forged in the heat of the sun itself and that it is even imbued with the essence of the stellar body. When Ixenthor left the world and returned to the heavens more than eight millenia ago he left the sword behind but hid it in a place no one would be able to find, or retrive. Behind the Spine of the World and the vast desolate Ice deserts, right near the northest point possible lies the Valley of the Gods. No mortal would be able to find the way to here, and no magic would protect from the unnatural cold that is said to freeze one's breath to solid ice the moment it leaves the nose. Ixenthor stood at the entrance to Evermelt, a huge cave that led deeper into the colosal mountain that is the base of Mount Celestia. As he walked through the icy tunnels his light banished the darkness that reigned for so long in this icy paradise. Breathtaking formations of crystal clear ice could be seen everywhere, so beautiful that it would rival the stunning effects of a nymph's looks; the image of the passerby was reflected from every angle. Still, Ixenthor walked on - ignoring the view - for he had a more important matter to think of: the guardian of the blade. Finally he reached the center of the cavern system (that would have fooled everyone else than Ixenthor himself). A magnificent titanic cavern opened before the archangel: transluctend crystals in various colors rose from the icy floor that seemed to be made from glass, so polished it was; the ice formations dominated every corner of the cave and an eery yet comforting sound filled the air. Ixenthor made another few steps over the slippery surface which didn`t bother him in the least and came to a halt infront of a deep chasm that crossed the cavern. He knew the chasm had no end and that every creature attempting to fly over it would drop at halfway, irretrivably lost forever. On the other side, his quest's objective: Corona, the flaming blade stuck into a solid block of ice, its radiance the only other light source in the cavern. Suddenly the shadows on the walls seemed to move and a black swirling mist arose, quickly taking form. The vapors grew and grew in size and density until they resembled a black colosal behemoth, its head reaching nearly to the top of the cavern, with red eyes the only prismatic distinction in the fury form. No sooner had he finished his shaping when he drew in the icy air and released a barrage of ice shards, frost winds, and vision blocking snow on the angel. The blast's effects blocked clear sight for a couple of seconds but when the haze finally disappeared Ixenthor still stood on the same spot, apparently unharmed, at least he had his eyes shielded. "IXENTHOR!" a deep booming voice came from the ...thing. "NOW THAT IS A SURPRISE! HAD I ONLY KNOWN THAT IT IS YOU... YOU KNOW, MY EYES AIN`T THE BEST ANYMORE AFTER SO LONG A TIME!" - "DON`T TAKE DON`T TAKE ME FOR A FOOLME FOR A FOOL, BELAXIPHON!BELAXIPHON" Ixenthor's many-layered echoing voice responded "I AM HERE TO RECLAIM MY BLADE AM HERE TO RECLAIM MY BLADE!" The behemoth hesitated a second then responded "OF COURSE YOU MAY FREELY TAKE WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY YOURS." and with a wave of his hand a bridge appeared out of thin air and connected the two sides of the cavern with each other. Ixenthor didn`t waste another second and walked towards the bridge. As he crossed it Belaxiphon continued "FOR EIGHT THOUSAND YEARS I HAVE GUARDED THIS BLADE AS WAS OUR DEAL" Ixenthor neared the end of the bridge "TO STAND WATCH UNTIL THE BLADE IS RETURNED TO ITS RIGHTFUL OWNER", then finally the angel stood infront of the ice block. "NOT A SINGLE BEING ENTERED EVERMELT IN ALL THAT TIME AND NOT A SINGLE BEING HAS TOUCHED THE SWORD" Ixenthor gripped the hilt of Corona and with a tug freed it from its ancient prison. As he held the blazing weapon infront of him to inspect every nuance Belaxiphon's voice took on a more serious tone "AND NOW THAT I HAVE FULFILLED MY PART OF THE DEAL IT IS TIME THAT YOU FULFILL YOURS!" - "WELL THEN WELL THEN, WHAT IS ITIS IT YOU REQUIREquire?" The behemoth's slow deep laughter let Ixenthor narrow his non-existent eyes "FUN... HO HO HO, I WANT TO WREAK HAVOC!!" The behemoth took a couple of groundshaking steps while he balled his mighty claws to fists "MY REQUEST IS THAT YOU AND YOUR OTHER ALLIES STAND ASIDE WHEN I RAVAGE AROUND THE WORLD, LAYING WASTE TO EVERY CITY, SLAYING EVERY INHABITANT UNTIL THE WORLD IS BEREFT OF ALL LIFE. AND THE BEST PART IS THAT YOU CANNOT DENY MY WISH FOR YOU ARE BOUND TO THE DEAL AS I HAVE BEEN AND YOU ARE FORCED TO ACCEPT MY TERMS! HOHOHO YOU CANNOT IMAGINE HOW LONG I HAVE WAITED FOR THIS MOMENT AND NOW THE TRIUMPH WILL BE MINE. I WILL SAVOR EVERY GRIMACE YOU`LL MAKE WHEN I RIP INNOCENTS APART INFRONT OF YOUR EYES. SO NOW, ACCEPT!" Ixenthor took a few steps forward "I AM A BEING OF LAWBEING OF LAW SO I MUST OBEY TO THE CONTRACTOBEY TO THE CONTRACT. I WILL ACCEPTI WILL ACCEPT YOUR TERMS AND STAND ASIDEAND STAND ASIDE". The following laughter of Belaxiphon shaked the walls even more than his steps, and then, with a great leap he jumped over the chasm ...and crashed into an invisible barrier. "WHAT? WHY AM I STILL TRAPPED IN HERE? WE HAVE A DEAL! LET ME FREE!!" - "AND I HAVE ACCEPTED TO HAVE ACCEPTED TO YOUR TERMS! UNFORTUNATELY YOU ARE