Kilij’s Plans


You say, ‘Hail, Bilrio Surecut’

Bilrio Surecut says ‘Greetings, friend. If fine weapons are what you seek then you shall find them here in my shop. I have traveled far and wide for the finest weapons. Still, there are a few [unusual weapons] which have eluded me.’

You say, ‘What unusual weapons?’

Bilrio Surecut says ‘Unusual weapons? Yes. There are a few which I sought. Such an item is the [brazen brass kilij].’

You say, ‘What brazen brass kilij?’

Bilrio Surecut says ‘The brazen brass kilij is a legendary magical weapon designed by the ancients and long lost to the winds of time. I have searched the world for it to no avail. Perhaps the [legend of Husam] will add some insight to my quest. I have some knowledge of its design and I am sure I can [craft the kilij].’

You say, ‘What legend of Husam?’

Bilrio Surecut says ‘Legend says the kilij was forged for a great paladin for his assault on the land of the dead. He was to slay the evil siblings Dimetreas and Byzola. It is said he killed Byzola. With the kilij he was unstoppable. Dimetreas knew this and cast an [evil spell] upon the kilij.’

You say, ‘What evil spell?’

Bilrio Surecut says ‘The enchantment would allow only rogues, warriors and the feeble minstrels to wield it. And so Dimetreas defeated the now unarmed paladin and shattered the kilij. He then found the only kilij plans and sent them to the Plane of Man to be held forever by his evil servant, Husam.. Husam of the burning sun.’

You say, ‘You can craft the kilij?’

Bilrio Surecut says ‘I can craft the kilij. All I need are the kilij plans and three enchanted gold bars. The blend of metals is not entirely brass and only an enchanter can provide the enchanted metal I need. As for the plans, perhaps during your great adventures you shall happen upon it. If so, I can make one for you.’

Sandgiant Husam spawns in South Ro.

You have slain Sandgiant Husam!
–You have looted a Kilij Plans.–

Bilrio Surecut says ‘You have succeeded in your quest for the kilij!! Wield it proudly.’

Byzola and Dymetreax


There are quite a few unknown planar entities that have some relation to Norrathians in one way or another. These lesser planar entities made themselves known to a small select few. This interaction occurred throughout time, but may have only recently been uncovered. Look around Norrath in the Age of Destiny, you may find hints of these agents of greater entities. I know there are at least a few others you have yet to mention. We may never see them, but their tales may give you more planar lore.

In the case of Byzola and Dymetreax (a.k.a. Dymetreas), these entities have been recorded as far back as the Age of Turmoil and had dealings with Norrathians even further back.

Byzola is the conjoined twin of her brother, Dymetreax. Together they are known as the Twins of Torment. They exist upon the Plane of Fear and work as agents to the ruler of that plane- Cazic-Thule. They have ventured far and wide in the name of fear. They bring about pain, both physical and mental, to any creature they see fit.

In a time long past, they encountered a champion of mortal worlds who ventured to the Plane of Fear to do battle with the Twins of Torment. During that battle, Byzola was slain by the magical brass weapon being wielded by the mortal. Byzola now lies as a fetid corpse still attached to her still living conjoined brother. They were being bred by the Faceless to seize control of a quasi plane from an agent of the Plane of Hate. It has not been validated, but some accounts hint that Byzola is now an undead entity.

—–

I was made aware of this by the lore lovers over at Oscuris! Check them out! https://discord.com/channels/228604818057330688/641332324956373012/862412110595620915

Original reference:

https://forums.daybreakgames.com/eq2/index.php?threads/gods-of-everquest.197162/page-2#post-2166215

Khalee’Sri


You say, “Hail, Keenora Fadan”

Keenora Fadan says to you in Cae’Dal, “An outsider within our midst. It is not unheard of, but it is remarkable. And with it, brings an opportunity I welcome.”

You say to Keenora Fadan, “What opportunity would that be?”

Keenora Fadan says to you in Cae’Dal, “To converse! When one sees the same faces day in and day out, it does not provide the necessary sustenance for diversity of conversation.”

You say to Keenora Fadan, “Oh! I do have some questions for you then.”

Keenora Fadan says to you in Cae’Dal, “By all means, ask them.”

You say to Keenora Fadan, “Your appearance is unlike any other elves I have known. Why is that?”

Keenora Fadan says to you in Cae’Dal, “Interesting. I was unaware that our appearance had grown noticeably different from other elves, but I guess it could have been related to our long seclusion from others, within an arid land.”

