Celtic Heroes

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Re: Spooky Story Contest - Win Free Platinum!

#11
A spooky tale

It was in the dark hours, late at night, when all was quiet, and the great halls of Gelebron’s tower echoed only to the footsteps of a lone scout. Then, bursting into the top chamber, they saw that the old man himself had risen from slumber and the shout rung out, “Gelebron up, Gelebron up!”

Soon the halls were thronging with clansmen and clamouring to the sound of soldiers preparing for battle. But this was no ordinary night. This was Samhain, now know as Halloween, when the door to the otherworld can open….

And so it was, as the battle commenced, Gelebron’s might sceptre struck a bolt that tore a gash between the fabric of this world and the next. Slowly the gash lengthened, and slowly the gash widened While still trying to concentrate on the battle, the clansmen watched in awe and horror as the gash became a door and from behind the door they could feel a raging energy and hear an almighty sound like a rushing wind. As Crystals smashed and warrior’s bashed, the door was flung open and a host of defeated Gelebrons joined the old man, swelling his power and rage. This was no longer an ordinary battle …

The clansmen fought back harder, using all the skills and might they had gained through many a fierce fight. Then through the open door came a procession of ancient kings and heroes, lining the walls of the chamber to watch the epic battle. They cheered and clapped and gasped with every rise and fall of Gelebron’s health.
The tanks stood solid against the raining blows, held safe in the sheltering of the druids and the soldiers fought bravely on, trading blow for blow, with axe, with dagger, with arrows and with sword. Bolt for bolt, shard for shard, each with bravery and tenacity.

Eventually though, the great battle was won and the old man gave up the fight and fled with all his ghosts, back through the open door.
Immediately a great table appeared where Gelebron had once hovered, and it was laden with an enormous feast and all the ancient heroes who had been standing round, sat down with the clansmen and they feasted together, eating and drinking and telling stories of valour and courage, of days past and present. This went on long into the early hours until eventually the great heroes slipped off to sleep or slipped back through the door and all was quiet once more in the great halls of Gelebron.


Sage Fire from Rosmerta

Re: Spooky Story Contest - Win Free Platinum!

#12
"Sweetie, you can't stay here. You're time has run out"

Mortem said in a stern, but gentle, whisper. Her face flickering through the door as though dancing with the vivacity of a thousand ghosts.

Slowly, a mass rose from the corner of the room, pale and ghastly in the distant light.

"But ma'am, I've no where to go"

It croaked

"I fed ya your fix of thyme and you gave me the next two nights"

The voice pleaded.

"I'm sorry love, but you can't stay any longer. You must go"

Mortem stated as she inched closer. The light now revealing what was one Mori Ossis, the highshore vagrant.

----

The grass was cold and damp as Mori left what was his sanctuary two weeks past; each step eliciting a difficult breath as his ribs labored in the moonlight. Where the young boy would rest was as uncertain as his thoughts. On one hand he was grateful to miss Caryn for housing him in her barn these last few days. She was a noble woman, always offering a meal to the souls less fortunate than her own, and all she asked in return was for some help gathering thyme from the fields. But on the other hand, kicking him out at the dead of night was not the hospitality she advertised, and it was not a behavior she was known for.

As his feet turned numb he stood upon the hill just south of the herb field he toiled in not but a few hours ago. To his right was the temple of Belenus. Closed at this hour, there was no solace for him there. To the left, the abandoned catacombs.

As if under a spell, Mori found himself treading towards the catacombs. He frequented the place in days past, often retrieving shovels for squanderings lost to his empty stomach. He knew there would be some decrepit hole in the ground he could rest in there, yet his mind revolted. Something was different. A dull fear fluttered through him with every step.

But he did not stop. He did not stop even though the very air around him shone with a green luster he could not explain. He did not stop even after passing below the ancient oak, flashing, as it soaked the energy of life from the ground below. He did not stop until he reached the entrance to the catacombs where the title Tech Duinn was freshly slashed across the entrance.

"That's interestin', I've ain't ever seen that there b'fore."

He muttered to himself before reaching out his arm to the door. But he stopped, paralyzed by the sight of his arm in the grim green lighting.

