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[Edit] [Back] Pulp Atlas
Part One
The birds sang and the sun shone upon Atlas who stood in a window looking out over the Dome of Truth in Amadacia. The soothing wind didn't comfort him, nor did the beautiful song of the little birds playing in the fountains down below. He knew what he had to do. Today someone would die. Someone that he had cherished and respected for a long time now.
Atlas made quite the smashing appearance in his snow-white cloak and tabard which lay over his shiny chain-mail. The man beneath it was no exception. Few are the women who would resist his charming smile, his trimmed goatee or his bewitching blue eyes. But most women would back of when they saw the signs on his cloak. It was adorned with a raising golden sun, completed with the golden rope which marked him as a captain.
The most fearless of the women who was not intimidated by this would surely reconsider when they saw the red shepherd-staff which was partly hidden behind the sun. That marked Atlas as a Questioner. No one gets any closer to a Questioner then necessary.
Atlas had served the Whitecloaks for some time now, serving as a captain for a small group of well-trained men. He was known to be a fighter of quite some skill and an excellent strategist. He had been promoted to captain after he saved his whole battalion from being crushed by a legion of Trollocs. Fortunately no one asked why he had known that the Trollocs would strike.If they would found out the source from which Atlas got this information and why, then he would be an object for his comrade Questioners to practice their grim skills on.
In Atlas' earliest memories, long before he joined the Whitecloaks, he remember that he was someone of great power and importance. He even had powers that would easily match the ones wielded by the Gods. But all that is a blur now. The Dark One took interest in Atlas when he was exploring the world of Aardwolf, tempting Atlas with promises of that he would help him travel back to where ever his home was. But alas, the Great Lord of Darkness never helps anyone without profit. He lured Atlas to lower his defences, completely trust the Lord of Lies. Over time Atlas became more or less a servant of the Great Evil, obeying his smallest command. And that was when Shai'tan, the true name of the Dark One, crushed Atlas' might spirit.
In the great mountain Shayol Ghul Shai'tan transformed Atlas. Both mentally and physically. Atlas was now changed down to the core of his soul. His loyalties to the Dark One is unquestionable, he is bound by forces stronger then the most powerful oath. His body was turned from the former huge size and bluish skin to that of a slim man, tall and beautiful, but now just a man.
Even though he can still remember what he once was, although vaguely, he does not care. He is now a servant of the Dark One, a Darkfriend. After having served as a simple henchman for Shai'tan for a while he was accepted into the feared Ebony Dagger, a warrior sept which served Shai'tan by their swords. Due to his obvious charisma and innocent looks he was chosen to infiltrate the Sons of the Light, a mighty organisation who fiercely fights to powers of evil. In order to gain power inside the organisation he was given directions to inform his leaders in the field that the Trollocs would attack them.
Atlas was awoken from his thoughts by a large hand which was placed on his shoulder. Atlas turned and saw the owner of the hand. It was Borthra. A man who was a bit too good about finding real Darkfriends. And also the target which Atlas had been assigned to Assassinate today. - Come Atlas, said Borthra, it is time to round up the troops. Atlas nodded and checked that his daggers were loose in his sleeves. Today would his friend, Borthra, die from a dagger's blow to the heart. Atlas and Borthra walked down the hallway to prepare their men for battle.
*************************************************************************
To Be Continued
*************************************************************************
HÖpp å skit!
-Atlas
Part Two
The air catches my hair, not bringing any easy, just the smell of death. The still fresh blood feels cold to my skin, dripping down my chest and arms. The moans from the dying and the wounded fills my ears, no longer does it fill my heart with sorrow. The black hammer of the Dark One has pounded out anything that even resembles benevolence from my heart. Here I stand, with the blood of my best hands tainting my hands. Not a single motion runs through my head except the joy of knowing that I have fulfilled my task, like a loyal and obedient hound. I quickly glanced around, did any of my soldiers see me kill Borthra? Nothing but the sight of a lost battlefield reaches my eyes. The surprised Whitecloaks did not stand a chance against the hordes of Trollocs and Myrrdrals that attacked them. It was a slaughter, just as it was planned. I bend down and wipe my dagger clean of blood on my fallen comrade and let it slip back down its sheath. It had done its work for now. My strong horse strolled around nearby and I take a single leap up onto its saddle, leading it by my knees into the direction of Shayol Ghul. I have a reward waiting for me.
Once again I stand up in that cold room. Watching myself in the mirror. It is not the first time the Dark One has transformed me. What I see in that mirror does not spook me. Even though the face that stare back at me is frightening indeed. I have become a Trolloc. A beast meant only for murder and gruesome deeds. I feel glad that I had been given the gift of keeping my intellect, I still have the capacity to actually think a clear thought. And compared to a normal Trolloc, one that has actually been born to be one, I stand a bit taller, a bit bigger. My head looks like a horned wolf. And I have also been blessed with normal feet, not those horrible hoofs. A sense of joy brushes my mind; I am one step closer to my goal. While I wait for another task, I shall fulfill my newly born desires.
