He Whom is Ogma
The wind swept the bare decks of the Scuabtuinne as it cut through the waves. The docks of Davenport were within his sight, though see him they could not. All was a normal day, as he sailed past, watching the merchant vessels from the world around, taking particular note of those longer sleeker hulls used by the Pillowlandians due to their sheer distance.
Nonetheless, he waved his hand and the boat shifted under him. There upon the docks lay a single ship at anchor. Built of wood native to the island and rough in all regards, it was a ship of war. And it was beginning to draw more influence from those of Pillowlandian design, a common theme these days. As his own boat drew up alongside the ship Ogma held up a closed fist, and the boat stopped on the spot.
Ogma took several steps towards the center, where the mast should have been, and simply jumped unto the deck of the larger vessel. At this point he went from hidden from sight to a heavily armed and armored man in the middle of a mercenary craft. Trained as they were their surprise lasted only as long as it took Ogma to draw Fragarach, his own sword. Then in a clash of steel and sparks, their swords were steel at any rate, against his own midnight black chestplate they struck fruitlessly.
“Gentlemen, I believe it is my turn now. Do you not agree?”, he spoke flawlessly in the tongue of these barbarians. Flicking his wrist upward, and his sword following closely behind. Cutting and slicing. It left a trail of blood upon the deck, a single cut going through man and armor alike. Like a sea, he parted the company of mercenaries. Cast aside in blood and steel he made his way to the rear, where the leaders of this expedition resided.
Here he ceased his maelstrom, their leader and his second standing before him. Both undoubtedly terrified at the trail behind them, involuntary tears leaving a trail upon their face from the carnage. “Now I suppose you shall answer me this, Who employed you to seek me and my kind? Answer truthfully now, we don’t enjoy liars.”
“The Earl of the Harbor,he is the one who hir-”, the words of the second cut off suddenly. Fragarach, bloodless despite its many kills, began to drip blood as it ran down its blade. The former second collapsed, a torrent of blood spilling from his now gaping neck wound. All the while Fragarach glowed, thirsting for further lies and blood.
“Now, I said we don’t enjoy liars. Share the truth and your life will be sparred. Your honor has no stain this day, for trying to repel me is suicide. Do you wish your soul to join your brethren in the blade?”
“Careocyn! Careocyn! He’s the one who hired us! Funded this trip to hunt a divine!” The illumination of Fragarach, the man had told the truth.
Ogma grasped the man and pulled him upwards off of the deck, carrying him out of the confined cabin and towards the bloodstained gangway. “Tell your king. Tell Careocyn, Heir to Isildur, King of Roharnor, Flame of the West, The Giant's bane, Elf-friend, and Breaker of Chains. Tell him that his hunts have not gone unnoticed. Tell him that his efforts are futile. Tell him that his motives are corrupt. Tell him that his reign shall end premature if he continues upon his fool's errand. Tell him that the Tuatha Dé know of him. Tell him that we come for him. Tell him that we come for his blade.”
With that he threw the man overboard, him landing with an audible crunch upon the wharf as the now assembled crowd looked onwards in horror. City watch could be seen in the distance, fighting through the crowd on the edge of panic as they saw this… blood and gore soaked… thing.
“Let this be a warning to all Heretics. Those who wish to hunt Gods end up dead.”
A cry of “demon” went up from someone amongst the crowd and the crowd began to frenzy. Like a flame lit beneath their feet, they pushed towards the shore, running over themselves and countryman alike. With the crowd in terror Ogma turned, and reboarded his own craft. Commanding it away it sliced through the water, away from the bloodbath of the ship. A ship which now illuminated the world around it with fierce flame.
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The moon had already risen by his arrival in Moscou, it had taken him an hour longer than he wanted to deal with those barbarians in Roharnor. Now the moon was fully in the sky…though the full moon bathed pleasant rays upon himself.
It was a calm monastery which the boat came to a gentle stop upon. As he disembarked the Scuabtuinne he held his arm out, and it shrunk as it flew out of the water into his palm. Placing it firmly back upon its chain that hung from his neck he continued on. The building was ancient, and had been his office complex many years ago when the Gods were all who dwelt upon this broken terra.
He waved off the assistance of the under priests who approached, and nodded to the few guardians manning the walls of the facility. He pressed onwards down the winding and many steps which led deep into the earth. As he passed each landing they light up of their own accord, illumination coming from deep alcoves.
It was upon the bottom landing that he stopped, passing the hidden passage which led deeper still and proceed to a simple chamber. Its roof was comprised of many stars and icons written in the language of the Tuatha Dé, the entire depiction moving and shifting of its own accord. Ogma sat beneath it, meditating upon the world. Meditating and waiting. Waiting for Sly Marbo.Remove these ads. Join the Worldbuilders Guild