Viper Society 2 : "The Beginning"
Bright sunshine left almost no shadow, on a particularly cold day on Ice Island. Two Ice Savages awaken inside their spacious tower, which they claimed after slaying the resident nobles over one year before. The only two remaining members of the Viper Tribe.
Dalen, the senior by 4 years, had been taken away by a group of nefarious mages when only a child of 15. The brothers had been scouting an Orcish camp… They’d approached from opposite sides, and Dalen was never able to say a word to his brother. The next 5 years were spent learning the ways of Magery, and of the civilized world. Dalen was an experiment. These mages were determined to prove that the even the elusive Ice Savage could be tamed, given enough tutoring and exposure to the world. Dalen did indeed learn the Common language, and excel in the Magic arts. However, he had hated the mages from his first day with them, and bided his time until his own power was great enough to overcome them. At the age of 21, the man now known as Dalen Darkblade obliterated his captors via the same sorcery they had taught him. He hired a sailor to take him to Ice Island, where he searched for his young brother for one month.
While Dalen was being kidnapped, his younger brother was dutifully scouting the Orc encampment. He memorized useful information, and crept back to their cave. He waited patiently for his brother to return. The idea that he may not didn’t cross his mind for an entire year; so great was his affinity for his only brother, the thought of being without him would drive him mad. Azhul did eventually come to the conclusion that somehow Dalen had disappeared forever, and continued to live in isolation on Ice Island. Only now, instead of only avoiding Orcs and Humans, and hunting only Polar Bears and Walrus for meat, leather, and bones, Azhul lived a hate-driven life. His rage was as unfocused as the clarity of knowledge concerning his brother’s whereabouts. For 5 years, Azhul killed any man, woman, child, orc, and animal which crossed his path. He hoarded his victims’ belongings in his cave. He spoke to no one. He heard only the ranting of his own mind.
A little over 6 years after the disappearance of his brother, Azhul was laying out pieces of stolen armor in the small field near his cave, trying to determine which components would fit together most comfortably. A fire slowly cooked the speared remnants of a Walrus. He would take a glance at the fire periodically, and in one such instance noticed a tall figure standing very near to it. Even so near as to steal a hunk of the meat and begin chewing it, as though it were his own. Growling and teeth bared, Azhul approached the man unhesitatingly. Upon stepping within feet of the man, the savage dropped to his knees and bowed his head. He was overwhelmed by emotion, as his own brother, who had visited him in the form of hallucinations many times, stood before him.
Dalen began teaching Azhul what he had learned of civilization immediately. The very same day they were re-united, the original denizens of the previously mentioned tower were murdered and the structure became their new home. Dalen told Azhul about everything, all save the more challenging aspects of Magery; for that, Azhul had no concern. Azhul became proficient in the Common tongue, and in knowledge of customs, etiquette, and taboos. Most fascinating to Azhul, was Dalen’s account of the practices of merchants of the realm. Apparently, vendors of all sorts would scatter colorful runes all about the cities; with etchings describing which wares were for sale at the location one would find themselves if they were to cast the Recall spell on the rune. The two savages tore through their tower until they found a heavy sack of runes. Dalen spent days marking each, all in the same space in front of the tower, and etching creative advertisements to non-existent vendors. Together, they built a trap around the ground where the runes had been marked. Any who might cast Recall on one of these runes, would find themselves confined by weighted containers, and on the receiving end of a brutal assault from Azhul’s spear. Then Dalen went out into civilized Britannia, and scattered the runes. Every day for many months afterward, Azhul and Dalen camped their trap. The trap provided them with immense wealth, and enough meat to feed the two of them. The tower became a warehouse of gold, rare and expensive items and clothing, weapons… all manner of objects filled their lair.
