Figure I should probably show the Extended bio of Arzhog to you for approval, some of it involves what might be lore soo...
This is the story of a wretch who once that himself a man, a great presumption indeed. Gods have never looked kindly on the presumptuous.
This is the Story of Knightmaster Arzhog Mannerung Alann, eldest heir of the joined blood of Blackthorn and Alann the Golden, and last surviving knight of Arctan Tor.
To begin with his birth would be pointless, children are seedlings of the trees of the people that they shall become, and like seeds they are similar to each other in many ways. It is the tree, blackened by fire and split by the stroke of lightning that captures the eye and awes the mind, not the green sapling that it sprang from.
Arzhog was a Knight, and though few would call him a good man, he was oft referred to as a good Knight. His view of morality was strict, his justice was severe, and his soul may have been washed in the blood of foes many times but it was never to be stained by it. A hard man, but one who strove towards an ideal without hesitation or doubt. He was a deft hand with lance and horse, and his armor was his skin. In battle he rode with the charge more times than many with twice the gray in their hair, though half the iron in their eyes. The battles he fought are nearly as unimportant as his birth, he survived, bloodied and battered, but he survived. He lived, a hero and a Knight among knights, that is important, but there is no question that the most important event in his life was the one he did not survive.
When the enemies blacked the ground around Arctan Tor, when the scavengers of the air blacked the sky, when the earth was torn and stained with the rotting blood of so many that the maggots carpeted the battlefield in an endless sea of seething moonpale flesh, that is the day that Knightmaster Arzhog Mannerung Alann died. That is the day that Arzhog the Mad was born. The siege had lasted for months without breaking, and the fires for the dead rose above the houses of the living. In that dark day Arzhog returned from the field of battle, his horse killed and eaten, his sword blunted, his armor dented and stained with blood, and his determination unfailing. Of the thirty knights that had ridden out with him that day, only four returned Arctan Tor to await the next day of blood and gravesong. This battle must end, at the cost of all this battle must end. He believed that with all his heart, and the will that had broken all those that had tried to slay him would not let him rest until he had made that belief reality.
It is in this time that a God took vengeance upon him, a God of tricks, deals, and foretelling. The God was one to hold a grudge, and long ago the Great grandsire of Arzhog had tricked this God and had vanished unscathed from his presence. For this the God came to Arzhog in a dream, and made him an offer. If Arzhog agreed to give up everything that made him the figure that so many looked up to, and agreed to give up everything he held dear, then the God would tell him how to break the siege and save the lives of the men and the women and children at Arctan Tor. The God told him that if he decided to accept his help in breaking the siege that Arzhog should take a lamp and fill it half-way with his own blood mixed with oil and light it at the top of the Tor, when the lamp went out the God would tell him how to break the siege.
Arzhog knew what was right, his own life was little compared to those that he had dedicated his life to save and serve. He had no living family to speak of, and he had never taken a wife, but he would gladly die for those that dwelt in the place he called home. Without hesitation he carried out the instruction of the God, blending his blood with precious oil and carrying the lamp to the top of the Tor before lighting it. Once the lamp was lit Arzhog waited in silence until the flame burned lower, and lower, until it vanished completely into the small lamp. At the moment the flame left existence, the form of a God entered. Arzhog bent no knee to this deity, he would pay his price, and the God would tell him what had been agreed, but he had no love of this God. For a moment all was silence, then Arzhog announced that he was here to pay the price of the God's demand if the God would grant him the request, the God smiled and dark satisfaction spread plain across its features.
"Of course great Knight, of course... If you wish to stop the siege you will go to the southern gate, another of your order has betrayed you in exchange for release from the torments of the siege. To stop him though you would have to be there..." The God looked out the window for a moment before its features twisted into an expression of feigned shock. "This will make things difficult for you great knight, but to stop your mad brother you'll have to be at the gate almost an hour ago... A true pity, though if you had not been here with this lamp you might have made it in time..." The God's laughter echoed throughout Arzhogs mind as his vision went white with fury.
Arzhog turned, perhaps there was yet a chance, perhaps he could still save them, but as he turned though a hand gripped at his soul, seeming to freeze his very marrow. The God's voice was still thick with mirthful satisfaction as it spoke to him "No great knight, I have held my bargain. I told you how to save their lives, that was the word of our agreement. Now, it is time for you to give up what is you promised. You shall not save them, they shall all die. You shall not die in battle to save them, but you shall watch as they die and know that you could have saved them. They shall all know that you are not there, with their dying breath as the child is rent from its mothers breast and the lady's throat is crushed before her lover's waking eyes, they shall know that you still live. They shall know that you had the power to save them, but you did not. This I promise you." As it speaks the God's voice rises into a booming roar before dropping back into a whisper for those last words. All is silent for a second before the God speaks again. "A final boon I lay upon you, you shall never take thine own life. Not with blade or poison, nor any magic and device contrived.
You shall live, and a long life I wish you.
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Topic: The Westlands RTD: Turn 42: Final "Turn". Game ended. (Read 157097 times)