The Descent Into the abysmal afterlife (based on a HC to Softcore Journey )

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Level 50 Ranger


Level 50 Templar


Level 43 Witch hits the dirt


Facebreaker VS Facebreaker, troll vs troll bandit duel!


Full Party Clear, the poor wretches


Party thinks they are twinks and can beat me


Quadra KILL, "its a rape fest"


TRIPLE KILL AT OAK, someone stop this mad man!


Double KILL

SOME lowbie souls that I must collect for my flask

Storms uh'commin and the old memories all to soon flooding back. I find myself woken with night terrors of insecurities with my plundering gone wrong. Push them away and focus on the matter at hand, I try to remind myself as I realize this isn't the time to reminisce. I drearily rub my eyes and gaze into the distance. My journeys far from complete and my story is a long one.

It all started one night when I was desperately thieving livestock to feed my traveling family. The gypsy family that neighbored my seasonal nomadic stop was spoiled with abundant life blessed by the gods. I thought to myself, can a family of 5 really use all that food? Something has to go to waste, and I really hate waste.My traps have been set far too long, my oaken bow barely broken in, and my down trodden sword starting to rust from the heavy downpours from the past fall. I knew I had to do something fast before my family really started to worry.

The night was silent and I knew my family was dead asleep after our small, full moon and mead celebration. I slipped away from our tent and I quietly creeped up and peered over the rickety neighbors fence. My eyes fell wide, lusting at the soon to be bounty my family will gorge happily upon. The first thing that caught my eye, the fat beautiful sow resting next to the gypsies main camp. The fire crackled quietly and the embers burned just hot enough to be seen over the light of the full moon. I could hardly imagine a better night than this to make my move. I moved quickly while crouched, but off the main path which always seemed natural to me. The grass and soil moist from rainfall but quieter than the dry brush which would reveal me much too easily. As I moved I found myself having a hard struggle to control mouth from salivating. I could only imagine the prized pig chewed slowly in the mouths of my hungry family. I tried to be patient while my feet carried by my fantasy rushed on. Only a few feet from my plunder, I could hear the gypsies grandmother wheezing with age as she snored fast asleep. Unsheathing the dagger as stealthily as a imagined a viper twin tails slithering slowly through the dark marshes of HARDCORATH.

The heavy sow resting hard, probably from a long day of devouring untold amounts, eased my spirits. Nothings holding me back, like I have seen in the past on my grandads ranch, in one lighting fast movement I severed the vocal cords and large vein pumping the lard and life blood through this beasts bulbous neck. The last silent squirm of the sow rustled far less than my quick entrance into the camp. The weight of the beast on my shoulders was joyous, but encumbersome, and the blood poring over my otherwise clean face made me smile ear to ear. I made it back to camp easily and began relishing the feel of cutting through the fat and thick skin right away. More than a few hours later, the leather flap to the tent opened slowly. I saw two eyes barely gleaming back in the new morning light, "come on out! Breakfast is done" I said loudly.

The ribbs blistered over the flaming fire and danced slowly under the makeshift rotisserie. My son, Froller, happily inhaled the rolling clouds of soon to be breakfast. Moments later the scent woke his mother. Mouth gaping and tongue drooling, twenty-seven words escaped "That is the fattest most gorgeous pig anyone has ever laid eyes on. Where in this starving part of the woods did you come by this huge beast?!" "Many long hours of skulking across this horridly bare forest has finally yielded what was deserved! Feast, please, feast and know I will never let you starve again." The loud laps and slaps of freshly cooked pork filled the camp this morning. Many long groans and rumbling bellies soon fallowed. Tired from the feast I laid down desperately welcoming the sleep deprived from the previous night.

That afternoon I dreamed of the now not as wealthy gypsies. I fantasized about them leaving their tent and moments later screaming with anxiety as they looked upon the empty and depressing treasure trench which use to house their favorite animal, but now only filled with blood and anger. Their screams of vengeance were loud, so damn loud I woke up. My dreary vision was accompanied by multiple sharp pains in my stomach. This was no normal pain, this was foul magic. My senses dimmed as I faintly heard the gagging and retching of my family just outside. What foul curse could this be? My vision hazed, swirled, and the darkness consumed my consciousness.

