Drums of the Past. (Solo)

[The Barbarian]

Tyrael rubbed his pupil void eye as the winds of Raiaera picked up a bit. It had been some months since he was sent here by the strange man known as Mr. Falsey and had avoided the death sentence he had unknowningly walked into like a fool. The man who had been dressed in white and smiled like a hungry wolf seemed to know more about the barbarian than he knew about himself. And he was no victim to amnesia or any memory problems.

"Well, time to get this show on the road..." he muttered as he stepped through the huge double doors that had been ornated with jewels, carving of famous bards, and exciting colors that could only present the school of battle songs in proper form. The inside was equally as depcited, only enormous paintings and sculptures lined the main hall. The battle hardened barbarian felt weak and helpless in the presence of these overbearing goliaths.

At the front counter, a pretty elf girl sat behind it, watching him make his slow steps as he gawked at all the amazing art that translated the history or Ost'Dagorlin, which had only a short while ago had been two seperate schools. Reaching the front, the warrior said as plainly as he could, "I'm here for my orientation."

The girl smiled politely, "Name?"

"Tyrael Ange."

"Ahh, you were approved for admittance before we opened the doors to all races. Congratulations."

Tyrael nodded sheepishly. Although a hulking mass and a fierce fighter on the battlefield, he was nothing more than a timid mouse around a pretty girl. "When do I start this stuff?"

"In one hour. I'll have someone show you to your room, you'll be given a choice of instruments and then off to your class." Her voice was soft and full of melody, as if serving the warrior was her only pleasure in life and she was more than happy to be there.

Nodding, the barbarian thanked her in stuttered words and walked away to examine a statue with as much interest as possible so as to avoid letting her see his flushing face. As he heard the steps of another person walking down one of the connected halls, there were many, he looked away from the marble armor of a bard and noticed the girl was watching him. Before either could say anything, the owner of the footsteps walked right into Tyrael's view. He was a tall elven, not as tall as Tyrael, but tall enough to obstruct his sight.

"Greetings. I'm Vuan. Follow me and examine this. Please have a choice made by the time we reach your room." His voice was deep and not very friendly. The elf seemed annoyed to have to escort the warrior around and he made it no secret in his words or actions. As abruptly as he'd appeared, he made for another hallway just as quickly, forcing Tyrael to start flipping through the pages of instruments as he tried to watch where he was going.

Warm welcomes all around...., he thought with a slight frown.

[The Barbarian]

This looks easy. Oh wait…no…maybe that. Damnit. This is gonna be harder than I-

Tyrael bumped into his guide by accident as he had been perusing the fairly thick booklet on instruments. With a huff and sigh, the elf said with the most monotone voice, “Here we are.”

Closing the booklet, he decided on an instrument. “Drums.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll use drums. And my voice. It might be deep, but I guess it might come in handy, don’t ya think?” Tyrael said with a prideful grin.

“As you wish,” the elf said unimpressed. “Any specific drums?”

Tyrael hadn’t thought of that, but he knew he’d need something light and compact. “Got anything that is useful for a barbarian like me? Ya know, I fight close combat a lot and….yea, a huge pair of war drums isn’t gonna be the best thing…”

Rolling his eyes, the elf nodded dully and walked away. Over his shoulder he said, “There is a map at the back of that booklet. Read it. Study it. And meet your voice teacher in the practice hall.”

As he rounded a corner, his footsteps gradually faded away as the barbarian flipped to the end of the booklet, still standing by his doorway in the empty hallway. Finding the practice hall, he took a quick peek into his room, which was nothing special. Dark blue walls with patterns of foliage and small animals frolicking through said vegetation, a large bed that looked soft with two ordinary looking pillows with a folded blue blanket, and a waist high drawer for clothing made of oak. Giving it one last look over, he closed the door and headed for the hall that would take him to his destination.

