The massive and deep rumbling subsided, and Nippy's vision cleared. The dust had settled, and the rock had stopped its jarring movements. Nippy’s gaze washed over the recent battlefield, and once again his thoughts and feelings began to avail him. It was like a gnawing and persistent animal that slowly chipped away at what was once a rock-hard dedication to his God, and his way of life. The stone edifice was being cut down at the base, and the softest blow would topple his strength, his will, and his mind. Much like the recent cataclysm that had torn through the cavern.
The sharp, tinny sound of a dropped blade rang in Nippy’s ears, and wakened him from his mental slumber. A Drow slave had come forward to face him and stumbled on one of the limbs stuck out of the rockslide. He scrabbled over the stone and reached out his hand, clutching his sword as his porcine face sniffed at the traces of blood that had began to pervade the cavern not long ago. The Orc stood up swiftly and grunted an incoherent challenge. The Orc bull-rushed forwards, trying to hurry his opponent into attack that would weaken his defence, but Nippy merely moved forward his stride and his left arm snaked out, pushing the flat of the blade down.
Nippy looked into the eyes of the Orc, and saw something deep within. A flicker, a spark, an ember? It vanished from sight quickly and the Orcs black pupils widened it surprise as its attack faltered. It scrabbled backwards, retreating away from a strike it had feared would come. He had seen the human crush the Ogre in one blow, and was surprised at the human’s lack of will to force his advantage.
This time the Orc moved forward more slowly. It’s barbarian rage expended, it was tired and cautious, the collar around its neck weakened at the feared Drow magi’s demise. But it still had control over the Orc.
Nippy waited for the blades arc to swing around and stepped backwards away from the blade and moved forward again, grabbing the Orcs wrist and pulling away the blade that was clutched in its meaty paw. Nippy grabbed the neck of the creature and squeezed tightly. Tired of this debacle. The loud and sharp *crack* didn’t register as the light faded from the Orcs eyes. Nippy dropped the Orc, and watched as it crumpled to the floor, and suddenly sprang back up again.
A massive and bright flare erupted in its eyes as its stare bored daggers into Nippy. It lunged forward and swung a big fist at the Paladins head. Nippy sprang backwards and grabbed the Orcs wrist with his good arm, and snapped it around its back, incapacitating it. The Orc snarled with rage and pushed backwards, heaving its weight onto Nippy.
The Paladin fell backwards as he slipped on a piece of rock, and his breath rushed out of him as the big Orc fell on his chest. It twisted round and wrapped its hand around Nippy’s throat, trying to choke the life out of him. Nippy saw a vicious glare in the animal-like eyes, and recoiled backwards. He snapped his head forward and shattered the nose of his attacker and its reflexes flinched, giving Nippy the chance to reverse the hold. Nippy slammed his palm into the forehead of his assailant and was rewarded with a loud *crack* as its forehead splintered under the force of the blow.
As the life of the Orc rushed out of him, it breathed deeply and managed to mumble out one word of very guttural common.
“Free…dom…”
The Orc was finally free of its horrendous servitude, and it actually smiled as its life force left the mortal coil. Nippy’s eyes pricked softly with tears as he felt relief wash over him. His God, his life, and his servitude were not in vain. He had helped free this tortured soul, and Nippy’s guilt washed out of his body like a river tumbling over a waterfall. He had finally broken free from his guilt, and his troubles were over.
He stood up, and watched his brother leave the battlefield. A silent thought passed for Thalimon, and he turned and faced his comrade Gwalchmai as he called out offers of aid.
Nippy rushed to him quickly.
“Ho Gwalchmai, I ran into a spot of bother. My shoulder…” Nippy looked down wistfully and shrugged painfully. “Can you repair it?”
As his belief rebuilt, even stronger than before, Nippy felt unbeatable. The dull throb in his shoulder was unnoticeable as he watched the battle unfold. Sure in Torm’s ability to watch over him, his Dark Flames, and his brother. Gone to the world. But not gone in mind, spirit and soul…
The Order of the Dark Flame: Book 5. (story, no spam)
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Gwalchmai
- Posts: 6252
- Joined: Wed May 09, 2001 11:00 am
- Location: This Quintessence of Dust
- Contact:
“Ho there, yourself, Young Nippy,” Gwalchmai said jokingly, “A spot of bother, eh? Well, let’s have a little look-see and we’ll get you fixed right up!” Gwalchmai’s grin faded as he pulled the jerkin back from Nippy’s proffered shoulder. Massively bruised from an ogre’s club, the shoulder had clearly been dislocated. Gwalchmai's mood instantly switiched and he began working quickly. He first handed Nippy a leather canteen filled with Eldath’s blessed water and urged him to take a few sips. Then, he sang the rythmic chant that beseeched his deities for healing aid while simultaneously manipulating the arm and shoulder joint back into proper alignment.