It was boney and malnourished as one would expect from one in his state. Only the flesh was gone, for he had shed it on the barn floor.
---------------------------------------------------------------
I recommend re-reading the starting passage, but translate mortem from latin to english, and google Tech Duinn :p

Tempesttorn, Gwydion, 224 Mage

Re: Spooky Story Contest - Win Free Platinum!

#13
© Eluna ORoark 227 rogue
Proudly Fingal

"The beast"
Crackling orange embers floating. Roving constellations disappearing into the ancient cave's emptiness
The druid thought wistfully about home, and wondered once more what had brought her to the mouldering caves and sluggishly moving rivers. It had been twilight as she entered through the cracked and broken doorway, not that outside daylight mattered here.

This was the infamous "Fingals Cave"! "Not much to look at", she mumbled as she unpacked her meager supplies! Thankfully there were plenty of edible fungi to supplement the dried meats, small wedge of cheese, and crumbling loaf of semi stale bread. As she finished her surprisingly filling meal, she recalled the tales she had heard of the supposed Dorcha Beast. It roamed the dark cold lake ahead. Many a traveler have met their untimely end here, where once it was bustling and peaceful. That was since, past. Now only the massive scaley beast, slipping silently through the dark lake was the sole resident of the caves.

Travelers avoided this part of Dal Riata, and miners couldn't get the ores needed for new weapons, food was scarce. It was this poor lone druids task to find this lurking horror, and put an end to this dark monstrosity that seemed to have a greater and greater taste for human blood. Tending the coals of the dying fire, she heard the distinct sound of splashing! It was here! She knew that she should have set camp further from this damnable shore.
Calling upon the dark arts she protected herself with a shield of bark, and headed to the waters edge.
She saw glistening fangs as long as her her hand, dripping an awful smelling yellowish ichor. The deadly poison that had ended countless innocent lives! The beast was enormous! She felt faint from the stench, but steadied herself with practiced chants and regular breathing. It seemed the beast couldn't fully emerge from the clammy waters, so she took her chance. Calling upon the forces of nature, she cast a binding roots spell. IT WORKED! Swarms of pestilence attacked the beast. Gnashing and writhing, the ponderous beast whipped the water's edge into a sickening froth. Wrapping the serpent in coiling thorny vines, she prepared to cast her final powerful druidic skill. Carefully avoiding the thrashing of the beast, she approached and lay her hands on the greenish slimy scaled body and called forth the ancient arts of her people. With all her focus and willpower drew into herself the embodiment of raw magic and released it. A shockwave exploded, a deafening roar, as the energy of the storm tore through the beast.

The monstrous serpent's head slammed back. Like a slow motion pantomime, the beast, the menace, dropped to its side, feeble in it's attempts to recover. Then all was silent.

The druid, Nelani took a prize - a foul fang! Suddenly sad. it was a sad deed, life is ever precious. Even that of a lowly serpent trying to live out its last dying days in peace :cry:

Re: Spooky Story Contest - Win Free Platinum!

#14
As chief editor of the Dal Riata Enquirer, Phil wore many hats. Especially when his best (and only) journalist, Rhianna Pryce, called in sick the day she was scheduled for a big interview.

Phil frowned. He was pretty sure Rhianna was actually off on one of her treasure hunting expeditions in Alchemic Quarters.
Well, his journalist was out, and that left him to do the dirty work. He would have to interview Efnisien the dreaded Necromancer himself.

At least Rhianna had helpfully left behind her script. Phil hadn’t had time to look through it yet, but he wasn’t worried. How hard could it be to read some questions?

After a long slog through the sewers—*shakes fist at Rhianna*—Phil entered the domain of the great Necromancer.

As he approached, several zombies and skeletal guards parted, allowing his passage. Phil looked up at the dreaded Necromancer, and his knees almost gave out.

Efnisien looked down at Phil. “Mmmm. You had questions for me.”

The rumbling voice of the necromancer snapped Phil out of his stupor. Right. Questions. Hands shaking, in a sort of trance, he pulled the script out of his pocket, unfolded it, and began to read.