***

The hulking mass of muscle walked up to an unidentified door made of brass or something similar. Pulling open the door, he made note of its squeaking and entered into the practice hall. The room was large, at least a couple hundred yards in either direction. Small pockets of groups stood in sections of the area, usually three or four with one more standing in front of them. Tyrael assumed the lone elf was the instructor or tutor of the group, but something funny seemed to be happening. Their lips were moving but the entire place was silent. The only thing that seemed to make noise were the rays of sun that cascaded through the three large windows that seemed to offer an arched escape if one ran a large enough object through them.

“You must be the new student. Hard to miss you.” A cheerful old voice said.

Returning his focus to the area immediately around him, the barbarian took notice of the aged elf that stood in front of him. He had a short trimmed white beard with medium length hair that was so thin, it seemed to merely blow into the air from the pressure exerted from the warrior’s breathing. “Hi there. Uh, I was told to come here…”

“Yes, yes. I know. Follow me. You’ll be with my group from now on. They are well ahead of you in using their voices to create magical properties, albeit minor and almost useless in battle, you’ll have some catching up to do.”

“Uh….I gots a question for ya....well, two actually. Um, what’s your name? And why can’t I hear them?” He motioned towards the numerous groups that were clearly singing soundlessly.

“Oh, pardon me! My name is Dren. And you can’t hear them since we find it too cumbersome to try and sing over each other. So, we’ve just placed sound barriers over our separate groups so as to not disturb anyone. They can’t hear us and we can’t hear them.”

“So…they’re in…sound bubbles?”

Dren nodded slowly with a slight smile.

“Oh, one more question. When do I get my drums?”

“After this hour is over. We must first find out what vocal ranges you have.” He said while walking over to his group. “Please, enter the ‘bubble’,” the teacher said with a grin.

[The Barbarian]

It was a bit odd at first.

When he looked at the three students moving their mouths in awkward positions without any results, he felt a bit skeptical that anything would change when taking one more step. But yet again, the elf culture proved to surprise him once more.

Oh what in the hell!

It was his first thought as he heard sharp notes being slaughtered from each of the students, all of them trying desperately to beat the other at creating the perfect harmonious tune with their underdeveloped vocal cords. Tyrael’s eyes squinted a bit as his ears threatened to send blood gushing out the orifice in an attempt to silence the torture.

“Alright, you may stop now,” Dren said after a few minutes of analyzing. “We have a new addition to our group. Tyrael, right?” The barbarian nodded. “Excellent. Now, try and catch up if you can. Listen to my voice having heard the slight vibrations I add to each ‘ahh’ and ‘mmm’, understand?”

When the four of them nodded, the teacher cleared his throat a bit and stuck out his chin as to display the way his throat moved. As the instructor began to hum and ah, vibrations outside of his throat were clearly visible, as if he were manipulating the air. He then added the sharp higher notes with the same vibration quality and a small burst of contained light appeared in front of his middle chest to half way up his face.

“This is an energy shield. Very average and capable of stopping a few magical attacks along with a couple of arrows,” he smiled as his gaze fell upon each student, “Although this is the first day for all of you, the three of you have had at least half a day longer at this than Tyrael. I expect high results.” He stretched his tired neck a little and added, “You have one hour. Perfect this technique or leave the university.”

Their jaws slightly dropped, as if trying to conceal the obvious shock that was incredibly noticeable in their quivering eyes.

“The same applies to you, young barbarian.”

Tyrael nodded grimly, not sure how he was expected to accomplish that with his voice. The old elf began to walk away, letting the three students practice with one another, but stopped just behind the nervous warrior.

“I know of your kind. I’ve heard legends that you have the ability to use your voice for shouts and commands that empower the troops during battle. Fall back on these skills if they truly exist or leave in disgrace when the hour is up.” He resumed his walk outside the bubble and within a second his footsteps were nothing more than silent beats on a drum.

[The Barbarian]

Well this ain’t good…

Tyrael’s bottomless eyes glowed slowly, as if not in any rush at all. They were quite in contrast to his brain, since every cell was going haywire. A single hour? It seemed impossible, but a part of him whispered back the memories of battles where survival seemed as impossible as this challenge.