Nippy shivered at the sensation of the healing magic as a blue glow enveloped him. He was used to the familiar warmth of a Paladin’s laying of the hands, and Gwalchmai’s Druidical spell felt strangely different, though it was no less effective. The divine energies felt cool, but not chilled – more like the coolness of mint leaves on the tongue.
“You should be good as new, now,” Gwalchmai said, the healing spell complete. Looking at the sweat-streaked face of his comrade, he was barely able to make out any facial features beneath the grime of ash, blood, and dust; yet Nippy’s eyes shone from under that dark mask, bright and blue. Nippy took one last squirt of the pure water, and handed the canteen back, eager to get back to the battle. Gwalchmai pressed an iron ration biscuit into Nippy’s hand, telling him to eat when he could.
Nippy shivered at the sensation of the healing magic as a blue glow enveloped him. He was used to the familiar warmth of a Paladin’s laying of the hands, and Gwalchmai’s Druidical spell felt strangely different, though it was no less effective. The divine energies felt cool, but not chilled – more like the coolness of mint leaves on the tongue.
“You should be good as new, now,” Gwalchmai said, the healing spell complete. Looking at the sweat-streaked face of his comrade, he was barely able to make out any facial features beneath the grime of ash, blood, and dust; yet Nippy’s eyes shone from under that dark mask, bright and blue. Nippy took one last squirt of the pure water, and handed the canteen back, eager to get back to the battle. Gwalchmai pressed an iron ration biscuit into Nippy’s hand, telling him to eat when he could.
That there; exactly the kinda diversion we coulda used.
The portal to the Abyss awaits.
Through the portal, and beyond the screams of the damned which greet the unfortunate who find themselves on the Abyssal side of the glowing extra-dimensional door, lies a nightmarish jungle of slithering horror and putrid, malodorous decay. There within the steaming, reeking morass of choking vines and razor-edged undergrowth stand the tortured Ssythkakru, trembling trees of twisted limb and cadaverous pallor. Their wilted fronds dangle listlessly in the suffocating heat of the fetid Abyssal jungle, glistening with clots of reddish ooze under a sullen, molten sky. Closer inspection reveals that the pale membrane which serves the tree as a form of bark is in fact somewhat translucent…and vague, shadowy shapes can be detected beneath the surface of the crooked, misshapen trunk…
These indiscernible forms are hopelessly tangled within a convoluted network of pulsing capillaries aflow with a most curious crimson-hued fluid. It is then that the connection is made…the congealed slush which issues forth from the tree’s anemic foliage is in fact coagulating blood, flowing from countless pores which litter the surface of the limp, drooping leaves. The slightly metallic and salty tang of the vital fluid seems to permeate the air directly surrounding the Ssythkakru, overpowering the myriad odors which assault the senses within the infernal jungle…
Yet one’s attention cannot help but return to the dark shapes lurking beneath the sickly surface of the trembling tree. They seem to be roughly spherical in shape, though elongated prominently on one side, much in the manner of a lopsided oval. Perhaps they serve as organs of a sort…considering the macabre and bizarre figure that the Ssythkakru presents to the traveler’s violated senses, it is a logical assumption, to be sure…
…save that the “organs” begin to move within the gelatinous soup that constitutes the tree’s murky interior. At once a frenzied struggle ensues before widened eyes, and the realization that somehow these shapes are struggling to be free from the chaotic web of blood vessels which imprison them within the Ssythkakru invites a numbing sense of dread to descend upon the observer. A growing alarm within is counteracted by a morbid fascination which yearns to discover the identity of what lurks beneath, holding the traveler captive to the scene which is about to unfold…a scene which is doomed to repeat itself again and again, beyond the reach of time and of sanity, for all eternity...
A muffled, keening sound can be heard emanating from the tree itself as the struggle begins to assume titanic proportions, wracking the trunk and limbs in boiling sea of chaos. As one, the imprisoned shapes within battle their way to the outer limits of the trunk, their efforts shaking the Ssythkakru’s fragile fronds to and fro in the canopy above…great spherical blobs of oozing blood splatter upon the ground as the keening mounts ever higher.
Horrified, an awareness begins to gnaw upon the bones of the hapless observer…it would appear that the tumult has spread to other Ssythkakru in the immediate area. Suddenly the soggy firmament below tosses about in upheaval as root systems writhe in agony, casting clumps of greenish soil into the air as serpentine tentacles break through the matted undergrowth. What are the limits of sanity? Where does madness begin?
And so the din grows ever greater in intensity as the climax of this vision fast approaches, sending shockwaves far and wide in the limitless expanse of horror that is the personal domain of the mighty tanar’ri Prince Demogorgon. The commotion is inexorably bound to attract the attention of the dreaded lords of Abyss…
As expected, winged humanoid forms appear in the stagnant air above the jungle canopy, circling lazily about while the horrific drama unfolds, red eyes piercing the tangled mass of leaves to the undergrowth far below, forked tongues licking dripping fangs in eager anticipation. They seem to be watching…and waiting.
