Blight: Lore & Fiction

[Dwarmin]

@Gorvar

~snip

Yeah, I figure the (King, Queen, Lord, ‘Non-Ranked Title’) theme would probably fit with each races boss Immortals.

Also,

…

More bosses!

Dwarves
Grave Digger
For long had we thought those long lost to us were safe from the corrupted roots of the Blight-buried in grand tombs beneath out fortresses, or merely in roadside cairns and monuments, the Earth and Stone seemingly protected our brothers and sisters from joining the undead…until now.

Those scouts who have dared to spy upon the horde tell tales of a massive abomination of a Dwarven immortal, seemingly organizing his fellow fallen into a frenzy of activity-striking and digging at the ground beneath the fallen city with broken pickaxes and shovels, or merely their own rotted fists. This horror mocks the Dwarven people by turning the wholesome enterprise of the miner into a sickly parody-where Dwarves mine the ground for gold and mana crystals, the Grave Digger searches for the bodies of the long slain. When unearthed, they return as blighted corpses, impatient to rise up and fight against us!

We must lead a strike against this monster, before we must not only face our most recent slain kin, but all those whom we once thought rested safely.

Ability:

Mine for Corpses: The Grave Digger motivates his Immortals to delve and dig for the long buried, in the hopes he may rise them to undeath.

Every X hours, he selects a spot 1 league of himself, and digs for corpses, unearthing a battlefield graveyard containing any where from X to X amount of blighted bodies. If the Grave Digger sacks a city, he produces X% more than the usual amount of bodies, based on the cities initial population. Every time the Grave Digger unearths a cache of bodies, he gains X strength.

Queen of Treachery
Though our numbers were few, we felt mighty that day, as we prepared for the onslaught of our fallen brothers and sisters. Led by our Stoutest Generals, fortified behind thick and tall Dwarven stoneworks, and with many experienced veteran soldiers in our ranks, we felt unstoppable. Even the Orcs, who had not perhaps sent as many troops as they could, supplied plentiful ale and pork to bolster our provisions, and the Humans called upon their far-away Shamans to give us a fortuitous Silver moon, further fortifying us for the battle to the come

Sadly, we were all betrayed. First, the Orcs, agitated and uneasy under the Silver moon, accused us of weakening them purposefully, so that they would die fighting the oncoming Blight-first quietly, to themselves, then loudly in the halls. The Humans accused the Orcs of cowardice, for not sending more troops-perhaps they were the ones who hoped we would all die, leaving our lands defenseless. We Dwarves attempted to keep the peace between our squabbling allies, but then we watched in horror as our General grew sick and collapsed upon the stones. Accusations of poison, murder, betrayal, treachery followed…fists flew, blood spilled, then axes and swords were drawn.

We were so lost in our frenzy, we did not at first hear the warning horns from the sentries. We only reached the walls in time to realize our enemy had not come from without, but from within-and, not only in a ironic sense. The Immortals had traveled faster than would ever have thought, taking the secret paths under the mountains, past our defenses, and straight into the very heart of our fortress. Standing among them in rotting splendor, as they surged out like so many blighted ants, was the Queen of Treachery. Our Queen, the one who knew all our secrets, and how to manipulate our fragile alliances into self destruction, paving the path for the Blight’s final victory.

Ability:

Blighted Betrayal: The Queen of Treachery knows and sees all. She knows all the secrets of mortal hearts, and her dark whispers reach into the unwaking mind, telling them the worst things they believe are true. She undoes the strongest of fortifications and sows chaos in the most experienced and well led armies, leaving them helpless before the blight.

An army with The Queen of Treachery ignores all mountain terrain penalties.

When any unit enters a battle with the Queen of Treachery, she removes any positive buffs from, and prevents them from gaining any buffs for X hours. For every mortal affected in this way, she gains X strength.

Miser King
What you offer, isn’t enough
It’s not nearly enough of the stuff
You have what I want
I have what you need
How can you call it greed?
It’s only right and fair
What I ask of you
So where’s my share?
Considering whats in store
In these times?
We’ll need two hundred more
~The Joy of Selfishness, Goblin Child’s Poem

Ability:

Aura of Selfishness: The Miser King sows an aura of greed for wealth across the land, turning the hearts of your people and your greatest heroes selfish and cold. As his hoard grows with the strength of souls he has darkened, so too does his strength.

For every coin of gold earned in your cities via income, the Miser King gains X strength permanently. The Miser King makes all hero cards X more expensive to purchase.

Elves
Blight Ranger
Long had we, the Elves of the forest, been confident in our abilities to keep the Blight at bay-through stalking, subterfuge, and the might of the longbow, we could slay any Immortal before they even so much as saw a hint of our sacred groves and homes.

