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PostPosted: Wed Aug 11, 2010 1:52 pm 
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Karockas Gyermekek

Karockas Gyermekek grew up on a little farm outside the Capital City of Gazam. Never really liking the monotony of farming life, he naively welcomed the draft notice on his 18th birthday; one of 500 young, new, unseasoned recruits placed into the newly formed “Fighting” Fifth Battalion.

“We’re heading north, Men”, the sergeant growled, “We leave at daybreak”.

North, to the lands of cold and ice to battle the unbounded invading armies of evil, north, to the never-ending Wizard Wars.

On the bloody facade, battling Orcs and Goblins, ghouls and evil Wizards, one either learns how to fight quickly and skillfully, or one dies. After four years of endless combat, a ferocious arena of blood and death, Karockas was the only one still living from the original “Fighting” Fifth, all the rest, taken by blade or axe, tooth or claw, or deadly evil magic.


Tour of duty over, Karockas returned to the Capital City, no longer the foolish young boy who went north, four long years ago; his eyes dark and cold, reflecting the bloodshed and violence. Now a seasoned warrior, scarred, proven and decorated for bravery, Karockas was given a position in the King’s elite Royal Guard.

Despising the monotony of castle patrol, almost as much as life on the farm, however, Karockas spent less than a year as one of the King’s elite before making his way south, deciding to sell his services as a mercenary. So the years passed, escorting merchant caravans south from the Capital City of Gazam down to the Port City Of Slather; his sword arm always strong and ready.

Sunday midnight at the Angry Orc Tavern and Karockas had been drinking since about six. Ready to call it a night, he was staggering toward the exit when a elderly patron dressed in fine silk stepped up and placed a golden crown in his hand.

“Follow me”, the old man whispered in a raspy voice, quickly retreating to a table in the back shadows.
Hastily scanning the now near empty bar, Karockas detected no threat, so he followed the man back into shadows and took a seat at the table with his back to the wall.

“I am from the house of Bardoom”, the old man said abruptly, I’ve been told you are a brave and honorable man. One who can be trusted to complete any task!

“Ab-sir-lutely”, came Karockas’s slurred reply, the golden crown in his hand over-riding his semi-sober brain.

“I seek revenge on a murderess,” the old man snarled.
“Go on”, Karockas questioned.

“The slaughter happened many, many years ago”, the man began his story, “during the spring festival at Bardoom Hall. The delegations from the House of Karmarod came to talk of peace, but there was deceit and treachery afoot. An evil witch-woman named J’tenell, betrothed of the Kamarod, murdered my “kinfolk” in cold blood, slaying the innocent without mercy!

“Poisoned them?” Karockas wondered, but never got a chance to ask because by this time old Bardoom had worked himself into a rage.

“This woman is a demon”, He screamed, “I want her dead!”
Red-faced, the old man paused for a moment regaining his breath and his composure.

“I will pay you 500 gold pieces to kill this evil witch and avenge my family”, Bardoom continued, his voice dripping with hate, “100 gold pieces now that you may equip yourself, the rest of your blood-money when you return.”

500 gold pieces! Karockas had to bite his tongue. 500 gold pieces was more money that he made in a year. By the Gods, he’d be rich, just for killing some old hag?

This quest seemed to good to be true, and Karockas knew, that any time something seemed to good to be true… but again his drunken thoughts were interrupted when the old man pulled a large bundle from beneath his seat.

”And you must kill her with this, my great-great-grandfather’s sword, to restore his honor.” Bardoom handed the mercenary the gleaming blade, sharp and well balanced and a tingle in his palm told Karockas it was magical as well.

Then Lord Bardoom stood up tossing a leather pouch down on the table. “$100 gold now and the rest when you return”, the old man stated firmly, then turned and left the Angry Orc, disappearing into the moonless night.


The journey deep into the lands of Taas took more than a week traveling by horseback and then two more days on foot to climb up the rugged mountain. During the trip Karockas pondered the old man’s story, wishing he’d waited to talk to Bardoom when he was a little bit more sober…of course the promise of 500 gold had clouded his mind almost as much as the ale. What if this was just a wild goose chase? Would the old hag still even be alive? Would he still get paid if she were already dead?

