The Fate of the Ogre

The Irda, by Larry Elmore

As I engrave this last account from the might Ogre Empire, I feel the curse of the gods coursing through my blood.

Let the last of my words warn you, mortals, of the price of hubris.

The Might of the Ogre

We were the First.

The beloved of the gods.

Our might spanned the continent, cowing the lesser races as well as the mighty dragons.

Our cities crowned mountains, floating above clouds.

Our slaves revered our power, and willingly submitted themselves to our superiority.

Our magic was unparalleled.

But none of it equalled our pride.

The Pride of the Ogres

Despite our near perfection, our flaws were apparent to our beloved Emperor.

We were mortals, albeit longer lived than any other soul. Diseases could still bring us down despite our knowledge. Our magic could warp the ground, and raise the seas, and even brighten the skies... But the stars were still out of our reach. As were the Realms of the Gods.

Surely this was our last challenge, set by the gods to weed out the unworthy from the worthy.

And, our beloved Emperor claimed: The Ogre were worthy.

The Test of the Ogre

The first steps were easy. For the challenges were nothing compared to our might and wisdom.

The gods smiled on us. Majestic Paladine, wise Gilean, and magnificent Takhisis.

They acknowledged our claim to Ascension, a celestial sign, a single comet burning through the night skies.

And we rejoiced.

They honored us with more challenges, hardening us, so we could make them proud, for all the multiverse to witness the worth and might of the ogre of Krynn.

And with each step on, with each success, the Comet of Ascension would greet us in the skies.

Nothing would stop us from reaching the gods, bow to them one last time in respect, then join them in herding the clueless mortals we would leave behind.

Or so the Emperor said.

And so we all believed.

Oh... How wrong we were.

The Fall of the Ogre

The Emperor gathered us all in Giant's Hall, our mighty capital of marble and silver and gold.

And as the sun rose on the horizon, and as its light poured on us, we all joined the Emperor. Old and young. Noble and Common. Whispering the words, waving our magic so the power of the sun would become our power.

The sun turned blue, then red as it reached its zenith.

The other races could only witness our greatness, envious of our power, and of our worthiness. The dragons raged, impotent, as we had now outshined them.

Even the stars shined in the daylight, welcoming our ascension. And the Soaring Comet has never been so large and so bright in the sky.

We felt the gaze of the gods upon us, and we smiled in pride.

"We are your creation!" claimed our Emperor. "It is now time the children joined the parents."

Then, as he wove the last strands of magic, stealing the power of the sun, and the divinity of the Comet, the Emperor stuttered.

And the gem cracked.

A blinding light surrounded us.

And when we could see again, the sun was normal, in the sky. The stars were nowhere to be seen. The comet had been dissolved, its power absorbed by the Might Ogre Race.

Or so we thought.

Oh... How wrong we were.

The Truth of the Ogre

The Ascended Ogres dispersed, waiting for the divine magic's effects to manifest.

And manifest it did.

In the next months, a few among the newborn, the first ascended babies, the future of the Ogre.

Our blind faith turned sour.

Instead of divine beings, they were mutated, pitiful monstrosities. The Emperor was silent, as the first two-headed baby was presented to him.

For he knew.

He had known the whole time, he told me. Ever since he had stuttered.

The gods had never welcomed the Ogre among them. The Comet of Ascension had been a warning of our impending destruction. A warning, in our pride, we mistook for an invitation. That fateful day, by unraveling the ritual, the Emperor had avoided the immediate destruction of our race... But the damage had been done.

The Commons whispered that Igraine, the Traitor, had been right.

They revolted against the Nobles, who had misled them. The Nobles revolted against the Emperor, and the Wise counseling him, for having failed. The slaves revolted against us, for being weak.

Our Empire faltered.

The Decay of the Ogre

I've seen the future of the Ogre.

The dread disease is now part of our blood. The mutation cannot be stopped. Our magic is faltering. Our wisdom is decaying. Our perfection is unraveling.

The Ogre will pay for their pride with the annihilation of our civilization and our race.

The Last Witness

My city is burning. The mob had hunted me. Right to my own tomb.

And here, entombed under the rocks of the mountain, I await my death.

The gods' lies has been revealed.

I regret nothing, for we were worthy, and the gods feared us.

I'd rather die knowing the gods feared us, than live a coward bowing to them, as Igraine's Chosen must be, at this very moment.

One Last Warning

You, who will read this, long after my death: Heed my warning.

The gods are jealous.

They won't share the power.

But remember: The power isn't theirs.

"So, that is what happened to the ogre," the lich, powerful and terrible, said, his sepulchral voice echoing in the tomb. He crossed his skelettal arms over his chest with a grim satisfaction, the purple light radiating from his empty sockets flashing. "They lost control."

At the entrance of the chambers, the guards witnessed the purple robes examining every inch of the heart of the tomb.

"This ogre is long gone," the ghoul, beautiful and majestic, answered, lowering her hand as her necromancy had failed to summon the long lost soul. She turned away from the large skeletal remains on the ground, and walked back toward the lich. "Its bones still radiate magic, though. Chaos magic."

The lich's gaze turned towards the Ghoul Queen. He hated her. She visibly couldn't care less.

"The gem is at Giant's Hall," he said, turning toward the purple robes. "Copy every sentence, every glyph, every drawing. Somewhere in this tomb is the location of Giant's Hall. Find it."

He saw the Ghoul Queen walk away, silently.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice menacing. "Our work here is not finished."

She turned, smiling, and revealing elongated canines as she did.

"The gem is cracked, Ardhalox," Sylvyana reminded the lich, dismissively. "The magical focus is broken, and six thousand years old. You might harvest more magic from these old bones, than from that stone."

She shrugged.

"I am expected at Neraka," she explained, turning away. "I'd rather spend my time there, with the living and the undead, than crawling through tombs, dust and old bones." She stopped, adding: "Please do not hesitate to tell me, should you find the ogre ruins."

Ardhalox, high necromancer of the Purple Robes, eyed the Chemosh's Chosen walk away, flaunting his authority.

Not for very long, if everything went as expected...

"Oh, you'll know..." he whispered, before turning back to his work.