Forgotten Songs Fantasy

Author: Thomas B. Dair

  • Trussel (Arkiveret #2)

    v.1.2.0

    Parthiizaax havde aldrig rigtigt kunnet lide mennesker. De var fordomsfulde, grådige og han vidste, hvilke grusomheder de var i stand til, selv over for deres egne. Faktisk kendte han ikke navnet på et eneste menneske. Og det til trods for at det efterhånden var en del år siden, at han havde bosat sig så tæt på Ashencross. Men de kunne heller ikke lide ham, og ingen af dem kendte hans navn. Det bedste, man kunne sige, var, at byboerne tolererede ham og kun vedkendte hans eksistens, når de havde sår eller skader, som skulle heles. Sår eller skader, som deres elskede Lære om De Fem Søjler ikke måtte vide af. Eller når han solgte dem ildflor, så de let kunne starte deres bage- og smelteovne. Dog havde ingen angivet ham til Tempelridderne endnu, det måtte han alligevel give menneskene.

    Det var af de grunde, at han sjældent gik ind til byen. Faktisk var det kun, når han absolut havde brug for noget, eller hvis han skulle studere ritualerne ved det store Tempel for De Fem Søjler. Parthiizaax fandt religion enormt spændende. Følgerne af sådanne dogmer synes at have et stærkt bånd, selvom hvad der blev prædiket, ofte virkede ulogisk for en drage.

    Den enorme eksplosion fra Ashencross var dog ikke noget, som han kunne sidde overhørig. Parthiizaax havde stået udenfor sin lille hytte sent den sommerdag, noget uvant for hans normale rutine, og vandet de sødt-duftende, dyb-orange ildflorblomster, da lyden var kommet buldrende over ham. Idet Parthiizaax så op i forvirring, fulgte trykbølgen efter. Kraften fra den havde taget fat i Parthiizaax’s læderagtige flyvehudsvinger og flyttet ham et godt stykke. De dybe klomærker i den stampede jord var vidne dertil. Det var så lang tid siden, at Parthiizaax sidst havde haft sine vinger i brug, at mødet med trykbølgen efterladte dem en smule ømme der, hvor de mødte kroppen, lige fra håndleddene og helt ned til anklerne. Og til sidst, da Parthiizaax havde fået samlet sig en smule, kom regn og jord faldende, fra hvad der ellers havde været en klar sommerdag.

    -> FORTSÆT MED AT LÆSE

  • Danger (Archived #2)

    v.1.2.0

    Parthiizaax never really liked Humans. They were prejudiced, greedy, and he knew what atrocities they were capable of, even to their own kind. Indeed, he didn’t know a single Human’s name despite it being a handful of years since he settled so close to Ashencross. But they didn’t like him either, nor did they know his name. At most the townsfolk tolerated him, only acknowledging Parthiizaax’s presence when they needed healing for injuries that their precious Teachings of the Five Pillars shouldn’t know about. Or when he sold them fireblossoms so they could easily start their ovens and furnaces. Still, though, no one had turned him in to the Templars yet. That he had to give to the Humans.

    He rarely went into town for those reasons. It was only when he absolutely needed something or to study the rituals at the large Temple of the Five Pillars. Parthiizaax found religion immensely fascinating. The followers of such dogmas seemed to share a strong bond even if what was preached seemed rather illogical to a Dragon.

    However, the massive explosion coming from Ashencross was something he simply could not ignore. It had been late that summer’s day when he was watering the sweet-smelling, deep orange fireblossoms, a little belated from his usual routine, and the sound of violent thunder had come crashing. As a curious Parthiizaax turned his head, the shockwave followed. The force caught his webbed and leather-like wings and moved him a surprising amount, leaving deep claw marks in the stamped ground as proof. Parthiizaax’ wings had gone unused for such a long time that the meeting with the shockwave actually left them a little sore where they joined his body, all the way from wrist to ankle. And finally, after Parthiizaax had managed to gather himself ever so slightly, the rain and dirt came falling from what had been an otherwise clear summer’s day.

    -> KEEP ON READING

  • Trussel (Arkiveret #1)

    v.1.1.0

    Parthiizaax havde aldrig rigtigt kunnet lide mennesker. De var fordomsfulde, grådige og han vidste, hvilke grusomheder de var i stand til, selv over for deres egne. Faktisk kendte han ikke navnet på et eneste menneske. Og det til trods for at det efterhånden var en del år siden, at han havde bosat sig så tæt på Ashencross. Men de kunne heller ikke lide ham, og ingen af dem kendte hans navn. Det bedste, man kunne sige, var, at byboerne tolererede ham og kun vedkendte hans eksistens, når de havde sår eller skader, som skulle heles. Sår eller skader, som deres elskede Lære om De Fem Søjler ikke måtte vide af. Eller når han solgte dem ildflor, så de let kunne starte deres bage- og smelteovne. Dog havde ingen angivet ham til Tempelridderne endnu, det måtte han alligevel give menneskene.