The other students kept at their own pace, not caring at all if the newcomer was going to catch up. One who had a bit longer hair than the rest suddenly stopped practicing, his mouth frozen in place. Instead of attempted melody flowing from his gaping hole, a screechy ravenous squeal sifted through in sharp bursts. He clutched his throat and doubled over in pain, still making the odd sound.

“Whoa! He gonna be ok?” Tyrael asked urgently as he made a half-step towards the aching classmate. The other two just made a quick glance at his condition and dismissed it. “Hey!” Tyrael shot in return to his question. One stopped humming and rolled his dark eyes.

“He has a cramped esophagus. He’ll be fine. Now please get to work. As you can see, we’re not bothering you.” He said rudely.

“Yea and you’re not helpin’ either asshole.” The barbarian retorted roughly. Stepping away from the offended elf, he placed his feet shoulder width apart and closed his deep blue eyes. He had heard of commanders in his military having these “battle commands”, but never really seen it happen. Although his own shouts gave him power, he figured it was just an adrenaline rush associated with roaring the word out towards his enemies.

May as well give that a try…don’t need to sound perfect…

Focusing deeply on his training, he began to hum awkwardly. It was crumpled and uneven, as if he were jumping up and down rapidly. Ignoring the not so stifled laughs of the other students, he kept humming deeply; trying horribly was the first step towards mastering anything.

All around the room, students new and old alike sang loudly and proudly in their secluded bubbles. The sunlight spilled softly over their invisible barriers through the stained arched windows. Intricately designed figures of past bards and Bladesingers glowed intensely, as if watching them practice enthusiastically. One day they might find themselves in the same position, looking down upon their successors; for now, they worked diligently.

***

After twenty minutes of wracking his rookie musical cords, he took a knee and wiped a bit of sweat from his quivering brow. He’d gotten the humming down, but it wasn’t going to be anywhere as high pitched as his three classmates. Eventually he figured he could achieve the same “melody”, just at a different pitch. He chose to go the low route since his voice was so deep, but now he had to get to the actual feat of singing.

Only one way to find out…

Getting to both feet, he inhaled one strong breath and exhaled loudly, almost startling his other classmates who’d gotten as far as creating tiny bits of organized light near their stomachs. They studied him as his glowing eyes narrowed and his muscles visibly tensed around his chest and arms.

“BERSEKER!” He roared in a deep melodic tone, adding a rough vibrato towards the middle and letting it finish to the end. At the same instant, a burst of light and energy gathered in front of him, at least five feet tall and four feet wide, much bigger than the teacher had demonstrated. However, it lacked formation and solidity, providing a fairly useless shield.

But he had just leapt farther ahead of the other three elves. And he grinned as the light dissolved, revealing the astonished faces of the students. “Somethin’ wrong fellas?”

[The Barbarian]

“BREAK!”

A solid shield of heavenly light instantly exploded in front of the barbarian, large enough to cover all four students inside the soundproof bubble. Tyrael grinned smugly as he looked down at his classmates. They returned his look with sneers, obviously jealous of his progress. They had only been able to produce shields that could cover their torsos. The barbarian had made one large enough for a squadron to huddle behind.

Letting the shield go in a blink of sporadic energy, he wiped his brow over dramatically and laughed. He’d been able to focus the power of his voice into almost telling the shield what he wanted from it. He wasn’t quite sure why, but it was very cool. As if on cue, the instructor came rushing back into the room, probed through the bubble as if it weren’t even there and tossed his hands up in the air, “Let’s see what you’ve achieved this hour.”

The first three demonstrated their average sized shields and he nodded slowly, as if wary to approve them. Turning his gaze upon the warrior, he cocked his head back a bit and said, “Well?”

