A Paths Story
OK so basically I'm playing a berzerker/liche in this mod which I just found (and is great so far btw!), and mainly for myself (to increase my writing skills and also my english ) I'm going to be posting my progress. I'm running it on xmax because I love lots of monsters!
I'm going to be writing it in the narrative first person (i think that's how you say it) and I'm still not sure how that's going to work, what with titan quests story being strange to say the least, but, well, you'll see soon enough.
I don't have time to write an update tonight, but I'm just starting this now to see if it generates any interest. Even if I have no replies by tommorrow I'll probably just write it anyway (like I said its mainly for myself)
P.S please do leave a comment if you are interested so I know!
I'll stay a while and listen.
I forgot that I have rugby training tonight, so the update will probably be ~9 probably later. It's nice to see that some one is having a look, and maybe more will come when they see what this is all about?
I'll probably also be asking about my build too so any advice on that front will be appreciated when the time comes
Update no. 1: Titan Quest: Humble Beginnings
For Jaro, the slow, steady canoe down the river, was a time of solitude and regret. Lost in his memories, his thoughts were of his tribe, and of all that he had left behind. His feelings were mixed, and often conflicting and confusing, towards the ancient shaman, Katan, who had raised him from a babe. Until a week ago he had loved him as a father, as a mentor and as a friend. The wizened old man's face was criss-crossed with scars, and tribal legends said he had lived for over two hundred years, a rumour which Katan himself had never denied. Katan was his life, for it was he who had saved him from the demons who had slain his mother and father when he was but a babe. But then everything had changed.
One day without warning, Katan had come to Jaro, and took him away into the snowy foothills. Up a winding path they strode, into the the great Mountains of the Moon. Jaro followed without question, his loyalty and his trusting to his clans shaman never in doubt. Then finally Katan stopped and bade Jaro turn around. Laid out before him were the Steppes, those that had given life to his people for centuries. Jaro gasped at the savage splendour, and the cold that bit his flesh was forgotten in that wonderful moment. Katan closed his for minutes, as Jaro drank in the view, his eyes wide. Finally Jaro turned and looked at Katan.
"Why have you taken me here, at this time?" queried Jaro his eyes burrowing into the shamans. Despite his age, the shamans voice was not raspy or weak, but deep and melodic, like rolling clouds. Katan smiled,
"Intuitive as ever. You have been my finest pupil. We have shared good times, and I do not believe there is a man on this earth to match you, with blade or with mind. Your destiny should be here with your tribe and I am truly sorry to cut it short. I brought you here, because you will be returning to the North, or to this tribe." Katan paused and looked up into the violet eyes and felt fear. For beneath the pupils of Jaro, Katan could see the swirling chaos of madness, like a vortex. Katan knew, as well as he knew the sky was blue, that Jaro would never harm him, for the powerful young mans devotion to his shaman was legendary as was his self control, anywhere off the battlefield. But still the fear was there, for it was a primal fear, a fear man had known since the beginning of time, at that was the fear of the predator. All his life the shaman had been a predator but in this equation he was merely meat. Katan had seen that look before but it had never been directed against him before. He shifted nervously from foot to foot.
"You wish to send me South, to Helos." And now Jaro's voice was not the voice of a youth, but it was hard and strong and tinted with malice. Katan blinked in disbelief. How could he have known? He had told no-one...
"You wish to send me from my wife and son, from tribe, the only people I have ever known. You know I will do as you ask shaman. But first tell me why."
And so Katan had told him, explaining about the visions and the dreams. And now Jaro was in the final stage of his journey South, sad and alone. The temperature here was warmer than in his homeland in the North, and land was green and fertile compared to the barren Steppes he had grown on, hunting for food and pillaging other tribes for glory. Looking about him, Jaro saw simple thatched houses on his left, and drawing the canoe up to the edge of the village, Jaro leapt lightly on to the soft road. Standing perfectly still, Jaro strained his sense, closing his eyes and letting his mind go. A couple of hundred meters ahead of him, Jaro heard a man shouting, faintly enough to be dismissed as the wind. Taking a deep breath and drawing his bronze hunting knife, Jaro ran swiftly along the road towards the noise. His feet making the slightest of sounds as he ran.
Suddenly turning a corner, Jaro was presented with a strange scene. A young man, no more than seventeen, who had clearly been the source of the shouting, stood by helplessly his mouth open but issuing no sounds. Before him, a horse was locked inside a grazing field, desperately trying to shake off four opponents, rearing and kicking, running and snapping. Jaro's natural warriors eye studied the creatures that were attacking it, without pausing in his run; three appeared to be strange mixes between man and goat with elongated feral features and horns with cloven feet, but standing on their hind legs with simple weaponry grasped in their hands. The fourth appeared to be a boar, but what it was doing in the village was a mystery to Jaro that would have to be solved later.
