Official Discussion Forum for the works of Stephen R. Donaldson
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You are NOTHING!Dorian wrote:Im gonna try my damdest to talk someone into it, just to make me your favorite watcher creator
Both my and Zephyr's moms taught us that, if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.Stonemaybe wrote:Oh, I don't know. I get the feeling that Nor's seen the futility of his ways, and is just crying out for a tree-hugger to convert him to the path of righteousness and benevolence!
Where are you Zephyr?
Maybe you're right. Well, let's see what goes onMurrin wrote:This one had months of build up before the game actually started, though.
You're setting yourself up, aren't you?Loremaster wrote:Nor Yekith has seen the cost of the second age, and it's doing something to him that will make him more dangerous.
Good to have you back...no doubt things will be even more interesting.
Damn. You wily bastard.Nor Yekith wrote: From the floating heart, a contemptuous, smooth voice issued. "Had I known what Lord Adamorn's face looked like, I would have adjusted the bone structure, flesh and fat. Although I am sure that the likeness is close. The warrior fought on to the end, valiantly and vainly - no doubt how Adamorn would have. Throw the body into the flesh rivers. Bring me the next to die."
Damn. That is good. I love this game.The stories say that they come for you in the night. That you go to sleep in your hut with your comrades, and that you awaken blind and suffocating in the dark, surrounded by the warrior-fanatics of uKulwa. That strange herbs burn, bringing you visions, and that you will become drunk on the blood of the enemies of God.
The Igazi Isiphuzi, the Blood Drunkards…fanatics who kill or die with equal fervour, determined to serve God in this world and the next. They say that if you have family, you must kill them in initiation…that you may have no family but God and the King. They say that you are forced to eat the living eyes of a prisoner, sucked from his screaming skull, they say…they say many things. But nobody knows…For the Igazi Isiphuzi, there is only service or death.
The Prophet-King may unleash them…but none save God may reign them in. Their war-cry is that of the King: Si-gi-di! One Thousand! For every man is the equal of a regiment on the battlefield.
Of themselves, they say only: “Judge us not by our numbers, but by the numbers of the dead we leave behind us.”
They are the dreaded. The elite. The men with no ties. With no goals. With no ambition.
Except to wash their spears in the blood of the enemies of God.
-–Fireside Tales
Contest entry going up...