I later woke up to loud footsteps nearby. I couldn't imagine who it would be other than my family. After a few moments I heard the oncommers speak.Their language was indistinguishable, it sounded like common tongue, but far less common and intelligible. Moments later the flap to the tent was torn asunder and the bloody, gluttonous head of the beast I had recently consumed soared and landed on my chest. The intruders head peaked in slowly, I recognized faintly the intruding face of the gypsy grandmother. She whispered something slowly, repeating it incessantly. "Sharp and powerful you cannot grasp, these powerful tools given to you by god to unfurl your wrath. Deadly and required your ability is now completely expired. Learn the ways of a crafter and put your hands to work, be your own master. Abandon the ways of the despicable thief or far worse than this is sure to come." The old woman howled and laughed with what I knew was anger creeping into her voice.
I lay paralyzed with nausea and sharp gut wrenching stomach pains as I listened to multiple foot steps sunder off out of the camp into the outlying forest.

I struggled to my feat moments later carried by my will and demanding need to see to my sick family. The delicious air outside my tent licked warming at my face as I quickly scanned around the fire and surrounding camp. The fire pit quickly forced me to divert my eyes. The gruesome sight of my dead wife and son's entrails spilling from their mouths too much for me to handle. With rage in my heart and shaking wobbly feet I lurked straight for the wood cutting maul. As I neared it I could feel the powerful urge to grasp the weapon with all my might. But when my hands neared the wooden handle they began to sear with burning infernal pain. It was too much to burden and I barely kept my feet under me. What in this miserable existence could this magic be? I quickly cleared the question for me head and thought, my bow. I walked slowly and timidly towards it hoping my vengeance wouldn't be squashed by this curse. As I neared the bow I prepared for the pain I imagine was soon to come. Sure enough my hands blistered and boiled ablaze. Unable to stand, I fell to my knees, sunken in the mud camp floor. Defeated, and full of shame, I knew I had been cursed by the forsaken gypsy Matron.

The days to come were full of grief I never could have imagined until forced into my world. My nomadic days are over and my time is spent begging. I have no way of hunting and gathering, no family to feed, only a grumbling stomach full of regret, and my days are spent groveling in the streets for food. Months to years I bore this burden until finally one day a man loomed over me. "Are you good with your hands, and capable of working for food?" The stranger said. "Yes, I am willing to do anything you bid sire!" I exclaimed hopefully. "Good, get on your feet and follow me son." I struggled to stand and tried to act 10 years younger.

After a few hours of walking, we came upon a decent sized shack neighboring a work shop. "You can rest after you have earned it." the stranger said assuredly. "move these metal scraps and wood scraps to my work bench next to the furnace and anvil." My eyes bore over the heaps of steal and other precious metals I knew I would be moving for endless hours. I did as he asked for longer than I expected and too short of what I cared to carry on with. Right before my legs began to buckle the door to the shack opened and the stranger exclaimed, "Dinner has been ready for over an hour!" Filled with a new optimism I rushed off to the shack carried by a new sensation I had not felt in a long time, salivation.

A I entered the shack the man handed my a handkerchief and a fork. In his other hand he held a gleaming steak knife. He motioned certainly for me to grab it. I uncertainly reached for it. Just as I expected, my hand became engulfed in dark infernal flames. The stranger stumbled back,tripped and tangled on the dining room stools. I reached for him only to light his leather tunic ablaze. A painful scream cried out as the old mans face was smeared across the floor from his fall. "What in this unholy world was that son?" "I dont know!" I returned as I furled into a ball on the floor clutching my crisp hand. "What matter of demon are you?!" "I am not a demon I promise you! I am just a cursed thieving wretch who cannot yield arms!" The man looked upon me in bewilderment and was deep in thought.

The following days were not full of endless hours of work, but were more full of science and discovery. We discovered the apparent first, I cannot yield any matter of hilt or shaft, ut I can handle metal. Weeks went by as the blacksmith conjured braces for my hands. Thick plates were linked together fashioned in such a manner that the scales flexed and curled around my hands. The underside was nearly identical other than one glaring difference, a thick steel handle fashioned for ones hands to curl around. I was pretty keen to the inventors idea, when the handle was grasped...my mesh and plate covered hands glow with the infernal fury of foul witchcraft. What use were these? I only had a few ideas.

The old man has poked and prodded at my past during our days of crafting. I gave him little other than the quest I was on to avenge my dead family. The old man quite obviously was a fighter at some time, also more than that. He was truly gifted with the ability to coordinate others. I was on strict no questions asked routine, dancing around target dummies obliterating would and shield practice targets alike. The old man became infatuated with my mysterious strength and fiery abilities. He also became obsessed with perfection of my hand to hand arts.

