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The storm outside howls with rage as it appears the very heavens themselves seek to smite the earth. and with it the men who walk upon it.

The Tale of Strong the Albion Artisan

The storm outside howls with rage as it appears the very heavens themselves seek to smite the earth. and with it the men who walk upon it. But on this night you are fortunate enough to find yourself in a place of solitude. the local tavern, the White Ox's inn on the outskirts of Kingspool. you and your comrades are of course enjoying your meal and your beer in the warm shelter of the inn when you cant help but notice the ominous figure entering from the rain. His robes robes are heavy and look akin to that of a spell caster which is further reinforced by his great and mighty staff he carry's his breadth.

 

Raising your mug you greet the stranger with pride.

Hail traveler you must be glad to have finally made it to the tavern on a night like this yes?

 

he turns to your party, his iron clad mask cover what face that isn't obscured in the shadow of his hood.

 

He removes his mask to reveal a grinning smile and a face one could not soon forget.

Indeed brothers one cannot help but feel grateful such a haven exists.

 

Hah i know you your that priest we always see in town, you here to tell us all about how great your magnificent gods are again old man?

 

Still smiling he pulls up a chair at your table like an old friend who you haven't seen in forever and feel awkward not being introduced.

 

You stick out your hand and shake him by his own introducing yourself.

Yes nice to meet you, I am Guthin Xiaonith or Guthixiaon if you wish.

You ask Guthin what he really has come here for and so he begins to spin his tales.

 

Well gentlemen. you see, i have come out this way looking for members to aid me on a personal quest of mine. to find an ancient artifact known as Howling Fury, Blessed Blade of the Strong. A weapon crafted far back in the first era here on the very earth of Albion. for you see back then in the times of myth a great many of the holy body's we now know as the gods were once mortal men. Including the Artisan known as the SuperStrong. Yes a silly name i know but there is no other title than can truly describe this man, he was so mighty he could fell whole trees with his bare hands and shatter stone cliff faces with his fist. It was said that he was the greatest blacksmith Albion had ever seen. Creating Beautiful artworks and Glorious weapons in his mortal life. But the Howling Fury was the peak of his Splender my brothers. 

 

The storm outside howls with rage as it appears the very heavens themselves seek to smite the earth. and with it the men who walk upon it. But on this night you are fortunate enough to find yourself in a place of solitude. the local tavern, the White Ox's inn on the outskirts of Kingspool. you and your comrades are of course enjoying your meal and your beer in the warm shelter of the inn when you cant help but notice the ominous figure entering from the rain. His robes robes are heavy and look akin to that of a spell caster which is further reinforced by his great and mighty staff he carry's his breadth.  Raising your mug you greet the stranger with pride. Hail traveler you must be glad to have finally made it to the tavern on a night like this yes?  he turns to your party, his iron clad mask cover what face that isn't obscured in the shadow of his hood.  He removes his mask to reveal a grinning smile and a face one could not soon forget. Indeed brothers one cannot help but feel grateful such a haven exists.  Hah i know you your that priest we always see in town, you here to tell us all about how great your magnificent gods are again old man?  Still smiling he pulls up a chair at your table like an old friend who you haven't seen in forever and feel awkward not being introduced.  You stick out your hand and shake him by his own introducing yourself. Yes nice to meet you, I am Guthin Xiaonith or Guthixiaon if you wish. You ask Guthin what he really has come here for and so he begins to spin his tales.  Well gentlemen. you see, i have come out this way looking for members to aid me on a personal quest of mine. to find an ancient artifact known as Howling Fury, Blessed Blade of the Strong. A weapon crafted far back in the first era here on the very earth of Albion. for you see back then in the times of myth a great many of the holy body's we now know as the gods were once mortal men. Including the Artisan known as the SuperStrong. Yes a silly name i know but there is no other title than can truly describe this man, he was so mighty he could fell whole trees with his bare hands and shatter stone cliff faces with his fist. It was said that he was the greatest blacksmith Albion had ever seen. Creating Beautiful artworks and Glorious weapons in his mortal life. But the Howling Fury was the peak of his Splender my brothers.   One day a strange old man came to the door step of his smithery on a day not to dissimilar to this to make a special order. A mighty enchanted blade forged of the great Adamantite. But not just any Adamantite but the Greatest ore of its kind to ever exist. Strong had produced weapons of this material before but the specifications he wanted of this weapon were beyond even his caliber. He told the stranger he could not produce such a weapon of this quality out of the great Adamantite as even smithing with this material alone is next to impossible for even the most Mastered of smiths.  "So you are not as good as they all say?" the man inquired. This simple query sent Strong into something akin to pure rage. that anyone would dare challenge him so and declare that he is beneath any other man. "No one beyond that of godhood could forge a weapon of this design!" The old man simple stared and smiled.  "Then perhaps the gods themselves will take you among them if you can do what i asked?" Enough was said and the man disappeared into the night. leaving Strong only with his thoughts and a request to prove not only his skill and strength but also his worth.  Many Moons later  The great ox strode forth into the place of which Strong had conducted his greatest works. the large stone structure towering high with bellows and smoke and in the middle, the mighty Adamantite Anvil with its great Sword mold caved into it. Strong placed his Legendary Adamantite sword into the mold specifically carved for this alone and heated the bellows, the sweat on his muscles glistening as he shovels in the Mythic Ore and pumped the gargantuan bellows. for hours he was at it, trying to temper the ore itself to that so it will not lose its quality and might, the heat itself venting all over him and the hollowed room he stood in. Until finally the time came to being the forging. the great buckets that held the liquid metal were poured into the mold encasing the sword in a outer layer of Adamantite.   Strong raised his hammer to the heavens themselves crying out to the Gods to witness this event. Hammer blow after Hammer blow he poured his heart and soul into the blade. His very anger, rage and might given form. And so, as the hammering died away into the night, He finally rest. and in the morning he left on the South eastern road bound for home when the same old man confronted him at a crossroads next to what we now call the silver lake. He drew the mighty blade and offered it to the man to prove to all he was the most greatest blacksmith in all of Albion. The old man took it up and ina voice that sounded like smooth velvet he said "A blade worthy of the Gods. What shall we call it?" Somewhat speechless the smith managed to say "Howling Fury... what are you?!" the mans eyes glowed blue and he began to float above the ground.  "It is brilliant but i'm sure you can still do better." And with that he cast the Sacred blade into the Silver lake sending it to its bottom. Strong was aghast that such a weapon could be treated this way and just cast aside like nothing. The God reached out his hand to Strong. "Take my hand and take your place among the gods, we have need of a artificer and you are he"  And so that brings me again to why i came here. The most sacred artifact of our order lies at the bottom of the great Silver lake in what most Travelers call "Hollow Soul" and i need only the best to help me find it. We are paying handsomely for whomever can lend their sword arm to this endeavor.  You and your party finish your meals and down your beers, the rain outside is beginning to let up.  Well if you needed a hand with something you could have said that in the first place. You grin the Clerics grin right back at him. Today's going to be a good day indeed.