The day mentioned first in the tale. The two lazily walked outside to check their trap. Sudden alarm rang in their minds, then panic as they realized something was terribly wrong! The trap! The heavy chests full of iron ore and bones… scattered! All about the snow and ice, fragments of their masterpiece lay in ruins. A booming voice sounded “Fire!” shortly followed by “Charge!” Apparently, quite a bounty had grown against whoever was responsible for the deadly rune scheme, and a small unit from a mercenary army had been dispatched to dispose of them. Arrows began to rain down on the two Ice Savages. Azhul, the more battle-hardy of the two, instantly dove behind a scrapped crate. Dalen’s reaction didn’t come in time, as arrow after arrow sank into his flesh. Chest, stomach, head, throat. He stared up at the sky, and falling face-first into the dirt, was dead before he landed. Azhul hastily retreated into the tower and retrieved his best short spear. He charged the doorway, as mercenaries carrying swords and axes already began to intrude. One, two, three… a new body fell with each beat of his heart, his fury was so intense. Before long, he was highly fatigued, and one of the warriors was able to land a sharp blow near to his armpit. Howling in pain, Azhul retreated further into the tower. He took shelter in a hidden compartment where the nobles had kept their most valuable possessions. He would not be able to kill each of the men while wounded so severely. His arm would be maimed for some time, and though his rage was incomparable, he was too wise in the ways of violence to seek vengeance now. He let the pain wash over him, and fell asleep as the mercenaries combed the tower for him.
He would awaken and move outside to find Orcs carrying damaged crates and piles of ore away, apparently the same force which prevented the mercenaries from looting his tower dry. He wrapped his wound with a large bandage, and stood on the ice in front of the tower. No Orc disturbed him. Though he would be severely outnumbered, and certainly perish in the event they did attack him, none was brave enough to be the first to step within range of his spear. Azhul held no funeral rite for Dalen, for he knew of no such act. There has never been enough peace on Ice Island for the savages there to develop much culture at all, and Dalen never taught him of the burial practices of the civilized world. Here, a spot in the earth where one may dig is far too scarce for the concept to be an easy one for Azhul to grasp.
Instead, Azhul took the only possession which the brothers did not share, the one that belonged only to Dalen; the runebook. He filled a massive backpack with possessions he remembered Dalen pronouncing to be of highest value. He dug through the chest of scrolls they had accumulated, and read the one he recognized as the Recall spell. “Kal Ort Por” and he found himself among the bustling inhabitants of West Britain. Here, he was able to have a bank box provided for him, rent rooms at the inn, and take part in nearly everything the city had to offer, all without first improving his language and communication abilities a bit! Seems there were some who’s Common was worse than his, even though they’d spent their lives here. He did improve, though. He found his emotional state to be an apathetic one. He enjoyed and hated nothing. For months, he mechanically went through the motions of a civilized resident of Britain, all the while dwelling on his circumstances. He began to realize that the pain he felt over his brother’s loss, is the same he had inflicted on hundreds of others.
Azhul took to exploring as a past time. He visited caves, the sea, and all the cities. On a typical day of such exploring, he fell upon Grimstone Manor… (mentioned so abruptly for not much more of it will be written). Lying on the middle of the first floor in this massive structure, which was so clean it seemed as though servants must tend to it daily, a letter:
“Good riddance. My soul has been trapped here for so long I cannot remember. Yours will now take my place. ‘Tis the curse of Grimstone Manner, which hath befallen you, my unlucky friend. Fear not now! The suffering shall not begin until your death. For the time, this building belongs to you.”
Azhul didn’t know what to think of the letter, except to understand that, at least in his mind, he was justified in staying here. A sort of revelation came over Azhul during his first stay at Grimstone Manner.
He determined that there must be a reason for his survival. There must be something more than his own adaptability, which had brought him so far. Not a religious man, he would leave the specifics of the grand scheme to those to whom it concerned. He did feel compelled, though, to return all of what he had taken from the world. He now understood the people of Britannia. Though many were selfish, greedy, or uncaring, there were also many who were deserving of nothing less than paradise. He now understood the pain that comes with unwarranted death, issued by villains who never had the right. He was the last Ice Savage of Viper Tribe, and so founded Viper Society in commemoration of his newfound civility. He would use Grimstone Manor as a base, and a home, for any who would join him. Azhul will take the only way he knows, that of violence, and bring it to bear upon the villains of the realm. He began to write, and to think. He would develop a code and a system for his people to live by. He would hold no quarrel with another only because their views were different; he would only react to the actions of others. He would hear no cry of bigotry, for he knows: If a man will not fight for what he believes to be right and true, he can never really claim to believe in it at all.