Letting his grin die, he licked his lips and sucked in a huge breath of warm, stale air. “BERSKER!!!” He bellowed in a harmony equal to that of an obese opera singer. The notes were so low and concentrated, that they pierced the sound bubble and actually tore down nearby silencing domes. A huge burst of light enveloped the room, pulsating rhythmically to the tune of his heart. Tyrael grinned as he folded his arms across his chest and gave the instructor a stare that said, What ya gonna throw at me now, huh?

In response, he coughed into his hand loudly and the shield capable of stopping cannon fire burst like a crystal bowl. The energy sparked and sizzled softly as it evaporated into the air and left half the room in astonishment.

“Very good.” The old elf said as he walked past the stunned barbarian. “Now it’s time to teach you young ones how to protect your songs from disenchanters like that one I just demonstrated.”

Nodding numbly, Tyrael and his group followed him out of the classroom, unsure of where they were going next. As soon as they’d left, the half dozen groups that had been in range of the shout began chattering amongst themselves, eager to know who the warrior was and how he was able to wipe out six captain class bubbles with a single basic note.

[The Barbarian]

Tyrael slammed into the bed. A soft layer of dust exploded beneath his massive body and he just closed his eyes in annoyance. Apparently they’d forgotten to tidy up the room a bit more before his arrival.

He was exhausted. After the group had been taught small disenchanters, they practiced relentlessly on mastering them and controlling their voices to dictate how their energy shields would be formed. After 6 hours, the barbarian was now able to form shields three times his size with minimal effort and able to extend certain parts on the change of his pitch. It was all very cool, but extremely tiring.

He’d also been given a small pair of bongo drums right before the torture started, but was only granted the ability to look at them. Until his voice was ready for combat, the instrument would be useless to him. So he studied them carefully, noting how the material stretched over the sides tightly, how they were worn to the breaking point, and how unbelievably light they felt. Perfect for a fight…, he thought as he stretched out on the bed.

He had the rest of the day off, but figured it would be well spent learning more about this place and the person who’d send him here to originally die. Getting up from his five minute rest, he stepped out of the room and followed his little map to the library. He knew that every great warrior knew about other cultures extensively. It would be how he’d stay alive during these dangerous times. As the last barbarian of his people and the arch angel Tyrael unable to assist him in any trouble that might occur, he had to rely on himself.

Pushing open the large bronze doors decorated with past heroes of the school, he noticed the place was rather dreary looking. Rows and rows of books lined the huge room, at least fifty that he could see, and desks took up the remaining space that wasn’t occupied by either the shelves or the library clerk who eyed the warrior with a slight bit of suspicion.

“May I be of some service?” The older elf woman asked with a faint bit of sarcasm in her voice.

“If ya could point me in the direction of the heroes, warriors, and barbarians, that would be great.” He said with a fake smile.

She only nodded as if this weren’t her job and she was just watching over it until the real clerk got back from their break. She quickly scribbled something down and handed it to the patient behemoth before her. Nodding backing casually, he followed her chicken scratches to the closest topic being barbarians. He knew more were out there, but wasn’t sure of their numbers or what they might be capable of. In all his fights, he’d never come across another type of barbarian. Excited to learn more about his entire race, he quickly scanned through the numerous books lined in the large section devoted to warrior class races. Dust lined the oak shelves, obviously neglected by the grumpy old librarian, and some sections sported cobwebs. Ignoring the poor state of the wood, he eventually came across a book titled Extreme Warriors and Beasts. Pulling it from the shelf, he flipped it open and began thumbing through it and his heart raced. Half the book was focused on barbarians of all types! Closing it and looking around where he found the first one, he located three more books featuring his people and their history.

Settling down at a nearby desk, or outpost as he was now calling them, he noticed there was hardly any light around to properly read the text. As if reading his mind, a small burst of light appeared a few feet above his head and drifted down above the book, softening to a pleasant glow. Although they could be incredibly annoying, the elves had some really cool magic tricks up their ancient sleeves.

“Let’s get started…” he whispered to no one as he leaned forward and began reading.

