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Please, dear reader, I implore you to place any scoffing notion aside for the time being as I tell yet another astounding account of mine.
This latest venture has given me a bizarre revelation: I now know it is impossible to understand the whims of daemons.
When it came to us out of the dark, the giant creature of terrifying guise called itself Mora'rodahr after greeting us cordially, and for seemingly no reason at all it decided to help us in those Glorastren ruins. I fear to recall my memory to describe it, so I will keep its appearance simple. The otherworldly daemon was hulking and draconic in visage, and clad in the most twistedly ornate armor as if prepared for the hellish battlefield. It gave off a warm stench of oddly sweet smoke, and its unnatural voice commanded immediate attention. And fear. That, and the mighty black blade it wielded.
Ulrican, being a most stalwart and pure servant of divine Enorim, was most struck with a feeling of mistrust within our party and very nearly mutinied. I do not blame him, for my eyes began to wander in suspicion from one person to the next. Someone probably had some sort of bond with the daemon, as unlikely as it seemed. Perhaps Oracanus was responsible as he enjoyed his pursuit in dabbling in the arcane invisible. Regardless of who was responsible for attracting this powerful daemon, none of us could say no to that monster's accompaniment. How could any of us dare to spur its wrath?
Perhaps the gods or the daemon had a twisted sense of humor with this unbelievable alliance. The shades of nightmares and dark-beasts that attacked us in the ruins (which Oracanus referred to as "arcane thought forms," as strange as it sounds, but I am assured it is a secular term) were immune to many of our weapons, but the daemon's vicious blade cleaved through any enemy we found with ease. My indelible cunning also contributed to our survival, but I must pragmatically admit that the mysterious monster also saved our lives. Later we discovered the source of the infestation of darkness within the ruins: a coven of Detharian cultists.
I suspect the cultists had perhaps angered the daemon in some way, or the creature had an ulterior motive. Needless to say, those evil men were killed to the last, and the runic sigils of those ancient ruins were open for Oracanus to study. The rest of the men and I were content with splitting the treasure we had longed to find. I for one confirmed the researched account that the diminutive yet auspicious Glorastren Focus Stone was among the treasures, and the keen intellect of my preplanning assured that it came into my possession alone. Everyone else (except for Oracanus I believe, who thankfully had a propensity to riches as much as his boresome personality) were entirely unaware of its true value.
The daemon, meanwhile, simply departed by vanishing. Its smile and the gaze of its red eyes were most unsettling. To this day I do not know whether our meeting with the daemon was accidental or caused by a member of our party.
Right after we received our commission pay for the work from the museum, Ulrican went his own way with nary a word, and I decided to go on my own, too. This was for the best as I will explain. Oracanus was later found dead (a dagger in his back, his killer supposedly never found), and I still have yet to run into any of those whom I had called comrade. Over the years I have renewed relationships with those I had shared many enterprises with, usually with encounters at the merchanting guilds. The fact that I still have yet to see my fellow Glorastren explorers brings wonder to their fate.
Out of careful and secretive study from irresistible curiosity I learned about Mora'rodahr and its ability to corrupt mortal souls by its mere presence. This made me further ponder how we emerged unscathed from its company, assuming the foreboding coincidences in the aftermath are unrelated. I suppose part of it is my knack for knowing when to stay out of trouble. I kept my contact with the creature to the absolute minimum despite its eerie politeness. And we were also [scratched out and illegible] ...
No, I must speak the truth and apologize for the error I have just made. I believe I myself did not leave unscathed, at least not entirely.
There is something I must tell that has happened ever since Mora'rodahr left. Some nights I feel a strange warmth at the back of my mind, and a feeling of someone watching me. Each time I turn to look no one is there. The sensation is [scratched out and illegible] ...forbidden pleasure of some kind? Why would it be, and what is its meaning? The sensation has become more frequent, I'm afraid. Lately I have been unable to sleep.
Perhaps that thing is watching me from afar. Or worse, Enorim help me, it has been paying me a visit.
I must implore the skeptical reader that my conviction remains pure and my faculties remain true; albeit with my typical daring wanderlust and the insatiable desire to discover the rare and the unique. But this event alone has given me the decision to disseminate this journal and its heroic tales only after I am gone, for I am certain the truth of these matters can only tarnish my illustrious reputation in the eyes of those with saintly hearts.
I shall endeavor to discover a remedy for the phenomena that afflicts me on the morrow.
-From The Most Remarkable and Astonishing Journal of the Gallant Matthias Greenwood: Dashing Adventurer and Treasure Hunter Extraordinaire, final entry before unexplained disappearance
Commissioned piece created by the oh-so-talented and amazing fantasy costume designer
damie_m . :)
This is the costumed version of this previously posted Mora piece.
I had asked Damien to have Mora wield a totally wicked sword, a book of dark magic, and have some wickedly cool armor equipped. He definitely did an awesome job as you can see!
(UPDATE: I'm giving Mora pointed ears, so I changed the image to reflect this thanks to damie_m's adjustment.)