    Det var af de grunde, at Parthiizaax sjældent gik ind til byen. Faktisk var det kun, når han absolut havde brug for noget, eller hvis han skulle studere ritualerne ved det store Tempel for De Fem Søjler. Parthiizaax fandt religion enormt spændende. Følgerne af sådanne dogmer synes at have et stærkt bånd, selvom hvad der blev prædiket, ofte virkede ulogisk for en drage.

    Den enorme eksplosion fra Ashencross var dog ikke noget, som han kunne sidde overhørig. Parthiizaax havde stået udenfor sin lille hytte sent den sommerdag, noget uvant for hans normale rutine, og vandet de sødt-duftende, dyb-orange ildflorblomster, da lyden var kommet buldrende over ham. Idet Parthiizaax så op i forvirring, fulgte trykbølgen efter. Kraften fra den havde taget fat i Parthiizaax’s læderagtige flyvehudsvinger og flyttet ham et godt stykke. De dybe klomærker i den stampede jord var vidne dertil. Det var så lang tid siden, at Parthiizaax sidst havde haft sine vinger i brug, at mødet med trykbølgen efterladte dem en smule ømme der, hvor de mødte kroppen, lige fra håndleddene og helt ned til anklerne. Og til sidst, da Parthiizaax havde fået samlet sig en smule, kom regn og jord faldende, fra hvad der ellers havde været en klar sommerdag.

    -> FORTSÆT MED AT LÆSE!

  • Danger (Archived #1)

    v.1.1.0

    Parthiizaax never really liked Humans. They were prejudiced, greedy, and he knew what atrocities they were capable of, even to their own kind. Indeed, he didn’t know a single Human’s name despite it being a handful of years since he settled so close to Ashencross. But they didn’t like him either, nor did they know his name. At most the townsfolk tolerated him, only acknowledging Parthiizaax’s presence when they needed healing for injuries that their precious Teachings of the Five Pillars shouldn’t know about. Or when he sold them fireblossoms so they could easily start their ovens and furnaces. Still, though, no one had turned him in to the Templars yet. That he had to give to the Humans.

    Parthiizaax rarely went into town for those reasons. It was only when he absolutely needed something or to study the rituals at the large Temple of the Five Pillars. Parthiizaax found religion immensely fascinating. The followers of such dogmas seemed to share a strong bond even if what was preached seemed rather illogical to a Dragon.

    However, the massive explosion coming from Ashencross was something he simply could not ignore. It had been late that summer’s day when he was watering the sweet-smelling, deep orange fireblossoms, a little belated from his usual routine, and the sound of violent thunder had come crashing. As a curious Parthiizaax turned his head, the shockwave followed. The force caught his webbed and leather-like wings and moved him a surprising amount, leaving deep claw marks in the stamped ground as proof. Parthiizaax’ wings had gone unused for such a long time that the meeting with the shockwave actually left them a little sore where they joined his body, all the way from wrist to ankle. And finally, after Parthiizaax had managed to gather himself ever so slightly, the rain and dirt came falling from what had been an otherwise clear summer’s day.

    -> KEEP ON READING!

  • Katastrofe

    v.1.3.1

    ⬇️ Download “Katastrofe” som .PDF

    Ilden i stearinlysene blussede op. Det samme gjorde flammerne i ildstedet. Det gjorde de altid, når Hu’orhun var oprevet. At dømme ud fra brølende, der kom fra pejsen, var rasende nok et mere dækkende ord, tænkte Tu’wehan for sig selv. Faktisk var varmen ved at blive lidt for meget, selv for en dværg, så han tog et skridt væk fra de hidsige flammer. Tu’wehan kiggede på sin hustru med nervøse, nøddebrune øjne.

    ‘Du rejser ikke!’ nærmest råbte Hu’orhun og forsøgte at få noget af sit ildrøde hår, de lokker, som altid undgik hendes fletning, under kontrol. Hun stod ved spisebordet af solidt, mørk granit. Den tilhørende granitstol, hun havde siddet på et øjeblik tidligere, var væltet, da hun hoppede op fra den i vrede.

    Med et irriteret støn opgav Hu’orhun sit hår og lod det falde tilbage ned over ansigtet, hvorefter hun vendte sin opmærksomhed tilbage til Tu’wehan. ‘Ved De Sovende Kæmper, hvem har puttet den åndssvage idé ind i dit hoved?’ spurgte Hu’orhun. Spørgsmålet blev efterfulgt af en stirren så intens, at man næsten skulle tro, at hun forsøgte at sætte ild til sin ægtefælle i samme øjeblik.

