The Order of the Dark Flame: Book 5. (story, no spam)

[Nippy]

Nippy had silently followed Dragon Wench and sat, away in the shadows, observing her conversation with this... man... Thalimon, he had said. On his utterance of Torm Nippy's eyes widened in surprise, who was this who worshipped the Loyal Fury?

Nippy watched on in silence as he began a healing spell. So he was a Paladin of Torm, amazing that he had found someone, like him, who worshipped Torm.

He carried on watching in silence, gauging Thalimon and reading his ki...

[Aqua-chan]

So many New Recruits!

Aqua-chan was still playing with her ball of string, which, seemed to be winning in the fight the two were having. AC swore on her life twice that more than once the string took the form of a snake and tried to bite her... Thank Bast for catnip. D)

When the woman and her horse fell through the cavern walls and into the current lair of the Dark Flames, AC thought she was being delusional again. However, she walked, talked, and the Darks aknowledged her just fine, so maybe AC wasn't so completely out of it. Reguardless, the hybrid knew she had somewhere to go... She just forgot where, exactly.

Maybe... Follow Gwally around in circles? Or follow Dragon Wench and Nippy?

Finally, something clicked. AC dug through her robes with her long claws and pulled out the item of thought: the black key. She waved it in the air wildly.

"Hey you all guys... girls... yeah... I found a key!" Previous to her falling over, giggling over something that only she knew. Thank Bast for catnip. D)

[Yshania]

Yshania leaned to examine the fountain. Pulling out a cloth from her pack, she proceeded to dampen it in the water and clean the soot from her face. She looked up as a quiet laugh sounded beside her

"What? What's up with you?"

"Nice camouflage technique, Ysh" responded an amused Gwalchmai, grinning at the black smears across Yshania's cheeks. The druid sighed.

"I could really do with a little natural light" then sadly, "I wish we could leave this godforsaken place."

She examined her face in the pool, but its endless rippling only distorted her features. "Here, let me help" offered Gwalchmai. Taking the cloth from Yshania, he wet it again and began to clean the soot from her face.

"Thanks, Gwally" she smiled. He smiled back, and she wondered at the mischevious twinkle in his eye, detectable even in the darkness of the cavern.

"There!" he announced, finished. Yshania retrieved her cloth and placed it in a side pocket of her bag. She turned to the others, noticing Thantor stifle a smirk. Unbeknownst to her, Gwalchmai had drawn designs in the soot on her face, but before anyone had the chance to give his little game away there was a sudden commotion further up the tunnel. A few of them went to investigate, Yshania held back but was stunned to see a horse and rider ahead of them.

She strained to listen to the conversation, but most of it escaped her. However, she sensed no malice from the newcomer. Taking advantage of this short break, she drew her blades and began to clean the black stickiness from them, her skin crawling as she thought of the proximity of the drow. In the dim light of the cavern, the water of Eldath seemed to give the blades a dull blue glow. "Pretty!" she said abstractly, as she turned them over to admire them. A noise off to her right had her scrambling to her feet.

"By the gods!" she exclaimed as a demonic looking character in full plate mail appeared before her. She tensed and her blades flashed wickedly as she threatened him, the blades keen...

"Wait up, Ysh!" called a familiar voice. Dragon Wench appeared behind the demon "he intends no harm!"

After a long moment studying the paladin, she sheathed her blades. What was going on? First the hybrid, then an unidentified human, then a demon...what brought them here?...how had they got in when the DF had used a portal?...why were they here in the first place? Was the power of the Shadow Master depleting at such a rate that frays were appearing in the weave?, that holes were appearing in this poisoned corner of the tapestry?....

[Mysteria]

Mysteria could only watch in awe as a woman complete with horse made her interruption into the caves. Somehow, she seemed slightly out of touch with reality. Slowly, she approached somewhat, noticing that they had aquired yet another red-head. Smiling, she tugged at a small strain of her own ... eh ... blue hair? Staring at it for a moment, she finally sighed, resigned to wait for it to wear off.

Still confused, she stepped closer, quite unaware that she was presently floating half a foot over the cavern floor. She nudged Bloodstalker, motioning to the newcomer, "Any idea where she came from?" Turning to her, his eyes widened when he saw her floating about. "How? Did Symbul teach you that trick?" Even more confused, by this, she looked down on herself, "What ... Oh." She began to flail around with her arms, trying to get herself grounded again.

Luckily, Auqua-Chan brought a some diversion by shouting something about a key, giving her time to sort herself out. Hopefully, nobody else than Bloodstalker had noticed, she tried to be as inconspicous as one could be while floating in the air, but somehow she had the feeling of failing lamentably.

[dragon wench]

Slightly taken aback by Thalimon's rapid recovery, Dragon Wench smiled again at the warrior. Then it hit her....of course..he was a paladin...this explained his obvious skill at healing... She looked around the tunnel for the first time since encountering the newcomer and noted the bodies of Drow littering the ground.....observing that this man was also a fighter of no mean skill.

Suddenly she realised that Thalimon was addressing her again. Embarressed at this tendency of hers to mentally wander off, she grinned somewhat sheepishly and extended her hand.

Before she could say anything further, however, a familiar whirring and flashing of scimitars arose from behind. Dragon Wench turned just in time to see Yshania bearing down on the paladin in a clearly menacing manner. Hastily, she called out to her friend that the warrior bore them no ill, and somewhat awkwardly she began to make introductions, stifling a giggle at Thalimon's wry expression as he considered the scimitar-brandishing druid. D)

[Chanak]

As he clasped hands with his newly found friend, Thalimon was once again struck by her eyes. A yawning chasm opened up before his mind's eye...slowly, inexorably, he was drawn by the kiss of arid winds, and the stinging embrace of desert sand...

...the merciless orb of the high noon sun set the barren land ablaze in the Valley of Smoke in the great Anauroch. Neither beast nor reason stood long in the heat of the great fires of the noonday sun, leaving the landscape barren and devoid of life. High above the crags of the waste a hawk soared lazily on the wing, scanning the dunes below with his piercing green eyes.

Hawk spied motion in the valley far below, and banked sharply to the east to investigate. A dark speck on the dunes, first but a mote, now growing larger, told Hawk that this hunt might be in vain. Legs - man-legs, Hawk saw from his great height above - propelled this dark object across the reddish sand. Catching a rising thermal, Hawk vaulted ever upward into the vast expanse of sky, content to resume his vigil once more.