You say to Keenora Fadan, “The land changed you?”

Keenora Fadan says to you in Cae’Dal, “It is more accurate to say we adapted to the land. What had been a forested land of tremendous growth became arid. The trees that had provided shade found little water within the parched land. They thinned and eventually died, leaving few, scraggly copses across the land.”

You say to Keenora Fadan, “That’s what made the Desert of Ro.”

Keenora Fadan says to you in Cae’Dal, “You speak of the ancient Elddar forest, the cradle of elven-kind. Something similar occurred there within the Age of Blood, but that is not the forest I speak of. Our ancestors were elves of the Elddar forest who migrated when they had taken note of the slowly dying woodlands. They took to ships and landed on the shores of a faraway forested land. There, they established the colony of Khalee’Sri.”

You say to Keenora Fadan, “Your people experienced two different dying forests?”

Keenora Fadan says to you in Cae’Dal, “Such was the will of the Mother of All. She was presenting us with yet another aspect of nature. The desert may not look like it, but it is teeming with life! Though we remembered the forests of old, and many of us honor them to this day in our shroud patterns, we began to embrace the desert, and no longer ran from a life in the sun.”

You say to Keenora Fadan, “You found Growth in the desert?”

Keenora Fadan says to you in Cae’Dal, “Our ancestors were not believers at first, either. They had to have their eyes opened by another, just as I can open your eyes.”

You say to Keenora Fadan, “What do you mean?”

Keenora Fadan says to you in Cae’Dal, “There is a desolate region south of here. They call it Grunt’s Pass. If you are determined, you will find at least three different examples of tenacious growth within the inhospitable landscape.”
You say to Keenora Fadan, “I’ll take your challenge.”

Myths of the Mephlin


I have collected a few tales from Norrathian bards and entertainers, involving the mephlin. They might prove helpful in understanding these creatures, or perhaps I will find that they are simply tales meant to delight or frighten with no basis in reality. Only time will tell!

Chief of the Tribe

“Long live the chief!” his fellow mephlin shouted, triumphantly, over and over again. It rang his ears and gnashed his teeth. Even if it hadn’t been echoing off the walls of the obsidian cave they marched through it would have felt just as oppressive to Hukt. “What has Resz done that is so great?” He mumbled to himself. “I am much smarter and would make a much better chief!” He knew not to voice this last statement, but it didn’t stop him from thinking it. They were just returning from a successful raid of a neighboring tribe, and Resz had once again walked away with the most impressive prize.

Sometimes the prize was a stolen weapon, ripped from the hand of the enemy, other times it was a totem revered by the enemy’s tribe, but usually it was a head, or horn, or wing. This is how Resz kept his figurative crown, of course, for this jopal tribe had long picked its leaders based upon their successes in war and trophy hunting. “How does Resz keep getting the good stuff?” he asked himself, while glaring at the ruby-handled dagger being flaunted about by Hukt. He brandished it, like a torch or a war banner, waving it about, while leading the tribe back to their lands.

Hukt went to his nest that night, unwilling to think of anything else. At some point during the night the answer came to him. Resz is lucky, but his luck will be no match for Hukt’s smarts during their next raid!
Weeks went by before Resz marched the tribe to their next raid, which gave Hukt plenty of time to prepare. He carried with him an inconspicuous pouch, nothing that would spark questions. During the heat of battle, while so many were distracted, he cast a spell upon an ordinary stone. Then he waited. He waited until Resz came out of the thick of the fight carrying a golden shield, eliciting the predictable “Ooohs” and “Aaahs” from his fellow jopal.

“Wait until they see this!” Hukt thought. He let out a scream of excitement that brought all eyes upon him, and as he lifted the luminous gemstone above his head, the din of his kin subsided. It had worked! The tribe was in awe of his trophy. The gem was bigger than his head, and dazzled with light reflected and focused by its exquisite cut. “Long live the chief!” they began to chant. Finally, Hukt was about to get the adoration he deserved!

Resz approached Hukt in shock. He dropped the shield that just a moment before had been the focus of all. “This is it! This is the moment I have long known would come!” Hukt thought, as a smile he could no longer contain, spread across his face. Resz stood before him now, and took the gem into his own hands with such care one would have thought it a hatchling. He examined the gem, looking deeply into it, turning it this way then that, dazzled by the display of light through it. Hukt looked up as this was happening, towards Resz’s towering figure. He was standing so close to Hukt as the light of the gem was shining in his eyes, Hukt never saw what happened.