Finally reaching the mountain peak, however, Karockas found the little cottage just where old Lord Bardoom said it would be.

To his complete surprise, however, Karockas discovered a lovely, young woman with long silver hair, dancing naked around a bonfire behind the small cottage. The Mercenary’s eyes flew open wide! Her small, pert breasts glistened in the twilight as she spun around chanting in a soft voice, between her shapely, milky-white legs, a silver triangle sensuously covered her womanhood. “Surely this was not his prey, not this beautiful little doe, where was the old hag?”

Hidden from view behind a small group of pines, Karockas continued to stare at woman’s supple body whirling and twirling around the flames, her movements igniting a fire in his loins. Many moons had passed since Karockas been with a woman and this one was very beautiful. For several minutes he watched her sensuous dance, then suddenly to Karockas’s utter amazement, she stepped directly into the fire, now a blazing inferno!

Raging flames leaped to the heavens, totally engulfing her body in the searing heat, yet she did not cry out in pain, her flesh took no burn, her beautiful voice still singing. Finally, her song reaching climaxic crescendo, the flames receded and she stepped out of the dwindling blaze completely unharmed. As if in a trance, she stood for a long moment looking up at the night sky, then slowly walked over and entered the small cottage. Karockas stood wide-eyed in disbelief.

“This woman is a demon”, Bardoom’s words echoed Karockas’s mind, and perhaps he should have taken the man more literally. Karockas waited in the woods for several minutes after the creature had finished her dance and entered the cottage. Something just felt wrong with the whole situation, yet Karockas could not deny she had enjoyed the raging flames.

Indeed she must be a demon. Wispy dark clouds half-covered the glowing full moon, as Karockas moved quietly through the shadows to the back of the little cottage. The half-open window again revealed his quarry, still naked, sitting with her back to the window, gracefully combing her long, silver hair. Karockas had hoped she would take her true demon form, she would much easier to kill.

Gazing at her beautiful supple body in the candlelight Karockas cursed his weakness, again wishing she would take her true demon form. Then, gritting his teeth and setting his mind to the task at hand, the warrior silently raised the window fully open, and without a making a sound he slipped softly into the small room.

A single step and he was on her, but in that brief instant, a brilliant flash of celestial light in the night sky reflected off the murderous blade into Karockas’s eyes, causing him to hesitate for just a half a breath, before driving the magical sword into the witch’s heart.

That brief moment of indecision was all the time the woman needed. Spinning around quickly, wild fury in her gray eyes, her words reverberated like a raging whirlwind knocking Karockas backwards head over heels, smashing a small table to splinters and cracking his head into the cottage wall, hard! Karockas’s mind slipped slowly into a shimmering sea of darkness.

Hours later he awakened to the dusky odor of herbs and spices, the smell of a cooking fire and a strange bitter taste in his mouth. Head throbbing, Karockas tried to open his eyes, but could not. Neither could he move any of his powerful muscles, his body completely subdued by the Witches potent magic. Karockas could do nothing but sit and wait and wonder. What foul black magic holds him so tightly and what was that bright, distracting flash in the night sky that landed him in this dire predicament?

Yet, Karockas been in tight spots before many times and wasn’t alive today because he was one to panic. Karockas would simply have to wait until a moment of opportunity presented itself. So the captured mercenary turned his thoughts again to his memories of her erotic dance and he smiled.

Suddenly Karockas remembered the fury in her wild eyes and a cold shiver crept down his spine cooling his lusty thoughts. Again Karockas struggled to make his captive muscles move, but it was a futile attempt, Karockas could do nothing but sit and wait… wait for the beautiful witch-woman he tried to murder.


Her name was J’tenell, a true born Witch, the last of her kind still living in Hyrotica, and within a decade or so she too would be gone, the passing of an age.

J’tenell was born high in the Mountains of Taas, living now more than 200 winters, yet, like all of the Witch-born; the magic flowing through her veins slowed down the aging process. Her breasts still firm, her small, shapely body agile and trim. An untamable mane of silver hair, inherited from her Mother, flowed down her back covering her smooth, milky-white skin.