Man did not stand long in the hellish heat of the ruthless Anauroch. Yet the hurtling dark mote upon the face of the harsh mistress dared to do just that. The mote, growing ever larger now, ran with great loping strides across the dunes. A lock of jet hair trailed behind the dark mote as he ran, only to be surpassed by a length of serpentine tail. Both marked his passage to the saurian beasts as they silently regarded the runner, sheltered safely from the heat under the overhangs of the rocky crags nearby. A waterskin and swords were strapped to the back of the interloper, and they swayed to and fro in time with the rhythm of his pumping legs. The heat of the Anauroch could not claim this one, for he felt it not - indeed, unlike Hawk and the saurian beasts of the crags, the runner was one with it.

Thalimon had been on the trail of the Gnoll marauders for two days now, and the strength of their spoor told him the chase would soon end. They had laid waste to the nomad Syndevar's camp, slaughtering their cattle and slaying both the young and the old - none were left, save a young lad, to tell of the tale. And so the boy had found Thalimon near the Cave of Huandil, and breathlessly told him of their plight. Leaving the lad with Syndevar's kin, Hathbuul and his clan, the Dark Guard of Huandil (so the nomads had named him) gave chase.

It was on the third day, then, that Thalimon had overtaken the Gnolls. The Dark Guard was not prepared for what awaited him that day...

The Gnolls had been slain, swiftly butchered as they slept around their watch fires. Few, if any, had time to react. As he noted the the claw marks and jagged lacerations on the throats of the giant canine humanoids, Thalimon saw great paw prints in the sand. Sabretooths?...no, there are claw marks for each pad. Adding two and two together, he knew they were assailed at night, for many lie slain on their filthy bedrolls... and the moon was full at her zenith these past two nights.

Lycanthropes. Werewolves.

Little remained of Syndevar's people that the Gnolls had taken for slaves. Thalimon knew that lycanthropes preferred human flesh above all else, and it further confirmed their presence to him the night before. His blood flowed hot in his veins as he looked upon the lifeless corpse of a babe...

And there, like a vision out of place in the cruel vastness of life and death that was the Anauroch, lay a fair woman upon the sand. She stood out by virtue of her pale skin, and the great lock of golden hair that spilled forth from the cowl of the tattered robe that draped her still form. Her eyes stared blankly into the sky...blue eyes...

Shalimare...

He had called her name again and again, but she would not answer.

Shalimare...

The shutters were torn from the gardenside window, and a great hole gaped in the thatched roof above...and she did not answer.

Shalimare...

She would not answer him.

Shalimare, my joy in the daytime...

Something gleamed in a pool of blood on the earthen floor. He gingerly removed it, shaking the blood free from the oddly shaped pendant.

Shalimare...

It was exquisitely crafted in the shape of a bloated spider. In the very center glared a red rune, softly glowing in the palm of his hand...

Shalimare, my song in the night...

He found her by the well later on that night, long after the moon had gone to her rest. Though black as pitch on the edge of the Wildwood, he could see as if the moon were still aloft, full in her silvery radiance. She lie upon the ground, arms and legs akimbo, restrained by tongs of a curious glittering substance. Her flesh had been flayed to ribbons over most of her body, save for her face...and her eyes. Her eyes of clearest blue. They stared blankly into the cold night sky.

Shalimare...Shalimare my mother.

He could hear Huandil's gruff voice calling his name: Thalimon...

Thalimon...THALIMON!

Snapping from his reverie, Thalimon realized that Dragon Wench had been calling his name. The ringing of metal had accompanied his realization, and he snapped his head towards the source of the sound. There, standing before him, a woman held two blades at the ready, and there was a fire in her eyes.

He had seen her kind before...long ago, before he had left the lands of green and plentiful water, he had come upon a lone hunter in the wilderness, resting next to a babbling brook in a forest clearing. As Thalimon observed the hunter pulling a great black arrow from the slender quiver that was slung across his back, his keen eyes had detected movement in the forest wall beyond the hunter...great loping shapes - tremendous wolves - in the cover of darkness, yellow eyes gleaming with a feral hunger. Instinctively he knew why the hunter was there, and immediately felt a bond with this elf. He stilled the desire to leap from the shadows with his swords drawn, instead waiting for the hunter to make the first move.

The black-shafted arrow found it's mark, unerring and true. A great crackling of energy was followed by a mournful howl as the dire wolf fell lifeless to the forest floor. Snarling, the pack chose that moment to strike, pouncing from the thickets that surrounded the clearing...

In an instant the elf drew a glittering sword from his side, and leapt to the top of the great rock that he had been leaning so casually against. His eyes met Thalimon's at that moment, and a silent understanding passed between them. He knows I am here. He has known all along.

The hunter raised his hand, and uttered words in a language he had never heard before. A sigh seemed to come from the great trees of the Wildwood, and the ground began to vibrate under his feet...

Gnarled roots ripped free of the ground in the clearing, reaching up to embrace the encroaching wolf pack. They howled with rage as they struggled against the entangling forest of roots, foamy spittle flying from their snapping maws as they fought, in vain, to reach the hunter on the rock. One wolf managed to avoid being held, and lunged at the hunter on the rock. He was met by the point of the hunter's glittering sword, and he backpedaled, whining, to the far end of the stone.

Thalimon could restrain himself no longer. He emerged from the cover of the undergrowth with his swords drawn, ready to aid the elf in his battle against the pack. Already two of the wolves were working free of their bonds, and it would only be a matter of time before they joined their stricken pack-mate in the battle on the stone.

The hunter strung his great black bow again, and with the twang of the thick gut cord the attacking wolf fell to the ground of the clearing. As Thalimon himself leaped to the side, clear of seeking roots, the hunter began to methodically slay each wolf, one by one, with the black arrows from his bow. He watched in rapt fascination as each arrow streaked unerringly from the hunter, ending the terrifying reign of the crazed dire wolf pack. Tears streamed from the elf's eyes as the wolves howled in agony, perishing as the slaying arrows extinguished their lives. As the hunter turned to regard him, the world exploded in a flash of color, and Thalimon was slammed forward to the ground...