Imagine our surprise when the Immortals struck first. Dark arrows fell upon our ranks as a blighted rain, and we were scattered and panicked-for those struck and killed by them, quickly joined the dead as well. As we fell back, we saw who was leading them-our own former Prince, now dead and Blighted, but still leading a mockery of our people. Longbows held rigidly in dead hands, arrows tipped with noxious blight poison, with an echo of their former skill and aim. All around him, those who had been the greatest marksmen and markswomen in life, rose again to add power to his unholy barrage.

We have no where to run, and how can we strike at an enemy that knows our greatest strengths?

Abilities:

Blighted Barrage: The Blight Ranger combines the greatest of the Elven peoples skill, with the unholy strength and stamina of the Blight, allowing them to move swiftly through dense forests and respond to any attack from afar with a vicious reprisal.

An army with The Blight Ranger ignores all forest terrain penalties.

Every X hours, the Blight Ranger trains a fellow Elven Immortal into an Immortal Deadeye. Whenever the Blight Ranger and his army is attacked from afar or he attacks a mortal army or city, he and his fellow Deadeyes launch a pre-emptive ranged attack, against his attackers or the defenders. If the attackers are killed entirely, no damage is done to the Blight Ranger. Mortals killed by this ranged attack will rise immediately as Immortals.

[mammon]

Nice stories, @Dwarmin and @Gorvar, Goblins were never really my favourite characters but I did like these stories. And those immortal lords actually sound like they could one day be added to the game, although some seem a bit too OP right now. And thanks for setting up the idea of immortal sailors Gorvar, I was actually planning to do a story with those as well (until I completely forgot about it).

[Gorvar]

No worries man, cheque’s in the mail right?

[Gorvar]

Wing Warriors

“I will take the van.” the words were out before the question beforehand was even cold.
Warchief Grella and Marshall Raynor turned their heads from the map to look at the Queen.
It was day 82 of the Iron Crown Campaign and the Alliance was split in two forces. Mountain King Thror led one half to the north to drive the undead back there, led by a unknown undead lord, while the triad of Warchief Grella, Queen Morganna and Marshall Raynor lead the southern offensive. A large undead host led by a Dread Knight moved towards the dwarven mountain chain, intend on ending all life there. Thankfully unlike most Undead lords who were intelligent, this lord was quite ‘fresh’ and merely used his troops as a big wave rather than actual manoeuvring. A plan was devised. One of the Dragonhelm Knights would summon the lord and his minions into a abandoned elven village, once the human Immortals entered a forest they would become more slow and sloppy and thus easier to fight. The dwarven and troll masons enhanced the walls and palisades there which put the odds in Alliance’s favour.
The vanguard would hold the line as the left wing of the army, consisting the human and orcish cavalry, and the right wing, the fleet elven and gnomish warriors, would cut off the undead’s escape.

The combined forces of men, elf, dwarf, orc and goblin were ready for combat but they knew the battle would have heavy casualties. Those in the vanguard would die in droves while the left and right wings would move into position. Queen Morganna volunteered to lead the van.
“There is a reason the Immortals attacked my home of Queenspark, they know the royal family is the head of the resistance they face. Killing the king means cutting off the head.” she added." It’s like a game of chess, leave your king exposed and your enemy will move in for the kill. It’s a VERY tempting target."

Elswin was the first to disagree." I am sorry your highness but I must disagree. You will be in the heart of battle and you are now Queen of Alestria. Losing you would be the most crippling blow. As your bodyguard I must advise you to join Lord De Schacht and the reserves." he shook his head to emphasize the point.“It is to dangerous and I cannot ensure your safety.”
“And yours as well isn’t it, human?” Grella smirked, her tusks nearly scrapping her lips.
Queen Morganna’s bodyguard glared daggers at the orc.
Marshall Raynor cleared his throat which stopped both from saying any more.
“I appreciate your council Ser Elswin but I made up my mind. Many of my people will die today and they must see their Queen willing to risk the same dangers as they do. My mind is made up.”
“But the van mostly consists of militia and those Children of Light, only the desperate and the mad are there.” Elwins protested.
Grella picked some meat from her teeth with her dagger." What about those…" she snapped her fingers as she tried to summon the word." It’s a bird that looks like a lion?"
“Gryphon?” Raynor suggested to which Grella nodded.
Morgonna shook her head." Uncle Thror said they won’t be here to aid us for a few days more."