Their vigilance is soon rewarded. The “bark” of the Ssythkakru is soon proven to be elastic in nature, yielding to the struggles of the objects trapped within. These stretch the flimsy membrane in their efforts to be free of their prison, and at last an idea as to their identity, and true form, can be deduced…for the elastic skin of the Abyssal tree conforms to their distorted features, revealing the noses and mouths of countless disembodied heads contorted in the throes of unspeakable torment. As the imprisoned souls stretch the limits of the trees’ capacity, the tanar’ri above cackle with glee…
The end has come at last. One by one, the Ssythkakru surrender their claim upon a fragile existence, bursting open in a great gushing flood of entrails, blood, severed heads, and greenish bile. Constrained no longer, the tortured screams of the damned trapped within the trees rise to rend the ears of the observer in a wailing chorus of suffering and despair. The heads loll helplessly about on the ground, denied the bodies which might assist them in escaping the fate which now loomed above them.
The tanar’ri descend upon the grisly scene with howls of uproarious laughter, seizing the liberated souls in their taloned hands as their maws open wide, devouring them like ripened fruit from the vine…
Thalimon Shestare drew Avenger as he walked into the cavernous chamber. As the sword of Nether met the dank air of the tunnels it suddenly came to life, flooding the ornately carved foyer with the light of the Sun...white fire licked at the encroaching gloom of untold centuries of hopelessness and despair.
The tiefling's skin crawled as a nameless, faceless evil clawed against the warding barrier. Turning towards the source of the musical, tinkling laughter beyond, Thalimon raised his blades high, bursting forth in song to Torm...
Through the portal, and beyond the screams of the damned which greet the unfortunate who find themselves on the Abyssal side of the glowing extra-dimensional door, lies a nightmarish jungle of slithering horror and putrid, malodorous decay. There within the steaming, reeking morass of choking vines and razor-edged undergrowth stand the tortured Ssythkakru, trembling trees of twisted limb and cadaverous pallor. Their wilted fronds dangle listlessly in the suffocating heat of the fetid Abyssal jungle, glistening with clots of reddish ooze under a sullen, molten sky. Closer inspection reveals that the pale membrane which serves the tree as a form of bark is in fact somewhat translucent…and vague, shadowy shapes can be detected beneath the surface of the crooked, misshapen trunk…
These indiscernible forms are hopelessly tangled within a convoluted network of pulsing capillaries aflow with a most curious crimson-hued fluid. It is then that the connection is made…the congealed slush which issues forth from the tree’s anemic foliage is in fact coagulating blood, flowing from countless pores which litter the surface of the limp, drooping leaves. The slightly metallic and salty tang of the vital fluid seems to permeate the air directly surrounding the Ssythkakru, overpowering the myriad odors which assault the senses within the infernal jungle…
Yet one’s attention cannot help but return to the dark shapes lurking beneath the sickly surface of the trembling tree. They seem to be roughly spherical in shape, though elongated prominently on one side, much in the manner of a lopsided oval. Perhaps they serve as organs of a sort…considering the macabre and bizarre figure that the Ssythkakru presents to the traveler’s violated senses, it is a logical assumption, to be sure…
…save that the “organs” begin to move within the gelatinous soup that constitutes the tree’s murky interior. At once a frenzied struggle ensues before widened eyes, and the realization that somehow these shapes are struggling to be free from the chaotic web of blood vessels which imprison them within the Ssythkakru invites a numbing sense of dread to descend upon the observer. A growing alarm within is counteracted by a morbid fascination which yearns to discover the identity of what lurks beneath, holding the traveler captive to the scene which is about to unfold…a scene which is doomed to repeat itself again and again, beyond the reach of time and of sanity, for all eternity...
A muffled, keening sound can be heard emanating from the tree itself as the struggle begins to assume titanic proportions, wracking the trunk and limbs in boiling sea of chaos. As one, the imprisoned shapes within battle their way to the outer limits of the trunk, their efforts shaking the Ssythkakru’s fragile fronds to and fro in the canopy above…great spherical blobs of oozing blood splatter upon the ground as the keening mounts ever higher.
Horrified, an awareness begins to gnaw upon the bones of the hapless observer…it would appear that the tumult has spread to other Ssythkakru in the immediate area. Suddenly the soggy firmament below tosses about in upheaval as root systems writhe in agony, casting clumps of greenish soil into the air as serpentine tentacles break through the matted undergrowth. What are the limits of sanity? Where does madness begin?