Bright sunshine left almost no shadow, on a particularly cold day on Ice Island. Two Ice Savages awaken inside their spacious tower, which they claimed after slaying the resident nobles over one year before. The only two remaining members of the Viper Tribe.
Dalen, the senior by 4 years, had been taken away by a group of nefarious mages when only a child of 15. The brothers had been scouting an Orcish camp… They’d approached from opposite sides, and Dalen was never able to say a word to his brother. The next 5 years were spent learning the ways of Magery, and of the civilized world. Dalen was an experiment. These mages were determined to prove that the even the elusive Ice Savage could be tamed, given enough tutoring and exposure to the world. Dalen did indeed learn the Common language, and excel in the Magic arts. However, he had hated the mages from his first day with them, and bided his time until his own power was great enough to overcome them. At the age of 21, the man now known as Dalen Darkblade obliterated his captors via the same sorcery they had taught him. He hired a sailor to take him to Ice Island, where he searched for his young brother for one month.
While Dalen was being kidnapped, his younger brother was dutifully scouting the Orc encampment. He memorized useful information, and crept back to their cave. He waited patiently for his brother to return. The idea that he may not didn’t cross his mind for an entire year; so great was his affinity for his only brother, the thought of being without him would drive him mad. Azhul did eventually come to the conclusion that somehow Dalen had disappeared forever, and continued to live in isolation on Ice Island. Only now, instead of only avoiding Orcs and Humans, and hunting only Polar Bears and Walrus for meat, leather, and bones, Azhul lived a hate-driven life. His rage was as unfocused as the clarity of knowledge concerning his brother’s whereabouts. For 5 years, Azhul killed any man, woman, child, orc, and animal which crossed his path. He hoarded his victims’ belongings in his cave. He spoke to no one. He heard only the ranting of his own mind.
A little over 6 years after the disappearance of his brother, Azhul was laying out pieces of stolen armor in the small field near his cave, trying to determine which components would fit together most comfortably. A fire slowly cooked the speared remnants of a Walrus. He would take a glance at the fire periodically, and in one such instance noticed a tall figure standing very near to it. Even so near as to steal a hunk of the meat and begin chewing it, as though it were his own. Growling and teeth bared, Azhul approached the man unhesitatingly. Upon stepping within feet of the man, the savage dropped to his knees and bowed his head. He was overwhelmed by emotion, as his own brother, who had visited him in the form of hallucinations many times, stood before him.
Dalen began teaching Azhul what he had learned of civilization immediately. The very same day they were re-united, the original denizens of the previously mentioned tower were murdered and the structure became their new home. Dalen told Azhul about everything, all save the more challenging aspects of Magery; for that, Azhul had no concern. Azhul became proficient in the Common tongue, and in knowledge of customs, etiquette, and taboos. Most fascinating to Azhul, was Dalen’s account of the practices of merchants of the realm. Apparently, vendors of all sorts would scatter colorful runes all about the cities; with etchings describing which wares were for sale at the location one would find themselves if they were to cast the Recall spell on the rune. The two savages tore through their tower until they found a heavy sack of runes. Dalen spent days marking each, all in the same space in front of the tower, and etching creative advertisements to non-existent vendors. Together, they built a trap around the ground where the runes had been marked. Any who might cast Recall on one of these runes, would find themselves confined by weighted containers, and on the receiving end of a brutal assault from Azhul’s spear. Then Dalen went out into civilized Britannia, and scattered the runes. Every day for many months afterward, Azhul and Dalen camped their trap. The trap provided them with immense wealth, and enough meat to feed the two of them. The tower became a warehouse of gold, rare and expensive items and clothing, weapons… all manner of objects filled their lair.