She looked to Raynor who was rubbing the pebbles in his necklace, as if he asked the spirits for guidance. She had heard of this young man. He was conscripted like many other people in her realm to fight the Blighted Horde, a farmer’s boy who rose up the ranks to fill dead men’ shoes.
Yet he managed to lead the defense of Smallhaven for weeks and saved many lives during the exodus to the dwarven mountain fortresses. His unorthodox ways with tactics was a welcome fresh air of from the Generals whose sole tactic was to charge in blindly.
“Marshall Raynor, you have an idea?” she asked him.
The Marshall stood alert, as if he was struck from a daze." Apologies your highness. But I have a idea whom to add in the van…“
Elswin rolled his eyes.” Adding more peasants to the pile won’t protect the Queen that much, boy. Also only speak when your betters-“
Morganna raised her hand, motioning Elswin to be silenced.” Go ahead, Marshall."
The Marshall nodded and told her whom would accompany her in the van.

The sun was high in the sky when the undead horde battered the elven gates down and charged at the vanguard. The archers at the wall quickly ran further back the village along the wall, thus no more support.
The militia and the Children of the Light drew their weapons, a mix of swords and clubs with wooden shields.
Queen Morganna drew her sword, the elven heirloom called Gwenhierblade. Her outstanding and castle forged armour stood out amongst her men who barely had any armour to speak off. She loved her people but knew they would stand no chance against the undead that crawled toward them. Elswin drew his own blade and stood next to his queen. For all his faults, he was still loyal. Elswin was a skilled fighter and had slain many Immortals during the campaign. but he was only one man.
That is why she relied on the troops Marshall Raynor gave to her.

They were a band of dwarves, their leader Thane Boindal was someone Raynor met during one of the exodus, who were dressed in mail armour and weapons all shaped like a gryphon. They were a hardy crew, ready to fight.
“They worship the spirits like my people do.” Raynor told her." They believe their ancestors were blessed by the gryphons. They live on the mountaintops next to gryphon roosts, protecting them. They fight like savages but like a lion they have a noble heart." They stood courageous in front of the overwhelming undead who lumbered towards them.
Boindal, a older dwarf with long white bead that neared his knees and who had a eyepatch over his left eye, turned back to look at Morganna. He gave her a nod which she returned and stared his enemies down.
The undead sea parted as their leader appeared, a rotting corpse in black knight armour. For a moment he observed the vanguard as a uneasy silence came, just before the storm. The creature aimed his bloodied and rusted sword at the vanguard. A unholy screech came from the rotting throat of the herd as they rushed to devour the living.

“DRINKS!” Boindal cried out. The warriors, including himself, took out a potion flask from their belts and gulped the green contents down. Afterwards they threw the flasks down as the thane raised his head back and gave his own battle cry. No, not a cry…a roar.
His own roar nearly drowned out the screeching. Then another of the dwarven warriors took up the roar, and another and another. Soon enough the Wing Warriors charged at the undead, their gryphon maces crushed undead skull after undead skull.
Despite their size, they fought like giants. For every warrior that fell, dozens of Blighted fell first. And that stopped when Morganna and her forces joined the fray.

Three wing warriors jumped at the Dread Lord. The lord swept his sword and slayed two but the third got a a hit in. Unafraid, Boindal came in with five other warriors and swooped down on the undead lord. Mace blows rendered the armour mute as the dark knight fell, his last cry stomped out when his helmet was smashed by a heavy gryphon mace.
When the undead were driven back, the cavalry and elven forces crushed the herd. Those few stragglers who remained were picked off later when the gryphons arrived.
In the end, the vanguard did not suffer as many losses as first expected.
Many years later, the Queen was quoted." God and the spirits were with us that day and it came in the form of a gryphon. It was at Sorcerer’s glade where the tide was turned, when our losses became victories. Were it not for Thane Boindal and his men, I do not think Alestria would’ve survived."

[mammon]

The saga continues, and a true saga it is starting to become.

I agree that the Wing warriors are just a boss warrior race. Their strength increase with every gryphon gets just crazy OP to the point where ‘a dozen immortals for every wing warrior’ can actually be an understatement. Nice story, Gorvar!

P.S. That pirate story I mentioned might take a while still if it gets written at all. I haven’t had inspiration nor the time to write at all these last few weeks or so.

[mammon]

Scrap what I’ve just said, I wrote my pirate story after all. It’s not as long or as good as I would have liked it to be, but it’ll do.

Pirate captain

“Listen up, yer sorry lot of scallywags! It has come to my attention that people are no longer satisfied with the way I run me ship! I’ve even heard the rumours spreading around about desertion! Now I ask thee, which one of yer sorry arses has been asking for twenty strikes of the whip?”

The pirate captain looked around the dirty and grimy deck of his ship, making eye contact with every Goblin present. While this gaze may have seemed almost comical in the eyes of any other race, the Goblins were quite intimidated by the rage and determination lingering in it, and the hatred in the captain’s voice. As such, none of them spoke up and they all timidly looked away when the captain looked their way.