She was in love once long, long ago, a handsome young human named Jacob Karmarod, the first, wild passion of youth.

Her love for Jacob brought J’tenell into the power struggles between the Human kingdoms, the houses of Karmarod and Bardoom. It was the spring festival, the delegations meeting to talk of peace. Yet deceit and treachery bloomed dark in Bardoom Hall. The Bardoom power mongers unleashing a lethal ambush, their deadly, poison arrows piercing her beloved’s heart, killing all the unsuspecting Karmarod delegation without mercy.

J’tenell’s magic raged untamed, flaming thunder-bolts blasted the stone ramparts of Bardoom Hall like a Titian’s mighty hammer destroying the castle and everyone inside. Her angry eyes blind to the innocent children within the keep till their horrifying screams agony filled the air, but by then it was to late, all that remained was a smoldering ruin, a funeral pyre.

The heartbreaking echoes of those innocent children haunted J’tenell’s memories and invaded her dreams; not even time unable to soften the pain of the horrible memories of what she’d done.

J’tenell now lived in self-imposed exile, alone on the mountain where she was born, shunning the violent humans, devoting her life to the Goddess Ishtar, the divine spirit of Nature. Performing the ancient rituals, celebrating the rhythm of life, the monthly cycle of the moon, the solstices, and equinoxes, rejoicing in the eternal changing of the seasons.

This year a very peculiar alignment of the planets would be taking place between the Fall Equinox and the Winter Solstice; a powerful Conjunction would be forming between the planets Mars and Venus, both planets moving into the Eighth House, the House of funny business, transformation and rebirth. Mars, the fiery, warrior planet of masculine sexual energy, lust and passion, will align with lovely Venus, the feminine planet of love, romance and harmony.

This Conjunction will be a very potent aspect, as the energies of both planets will be greatly enhanced and magnified. This is not likely to be subtle energy; such a strange, erotic alignment represented the very essence of yin and yang in the universe.

An alignment such as this had not appeared before in J’tenell’s lifetime. She could vaguely remember her Grandmother talking about this powerful Conjunction and a ritual that should be performed, the Ritual of Fire.
Searching the ancient texts J’tenell found the archaic ritual, then studied and memorized the incantations needed to perform the ceremony, so she would be ready.


Glistening in the soft twilight, her naked body tingled as J’tenell began the ancient Ritual, repeating the primordial incantation. Moving slowing at first, her long silver hair flowing wildly in the warm, evening breeze, she lifted her voice to the sky, releasing the ancient words of power. Whirling and twirling around the fire, lost in the magical enchantment and then stepping directly into the blazing inferno.

Tantalizing flames licked J’tenell’s naked flesh like a million tiny tongues of lust, she gasped wildly at first, the intensity almost overwhelming, then she embraced the fiery pleasure and continued singing the final stanzas completing the Ritual of Fire.

The final note of her magical song fading into the darkness, the flames withdrew, freeing J’tenell to step out into the cool night air. Her body still shaking from the incredible experience, she waited under the mantle of twinkling stars for a few moments observing the Conjunction aligning in the heavens, before retiring to her home.

Still intoxicated by the Ritual of Fire, J’tenell sat daydreaming slowing brushing her silver locks, when suddenly her Witch-sense saw the intruder. The window behind her opening, a strong, seasoned warrior with murder in his eyes! “Why?” She wondered, her our curiosity quickly fading beneath her growing anger … “how dare he... how dare he enter my home!”

At that exact moment, the Conjunction of Mars and Venous aligned brightly in the heavens, the brilliant reflection off the polished steel blade caused the warrior to hesitate for just a brief instant before thrusting the deadly sword into her heart. In that brief second, J’tenell spun around, eyes wild with fury, dark magic thundering deep in her core, planning to burn his body to ashes!

Suddenly at the last moment, for some unknown reason, J’tenell twisted her spell so that it merely knocked the intruder head over heels. The warrior crashed backwards, smashing a table to splinters and cracking his head hard against the cottage wall, leaving him sprawled unconscious on the floor.