And so the din grows ever greater in intensity as the climax of this vision fast approaches, sending shockwaves far and wide in the limitless expanse of horror that is the personal domain of the mighty tanar’ri Prince Demogorgon. The commotion is inexorably bound to attract the attention of the dreaded lords of Abyss…
As expected, winged humanoid forms appear in the stagnant air above the jungle canopy, circling lazily about while the horrific drama unfolds, red eyes piercing the tangled mass of leaves to the undergrowth far below, forked tongues licking dripping fangs in eager anticipation. They seem to be watching…and waiting.
Their vigilance is soon rewarded. The “bark” of the Ssythkakru is soon proven to be elastic in nature, yielding to the struggles of the objects trapped within. These stretch the flimsy membrane in their efforts to be free of their prison, and at last an idea as to their identity, and true form, can be deduced…for the elastic skin of the Abyssal tree conforms to their distorted features, revealing the noses and mouths of countless disembodied heads contorted in the throes of unspeakable torment. As the imprisoned souls stretch the limits of the trees’ capacity, the tanar’ri above cackle with glee…
The end has come at last. One by one, the Ssythkakru surrender their claim upon a fragile existence, bursting open in a great gushing flood of entrails, blood, severed heads, and greenish bile. Constrained no longer, the tortured screams of the damned trapped within the trees rise to rend the ears of the observer in a wailing chorus of suffering and despair. The heads loll helplessly about on the ground, denied the bodies which might assist them in escaping the fate which now loomed above them.
The tanar’ri descend upon the grisly scene with howls of uproarious laughter, seizing the liberated souls in their taloned hands as their maws open wide, devouring them like ripened fruit from the vine…
Thalimon Shestare drew Avenger as he walked into the cavernous chamber. As the sword of Nether met the dank air of the tunnels it suddenly came to life, flooding the ornately carved foyer with the light of the Sun...white fire licked at the encroaching gloom of untold centuries of hopelessness and despair.
The tiefling's skin crawled as a nameless, faceless evil clawed against the warding barrier. Turning towards the source of the musical, tinkling laughter beyond, Thalimon raised his blades high, bursting forth in song to Torm...
CYNIC, n.:
A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.
-[url="http://www.alcyone.com/max/lit/devils/a.html"]The Devil's Dictionary[/url]
A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.
-[url="http://www.alcyone.com/max/lit/devils/a.html"]The Devil's Dictionary[/url]
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Bloodstalker
- Posts: 15512
- Joined: Wed Apr 18, 2001 10:00 pm
- Location: Hell if I know
- Contact:
Bloodstalkers fury played itself out, leaving him weakened and somewhat disoriented. He had no recollection of the brief struggle that had just played itself out, only the broken bodies in the area telling his frantic mind what had just happened.
He locked on the bodies for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. His blade was stained a deep red, but he noticed several wounds that could not have been inflicted by Striker. he made a silent sound of thanks to whichever of his comrades had lent him assistance, but still could not place the weapon that had made the wounds. A moment later, all thoughts were lost as a noise drew his attention to a small recession in the rock wall nearby.
Turning his eyes to scan the area, he vaguley made out the swift moving outline of a dark figure seeming to materialize out of the stone itself and rush toward him. A second later, and he recognized it for what it was. A lone Drow seemed to have been observing the entire scene, and noting BS's confused movements had decided to press the advantage.
The assasin came in swiftly and in dead silence. Rushing in, he extended his sword forward, making a move to slash into BS's body. His mind still dazed, BS instictively reacted, stepping forward into the thrust and to the outside, meaning to bring his left arm up to catch the side of the blade and cross it over his foes body so that Striker could finish this quickly.
As if from a distance, Bloodstalker became aware that his arm was not moving. He remembered then that it was broken and useless, as at the same instant the Drow adjusted his strike to BS's sidestep. BS felt a force stike him squarely in the chest, and was aware of something warm running down his body beneath his leather armor.
For a moment he stood there, confusion rampant until he saw the Drow withdraw the blade, now stained a dark crimson. He watched with a detached fascination as his own blood began to spill out from beneath his armor.His mind and body were still to lost in the after effects of his beserken state to fully grasp what had happened. He only knew that suddenly Striker felt much to heavy for his fingers. the blade slipped from his grasp to land audibly on the cold stone beneath him.
Sinking to his knees, he felt a wetness on his lips. Wiping his fingers across, they came back coated with blood. The sounds in the cavern became distant in his ears, the darkness suddenly becoming more noticible, and much colder.
Lifting his eyes, he saw the cruel smile playing upon the Drows lips just before he sank fully down upon the stone floor Then all was black and without sound.
He locked on the bodies for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. His blade was stained a deep red, but he noticed several wounds that could not have been inflicted by Striker. he made a silent sound of thanks to whichever of his comrades had lent him assistance, but still could not place the weapon that had made the wounds. A moment later, all thoughts were lost as a noise drew his attention to a small recession in the rock wall nearby.