Resz brought the gem down upon Hukt’s skull with such force, it split bone and flesh, killing him instantly. It was an easy enough feat for Resz, as he was the biggest, and strongest of the tribe. He wiped the gore from the coveted gem, and held it high for all to see. The shouts broke out immediately, “Long live the chief! Long live the chief!”

A Mother Earns Her Wings

Brena woke with a start. That sound wasn’t normal, and she knew it. The dwarven mother raced to her infant’s cradle. The babe didn’t look upset, and it was still wrapped in its blanket, but that sound… She hadn’t dreamt it! Should she call a healer? No, she knew what he would say. “You’re worrying over nothing. First-time mothers do that.” And admittedly the babe seemed fine. She took a breath, and felt a bit calmer as she looked upon her baby’s sweet face. She couldn’t have described the peace and hope that welled up inside her since this little one came into her life.

Maybe the babe didn’t need reassuring right now, but Brena did. She lifted the wrapped infant tenderly, but found that it took more of her strength than she remembered when she had put the babe to sleep. “Oi! I didn’a feed ya that much!” She adjusted her weight to accommodate, as she cradled the babe to her breast. “Or ‘ave ya been sappin’ me strength, my little stone?” That’s when she noticed a bit of moss in her baby’s hair. She looked down into the cradle and saw a few more strands glowing brightly, from within the shadowed bedding. “Lightmoss!? I haven’a been ta those caves in years.” What was going on!?

Brena looked at the near-by window of her hut. There she spotted more of the luminescent moss. She looked again at the babe in her arms. Its eyes opened and held hers for a moment. That was different. There was more to this baby dwarf than she could see. She felt her babe’s skin. A dwarf knows stone when they touch it. “Switched!” The thought struck her like Brell’s hammer! “Gods damn those green-winged beasts!” She cried. There wasn’t a moment to lose! Brena swaddled the heavy babe to her, like a bandolier, allowing her arms to remain free. She grabbed her axes and helm, and ran out the door toward the lightmoss caves.

She had heard the warnings, of course. “Keep an eye o’er your babes, lest vekerchiki come and take ’em!” The mephlin were real Brena knew, but she had always thought the stories of child abduction to be tall tales. Now she knew otherwise, and she wasn’t about to let those damned creatures take her wee one back to their earthen plane! She raced into the cave mouth, fueled by adrenaline and dwarven fortitude.

There she saw a group of vekerchiki, huddled together, as another waved its arms and chanted, opening a portal back to their realm. Brena had no time to spare, and no need for it. She continued barreling towards them, interrupting them with her axe heads. Their cries of pain and alarm were short, as was the battle.

She found her babe there, in the middle of the huddle, wrapped in large leaves and sound asleep. “Bless ya, Brell!” Tears rolled down her cheeks in sweet relief as she lifted her babe. Roused by its mother’s touch, the wee one woke, and reached towards her face. She couldn’t see much through the continuing tears, but she didn’t need to. She knew the feel of her child’s grip upon her beard. The babe curled her beard hair between its fingers and fell fast asleep.

Brena walked back to the village, her naturally born babe in one arm, asleep, holding tight to her beard, while a second babe, her adopted stone-golem child, remained swaddled tightly across her chest. From that day forward the two were raised as siblings, one of stone and one of flesh, warmed by a hearth over which hung a large pair of emerald wings.

Lessons of Flight

Not long ago now was a stormrider chick,
hatched in a high nest of vine and of pitch.

So jealous it was of all of its kin,
their feathers weren’t clotted, their wings frail nor thin.
They rode on the wind, through clouds in the sky.
It watched and it said, “I wanna’ do that! I too, want to fly!”

It took a deep breath. It took a big leap.
Nothing would stop it, it would accept no defeat.
But one cannot fly on hopes and a prayer,
It takes magic or ability to soar through the air.

So, down the chick fell, right down to its end.
Or it would have, if not for its strong gusted friend.
An elemental of air had noticed its plight,
had seen its struggle, when it attempted its flight.

It caught the poor chick in its swirling embrace,
and cleaned off its feathers, and tears from its face.
The pitch that had weighed its wings to the ground
was no more a problem. There was none to be found!

The chick stretched about, giving its limbs a good test.
Then lifted right off, to flit and flutter, right along with the rest.
The elemental took note of its friend’s pure delight,
doing something it had taken for granted, all day and all night.