“Oh great Efnisien, dreaded necromancer of the nether realm, raiser of the dead, and killer of the living, I thank you for agreeing to this interview. May I call you Effy?” Phil nearly gagged, realizing what he had just read.

“Muahahahaha!” The necromancer’s booming laugh echoed through the chamber, rattling the skeletal guards’ armor.

Phil swallowed. “Thank you, sir. Well, it has been about 8 years since your arrival in Dal Riata. Have you enjoyed your stay thus far?”

“Mmmmmmm. There is much life here to feed on.”

Phil waited for further comment, but soon realized none was forthcoming. “Oh, y-yes, that, uh, sounds appetizing,” he stammered, before finding the next question. “Lets take a brief glimpse beneath the mask to reveal Efnisien, the person. Do you have a special someone in your life?” Phil grimaced. What was Rhianna thinking with these questions?

Efnisien seemed to ponder the question for a moment. “All of my followers are special to me.”

Phil stared at the paper in his hand and pressed on. “You have quite a cult following on the Celtic Heroes Forums. Do you ever visit the forums?”

“I do. I enjoy laughing at those who would dare scheme against me.”

Without waiting to see if the necromancer was finished, Phil read the next question. “Are you responsible for all the necro posting on the forums?”

The great necromancer stared at Phil.

Phil coughed. “Yes, m-moving on. How about an early Super Bowl prediction?”

No answer.

Phil had reached the bottom of the list. “Final question, sir. Some spell checkers suggest replacing the word ‘Efnisien’ with ‘Effeminate.’ Care to comment?” Phil’s jaw dropped.

The Dal Riata Enquirer, Issue 47, Obituary Section

On Sunday, October 31, Phil Batdorf passed away. He leaves behind one journalist and a sizable mess in the sewers.
Kril - Chief Editor, The Dal Riata Enquirer
lev 228 Rogue - Gwydion

Clan Relentless

Give a man a flame, you warm him for a day.
Set a man aflame, you warm him for the rest of his life.

Re: Spooky Story Contest - Win Free Platinum!

#15
Celtic Heroes Spooky Story

A shiver ran through the spines of the group as they entered a new land, Dal Riata. A new life for the group of adventurers lay ahead in this prosperous land. First Lirs Reach, Shalemont Ravine, Stonevale, Otherworld, The Bridge of Despair, Infernal Armouries, Alchemical Quarters, Summoning Chambers, Forbidden Halls, Arcane Sanctum and Corrupted Gardens. Together the group of 8 battled their way through the treacherous land of Dal Riata, forming grand friendships on the way. They worked their way up slaughtering bosses, Aggragoth, Hrungnir, Mordris, Effnisien the Necromancer, Proteus, Gelebron, Bloodthorn the Ravenous and finally Dhiothu, they group grew stronger together. While all was going well, I noticed something, our healer leaving the group and going off. When she came back something wasn't right, it was as if their body had been possessed by someone new. She left our group and joined the opposition group, now working for them. We all were crushed by all of our hard work going somewhere else but nevertheless, we continued on. Slowly but surely our group was whittled down, now I was alone, I couldn't kill these bosses myself. Dal Riata was now but a husk of what it once was, all of my old friends repossessed by a new spirit. On my lonesome, I journeyed to the place it all began, Lirs Reach. As in the beginning, a shiver was sent down my spine as I entered the graveyard above the Dustwither Catacombs. In it occasionally one could hear the cries of the originals of my group, swayed by the soul collector, Lauraine, begging for their body back. Without our formidible group the deep laugh of Hrugnir could be heard, the roar of Mordris, the cackle of Effnisien, the whirring of Proteus, the sigh of Gelebron, the hiss of Bloodthorn and the screech of Dhiothu as they had not been challenged in years, however, Dal Riata remained a shell of the glory it once found. All by myself, I trudged to the tavern to drown my sorrows, perhaps a new adventure could be found elsewhere.

If I somehow win, rewards to Hubotwt Level 224 warrior server Gwydion

Re: Spooky Story Contest - Win Free Platinum!