Turning his eyes to scan the area, he vaguley made out the swift moving outline of a dark figure seeming to materialize out of the stone itself and rush toward him. A second later, and he recognized it for what it was. A lone Drow seemed to have been observing the entire scene, and noting BS's confused movements had decided to press the advantage.
The assasin came in swiftly and in dead silence. Rushing in, he extended his sword forward, making a move to slash into BS's body. His mind still dazed, BS instictively reacted, stepping forward into the thrust and to the outside, meaning to bring his left arm up to catch the side of the blade and cross it over his foes body so that Striker could finish this quickly.
As if from a distance, Bloodstalker became aware that his arm was not moving. He remembered then that it was broken and useless, as at the same instant the Drow adjusted his strike to BS's sidestep. BS felt a force stike him squarely in the chest, and was aware of something warm running down his body beneath his leather armor.
For a moment he stood there, confusion rampant until he saw the Drow withdraw the blade, now stained a dark crimson. He watched with a detached fascination as his own blood began to spill out from beneath his armor.His mind and body were still to lost in the after effects of his beserken state to fully grasp what had happened. He only knew that suddenly Striker felt much to heavy for his fingers. the blade slipped from his grasp to land audibly on the cold stone beneath him.
Sinking to his knees, he felt a wetness on his lips. Wiping his fingers across, they came back coated with blood. The sounds in the cavern became distant in his ears, the darkness suddenly becoming more noticible, and much colder.
Lifting his eyes, he saw the cruel smile playing upon the Drows lips just before he sank fully down upon the stone floor Then all was black and without sound.
Lord of Lurkers
Guess what? I got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell!
Guess what? I got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell!
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Der-draigen
- Posts: 571
- Joined: Thu Jan 10, 2002 11:00 pm
- Location: A nice place in New England
- Contact:
THWACK!
Der-draigen fell backward and sank into several feet of dry, fluffy snow. There was a dull throbbing ache in the vicinity of her nose. When the dizziness subsided, she reached up a tentative hand.
"OW!!"
There was blood on her leather glove. Her nose was injured. Perhaps broken. Lovely.
What on earth had happened? She struggled to her feet and clambered through the snow, keeping her hands outstretched. She had seen nothing that would have caused what had happened.
Her fingers touched something solid. But she couldn't see it.
Keeping her hands in place, she slowly moved forward.
A wall. She had crashed into...a wall?
How could that be? she wondered. Her hands were moving over a solid, flat surface. She took a deep, cleansing breath of frigid cold through her mouth, and focused her eyes. There was a veil of some kind here. Beyond it she could see a vaguely shifting darkness.
She looked up. The darkness was above her as well. It was as if she had come to the end of the sky.
Then it dawned on her. She was a prisoner, held in a prison of glass, or crystal.
She laughed. Is this it? she cried silently to the universe. She had pierced veils before; she had broken powers that had held her faster than this. Keeping her hands on the wall, she focused her mind and applied all its power to dissolving the prison and sending herself someplace safe. The ancient words poured from her throat in a constant monotonal chant, while blood poured from her face. The chant had to be breathless, without ceasing; and after a while Der-draigen began to wonder if even her power to perform it would hold out.
But just when she thought she might falter, she felt the wall begin to give, and her mind nearly collapsed with renewed effort, so great was the power that held her there. Then suddenly all was darkness, and Der-draigen's primal voice continued to scream the chant all the while she was falling through time and space and planes and worlds...her hands feverishly grasped at the void...
She landed with a great shattering crash on soft green grass. She was shaking and gasping for the breath that had been cast out of her by the fall. She struggled to her knees. Well. It worked, she thought. At least she was out of the prison and back in Faerun. Now it remained to find out exactly where she had landed, and where she had to go from here.
Der-draigen fell backward and sank into several feet of dry, fluffy snow. There was a dull throbbing ache in the vicinity of her nose. When the dizziness subsided, she reached up a tentative hand.
"OW!!"
There was blood on her leather glove. Her nose was injured. Perhaps broken. Lovely.
What on earth had happened? She struggled to her feet and clambered through the snow, keeping her hands outstretched. She had seen nothing that would have caused what had happened.
Her fingers touched something solid. But she couldn't see it.
Keeping her hands in place, she slowly moved forward.
A wall. She had crashed into...a wall?
How could that be? she wondered. Her hands were moving over a solid, flat surface. She took a deep, cleansing breath of frigid cold through her mouth, and focused her eyes. There was a veil of some kind here. Beyond it she could see a vaguely shifting darkness.
She looked up. The darkness was above her as well. It was as if she had come to the end of the sky.
Then it dawned on her. She was a prisoner, held in a prison of glass, or crystal.