BOUNDYOU ARE BOUND TO THE CONTRACT TOO AND IT SAYSTO THE CONTRACT TOO AND IT SAYS THAT YOU WILL STAY HERE UNTIL THE SWORD IS RETURNEDTHE SWORD IS RETURNED TO ITS RIGHTFUL OWNER WHICH IS AMAUNATOR, GOD OF THE SUNGOD OF THE SUN!" - "BUT AMAUNATOR IS DEAD!! ROOOAAAARRRRR YOU FOOLED ME!! WE HAVE AN AGREEMENT!" Belaxiphon looked at the bridge, then looked into Ixenthor's direction who lifted himself 30ft in the air then broke into a dead run over the bridge which slowly disappeared mere inches behind his feet! It seemed as if the archangel wouldn`t make it but a splitsecond decided his fate when he stood on solid ground again ...on the other side of the chasm. He looked back towards the still shocked colosus, then continued his run towards the exit, booming shouts accompaning him "IXEEEENNTHOOOOOR!!" his voice growing fainter with every step... http://home.arcor.de/caterane/Ixenthor/Ixenthor-flamesword1.jpg - Ixenthor reclaims 'Corona' in Evermelt Short story I wrote long long ago about how Ixenthor got his weapon back after his reappearance on the Prime Material Plane after millenia of absense.
Book5 06-18-06, 11:07 PM	The Books Speak in the Council Chambers. When it rains... Up high high in the sky, far far above the tallest of trees and the tallest of towers a slip of paper falls through a cloud. Curling and slicing through the air it flies with the wind, but as all solid things it must eventually land. Perhaps it will touch down in Archidavius or Jindle Park. Perhaps it will be found settled on a seat in the arena. The scrap contains little more than a sketch of the stars as they can be seen from the very top of the world, and is of no greater import. The book from whence it came had fallen to Talas many months ago, one of a set of five. Each one bound with silver; and locked with gold. Animated objects with a memory recorded in their scribble and sketch filled pages. The set shared their intelligence, if somewhat erratically. Scraps and entire swarms of paper pages will spin between them when they are active and analyzing the nimbus, but when silent they sit in a stack on a table in the Council hall of Gladius. When it pours.. It was a bright day in the middle of spring. The council chambers were alive with the sound of pitlords debating the future of the nimbus. That font of impossible power! Only the pitlords combined resources kept the phenomena from expanding to devour the entire world. Without their unified focus the reality bending powers of the thing called the nimbus would end all concept of causality and time in this world; as it had others. Light will become darkness, up become down. Out in and everything between. The world of Talas was a tablet held back from oblivion by so many strands of thread. Each pitlord was a thing unique. Creatures of the nimbus they were.. neither mortal nor immortal. Part man and part beast. Some book and some angel. The men were such as Uther the King of Earth, and Vathelokai Archmage of Krynn. Others were more esoteric – such as the bright red celestial wolfman Huan. The subtle zephyr of 23 winds known as Ariel swept round each shoulder and watched each window. Equally omnipresent the wandering mind was simply there, not manifest, but still communicating. Others of course, and one cannot forget the shinning Caterane! Lord and First among pitlords! Step in side where its warm... The men stood at the table. Vathelokai and the King were away that day, but the Lord of Souls (an elder master of the nimbus) rode the Genormous Saruosaurus as they spoke with the epic archer of pitlords Telin Artho. At their side stood Xevox, the knight. At the head of the table sat the shinning angel Caterane. Before them all was the latest working of the nimbus. The threads of power were reaching out to resurrect any and all that had ever come into contact with it. Spectator and Gladiator alike. Throughout the city and even out to the furthest reaches of the world. This was a sign. The time had come for another set of stars to be placed in the skies of Talas. Another guide to control the fates of those that lived within the light of the nimbus. The sign of friendship. The constellation of the spoken voice. To prevent the nimbus from acting without cause it needs to be constrained with the rules of communication. An intricate web must be cast upon its light in such a way that will effect all equally and emulate accurately the world that would have been were there no such thing as the uncompromising nimbus. The five books were star watchers by nature and they knew by those stars that now was the time. The first of them opened before the Caterane. On its pages was a magic spell, like a scroll written and ready to use. The shinning angel spoke one single word: The key to the magic of the page. O'BookSookS.. ookS In an instant the council was alight with sounds and feeling. By the power of the nimbus that was theirs to activate the books made their five covers into one face. The face of one man with a mane stood before the megalosaurus and the giant dragon called Q. He spoke quickly and with feeling. His hands went first up and then down. Reaching out and then pulling in. Hello, you may know of my name. He spoke softly Truely, that is not important now, for I have come to speak of speaking! He paused and I would