This was an old RP story that I wrote a while back, it explains how Krogenar came to worship Isitishia, and Mystra. And his first encounter with The Rok.
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Krogenar: [Prophecy] Deep in the Woods
He awoke to his bear's bellowing voice, leaping from his hammock,
instinctively knocking a pail of water to douse the small cooking fire.
In the darkness, his bear's warning roar became a low rumbling.
Krogenar stroked Hringorl's red brown fur, silencing the great bear.
Letting the dark and the silence sink in, he breathed in the cold night air,
extending his senses in an ever-growing sphere around him.
Filtering out the cooking fish, the bear, his own sweat - still -
he sensed nothing nearby.
His eyes adjusted to the low light, but still nothing.
His barbarian senses registered the woodland sounds, smells and auras
to be typical. But still, something was not right, nagging at his senses,
like some impending doom he could not detect.
Then he slowly tilted his shaggy head upwards towards the ever-present
RagNaRoK - that foul abomination - a twisting of the very Lifeforce
of the planet against itself. He had ignored it till now, filtering
it out of his searching.
Grabbing his pack, he swiftly climbed a nearby tree to get a better look.
Once at the top, he gaped at what he saw.
Far to the north, a burning red trail traced it's way across the northern
sky, he clutched to the tree, as Hringorl bellowed in renewed fury.
A wall of heat washed over him, as he turned his face away.
From the corner of his eye, he watched the leaves and smaller branches
wither and crisp in the furnace of heat, the maelstrom drowning out
his bear's own roaring.
Later, dropping down to the forest floor, Krogenar, blackened and bruised,
packed up what few belongings hadn't perished in the flames.
He analyzed the facts. RagNaRok still loomed in the night sky above.
Yet no other agency could have caused such devastation to the Northern Lands.
He knew the location of a hidden cache of Magitek hardware, hidden in the
Northern Wastes.
Only those instruments could hope to be sensitive enough to find
the answer.
Against a rising sun, Krogenar and Hringorl strided to the north,
still smoking.
Krogenar: [Prophecy] Dusty Hopes
Crouching in the dust, Krogenar frowned.
He had hoped the wide path of destruction that the meteor had traced along the northern reaches had been... conventional?
Sniffing the soil, he knew this wasn't sulphuric ash, the chemical remnant of a conventional fire. Forest and plains caught fire routinely, apparently devastating whole regions. But he knew these apparent ecological "disasters" were part of the natural cycle of life - from the enriched, ash-laden soil, new life would inevitably sprout.
He stood, shaking powdered earth from his hands.
Nothing would ever grow here again.
Scanning the area, he walked inside a long, gray furrow - dug out in seconds by the fiery piece of RagNarok that had fallen a few days ago. It hadn't just burned away the vegetation - this entire pathway was ecologically dead - the lifeforce itself burned away.
This single impact had crossed through numerous ecological systems, disrupting them. Krogenar imagined them criss-crossing, lacing around the world, interacting... ..the individual cycles of life on the planet would be unable to compensate. And shut down.
Unable to even glance at RagNaRoK through its powerful corona, even at night, he hoped some of the MagiTek instruments in the hidden cache would be sensitive (or powerful) enough to complete his analysis.
His bear familiar, Hringorl, roared his eagerness to move on. They ranged far that day, the springiness in Krogenar's legs allowing him to keep pace with the bear's long strides. With luck, they'd reach the hidden storehouse in 5 days.
He knew that someone would be waiting for him there, someone who
had been waiting for far too long.
Nisstyre: The Prophecy: Book Three "TriPower)
A room filled with smoke is usually called a pub or bar, but this was the Main Room in the TriPower Tower Complex, the Presidential Meeting Room. The room was bare of furniture, except for the long oak table which stretched the length of the room. One seat for every Department Head sat next to the table, large chairs made from leather, and soft. The walls were painted in the TriPower's colors, dark blue and dark red. A few paintings, a model of the cannon dotted the walls.
Large bay windows overlooked the northern end of Torregiano, and in the center of the table, stood a replica of the city itself. At the end of the table where the president's seat is, a few groups of Bloodstoner's Personal Staff sat, talking about the even that happened
only a few days ago.
Even Nisstyre was there, sitting with his back to the group looking out the window towards the north.
...."The airships we sent north have located the fragment of Ragnarok
that fell from the sky last week." said an advisory as he pulled out a
large globe. "We have found it within this region." The advisory continued pointing to a northern region above Vector. "Its beyond the Vectorian border, in a part of the world only a few travel and live." The advisory said.
...."Sounds like a comic book." Hathorne muttered, also sitting at the table. Sid, also at the table poked Hathorne and grumbled at him. Hathorne pulled the globe over and started to look the globe over and started to look were the advisory had pointed. Above the Fortress of Vector the Kameha Mountains continued until the sea. The grassy plain that follows the mountains down most of the coast also followed. Only
five small villages are north of Vector, and then a strange area of dead wastelands, like a prairie. Then the only city in that part of the world, named North City, which is protected by a massive cavern maze before the city.
Hathorne snickered, sounded like a horrid game.
...."So what do you want us to do?" Hathorne question the President.
A pair of metal keys flew over the chair and landed in Hathorne's hand.
...."Take my airship and go and get it."
Hathorne grinned, even though his airship 'The Highwind' was fast and superior to most other airships in the sky, The President's personal airship was nothing compared to the fleets in the sky.
...."Taking the fact that some people will probably want the damn thing, I'd say five days before anyone figures a way up there, we'll leave then." Hathorne said, and left the room followed by Sid. The President sat back in his chair.
Krogenar: [Prophecy] Icy Odyssey
Tue Jan 9 18:44:34 2001
To: all
A snowflake settled on the steel plates, and melted instantly.
The Armor was running hot, moving quickly through the snowy hills.
The MagiTek soldier was nestled deep between the powerful shoulder
joints of the walking battle tank - his hands expertly danced across
the console.
The soldier yawned, turned the knob to increase the heat in the
cockpit. The harsh northern winds were the only invaders to have
ever swept down these rocky hills, and into Vector. Still, with
enough hours wasted here, his Pilot rating would be upgraded.
His sensors showing nothing, and his round done, he turned
the Armor round, to head back. Without warning, the Armor pulled
viciously to the right, sliding, then stopped with a metal creak.
The soldier looked more bored than ever.