She laughed. Is this it? she cried silently to the universe. She had pierced veils before; she had broken powers that had held her faster than this. Keeping her hands on the wall, she focused her mind and applied all its power to dissolving the prison and sending herself someplace safe. The ancient words poured from her throat in a constant monotonal chant, while blood poured from her face. The chant had to be breathless, without ceasing; and after a while Der-draigen began to wonder if even her power to perform it would hold out.
But just when she thought she might falter, she felt the wall begin to give, and her mind nearly collapsed with renewed effort, so great was the power that held her there. Then suddenly all was darkness, and Der-draigen's primal voice continued to scream the chant all the while she was falling through time and space and planes and worlds...her hands feverishly grasped at the void...
She landed with a great shattering crash on soft green grass. She was shaking and gasping for the breath that had been cast out of her by the fall. She struggled to her knees. Well. It worked, she thought. At least she was out of the prison and back in Faerun. Now it remained to find out exactly where she had landed, and where she had to go from here.
"I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened."
"So do all who live to see such times; but that is not for them to decide. All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you."
"So do all who live to see such times; but that is not for them to decide. All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you."
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Der-draigen
- Posts: 571
- Joined: Thu Jan 10, 2002 11:00 pm
- Location: A nice place in New England
- Contact:
Finding her strength, Der-draigen got to her feet. She hadn’t pierced a veil in a long time; it had taken more out of her than she had thought…The Stone, she thought. Apparently the power with which it had imbued her was not to last forever; it was fading, she felt it in the flow of her blood. But the power she possessed of herself, that remained.
She looked around. She could see only fields. “All right,” she said aloud, through the lingering pain in her face that was now radiating to the rest of her head. “Where exactly am I…”
As she walked a few paces, trying to get bearings by some familiar landmark, a beast approached. Der-draigen smiled a cold smile that the dread wolf recognized.
“Gh’an-t’i ma-yammthr,” she said. “Kha-l’hjarr na-rhagn…”
The beast told Der-draigen to follow, and she went with him. The dread wolf led her to the top of a small rise, over which she could see a great city. She had never seen it before. This was odd. Der-draigen thought she had traveled the whole of Faerun; and now her bearings were lost. Well, she had been through worse. She actually enjoyed getting lost sometimes. To start out fresh in a new place where no one knew better than to trust her…Her companion bounded off back into the wilderness and she started descending the rise, keeping her eyes on the mystery city.
Wait.
She stopped dead in her steps, as if struck hard. She did know this place.
She stared in astonishment – an attitude not very familiar to her, with all she had seen. With her jaw hanging painfully slack, she stood rooted to the ground, and the amazing, impossible word came to the surface of her mind:
Athkatla???...
But it wasn’t Athkatla as it was supposed to be. It was Athkatla as she had remembered it, many years ago…The memory came to her as if she was looking at a painting, or some kind of still image placed before her by a conjurer…A heavy gasp escaped her, and suddenly…
She began to weep.
Tears had not blessed Der-draigen’s face for the turning of an age.
She suppressed them with a painful effort that only served to exhaust her further. Setting her face, she gathered her strength and ran toward the gleaming sunlit city.
{OOC: Everyone, I decided to go ahead and put this up. I think it's flexible enough to be played with
}
She looked around. She could see only fields. “All right,” she said aloud, through the lingering pain in her face that was now radiating to the rest of her head. “Where exactly am I…”
As she walked a few paces, trying to get bearings by some familiar landmark, a beast approached. Der-draigen smiled a cold smile that the dread wolf recognized.
“Gh’an-t’i ma-yammthr,” she said. “Kha-l’hjarr na-rhagn…”
The beast told Der-draigen to follow, and she went with him. The dread wolf led her to the top of a small rise, over which she could see a great city. She had never seen it before. This was odd. Der-draigen thought she had traveled the whole of Faerun; and now her bearings were lost. Well, she had been through worse. She actually enjoyed getting lost sometimes. To start out fresh in a new place where no one knew better than to trust her…Her companion bounded off back into the wilderness and she started descending the rise, keeping her eyes on the mystery city.
Wait.
She stopped dead in her steps, as if struck hard. She did know this place.
She stared in astonishment – an attitude not very familiar to her, with all she had seen. With her jaw hanging painfully slack, she stood rooted to the ground, and the amazing, impossible word came to the surface of her mind:
Athkatla???...
But it wasn’t Athkatla as it was supposed to be. It was Athkatla as she had remembered it, many years ago…The memory came to her as if she was looking at a painting, or some kind of still image placed before her by a conjurer…A heavy gasp escaped her, and suddenly…
She began to weep.
Tears had not blessed Der-draigen’s face for the turning of an age.
She suppressed them with a painful effort that only served to exhaust her further. Setting her face, she gathered her strength and ran toward the gleaming sunlit city.
{OOC: Everyone, I decided to go ahead and put this up. I think it's flexible enough to be played with
}"I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened."