When at last he rose from the floor of the clearing, spitting clumps of earth and shaking his head to clear the spots from his vision, he saw the great form of a monstrous wolf lying prone not too far away from him. The haft of a black arrow jutted from a sightless eye. The leader of the pack had tossed Thalimon aside like a rag doll in his rage to slay the hunter. It was over. The pack would kill senselessly no more.

The hunter stood before Thalimon, extending his hand. In his palm were several small berries. "Eat," the hunter said softly. Thalimon felt he could trust the elf, so he accepted the berries silently, and popped them into his mouth.

The effects were immediate. A tingling warmth spread to every region of his body. Thalimon closed his eyes and sighed, taken with the sheer ecstatic pleasure the juicy berries had brought to him. When the feeling had at last passed, and he had opened his eyes once more, the elf was gone...

Thalimon stayed his own hands quickly. I have met more than Drow in the tunnels this day...I shall not risk making a foe of a friend, until I know the way of the fire in her eyes. He admired that fire, to be truthful, and he smiled at the ferocity of the blaze.

At his friend's entreaty, the woman sheathed her blades.

EDIT - Caught numerous grammatical errors. Fixed 'em. -Chanak

[T'lainya]

T’lainya took a deep breath, as she glanced at the patterned soot on Yshania’s face her eyes widened a bit. She glanced at Gwally, who was trying rather unsuccessfully to look innocent. She raised an eyebrow at him and shook her head slightly, biting back the giggle that threatened to escape. She started to resume her debate with Thantor when the clattering of hooves and the clanging of metal on the cavern floor caught her attention.

She looked up to see a red haired human female on a horse talking to herself. The priestess observed the new arrival with interest. The woman’s arrival provided a distraction from T’lainyas inner turmoil. The nearness of the abomination was irritating her senses. The heavy presence of evil settled on her skin like a layer of poisonous ash. Her ears rang as she felt the blood pound through her veins like a drummer beating out a battle march. Even worse she could sense the drow, which drew the angry attention of Sheveresh. The power of the place heightened her awareness of the Seldarines interest in this battle. Foremost she felt her deity’s presence, silent and comforting, the ever-present cornerstone of her faith. The Black Archer was a different matter. The demigod was volatile and explosive at the best of times, and the presence of the drow was infuriating him. She normally didn’t hear much from the other Seldarine, dealing instead with their servants. The urgency of the situation, combined with the immense power gathered, made her acutely aware of the demigod’s feelings. She steadied herself again, regaining control of her emotions. She refused to give in to the violence that Sheveresh was encouraging. She felt him retreat from her mind and turned her attention to her surroundings.

She was not surprised to hear the newcomer’s odd words. She had felt the rippling across her skin that accompanied planar rifts and portals. She idly wondered if she still had any of the Syrup of D’sney left. She rather hoped there wouldn’t be any more not-inkansys incidents at this time. She thought that any temporal riffs would prove more of a distraction than was wise at this time.

[Scayde]

Hope you guys like it.

Scayde found herself next being led away from the group by a very friendly young woman who had introduced herself as Vivian and appeared to her to be a tour guide of sorts.

Excitedly she began asking where she might find the cast of the show. Although she was not really a fan, she saw no reason to pass up an opportunity to get Lucy Lawless’s autograph.

“Do you think it would be OK if I stopped in at the makeup trailer. I am a mess after that spill. I wouldn’t even have known you guys were here if I hadn’t fallen through that hole up there. Why Daddy never even said a word about leasing the place out to a studio. Do you think I could audition for a walk on part, or even just an extra?”

Vivian listened to the girl, wondering what she was gibbering about, a very concerned look on her face.
“You poor dear, You are lost aren’t you. Did you hit your head?” With that she gave Scayde a comforting *HUG* and told her they would do their best to help if they could. Then Vivian reached in her pack, and pulled out the fluffiest bunny Scayde had ever seen. It was nothing like the scraggly jackrabbits she was used to. And much bigger and furrier than the occasional cottontail that would scamper across the yard in front of the ranch house. “Would you like to hold him” Vivian asked?

Scayde scratched the bunny behind the ears, grinning at the way it wrinkled its nose and twitched its whiskers. She was about to take it from Vivian’s arms when she heard a woman behind her commenting on Hunter. She turned to reply, only to see the saddest look, on the most beautiful face, turn and quietly slip away from the rest.

Turning back to Vivian, “Who was that?” She asked. But before Vivian could reply, Scayde grabbed her rifle and pushing her behind yelled “COUGAR” !!! Bringing her rifle up to aim.

“What are you doing?’’ exclaimed Vivian. “That is Aqua-chan.”

Upon hearing her name, Aqua-chan sprang to her feet, with cat-like fluidity and grace. In one elegant motion she pounced to where the other two women were standing, grabbing the riffle out of Scayde’s hands. “What kind of weapon is this” asked Aqua-Chan. An incredulous look on her face. “You know it isn’t nice to just show up and start waving things around at people.” Her beautiful cat like eyes narrowing to mere slits, her tail switching in an agitated fashion, and her ears flicking as she laid them back against her head. Then she gave Scayde the biggest heart warming grin and said, “Just kidding”, pushing the rifle back into Scayde’s hand.

Scayde stared at the woman in front of her. Her brow furrowed in consternation. “May I ?” She asked. And with that she reached out to touch Aqua-chan’s ears and face. It felt absolutely real....

Then she pulled on her whiskers.

“OUCH” yelped Aqua-chan, rubbing her face her tail twitching in anger.

“What are you doing?” Asked Vivian. Rushing to Aqua-chan’s side. Clearly confused by the actions of the newcomer.

“That isn’t a costume.... Is it?” Asked Scayde, already knowing the answer. Beginning to realize things were not what she had thought, her mind raced, grappling for answers. A pit forming in her stomach, as something in the back of her mind let her know this was all very very wrong.

Of course I will edit anything if needed...

[Aqua-chan]

"Ieeeeyow!..." Aqua-chan groaned, her face still in serious pain. She looked up again, only the new comer's face was full of confusion and a slight glint of uneasyness.

Instinctively, AC pulled her hood over her head and hears and tucked her tail deep into her robes, just in case the woman wanted to try pulling on something else. "You're just as bad as Gwally, ya know?"

