Discussion in 'The Dark Legion [TDL]' started by Gharik, May 27, 2012.
Minions shall place the backstory for each of their characters in this thread.
Little is known about the mysterious behemoth that is Gharik Darkmoor. Even the memories of the sharpest minds would deteriorate over several millennia of undeath. Gharik's story is one of myth and legend. Unfortunately, only one copy of his tale remains, and several of its pages have rotted with time. This is a patched together collection of some of the pages from that ancient tome.
Chapter One - The life of a Warrior
...among one of the tallest men I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. He must be at least seven feet tall and over three hundred fifty stones of raw, grotesque, muscle.
Witnessing the man in combat is enough to shake the resolve of the most hardened warriors. The man charges headlong with a giant two headed axe, cleaving through platemail and bone alike with a single, effortless motion. Just the other day I witnessed Gharik swing his monstrous axe at a man and drive it halfway through a tree after his victim ducked. Without breaking stride, Gharik removed his giant broadsword from its sheath and the hulking piece of metal from his back in one swift motion. The poor soul didn't stand a chance, Gharik decapitated the man with a flick of his wrist and continued skewering the men at arms before him. Only after the dust of battle had settled did he go back to retrieve his beloved axe.
After the battle, while the rest of the army celebrates with mead and stories of past glory in the local tavern, Gharik merely sits with his back to the wall staring at the dancing flames in the fireplace. Perhaps he is reflecting on the trials of the day, but the man is most curious. He only drinks water, and speaks very little. When approached by the local women he stares until the awkwardness becomes nearly intolerable, and then kindly declines their advances. Other warriors give him a wide birth, out of respect more than fear I think.
Gharik never takes on an apprentice, and as far as I know, he doesn't even know how to write. This is unfortunate, his vast knowledge of combat would benefit even the most seasoned swordsman. I must find a way to...
Chapter Two is missing...
Chapter Three - Inner Turmoil
...the screams were enough to wake the dead. The burning of the village and the slaying of innocent women and children were enough to make me wretch. I could see the turmoil in Gharik's eyes. After these many months studying him, I've seen the damage battle has done to his soul. However, refusing a direct order by his superior officer would also go against a code he lived his life by.
Many believe it was his long life of seeing good men die, and killing even more in return, were
the breaking point. I believe it was the horror of that day that broke his spirit...
Chapter Four - The Breaking Point
...the line had been drawn. The corruption within the ranks of the King's army had reached a point of no return. Gharik had reached his breaking point, I saw the madness in his eyes. Challenging an officer was bad enough, but his challenge was for the General this day.
The entire army had gathered in an enormous circle around the two seasoned veterans. The few men left with untainted souls cheered Gharik on, while the rest hurled insults I will not repeat.
The fight was short lived. Gharik quickly disarmed the General and threw him to the ground.
Laying flat on his back, the General begged for mercy and promised Gharik title and riches beyond his wildest dreams. Gharik brought his giant axe down with such force that the earth shook in agony. A riot quickly ensued.
Those loyal to Gharik stood back to back with the giant inching toward the dark forest. Gharik exchanged blows with hundreds of bloodthirsty soldiers. By the time he reached the forest, all of his companions had been slain. In a desperate attempt, Gharik let loose a mighty battlecry, calling to the gods for assistance. A hulking ball of black energy emerged from the depths of Sosaria and destroyed the entire army.
He was all that remained...
Chapter Five - A Cloaked Figure
"...that is MY power fleshling." the cloaked figure had an aura of enormous power that I've never felt before. Though his head was covered, I could see long, blood-red fingers as he pointed to the destruction he had created. At second glance, they were merely bones, not the fleshy fingers of a human.
I've never seen Gharik lose his composure before. Perhaps it was the pressure building over the past few months, but I know the fight and now the presence of this evil creature would have put an average man on his knees as he sobbed. Gharik merely flinched before this... monster.
"Who are you?" Gharik asked ask he regained his composure.
"I have been called many names throughout the history of this world, Minion. You may simply address me as The Guardian."
The Guardian titled his head back as he let loose a skin curdling cackle. A blazing red skull revealed itself as his hood fell back. "I've spared you fleshling, because I have use for you. A man of your size and skill is just what I need to raise my army. You will be the first, and you will lead my legions to victory in this realm."
"I did not just kill one madman to serve an even greater evil... Guardian." Gharik retorted.
"Silence fool!" The Guardian's booming voice could be heard for miles I'm sure. Every bird within eyeshot fled. "My cause is now your own. You have no choice."
Gharik was forced to his knees by an invisible power. "Yes... My Lord..." The words were forced from Gharik's mouth. Even a man his size could not fight the power of this being...
Chapters Six through Fifteen are all missing
Chapter Sixteen - The Man is No More...
...he is decaying. Over the past centuries I've seen Gharik try to fight his curse, but it's a losing battle I'm afraid. The curse has granted him immortality, but his flesh has been slowly rotting away. Strangely, he continues to grow in strength and even size. Anything left of his humanity is nothing more than a distant memory. We Historians are granted the gift of immortality, but I'm sure my life will come to an end by this ... creature's hand when the last flicker of his soul leaves his body.
It's only a matter of time before The Guardian has complete control of Gharik. There's a darkness creeping through the forest, his army of undeadites will rise soon I'm afraid...