[The Barbarian]

He rubbed his eyes wearily. The glowing sapphire gems dimmed from their normal shining glory to a dying firefly. He’d been sitting reading for a little over five hours, having gained the respect of the librarian, who at three hours had brought a hot cup of human coffee laced with nutmeg. It was tasty, but he preferred sugar and cream. Sipping at the last remaining bits of cold liquid energy, he flipped the page he was on and continued reading.

At this point he learned quite a deal about other barbaric races, some barbarian, others just brutal twisted beasts that had been created by rogue sorcerers and necromancers. Among the most interesting were creatures called Knifgans. One of the barbarian races had fallen from their honor and become a nomadic raiding group, pillaging towns and small villages; often killing innocent people for the sheer fun of it. A necromancer had seen this and followed them, waiting for an opportunity to present itself. It came a few weeks after his observations began, when they had set up camp inside a large town hall of a town they had just destroyed. Using the corpses of the fallen townspeople, and a little creativity on his own part, he formed a barrier around the building and crammed the place full of the corpses. He slowly fused the raiders with the bodies and bent their wills to his own.

After a few days, the spell was complete and the necromancer, named Knif, dubbed the zombie like barbarians Knifgans. They stood at average of eight feet tall, were as bulky and slow as rhinos, and had rotting flesh falling off their bones at random places. This did nothing to diminish their strength, but was a powerful psychological tactic.

Impressed by the military idea behind this act, Tyrael flipped the page he was reading and his dim eyes shot to full power, fresh anger and hatred seething from his body.

On the next page was a picture of Knif, holding a large staff with a ruby fixed at the top the size of a monkey’s head. Around him were his Knifgan troops, brandishing their weapons. It was a drawn picture, probably the last the artist had done before getting it sent to these elves. What had brought his blood to a boil wasn’t the army of death behind the sorcerer and how closely their twisted bodies resembled the Lothen Barbarians, but the sorcerer himself.

That’s the sonofabitch that threw Lothen into another dimension!

Getting up quickly and rushing to the librarian’s desk, he asked if he could borrow the book indefinitely. She frowned at him, but saw the urgency and pain in his pupil-less eyes. Nodding with kind approval, he thanked her graciously and ran out of the library.

It was time to learn how to get stronger. He had a new lead on his original target since starting this journey. And time was short. If he chose barbarians to fuel his army, he had no idea if his own people were now mindless slaves of this bastard.

And if they were…if he could ever get them back.

[The Barbarian]

When he burst into his room, he almost threw the book at the old elf sitting quietly on his bed, or rather, floating just above it with his legs crossed under him.

“Um…who are ya?” The barbarian inquired after regaining his composure.

“Your new instructor.” He said with closed eyes. His long cobweb thin beard danced merrily with every syllable and Tyrael had a rough time stifling the chuckle he wanted to let out. The old timer’s short snow white hair hung frilled at every possible angle, as if he’d been struck by lightning, but his beard was neatly combed looking.

“Shall we begin?” He asked as he opened his eyes and slowly stroked his beard.

Ah. That’s why it’s like that…

“Uh, ya sure! One question though!” He said as he quickly flipped through the book and to the section about Knif. The elf raised an ancient eyebrow and eyed the book curiously. “Do you know this person or anything about his past?” He jammed the page into the elf’s face, who took one glance and laughed.

“Indeed I do! He was the object of many a caster back in my day. His head more specifically. I personally never thought he was much of a threat…until the day he began creating his own minions. What a pity. Such a waste of talent…”

“So ya knew him!” The warrior exclaimed.

“In a way…why do you even ask? We have lessons to begin!”

“Because he’s the reason I gotta get stronger! He sent my home and my people into anotha’ f*ckin’ dimension!” Tyrael growled. “Do ya know how I can find him???”

The elf studied the fighter’s face carefully, obviously worried. “Sadly no…but the contents of the book reveal how to bait him out. Keep it for now, young barbarian. You will need it to finish my work.”