-Atlas
The birds sang and the sun shone upon Atlas who stood in a window looking out over the Dome of Truth in Amadacia. The soothing wind didn't comfort him, nor did the beautiful song of the little birds playing in the fountains down below. He knew what he had to do. Today someone would die. Someone that he had cherished and respected for a long time now.
Atlas made quite the smashing appearance in his snow-white cloak and tabard which lay over his shiny chain-mail. The man beneath it was no exception. Few are the women who would resist his charming smile, his trimmed goatee or his bewitching blue eyes. But most women would back of when they saw the signs on his cloak. It was adorned with a raising golden sun, completed with the golden rope which marked him as a captain.
The most fearless of the women who was not intimidated by this would surely reconsider when they saw the red shepherd-staff which was partly hidden behind the sun. That marked Atlas as a Questioner. No one gets any closer to a Questioner then necessary.
Atlas had served the Whitecloaks for some time now, serving as a captain for a small group of well-trained men. He was known to be a fighter of quite some skill and an excellent strategist. He had been promoted to captain after he saved his whole battalion from being crushed by a legion of Trollocs. Fortunately no one asked why he had known that the Trollocs would strike.If they would found out the source from which Atlas got this information and why, then he would be an object for his comrade Questioners to practice their grim skills on.
In Atlas' earliest memories, long before he joined the Whitecloaks, he remember that he was someone of great power and importance. He even had powers that would easily match the ones wielded by the Gods. But all that is a blur now. The Dark One took interest in Atlas when he was exploring the world of Aardwolf, tempting Atlas with promises of that he would help him travel back to where ever his home was. But alas, the Great Lord of Darkness never helps anyone without profit. He lured Atlas to lower his defences, completely trust the Lord of Lies. Over time Atlas became more or less a servant of the Great Evil, obeying his smallest command. And that was when Shai'tan, the true name of the Dark One, crushed Atlas' might spirit.
In the great mountain Shayol Ghul Shai'tan transformed Atlas. Both mentally and physically. Atlas was now changed down to the core of his soul. His loyalties to the Dark One is unquestionable, he is bound by forces stronger then the most powerful oath. His body was turned from the former huge size and bluish skin to that of a slim man, tall and beautiful, but now just a man.
Even though he can still remember what he once was, although vaguely, he does not care. He is now a servant of the Dark One, a Darkfriend. After having served as a simple henchman for Shai'tan for a while he was accepted into the feared Ebony Dagger, a warrior sept which served Shai'tan by their swords. Due to his obvious charisma and innocent looks he was chosen to infiltrate the Sons of the Light, a mighty organisation who fiercely fights to powers of evil. In order to gain power inside the organisation he was given directions to inform his leaders in the field that the Trollocs would attack them.
Atlas was awoken from his thoughts by a large hand which was placed on his shoulder. Atlas turned and saw the owner of the hand. It was Borthra. A man who was a bit too good about finding real Darkfriends. And also the target which Atlas had been assigned to Assassinate today. - Come Atlas, said Borthra, it is time to round up the troops. Atlas nodded and checked that his daggers were loose in his sleeves. Today would his friend, Borthra, die from a dagger's blow to the heart. Atlas and Borthra walked down the hallway to prepare their men for battle.
*************************************************************************
To Be Continued
*************************************************************************
HÖpp å skit!
-Atlas
Part Two
The air catches my hair, not bringing any easy, just the smell of death. The still fresh blood feels cold to my skin, dripping down my chest and arms. The moans from the dying and the wounded fills my ears, no longer does it fill my heart with sorrow. The black hammer of the Dark One has pounded out anything that even resembles benevolence from my heart. Here I stand, with the blood of my best hands tainting my hands. Not a single motion runs through my head except the joy of knowing that I have fulfilled my task, like a loyal and obedient hound. I quickly glanced around, did any of my soldiers see me kill Borthra? Nothing but the sight of a lost battlefield reaches my eyes. The surprised Whitecloaks did not stand a chance against the hordes of Trollocs and Myrrdrals that attacked them. It was a slaughter, just as it was planned. I bend down and wipe my dagger clean of blood on my fallen comrade and let it slip back down its sheath. It had done its work for now. My strong horse strolled around nearby and I take a single leap up onto its saddle, leading it by my knees into the direction of Shayol Ghul. I have a reward waiting for me.
Once again I stand up in that cold room. Watching myself in the mirror. It is not the first time the Dark One has transformed me. What I see in that mirror does not spook me. Even though the face that stare back at me is frightening indeed. I have become a Trolloc. A beast meant only for murder and gruesome deeds. I feel glad that I had been given the gift of keeping my intellect, I still have the capacity to actually think a clear thought. And compared to a normal Trolloc, one that has actually been born to be one, I stand a bit taller, a bit bigger. My head looks like a horned wolf. And I have also been blessed with normal feet, not those horrible hoofs. A sense of joy brushes my mind; I am one step closer to my goal. While I wait for another task, I shall fulfill my newly born desires.
-Atlas