Kefka had had countless mechanics try to determine whether Armors
could be modified to negotiate the rocky terrain, and commence his
own insane attack.
Outside, in the blowing snow, the soldier kicked the Armor.
"Scrapheap piece o' JUNK!" The blizzard began to pickup speed.
His handlamp's light scanned the left leg of the tank, trying to
find where it had become frozen.
"Should be in the nightclub...**** where's the problem...
...with Maggie and some brew."
He froze. These weren't old vines, dried and frozen by the cold.
Bright green, healthy, and thick, they looked like they had just gr-
His right temple exploded in a shower of dark sparks....
Krogenar perched atop the Armor, his prize, thinking.
Hringorl, his bear, howled at him from a nearby hilltop, impatient.
<Stop playing with these toys! The rock is much farther ahead! I smell
elk not far... this toy would only scare them off.>
Krogenar laughed at Hringorl's pragmatism. It was indeed impractical to take the Armor. It would never make it over the mountains anyway. But it did have what he needed. He had taken the emergency rations, all the supplies he could find. He had removed the cockpit's heating element, and now checked the battery level. Three emergency batteries, which he took - the energy core itself was nearly depleted.
)>)))))))))) Energy Core Readout
The storm would be upon them soon. He stared at the blinking green bar. Hringorl snorted in disgust. Peering under the armor, he growled.
<I could be eating elk right now! Your hammering has surely scared away every edible thing in this foodless place! And the storm is upon us!>
Underneath the Armor, Krogenar's grease-streaked face grinned.
Pulling open the access plate, he was bathed in a ghostly blue-green light. Inside the small spherical area, a lone esper was imprisoned, his arms spread apart, held in place by manacle/power couplings.
The head lifted, and stared at Krogenar piteously.
While Krogenar pulled him free, the esper eyed him strangely - noting the MagiTek insignia on his cloak. Freed from the Armor's energy draining field, Krogenar watched the color return to the man's face, his strength returning quickly. The Armor's mechanical purring slowed, then died.
When the Esper awoke, he found a torn MagiTek insignia in his palm, and an unconscious soldier in the snowed over Armor. Two sets of tracks led off into the heart of the blizzard.
Krogenar: [Prophecy] Mountain Crossing
Tue Jan 9 21:52:19 2001
To: all
A white, furred arm slashed the air, as Krogenar ducked beneath.
Frozen fingers of ice shattered under the force of the swipe.
He turned to the mouth of the ice cave, moving as quickly as he dared on the sheet of ice. Gaining speed, he sensed the yeti gaining on him from behind.
He turned, still sliding, to face the snow beast... a blade in each hand. His feet cutting twin tracks as he slid backwards, Krogenar's blades spun around him, warding off the white-furred horror's slashing arms and fangs with counter-thrusts, feints and slashes of his own. His fury growing as his momentum slowed, he sensed the windy air at the approaching cave mouth behind him.
His blades laced across the creature's hide, wounding it, but still the thing came ever onwards.
The yeti slammed into Krogenar like a wall of muscle - a nightmare of tangled, dirty-white fur, and bared fangs. To an observer, it would seem as though he were wrestling with a giant rug. The force of its charge added to Krogenar's backward motion towards the cave mouth.
...and the precipice not far beyond.
His weapons pinned against him, useless, the desperate strider jammed a forearm against the beast's chest, leveraging the slavering jaws away from his face.
Brilliant arctic sunlight washed over them, suddenly. Snarling, Krogenar howled in the yeti's face, throwing himself backwards and reversing their positions... then his stomach lurched, and he was surrounded only by air...
Krogenar: [Prophecy] Mountain Crossing II
Thu Jan 11 18:04:36 2001
To: all
The bear loped along the ice trail, high in the mountains. He dragged along an elk carcass, proudly. Scenting for Krogenar, Hringorl picked up his trail, and his pace - eager to begin eating.
Stopping in a crevasse, Hringorl paused, rearing up to his full height, sniffed the air. The great bear sorted out the mixed odors.
<Sweat, beer, those 'iron ration' things he gorges on, leather, and...> Hringorl tilted his head sharply, dropped into a pounding run. He skidded around a bend in the trail.
<... animal odor, blood!, adrenaline!...>
..........
Hringorl found his human companion dangling a few feet below the cliff, nearby the cave Krogenar had hoped might provide a shortcut through the mountains.
<What now?! I'll never summon another human as a companion again - not worth the trouble.> Krogenar strained to keep his footing against the ice wall, clawing his way back up. Hringorl lowered one of his hind legs over the edge, which the human strider grasped, pulling himself to safety.
Exhausted, Krogenar clung to the bear, which ambled away - his human companion on his back.
<What exactly do I get from this partnership?>
..........
Later, inside a more thoroughly checked cave, Hringorl curled up in a corner. Nearby, the heating coil they had stolen from the hijacked MagiTek Armor glowed, directing it's heat towards the bear. The smell of cooked elk filled the cave.
From inside the bear's thick fur, Krogenar's head peeked out, checking the heat, and the entrance to the cave. Pulling himself away from the bear's body warmth, he checked the battery he had connected to the heating coil. Still some heat left, enough to make it through the night.
He huddled back into the bear's warm hide, and slept.
Krogenar: ![Prophecy]:The Plains
Sat Jan 13 23:48:20 2001
To: all
Krogenar and his bear companion, Hringorl, reached the plains. They journeyed faster over the more level terrain, passing through small cities, and hamlets.
Having never passed this way before, both were tempted to slow their search, and breathe in the strange new sights, sounds and scents.
They spent a few nights in the company of farmers and their families, earning their overnight stays by entertaining them with Krogenar's stories by the hearth, and Hringorl's tricks. Always, the farmers asked about RaGnArOk, but Krogenar had no answer.
Finally, having passed the last of the Five Cities, the two crested a hill, and looked down upon a mass of rocky mazes - walls and corridors merged, submerging beneath the ground at times, reappearing at other times.
Ducking, an airship buzzed overhead, dropping low over the exposed maze; turboprops whirring, gunports open. Hringorl stood and growled at their fly-by. In passing, you could hear the cheering from the crew, the glint of their raised weapons.
Hringorl turned, looked to Krogenar, puzzled.
"The TriPower. Here."
Krogenar wasn't sure if he was glad to see them or not.
He considered the alternatives - Vector (worse), or a band of rogues, like himself, trying to... to what? The strider kicked absent-mindedly at a rock.
