Vondal's Vandals - The Shrubberies of DOOOOOM
I've never been much of a fan of pleasant dingly dells. Trees, nasty things. Full of dark places for vile creatures to creep and hide and drop on unsuspecting victims. Home to squirrels. I hate squirrels, squirrelly as they are. Also, the pollen. Can't stand pollen. Nothing quite breaks up the facade of a warrior lord at the height of his power than a case of the sniffles and sneezes. Cut 'em all down, I say.
If anyone can explain to me how such a dingly dell with associated deadly woodland beings sprang up inside of a floating pyramid, devoid of sunlight and rain, I'd love to know. But sure enough, there it was, all dark twisting paths and charging dire boars. Naturally, the boar that came crashing towards me through the underbrush quailed in terror at the last moment, turning away as it realised its grave error. I stood alone, toe to toe with the beast, its great goring tusks flailing at me with savage futility as I rent its hide with magic.
And where were my loyal minions as this unfolded? Sneaking around the bushes, like little squirrels. Like I've said, if you want something done, you'd best do it yourself. Of course, Vondal was first on the scene, good soldier that he is, and within moments the trees had come to life with a plethora of leafy beings trying their best to turn us into compost.
They were to be disappointed. We've been branching out, you see. Turned over a new leaf, so to speak. We littered the ground with their corpses and I tore the tusks from the dead dire boar's frothy maw to make a nice clasp for my new cloak.
I suggested we just burn down the trees, squirrels and pollen and all, but no-one agreed. Much as I am, of course, in charge, that's not to say that I can't listen to the sage advice of my lessers. Yes, filling a dungeon with choking smoke would probably not serve us very well at all.
We moved on, reasonably confident that nothing could stand in our way. Not even a stand of trees which, by definition, could do just that without even trying.
We came upon a pit. Pleasant as this might seem to one of my disposition, there was some thing rather chilling about the satyr with the panpipes on the far side. Suspecting that he would indeed try to lure us into the pit to feed whatever beasts awaited within, Enna launched herself across the void at him while my other minions, Vondal and Snowfoot, rushed to follow. I held back, waiting to see what other terrors would appear. Sure enough, within moments more of the leafy plant-men appeared and attacked, and the pit rumbled into life with the massive forms of two shambling mounds, all lashing creepers and crushing vines.
I unleashed the power of Orcus upon them, sinking them in blackness and robbing them of whatever dark sorcery granted them sight. The blinded beasts rushed madly at my soldiers, missing them and granting precious seconds for my troops to rally and fight back. Only Snowfoot found herself separated, backed into a corner and rapidly failing. I ducked from corner to corner, unleashing blast after blast of magic against the leaf-men and the mounds until I reached Snowfoot's side. For a time there I was in the eye of the maelstrom, launching magical blasts in a ll directions, a vortex of carnage as my foes weakened and fell around me.
By the time we were done, what was left could have provided a feast for a hundred vegetarians. Me, I'm not a big fan of salad, and the only place for diced vegetables is in soup.
Now, we rest. As the others fall into painful sleep, I see they are dreaming, twitching, moaning. The curse of the werewolf runs in the blood of both Vondal and Enna. I wonder if they will find the strength to keep the beast at bay or if they, too, may need to be put down like mangy dogs. I'd rather not have to. It's been hard enough finding allies in this place. But better that, than having the dwarf and elf at my back suddenly ripping out my spine in a fit of moonrage.
We still have a long way to go to find Karavakos. At least my allies are finally beginning to do what I tell them, and to respect me in the manner that I deserve to be respected. I think it will not be long before I share with them my true name, and then this Akmenos will be no more. They seem to miss him. I fear he was something of a jester, while they see me as I truly am, a bastion of implacable power. Even death cannot overwhelm me.
Death is not the end. It is only the beginning.
Well, you expect something sinister at the end of these entries, don't you?
OK, how about: Eat your carrots, so you can see better in the dark, and carry a pumpkin to break over the head of whatever you find there.
See, I could be a jester too, if I really wanted to be. But I hate to dance.
If anyone can explain to me how such a dingly dell with associated deadly woodland beings sprang up inside of a floating pyramid, devoid of sunlight and rain, I'd love to know. But sure enough, there it was, all dark twisting paths and charging dire boars. Naturally, the boar that came crashing towards me through the underbrush quailed in terror at the last moment, turning away as it realised its grave error. I stood alone, toe to toe with the beast, its great goring tusks flailing at me with savage futility as I rent its hide with magic.
And where were my loyal minions as this unfolded? Sneaking around the bushes, like little squirrels. Like I've said, if you want something done, you'd best do it yourself. Of course, Vondal was first on the scene, good soldier that he is, and within moments the trees had come to life with a plethora of leafy beings trying their best to turn us into compost.
They were to be disappointed. We've been branching out, you see. Turned over a new leaf, so to speak. We littered the ground with their corpses and I tore the tusks from the dead dire boar's frothy maw to make a nice clasp for my new cloak.
I suggested we just burn down the trees, squirrels and pollen and all, but no-one agreed. Much as I am, of course, in charge, that's not to say that I can't listen to the sage advice of my lessers. Yes, filling a dungeon with choking smoke would probably not serve us very well at all.
We moved on, reasonably confident that nothing could stand in our way. Not even a stand of trees which, by definition, could do just that without even trying.
We came upon a pit. Pleasant as this might seem to one of my disposition, there was some thing rather chilling about the satyr with the panpipes on the far side. Suspecting that he would indeed try to lure us into the pit to feed whatever beasts awaited within, Enna launched herself across the void at him while my other minions, Vondal and Snowfoot, rushed to follow. I held back, waiting to see what other terrors would appear. Sure enough, within moments more of the leafy plant-men appeared and attacked, and the pit rumbled into life with the massive forms of two shambling mounds, all lashing creepers and crushing vines.
I unleashed the power of Orcus upon them, sinking them in blackness and robbing them of whatever dark sorcery granted them sight. The blinded beasts rushed madly at my soldiers, missing them and granting precious seconds for my troops to rally and fight back. Only Snowfoot found herself separated, backed into a corner and rapidly failing. I ducked from corner to corner, unleashing blast after blast of magic against the leaf-men and the mounds until I reached Snowfoot's side. For a time there I was in the eye of the maelstrom, launching magical blasts in a ll directions, a vortex of carnage as my foes weakened and fell around me.
By the time we were done, what was left could have provided a feast for a hundred vegetarians. Me, I'm not a big fan of salad, and the only place for diced vegetables is in soup.
Now, we rest. As the others fall into painful sleep, I see they are dreaming, twitching, moaning. The curse of the werewolf runs in the blood of both Vondal and Enna. I wonder if they will find the strength to keep the beast at bay or if they, too, may need to be put down like mangy dogs. I'd rather not have to. It's been hard enough finding allies in this place. But better that, than having the dwarf and elf at my back suddenly ripping out my spine in a fit of moonrage.
We still have a long way to go to find Karavakos. At least my allies are finally beginning to do what I tell them, and to respect me in the manner that I deserve to be respected. I think it will not be long before I share with them my true name, and then this Akmenos will be no more. They seem to miss him. I fear he was something of a jester, while they see me as I truly am, a bastion of implacable power. Even death cannot overwhelm me.
Death is not the end. It is only the beginning.
Well, you expect something sinister at the end of these entries, don't you?
OK, how about: Eat your carrots, so you can see better in the dark, and carry a pumpkin to break over the head of whatever you find there.
See, I could be a jester too, if I really wanted to be. But I hate to dance.