"So do all who live to see such times; but that is not for them to decide. All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you."
"So do all who live to see such times; but that is not for them to decide. All you have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to you."
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Gwalchmai
- Posts: 6252
- Joined: Wed May 09, 2001 11:00 am
- Location: This Quintessence of Dust
- Contact:
The battle in the caverns raged on. Fight the enemy, heal, and find a little respite to catch one’s breath. Repeat. That was all it seemed to be to tired Gwalchmai. It seemed as though they had been in these dark tunnels for years, and that the battle had lasted for months. He tried desperately to keep track of his friends, and help where he could, but he couldn’t find but a handful of Dark Flames. He had no idea how many of their number may have already fallen to the evil Drow. That thought chilled him to the core.
“This is really not where I want to be,” he grumbled to himself. The thick of battle was really not a customary place to find an Eldathin, and occasional devotees of Silvanus would not be comfortable either. “A hill, someplace,” he thought to himself, “with the sun shining, a breeze blowing, birds chirping, and a river down below.” A smile played on his face as he mulled the sweeter circumstances where his heart lay.
Then the sting of sweat in his eyes reminded him of the dank caves and threats of his present locale.
“This is really not where I want to be,” he grumbled to himself. The thick of battle was really not a customary place to find an Eldathin, and occasional devotees of Silvanus would not be comfortable either. “A hill, someplace,” he thought to himself, “with the sun shining, a breeze blowing, birds chirping, and a river down below.” A smile played on his face as he mulled the sweeter circumstances where his heart lay.
Then the sting of sweat in his eyes reminded him of the dank caves and threats of his present locale.
That there; exactly the kinda diversion we coulda used.
The sight of Bloodstalker falling erupted a flurry of violent and aggressive thoughts in Nippy. He roared in anguish as he saw Bloodstalker's broken arm fail to block the swordstroke, and as the Drow blade pierced Bloodstalker's chest, Nippy cried out in anguish. He stumbled over some debris, and gathered his footing, running hard towards the Drow that stood over his body, fixing it with a venomous glare.
He roared out an incoherent battlecry, purely visceral and raw, and leaped forward, crashing into the vile and evil Drow with a hard boot to the nose.
It's head snapped back as it's nose obliterated and it cowered before a seething warrior. It managed to stumble up and grab a poisoned blade from his baldrick, and threw it right at the chest of Nippy. Nippy's reaction was pure training as he lifted his hand and slapped the blade aside.
He pushed forward, walking with great intent as the Drow cowered backwards, trying to find somwhere to retreat to. Nippy's eyes seemed to flash with anger as battle rang around him, he occasionally snaked out a fist and punched or kicked the enemies around him, but his only focus was the Drow in front of him.
It clutched it's sword and pushed forward, readying a strike. It snaked it's blade out and Nippy moved inwards, avoiding the point of the blade. The Drow had pure fear in it's eyes as Nippy grabbed his arm and pushed the elbow up at the joint and brought his hand down.
The distinctive and horrible sound of a broken bone was lost to the din of battle, but the high and anguished squeal of the Drow pierced throught the cavern. It clutched it's arm feebly and stared at Nippy in shock and pain, he grabbed the Drow's collars and raised him from the floor, butting him in the face and threw him bodily into the wall, shattering his leg.
Nippy advanced on the fallen Drow and channelled the energy of his Monkish past and readied the most deadly strike. He touched the Drow and backed away as uncontrollable vibrations ran through the Drow. It shuddered visibly and blood ran out if it's nose and ears as it's organs erupted, it cried out loudly again, and moaned in agony as it died an itensely painful death. Fear still etched into it's unshut and bloodshot eyes.
Nippy ran to to Bloodstalkers side and tried to use his healing powers upon Bloodstalker's chest, but he was too far gone...
He roared out an incoherent battlecry, purely visceral and raw, and leaped forward, crashing into the vile and evil Drow with a hard boot to the nose.
It's head snapped back as it's nose obliterated and it cowered before a seething warrior. It managed to stumble up and grab a poisoned blade from his baldrick, and threw it right at the chest of Nippy. Nippy's reaction was pure training as he lifted his hand and slapped the blade aside.
He pushed forward, walking with great intent as the Drow cowered backwards, trying to find somwhere to retreat to. Nippy's eyes seemed to flash with anger as battle rang around him, he occasionally snaked out a fist and punched or kicked the enemies around him, but his only focus was the Drow in front of him.
It clutched it's sword and pushed forward, readying a strike. It snaked it's blade out and Nippy moved inwards, avoiding the point of the blade. The Drow had pure fear in it's eyes as Nippy grabbed his arm and pushed the elbow up at the joint and brought his hand down.
The distinctive and horrible sound of a broken bone was lost to the din of battle, but the high and anguished squeal of the Drow pierced throught the cavern. It clutched it's arm feebly and stared at Nippy in shock and pain, he grabbed the Drow's collars and raised him from the floor, butting him in the face and threw him bodily into the wall, shattering his leg.