“Your work…?” Tyrael blinked. “You tried to kill him?”

He laughed wearily. “I thought I had. Seems my abilities were a bit subpar…”

They sat in an uncomfortable silence for a small while. One eager to kill, one eager to train to kill.

After clearing his throat, the elf said, “You may call me Shen. I will teach you how to make those drums weapons to be feared. Your singing is already suited for battle, along with your angelic blood, you have surpassed many a long time student in the art of disenchanting and protecting. Now you will learn this school’s proudest form of battle. Offense.”

Nodding, Tyrael picked up the drums and hung them on his belt. They were lighter than a feather and he felt energy pulsing through his veins. The cold coffee was kicking in.

Producing his own bongo drums, which were decorated with jewels, symbols, and made of much better wood and leather, he said, “I will teach you how to bring Knif to his knees. Killing him…will be up to you.”

[The Barbarian]

Standing side by side, the student and teacher gazed into the fields before them. Scattered trees and large rocks littered the golden ground, wheat and weeds intertwined, swaying in the cool breeze.

“Ya got some serious magic up your sleeves pal…” the barbarian muttered as he felt the wind licking his skin.

“Yes well, let’s make good use of this time. We haven’t got a lot of it.” The teacher said as he stepped forward. Letting his hands rest on the drums hanging proudly from his right hip, he played a simple four beat tune, which caused a rock five meters ahead of him to crumble to pebbles.

“The drums are an excellent vibration weapon. Invisible to the naked eye, the sound waves, coupled with magic, are deadly to things in its path, which is almost instant. If the target can feel the vibrations or hear the music, the attack is successful.” He turned to look at the warrior who was busy trying to comprehend the idea behind the spell. “Since you are new to the ways of instrumental fighting, you must use your voice as the amplifier to direct your attack. At my skill level, I can just direct it with my thoughts and how powerful I’d like it to be.”

Nodding, Tyrael began to hum slowly, a deep hearty tune. It was similar to the chants and hymns of his people, full of strength and sorrow for their fallen brethren in battle. The wind circled around his voice, producing leaves and bits of wheat into a cyclone around his imposing figure. The imaginary sun above twinkled curiously as Tyrael repeated the four beat tune perfectly, in rhythm with his war song.

The ground exploded ten meters ahead of him. Dirt, wheat, weeds, and small bugs flew threw the air. Keeping the hum going, he hit the four beats, one hand slapping the right drum gingerly while the left hand hit the other drum, one after the other. The bugs exploded like tiny bombs in midair, spraying their exoskeletons among the dirt and wheat.

Breathing sharply, Tyrael grinned. “That’s fun stuff.”

“Glad you like it. It will be the basis for all your attacks from here on out. You currently couldn’t hurt anything larger than say….a small dog. But a person your size would be rendered disoriented and would lose their balance. Improve your magical power and strengthen your heart, then you will be able to break bones, burst specific organs, and shatter weapons.”

Gritting his teeth and flexing his neck, the warrior said, “Let’s do this!”


***

The wheat felt good against his sweating skin, but the weeds tickled him relentlessly. Sitting up after his two minute break, he looked over at Shen, who hung in the air, meditating or napping. He wasn’t quite sure.

They’d been in this…place…for three days now. He was having trouble getting down the ability to shatter things bigger than small horses, but was showing promise.

“You’re losing your resolve.” Shen said suddenly.

Maybe the promise wasn’t so promising after all.

[The Barbarian]

The tree to his left and right both cracked with pain, but neither rewarded Tyrael with a pretty explosion. Cursing violently, he roared at the sky, clearly upset about the results. It had been a day since Shen had said his resolve was waning, and it appeared to be true.

“The reason I took you as a student,” Shen said as he floated near the angry giant, “Is that I heard you had incredible energy resting inside you. I specialize in student with exceptional talents, but I can do nothing if you don’t find the strength inside your soul to perform this attack.”