"They may not be here to analyze this at all."
Krogenar had never thought of "possessing" the rock itself.
The hidden storehouse of MagiTek equipment was not far off - hopefully its hidden technologies would give him more data on RagNaRoK's new condition. If they still worked. With MagiTek's recent collapse, the confusion would most likely leave The Storehouse unguarded, and vulnerable.
He'd worry about getting inside once he got there.
Krogenar: [Prophecy] The Coastline
Wed Jan 17 20:41:22 2001
To: all
Krogenar recalled from MagiTek records that The StoreHouse would be located somewhere in a rocky, icy cliff-face. He and his bear companion, Hringorl, walked along the shoreline, east of the Great Maze.
Hringorl was jittery, on edge, sniffing trees as they traveled. The bear rubbed his back against a tree trunk, covering it with his scent, sniffing the air.
<!!!! Females... Rubbed against this tree, not two days ago!>
He looked appealingly at Krogenar, cocking his head to the side.
The strider grinned, almost embarrassed.
"Go! I have desk work to do anyway... and good luck!"
The great bear, swung around once, looked over his shoulder, growled.
<I'll meet up with you on the way back. Hopefully, it'll be a while...> Hringorl loped off into the distance, scenting for females.
.........................
It was designed to blend in with the surroundings, but to Krogenar's trained eyes it was visible. No bird's nest in this cliff, no animal scratchings on the stone, and the weathering pattern on the rock was slightly different than the surrounding rock faces.
A cunning fake, nonetheless.
Calloused hands slid across the rock, feeling for some opening, some catch which would open it.
Nothing.
A single tongue of granite thrust itself out into the mist filled air
of the cliffside. Seagulls cried, and skimmed across the sky, floating. Krogenar considered them for a moment... and smiled.
.........................
Dangling from one hand, the strider looked down into the surging waters below. With his free hand, he searched the underside of the outcropping. He quickly found handholds, each too perfectly distanced, metal rings in the stone.
He swung himself to the next ring.
Firming his grip, he swung to the next handhold.
Which promptly came loose from the rock.
Startled, and forcing himself not to look down, Krogenar hung halfway under the rock by one arm. He lifted the traitorous ring in front of his face, inspecting it.
"****ty Vectorian engineering!"
He tossed the offending ring into the sea below. The next handhold was too far for him to swing to. Looking up at the ring that he hung by, he noticed how rusted it looked. He blew some hair out of his face.
Quieting himself, his mind called out to the guardian winds...
Small puffs of wind, daughters of the mighty Northern Wind, answered him; Whirling around him, ruffling his hair and tugging his clothing, playfully.
"Carry me, little daughters..."
Releasing the rusted ring, Krogenar floated, buoyed aloft by the small winds' gusty hands. Carrying him to a small ledge inside the cliff, his boots touched the ground gently.
"Thank you..."
One of the saucier winds whistled a sweet obscenity in his ear, laughed and flew away to join her sisters, a windy finger trailing along Krogenar's cheek.
Grinning, Krogenar regarded a polished metal stairway. As he stepped into the darkness, lights pulsed into life, illuminating the way down. Keeping his eagerness in check, Krogenar moved carefully down the steps. He thought of RagNaRoK looming in the sky above; slivers of it's surface lifting off, launching themselves against his world.
It was time to get to work.
-------------------
"He's insane. No one could ever use all this..."
Krogenar walked through a long, arched hall, each wall lined with thousands of weapons. Bows, swords, daggers, slings, maces, halberds - all emblazoned with the MagiTek seal. But it was the sheer quantity which amazed the strider, not the variety. "There's enough here to equip two armies..."
Walking through the hallway, the strider entered an area filled with MagiTek Battle Armors - Vector's once-notorious walking tanks. They were all lined up like good little soldiers; patiently waiting for a war that would never come.
The air was cold, dry and dead.
The globes of light he had conjured lit the way ahead, where are large ramp led to a concealed exit for the Armors.
The underground warehouse ended in steel plated door, it's two halves firmly sealed shut. Up until this point, nothing had really interested Krogenar. Everything behind him was mundane, ordinary - a king's ransom of weaponry - but nothing that could harm Ragnarok. He scanned the cool, smooth steel door.
Closing his eyes, he imagined the little sleeping seeds in the earthen floor of the warehouse, tramped over by the soldiers and technicians, unnoticed.
He envisioned them growing into delicate shoots, then thickening into stalks, and then mighty vines. All the while, working their way between the metal plates, slowly forcing their way inside and in between, until finally wrenching the doors apart.
He opened his eyes, and saw the doors, rusted and open to him, a network of greenery around them. He strode inside, and descended into the darkness, letting his senses guide him.
...
Seawater. He could smell it, even through the steel walls. The circular staircase turned tightly on itself, corkscrewing into the earth. It opened into a circular room, with a tube of black glass in the center, melding into a dark hemisphere of obsidian. As he entered, small lights along the outer edge of the rooms ceiling lit.
Putting his hand against the glass, Krogenar gazed out at the ocean depth's beyond; dark and mysterious. Sitting in an armchair, he gazed at the shaft of black water in the room's center. Somehow, an answer was here, he knew it in his bones. Sliding his hands across the black panels below, he could find no instrumentation, no lever, no button. Though mechanically inclined, Krogenar could not operate this.. machine? His frustration boiled.
"How? How does this god dammed thing work?"
*>Ask.<*
He looked up, startled at a ghostly, dispassionate face peering back at him from within the column. He swallowed, grinned at his foolishness.
"How do you work?" Perplexed, the face answered,
*>I Function.*< The strider nodded. "Who are you?"
*>I am C.A.A.R.L. "C"ognitive "A"rray "A"nd "R"elational "L"ocus<*
With greater seriousness, the face repeated: *>Ask.<*
"Show me Ragnarok."
Krogenar's question appeared in text above the face, which faded; lines of text flowed behind it. Religious texts. Apocalyptic scenes flashed past, too fast to follow. Dangerous beasts appeared, numbers alongside them; Behir: 12%; Tarrasque: 45%; A Large Mechanical Cannon and finally the Rok itself, side by side. The "Rok" in RagNaRok pulsed. The cannon faded, leaving room for the image of Ragnarok to enlarge.
*>Is this "Ragnarok"?<* the face asked, daring Krogenar to correct it.