J’tenell’s mind was reeling, frantically trying to comprehend the implications. Surely this was no mere coincidence for this savage, seasoned warrior, the very personification of Mars himself, to appear on this of all nights. Trembling J’tenell sat down for a moment, trying to regain her composure, trying to grasp some sense of it all, still surprised at herself… surprised that she had spared him.

“I simply want to know who he is that would murder me and why... that’s why I let him live”, J’tenell tried to convince herself, but she could feel the flame of passion deep inside, like a glowing ember fueled by the Conjunction in the heavens and the Ritual of Fire.

Rising slowing, still in lost in thought, the Witch moved toward the fallen warrior for closer look; her tongue unconsciously licking her parted lips as she drew nearer.

This was no young fool, his rugged, bearded face, chiseled by years of hard-fought battles. Tall, scared and seasoned, his powerful, muscles firm and hard, his hands strong. Again J’tenell licked her lips; it had been a long time since she enjoyed the pleasures of the flesh, her body still afire from the Ritual.

Yet now J’tenell wondered, “were the burning flames of the Ritual to prepare her for a night of high passion or a night of deadly violence”; for on its highest-level Mars symbolizes bravery, courage, self-assertion, sexual energy and passion. Yet, on the lowest level, Mars is the planet of untamed violence, murder and war, the symbol of destruction, aggressive, criminal brutality, and hatred. Mar’s powerful energy must have a positive moral motivation, for when the goal is good is, the results can be wonderful, but when the goal is evil…

So her decision was made, J’tenell would keep him alive for a while to answer her questions. If she finds that he embraces the darker aspects of Mars, she will let her passion fire go out with his life. Yet, should he possess the more noble aspects of the fiery planet… J’tenell pushed those thoughts aside for now.

Quickly collecting the ingredients, then crushing and mixing the potent herbs, J’tenell created a “potion of obedience”. The potion would make the intruder unable to resist her commands, fight it as he may, he will be compelled to do whatever J’tenell commanded and he will be unable to lie. The mighty, seasoned warrior would be under her complete control.

The potion completed, she magically hefted the would-be assassin up and sat him in a stone chair in the middle of the room, so she could easily administer her “potion of obedience”.

Again J’tenell looked at her captive, his powerful chest rising and falling with each laborious breath. She must be very careful with this one, he will know all the tricks and he’d already tried to take her life.

A wave of anger rose in her chest, “How dare he enter my home! How dare he try to murder me?!” Grabbing the warrior’s jaw and roughly prying open his mouth; J’tenell quickly poured the magic potion down his throat. The mercenary gagged and spit, but swallowed more than enough.

Slowly her anger subsided, replaced again by curiosity. So many questions, yet their could be little doubt that fate had sent this man to her, for whatever reason, and on the very night Mars enters the Eighth House where Venus lies sensuously waiting.

After hiding the intruder’s sword at the bottom of her garden-well, J’tenell sat for a moment gazing at the evening stars, allowing her mind to wander. The last time she’d been with a man was more then a century ago, an Elfin mage, beneath the mighty Oaks in Elvenwood. J’tenell smiled with the memory.

Suddenly her mind snapped back to her present situation. She needed to know what kind of man this is; she needed to look into his very soul. J’tenell got up and walked gracefully to the other room where the warrior sat waiting, determined to get some answers, hoping to unlock this cosmic riddle.


Karockas spent almost ten years on the mountain with his beloved J’tenell and then she was gone. Tears streamed down his scarred cheeks as he held her failing body in his arms, her life essence returning to the universe, her final words burned into his mind forever.

“Please, my love”, her pleading voice fading into the cosmos, “Please, help poor animals in the world.”

“I will”, came the half whispered response.

Karockas remained another six months on the mountain, grieving the loss of his beloved before returning to Port Slather. A changed man, now bound by an unbreakable promise, Karockas sought out a soothsayer, giving her one hundred gold pieces for the information he sought.
“Your destiny will take you far from the lands of Hyrotica.” came her raspy reply, “begin your search in the lands of Neversummer”. ” Three days later Karockas found and stepped into the rift to begin his new life as proud member of The Circle.

at your service,
DZ :twisted:

My attitude toward men who mess around is simple: If you find 'em, kill 'em!