What is it with these people?! All tug and no talk... Aqua-chan growled mentally.

D)

[Aegis]

Aegis had wandered off from the main group, following the same path of Gwally and Ysh. Though he was slightly intrigued at the coming of the new woman, his mind was too clouded to think about it. He remembered hearing something about a subterraining pool of water, and thought that it might be eneficial to clean up somewhat. He came upon the pool quickly, as it wasn't too far from where the group had stopped. He could still their voices echo down the halls, and heard Aqua-Chan cry out about something. As he walked towards the druids, he noticed that T'lainya was also with them. Walking past them, and to the pools, he cast each one a glance and nod.

Stopping at the edge of the pool, he knelt down, and looked into the water. Though the light was dim in the caverns, he could see his reflection clearly. It had been a long time since he had looked at his reflection, and had not noticed just how badly beaten up he was now looking. Across his face, stains of blood and dirt marred the fine elven features. The appearance was only made worse by the striking scar across his left eye. He sighed, and dipped his hands into the pool. The cool water on his hands felt good, refreshing. Cupping his hands together, he splashed some water onto his face, and rubbed it gently. He felt a cool surge run through his body, making his spine tingle slightly. He let the water bead, and run down his facial features, washing the dirt and blood away. He sighed again. The longer he stayed down here, the more he began to feel empty. He longed for the open wild, and the cool breeze. The tight confines of the tunnels were stifling, and the ranger was growing tiresome of them.

As he knelt by the pool, images of his home began to flood into his thoughts. The crystal lakes, and twisting branches of the surrounding forests. The sight of the other elves moving about their homes, each with own task on mind. The peacful music played by the younger elves. It was all so simple. As he thought, the image of a woman came to mind. Striking blond hair, and almond shaped eyes. Her beauty was unparrelled. Saran opened her arms to him, called to him.

Aegis suddenly snapped back to reality. He shook his mind out, and reached for the flask he kept under his cloak tied to the back of his belt. He quickly uncapped it, and deluged it into the water, filling it up. He then stood up, and capped it again, and made his way back to the rest of the Dark Flames...

[Beldin]

While the Dark Flames where having fun with some trolls and Drows...

While the Dark Flames where having fun with some trolls and Drows, the ogres’ pursuit slowly drew to an end…

As Beldin spurred on Roller and Thunder, the caravan gained distance on the ogres. Soon, the ogres gave up their pursuit – mad about their last sight of the Rolling Thunder disappearing at the horizon being some scrungy elf flinging a constant flow of insults at them. When they had left the ogres far behind them, Beldin halted the horses. “Whooow, Roller and Thunder, whoooow…” With an elegant jump, Ode landed next to Beldin on the coach-box. “I think we could all use a good smoke and a drink”, the hunchbacked sorceror said. “You said it”, the ranger replied as he took out a spliff from his pouch and lit it.

Just then, the two of them heard drunken laughter coming from inside. They recognized Eerhardt’s voice as he was singing his favourite battlesong but, oddly enough, a second voice seemed to be joining him in the chorus. Beldin drew back the curtain and they saw the half-elf and a halfling hanging over the bar, swinging their tankards of purple ale as they finished the song. “Hey, guys, meet Stilgar… he’s got some great stories to tell”, Eerhardt shouted. Beldin and Ode turned their heads, facing each other, shrugged their shoulders and joined Eerhardt and Stilgar at the bar. “Welcome on board, Stilgar”, Beldin said as he poured himself and Ode 2 tankards of purple ale too. “Yeah, great to have you”, Ode replied as he drew a breath from his spliff and gratefully accepted the tankard Beldin had handed him. And so, the four of them exchanged long stories till late at night over countless tankards of purple ale, black beer and E.C.h.C.

The next morning, they discussed their next move. “I still say we head for the crossing”, Beldin suggested, “with Stilgar in our group, we’re certain to make a profit off those guards. Hell, we might even get into the keep, where Stilgar’s talents will definitely come in handy…” The others agreed, after Stilgar returned Eerhardt’s hipflask, Beldin’s pipe and Ode’s pan-pipes with an apologetic smile.

And so the merry band took the caravan to the crossing and set up camp for the night. Sure enough, a small detachment of guards approached the quartet not longer than half an hour after they had lit the camp fire. Beldin was the first to greet them. “Good evening, fellows. What brings you here?”, he asked. The eldest of the guards was clearly in no mood for small talk and replied in a tone none of the SLURRs liked. “I might ask you the same question. State your purpose here”. One of the other, younger guards, eager to earn his stripes, added “and be quick about it or you’ll be spending the night in the dungeons” and looked at the captain like a puppy waiting for a biscuit. Under normal circumstances, the SLURRs would have run such an overachiever through, but with their mind now set on entering the keep, they let it slide… for the moment.

Instead, Eerhardt got up and spoke. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, no need to be hostile. We are a travelling band of merchants selling various potions and beverages. Perhaps you’ve heard of us before? The Rolling Thunder or The Mobile Party Thread (™)?” For a moment there was a spark of recognition in the captain’s eyes and then someone from the small detachment addressed him: “captain, wasn’t there a row in Sigil over a gang of outlaws at that wedding – you know, th…” – but before the guard could finish his sentence, Eerhardt intervened “I’m sure we have nothing to do with that group” as Ode tactfully placed himself in front of the notice saying ‘Please note: Due to an unfortunate incident in Sigil we no longer cater for weddings. We apologize for any inconvenience.’. “You there, where do you think you’re going?”, the captain now asked Stilgar, who was trying to sneak behind the caravan. “I… was going to get the drinks. Yes, that’s it, I was going to get the drinks”, the halfling replied. “Very well, if you are what you claim you are, we might as well check out your supplies… but no funny business, or you’ll live to regret it. Or should I say you won’t live to regret it…”.

With Beldin, Ode and Eerhardt observing the standard SLURR Procedure Involving Keg Earnings and Stilgar observing it to the best of his abilities (he still had a minor problem of low constitution to overcome), the guards ended up more plastered than a legion of dwarves doing the cancan on a bar after consuming a vast amount of MC² (which, by the way, wasn’t a pretty sight the crew had learnt from experience). At any rate, the Rolling Thunderers had acquired an open invitation to the Dark Flames’ keep, as well as the guards’ pouches. Albeit noted that the latter had been obtained rather by Stilgar’s skillfull hands than by the guards’ own free will.