    Tu’wehan kiggede på den sorte, ærmeløse læderjakke i sine hænder. Han havde allerede sin brune på, ovenover en mørkegrøn linnedstrøje, og var klar til at rejse, så snart han havde pakket færdig. Hans grå uldkappe hang ved siden af døren.

    ‘Kapitælerne og deres følge rejser fra Zhi’Na Qien for at udbrede Læren om De Fem Søljer til nye områder og de har et stort behov for håndværkere. Jeg tænkte, at jeg tilbyde mine evner som jernmester,’ forklarede Tu’wehan imens han pænt lagde den sorte jakke ned i sin rejsekiste.

    -> FORTSÆT MED AT LÆSE!

  • Calamity

    v.1.3.1

    ⬇️Download “Calamity” as .PDF

    The fires in the candles lit up. So did the flames of the fireplace. They always did that when Hu’orhun was agitated. Furious might be a better word, judging by the roars coming from the hearth. In fact, the heat was getting a little too much, even for a Dwarf, so Tu’wehan took a step away from the blazes. He looked at his wife with apprehensive hazel eyes.

    ‘You are NOT leaving!’ Hu’orhun almost shouted, trying to get some of her fiery red hair, those strands that always eluded her braid, under control. She was standing by their dinner table made of solid, dark granite. The matching granite chair, she was sitting on moments earlier, had been toppled over when she jumped to her feet in anger.

    Hu’orhun let out an irritated groan as she gave up on the flaming red locks, turning her attention back to Tu’wehan. ‘By the Slumbering Giants, who put this stupid idea into your head?’ Hu’orhun asked. The stare following the question was so intense it seemed as if she was trying to light her husband on fire that very second.

    Tu’wehan looked at the black leather jerkin in his hands. He was wearing his brown one already on top of a dark green linen shirt, ready to leave as soon as he was done packing. His grey, woollen travel cloak was hanging by the door.

    ‘The Chapiters and their entourage are leaving Zhi’Na Qien to spread the Teachings of the Five Pillars to more lands and they are in dire need of craftsmen. So, I figured I would lend them my skills as an Iron Artisan,’ Tu’wehan explained as he placed the black jerkin in his travel chest.

    -> KEEP ON READING!

  • Katastrofe (Arkiveret #3)

    v.1.3.0

    Ilden i stearinlysene blussede op. Det samme gjorde flammerne i ildstedet. Det gjorde de altid, når Hu’orhun var oprevet. At dømme ud fra brølende, der kom fra pejsen, var rasende nok et mere dækkende ord, tænkte Tu’wehan for sig selv. Faktisk var varmen ved at blive lidt for meget, selv for en dværg, så han tog et skridt væk fra de hidsige flammer. Tu’wehan kiggede på sin hustru med nervøse, nøddebrune øjne.

    ‘Du rejser ikke!’ nærmest råbte Hu’orhun og forsøgte at få noget af sit ildrøde hår, de lokker, som altid undgik hendes fletning, under kontrol. Hun stod ved spisebordet af solidt, mørk granit. Den tilhørende granitstol, hun havde siddet på et øjeblik tidligere, var væltet, da hun hoppede op fra den i vrede. Med et irriteret støn opgav Hu’orhun sit hår og lod det falde tilbage ned over ansigtet, hvorefter hun vendte sin opmærksomhed tilbage til Tu’wehan. ‘Ved De Sovende Kæmper, hvem har puttet den åndssvage idé ind i dit hoved?’ spurgte Hu’orhun. Spørgsmålet blev efterfulgt af en stirren så intens, at man næsten skulle tro, at hun forsøgte at sætte ild til sin ægtefælle i samme øjeblik.

    Tu’wehan kiggede på den sorte, ærmeløse læderjakke i sine hænder. Han havde allerede sin brune på, ovenover en mørkegrøn linnedstrøje, og var klar til at rejse, så snart han havde pakket færdig. Hans grå uldkappe hang ved siden af døren.

    ‘Kapitælerne og deres følge rejser fra Zhi’Na Qien for at udbrede Læren om De Fem Søljer til nye områder og de har et stort behov for håndværkere. Jeg tænkte, at jeg tilbyde mine evner som jernmester,’ forklarede Tu’wehan imens han pænt lagde den sorte jakke ned i sin rejsekiste.

    -> FORTSÆT MED AT LÆSE!

  • Calamity (Archived #6)

    v.1.3.0

    The fires in the candles lit up. So did the flames of the fireplace. They always did that when Hu’orhun was agitated. Furious might be a better word, judging by the roars coming from the hearth. In fact, the heat was getting a little too much, even for a Dwarf, so Tu’wehan took a step away from the blazes. He looked at his wife with apprehensive hazel eyes.