PostPosted: Wed Aug 11, 2010 2:01 pm 
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Joined: Tue Jun 29, 2010 5:08 am
Posts: 335
Annabelle O’rigby

“Miss Annabelle”, the overweight young messenger huffed, all out of breath from his short run, “your Father requests your presence in the Grand Hall right away”.

“Requests my presence?” Annabelle snarled under her breath, “Andrew O’rigby had never requested anything in his entire life”. Harsh and strict, even for a career military man, Andrew O’rigby always commanded, never requested. Annabelle’s three older brothers, Robert, John and Stefon were exact clones of the elder O’rigby, having little use for “stupid, helpless women folk”
Annabelle hated her male dominated existence; still, she knew well the consequences of displeasing her Father, so leaving her supper still hot on the plate, Annabelle arose and walked briskly to the Grand Hall.

Taking her seat, Annabelle was surprised to see a young woman dressed in skin tight, blood red leather being escorted toward the dais were her father and her brothers were perched like drooling, hungry vultures.
The visitor was very beautiful; her dark hair was kept in a tight braid that swayed from side to side as she walked briskly in front of the escorting guards. A slender, foot-long, red leather rod dangled on a short, golden chain from her right wrist.

“Why have you interrupted my dinner, woman?” Sir Andrew boomed, evoking a roar of laughter from the surrounding males.
To everyone’s surprise, however, the red-leathered visitor completely ignored the question, turned her back on Sir Andrew and approached Annabelle instead. With a curt bow, the visitor drew a silver dagger from her crimson belt and placed the shiny eight-inch blade on the table in front of Andrew O’rigby’s youngest. Annabelle sat thunderstruck.

“An invitation,” the beautiful woman began, but was rudely interrupted before she could finish her sentence.

“HEY YOU!” Annabelle’s oldest brother Robert screamed at the woman, leaping out of his seat in anger.

Still looking directly at Annabelle the woman replied calmly without emotion, “I am Mord-Sith, I answer to no weak male.”

Robert’s face flushed beet red! Annabelle couldn’t believe her ears!

“WHY YOU LITTLE...” the big man snarled, rushing forward. “YOU’LL DO WHAT I DAMN WELL TELL YOU TO DO!”

Effortlessly, the graceful Mord-Sith avoided Robert’s charge, snapped the red-leather rod up into her right hand and touched the tip of the rod underneath big man’s chin. Robert howled in pain and flipped over backwards into a wooden table smashing it to splinters.

Annabelle’s eyes went wide!
Her two other brothers, John and Stefon leaped to their feet swords already drawn.
“Die witch”, they screamed in unison attacking the Mord-Sith like wild men.

A knowing smile on her pretty face, the woman clad in red-leather calmly awaited the barbaric charge. Moving gracefully to one side, she easily avoided Stefon’s attack while driving the red-leather rod deep into his rib cage breaking bone and ripping flesh. As Stefon’s screams filled the chambers, the Mord-Sith twirled and twisted around behind John touching her slender rod to the base of his neck, John dropped like a stone.

“TAKE HER”, Andrew O’rigby shrieked at his royal Guard, yet the words scarcely passed his lips before the woman was at his side pressing her deadly leather rod against Andrew’s right temple.

“Stand your ground”, the Mord-Sith snarled at the approaching guard, “or I will fry his puny brain like an egg!”

Brave Sir Andrew O’rigby pissed his royal pants.

“Stay back” the old man stammered in cold fear, but his shaky voice fell mostly on deaf ears as the Royal Guards were already retreating.

Eyes flashing, the Mord-Sift spoke to Sir Andrew in a voice just above a whisper.
“Should any harm come to your daughter while she remains under this roof, I will revisit here and kill you.”
The old man’s eyes rolled back into his head and he fainted dead away.

Returning to Annabelle, the leather-clad woman continued.
“The Mord-Sith are an elite group of women warriors… we specialize in exquisite methods of torture”. A cruel smile spread across her pretty face from ear to ear as the woman went on talking.