#16
The Ghost of Highshore

Chainmail and sword felt heavier as Cynbel stood in formation on that cold misty winter dawn, overlooking the Pict’s encampment near the remains of Highshore. His body trembled as his life flashed before him. He heard the voices of childhood friends as they chased each other through tall summer fields; Felt the warmth of Erin’s hands as he gazed into her emerald eyes. How his heart raced while their hands were wrapped in pure white ribbon as they stood in the Temple of Belenus. He heard the greathorns’ deep bellows as the first Pictish ships were sighted; Felt the searing heat as he ran into the inferno engulfing Highshore, and the pain when Erin was not found. That pain transformed into anger when he volunteered for the vanguard, and now stood at the precipice of uncertainty. This morning was Samhain, a day forbidding death, but the ambush could not wait.

“Saighead!” Cynbel's memories broke at his commander’s shout. Bowstrings snapped and eerie whistles filled the air as fiery arrows flew overhead, dancing lights slowly arcing down into Lirs Reach below. Seconds later Pictish horns echoed from the valley, and with them his commander’s cry:

“Buaidh no Bàs!”

“BUAIDH NO BÀS!” responded the vanguard, as the line charged down the ridge, lit only by the reflection of torchlight off shields and armor.

After a few steps Cynbel froze. His heart and head throbbed. He should not have volunteered. The youngest warrior to join the vanguard, he was cheered when he raised his hand, but now he understood the gravity. He resolved to run back up the ridge, but was pushed forward. “Move!” With tears forming, Cynbel began running with sword raised, drowning among the war cries. They ran through the camp, Cynbel slashing his sword through air, lost in noise and adrenaline, thinking only of Erin. No longer surrounded by his comrades he stopped and gasped for air. Before him a tent opened and a boy emerged, no older than Cynbel and with frightened eyes, also wearing chainmail and wielding a sword. Cynbel and the boy locked eyes. Neither moving. How could they? Neither could fight, much less kill. For minutes they shared a mutual fear, before the boy glanced over Cynbel’s shoulder. Cynbel turned and felt a cold jolt through his back, collapsing under another Pict. Paralyzed, he watched the crescent moon and the campfires dim into darkness.

Cynbel awoke trapped in a wooden coffin. “Help!” he shouted, hammering on the coffin’s walls. Pushing through the wood Cynbel’s arm went through it, stumbling out into the cemetery, shimmering in ethereal light among candles and people. Unseen. Dazed, Cynbel climbed uphill, passing a rebuilt Highshore now void of Picts. At the hilltop beneath an oak tree –Cynbel's favorite place– was Erin, gazing out across the Irish sea. Older now, with a dirty white ribbon wrapped around her hand. Cynbel held her as they gazed together, tears in her eyes. And as evening turned to night, Cynbel faded into the wind.

Image


- Regenleif, world Taranis
(500 words)
World Taranis

- Regenleif -
Rachmaninoff
Aedin Flameborn

Former Leader in theILLUMINATI, Aeon, and Taranis United

I am a Guide! If you need any tips/help/advice, Click Here to send me a message!

Re: Spooky Story Contest - Win Free Platinum!

#17
~Dhiothu~

The darkness still ruled in these wicked lands, only few of us remained.
Castle was the last stronghold standing against Samhain witches and other creatures lurking these once peaceful lands, being the only Immortal on kings side, I joined the Farcrag Castle army in hope to vanish all evil and help them reclaim peace once again.
People were terrified, almost all hope was teared from their hearts, my will to help them grew more and more every moment spent there. Powers I used were almost nothing against witches spells, but little did they know my dark side was locked deep inside me, frightened to use it because last time I lost everything I had and loved, but in these situation I had to let it go.
Kings stronghold barly stood against creatures attack, every day they became weaker and weaker, people lost hope but there were no other places to go, all land was corrupted and full of darkness.
I had no other option then to realise my dark side and try to get rid of darkness once and for all, I had to be careful, it could become even worse if I messed up.
King order five of the strongest warriors to go with me, they were amongst the bravest people I knew. Folks called them Celtic Heroes, the group was made of Mage who controlled fire, Druid with healing abilities, Warrior with heart of steel, the most powerful Ranger and assassin Rogue who could kill anything without effort.
6 of us began a journey of cleansing the land, one land by one we managed to realise, some of creatures surrender, some ran and some hid.
My dark side was getting worse, I felt changes but I kept going, I couldn't quit now, we were so close to peace.
After days and days of fighting we finally arrived at gates of Gelebron, the most powerful and most wicked sorcerer of all time, he had guards big as a mountain and crystals that gave him his power and healed his wounds.