The early next morning, at the crack of dawn, a gypsy caravan stood at the gates to the Dark Flames’ keep. Beldin shouted up to the battlements: “Hello – is anybody up there?! We were told to come here!”. For a moment, there was a silence which was then followed by a hoarse voice: “[size=0]Oooh, my head...[/size] Can’t you keep it down down there?! Oh, it’s you again…” Beldin, Eerhardt, Stilgar and Ode all looked up at the same moment and, not without a certain degree of satisfaction, recognized the pale face of the overachiever, clearly suffering from a condition that can only be described as a ‘thick hangover’. Revenge is a reward in itself and while the guard still had its bitter taste in his mouth from throwing up, it tasted particularly sweet to the Rolling Thunder SLURR merchants. But Eerhardt figured they couldn’t gloat all day and yelled up to the young guard: “You seem a little pale. If you’ll let us in, I might be able to help you out with one of our brews!”. The overachiever figured his condition couldn’t get any worse, so a while later the caravan stood in the inner court as Eerhardt poured the young guard a mug of fresh C.C.B. to get rid of his hangover.

[Eerhardt]

“So, what do you guys do for fun around here?”, Eerhardt asked as he uncorked his hipflask of E.S.S. and took a drink. “Bwah, nothing much to do around here really”, one of the other guards who had joined them replied, “of course, there is the occasional Ogre raid in the village west of here, or the kobold encampment in the southern woods which we haven’t been able to find yet or that poacher who’s been killing the rabbits in these parts and whom we’ve been hunting for months… (at this point, the guard who had joined them added that Lady Vivien was particularly upset with that last part) …but the Dark Flames take care of all the big stuff”.

“So, what do you guys do to keep yourselves busy, while you’re not out in the woods or in the village?”, Ode commented as he stood by the caravan and lit another spliff. “The captain is a sucker for cards”, was the prompt reply, “lost a month’s pay in the last game”. The guard’s reply was accomponied by a long sigh, and then he continued: “I swear, he’s a cheating bastard, but what can you do? After all, he is the captain”. The overachiever was about to open his mouth and tell the other guard off for calling the captain a cheating bastard, when he felt a slight sting in the lower part of his back. “What the…?”, was the last thing he managed to say, before he fell to the ground still reaching for his back, as if he was frozen in time. Standing behind him with a wide grin and the index finger of his left hand still stretched outward was Stilgar. In his right hand he was holding a very small dagger – too small to cause any real damage by its own right, but just the right size and with a very small blade in width, so it can penetrate a chain mail and allowing the poison from the poisoned tip to enter the victim’s bloodstream. With a gasp, the other guard asked: “Is he…?” – “dead? No, but he’ll be paralyzed for quite some time”, Stilgar replied smilingly. “Oh, good – never liked the bugger anyway”, the guard said as he kicked the overachiever in the groin to make sure. “Amazing! By the way, my name is Jonah”.

Beldin, Eerhardt, Ode and Stilgar exchanged glances, all agreed with a wink and Beldin put his arm around Jonah’s shoulder and started leading him back inside. “Well, Jonah, tell me all about this captain of yours and his little card tricks…”. Meanwhile, the others had put the overachiever in the back of the caravan and were tying him up.

[size=0]It has been noted that the SLURR merchants need very few (if any) words to agree on a plan, that involves spiking drinks or getting back at someone, as dictated by their particular sense of Justice. It has also been brought to our attention that such agreement may not always be entirely clear to the readers. Therefor, in the best interest of the readers, we will hereby give you the full text to the exchange of glances and the wink in the paragraph preceeding this one - The Editor.

Beldin: you here that, fellows? Looks like we’ve got ourselves another case of abuse of authority !
Eerhardt: you wonna show the captain some SLURRian Justice ?
Ode: let’s give him a taste of his own medicine !
Stilgar: don’t forget to tie up this guy first !
[/size]

[Yshania]

"I am sorry" Yshania said quietly to the newcomer, before inclining her head in response to Dragon Wench's introduction and turning back towards the other Dark Flames. She was becoming confused, disillusioned and unsettled, and she was sorry that she felt this way among a group of friends she had grown to love and respect. They had so readily accepted her among their ranks, without question or expectation. Made her one of them, and now she doubted her place here, the risk she placed on them. The evil in this hell was creeping deeper into her soul, and she hated the continuing temptation to embrace this darkness. How easy it would be for her to stay down here…to disappear.

"Seek the beauty"

She bristled, angry with herself -- and the way she had grown so accustomed to drawing her blades, with such ease and lack of thought, like it was becoming second nature. Did she intend malice? Would she have driven the blade through before asking herself why? She hoped not. Not until leaving the town in flames, running helpless from the screams of the victims of the drow onslaught had she been so often ready to draw steel. In her captive days, she had never even wielded a defensive weapon, just obeyed. And now the circle of influence was completing, and her skin crawled knowing that perhaps the years of submission were turning her into some kind of thoughtless liability.

Wandering a short way down a lonely corridor she stopped and knelt beside her pack. When she had felled the drow warriors in the tunnel, the orcs in the cavern…she had felt such a desire to kill in cold blood, she had taken such pleasure in their despatch, and now that sickened her. She was losing confidence with her ability to determine whether her drawn blade was as a result of a reasoned mind, or a careless reaction.

She pulled out a roll of sacking and unsheathed her scimitars. Taking a moment, she looked at them lying harmless on the hessian cloth. No light glinted off their keen surface, they looked dull and inoffensive. But she realised now that she was not worthy of wielding such weapons, however innocuous they might appear when idle -- she was not trained, her approach was clumsy and her mind not proficient enough to handle the responsibility. Heavy of heart, she rolled her blades up in the cloth and placed them in a darkened crevice in the tunnel wall. Taking a deep breath, she turned and headed back the way she had come.

[Chanak]

"I am sorry," fire-eyes said softly.

As she turned to leave, Thalimon quelled the urge to follow...for he began to sense the way of the fire in the elf-woman. It is a purifying fire, yes...terrible in it's fervent heat, majestic in all it's blazing glory. Ah, but to house such a flame exacts a terrible price...