“The path to the Mord-Sift is not for the weak, Annabelle, one must walk the three fold path and I will warn you now that only a few elite ever survive. A Mord-Sift teacher, a “Kennari” will be your guide on the first path… the path of pain. Know that the silver dagger I offered you is your key to this first path… Should you survive your initiation, return the silver dagger to me and you may begin the second path”.

Saying no more, The Mord-Sift turned and began walking briskly toward the exit of the Grand Hall.

“To begin your training”, the red-clad beauty called back over her shoulder, “seek your Kennari at the Fury Guild in the lands of Neversummer”.
“Wait, wait”, Annabelle started, a thousand questions filling her mind, but the woman was already gone.

Upon arrival at the Fury Guild, Annabelle told her tale to the guild leader Delisha Zrazorian. Indeed, after hearing Annabelle’s story, Delisha smiled and “shook the spider-web” looking for an old acquaintance.

Kennari, William Emanuel arrived at the Fury Guild three days later.
A powerful Samurai, scarred and seasoned and armed to the teeth, from his right wrist hung a red-leather foot-long rod, an Agiel.

Upon seeing Delisha, a look of total astonishment flashed momentarily across his cold chiseled face. Bowing deeply at the waist, William addresses Fury’s leader with an open smile.

“I am amazed to see you’re still alive, Delisha”, the Samurai said in a soft voice, “I truly had my doubts the last time we met”.
Delisha’s green eyes twinkled, but she quickly changed the subject.

“You know why you’re been called?” Fury’s Leader questioned instead.
“Indeed”, came the emotionless response.

Delisha introduced William to Annabelle, and then left them alone in the guest room where Annabelle was staying.

“You say wish walk the path of the Mord-Sift?” William questioned straight away scrutinizing the young woman’s every movement.

“Yes!” came Annabelle’s eager reply!

“Give me the silver dagger you received from the Mord-Sift,” the Samurai commanded softly.
Annabelle handed William the shiny dagger without reserve.

“Very well”, William continued in a calm, almost hypnotic voice, “please place your left hand palm down on the table”.
Never hesitating, Annabelle placed her hand on the wooden surface.

William covered the smaller hand with his own hand and while looking deeply into Annabelle’s blue-gray eyes, the Samurai plunged the silver dagger through both their hands pinning them tight to the table.

Annabelle screamed out in pain, her body shaking out of control, but William never flinched, not even a twitch. Next the Kennari began slowly twisting and turning the silver blade in the wound while again looking into Annabelle’s tear-filled eyes.

In a voice like winter ice William asked once more, “Do you truly wish walk the path of the Mord-Sift?”
“YES!” Annabelle screamed through the pain, never averting her gaze, “YES!”

Wrapping his strong fingers in her raven hair William jerked her close into a violent kiss, his lips crushing hers splitting them open. Blood dripping down her chin, Annabelle responded like a wild animal matching his ferocity, his passion, attacking him with her teeth and nails.

Releasing her hair, William snapped the Agiel into his hand and touched the red leather rod to Annabelle’s left cheek. Her scream of agony echoed through the Fury Guild as Andrew O’rigby’s only daughter drifted off onto oblivion.

William expertly cleaned and dressed the wounds in both their hands, then placed the still unconscious Annabelle on the guest room bed, before re-joining Delisha in the Main Hall.

“How long will her training take?” Delisha questioned, wishing to expand her knowledge of the Mord-Sift.

“She is very strong willed”, came the solemn reply, “she will not break easily”. “The process will take several years at least, perhaps a decade or more”.

The words “she will not break easily” sent a cold shiver up Delisha’s spine as she asked her final question.
“How will you know when Annabelle is ready to walk the second path?”

Stone faced, William held up the silver Mord-Sift blade and replied softly… When she kills me with this dagger… and from my dead wrist removes the Agiel to use as her own… Annabelle will be ready.

Delisha’s eyes went wide!

*Mord-Sith society taken from Wizard's First Rule by Terry Goodkind

at your service,
DZ :twisted:

My attitude toward men who mess around is simple: If you find 'em, kill 'em!

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