Running straight passed the stricken man, Jaro vaulted the gate and reversed his blade, the first of the satyrs turned towards him, but it was slow and clumsy, and its old rusted weapon moved to block far too slowly. Jaro's knife plunged down into its throat and it gave a bestial squeal, together with a far to human cry. Hurling the corpse from him, Jaro sweapt up the beast's axe and turned on the remaining three creatures, now wielding a weapon in each hand. The two humanoid monsters glanced at each other in a moment of indecision. At that very moment Jaro bellowed the war cry of his clans and charged;
"Blood for the Blood god!" He screamed and leapt with uncontrolled rage at the two monsters who in their panic tried to back away from him. The first fell with its jugular cut, blood spewing from the vein, the second with an axe embedded in its head.
Now the boar chose to strike, leaping at him from his right, straight into his thundering left fist which snapped a tusk and sent it sprawling to the ground. Instantly Jaro was on it, opening a artery in its leg and walking away without a backward glance, stopping only to pull the axe from the creatures head. Walking over to the horse, which was jet black and standing at near seventeen hands, he slowly stroked its long mane, before walking over to the man who stared at him in awe.
"What were they?" Asked Jaro.
"Satyrs," the man answered "our whole village is beset by them. Where did you come from, warrior?"
"The North." Jaro answered "The village is just along this road?" the man nodded and Jaro swung away.
"Wait - warrior - before you enter Helos you might first consider wiping away the blood splattered on your facce, else the men think you are a demon from hell."
"Perhaps I am." and for a moment only, as the man looked deep into his dark violet eyes, he believed him. But then Jaro grinned and the moment passed...
P.S I have not proof read this so please be kind on my punctuation, grammar, spelling and so on. Also constructive criticism and other comments are more than welcome!
I'll definitely be getting another update out this weekend at least, depending on when I get the time
Update No. 2
Aaaaaaagh sorry for no update...
Jaro was given a warm welcome by the captain of the guard, a friendly faced man, who looked more like a farmer than a soldier. Jaro quickly learned of the plight of the village from the village elder who finished by describing the leader of the monster's forces.
"The beast has eyes as black as coals, and stands at least twice the height of the average satyr. When the beasts first came I devised a plan to be rid of them. The young militiamen of our village formed a wedge and cut through the monsters until we hit the leader. We believed that if we slew him, the monsters would disband. But as we neared him he suddenly held up his staff and his eyes glowed red, and then a ball of fire shot towards our ragtag group and incinerated Toran instantly. They fled for their lives, and since then no-one has dared to approach him. He sits towards the back of the army and waits. I don't understand why, as I'm sure he could take us down if he wanted to. Our force goes smaller every day whereas his only seems to get larger. Indeed our situation seems hopeless."
Jaro listened patiently offering neither encouragement nor input, his dark violet eyes fixed on a point on the wall. The Elder fell silent and looked expectantly at Jaro, the young barbarian from the North. Timaeus had described the way he fought and it had unnerved Timaeus and now it unnerved Diomedes. He was young and slim, with wide shoulders and thickly muscled arms, and he still carried the rusty axe and hunting knife in his hands unsheathed, as if he was expecting an attack, or worse about to explode into a berserker rage. Timaeus had said that when he had killed the satyrs, there had seemed nothing human about him at all, as if he had become a beast too.
Finally Jaro looked Diomedes in the eyes, and the glare was cold, unfeeling.
"Do you still believe that killing the Satyr will stop the monsters?" Diomedes shrugged.
"I do believe it, however you might be a skilled fighter, but I think even you will find your match in this magical creature." Diomedes instantly regretted saying it however as he expected the Northener to grow angry. But his expression remained the same. And he simply nodded and stood.
"I need weapons."
An hour later, with a simple ash bow slung on his back, a quiver of twenty arrows and two small axes in either hand, Jaro crossed the bridge towards the last known sighting of the leader. The monsters were camped out around large fires in the fields, and hadn't set any sentries. It was a straightforward job simply to stick to the shadows and sneak past. As he passed Jaro made quick estimates of the number of creatures at each fire, and, as he reached the end of the fields, counted at least a hundred. Jaro had to quickly rethink his plan. He would have to take out the magical Satyr silently. He couldn't fight his wawy through over a hundred armed monsters, no matter how sluggish and unskilled they were.
Jaro drew his bow and notched an arrow to the string. Past the field was a narrow pass guarded by two Satyrs. Without a doubt this had to be where the leader was. Jaro almost laughed at the poor planning of the defense. If the leader hadn't set the guards Jaro would never have known he was there. Equally the guards were facing away from each other, meaning if Jaro could take one out silently, the other would never even know he was down, before he was already slain.
Within a matter of moments both were dead, arrows embedded in their throats.
Sneaking past, Jaro entered a large clearing, in which another, larger fire was set. Jaro cursed, as he could see that the Satyr leader was not alone, but surrounded by a mob of creatures with their weapons at their sides. As Diomedes had promised, he carried an old wooden staff and but was more like a head taller than the other Satyrs.
So much for silent and sneaky thought Jaro, and grinned. They never had been his strong points anyway!