“C’mon! I know people are saying that what we be doing is a waste of time! I’ve heard it meself! I’m only asking which one of yer ungrateful rats is thinking that you know better than me how to run me own damn ship!”

None of the Goblins breaks their silence as the Captain looks over their ranks once again. Each one of them knows that right now the Captain isn’t looking for a mutineer, but someone to make an example of. And no one was eager to be that example.

“Yer bunch of cowards! When I first heard them rumours that y’all were scared of the ghost ships sailing these waters, I thought that me crew was just telling scary stories to one another. But here I stand, looking at a bunch of rats too scared to even mutter a single word! Are you really scared of some undead meatbags floating around on ships that can be called little more than wreckage?”

The Goblins, all too smart to say anything at all, agree to this claim of cowardice with their silence.

“Well I be a troll’s mother! ‘Ere I thought that me crew was the most fearsome and ruthless crew in all the six seas, the nightmare of any merchant ship, the marauders that could cripple a navy! Are you really telling me that each and every single one of ya is scared of these ‘Ghost ships’ of the immortals?! They’re a bunch of undead who don’t even know how to tie their shoelaces, and yer all afraid of them?!”

…

“I’m disappointed in the lot of you, being scared of some main land problem like the immortals. We are pirates! We are the hunters of the seas, the kings and warriors of the wild waters! Those undead cannot harm us here!”

“So let me ask ye: Are yer really scared of the undead? Are you really so spineless that you would hide behind yer mother’s skirts when you see some shambling corpse? Did I really raise such a cowardly crew?”

“Nay! I don’t care what kind of fears may linger among this crew! I don’t care if it’s superstition or a real threat! I don’t care what dangers may await us! I care about gold and wealth! I care about the trill of battle! I care about the fear in the eyes of our victims as we capture their ship and claim their wealth!”

“So I don’t care what yer fear! I don’t care what may roam these seas! I care about coin, and for as long as there are merchant ships sailing these seas to take that coin from, I will be a pirate! If any of yer sorry lot disagree I’ll throw yer sorry arse off me ship at the next dock, but if you want to stay in me crew y’all better stop cowering!”

‘But cap’n,’ One of the Goblins finally speaks up.

“Yes, what it is, Lieutenant Gock?” The Captain asks, looking at the Goblin and casually laying his hand on his sabre. “Do you have something to add to me speech?”

‘Y-You said that as long as there’re ships to plunder, ye’d be a pirate.’

“That’s right. What about it?”

‘The thing is, there’re no ships to plunder no more.’

“Erm, what?”

‘Almost all seaside cities have fallen, and the merchants whose ships haven’t been commandeered are too afraid to sail the seas with these undead around. Rumour is, there are no more ships with coin sailing these seas.’

“Wh- Really?”

Gock nods, and a few other Goblins mumble some brief words saying that they heard the same.

“W-Well, as I was saying! What good is a pirate without people to rob of their coin? If there are no merchants to rob at sea, we’ll just have to go to land and find some wealth to steal there!”

“Gock, change course for the nearest harbour. And yer sorry lot better dig up yer walking shoes, because we’re going to rob ourselves some villages!”

‘Ay, ay, cap’n’ Gock said with only a mild tone of sarcasm in his voice.

[Gorvar]

That was hilarious man. I legit love gobbo stories on this thead. Thanks, your muse was worthy to make us wait.
Also now i want to ask Jay for a water expansion…hmmmm.
Also i want to see more of this Gobbo Captain and Glock.

Also thanks for your kind words on my story. The Wing Warriors, Mountain king and Gnomes are my fav dwarf cards.

[Valhallan]

These events actually took place…

The High Elf and The Lich King

The two elves came out of the Northwest, stalking the malignant Lich King as he plodded eastward with his undead elven horde across the dusty road into the Orcish lands. They were merely a Beacon and a Bard, but it would be enough…somehow, it would have to be. The Lich King had put a stranglehold on the land, his undead hands seeming to wring out the elves’ very lifeforce with each passing day. They stalked, and they waited.

Then came the answer to their prayers. It was a raven sent by their elven brethren from the farthest reaches of the land, deep in the Southeast. It had been centuries since the two elven civilizations had been in contact, and in truth, each thought the other to have perished under The Blight ravaging the land. Yet here the raven was, and it carried the tarot they so desperately needed, that which would summon the highest of elves. Along with the tarot, came the gold and mana sacrifices required to call it into action. Mere moments later they received word that the goblins in the west had risen to the call as well. The elder goblin chieftain would also throw all of his considerable power into support of the spell. Surely their High Elf brother could now slay the Lich once and for all.