We knew we had to succeed, plan was simple, kill the guards and break the crystals, only way he would fall.
wasn't easy but we got rid of guardians but crystals were tricky to break, gelebron never left their sight but in order to bring peace we were willing to sacrifice everything we had. on my command we all attacked, mage menaged to break few crystal before gelebron noticed, but when he saw, one powerful strike and he knocked us all on the ground. seeing how powerful he is, and that 6 of us were nothing against him, celtic heroes fled the battle ground and left me to fight him alone. my powers were weak against him, and my darkness would overwhelmed if i realised it all at once, but i had no choice, i left my darkness take over and the feeling of all that power was magnificent.
gelebron stood no chance. power i had wasn't even match for gelebron, he felt my power growing and he felt darkness coming from it. "we could share all of this power if you would join me." he said, but i wanted more, i wanted his power too, so i took it, every sip of power he had, it was mine! becoming darkness was not my goal, but i was turning into one, i hardly controlled my mind. only solution to get rid of all that darkness was sending it away, but i could risk all that power to go in the wrong hands, the situation would be even worse, so i seeked help from gods and they had a solution. god dagda had a solution, he would take my life with all that darkness and create me once again with the purest magic known to man, i had no choice, i had to do it. dagda did as he said and created me into the purest being that ever lived, i became a dragon with celestial magic, purest magic known to man, and i was named dhiothu.
peace was settled in all dal riata and dhiothu ruled peacefully over her land hoping darkness would never again prevail. The End


~Cybele , Donn, 221 lvl~

Re: Spooky Story Contest - Win Free Platinum!

#18
The old tree mystery

It has been 10 years since I first got my hands on the mysterious story of Regulus the Spellweaver seeing in the dark. Once upon a time, beyond the ancient sunrise, where the great river pours its water into the azure sea, there was a wonderful, beautiful and rich countryside of Lir's Reach whose fame had traveled far and wide. The best of the magical world of real tales begins here; where the adventures of heroes are fulfilled with the help of spells and magical readings.

Strange magical tree elves stretching high in the dark towards the starry sky. It's the trees of terror in the countryside, imbued with suffering and the souls of innocent dead wanderers. There are ghosts of dark shadows lurking around them. The witch Granny Badbones who has been here for some time. When she comes, can no longer be freed from the bondage of torment because of this mysterious wooden gate to the land of horrors.

To whom enter the witch's house here, you can recognize from afar, her huge broom and her crow frozen in stone within the cage. Don’t be afraid, take a look at a coven full of witches if you’re going to have enough bravery to witness such horrific experiences!
Slowly enter the lonely, small house made up of only one room and let your eyes get acquainted to the darkness. There are pictures and brooms nailed on the wall, but if you look closer you can find yourself in a world standing on top of your head. In one corner is a fenced up witches kitchen. Go on, get closer. Behind the wire fence on the shelf you can find the witch’s pantry. Instead of jams, bottles contain insects, bats, plants, and all sorts of human or animal parts. If you go to a good place, you can have a special spell.


You can also find the witch lurking about the house. Poor soul, she was trapped in the chimney, only her hands and feet hanging in the air. On the roof are bones that he recently found on his way through the Carowmore tunnels, but most importantly, there is a rare fast broom stashed near the wall of the house.
Don't hesitate for a minute, jump on it and take it for a spin!

Lyukaszokni mage 225lv Fingal server
lyukaszokni -225- fire Mage - Fingal

Re: Spooky Story Contest - Win Free Platinum!