"...The dance," spoke Thalimon as he watched Yshania leave.

Dragon Wench looked at Thalimon with a puzzled expression. "What dance, Thalimon? I don't see a dance here..."

Thalimon chuckled softly, and placed his hand on the mage's shoulder. "Forgive me, my friend. I air my thoughts, which are best reserved for another time - a time when we may better be acquainted." He looked back towards where Yshania once stood, and continued in a softer tone. "The Tana'ri are a wicked race...foul denizens of a nightmarish world of murder, deceit, and endless despair. Ever they seek to rend and slay all that is good, and true, and fair, for it is a mockery of their own twisted existence."

A look of pain crossed his dark features, and the light in his eyes dimmed. "How could I...I, who within my veins carry their foul taint, ever lift my blade against those who would seek to erase their murderous presence from the Realms? I am, by all appearances, one of their number...I am not deceived in this, Dragon Wench. I would, were I in her place, have done the same - for the vile Tana'ri must be brooked no quarter, lest they be given purchase to drain the very life from your soul." His eyes dropped to the exotic-looking longsword at his side, and he unsheathed it, bringing it before Dragon Wench's eyes. It glowed softly in the dark tunnel. His eyes blazed as he clenched his fist tightly on the red leather grip.

"This is the sword of Cothindar, called the Fiendslayer. In my hand it has tasted the black blood of my people..." he paused, sheathing the sword at his side, "...and it shall once more, and again. For I, Thalimon, shall not rest until the Realms be purged of every foul and evil spirit that blights the peace of the innocent. I shall not rest, by Torm, until I draw breath no more."

His eyes softened, lost in his thoughts once more. "That is the way of the dance, Dragon Wench. To hold the fire within, and not be consumed by the blaze." He turned back towards the direction that Yshania had left, and began to walk. He could hear voices, and the sound of hooves on the stone floor...

I am in your hands, Torm.

[dragon wench]

Profoundly troubled, Dragon Wench gazed after the retreating figure of her friend, and wondered if she should follow. Yshania was the sister she had never had....and an acute gnawing sense of despair gripped at the core of her being. Her mage sensibilities and intuition told her that the evil stench of this accursed realm had began to infiltrate their very souls. Yet....Dragon Wench's fighter instincts informed her that Yshania's response to the paladin's appearance had been a natural one. In their many battles and travels together the Dark Flames had encountered innumerable foes; keenly-honed battle skills and a fierce protectiveness of one another had become instinctual.

Sadly, she met the paladin's uneasy expression, listening as he explained something of who he was, and she wondered why, her initial wariness not withstanding, she had felt no real fear at meeting the man standing before her. Perhaps it had been intuitive, or perhaps it were the mage powers that granted her access to places and energies most might never know..... or perhaps it was more the fact that so unusual a figure did not really disturb her. She had grown up alongside dragons; some had been enemies, others had been allies. More recently, Dragon Wench had seen her love return from the dead. At this point in her life, a man possessing slightly demonic features presented no threat.

As her recently met friend walked towards the larger chamber from which she had come Dragon Wench, trying to quell the sudden desire to scream into the surounding blackness, dropped to the ground, noting that the contents of her pack still lay scattered after her frantic search for healing potions and food. Realising that its interior would be in a state of chaos, and needing something upon which to focus, she abruptly turned it over, dumping the remaining items upon an earthen floor. Carefully, she examined each possession. Most of what she had brought was simply practical and geared to the needs of battle and travel....but other items were lovingly wrapped within cotton bundles. These latter she carefully placed into the botton of the worn leather rucksack that had served to contain a life marked by nearly constant travel and flux. Wiping a tear from her eye, she gently added her remaining belongings, trying to ensure that each lay assembled in as coherant and organized a manner as their present situation afforded.

Finishing the task she once more stood up, and yet again stared off into the dark shadows that wound...serpentine.... through the icy depths of a seemingly eternal Hell.

[Scayde]

Scayde meets T'lainya and Thantor

Scayde felt a sense of panic rising in her chest. Her legs weak, she suddenly felt a chill that reached into the core of her mind. Someone had to have answers. She searched the room. Behind her, and a little to the side of the tunnel. She caught the gaze of a tall flame-haired woman, notable for a quiet grace that Scayde had never before encountered. She radiated dignity and a wisdom seemed to shine from her eyes. Surely this person had the answers she sought. Begging pardon of the two before her, Scayde turned and strode toward the woman, leading Hunter behind.

“Hello. Excuse me, but could you help me?” She began. A serene expression gave light to the woman’s face, as she regarded Scayde, patiently allowing her to fumble for the words she needed. “Ma’am, my name is Scayde Moody, and I have lived here all my life.” Pointing her chin in the direction of Aqua-chan, Scayde continued, “I have never seen the likes of that one over there in all my days.” Then, biting her lip, a slight wrinkle in her brow, she said “In fact, you are all a little unusual, and well, this whole thing is just weird.” Scayde cast a worried look around the room and noticed the tall handsome man that had initially spoken to her making his way in their direction.

Scayde turned her attention back to the woman and continued. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, I don’t want to be rude or anything…but who are you people? And why are you here?."

At that point, the man stepped up alongside the woman putting his left hand on her right shoulder, in the fashion of comrades who had endured much together.
She sensed a strength and independence in him. His eyes were like fire lit jade. His features like none she had ever seen, except for the woman standing before her now. Scayde felt her face blush, and quickly looked away.

The woman turned her head to him briefly, in recognition of his arrival. Then, turning once again to Scayde, she introduced herself.

“I am T’lainya, priestess of Corellon Larethian . This is Thantor, cleric of Mielikki.” Her hand swept the cavern, indicating all who stood about. “We are the Dark Flames, and companions. We are here on a mission of great import. There is an Evil that threatens to consume the very fabric of this world. We are here to prevent it.”

Thantor watched Scayde's attempt to digest this information, struggling with the absurdity of what she was hearing given her own frame of reference. She was, of course, unaware that he was psionic or that he had scanned her thoroughly given her untimely appearence and their nearness to the Abomination's lair. He had discovered that she was indeed telling the truth and that she appeared to come from a distant, and very strange world. Impatient to move the Dark Flames out of this location, he decided to risk sharing a small part of what he knew of her in order to help her feel more comfortable.