They set to work immediately. The hunt that had taken so long suddenly burst into violent fruition. The Beacon played the tarot and the High Elf stepped through the card as his brothers stumbled backwards in awe. He did not even acknowledge them. Instead, he turned and gazed across the leagues to the east. His eyes gleamed a lustrous gold and they seemed to bore through time and space itself as they focused on a target unseen to his onlooking brethren. The High Elf was engulfed in a swirl of emerald mana myst so thick that all they could see were two gilded orbs where his eyes had once been. Golden bolts sprang from each of his upraised palms, first upwards then hurling the five and a half leagues at the speed of light.

The mighty Lich King never even knew what hit him. He was sheared into thirds as the two bolts cleaved through his waist and neck. The Lich King’s head, mouth agape, trundled into the path of the undead masses and they slowly trampled it as they continued east unphased…

– One Man Wolfpack

[Dwarmin]

I really like that explanation of how cards and hero summons could work Valhallan. I assumed it was all just metaphorical cards being drawn the hand of fate.

[Gorvar]

I’ll give yours a read later today dude Thanks for writing it!

Edit: okay just read it. I love the detail you gave for the game mechanics and how the spell would work and look like. Loved this one. A strong entry in this thread.

[Gorvar]

I’ll try to come up with a story about the Giant card later this week, wish me luck…

[mammon]

Nice story @Valhallan, shows both the virtue of multiple players working together and the card system. And the ‘sort-of really happened’ part reminded me of a story I myself wrote (75th addition of this thread) about one such amazing in-game feat. Always nice to see people draw inspiration directly from their own games.

@Gorvar, I wonder how you’re going to portrait the Giants and their still vague connection to the humans. Why DO they grow stronger with more people around?

[Gorvar]

I did have a connection of sorts when I did my first Mother Mercy chapter aka Shaman priestess but yeah i will dig into it while also trying to keep the Sanctuary plot going.

[Valhallan]

These events actually took place, just ask Aran…

The Bridge Witching

The haggard bridge witch hobbled up the craggy mountain slopes towards her final destination, the massive dwarven fortress of Ravensspire. She had been wandering alone on foot out in the plains for days, constantly changing her erratically plodding course to evade the restless hordes surrounding her, ever closing in. Nevertheless, she had kept calling to them, beseeching them to come…to follow.

At one point she had stumbled onto a village overrun by The Blight. Amidst the carnage were undead bodies still smoldering from what could only have been an artillery barrage just moments before she arrived…an unseen hand clearing her path? She stopped only briefly to burn the bodies of the dead that had not yet risen, murmuring a prayer over the smoke and stench of the funeral pyre to further lure her tireless pursuers. She had been able to hear them then as she whispered her words of power. Some of the wailing moans were less than a half league away.

Her incantation worked. A few packs of them had clotted the way old blood clots when it no longer knows which way to flow from a wound left open long enough to fester over. But now they were once again urged into motion…to find her. With the wound reopened and fresh, they gushed towards her like rancor blood once more. The witch moved on, continuing her flight across the plains toward the looming mountain top two leagues away.

The proud dwarves of Ravensspire tens of thousands strong watched her approach from up high on their fortress walls. Some on those ramparts were disgusted by the hideous thing before them. Others however respected the bravery in her solitude, in the willingness to risk herself to bring this blight to them so it could finally be put to rest. Who were they to question her and her courage from behind their walls? No, but theirs would be tested soon enough. This troll before them, however unsightly, was the bridge between them and the undead. The bridge that would lead The Blight to its doom upon their walls.

Even as the gates to Ravensspire begrudgingly groaned open to let her in, they could see the horde that she brought in her wake…an unimaginable mass of undead goblins, elves and dwarves. The abominations were falling over themselves in their mindless pursuit of the witch with a fervor that betrayed their fatality. They looked more like a singular vastly continuous thing, an ever changing, ever moving endless swath of undeath.

The dwarves’ grim faces turned to the storm friar whom had only recently arrived from his trek through the northern lands. He was book-ended by gnostic mages to his left and right. The friar calmly took a step forward, slowly raised his arms to the heavens, and prepared to unleash hell.

– One Man Wolfpack (The Bridge Witch)

---- (Ravensspire Fortress, Artillery, Dwarves, Storm Friar, and Gnostic Mages courtesy of @Aran )

[Aran]

