A Harrowing of Earth - A Tale of Thrullzon the Destroyer
No more of this 'Vondal's Vandals' nonsense. The time has come for a change. It should be clear to everyone concerned after the events of the past few days that it is indeed I, Thrullzon, who is truly in charge here.
What's that you say? What happened to Akmenos? The homely and slightly sadistic wretch of a warlock who once scribbled his inane drivel in these pages?
Akmenos is gone.
Gone gone gone.
Behold your new lord and master, for I am Thrullzon. First and last of an ancient line of powerful warrior kings, I have arisen from the sucking mists to take up the task I was once thwarted from: to destroy my master and creator, Karavakos.
The memories are clear to me now. I remember the legions that marched before me, the waves of the dead that fell beneath me. I ascended on a tide of blood, which had a nasty tendency to make my socks all soggy, and for that reason I BANNED SOCKS.
Because I am the king, and I can.
So I have turned my attention back to swinging battles the way I used to, every player on the field no more than a piece, a pawn to be shuffled around and twisted to my bidding. Even the indomitable Vondal now knows the true fury of my power. He must now prove himself a warrior of the utmost standing, capable of fighting amidst the maelstrom of deadly magic I will unleash time after time on the field of battle to ensure our ultimate success. If he fails, if he is truly just a pathetic dwarf who cannot endure my sorcerous wrath, then he is of no use to me.
Unless of course I find myself in a tight spot, then he can step up and act as the good bodyguard, like he should for his king. Good dwarfy.
We just tore up another grove of vicious sylvan tree-worshippers, including a bear and a gardener who didn't know when he was better off hiding in the compost than flinging it at us, and an Arboreal Terror with flailing vines and roots and massive leafy hands that tore trees from the earth and hurled stone pillars through the air at us. I, of course, was unfazed by this, although my companions spent much of the battle wailing in terror and crying for help and cursing the name of Akmenos for blasting them with magic while I shredded our foes' defences.
Fools. I'm not Akmenos. Hah.
Eventually, of course, it was my magic that brought the beasts to within killing distance, so that my soldiers could finish them off. Not that they'll ever thank me for it. In fact I seem to recall Vondal saying that he was going to come and punch me, which of course he didn't do. It'd count as treason, and I'd have to have him executed. Since he's my sworn executioner, it'd be mighty tricky for him to cut off his own head.
There's not much more to tell about this latest foray through the labyrinth. What really matters is that everyone is coming around to the realisation that they are indeed in the presence of nobility, and they better start doing what I say, when I say, before I have to start hurting people. Or elves, Or dwarves. Hurting dwarves even more, that is.
What's that you say? What happened to Akmenos? The homely and slightly sadistic wretch of a warlock who once scribbled his inane drivel in these pages?
Akmenos is gone.
Gone gone gone.
Behold your new lord and master, for I am Thrullzon. First and last of an ancient line of powerful warrior kings, I have arisen from the sucking mists to take up the task I was once thwarted from: to destroy my master and creator, Karavakos.
The memories are clear to me now. I remember the legions that marched before me, the waves of the dead that fell beneath me. I ascended on a tide of blood, which had a nasty tendency to make my socks all soggy, and for that reason I BANNED SOCKS.
Because I am the king, and I can.
So I have turned my attention back to swinging battles the way I used to, every player on the field no more than a piece, a pawn to be shuffled around and twisted to my bidding. Even the indomitable Vondal now knows the true fury of my power. He must now prove himself a warrior of the utmost standing, capable of fighting amidst the maelstrom of deadly magic I will unleash time after time on the field of battle to ensure our ultimate success. If he fails, if he is truly just a pathetic dwarf who cannot endure my sorcerous wrath, then he is of no use to me.
Unless of course I find myself in a tight spot, then he can step up and act as the good bodyguard, like he should for his king. Good dwarfy.
We just tore up another grove of vicious sylvan tree-worshippers, including a bear and a gardener who didn't know when he was better off hiding in the compost than flinging it at us, and an Arboreal Terror with flailing vines and roots and massive leafy hands that tore trees from the earth and hurled stone pillars through the air at us. I, of course, was unfazed by this, although my companions spent much of the battle wailing in terror and crying for help and cursing the name of Akmenos for blasting them with magic while I shredded our foes' defences.
Fools. I'm not Akmenos. Hah.
Eventually, of course, it was my magic that brought the beasts to within killing distance, so that my soldiers could finish them off. Not that they'll ever thank me for it. In fact I seem to recall Vondal saying that he was going to come and punch me, which of course he didn't do. It'd count as treason, and I'd have to have him executed. Since he's my sworn executioner, it'd be mighty tricky for him to cut off his own head.
There's not much more to tell about this latest foray through the labyrinth. What really matters is that everyone is coming around to the realisation that they are indeed in the presence of nobility, and they better start doing what I say, when I say, before I have to start hurting people. Or elves, Or dwarves. Hurting dwarves even more, that is.