The day mentioned first in the tale. The two lazily walked outside to check their trap. Sudden alarm rang in their minds, then panic as they realized something was terribly wrong! The trap! The heavy chests full of iron ore and bones… scattered! All about the snow and ice, fragments of their masterpiece lay in ruins. A booming voice sounded “Fire!” shortly followed by “Charge!” Apparently, quite a bounty had grown against whoever was responsible for the deadly rune scheme, and a small unit from a mercenary army had been dispatched to dispose of them. Arrows began to rain down on the two Ice Savages. Azhul, the more battle-hardy of the two, instantly dove behind a scrapped crate. Dalen’s reaction didn’t come in time, as arrow after arrow sank into his flesh. Chest, stomach, head, throat. He stared up at the sky, and falling face-first into the dirt, was dead before he landed. Azhul hastily retreated into the tower and retrieved his best short spear. He charged the doorway, as mercenaries carrying swords and axes already began to intrude. One, two, three… a new body fell with each beat of his heart, his fury was so intense. Before long, he was highly fatigued, and one of the warriors was able to land a sharp blow near to his armpit. Howling in pain, Azhul retreated further into the tower. He took shelter in a hidden compartment where the nobles had kept their most valuable possessions. He would not be able to kill each of the men while wounded so severely. His arm would be maimed for some time, and though his rage was incomparable, he was too wise in the ways of violence to seek vengeance now. He let the pain wash over him, and fell asleep as the mercenaries combed the tower for him.
He would awaken and move outside to find Orcs carrying damaged crates and piles of ore away, apparently the same force which prevented the mercenaries from looting his tower dry. He wrapped his wound with a large bandage, and stood on the ice in front of the tower. No Orc disturbed him. Though he would be severely outnumbered, and certainly perish in the event they did attack him, none was brave enough to be the first to step within range of his spear. Azhul held no funeral rite for Dalen, for he knew of no such act. There has never been enough peace on Ice Island for the savages there to develop much culture at all, and Dalen never taught him of the burial practices of the civilized world. Here, a spot in the earth where one may dig is far too scarce for the concept to be an easy one for Azhul to grasp.
Instead, Azhul took the only possession which the brothers did not share, the one that belonged only to Dalen; the runebook. He filled a massive backpack with possessions he remembered Dalen pronouncing to be of highest value. He dug through the chest of scrolls they had accumulated, and read the one he recognized as the Recall spell. “Kal Ort Por” and he found himself among the bustling inhabitants of West Britain. Here, he was able to have a bank box provided for him, rent rooms at the inn, and take part in nearly everything the city had to offer, all without first improving his language and communication abilities a bit! Seems there were some who’s Common was worse than his, even though they’d spent their lives here. He did improve, though. He found his emotional state to be an apathetic one. He enjoyed and hated nothing. For months, he mechanically went through the motions of a civilized resident of Britain, all the while dwelling on his circumstances. He began to realize that the pain he felt over his brother’s loss, is the same he had inflicted on hundreds of others.
Azhul took to exploring as a past time. He visited caves, the sea, and all the cities. On a typical day of such exploring, he fell upon Grimstone Manor… (mentioned so abruptly for not much more of it will be written). Lying on the middle of the first floor in this massive structure, which was so clean it seemed as though servants must tend to it daily, a letter:
“Good riddance. My soul has been trapped here for so long I cannot remember. Yours will now take my place. ‘Tis the curse of Grimstone Manner, which hath befallen you, my unlucky friend. Fear not now! The suffering shall not begin until your death. For the time, this building belongs to you.”
Azhul didn’t know what to think of the letter, except to understand that, at least in his mind, he was justified in staying here. A sort of revelation came over Azhul during his first stay at Grimstone Manner.
He determined that there must be a reason for his survival. There must be something more than his own adaptability, which had brought him so far. Not a religious man, he would leave the specifics of the grand scheme to those to whom it concerned. He did feel compelled, though, to return all of what he had taken from the world. He now understood the people of Britannia. Though many were selfish, greedy, or uncaring, there were also many who were deserving of nothing less than paradise. He now understood the pain that comes with unwarranted death, issued by villains who never had the right. He was the last Ice Savage of Viper Tribe, and so founded Viper Society in commemoration of his newfound civility. He would use Grimstone Manor as a base, and a home, for any who would join him. Azhul will take the only way he knows, that of violence, and bring it to bear upon the villains of the realm. He began to write, and to think. He would develop a code and a system for his people to live by. He would hold no quarrel with another only because their views were different; he would only react to the actions of others. He would hear no cry of bigotry, for he knows: If a man will not fight for what he believes to be right and true, he can never really claim to believe in it at all.