The Twins of Ravenspire

From the shelter of the barbican two blond dwarves watched as lightning descended from the mass of rolling cloud that boiled for three leagues around the peak of Ravenspire
“You owe me a keg of fine Dwarven ale” said a grinning Nalim as he leaned on his bow.
His brother Kalim grimaced slightly and muttered angrily. “You cheated!”
Nalim laughed and stroked his beard and waited for the thunder to subside before replying.
“Bet she doesn’t make it to the castle you said… She did so i win, seems simple enough to me”
On the highest spire a glow could be seen as the Gnostic mage chanted over the man in priestly robes standing next to him.
The battlements were crowded but there was a respectful space around the pair. Fine fighters in their own right, their main skills were to modify and enhance the walls of the stronghold.
Any zombie attempting to breach the walls would first have to bypass the traps the pair had set.
Chanting could be heard from the spire and the clouds again started swelling, preparing to unleash more electrical death on the surrounding area.
Kalim glared at his brother " she would have died at least twice on route if you had not interfered"
“True but i still win” Nalim replied “I asked the guys in the artillery units if they wanted to drag their cannon up and down the mountain or prefer the blighted to do all the walking. After that they were happy to blast that village and the goblins chasing her.”
Kali shrugged and sighed in resignation " Fine… but" The rest of his words were drowned out by the boom of thunder as again the heavens opened and lightning arced from the sky.

[mammon]

Nice co-op story! Really liked how you guys cooperated on those things like the artillery fire to really make the stories combine.

[Gorvar]

I agree with Mammon…Aran, Valhallan (Cool name by the way) you two really brought a shared story to life here. From the browser to the page to us. Thank you for that, we should have more of that in this thread.
Awesome job to you both!

[Valhallan]

@mammon

Really liked how you guys cooperated on those things like the artillery fire to really make the stories combine.

Well, the stories combine and cooperate so well because that’s what actually happened. Twas a nightmare game with I as trolls and Aran as dwarves. In the beginning of the game he called my attention to a gryphon’s nest that was in danger of the blight and could cause us major problems. It was early game, so I could only muster a bridge witch and a tangle mage to teleport up there.

So I tangled nearby, then bridge witched the undead away. The plan Aran and I formed from the beginning was to lead them away from the nest and the mana pools and lure them up to his crazy strong fortress Ravensspire. I had to really sneak the witch around and it was probably 3-4 days until I could finally wind her way through the plains to Ravensspire, gathering more and more undead in my wake, I bridge witched multiple times – which also happened to give him plenty of time to load up there at Ravensspire.

I pointed out I needed him to clear the way for me at the blighted village or she would die. Luckily it was exactly 2 leagues (max artillery range) from Ravenspire. Then I had undead goblins that had been chasing her and closing in for a couple days and were about to catch her. Aran came through big time! I had forgotten about the goblins he smoked for me. Hahah

[Gorvar]

Giant

The sun had reached it’s zenith when Vod the giant saw the Children of Light appear as he peeked over the trees. The sight of the black banners with the white X across it made him frown, the same frown a parent had when their child disappointed them.
He had always admired the human banners before when they graced his one eye. The artistry of the weavers, combining linen and dye to create magnificent tapestries of beauty. During the previous blight, he felt pride marching along the sun of Dawnfort, the noble Gryphon of Gryphon’s Crown, the huntsmen of Sheepsfarm , the Cyclops of the Church and all under the Cunning Fox that united human kind. He enjoyed his smaller kin, the half-giants, marching as they bashed their swords on the one eyed shields.
Despite towering over them, a actual giant amongst men…Vod felt kinship there.

All giants felt that kinship towards the smaller races. According to the human Church it was God who created the world and created the giants first. They were in heaven at his side until there was some kind of crime that made Him send the giants down to the world and the connected to God was severed. Later the Half-giants and humans and all other appeared, either cast down or placed there. The Giants had adapted to the bleak world and made their homes in caverns and knew to hunt for food and warmth. The smaller races were so small and fragile and many died from the elements, predators and darker horrors that roamed early Alundria.

The first giant, Dama, was a simple giant who was tending sheep when he heard screaming. When he went to investigate he saw a young human family under threat by a pack of wolves. Pity took hold of Dama’s heart and with a furious roar picked up his club and smashed the wolves away. The humans thanked the giant and offered their goods to him. Kind Dama declined and instead taught them to defend themselves.

It did not take long for the other giants to help the smaller races and protected them, taught them how to hunt and defend themselves.
The human texts claim this act of selflessness allowed God to forgive the giants and asked them to go back to Heaven. Dama was chosen as the spokesmen of the giants. When he spoke to Him he declined because humanity and the other races still needed protecting. God was proud to hear this and allowed the giants to go to the After when they passed on.

So Vod, like all giants, followed the path of Dama towards helping their human brethren…but now it proved to be difficult.
For it was humans who were marching to the elven castle, intend on slaughtering the people inside Vod had sworn to protect. Human, dwarven and goblin refugees from Queensville had fled to the castle when the city was taken and burned by the Children of Light. They were huddled inside the moment the scouts saw the black banners. Vod stood alongside elven assassins, gnomish and human warriors and Tree friends to protect them.
“Do you see them?” a human warrior asked. She bore the different colour pebbles around her neck which marked her as a follower of the spirits, not the human church.
“Yes, Captain Hilda.” Vod replied.
“Are there a lot of them?” she asked again. As he nodded she cursed." May the spirit of the raven pick their bones clean after we are done with them…“
Vod turned to her and smiled.” Have faith."
She looked up to the giant, amazed at the kindness the large creature had for her. She could not help but smile back.

