TheLastOne95

Beyond the Frozen ranges and through the Twin peaks of cruelty, the world of men ends. And this is where the Lord of destitute hibernate. His army of monsters, the destitute, consist of orcs, ogres, goblins and whatever cruel creature one could conjure. They come to the land of men, plunder, murder and take their women as playthings. They take their blood and feed it their lord – feeding him strength.

On another part of Deimo, closer to the borders of Deino, lives a boy. He is not like the others around him, for his hair is blonde and his skin is pale. What's more, his father's hair is red and his mother's blue. His name – Osmond Ward.
He didn't know nothing of the world, for he was merely seven. He didn't know he had the blood of the spirit of fire and water running through him. He didn't know that his family was banished, for his parents belonged to different castes; they followed different gods, and gods are selfish in their followers.

But when the monsters came to his village, and when they killed his mother, he couldn't nothing but watch. His father died on that day, trying to help him escape. 

When he was taken in by his uncle, he had only thing in his mind; revenge. But for that, he need to see the world and learn. A world of Divine artifacts and chants. A world of elemental spirits and strange energies. A world of elves, the followers of light; dwarves, the followers of metal and rock; lizard men, the follower of sands, and demi-humans, the followers of lightning. A land of beasts and monsters.

The land of Graeae, a land of beauty and nightmares.

Additional tags: 
#dark #grimdark #darkfantasy #revenge #elves #dwarves #asofai #tolkien #gore #adult

Graeae: 
Land of beauty and nightmares

"Aye, do you think the one back in the cart is worth the price? Can't we just get some more of them brown-skinned?" he asked, his front teeth broken and brown.


"You idiot," the other smacked his head. The black lump on his cheek bobbed as he spoke. "He is a dwarf – not unlike those bony slaves at the fields. He is special."


"I see nothing special. Just a short freak with a weird beard," he scrubbed his beard; thick, black and uneven.


"Don't be so proud of your beard. From the looks of rings in his, he should be rather mighty with an axe."


"I would rather put a chain around his wrists," he glanced back.


Behind the cart, Nibur squirmed in tied ropes. "Damn it, I shouldn't have drank that stuff," Dalyor's face came to his mind, "I hate that guy being right."


He had tried to chant, but the metal contraption around his neck tightened and, the black jewel on it glowed every time he tried. "it's as if this thing is sucking out my Rak."


The price of pride