The "BIG Burp"

[Shadowalker]

The Gods dazed after a night of drinking Gorms Grog and Elven Wine, find themselves knocked to the floor by a collective Belch that shakes both mountain and tree. The Rifts themselves rip open for a moment in blinding light. Unbeknown at first to the timeless Gods, they soon discover that the world is not right. Many mortals are younger, others simply never existed. Deeds no longer done, paths not yet taken, sourfull songs unsung.

Later as the Gods discussed the event, a quiet voice notes, "now the image of Gorm bowing before Torm is lost to all but us eternals."

Another voice speaks, "just whose idea was it to drink so much anyway?"

All eyes turned towards Gorm, who sat with another pool sized tankard resting upon his ample belly, eyes glazed he replies, "Whaaa?"




//just a lil creative angle to explain, an event that many of us have never seen. Many thanks to the staff for saving as much as they did.

[Bargeld]

The drow sat around a table, amidst near darkness in a private tavern, deep in the underdark. These drow have felt the changes in the rift, yet they do not fear; for that is not their nature. They do not feel sorrow or remorse. These are the things of the weaker surface races.

Many of their champions who had grown in the past weeks had disappeared. Many of the glorious treasures that had been harvested were now missing. Some of the champions appeared to have regained their youth, yet they have lost the naivety of those young years. There is only one explanation: Lolth's ways are swift and wicked, and often not to be understood by the mortals of the realms.

The foremost of Lolth's champions sit around their table and recall these great losses and twist them into gain.

"Lolth's will has a purpose, you see that she has weeded out those who do not have the strength to persist."
"Gone also are those who rely on material gains as a sign of power. They shall never learn that power comes from knowledge that is learned and from battles that are both won and lost."

As the champions recall these lost tales and experiences, the conversation draws into the early morning. One of the affected Half-Ogre champions, a brutally tortured and broken monster, tells a tale about a game that the gods played with the mortals. Of Brandobaris the trickster and the stubborn Gorm, who had chosen mortal champions to settle a wager. As the Half-Ogre recounted the tale in his broken speech, barely able to speak the words needed, the vastly more intelligent drow and svirfneblin began to interrupt the story with taunts and cries of disbelief.

"Dis did hap'n! Gorm kneeled da temple!"

With the anger of his recent loss blinding him, the taunts began to drive him into a panicked frenzy. He bellowed loudly in frustration and quickly rushed towards his enormous weapon, a scythe of no less than 8 feet. The room dropped silent as it's occupants realized that taunting a half ogre could have very serious repercussions, most serious of those at the end of a highly enchanted farmer's tool. The half ogre yelled one final time as he closed in on the weapon, "I will make you seen what I seen!"

The other occupants had smaller, personal weapons drawn and spells were already on the lips of mages and priests. But he never reached the weapon. He was inches away, in mid movement, yet he stopped. He turned to face the room and his scarred and mal-formed face showed no more anger, no anguish. He began to laugh loudly, a laugh so loud that the finery in the cabinets clanked as though laughing with him. His face showed an almost child-like glee as he raised his hand to point across the room.

"See, Lolth shows youz what I doesn't. Torture saws it. And now youz saws it!"

On the opposite side of the room, barely covered with dust and cobwebs as though it had always been there, hung a simple wood framed painting depicting the story told by the beast.

In unison, the champions of the room seemed to whisper... "Lolth be praised"

[TheEdge]

Hmfff.....