The keeper of the castle the half-elf Thorgal, a member of King Halmadir’s court, stepped forward as the elven assassins parted away to make a path for him only to file back when he had passed.
He was a mage of high repute and intend on finding a cure for the Blight plague. He was assisted by the Black Forest Witch but she was nowhere to be seen. Vod snorted at that thought.

“Trouble, Vod?” Thorgal asked as he stood next to the giant. The half-elf’s eyes glowed with a bright unnatural light. Most of the smaller beings found it unnerving, like Hilda who had stepped aside out of respect and/or fear. Vod found it more curious.
“No. Vod no like Witch not here.” Vod spoke the common tongue as best as he could.
Thorgal nodded." We will manage without her…I am more worried about the invading force." he added with no hint of fear or anger or…any kind of emotion.
“Vod confused.” the giant admitted." Why they here?"
“To kill all those who are not with the Church.” Hilda spoke out with anger in her voice." They rounded up most of my people in Queensville and put them on pyres."
“Let them try.” a gnome warrior raised his scythe." I’ll chop their kneecap off!"
“Damn zealots, giving the rest of us true believers a bad name.” said one of the Cyclop standard bearers." They’ll burn in hell for this. God damn them all!"
“Maybe…” one of the Tree friends spoke softly." They only need directions towards the nearest water source? Thy must be awfully thirsty." This got a few glances from those gathered.

Vod turned back to see the army when he saw a sole rider from the black ranks rode forwards holding up a white flag.
“I have a feeling we will find out.” Thorgal replied and moved forward, Vod following.

The rider and the half-elf with giant escort arrived just outside of the clearing where the trees stepped.
The rider was a knight in attire, much like the ones Vod fought alongside during the Blight, however his cloak was black and the white X was smeared on his chest plate and helmet.
Vod overlooked the army of the Children of Light now he was closer. It was a army of peasants, men and women in black robes with crude weapons along with a few warriors, siege equipment, half-giants…and sadly a few of his own kin as well. His own men were better armoured and trained but even so a mob of zealots were still dangerous. Vod began calculating the battle in his head…and found the result was not in the defenders favour. They were outnumbered three to one with five giants for him to counter.
The walls of the castle would give them some protection but not for long. Two, three days tops.

“I come here to speak in name of Mother Mercy.” the black rider spoke." Who is in command here?“
He looked to Vod with not a hint of fear in his eyes. A common trait among zealots, Vod found.
“That would be me.” Thorgal replied.” Who do I have the honour of speaking to?“
The rider straightened.” Sir Havelock of Sheepsfarm. I am authorised by the Mother to speak in her name. Her demands are simple, give us the heretics from Queensville and your lives will be spared. That includes the elf witch as well.“
The half-elf replied without missing a beat.” No.“
Sir Havelock looked confused.” No?" he repeated.
“No.” Thorgal clarified." These refugees are under my and also King Halmadir’s protection. I will not hand them over."

Havelock protested." But these are heretics! They’re the ones who made the Blight!"
“A good thing I am making a cure here then.“Thorgal said.” You have my answer, Sir Havelock. I wish you a good day and give my regards to Abigail. Do tell her I am saddend she didn’t want to see me herself.” He gave a small bow and walked, Vod following.
The rider shouted behind them." We will come in force! WE OUTNUMBER YOU!"
Vod looked to Thorgal who shook his head. Indeed, ignoring them was the best strategy.

“What plan now?” Vod asked when they were back near the castle.
“Same as always…I will try to find a cure.” Thorgal replied." With the Orb druid Dagda gave us we are close to finding it. We need more time for that and to relocate the refugees." He looked to Vod." Can I trust you to do that?“
The giant saluted the smaller half-elf.” Vod swear oath.“
The half-elf returned the salute.” May the spirits of the Wilds guide you, Vod."
“May God bless you Thorgal, son of Thorgal.” Vod returned.

Hours passed as the sun set and rose again when the Children of the Light came. The army of zealots marched through the forest behind their giants. They were just outside of arrow range when they stopped.
Even in the early moments of dawn Vod could see Sir Havelock among their number, urging the masses to fight. The giants were stood in front, the white X painted on their chest. The biggest one who was a head taller than Vod glared daggers at him. Vod’s heart skipped a beat when he spoke.
“You are a traitor, Brother Vod.” the large giant said in their own native tongue." Unworthy of Dama."
“No, YOU are unworthy.” Vod countered." Dama would rescue these people from the likes of you."
“They are heretics! They worship the heathen spirits and consort with the Undying!” the giant grabbed his club.