have you hear me clearly! his hands lifted in unison with his voice, and when his eyes fell back from the skies they were filled with smiles for all that found them. His left hand came down faster, and the right reached out to the men at the table. There are many ways that man and beast communicate with each other, but the most important of these is speech. for a moment and then some the image of a man whose hair stood strait up with many thoughts spit sounds out of his mouth. Words spun so fast that they seemed to fly. His hands snatched at the slippery syllables and put them into place as he made his points. His digression about some silly game ended with ”but that is what they all say!” and a silver laugh, but somehow he managed to segue directly into the primary point of order. Would you speak your piece clearly you phantasmal scrap of a story! a thought wandered into everyone’s mind, and one of the books found its title page psionically forced to write the number “B” over and over again. Most certainly! The man with a mane said heartily This world, as with all worlds.. that have a nimbus or something similar.. have in them only half a voice. The first thing the light steals is sound, and the last thing it leaves behind is the experience of death. If we are to sanctify the people of this world… if we are to give them their full voice back.. if you are willing to attempt to return to them the right to scream, to shout, to swear, and to cry! If you are willing to try to bring another constellation into this world! the image took a faux breath You must first realize what you are doing. His voice pulled the men at the table toward him with fists clenched at open air. One finger struck a blow to the sky and lowered to point the Lord of Souls in the eye. Would you be willing to drop that precious crystal that is your voice? The man with a mane asked everyone while looking at only one shinning face. Would you be willing to risk it shattering for being so brittle that it may just break? Is it worth the sound of laughter? he let that question hang in Ariel's soft embrace Can you imagine the consequences of what you are attempting? His eyes shone with tears of truth, or those of a crocodile. If you must; then trust me pitlords. For I am the books, and within my pages are the answers to these questions of speaking. He sniffed back his tears and smiled again. No one could argue that the look on his face was true, and his hands had fallen somewhat loose to his side. What is the matter my good books? You are wearing a man as though he were a hat? the five softest winds of the zephyr princess called Ariel fluttered the pages of the open books. There are so many ways to speak… and so many ways to be heard.. He began again. Differently this time. Five ways he spoke the same speech. Each time slightly different, but his points remained the same. If the nimbus is to hold the sounds of the voice within its light – that voice should be full and fully fledged. Why begin something if you are not willing to take it to its end... We should give them a voice with wings. He said, and sang, and screamed, and cried. Finally, after much monologue the image of a man faded. In its place was simply a scuffed set of scrappy stellar references. The shinning master of the pitlords picked up one of the monstrous manuals. These things are great!great.. great.. Vathelokai found them on some plane called “Sty-Rn." rn.. rn.. A strange world mostly devoured by chaotic blue and green mists.mists.. mists.. The shinning man smirked at his fellow pitlords. :smirk: These are full of the most bizarre and amazing things! ings.. ings.. They’re obliviously intelligent for that matter! Though… for books they are horrible at math.ath.. ath.. 1000 words plus! And a picture of the author! http://www.giantketchup.com/images/stories/shea.jpg :D Aint that something! :D
Setzertrancer 06-19-06, 01:19 AM	This has been updated once on the 20th of june it is generally finished but may still be changed before the due date if I get anymore ideas. I wrote this in one sitting in one hour, hope you enjoy it. Warning Contains Adult Themes. Hatred – Illior’s Story “and so that horrible wizard, now controlled everyone in the city and he posted guards at every exit from the city, disallowing anyone from leaving”. The Old wrinkled mage at the front of the classroom turned the page and the young students dressed in their loose robes hung on the edge of their seats wondering if the story would have a good ending. Only one student in the class wished it would end the other way and sat near the front of the classroom in pitch black robes, he was shorter then the rest of his peers as he was a halfling, his hood hid an unsettling smile. The reader of the story continued on the next page “The evil wizard ordered the walls of the city heightened and strengthened and all the men were forced to work 18 hours a day with so little food that hundreds of the workers died each day. The women were locked in a dungeon if they were lucky enough to be the least attractive. The more attractive women worked as chefs who would cook everything the wizard desired. They made meals so huge that he would eat only a tenth and then throw the rest away to be wasted. The most attractive women he formed a harem out of who