"That's it." The image was static, unmoving. "Show me what it's doing now." The image faded, and the new image was terrifyingly different. Slightly larger, RagNarok now had sections of itself hovering around it, its surface molten and alive, writhing, ever changing. Data scrolled past. It's temperature was off the charts, except in a few areas. But those areas where constantly changing, moving.
"CAARL, map the surface of the Rok for the last 24 hours - show me all areas that maintain a surface temperatures that are habitable."
The image came to life, the seething, molten surface dancing in accelerated motion. But two areas, near the poles of the burning ball shone bright blue. These areas remained cool enough to survive on. The two areas were constantly enlarging or shrinking, but a small point in each always remained "cool."
Krogenar narrowed his eyes, slipped back into his chair.
"Show me the fragment that landed a few days ago."
One of the fragments hovering above the Rok's surface turned, fell away, combusting; an arrow aimed at the heart of the planet. Wincing, he watched it trace a path across the Kameha Mountains, north of Vector, then slicing a path through the plains beyond. It stopped beyond a large city, protected by the Great Maze he had scanned before. The Fragment glowed, beating in rhythm to its orbiting parent.
"Are there any other sources of energy similar to the Fragment's?"
The image of the globe quickly rotated, showing the southern hemisphere, a small island. A small mote of energy, atop a tower beat in the same rhythm as both The Fragment and The Rok.
Kicking back the chair, Krogenar felt like a cornered animal. His instincts had reacted to what he saw now. The Fragment in the northern pole; the tiny, but scintillating point to the far south, and hovering above the equator...The Rok itself. "God's Above and Below...
"We're being hedged in..." Could that be possible? Could RagNarok be sentient? Capable of strategy? Deception? TRICKERY?
He barked, "Current location of The Fragment!"
The image zoomed to the northern hemisphere again, and showed the great North City. The Fragment was moving from its original crash point, gaining altitude!? It came rushing back to the strider...
Panicked, he saw the three glowing points on the globe begin to coruscate, blinking faster and faster - Hathorne, the airship - he pictured The Fragment dangling below it!
A long, lean face superimposed itself over the scene, with platinum hair, green eyes gleaming wild hatred back at Krogenar.
When Sephiroth smiled, it was like a crack opening in his flawless face. The glass behind the strider cracked as well...
...the icy sea enveloping him from behind.
---------------------------
A mob of white-furred shapes shambled towards a lone Titan woman.
Backing away from them, her back to a cliff, she smiled, unworried.
Wearing the shaggy skins of the ferocious yeti that infested these mountains, Sanria hesitated to even call them barbarians. Without tribe or organization, these wild men of the Kamekh Mountains were little more than animals - working together occasionally for survival - like a pack of wolves.
They pushed and snarled at one another, jockeying for a position close to her; their prey. Dirty white hair cascaded down their stocky shoulders, merging with the furred pelts they wore. Only their arms were unmasked to the iciness; heavily muscled and strangely long.
Sanria had watched them from afar at night, dancing fiendishly around bonfire flames that trickled up into the inky black sky, their too-long arms flailing wildly whilst they howled to an unnamed god...
A superstitious lot, they wore endless bits of junk and refuse. Their beards and hair were covered with trinkets; small bones, old feathers, bits of stone. Sanria was confident her skills as a sorceress would keep them under her control.
Days ago she had set out searching for Krogenar. It was quite like him to disappear for days into the wilderness, searching, always searching for some new place to explore. Always though, he would send some small message; a small flower unnaturally bloomed overnight by her bedside; or an animal of some kind would look at her in a strange way, as if reassuring her that he was unharmed.
And then he would be back, unharmed, with stories of some new place, and gifts. Some useless thing that had caught his fancy; and hoped would make her smile.
No such message had come to her, no omen from him, no return. She knew it was Ragnarok’s fiery attack that had sent him off. She knew him well - he would have to investigate.
Tracking the half-orc strider was difficult if not impossible. Traveling ahead of his great bear, Hringorl, Krogenar’s path was masked by the bear’s tracks. Unable to track every bear that roamed the mountains, she had fallen in with this group - hoping to bribe them with gold or magically-created heat - for information about the strider’s whereabouts.
She had discovered soon enough that these creatures needed neither.
The leader of the pack, crouching and moving closer in short little jumps eyed her cruelly. As a female, they had decided Sanria was no threat - and having no pelt to peel away from her body, they toyed with her now, edging her closer to the cliff edge, enjoying their sport.
Completely relaxed, Sanria let the image of the sigil for a flying magick trace through her mind’s eye. Her spell component bag at her side, she prepared to leave these fools. A quick dip into the pouch would produce the ingredients needed to invoke the spell.
The leader, impatient with the scene, shot forward to push at the female titan, to send her over the edge, so they could all listen to her scream as she plummeted to her death.
Unprepared for the rush, the female titan grabbed the brutes arm, even as his hand pushed at her. They struggled for a moment, Sanria looked over her shoulder at the plains far below, then slipped from the edge.
The air rushed around Sanria, but not loud enough to drown out the guttural cries of the wildman who clutched at her. Punching at him, the long-armed man swung his limbs at her, biting and screeching, determined to be sure that even as his own life was doomed, she would die before he did.
Ignoring the barbarian’s wild flailing for the moment, Sanria reached into her component bag, for the feather she would need to cast a flying spell - and leave this monstrosity to his death.
One flailing arm sent the bag spiraling away from her, into the air, its contents spreading out into the atmosphere.
Heart sinking, Sanria reeled as the wildman struck her in the back. One long arm curved around under her chin, choked at her. The creature screamed in her ear, his wild hair whipping near her face, bone ornaments and other charms that he had tied into it dancing before her face.
Desperate, she jammed one elbow into his chest, while her other arm grabbed his hair. Shocking him, she was released from his grip. She spun in the air, still holding his tangled hair - kicked him sharply.
He spiraled away from her, holding his bleeding scalp.
She calmed herself, and picked at the tangle of oily hair and ornaments, until she found it: and old eagle feather, tied to a braid.
Pulling it free, the words of a flying spell came to her lips.
----------------------
Her boots touched the cold grass of the plains, and she shook out her hair, putting it in order after her fall. The crumpled body of the mountain creature lay some yards away. Pulling her overcoat up, and back down again on her shoulders, snug again - Sanria continued her search for the strider.
"Gods Above and Below, I hate the outdoors." she cursed.