It needed no thanks, expected no accolade,
If tables were turned, it would want just the same.
A boost from a friend, or even a stranger,
is all it might take to clear a path out of danger

Historic Article


Neh’Ashiir’s disappearance will always be cloaked in mystery. We of Torsis have a saying that goes “Neh’s chances.” We all know this is used to define an innumerable variable but not many know of its relation to the event in the early years of our fair city.

For as many people as there were in Torsis there were that many theories regarding Neh’Ashiir’s disappearance. Others say there were political tensions between the queen and her lord, so much so that she had to leave to escape death. And for good measure a few pointed to the stars and said that people from beyond the sky took her.

One thing all agreed upon however is that the relationship between the royal couple was decaying. Political scrutinizers noted small personal habits between the two that implied a separation of intimacy during their public appearances. Many even tie the highly publicized Crusade of Kirn into the disappearance of Neh as Kirn left the city only a few weeks before.

It is recorded in many texts that the visage of Rak’Ashiir reflected his despair over his wife’s vanishing although it is a well-known fact that it was mostly an act played by the King to keep up his illusion of nobility.
Perhaps one day we will find the truth but at this point it would mean little to the public

Crusades of the High Scale


Crusades of the High Scale

Throughout the history of the High Scale it was common for the knights to practice complete celibacy. It wasn’t until the controversial Kirn was given the hallowed title that contact between the sexes became tolerated. While Kirn wasn’t the mightiest of the High Scales he was able to achieve many great victories in the name of our Lord of Fear. One being the battle known as the Bone Rending when Kirn lost his fabled whip, Thriaxis’ Tail, and was still able to defeat scores of his enemies using his hands only. Before this battle many believed Kirn could not fulfill his duties as a leader and patriot for the people.

However Kirn’s might and his lecture on the use of females in religious crusade and duty convinced the public that celibacy had its place in divinity but non-celibacy also had a place and value within the church. A shrine depicting Kirn among many women was constructed in remembrance of his controversial reign although his corpse was never brought back for burial as it was lost far across the ocean among distant brothers in faith.

Dag the Blasphemer


Dag the Blasphemer

Author Unknown

Long ago in the time of Emperor Ganak, Scholar Dag served and studied with the great Master Atrebe Sathir, first-hatched son of Rile Sathir.
After the unfortunate demise of Atrebe, Scholar Dag begin his study of the forbidden circles, Wizardry, Enchantment and Magic. He soon began to specialize in the ways of Wizardry, in contravention of the Laws of Kotiz.

Scholar Dag kept his studies to himself. Most of his studies were held in private, only his Sarnak slave named Kly was allowed to assist in his blasphemous studies.

Hearing of Dag’s skills, Kurn Machta, the Dread Torturer and trusted general of Rile Sathir, secretly commissioned Dag to create a magical dagger for his personal use.

Dag traveled to Kurn’s outpost to begin his work. His slave Kly and some sarnak slaves answering to him followed, pulling behind them a special forge which belonged to Haggle Baron Dalnir.

During Dag’s absence, however, evidence of his blasphemous research was discovered, and his secret obsession was revealed to all. He became known as the Blasphemer of the Brood.

Word was sent from Cabilis to Kurn to have Dag executed. As Dag was in the final stage of enchantments, Kurn let him proceed and when the dagger was complete, Kurn shackled Dag and used the dagger upon the belly of the Blasphemer.

The Crusaders sent from Cabilis to bring back the body of Dag, the dagger, and the Sarnak slaves, all vanished without a trace. Only the Dalnir Forge remained. No trace of the others was ever found.

Assuming the disappearance was a sign the gods had cursed the blade and the Blasphemer, the Brood decreed that to avoid the wrath of the gods, all of Dag’s property and creations were burned, as were all records of his blasphemous studies.

The slave Kly was sought for many years, but never found. It was feared that the slave, in assisting his master, might have learned some of the blasphemous arts, and thus must be destroyed also.

The descriptions posted described Kly as a tall, relatively youthful Sarnak of a reddish skin tone, with some scars on his right arm and leg from early punishment. The slaves accompanying Kly and answering only to him were not known to have individual names or descriptions.

The leader among them, known only as the Kly’s Overseer, kept discipline over them and could be distinguised from the others only because he was permitted to use for this purpose a battered ferrite longsword and kite shield forged in the traditional style of the Ganak footsoldiers

After some decades, the search for the Kly and his followers was abandoned, and the mystery of their disappearance has vanished into the mists of time.

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