The Dark Elves are nefarious creatures. Constantly plotting to defile Misty Thicket at the whim of their master, Innoruuk.
Lanys T'Vyl was a dark elf, but more than that. A living embodiment of Innoruuk on Antonica. She was not the only such paragon, though. In every land an Avatar of Hate walks.
There was also an embodiment of hate upon Kunark. Unusually for his type, normally concerned with the intricacies of Fear, this specimen was an Iksar of hate.
Venril Sathir was it's name.
Just as Venril Sathir was an Avatar, so was Jimjam. Well, so he claimed. The mighty Leatherfoot Raider was renowned for his claim to being the living avatar of Rolfron Zek, the dog of war. It is true Jimjam had a ravenous appetite, almost lupine in nature, and was Rivervale's consecutive competitive hotdog eater champion for many years.
Many are familiar with Jimjam's work with the peaceful giants of Kael, keeping Rivervale safe from dragons. Two of Jimjam's allies in clearing the dragons of the Western Wastes were on a quest of their own; an insidious corruption had spread over Norrath tainting Tunare's Children. It had to be stopped before Mangler the guard dog got too dangerous!
So, Jimjam sought to parley with his contemporary. Venril Sathir. Who had been dead for centuries. No problem!
The adventurers tracked down the remains of this long dead lizard to a certain 'Karnor's Castle'. While no cleric, Jimjam was not entirely closed to the abyss between life and death. As an avatar of Zek he had sent many across this divide, though admittedly it had always been in one particular and grisly direction. To death.
Taking the severed paw of an unfortunate splitpaw gnoll Jimjam squatted above the dusty old bones of the long dead reptile. With righteous fury he swung the rotten paw at the atrophied corpse, "Wake up you bastard! You good for nothing Iksar! By the power of Zek and Innoruuk you will return to the mortal plane!". Jimjam's companions looked at him confused.
As he beat away, suddenly the paw began to spark light. Fireflies danced around the old Iksar bones. Slowly the bones drew in these fires of life, and soon the dusty pile was an ethereal iksar. There stood the Spirit of Venril Sathir!
"Impressive conjuration, Zekling!" muttered Venril's ghost, "I sense you do not wake me out of charity. Tell me, what do you seek?"
"My colleagues seek to find the conduit of power that has corrupted the creatures of the land".
"So mortals, you seek to end the tainting of Tunare's children? So be it, I have no cares. My death has been caused by this foolishness and I want no more to do with it. Bring me a scroll with the knowledge of resurrection so that I may once again live. I will hand you that which you seek."
As a responsible warrior Jimjam always kept such a scroll to hand. This deal had been easier than he expected... He passed the scroll to the Iksar Ghost, which began to laugh hysterically,
"I am alive! My thanks to you. And now I will aid you in your quest for preserving the forests of Norrath. Your carcass will help nurture the soils of the wilderness!"
Venril had used Jimjam and his friends to be resurrected and now was going to feed them to the animals they quested to protect! A trick worthy of even Bristlebane himself!
There was one flaw in his plan: Halfling intelligence. Quite cunningly Jimjam had secured access to the legendary 'Phone of Bats' and already dozens of elves cordoned off the area. Venril Sathir channelled his hatred, but the elven runes inscribed on Jimjam's skin glimmered like the crystal waters of the Rivervale fishing hole, entirely unharmed and stoic as a Rivervale Trout.
Channelling the spirits of his home town, Jimjam riposted with the fury of little Chomper, striking Venril across the head thrice with his Midnight Mallet and putting the befuddled Iksar into a walking sleep.
In seconds the elf army devoured Venril Sathir like a swarm of Large Piranha, each elf taking a scale from the iksar as a memento. Jimjam and his two dragon slaying companions did not take such meaningless keepsakes. Instead the grizzled warrior wolfed a breaded sausage and presented a fist to each of his dragon slayers.
Opening his hands, in each palm lay a pulsing green stone. Exactly the conduits of power his comrades had been seeking. The natural order would be restored, and with that perhaps the dragon threat and dark elf malice could be kept at bay.
[You must be logged in to view images. Log in or Register.]