----------------------
Hanging on the edge of life, his body floated motionless; embraced by the sea’s dark, cold arms. His mind, like his body, had shut down, turned within itself. The dark currents of the deep held him in place, jealous of his play with the daughter-winds of the Great North Wind.
They debated whether it would be better to drag him to their deepest depths, to watch the skin peel from his face, and study it; discovering why the sensuous female wind spirits would dally with him - or, to save him as a way of currying favor with the object of their elemental lusts.
As they decided his fate, many fathoms underwater, he heard echoing screams....
... a foul, black-robed figure, walking Westbridge with a terrifying air of inevitability. "Ni nak a'tul, cuther al vina!" "Ni nak a'tul, cuther al vina!" A mist settled over the waters... floating spheres of death suspended in them. An expanse of smooth, hairless, lovely female skin - became spotted with red sores. The Rok‘s red blossom of death in the sky... bloody sores spread and SPLIT - the flesh beneath quivering in pain.
"Ni nak a'tul, cuther al vina!" .. "Ni nak a'tul, cuther al vina!"
The sound boomed in his ears, reverberating through the watery halls of the deep sea.
... A half-orc whirled in the empty Market Square of Westbridge, flesh falling from him, its fanged maw agape with an almost sensual pleasure... howling to The Rok in joy. From every sewer pipe, every dank, fetid morass of filth, the undead arose to join him. The walking-dead plague victims gorged themselves on each other, throwing their waste into the waters, which ran red with blood - RagNaRok reflected in them.
Savaged by these nightmares, a soothing voice washed over Krogenar’s motionless form, cooling his stirring like spring water.
"Awake servant. I have need of you in the dry, dusty world above."
He minded flailed feebly, the deep itself conversed with him.
"You will find my servant in Westbridge; He is your Water-Brother."
"I have shown you this. - gather the faithful, and heal my water."
The female voice boomed, a cascading order -
"Heal My Water, Krogenar!"
A deep current argued to see Krogenar stripped of flesh, nibbled away by the luminous scavengers of the ocean floor. The female arm washed them and their debate away. The currents merged, bowing to their Mistress’s wishes, and lifted the strider to the surface.
Krogenar moved one leaden arm after the other, pulling himself ashore. Collapsing on the cool sand, his swollen, waterlogged lips could mouth but one word: "Istishia... Istishia... Istishia..."
---------------
Sanria trudged through the last of the Five Cities, searching for a tavern, an inn, anything. Villagers had told her that they had indeed seen the strider and his bear companion, Hringorl, passing through.
Laughter and drunken swearing filtered its way through the din of a city at noon. Shouldering her way past arguing merchants, foul smelling peasants and beggars - they gawked upwards at the titan sorceress - she headed for the familiar sounds of an inn.
Passing through the market square of the town, she spotted the inn, and something else. A madman stood atop a stack of boxes, preaching.
"Istishia alone can save us. Only HER power can quench the fires of RagNaRok, and wash away the Red Plague!" "Only Ist--"
A gang of villagers pulled him down from his rickety pulpit, ripping at his blue robes. Grounding him, they began stomping and kicking at him. Even so, the would-be prophet continued his preaching.
"Only Istishia.. Mistress of Water, Source of Li-" Kicked sharply in the stomach by a farmer, he stopped his preaching for the moment. Sanria’s curiosity aroused, the voice sounded familiar...
Lifting the public annoyance to his feet, the roused farmers, pulled his head back. Krogenar smiled insanely, white teeth bared in an earnest smile. "Please! You don’t realize! She spoke to me!"
Unconvinced, the villagers dragged him to the city gate, an ever-growing crowd in tow - eager to watch the festivities.
Sanria composed herself. What in hell had happened to him? Krogenar had never held any religious belief. He believed only what he knew:
Trees, animals, the elemental forces that connected all things - things he could touch, smell and see. And now, a preacher?
And a horrible preacher, to boot. They were stringing him up!
She considered her options. Eyeing the city guard (farmboys with pitchforks) - she could simply take him. She could pretend to be a bounty hunter, sent here to pick up this dangerous religious fanatic. Her eyebrows arched... she smiled.
........
"I was Baptized in the Great Northern Sea! I emerged from the sea’s depths as a crusader against The Rok! Don’t you all --"
A farmer gagged Krogenar, and the rallied crowd cheered, lifting their hands high. Krogenar’s eyes bulged - why couldn’t they believe him?
The villagers began the business of hanging the public annoyance.
With great fanfare, they looped the rope over the gate, testing its strength.
Hoisting him onto the stage, gagged and bound, they placed the loop over his head. Rotten vegetables and fruit splattered on his face and head - the crowd jeered curses and insults. Finally convinced that they were not yet ready for Istishia, he struggled to free his arms from behind his back.
He would return, when they were ready to accept her.
A rotten appled glanced off his temple. That was it! As far as Krogenar was concerned, these people could just rot! He imagined a great tidal wave that would wash them all away. Though the gag concealed it, he smiled.
They placed him at the edge of the platform, the noose around his neck.
"I know you’re testing me Mistress, I appreciate that...but really..."
He felt a strong hand press against his back.
"Anytime now...." he paused a microsecond. "NOW would be good."
He was pushed over the edge, felt himself falling, the noose tightening.
His mind screamed: "You lying bitch! I should have known you’d--"
The crowd gasped. A column of pure water had erupted under Krogenar’s feet, lifting him up like a pebble in a spring. Hiding his own astonishment, he felt invisible hands undo his bonds, his gag flew away. Seized by holy fervor, he bellowed: "Pray to Istishia! Her Water must be Healed, So That It May Heal Us! Beware the Red Plague!"
His ripped blue robes fluttered in the frothy water pedestal, his shaven head gleaming slick with water in the sunlight. With each arm movement, water was cast out onto the crowd. Awed by this supernatural event, they prayed - humbled by their mistake. Then, as if this spectacle were not enough, the preacher vanished - the geyser of water dwindling to nothing - and leaving the crowd drenched.
-----------
Krogenar: [Prophecy] "Istishia's Preacher"
Sun Jan 28 22:27:05 2001
To: all
Sanria trudged through the last of the Five Cities, searching for a tavern, an inn, anything. Villagers had told her that they had indeed seen the strider and his bear companion, Hringorl, passing through.
