Obsidian Finally Awakens

"I told you, No cheatin'!" the orc screamed as he threw the table around. He was obviously annoyed over Terr's flow in the cardgame tonight. He looked about wildly, as if expecting the other players to rise and grab a weapon against the rulebreaker. No one moved an inch, except for turning their heads and a few raised eyebrows, to those who knew Durn this was just his average behaviour. With a grin Terr gathered the silver on the table into a neat pile in front of him.
  "There, there Durn. No reason to get violent now just because lady luck sits in my lap tonight and not yours." This only infuriated the orc even more, it seemed, and with a grunt he simply lifted the whole table straight up and threw it across the room, which finally gave him a reaction from the others, who knocked over their chairs in the attempt to back off a few feet. No one of them was exactly armed for combat, except for the orc with his crescent axe hanging in a leatherstrap by the waist and the wood elf, known as Deltariel, who always seemed to be able to pick out daggers from thin air. He was currently twirling one in his left hand, his right hands finger twitching slightly as if wanting to do the same thing, but Durn didn't even notice.
  "I might be an Orc, but dat dun mean me stupid! You is using some kind o' magic 'ere. You STINK of magic, human!", this was clearly not Durns normal phrase to utter because the other players eyes widened slightly and their heads turned against Terr. "You can't be serious, Durn? Magic? On a human? That's ridicolous!" a purplehaired shadowelf burst out. "Even if he IS cheating, which wouldn't surprise me, him being a human and all, you still can't go around and trash the room because you lost the game a few times." said the tall, cautious owner of the house, a Gorron with skin as gray as ash.
  Being the only human in the immideate surroundings, Terr was getting used to the prejudices, but the fact that orcs can smell magic had actually not crossed his mind this evening. His mind was getting slow and dull from all the liquor and gambling the last couple of days. He was, of course, not using magic for something as simple as predicting a game of King's Knights, that would be a waste of energy and an unnessecary risk. Though keeping his gem open to the void, should the need to connect arise, started to seem like a good idea right now. He sighed heavily and decided that the time had probably come for him to get off his ass and continue his journey north, he'd stayed here too long already.
  "Dere it is again! De smell of magic... it hurts meh head to smell it so close! I gonna kill you, magicwielder!" The living room was pretty big, but so full of things that the orc didn't have much space to move his wide arms in, yet somehow he managed to equip his axe and swing it from below straight against Terr's throat. Caught by surprise and still sitting on the chair, Terr flung himself backwards, away from the orc and fell over on the floor. Deltariel was quick with his knives but somehow Durn managed to be quicker and grabbed the elf's arm with his right hand, the dagger just an inch away from his blazing, hazel eyes. He twisted it around violently, causing Deltariel to make an acrobatic flip and land on his back. "Dis is not of your buisness ELF. Get out of my battle or I'll kill you too!" The others had backed off into the nearby kitchen but didn't lose the scene with their eyes. Durn turned against Terr, who was with increasing frustration trying to get up from the dirty floor. "Get up, magicwielder! I wants to see what you can do! Can you turn me into stone? Set de house on fire!?" Durn closed in on Terr, his steps echoing the closing of every sentence.
  The fall to the floor had knocked some air out of Terr's lungs and he had lost the little mental grip he had of his gemstone and the void. He was furiously trying to regain concentration and connect but the dust he breathed in on the floor and the adrenaline in his veins made it a whole lot more difficult. The fact that he had seven foot, infuriated, axe-carrying orc coming against him didn't make things easier but it really didn't scare him either. What scared him was the sudden loss of control. He had always been able to connect without any problems, even during tight situations, but the weakness he had experienced over the last couple of months was now bigger than ever. To even think about losing the ability to channel at all almost made him weep on the spot. Then his obsidian gem awoke.
  "What ever would you do without me....?" came its thoughts hazily. Terr screamed back in his mind "I don't know and I'm sorry for ever bonding with you! Now help me out here!" Within milliseconds he could feel the void opening to him, letting him in, no, pulling him in and he let out a relieved sigh. Every splinter in the floor below him felt as a part of his own body, as well as every muscle and heartbeat in the orc and everyone else. He was the air they breathed, the fire that crackled in the fireplace and the fly that was just about to be eaten by a spider in the far away corner of the ceiling. Durn swung his axe.



  What happend next is a story that lived on in the village for generations, in hundreds of different variations. The tall Gorron and owner of the house, claims that Durn must've slipped on his weapon and hit himself in the chest or something. That story was only believable until they realised that the owner of the house had gone half-blind from the incident and had gotten a piece of a broken axe stuck inside the back of his head, which in turn made him hallucinate and live in a lucid dream his last couple of days, before dying from the wound. The purplehaired shadowelf who was, more or less, ok, explained that the human actually was a dragonmorph and that he transformed in that exact moment, flew straight through the roof and threw an exploding spell on the house. The jibbering, poor elf never stopped seeing dragons wherever he went and was eventually eaten by a real one that he thought was just another figment of his imagination. The woodelf was never heard from or even found in the ruins of the livingroom, neither was the so-called "dragonmorphicall, gemcarrying, battlemage". The third story that exited the house was never exactly told, but the remnants of Durn was found fivehundred feet north of the house with a large hole in his chest and most of his bones twisted in unnatural angles.