Controlling his breathing and letting his palm cover his face, Tyrael just grumbled a quick response of agreement and walked over to the rebellious trees. They smirked at him with their broken faces, toying with his emotions. He had heard the rumors that his voice on his first day had broken captain class sound bubbles, which meant he was good, but why was he good? What had he done differently then that he wasn’t doing now?

Grinding his feet into the dirt, he hovered both hands over the drums, his fingers raw and blistered from the training; he closed his eyes and thought back to that day. It took him to the room, the nervousness, the way he exploded with power and pride. It sent him farther back, to his moments when he’d shout commands to troops during small wars. He was a mercenary mostly in those small battles, but the armies followed his voice, the power it held. Farther back still, training as a teenager, learning how to use Berserker and how it affected his body. The proud look on his face as he felt faster and lighter, the scream of triumph he made.

His eyes snapped open. He was back in the field with Shen. His bleeding fingers dripping to the sides of the drums, leaving trails of woe in their wake. His hymn began slowly, deep in his belly. It grew to a chant, a Lothen war song made to encourage troops, to intimidate the foe. The grunts and moans fell mightily into place, one after the other, as his Lothen words grew more powerful. He slapped the drums quickly and the trees exploded into shards of wood, but he kept going, slapping them again as tears streamed from his glowing eyes, the pain of loss fueling his power. The shards turned to dust and the rocks in the path of the sound waves turned to sand.

Steadily weeping after the song was finished, Tyrael realized what was holding him back, but he dare not speak it. It was his weapon now. His resolve in this fight; he had caged that fear and would beat it down every time it tried to escape and poison his mind. His pride as a Lothen Barbarian would be the wind at his back.

“Congratulations, Tyrael.” Shen said softly. “You have found your strength. Now let us perfect it!”

Wiping his tears away, he nodded with a big dumb grin and took a breath. Knif was going to be taken down for good this time around.

[The Barbarian]

A month had passed since he had conquered his fear. Another week after for proper paper documentation of his success at the school of Ost'Dagorlin; he was the first barbarian to study song and instrument, and the first to become a deadly adversary with them.

He had learned to use his bongo drums with shorter hymn verses, learning which gave him stronger energy more quickly, since speed was the key factor in any fight. The more Lothen words he spoke, the stronger the attack. Shen had taught him to use his heart to cast the magic and his teacher had been exceptional, just like his students.

As Tyrael left the school’s doors after being given a small farewell party, he wondered when he should look at the small book Shen had given him. It contained music sheets for attack spells, but would only reveal themselves to his eyes once he was ready. He knew with only one attack spell, one for defense, and one for disenchanting, he wouldn’t be able to face Knif.

Gain strength!

He grinned. He would. His heart sang the song of his people loudly, beating in rhythm like the drums on his hip. They glimmered in the sunlight, adorned with real sapphires given to him by Shen. The drums were made of oak wood with normal cow hide, but the gems embedded in the wood were special. He wasn’t sure if the feeling was purely sentimental or if they held magic properties, but he was never going to part with them.

I’m coming guys…mom…dad…I’ll bring ya back!

He just had to become a stronger warrior for his people and all the barbarians on Althanas. Until Knif was stopped…no warrior race would be safe from his gaze.

On that idea, Tyrael began to run. He had no set destination, but running gave him the feeling he was accomplishing his goal more quickly.

And all the while, a sinister voice chuckled at the barbarian’s foolish ideas of savior for his people.


Spoils:
Extreme Warriors and Beasts III – Book on fighting inclined races
Ost’Dagorlin’s Drum Solos – Book created by Shen for Tyrael to use in quests later on.
Bongo Drums with sapphire gems (Gems never to be sold)

Lothen Shock Wave: Magical song attack that requires one post to prepare. Has a range of fifteen feet and is capable of breaking bones and cracking swords when the range is as close five feet. Otherwise the attack shakes the target violently, spraining joints, causing severe headaches, and vomiting. Not very useful against moving targets, since the width on the attack if only six feet. Usable three times per battle. Unlimited in quests but requires a 5 post cool down.