Manoeuvring himself until he was directly behind the leader, Jaro replaced his bow with his axes. The leader appeared to be in the middle of some kind of speech or story, and he spoke in harsh guttural tones. When he appeared to reach the climax of his story he rose his arms dramatically up into the air, and it was then that Jaro decided to strike leaping forward and bringing his axes together on the creatures neck severing the straight through the bone and decapitating him cleanly. The head toppled to one side and rolled along the ground to lie a few feet away from the body. The Satyrs expressions were of horror and disbelief when Jaro screamed his battle cry.
"Blood for the blood god!" Charging into the middle of them the first three Satyrs died without even rasing their weapons, one of them falling with an axe still buried in his skull. A fourth Satyr leapt forwards with his spear raised but died as Jaro's axe smashed his shield to shards, clove through his arm and entered his belly, throwing him backwards. But once again Jaro found himself disarmed and cursed the shoddy nature of the villages weapons, wishing Katan had allowed him to take his Grandfather's butterfly bladed axe with him. What did it matter if it was a clan treasure???
Whipping out his bow, Jaro slashed down the first attacker, shattering the weak wood, leaving him with only a broken stick to fight with. The Satyrs around him grinned and Jaro spat at the ground before them. They closed in and once again Jaro screamed his defiance and charged, but the gesture was futile and he found himself pushed to the ground with a hundred wounds covering his body and blood leaking from every cut until he was crimson all over.
Jaro found himself thinking back to his past most particularly his time with Katan. Jaro was not a man taken to losing anything and the memories he picked were of things that could help him in this dire situation. Five years ago Katan had begun to teach the shaman craft to Jaro. He spoke of the elements, of the Gods, of Poseidon god of sea, of Khloros god of plague and Thanatos, God of Death. Only the latter had peeked Jaro's interests and Katan had chuckled at this.
"When I was a boy of about your age, mighty Thanatos had appealed to me too. After all, what is their to master in life but death?"
However after spending five years practicing incantations and spells, Jaro had been unable even to learn a card trick let alone the mighty spells of death and the Liches.
"Some people have it in them, some don't. Unfortunately as talented as you are young Jaro, the life of a shaman is a closed door to you." Back then it had not phased the young man. Why kill with a spell when you can kill with an axe? But Jaro recalled one particular rite Katan had mentioned.
"The black hand allows a mage to literally steal the life out of another. If perfected, one could recover from the brink of death using this rite. However of course this would reverse the positions. Whatever disease or wounds had taken you to this point of desperation would become their disease or wounds. It would take a soulless man to do such a thing. Theoretically a man could survive for hundreds of years longer than when he should have died using this technique." Katan had smiled ruefally.
"My old teacher had denied to teach me the rite of the black hand. But then he was a man who could look into your soul. I imagine that when he looked into mine he saw only darkness." Katan's eyes glazed over, and Jaro guessed he was submerged in thoughts of his past.
"He looked so surprised when I sucked the life out of him, the senile old bastard. There wasn't much left in him anyway."
When Jaro opened his eyes the Satyrs were still all around him, cutting into his flesh. Apparently not much time had passed. He used the last of his strength to reach up and grab hold of the nearest satyr. A narrow red line slowly formed down the chest of the creature, and it appeared to freeze still, its eyes wide with horror. More and more wounds cuts and bruises appeared on its body, forming criss crossing patterns of red lines. The Satyrs nearest to him renewed their attack with increased frenzy, and finally a sword blade plunged down through Jaro's neck, in an attempt to decapitate him. But the neck instantly resealed itself and the head of the Satyr who Jaro still grimly held onto fell to the ground. The remaining Satyrs backed away with weapons raised, eyes fearful, nervously glancing around.
Surgind to his feet Jaro let out a long laugh, fell and terrible. He was covered in his own blood still and his hand was still firmly clutching the dead Satyr whose body began to shrivel and recede, the eyes rotting in their sockets, the skin dispersing until only bone and tattered old clothes remained. Finally Jaro released it and looked about, grinning wildly. Instantly the creatures fled, but Jaro chased one down, using his seemingly infinite supply of new energy. Jumping to it's back he bore it down and it squealed in terror, as once more Jaro proceeded to suck the life right out of it.
Leaving the empty husk behind him. Jaro stood and slowly walked back to the village. The remaining creatures had either fled or were in hiding, watching him, and ready to run at any minute. It began to rain heavily, washing the blood off of him.
As he crossed the bridge Jaro noted with pleasure, the fear in the gazes of the guards. One of them even began to tremble as he passed. His clothes were a mess covered in slashed and cuts, with no wounds beneath, and he was completely unarmed.
moving further into the village, Jaro could see women and children looking at him through windows, the same fearful expressions on their faces, but Jaro felt the pleasure lessening, as his new found energy lessened. What had it done to him? When Jaro approached Diomedes the man looked terrified.
"Just leave demon! We don't want anything to do with you!" Jaro sighed.
"I need payment. Whatever you can give me." Diomedes nodded and held out a bag of gold. Jaro felt it was meagre for the work he had done, but felt tired of the hostile and frightened stares of the villagers and simply accepted, departing Helos as quickly as possible, stopping only to buy supplies for the long journey ahead. Katan had told him to seek out the Spartan army. And that's what he was going to do.
(Hope you enjoyed it )
Excellent writing, and I'm flattered!