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Ogema Blood-On-His-Boots
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Ogema was a Magic Sword King and member of The Kings Council, King of The Land of Thrown Fish one of the twelve realms of Antior.
Biographical Information
A trained ichtheologist living in the far northern regions of Battal, Ogema lived a quiet life studying the rather mundane fish of the northern Great Iceberg Sea. One day when he awoke, he found that his room had shifted slightly, and none of the walls seemed to meet at right angles anymore. He went outside and the sky had taken on a crosshatched appearance and he could swear he saw a thin seam running down the middle of it from horizon to horizon. The sun seemed to have doubled in side in the sky, but strangely it was no brighter or hotter out. And that's when his friend, Meep, came running down the road, which appeared to have been paved in Butterscotch during the night.
"Come with me to the sea," he said breathlessly, "Upon the shores beat orange and hazy waves, the likes of which none have seen. It is an ill omen methinks. More strange I have seen today than I could record or recount."
"What bewitchment has befallen this place?" shouted Ogema over the roar of giant sparrows flying overhead. One of the sparrows suddenly was struct from the air by a spitting worm, firing like artillery from a grassy incline beside the road.
-- Ronard Beknighted
Eventually making his way down to the shed on the coast where he did his recording and research, normally only a few minutes walk from his home, he travelled through a land whose very laws of nature were turned on their ear. Additionally, the people of his village where frightened and paniced, and had begun to riot, loot, and even kill one another. Assuming that it was the end of the world, gollygotten, as they called it, society had collapsed into lawlessness.
When he arrived at the shore, terror stricken and overall as confused as everyone else, he came upon a band of men who were chasing a combly young woman down the beache, covered in a blue sand which yesterday was white.
Ogema's fear melted away. "We have to save her," he yelled. Looking around for some sort of a weapon he saw a large melon sitting near him on the ground. In it was a shining blade. He pulled it from its fruity scabbard, not questioning the strange convenience, and rushed the mob. Unwilling to halt even at the sight of a man rushing at them wielding an obviously enchanted blade, the party fell on him, bloodlustiness in their eyes.
-- Ronard Beknighted
Ogema slew the party. Spats of blood covering his clothes and boots. From here he began a series of vigilante campaigns, ever increasing his band of followers and fighting for order even in these trying times. Although he aquired new garments, new boots were strangely scarce if almost non-existant in this new kingdom, so his blood spattered boots saw much wear, and became his signature feature.
Before long, Ogema, through bravery and strength of will, and additionally high standards of discipline within his ranks, had enough followers that he declared his band to be the new government of the land. This method of government was maintained, control passing from warlord to warlord, until one day, everyone woke up, and the lands were no longer strange.
Each of the kings took the magic sword Ogema pulled from the melon, The Arkanacleaver. Mysteriously, on the day when things returned to normal, the sword was no where to be found, and was never seen again.
"My good kings and sovereigns. I believe that all of our members have arrived, so let this council be called to order," Lord Greylord said in a loud voice over the din of the others talking amongst themselves.
King Lightlute turned ceased singing the melody he was recanting and turned to the lord. "Ogema has not yet arrived. Have we news of him?"
At that moment the doors to the chamber were thrust open. Ogema Blood-on-his-Boots was standing there covered in something thick and brown. He entered the room and in with him wafted the scent of chocolate.
Without offering an explaination he slouched over to his appointed chair at the table and threw himself into it, pulling his wooly hat from his head. The conversation of the others had died away. Finally the King of Graha asked the question. "What was it this time?"
"Just as I was nearing the border to my lands, the steed which I was riding... suddenly... was no longer a horse. Pudding, I believe," he said, running a finger along a plate of his armor and sampled the chocolatey confection. "A shame, it was a fine mount, and the fourth one this month."
-- The Twilight Vampyres
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