Simple Barrier: Simple energy shield used by focusing tones and vocal chords. Can stop one attack at a time. Strong enough for a volley of arrows. Requires 4 post cool downs in quests and can be used once per battle and the effectiveness of the shield is relative to the level of the attacker.

Simple Disenchant: Able to dispel barriers and small energy shields. Twice per battle and 3 post cool down in quests. Effectiveness is relative to the level of the caster of the shield.

OOC: I realize I have a lot of spoils, but they are mainly storyline oriented. Never to be abused in any way, and upgraded slowly. If you have to dock me exp for them, I’ll take the hit. Thank you for your consideration.

[AdventWings]

Thank you for your patience. Your Judgment is delivered!

Story

Continuity - 4

Not much was given why he as at Istien University and the thread finally had some motive or actual direction half-way through the quest. Providing some IC need to be at the university (even if it was a pretentious one from an IC stand point) from the beginning could help rememdy this... to an extent.

Setting - 4

Most of the details were fleeting and fairly focused on a few that really mattered. Still, they were mostly descriptions instead of interaction. When you can find a way to integrate setting into your character's action, such as feeling the rough-hewn stepping stones scrape against the bottom of your feet, the story would start to gain a new layer of depth from the reader's perspective.

Pacing - 4

The overall story development had an uneasy step to its rhythm... It started slow... then kinda sped through the middle of the story and the ending. I could appreciate a bit more development in terms of character, but that would have to sacrifice some other aspect since longer stories don't necessarily equate high quality writing.

Writing Style

Mechanics - 5

Nothing wrong with the usage of basic English Language. Just... a bit lackluster in terms of flair and style.

Technique - 4

The story-telling technique could use some improvements to make the story flow better, especially the transition from being merely a student at Istien to getting back on track to kill your nemesis. Also, there were sporatic literary devices, all of which could have been used a bit more to spice up the story. Try adding some more types such as alliteration, simile and even personification.

Clarity - 5

Nothing too confusing, nothing too "out of the blue" to really critique on. Could be better, could be worse.

Character

Dialogue - 6

Fairly generic at times, but combine that with Tyrael's own personality, it just seems onnatural not to say some of those things. Good, but it definitely could use some distinct voice. Also, remember to make note of the language barrier between the different nations. Most Raiaerans, unless they're the more well-travelled ones, would generally have limited knowledge in Tradespeak to be able to communicate fluently.

Action - 5

Good, but could use some more character quirks or unique thing that you do. At this point, the character acting is nearly indistinguishable from a couple hundred other warriors who ever had to be in the same predicament. Small things that make a character unique should be added, such as fiddling with his blades or personal trinkets when nervous and the likes. Something that shows the personality of the character in a subtle but noticable way.

Persona - 7

This was actually a strong category for you, despite coming off a bit too generic at times. Tyrael had a strong personality, one quite reminiscing of a vengeful survivor intent on overthrowing an evil too powerful to deal alone. That type of story needs to be driven by a powerful character. Tyrael certainly came off as that kind, although a more intricate one might be a better investment.

Miscellaneous

Wild Card - 6

I see potential, but you need to do a bit more refining. Good job!

Final Score - 50!

The Barbarian receives 1,000 EXP and 95 GP.

The Barbarian also receives the following:

Extreme Warriors and Beasts III

Ost’Dagorlin’s Drum Solos

Bongo Drums with sapphire gems (Gems cannot be sold)

Skills

Simple Barrier

Simple Disenchant

However, I believe the Lothen Shock Wave may be a bit too powerful for a level 1 character at this time. A recommendation is that the skill be locked for now and added in the Level 2 Character Update, where the RoG Mods can have a look over it and evaluate its power level. You may keep the concept of the skill, though by no means able to emulate its powers beyond this thread until it is approved.

[Letho]

EXP/GP added!