Word spread slowly around town as the villagers perused the blacksmiths wares and caught eye of me decimating surrounding tree stumps. I later became praised for my ability to clear paths to new waterways and trade routes. Soon my master urged me to participate in the district armored and armed combat tourneys. There was one category hes was particularly demanding that I partake in, 1 vs 1 gladiator arena. Our local arena was small, plain, but used fairly often. After a few months I was no longer a stranger to even the largest gladiatorial stages in our nation. Hundreds of enemies faces and rib-cages were shattered by my infernal blows.

As word of my power spread, so did the question, "where did you come across this power?", the same words which woke me one night. I lay still, confounded at the luminous crimson veil rolling over the wooden panels at the foot of my bed. I said nothing and tried to see through squinted eyes and discover who the intruder was. "You once had a family, didn't you?" Creaked the mysterious voice. The thought of the question invoked a tunnel vision only to this strangers face being broken by my flaming fists. The boiling red clouds wisping up into my nostrils diminished this urge rapidly. They smelled of putrid rot, like meet in the hottest days sun which Hardcoraths Deserts had ever met.The foul smell discouraged me, and instilled a frightened sense of patience.

"Would you like to see your family again?" the ghostly crimson visage asked cryptically. Without thought I replied eagerly "YES!". "Would you give your life essence to see them?" he croaked. "Without a doubt I would do anything to see them again!" I said . "I have a request for you. You must fill this flask and return it to me in 14 days or less. If its not returned in this time, I will make sure your families spirits never rest without torture." he droned on. I waited unsure and patient for him to explain what he wanted it filled with. I waited a few moments and there was still no answer. After staring at me unblinking for quite some time the visage tossed the black flask onto the midsection of my bed within my reach. The flask was icy cold to the touch and also evoked a humming vibration making it hard to hold onto. I gazed into the swirling clouds of abyss. A faint light flickered in the epicenter of the flask. Ghostly swirling faces with mouths stretching the span they whirled. It was obvious this flask contained something that once lived.

The nearly freezing rain pounded the surrounding forest. As the downfall washed over me, I could feel the remnants of the past battles draining away...stinging my eyes as it flowed down my bloodied battered face. I wiped away the grime slowly gaining my vision back. Kneeling in front of one of the 5 traders just slain during the battle that just previously boiled, I pulled the cold dark flask from my satchel. The flask hummed, vibrating violently as it started to glow. The remaining gore washing off my body slowly halted, and reversed its direction and crawled back from my feet to my hands holding the flask. Faintly glowing now, the oozing bile crept slowly over my hands and seemed to seep into the myriad of ghostly swirls at the center of the flask. Squinting my eyes I stressed make out the lifeless essences now forming a newly colored cyclone of energy. The hot glowing flasks searing surface was hardly a match for my infernal glowing mitts. I relished the burn until the remaining grime dissipated into the fiery blaze.

This was but the first gory encounter with the flask, and I knew many more would come. Pillaging what I could from the scorched and obliterated remains of the prune like corpses, I set off towards the great city of sarn, known for its grand crafted armor and bountiful food. This trip was a good 10 day hike with many treacherous bandit sites, as well as tales of ape like beasts driven mad by industrialization taking over there home in nature. Darkness would fall soon and it was time for me to put distance between myself and this calamitous rest stop.

Three days of long weary travel are now history with near another 7 or 8 to go. The cool night licked at my exposed neck ushering me as the moon guided my travel across the cobblestone paved trade route. Few would dare to push on this late in such a sketchy neck of the woods, knowing that things far worse than bandits lay unseen while quietly watching me move nearly blind on my nocturnal stroll. Not much more than twigs breaking and trees leaning have i heard these past few hours, but I knew better than to think I was stealthy. The hairs on the back of my neck had been raised for a dozen minutes or so. This feeling always reminds me to clear my head and stay focused. Insecurities will get you killed out here while alone with a free roaming thoughts. Its easy for your mind to become filled with wild thoughts of faint shadows fluttering about near the edges of your vision and the creaks or screeches of common day wildlife will bore into your ear drums as your eye bore into the moon waiting for the son to take its place. When I hear the strangest noises, I always stop and think "now what the fuck could that have been?". Not to eager to find out, I try to keep moving steadily.
more to come...

Victims and date for match------------------------Date
Exmse 1 EXALTED
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ETC you get the point