"I think what occured, Lady Scayde, is that you were pulled into an alternative dimension. You understand that concept, don't you? Scayde nodded somewhat uncertainly, still half-wondering if she was going insane and suffering from a serious Prozac deficiency. "There are many strange things that occur in the universe and apparently this has happened to you. You are no longer in your world. You are now in a world known as Faerun, where things like magic and creatures strange to you exist. For example, T'lainya is an elf." Scayde's eyes opened wide as she stared at T'lainya, almost in awe. Then, remembering her manners, she quickly looked away, rather embarrassed. Thantor chuckled. "No need to be embarrassed, my lady. I am sure this will be an adjustment for all of us. However, it should now be clear to you that this is not the set of "Xena: Warrior Princess", that we are not speaking Australian, and that you are not on your daddy's ranch."

With that the man called Thantor smiled. Reassurance shining in his eyes and a voice filled with compassion, Strong yet comforting at the same time. “Now you have the advantage. Tell us then, to be fair, a little more about you, that we may know you as well.

Before she could answer, she heard the sound of aproaching footsteps coming frome the direction where the beautiful blond-haired woman had recently stood.
Turning in their direction she saw what appeared to be a devil....Her head swam, the room got suddenly very dark, at once, in her mind, she understood that she had not survived the fall. Her years of Catholic sunday school flooded back from childhood memories. "Satan" she uttered in a breathless whisper.

With that she lost consciousness and slipped to the ground.

[Gwalchmai]

[ooc – okay folks, let me catch up. This starts when Gwally left to find the pool]

The pool sparkled as brightly as glacial waters in high-mountain sunlight. The crystal water radiated purity and clarity, leaving no doubt that Eldath herself has blessed it. But how could that be? So deep underground, this pool could never have been the site of a Forest Fastness, could it? Gwalchmai examined the layers of sandstone and conglomerates that lined the passage. Is it possible that this pool was once on the surface but had been buried long ago? Or, equally likely, the artesian well that fed this pool once may have reached the surface through the rock strata, but had been interrupted by the excavation of these tunnels? The answer was not forthcoming and Gwalchmai shook his head glumly.

Depressed, he sat down. That Eldath has blessed these waters was obvious, but it could have happened hundreds of years ago. He had half hoped to find some contact with his first goddess, the worship of whom had drawn him to becoming a druid. She was the patron of peace, of family, and of quiet natural pools. She abhorred violence of any sort, and her druids learn arts of avoidance to parry blows that might hurt Nature or innocents. Circumstances in Gwalchmai’s life had forced violence upon him, and he had turned to the worship of Silvanus. Though he knew Eldath bore Gwalchmai no ill will for his ‘conversion’, for her relationship to Silvanus, as well as Mielikki, is quite close indeed, Gwalchmai could never shake the feeling that he had somehow betrayed her.

Could this discovery of a blessed spring somehow be a sign for him? Was he now meant to take up the peaceful path again? These thoughts spurred Gwalchmai to remove his small sword and throw it as far as possible down the corridor, away from the pool of water. He knelt beside the pool and fervently prayed for guidance.

No answer.

He prayed again, beseeching Eldath for her word, professing his love for her.

No answer.

A tear fell from his face into the water of the pool.

A slight breeze blew, lifting a curl of his dark hair, touching his cheek, whispering in his ear. “You will never be my Peaceman,” it seemed to say.

Gwalchmai’s shoulders sank, and he bowed his head. He had never known such rejection, such grief.

The breeze tickled the back of his neck, cooled his brow. “But in your heart, you shall ever be my devout Freewalker.”

His heart sang and his spirit flew higher than ever before.

“Do not let your love for me prevent you from using the powers granted by the Oak Father. You will need them, now, today. Nature is threatened, the Balance skewed.”

“I shall protect Nature and the Balance with my life.”

The breeze chuckled. Chuckled? “No, Gwalchmai Freewalker. Today will be hard, but there is also tomorrow. There is much to do, and your life is not over yet. You have yet to pray in six of the nine Sacred Fastnesses and visits to the True Grove seem ordained.”

These words encouraged Gwalchmai, who didn’t realize until now just how hopeless he had been feeling. Yet, a promised long life meant little without his friends, and his worry rebounded. “My friends?” he whispered, “How will they fare?”

The pool swam and rippled before him, and he seemed to see images. Another pool, filled with…. splashing, steam, and….. skin? The smooth small of a back, a bared shoulder and graceful neck, a soft breast, a long thigh and tuft of hair; he felt stirrings of delight and the spark of familiarity. He grinned as he recognized some of the red, blond, and brunette heads, yet he also recognized the place. A place the Dark Flames had visited long ago, and would soon see again.

Suddenly, all was still again. No breeze blew, and the glassy pond reflected only his face and the dark cavern beyond. He stood. Had he only imagined the goddess’s words? No, he felt invigorated, purposeful. It was time to kick some abominable ass.

[Gwalchmai]

All caught up!

Yshania entered the passage with the pool and began trying to clean the soot from her face. Feeling his oats, Gwalchmai managed to trick her into letting him ‘help’ with the cleaning. He was feeling quite proud of his little joke when suddenly she drew her swords and dipped them in the water of the pool. Momentarily panic-stricken, Gwalchmai made to stop her, but caught himself. Normally, a drawn sword would cause the goddess to flee, but Eldath had already gone. Gwalchmai smiled at his own foolishness.

A horned man soon entered the room, with Dragon Wench close behind professing him to be a friend. One look at the horned man caused Gwalchmai to roll his eyes in irritation. “Plane Touched” he surmised, “possibly Teifling.” Right or wrong, Gwalchmai’s assumption about this man dredged up hateful, and embarrassing, memories of another Teifling he had met – Haer’Dalis. “I swear,” he muttered to himself, “if this Thalimon starts calling me ‘his little Wood Pigeon’, he will live to regret it.”

The strange newcomer seemed to pay most his attention to Dragon Wench, and Gwalchmai idly wondered how it was that she always seemed to attract the strange ones. But his musings were cut short as he caught sight Yshania’s face, a look of internal struggle etched in her distracted frown. He heard her mutter something about beauty, and wander off. He allowed her to her solitude, but watched carefully for her to return. Soon, she appeared, and walked with Dragon Wench as they went to join the main group. Gwalchmai noticed that Yshania’s swords were missing, which reminded him of his own. He fetched his blade and ran to join the rest. He was about to ask Yshania if she was all right, but he was distracted yet again.