    ‘You are NOT leaving!’ Hu’orhun almost shouted, trying to get some of her fiery red hair, those strands that always eluded her braid, under control. She was standing by their dinner table made of solid, dark granite. The matching granite chair, she was sitting on moments earlier, had been toppled over when she jumped to her feet in anger. Hu’orhun let out an irritated groan as she gave up on the flaming red locks, turning her attention back to Tu’wehan. ‘By the Slumbering Giants, who put this stupid idea into your head?’ Hu’orhun asked. The question was followed by a stare so intense it seemed as if she was trying to light her husband on fire that very second.

    Tu’wehan looked at the black leather jerkin in his hands. He was wearing his brown one already on top of a dark green linen shirt, ready to leave as soon as he was done packing. His grey, woollen travel cloak was hanging by the door.

    ‘The Chapiters and their entourage are leaving Zhi’Na Qien to spread the Teachings of the Five Pillars to more lands and they are in dire need of craftsmen. So, I figured I would lend them my skills as an Iron Artisan,’ Tu’wehan explained as he placed the black jerkin in his travel chest.

    -> KEEP ON READING!

  • Katastrofe (Arkiveret #2)

    v.1.2.0

    Ilden i stearinlysene blussede op. Det samme gjorde flammerne i ildstedet. Det gjorde de altid, når Hu’orhun var oprevet. At dømme ud fra brølende, der kom fra pejsen, var rasende nok et mere dækkende ord, tænkte Tu’wehan for sig selv. Faktisk var varmen ved at blive lidt for meget, selv for en dværg, så han tog et skridt væk fra de hidsige flammer. Tu’wehan kiggede på sin hustru med nervøse, nøddebrune øjne.

    Hu’orhun stod ved spisebord, lavet i solid, mørk granit. Den tilhørende granitstol, som hun havde siddet på et øjeblik tidligere, var væltet, da hun nærmest hoppede op fra den i vrede. Med knugede hænder og hvide, hårdt sammenpressede læber, stirrede Hu’orhun tilbage på sin ægtefælle, som om hun prøvede at sætte ild til ham lige nu og her. 

    ‘Du rejser ikke!’ nærmest råbte Hu’orhun og forsøgte at få noget af sit ildrøde hår, de lokker, som altid undgik hendes fletning, under kontrol. Hun opgav med et irriteret støn og lod det røde hår falde frit over hendes ansigt. ‘Ved De Sovende Kæmper, hvem har puttet den åndssvage idé i dit hoved?’

    Tu’wehan kiggede på den sorte, ærmeløse læderjakke i sine hænder. Han havde allerede sin brune på, ovenover en mørkegrøn linnedstrøje, og var klar til at rejse, så snart han havde pakket færdigt. Hans grå uldkappe hang ved siden af døren.

    ‘Kapitælerne og deres følge rejser fra Zhi’Na Qien for at udbrede Læren om De Fem Søljer til nye områder og de har et stort behov for håndværkere. Jeg tænkte, at jeg tilbyde mine evner som jernmester,’ forklarede Tu’wehan imens han pænt lagde den sorte jakke ned i sin rejsekiste.

    -> Fortsæt med at læse!

  • Calamity (Archived #5)

    v.1.2.0

    The fires in the candles lit up. So did the flames of the fireplace. They always did that when Hu’orhun was agitated. Furious might be a better word, judging by the roars coming from the hearth. In fact, the heat was getting a little too much, even for a Dwarf, so Tu’wehan took a step away from the blazes. He looked at his wife with apprehensive hazel eyes.

    Hu’orhun was standing by their dinner table made of solid, dark granite. The matching granite chair, that she was sitting on moments earlier, had been toppled over when she almost jumped to her feet in anger. With clenched fists and lips almost white from being pressed together, Hu’orhun was staring back at her spouse as if she was trying to light him on fire that very second.

    ‘You are NOT leaving!’ Hu’orhun almost shouted. She tried to get some of her fiery red hair, those strands that always eluded her braid, under control. Hu’orhun let out an irritated groan as she gave up and let the red locks flow free over her face. ‘By the Slumbering Giants, who put this stupid idea into your head?’

    Tu’wehan looked at the black leather jerkin in his hands. He was wearing his brown one already on top of a dark green linen shirt, ready to leave as soon as he was done packing. His grey, woollen travel cloak was hanging by the door.

    ‘The Chapiters and their entourage are leaving Zhi’Na Qien to spread the Teachings of the Five Pillars to more lands and they are in dire need of craftsmen. So, I figured I would lend them my skills as an Iron Artisan,’ Tu’wehan explained as he placed the black jerkin in his travel chest.

    -> KEEP ON READING!