were forced to comply to his sexual needs for as long as he remained awake. Every time anyone spoke up against the wizard they were killed in some gruesome way in publish display in front the city’s inhabitants by the guards or sometimes painfully fried alive by an intimidating display of his slowest and most painful spells. The churches were burned down and the Cleric’s were killed. The wizard had no use for them and believed their magic was inferior and shouldn’t be practiced. Other wizards in the city were also killed because he believed they may be the only people who could rise against him. The wizard after a decade extended his rule to the surrounding cities and eventually to cover the entire nation and began arming for wars against the other surrounding nations, thousands of people died in these wars". The Wizard at the front of the classroom closed the book and waved his hand at them saying “Ok that’s enough for today we’ll continue this tomorrow”. The students who were mostly humans 25-30 in age rose from their chairs and headed out into the fancy marble hallways. The smaller looking one in the black robe was the same age and this was very young for a halfling and looked like a kid to most of the inhabitants of the wizard school. He walked through a maze of exotic hallways until he reached his room ‘403’ reminding him how huge the school was. Inside he dumped his books and parchment onto his bed. His roommate who was also a halfling spoke as he laid down to relax on his bed. “What a horrible story that was today, what did you think Illior?”. Illior forced himself back up out of the dreamy comfort he found himself in and looked at his roommate and his bright yellow robe, he hated that color it seemed too him that it’s wearer was trying to appear joyful to him. Joy was only fake emotion and he hated those who thought they had felt it. Illior didn’t like this halfling very much, he was too much of a study intensive disciplined and boring student. But at the same time he was one of a few halfling in the school who he could relate to better then the humans. Illior thought about Treval’s question and imagined himself in the place of the wizard in the story, being the leader of an entire city and being able to do with people as he wished and how better to treat those arrogant stuck-up eighty percent of the damn population humans. He smiled at the thought of slaughtering those clerics’ who were the so called embodiment of the god’s good will. Who decided on the God’s anyway and what had they ever done for him why should clerics be the only people worthy of their intervention. Illior’s face screwed up into an angry frown. “Great” he shouted as he slammed his fist down onto the mattress. “By Yondalla , the story was great”, his face cringed in annoyance at just having said Yondalla, he hated that, since he was young he had been force to incorporate such words into his speech, his parent leading him to believe that Yondalla or Carl Glittergold or Corellon Larethian was some kind of superior being depending on what race you were. “Great!” repeated Treval in surprise “What do you mean?”. Illior stood up and began pacing back and forth in the room with his fists clenched and began pointing at Treval in anger as he spoke. “What is so bad about that story, isn’t it simply about a man who did what he wanted instead of following the rules set by uptight Clerics in positions of power who think they are spreading the will of god. Well is the will of god our will?, who made the stupid gods what made that person or whatever it was think they had a right to dictate right and wrong?” Illior stopped pacing and stared at Treval with a menacing smile. “What is so wrong about doing what you want and shouldn’t people who work hard enough to gain the power to do as they please do so. Those people are simply different and decide not to follow everyone like a mindless flock of sheep. What is so wrong anger, hatred, prejudice and war?, it is something that fills the thoughts of everyone only most are to afraid to admit those thoughts. They are labelled as evil even though it floats through the mind of even the most exalted clerics.” Treval backed away as Illior was speaking to the other side of the bed so there was some small obstruction between this mad halfling. “Y-Y-y-your crazy and E-evil” Treval stammered. “Am I really?” replied Illior as he stepped around the bed toward Treval until he was so close to him, he had to corner himself against the wall “Or am I just different?” he continued. Illior’s mind filled with images of shoving his hand down Treval’s thought and casting a simple ray of frost straight into his vital organs. But decided he still wanted a roommate that he could intimidate and bully. One day Illior thought he would kill Treval, one day he would kill every one in this damn school. Or what if he replaced the Master, Illior’s dimples wrinkled as a huge smile enveloped his face. Yes, that would be great he thought as he summoned images relating to the story of him torturing the humans in the dungeon classrooms and forcing the students to learn the dark arts or die. This would be his goal he concluded and he would keep his anger under control until the day of retribution. Maybe he could even get Treval to join him in the dark arts.