Laughter and drunken swearing filtered its way through the din of a city at noon. Shouldering her way past arguing merchants, foul smelling peasants and
beggars - they gawked upwards at the titan sorceress - she headed for the familiar sounds of an inn.
Passing through the market square of the town, she spotted the inn, and something else. A madman stood atop a stack of boxes, preaching.
"Istishia alone can save us. Only HER power can quench the fires of RagNaRok, and wash away the Red Plague!" "Only Ist--"
A gang of villagers pulled him down from his rickety pulpit, ripping at his blue robes. Grounding him, they began stomping and kicking at him. Even so, the would-be prophet continued his preaching.
"Only Istishia.. Mistress of Water, Source of Li-" Kicked sharply in the stomach by a farmer, he stopped his preaching for the moment. Sanrias curiosity aroused, the voice sounded familiar...
Lifting the public annoyance to his feet, the roused farmers, pulled his head back. Krogenar smiled insanely, white teeth bared in an earnest smile.
"Please! You dont realize! She spoke to me!"
Unconvinced, the villagers dragged him to the city gate, an ever-growing crowd in tow - eager to watch the festivities.
Sanria composed herself. What in hell had happened to him? Krogenar had never held any religious belief. He believed only what he knew:
Trees, animals, the elemental forces that connected all things - things he could touch, smell and see. And now, a preacher?
And a horrible preacher, to boot. They were stringing him up!
She considered her options. Eyeing the city guard (farmboys with pitchforks) - she could simply take him. She could pretend to be a bounty hunter, sent here to pick up this dangerous religious fanatic.
Her eyebrows arched... she smiled.
Krogenar: [Prophecy] "Preacher of Istishia Pt. 2"
Mon Jan 29 00:38:45 2001
To: all
"I was Baptized in the Great Northern Sea! I emerged from the seas depths as a crusader against The Rok! Dont you all --"
A farmer gagged Krogenar, and the rallied crowd cheered, lifting their hands high. Krogenar's eyes bulged - why couldn't they believe him?
With great fanfare, they looped the rope over the gate, testing its strength. Hoisting him onto the stage, gagged and bound, they placed the loop over his head. Rotten vegetables and fruit splattered on his face and head - the crowd jeered curses and insults.
To himself, the strider-turned-priest said inwardly,
"They don't understand as I do. If they did, they would surely - "
A rotten apple glanced off his temple.
That was it! As far as Krogenar was concerned, these people could just rot! He imagined a great tidal wave that would wash them all away. Though the gag concealed it, he smiled.
The placed him at the edge of the platform, the noose around his neck.
"I know you’re testing me Mistress, I appreciate that...but really..."
He felt a strong hand press against his back.
"Anytime now...." he paused a microsecond. "NOW would be good."
He was pushed over the edge, felt himself falling, the noose tightening.
His mind screamed: "You lying bitch! I should have known you’d--"
The crowd gasped. A column of pure water had erupted under Krogenar’s feet, lifting him up like a pebble in a spring. Hiding his own astonishment, he felt invisible hands undo his bonds, his gag flew away.
Seized by holy fervor, he bellowed: "Pray to Istishia! Her Water must be Healed, So That It May Heal Us! Beware the Red Plague!"
Reveling in his newfound (and heretofore unknown) powers, he imagined
that tidal wave again, sweeping away this rabble. His pride was soothed somewhat by the kneeling, so he decided against it.
(It was at this point that he adjusted himself in the rising water,
so the water would rinse off some of the rotten vegetables...)
His ripped blue robes fluttered in the frothy water pedestal, his shaven head gleaming slick with water in the sunlight. With each arm movement, water was cast out onto the crowd. Awed by this supernatural event, they prayed - humbled by their mistake.
Then, as if this spectacle were not enough, the preacher vanished - the geyser of water dwindling to nothing - and leaving the crowd drenched.
...................
Outside town, Sanria pulled the invisibility veils away.
"Krogenar! What's WRONG with you?!" "Are you mad?"
He could only mumble through the gag. Remembering, she removed it.
"Why did you stop me! I was really REACHING them!"
Sanria remained there with her friend, unsure of whether she Sanria remained there with her friend, unsure of whether she should
free him just yet. He seemed upset when he realized Sanria
had been the source of the "miracle." Then he brightened.
"UNLESS... Istishia sent you to me..."
Shucking off his clothing, Krogenar dove into the river. Washing and scrubbing, he luxuriated in the brisk, refreshing water. He felt a new kinship with water - a new appreciation for its ... life. It bubbled and frothed, quaked and dripped; it was the Giver of Life, and had nearly taken his.
Sanria, a short distance away, leaned with her back against a tree. The strider had just begun stripping, without any shame, or thought of decency. Blushing, the titan sorceress had turned away - trying not to notice.
She forgave him his social... ineptitude? Ignorance was more apt a word. Growing up wild, and on his own, Krogenar had had to learn to speak the human tongue as a second language. She knew he was most comfortable here, alone - well, nearly alone. And now he would rush off to spout gospel to the masses. It couldn’t end well.
The gently flowing surface of the river, exploded - Krogenar’s newly shaved head emerging. He blinked the water from his eyes.
"So you still think it was just dumb luck that you saved me?"
"They hung you at the city gate, Kro! Why do persist in this ... nonsense!"
"Because I heard her voice myself, Sanria, in the bosom of the deep..."
He paused, letting the water fall away from him... remembering.
"And what of my bosom? Priest?"
"Aye...‘tis also deep!"
Smiling, he pulled his blue, tear-drop patterned robes over his head. Rubbing his stubble, he considered her words. Her bosom was ample. Shaking his head, he remembered his sacred task. He would bring Istishia to the surface. He pulled his clothing on, checking his gear.
"What if I told you to choose between me, and Istishia? Her bosom or mine?"
"A foul choice woman! You’d ask me to choose between helping the world, and helping myself?" He regarded his sheathed swords, slung over a tree branch.
Sanria noticed, pushed further - then regretted it.
"Will you leave these weapons behind? They won’t fit with your robes."
She bit her lip - sure he’d leave them there, just to prove it to her. She was speeding up his eventual stoning.
Hesitating, Krogenar picked them up, tucked them under his arm, and started walking. Relieved that he still had an atom of intelligence left in his half-orc brain, Sanria followed alongside - determined to protect her friend.
"No need to discard them just yet, I’ll sell them in WestBridge."
"As for female bosoms, I’ll take all I can get, pink-fleshed and watery alike!"