The Tale of Corlagon the Mad
I was once a great sorcerer of the light. I had a beautiful, loving wife and two strong sons. I served Lord British with unending loyalty and served as one of his top advisors.
Just when I thought life was perfect, a band of orcs and ettins laid siege to my tower. Though my sons
fought valiantly they both succumed to their wounds from the long battle. My eldest, Rathor, had his
legs crushed by a boulder thrown by an ettin. He managed to continue firing a steady stream of arrows
for three hours before he fell. My youngest, Jinthr, was burned alive when an orc mage struck one of our kegs of explotion potion with a lucky lightning bolt.
Upon seeing the lifeless bodies of my sons, I flew into a maddening rage. I conjured all the power I
could muster, but it was too much for me to control. The explosion could be heard for miles I'm sure. The shock of the explosion brought my tower crumbling down, crushing the invaders. Though I survived the blast, my wife did not.
After the battle, exhaustion finally took me and I collapsed. When I awoke, I was in a cave surrounded by cloaked figures in black. They were impressed by my destructive power and could sense my endless grief.
They offered me a path, a path that practiced the darker side of magic. The thought of bringing my family back from the realm of the dead overcame the rational side of my mind, so I agreed without hesitation. I swore allegiance to The Guardian and was granted the gift of Immortality.
When Lord British heard of my union with the dark wizards, he stripped me of my place in the castle. Nothing mattered to me at this point, I would stop at nothing to get my family back.
Weeks of research became months, months became years. After decades of research I've still not had my family returned to me. Immortality has taken it's tole on my body and mind. While I cannot die, my body continues to decay. My determination has driven me insane, but I refuse to give up. What was left of the noble sorcerer of Lord British's Court, known as Corlagon the Wise, is now gone. The immortal monstrosity that was left behind shall now be known as Corlagon the Mad. I now only live to serve The Guardian, with the hope that I can feed the undying rage in my dark soul.
Forrr thhhe Guarrrdiannn....
The story of Rathor Hellforge:
The memories I have of my past life are patchy due to the unstable dark magic that binds me to this realm. I was the first born of Corlagon the Wise, but did not choose to follow his path of the arcane. Though I knew this disappointed him mildly, I chose to master skills that I felt would be more useful around the family tower. I crafted all of the furniture, clothing, and tools used on or around our estate.
Then the orcs attacked...
I don't remember much about the attack, other than my legs were crushed by a giant boulder. After the tower collapsed from my father's unstable magic, I passed into the realm of the dead. I was able to find peace in the afterlife in the company of my forefathers, but it was shortlived.
After swearing loyalty to The Guardian, Corlagon the Wise ceased to be. As my father aged, his transformation into undeath destroyed his judgement. In his insanity, he broke into the tomb of our ancestors and stole both my remains and those of my brother, Jinthr. My corpse was badly decomposed... all that remained were the bones, but he did not notice. After a long ritual in the dungeons of our crumbled tower, a mild form of life surged through my bones. Upon my return to the living, most of my human qualities were stripped from me. Most of my memories were gone, but the knowledge of my craft remained. I no longer create artifacts of beauty for my family. There is only one calling for The Guardian's most loyal servant... To create weaponry and armor for the army of undead that waits in the dark forest of this world...
Forr The Guarrdiannn...
Reserved for Jinthr the Burnt
As a girl, Athinia was raised in a grand palace. Her noble father showered her in gifts, but not his love. Athinia was nothing more than a bargaining chip, a possession that would eventually be married off to whatever family could assist in his ascent up the royal ladder. However, that glorious day was never to come.
At the age of seven, a bandit raiding force swooped into the palace during the dead of night. Hoping for a large ransom, they stole her away to their camp several miles away. The bandits did not account for the many daughters her father had at court however... When they were denied their ransom, The Bandit King decided he would take her as his own bride.
After several years of abuse and unanswered prayers, Athinia decided to take fate into her own hands. Even at a young age Athinia had a talent to sing both men and creatures into an enchanted sleep. This coupled with her delicate beauty often drove men mad. After a particularly successful raid, The Bandit King called to his wife for a song of glory. Taking advantage of the situation, and her drunk audience, Athinia sang the crowd into an enthrallment. Her words provoked some men to fight, while others just sat there with their mouths open dumbly. As the mass confusion continued, she moved from man to man, delicately slitting each of their throats. However, she saved her betrothed for last. She did not kill The Bandit King... She instead removed his eyes, tongue, and manhood. His eyes were taken so that he may never see beauty again. His tongue, so he may never taste anything so sweet. And his manhood... to end any chance of love's warm embrace. Once her task was complete, she ended the song. The Bandit King awoke in such agony that he collapsed. He didn't need to be slain, he was doomed to wander the world a blind, mute, eunuch.
Little did Athinia know, her prayers weren't entirely unanswered. The Guardian heard each prayer, and in turn, bolstered the hatred in her heart. This was her test, and He was most pleased. When the deed was complete, he appeared before her. She was not startled, but instead seemed comforted by his presence. Athinia was accepted by The Guardian as a daughter. His undead army does not harass her, they sense the darkness within her very being. Her enduring beauty and musical voice will soon be used on the battlefield... a new tactic The Guardian is eager to unleash.
Separate names with a comma.