Apparently another newcomer had joined the main group. Gwalchmai caught a glimpse of bright red hair just before the strange woman collapsed at the feet of Thantor and T’lainya. Groaning inwardly, he ran to see what help he could provide.

[Vivien]

Vivien bent over Scayde, trying to gently shake her back to life. Scayde seemed not to respond and with a muttered ‘I’m a mage, not a doctor!’ she backed up to give T’lainya some space over the young women.

Fixing what she hoped was a stern frown on her face, she turned to the demon thing.

“Now look what you’ve done! We were just starting to get her down from what I assumed was a mushroom induced high and you had to come in one of those silly shape changes you druids do, Gwally!”

The newcomer regarded her with a serious expression, his dark features unreadable, and Viv realized it wasn’t Gwally or Yshania who would have reacted in some way. It really was a demon thing.

Her mind then logically moved to the fact that she had never actually met a demon before, unless you count the ones that were trying to kill her, which this one hopefully wouldn’t try. She had never touched a demon before. Was the skin scaly, or perhaps hard like a turtle’s shell?

Her hand involuntarily twitched, and with a quick gesture she hid it behind her back.

“My mistake, I’m very sorry, I usually try to make new comers welcome, not yell at them. Welcome. As long as you’re not the evil kind of demon, and arriving with Dragon Wench you may be dark and broody, but you’re probably not evil and homicidal.”

She flashed a smile at him, thankful that demons couldn’t read minds, only Thantor and sometimes Yshania could, but nope, not demons.

[Chanak]

Thalimon stood next to Dragon Wench before the assembled Dark Flames. Before him lay a pool, a serene mere, which he had never seen in the tunnels before. As he scanned the chamber, he realized that he had never been in this region at all, for surely he would remember the pool.

A wave of shifting rolled over him, and his senses suddenly came alive at the tingling expectancy in the air. It was a feeling he had felt before, long ago...

Instinctively he sought the source of the planar disturbance. His eyes led him immediately to Scayde, as she stood with Thantor and T'lainya.

There stood - briefly - the most unusual looking human woman he had ever seen. She looked upon him, eyes wild with terror, her delicate mouth frozen in an "O". Stranger than her garb, however, was the name she whispered with a sigh as she fell to the floor of the chamber:

"Satan."

The name was spoken in a most unusual lilting tongue...the likes of which he had never heard before. Aye, even the musical tones of the Aasimar were not this alien to the ear. The name he was not familiar with - yet he was aware that as his ears heard the word in the tongue of the woman, his mind perceived the meaning...A Baatezu Lord? A Tana'ri Prince?

A flurry of activity followed her collapse. Thalimon, perceiving the tension amongst the elves of the Flames, backed slowly towards the shadows at the perimeter of the chamber. He would recede, so as not to cause additional strain amongst these, the comrades of his new friend.

His eyes touched upon one of the elves standing over the fallen woman, and immediately his mind swam with a myriad of images, all cascading from a source of blinding light, nearly overwhelming his mind's eye with the raw energy. One of the abilities his ancestry imparted to Thalimon was a lesser form of Tana'ri telepathy, the ability to speak with the mind. It was crude, in a way, yet it enabled him to share a rudimentary form of communication with any intelligent being, and allowed him a form of empathy with all creatures.

This one's mind was formidable, and Thalimon immediately withdrew behind his defenses.

His concentration was shattered by a woman's voice nearby. Somewhat startled, he looked to find her speaking to him.

She smiled at him, and the tiefling could not help but notice how she held her hand behind her back...yet she was not casting a spell, so Thalimon dismissed the possibility of any threat coming from her. What he did sense, however, was a curiousity emanating from this woman, one which made him feel somewhat self-conscious...

Never before had Thalimon been near the heart of such activity, and he began to feel like an animal in a cage...his path had always been a lone one, not always by choice. He was beginning to feel disoriented and overwhelmed in the presence of the elves and the humans, and began to think of a way to escape. The waves of the planar disturbance made his flesh tingle...

His eyes finally alighted upon a swordless Yshania. Her gaze seemed riveted upon the source of the commotion in the chamber.

Something stirred in his heart...I know her. The fire, there is something familiar in the fire...and she has been burned.

Thalimon knew at once what he must do. He was of no use here, for certainly the strange human was felled by his presence. His aid would but complicate events, indeed, and there was yet the matter of the spellcasting elves, who clearly looked upon him with suspicion. He turned to Dragon Wench as he pulled Shalimare's locket free of his armor. Gripping the Spider Amulet tightly in his palm, he grinned mischeviously at the mage...

A shimmering door appeared before the paladin.

"Never fear, my friend! I shall return!" shouted Thalimon, and he leapt into the waiting portal. With a brilliant flash of blue energy, the portal closed behind him, and he was gone.

He crouched in the tunnel beyond the chamber, in the looming darkness where the dimensional door had deposited him. Away from the strange human he no longer felt the planar disturbance, and he could think clearly once again.

She was swordless. Silently he scanned the rough-hewn walls of the tunnel, glittering with minute flecks of adamant.

She has abandoned them. He walked silently down the tunnel, seeking the twin blades, looking for the least rock or pebble out of place.

She has been burned. He was going to abandon the search and look elsewhere when, out of the corner of his eye, a small area appeared void of the glittering ore.

Thalimon smiled as he reached into the crevice and withdrew the swaddled blades, artfully concealed by the druid not too long before. Silently he regarded the weapons, and elected to respect the covering that fire-eyes had chosen.

Bending on his knee, Thalimon unraveled a length of black twine from around his calf. This he securely fastened around the bundle, creating loopholes at each end. Securing a shorter length of twine to each loop, he slung the blades over his back, and turned towards the chamber of the pool. As he walked his mind worked furiously, his brow furrowed deep in thought.

His vision changed as the light of the chamber reached his eyes once more.

Thalimon spied Yshania, the druid, standing alone in the darkness of an adjoining tunnel. Keeping to the shadows, focusing on each step, he approached fire-eyes in the gloom...