This latest venture has given me a bizarre revelation: I now know it is impossible to understand the whims of daemons.
When it came to us out of the dark, the giant creature of terrifying guise called itself Mora'rodahr after greeting us cordially, and for seemingly no reason at all it decided to help us in those Glorastren ruins. I fear to recall my memory to describe it, so I will keep its appearance simple. The otherworldly daemon was hulking and draconic in visage, and clad in the most twistedly ornate armor as if prepared for the hellish battlefield. It gave off a warm stench of oddly sweet smoke, and its unnatural voice commanded immediate attention. And fear. That, and the mighty black blade it wielded.
Ulrican, being a most stalwart and pure servant of divine Enorim, was most struck with a feeling of mistrust within our party and very nearly mutinied. I do not blame him, for my eyes began to wander in suspicion from one person to the next. Someone probably had some sort of bond with the daemon, as unlikely as it seemed. Perhaps Oracanus was responsible as he enjoyed his pursuit in dabbling in the arcane invisible. Regardless of who was responsible for attracting this powerful daemon, none of us could say no to that monster's accompaniment. How could any of us dare to spur its wrath?
Perhaps the gods or the daemon had a twisted sense of humor with this unbelievable alliance. The shades of nightmares and dark-beasts that attacked us in the ruins (which Oracanus referred to as "arcane thought forms," as strange as it sounds, but I am assured it is a secular term) were immune to many of our weapons, but the daemon's vicious blade cleaved through any enemy we found with ease. My indelible cunning also contributed to our survival, but I must pragmatically admit that the mysterious monster also saved our lives. Later we discovered the source of the infestation of darkness within the ruins: a coven of Detharian cultists.
I suspect the cultists had perhaps angered the daemon in some way, or the creature had an ulterior motive. Needless to say, those evil men were killed to the last, and the runic sigils of those ancient ruins were open for Oracanus to study. The rest of the men and I were content with splitting the treasure we had longed to find. I for one confirmed the researched account that the diminutive yet auspicious Glorastren Focus Stone was among the treasures, and the keen intellect of my preplanning assured that it came into my possession alone. Everyone else (except for Oracanus I believe, who thankfully had a propensity to riches as much as his boresome personality) were entirely unaware of its true value.
The daemon, meanwhile, simply departed by vanishing. Its smile and the gaze of its red eyes were most unsettling. To this day I do not know whether our meeting with the daemon was accidental or caused by a member of our party.
Right after we received our commission pay for the work from the museum, Ulrican went his own way with nary a word, and I decided to go on my own, too. This was for the best as I will explain. Oracanus was later found dead (a dagger in his back, his killer supposedly never found), and I still have yet to run into any of those whom I had called comrade. Over the years I have renewed relationships with those I had shared many enterprises with, usually with encounters at the merchanting guilds. The fact that I still have yet to see my fellow Glorastren explorers brings wonder to their fate.
Out of careful and secretive study from irresistible curiosity I learned about Mora'rodahr and its ability to corrupt mortal souls by its mere presence. This made me further ponder how we emerged unscathed from its company, assuming the foreboding coincidences in the aftermath are unrelated. I suppose part of it is my knack for knowing when to stay out of trouble. I kept my contact with the creature to the absolute minimum despite its eerie politeness. And we were also [scratched out and illegible] ...
No, I must speak the truth and apologize for the error I have just made. I believe I myself did not leave unscathed, at least not entirely.
There is something I must tell that has happened ever since Mora'rodahr left. Some nights I feel a strange warmth at the back of my mind, and a feeling of someone watching me. Each time I turn to look no one is there. The sensation is [scratched out and illegible] ...forbidden pleasure of some kind? Why would it be, and what is its meaning? The sensation has become more frequent, I'm afraid. Lately I have been unable to sleep.
Perhaps that thing is watching me from afar. Or worse, Enorim help me, it has been paying me a visit.
I must implore the skeptical reader that my conviction remains pure and my faculties remain true; albeit with my typical daring wanderlust and the insatiable desire to discover the rare and the unique. But this event alone has given me the decision to disseminate this journal and its heroic tales only after I am gone, for I am certain the truth of these matters can only tarnish my illustrious reputation in the eyes of those with saintly hearts.
I shall endeavor to discover a remedy for the phenomena that afflicts me on the morrow.
-From The Most Remarkable and Astonishing Journal of the Gallant Matthias Greenwood: Dashing Adventurer and Treasure Hunter Extraordinaire, final entry before unexplained disappearance
Commissioned piece created by the oh-so-talented and amazing fantasy costume designer
damie_m . :)This is the costumed version of this previously posted Mora piece.
I had asked Damien to have Mora wield a totally wicked sword, a book of dark magic, and have some wickedly cool armor equipped. He definitely did an awesome job as you can see!
(UPDATE: I'm giving Mora pointed ears, so I changed the image to reflect this thanks to
damie_m's adjustment.)
Category Artwork (Digital) / Fanart
Species Daemon
Size 1387 x 1600px
File Size 1.73 MB
Listed in Folders
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