#19
The cruse of hallows night.
It was a normal night in Dal Rita, but something was wrong, I stared at the moon as the dark blue light stared back at me. A gust of strong wind sailed Around me. On this Halloween night it was said to awaken all spirits of dead, I was about to go to sleep in Farcrag castle like any other day, but I felt something pulling me out that night, I had to see if all these story’s of old were real on this day of fright. I ran to the back entrance of the castle and pushed the gate just enough to squeeze out. I walked down the stairs as the crude goblins of crookback stared at me in hunger, but the only things they can kill these days are the unlucky rabbits or stags that walk into the shadows of Farcrag. I made my way past the Western road and saw a powerful blaze of fire hit the sacred temple, I ran up the stairs and a hooded slender man was standing there. He turned around and I couldn’t see his face, but I asked him what what he was doing here at this time. The hooded man put his hands together and started chanting words that I couldn’t understand, A hand from behind grabbed me as I turned around and nothing was to be seen. The hooded man casted a strange spell on me as I started burning, but it wasn’t hurting, It must of been some type of illusion I thought, but I looked at my hands and the only thing I could see was a skeleton I looked at my legs all bones, I asked the guy what did he do to me, he just said nothing. I ran back to the main castle entrance but when the guards saw me that night they ceased fire at me and sounded the war horn that there was raiders attacking, but it was just me. I don’t know why I was cursed to look like a skeleton but all I know I’ve been living in the shadows ever sense, it finally made more sense of why these crookback goblins lived where they are today, souls trapped in that dire body with no escape. I soon joined them, they were actually kinda smart, trying to bait new ones to save a dog named Braken to it only being a trap as the crook back hunters all fired their bows. From then on I lived in the shadows of Farcrag castle, mainly in the tunnels and every Halloween our army grew bigger and bigger and our hunger grew bigger as one day we planned an attack on the villages of Lirs Reach, but that’s another story. The end

If I do some how I win send to :
Character named: Firelily
Player level: 222
Sever: Rhiannon
Class: Mage

Re: Spooky Story Contest - Win Free Platinum!

#20
The winds howled an eerie melody as corrupted razor vines whirled back and forth in a twisted, fervent dance around the damaged stem. The roars of the chaos and freeze roots to the North and South, respectively, punctured the air at random intervals, and sand whispered threats of blindness to the mage as it whipped past her. She shielded her eyes with one hand and hastily scribbled into her notebook with the other.

This was her first chance to study the gardens in person.

~

Royal gardeners had quickly abandoned the area when corruption first broke through the wards of Rath Parras. The docile plant life roaming the grounds suddenly became vicious, and several lives were lost before anyone realized what was happening. Many important details about the corruption were lost in the initial confusion.

Thankfully, Nimh the Apothecary and Warden Ciaran had arrived with the first group of heroes willing to confront these new challenges. Both men set up camp at the entrance of the gardens and offered to share knowledge and gold with any adventurer that brought back samples of corrupted plant life.

~

The mage had acquired a copy of Warden Ciaran’s notes before entering the garden, but, to her at least, the notes seemed incomplete without descriptions of the plants’ behaviors over time. Warden Ciaran did not travel into the gardens himself, and many adventurers were unfortunately not gardeners. The mage, a gardener by hobby, felt compelled to help fill in the gaps in the Warden’s notes.

A change in the vines’ movement tore the mage’s attention away from her notebook: their dance became more frenzied. The mage watched the performance in awe. She wondered if this was normal behavior since Crom’s influence grows stronger near the Samhain or if this meant that Bloodthorn the Ravenous is spawning. She pressed her back against the rock behind her and waited patiently.

She would find out soon.

~

Deep within the ground - far beyond any adventurer’s sight - the stem and roots of Bloodthorn the Ravenous quivered momentarily, then thickened. The ground rumbled and shifted against the pressure. The roots lengthened, delving ever deeper into the well of corrupted magic flowing beneath Dal Riata.

Bloodthorn strengthened but did not yet appear.

~

The mage rushed to find a safer spot as the ground cracked beneath her, but then she froze. Her gaze was fixated on the damaged stem. She could have sworn it shuddered.

A terrifying thought occurred to her in that moment: “What if we have been pruning Bloodthorn incorrectly each time?”

Fear coursed through her veins as the stem visibly thickened this time. The ground beneath her feet gave way. While falling, the mage realized what it meant: during Samhain tomorrow, Dal Riata would see a more powerful Bloodthorn than ever before, and heroes would have no warning.

May the Gods be with them.

- Character: MrsHealy / World: Taranis

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