Vod took up his own weapon." The only heretic I see…" he pointed it at the giants." Are you five."
The giants busted out in anger and gave a mighty cry. This cry was picked up by the Children of Light who in turn joined. Already Vod could see the Giants becoming more powerful, muscles bulging outward.
He in turn returned the cry as he to grew larger and more muscular. As agreed, the elven archers fired and gnomish traps went off which killed many of the first Children of the Light. When the mob charged, so did Vod and his force. Elven, Gnomish and human steel met zealot hatred as both armies of mortals clashed.
Vod would meet his end today, this he knew, but he would die following Dama’s teachings and save as many of his own as he could.

[Dwarmin]

Inspired to write something after that, Gorvar.

Half-Giants
It’s true you don’t see many around these days, but I actually knew one of them. We had a Half-Giant join our shield wall when we marching on Eagles Vail. Her name was Sanya-she fought as hard as ten men-and drunk as much as fifty-was faster than any of us, and was the bravest woman I ever knew. Told me she was the last of her kin, that they had all been wiped out…I didn’t hear how, but I don’t think it was the Blight that did all of it. Apparently her people had been dying for a long time.

She didn’t survive the campaign, no. We meant up Lords Farm with the rest of the Alliance, and she joined the four others of her company. All of them died in the first charge-something about the big trio of Cyclops that had joined our army, drove them into a fury-they smashed into the immortals with their huge shields and swords, chopping and cutting and bellowing-until, they were overrun. I’m not sure what made them fight so hard. She died before I could ask.

~Aidan Wheelworthy, Human Swordsman, 11th Squadron

As mighty as ten ordinary humans put together, yet less than a quarter of a strength of their larger cousins, graced with amazing agility, cunning and courage-still, the Half-Giants were a slowly dwindling people.

In the ancient days, when mighty Cyclops, both just and cruel, ruled over and protected the smaller races, intermingling between them was much more common, and gave rise to their race-or so their own legends claimed. Cyclops themselves have different tales, as do men. It makes little difference, course-as the Age of the Giants faded, however, so too did they. The great rift that led to man overthrowing their Cyclops rulers, and sending them into the wilds, so too spread to those marked as Half-bloods. Not entirely accepted in any society, solitary by nature, slow to grow, bearing few children, blessed with a Giants deep well of righteous anger, and the heart of a Man-Half Giants were truly a relic of an ancient world, of which nothing remained but the crude, mossy stone circles the Cyclops still gathered at.

As the Blight rolled inexorably over the Humans grassland Kingdoms, Half-Giants began to answer the call to war, perhaps sensing their time had at last come to an end. At first, they merely served in the ranks of swordsmen, known somewhat archaically as ‘Tall Shields’-their imposing strength and size made them natural for protecting the flanks of a human shieldwall, which were by design, it’s weakest point, but such combat took a terrible toll on their few numbers.

As their casualties mounted, they became increasingly difficult to recruit in any numbers significant enough to matter. It was then first noted by the Dwarves that fighting alongside proper Giants seemed to be more natural to them-indeed, it seemed to awake the ancient fury in their blood. Much like Cyclops, who can unlock amazing reserves of Strength when properly roused by the concept of defending numbers of lesser beings, Half-Giants can draw power from Giants themselves. Capable of feats of athleticism considered impossible by either species alone, Half-Giants would served the rest of the war alongside Cyclops and Human armies, usually still armed with heavy shields and massive blades, fighting furiously.

Almost no Half-Giants survived the Blight War, sadly. Facing a slow extinction by the relentless wheels of time, nearly all chose to die fighting the Blight, saving as many as their smaller and greater cousins as they could. It was a point of honor that many Half-Giants were laid to rest in ancient stone cairns, the style of which men had abandoned in building at the time, but which in ancient eras contained the bones of both Cyclops and Men laid together. In time, grave keepers would return to these Cairns, to preserve and beautify them-and eventually, entire human villages, made of the orphans of the Blight War, would often rise around these Half-Giant cairns-along with the Cyclops priests and priestesses, administering to newly renewed flocks, teaching them the ways of the Old One Eyed Gods. Happy children, and lovers young and old throughout the ages, would live in the shadows of the graves of the Half-Giants…

In time they would be utterly forgotten by all those living, but the stones would remain, slowly gathering moss, and men and women would often wonder what they had stood for.

…

((I’ve seen a bit on the forum indicating that Half-Giants were once a different card entirely, and they were changed-I’ve tried to incorporate that decision here!))