The sharp crack of Sanria’s slap echoed.
-------
"Istishia’s Water Will Cleanse The World!"
"She Will Wash Away The Plague!" "Do You Believe? Do You?!"
A lone mime looked up at Krogenar - clapped once, thought better of it, stopped. It’s black-and-white striped arms hung limply; it fell to the street, coughing blood - too weak to even make an imaginary box.
Krogenar struggled to repress a frown, maintain his optimism.
Since returning to Westbridge, after his journey to the Great Northern Sea, he had preached to the masses of the glories of Istishia. In his mind’s eye, he could see Istishia’s Power, Her Water, surging across the planet, shielding it. What was the land anyway? Just a spot where the dirt peeked timidly above the surface of Her Waters... he grinned - inspiration struck again!
Pointing to the pulsing red glow of The Rok dramatically he cried out:
"The Cooling Waters of Istishia Will Shield Us From The Fiery Rok!"
Beaming now, he bellowed, motioning nonchalantly at The Rok.
"Yon’ Pebble Will Skip Across Her Seas, Powerless!"
"Our Flesh May Boil And Bubble, Just As You Do - Pebble!"
"But YOU CAN’T HAVE US!"
Triumphantly staring down The Rok, Krogenar was renewed.
But the Market Square was empty.
Had anyone heard his words? Had anyone been uplifted?
Would anyone come to Istishia?
"Shaddup Fool!" echoed from an alleyway, amidst giggling.
The mime quivered and shook, its Hemelia Plague boils shaking, splitting. Krogenar dropped from the edge of the fountain, pulling his tattered blue robes about him. Taking dirt from the ground, he held it in his palm, warming it. Pressing the soil to the mime’s forehead, the strider closed his wounds - like blinking eyes. They would eventually reopen - but until then the mime would live to annoy again.
Krogenar smirked.
"Am I just annoying everyone, like this mime?" he thought.
The mime scampered off, bowing silently first, but eager to leave for some reason. His head snapping upwards, Krogenar sniffed information straight from the air. A group, approaching from behind. Finally, he thought, someone who might listen...
Four Cyricists, purple and black robes rustling, walked into the Market Square, untouched by The Hemelia. Smiling cruelly, one of them raised his hands, a symbol with a skull inside a sunburst dangling from a neckchain. Muttering arcane words, the Cyricist stepped back, while his companions unsheathed their blades.
With a flash of light, a cityguard appeared, summoned to the Square.
Dazed from his summoning, the cityguard hardly had a chance to scream.
Their blades savagely cut him down in seconds, the flesh shredding, spraying outwards towards Krogenar in bloody strips.
Stepping back, Krogenar watched the eviscerated, pulped body splash down into a pool of blood, unrecognizable. Breathing heavily, he reached for his own blades, ready.
The Cyricists ignored him just until they magically vanished, smiling cruelly over their shoulders at him.
----------------------
His spirits dampened by the Church of Strife’s recent display of savagery, Krogenar spent the next few days alone, gathering his thoughts in the only place he felt truly comfortable.
Lounging out on a tree’s thick arm, he looked across the glade at his blue, priestly robes.
Hanging limply against the trunk of a tree, empty, the wind rustled the fabric, momentarily filling it. He’d preached for weeks, with no results. Healing the weak, the sick - people wanted proof - not hope.
How many insults had bounced against him, how much rotten fruit?
The robes, bedecked in teardrop shaped ornaments, colored in various blues, were stained with blood (some his own) - and not one other person had joined his crusade, no one had come to worship Istishia...
Wincing, he looked down at his freshly opened plague sores. He could have escaped this, had he left Westbridge to the plague. But Istishia, her cold arms wrapped around his drifting body, had commanded: "Heal My Water!" and then returned him to the surface of the sea, unharmed.
Sanria, his Titan friend, had mocked him - she thought he was just crazy, that his conversion was just some fleeting obsession with his watery near-death.
The half-orc’s sensitive nostrils opened slightly.
Looking straight ahead of him, he watched a pair of feminine, lavender eyes appear. Slowly, the enchantment fell away from her, revealing a lush, drow figure. Her black robes cinched to her waist with silver, Laisha regarded the strider quietly.
She looked over her shoulder at his priestly robes, back to him.
"May I speak with you, Krogenar?" Nodding, he listened carefully.
"You should join the Church of Mysteries, Krogenar."
"There is much we could accomplish together."
In his morally weakened state, Krogenar tried to maintain a calm face, though his spirit shot skyward at the thought of an ally, anyone he could trust.
Most of his associates were outright atheists, unable to conceive of anything beyond themselves - like Gods, or Magick - as he had once felt. Feeling quite the amateur, he realized he needed some guidance himself, that perhaps, he needed a mentor in his new profession.
A gust of wind lashed through the glade, making the blue robes quiver and shake in anger. Krogenar watched the robes flutter and roil violently.
"I cannot, Laisha. Though I am honored by your interest, I must serve Istishia." She pursed her lips, then smiled. "You must serve Mystra as well, then." Krogenar had never considered membership in two churches. His Brothers, Quaster, Ironhelm, and Kevin - how would they respond to this dual alliance? Something inside him changed.
"I will join you, Laisha - my mission - I believe, demands it."
"Do you seek a cure for the plague? Will we stop The Rok?"
Nodding emphatically, Laisha replied, "We will stop The Prophecy, Krogenar - it was a council of wizardry that vanquished a similar plague, so long ago - we will do so again."
"But I must remind you, Laisha, that while I serve Mystra, I will remain a worshipper of Istishia."
"I understand, and that’s acceptable." After he donned his priestly robes, Laisha whisked them both away to The Church of Mysteries, to meet the other servants of Mystra.
----------------------
The Rok passed in front of the sun, casting all of Westbridge into darkness. The merchants and common folk looked skyward; the darkness filled only by the hazy red glow of The Rok.
Krogenar saw their upturned faces, bathed in the crimson glow. In that unholy radiance, their faces looked vaguely.... reptilian? Every craggy pore, every scabbed plague sore - all perfectly illuminated. Some people dropped to their knees, arms upthrust at The Rok, as if to fend it off, or to hail its arrival.
Looking at The Rok, as though it were some rival preacher, Krogenar thundered: "Istishia’s Waters Will Quench The Rok’s Burning Fury!"
"She Will Drive the Enemies of Life Into The Oceans!"