 

One day a strange old man came to the door step of his smithery on a day not to dissimilar to this to make a special order. A mighty enchanted blade forged of the great Adamantite. But not just any Adamantite but the Greatest ore of its kind to ever exist. Strong had produced weapons of this material before but the specifications he wanted of this weapon were beyond even his caliber. He told the stranger he could not produce such a weapon of this quality out of the great Adamantite as even smithing with this material alone is next to impossible for even the most Mastered of smiths.

 

"So you are not as good as they all say?" the man inquired. This simple query sent Strong into something akin to pure rage. that anyone would dare challenge him so and declare that he is beneath any other man. "No one beyond that of godhood could forge a weapon of this design!" The old man simple stared and smiled.

 

"Then perhaps the gods themselves will take you among them if you can do what i asked?" Enough was said and the man disappeared into the night. leaving Strong only with his thoughts and a request to prove not only his skill and strength but also his worth.

 

Many Moons later

 

The great ox strode forth into the place of which Strong had conducted his greatest works. the large stone structure towering high with bellows and smoke and in the middle, the mighty Adamantite Anvil with its great Sword mold caved into it. Strong placed his Legendary Adamantite sword into the mold specifically carved for this alone and heated the bellows, the sweat on his muscles glistening as he shovels in the Mythic Ore and pumped the gargantuan bellows. for hours he was at it, trying to temper the ore itself to that so it will not lose its quality and might, the heat itself venting all over him and the hollowed room he stood in. Until finally the time came to being the forging. the great buckets that held the liquid metal were poured into the mold encasing the sword in a outer layer of Adamantite. 

 

Strong raised his hammer to the heavens themselves crying out to the Gods to witness this event. Hammer blow after Hammer blow he poured his heart and soul into the blade. His very anger, rage and might given form. And so, as the hammering died away into the night, He finally rest. and in the morning he left on the South eastern road bound for home when the same old man confronted him at a crossroads next to what we now call the silver lake. He drew the mighty blade and offered it to the man to prove to all he was the most greatest blacksmith in all of Albion. The old man took it up and ina voice that sounded like smooth velvet he said "A blade worthy of the Gods. What shall we call it?" Somewhat speechless the smith managed to say

"Howling Fury... what are you?!" the mans eyes glowed blue and he began to float above the ground.

 

"It is brilliant but i'm sure you can still do better." And with that he cast the Sacred blade into the Silver lake sending it to its bottom. Strong was aghast that such a weapon could be treated this way and just cast aside like nothing. The God reached out his hand to Strong. "Take my hand and take your place among the gods, we have need of a artificer and you are he"

 

And so that brings me again to why i came here. The most sacred artifact of our order lies at the bottom of the great Silver lake in what most Travelers call "Hollow Soul" and i need only the best to help me find it. We are paying handsomely for whomever can lend their sword arm to this endeavor.

 

You and your party finish your meals and down your beers, the rain outside is beginning to let up.

 

Well if you needed a hand with something you could have said that in the first place.

You grin the Clerics grin right back at him. Today's going to be a good day indeed.

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