Shaking his clenched fist at the meteor, he raged,
"The Undead Who Spread The Plague, Those Who Sow Seeds Of Strife,
"The Horrid Blasphemies That Worship The HellStone - The Watery
Vengeance of Istishia Will Drag Them All To The Deepest Trenches of The Sea!"
The strider tried pulling some people to their feet; but their legs buckled, too weak to support them. "Get up! Do not worship this pebble! Up! Up!" They only slumped to the road, exhausted.
He spoke to them again.
"It Is The Will of Istishia That We Harken To The Defenders of the Great Realms... The Church of Mysteries, The Church of Celestia and E’en Those Who Harp..." "They Search For A Cure! Lend Them Your Prayers!"
"Leave them be, Mystran - or is it Istishian?"
Turning, Krogenar stared at The Prophet; who did not look up.
He simply sat on the fountain’s edge, dealing himself some cards.
Ignoring the question, Krogenar sat beside him, peered at the spread.
The oddly-painted cards had different images on them - all but one.
Pointing to the black, blank card, The Prophet nodded.
"That’s the only one I can’t see!" he smiled toothlessly at the preacher. He explained that each card signified a special blade, "The Swords Of RagNaRok" - which, when brought into the temple in Westbridge, would create a beam of energy capable of destroying The Rok.
"The only one I can’t see... it must be hidden. Someplace men do not go, in the dark, perhaps underground." Krogenar wondered, "Could this be the answer?" He heard the swish of familiar robes. <Brother Quaster!> Turning to greet him -
"ATTENTION ALL!" Quaster glared at Krogenar. Taken aback, the strider stared at his Brother of Water. A few passersby stopped to look.
"Krogenar. You Have Joined The Church of Mysteries. Why."
Recovering from the harshness of his language, Krogenar paused.
"WHY!? - Are you not already a member of Istishia’s Church?"
"Quaster, I worship Istishia - "
"Do the Mystrans worship Istishia? They do not. Nor do you - HERETIC!"
A small flicker of anger crossed through Krogenar, "You dare to question my faith, Quaster?!" "When have I heard your voice in this square? Of all the Brothers, why is it that only I preach of Istishia?"
"When we inducted you into The Church of Istishia, Kro-"
The striders eyes flicked open wide and white.
"ISTISHIA brought me to faith, Quaster! Not you."
"I was baptized in The Great Northern Sea - by HER - not in your trickling mineral pool..." Quaster shook with rage. "You cannot serve Mystra, Krogenar - I forbid it! I am the leader of this church. You will leave their church."
Krogenar calmed himself, spoke softly, reminding himself that Quaster, though misguided, was still his Brother. "I worship Istishia, but I will serve Mystra - our paths flow together towards a great open sea, Quaster - it’s Istishia’s Will that we work with others."
Quaster shouted out to Westbridge: "Krogenar Is No Longer a Brother of Istishia! His Words Are False, Westbridge - Do Not Listen!"
Leveling his sea-green eyes at Krogenars green set, he growled:
"We are not brothers any longer, half-orc."
Turning his back to Krogenar, he left the square.
--------------------
Krogenar pulled himself deeper into the shadows of the booth. The Green Dragon was a warm, low-ceilinged tavern in The Shire. A chic urbanite asked, "Would you buy me a drink?" The strider looked up from his laced fingers, stared at her until she walked away in puzzlement.
Detecting a strange collection of sounds and smells nearby, Krogenar closed his eyes, and let his senses begin to assemble a picture.
<Salty tears...grief...a wailing woman....slow marching...a perfumed corpse..>
Walking in feigned drunkenness, the strider let himself be drawn to the sensations. Leaning in the doorway of the tavern, he watched a procession of halflings carry a small coffin down the road. A wailing mother followed the coffin, held aloft by stout, grim-faced halflings. The bartender whipped a
dishrag to his shoulder, joined the strider in the doorway.
"What a shame.... a damned shame. A good lad, he was. Nary a tadpole."
"What happened? The Plague?" "Aye... ye could say that."
Krogenar turned to the bartender, caught his eye.
"How did it happen?"
"That foolish boy entered the Shadow Grove, hoping to find some tower."
"He found death, is all - bookish young man - thought he’d find a cure there."
Krogenar said, "It was foolish for him to enter The Grove." The bartender put both fists to the counter, red-faced with anger. He paused, unable to diagree.
---------
The strider flitted between the towering gray trees of the Shadow Grove; his bare feet moving without disturbing a single gray leaf. Well acquainted with The Grove, as it was called, his expert knowledge of it only made his sense of unease greater. At home in any forest, Krogenar’s sense of being watched was very real.
While appearing to be a forest like any other, it had... disturbing qualities.
The strider’s ears could detect nothing; no birds a-twitter, no scampering animals - nothing. Only the trees themselves seemed vaguely alive. Their height was oppressive - so high that they seemed almost to curve down at him.
In the past he had braved it regularly. Gaps between the trees opened into small pocket worlds, which then opened into other worlds, with more within those. Each more bizarre than the first. Even to a strider, who enjoyed discovering new lands, thinking of so many nested worlds made his skin crawl.
A high pitched keening made him crouch defensively. From the shadows, a ghostly pale form, green-grey eyes burning with hate, launching itself at Krogenar. With no hesitation, the strider pierced the shadowy guardian with his blade, the form growing paler, then vanishing into the silent trees.
Finally, after much searching, he found the Tower. Peering from the side of a tree, he put away his blue Istishian robes, and wore his characteristic grey robes.
A stone statue turned its head, but Krogenar was already inside the tower itself.
-----------
Moving in the shadows, Krogenar was unsure if the mages and sorcerers of the tower could not see him, or if they did not consider his presence worth noticing.
From his sessions with Laisha, he knew that the current plague had been cured before, by a council of wizardry. In their isolation, the wizards of this tower had not been touched by the plague - but some knowledge of the cure might still be hidden away within.
Looking down at a sleeping librarian, he stalked through the vast library, searching the stacks for clues. Finally, he detected a draft, a secret door of some kind. Sliding his hands across the wall that hid something, he sniffed at the edges of the door. Smelling ancient dust, mildew and - the sharp stink of an animal - a large animal - he realized wizardry was involved. A loud snort could be heard through the thick stone wall, a hoof stamped down menacingly.
Hurrying back to The Church of Mysteries, he needed to report this.