Nippy advanced on the fallen Drow and channelled the energy of his Monkish past and readied the most deadly strike. He touched the Drow and backed away as uncontrollable vibrations ran through the Drow. It shuddered visibly and blood ran out if it's nose and ears as it's organs erupted, it cried out loudly again, and moaned in agony as it died an itensely painful death. Fear still etched into it's unshut and bloodshot eyes.
Nippy ran to to Bloodstalkers side and tried to use his healing powers upon Bloodstalker's chest, but he was too far gone...
Perverteer Paladin
Nippy cried out in frustration as his healing fizzeled, he felt worthless as he saw the ragged breathing of Bloodstalker peter out.
A look of grim determination etched on his face as he picked up Bloodstalker and resolved to carry him back to his comrades. A goblin screamed forwards, trying to tear into the encumbered warrior, and Nippy kicked his foot out, shattering the goblins skull instantly.
Nippy walked towards the rear-guard of the Dark Flame's. He placed Bloodstalker reverently on the ground and felt emotions of pain and sadness tear through him as he saw the breathing stop.
A look of grim determination etched on his face as he picked up Bloodstalker and resolved to carry him back to his comrades. A goblin screamed forwards, trying to tear into the encumbered warrior, and Nippy kicked his foot out, shattering the goblins skull instantly.
Nippy walked towards the rear-guard of the Dark Flame's. He placed Bloodstalker reverently on the ground and felt emotions of pain and sadness tear through him as he saw the breathing stop.
Perverteer Paladin
Slowly, Mysteria stepped back from the overhang, seeking shelter in the closeness of her friends.Her eyes widened in fear as she realized that she was not the only one retreating, Gwalchmai looked as if he’d rather be somewhere else entirely …
They were sitting together in a sunbathed clearing, laughing and joking …
… Scayde huddled in her hiding place, momentarily without a target, together with a strange but apparently friendly figure and Nippy …
Nippy laughed at Bloodstalker who held up the head of a dark drow, grinning broadly.
…Mysteria gasped as she realized just what or rather whom Nippy gently laid down on the ground next to Yshania. Turning around, she saw faint movements in the shadows, circling …
… circling around warily, not willing to attack their foe.
… like vultures waiting for their prey to die. She looked for help to Thantor, who only grimly weighed his dire mace in his hand, then over to a blood-covered Aegis and onwards to an unfazed Symbul. A sick feeling burned in her stomach as she thought about how many …
… drows they had slaughtered, how many more would follow until they would see an end to them.
… more drows the labyrinthine tunnels could hold, how many more spiders and thralls. They were too many, just too many. Her gaze trailed to Bloodstalker’s inert form, soon they would join him on the floor.
They prepared to leave, confident to win this time ...
She shook her head slowly but still the images kept flashing up, ever more insistent, drawing her in.
{ooc: as always, editable if unfitting }
They were sitting together in a sunbathed clearing, laughing and joking …
… Scayde huddled in her hiding place, momentarily without a target, together with a strange but apparently friendly figure and Nippy …
Nippy laughed at Bloodstalker who held up the head of a dark drow, grinning broadly.
…Mysteria gasped as she realized just what or rather whom Nippy gently laid down on the ground next to Yshania. Turning around, she saw faint movements in the shadows, circling …
… circling around warily, not willing to attack their foe.
… like vultures waiting for their prey to die. She looked for help to Thantor, who only grimly weighed his dire mace in his hand, then over to a blood-covered Aegis and onwards to an unfazed Symbul. A sick feeling burned in her stomach as she thought about how many …
… drows they had slaughtered, how many more would follow until they would see an end to them.
… more drows the labyrinthine tunnels could hold, how many more spiders and thralls. They were too many, just too many. Her gaze trailed to Bloodstalker’s inert form, soon they would join him on the floor.
They prepared to leave, confident to win this time ...
She shook her head slowly but still the images kept flashing up, ever more insistent, drawing her in.
{ooc: as always, editable if unfitting
}"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players."
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Bloodstalker
- Posts: 15512
- Joined: Wed Apr 18, 2001 10:00 pm
- Location: Hell if I know
- Contact:
Thantor approached the prone form of Bloodstalker, quickly taking in the shallow breathing and the glaze that was working it's way into his eyes. Kneeling, he examined the gaping wound where the drow blade had broken through his chest, ignoring for the moment the shattered arm as it lay at his side at an obscene angle. Wasting no time, Thantor began an incantation, concentrating his healing powers first to staunch the flow of blood, then to clear any infection and seal the wound. BS's body shuddered convulsively as Thantor felt a resisting force, his healing powers working but slowly, much too slowly. Bloodstalker’s eyes began to roll back in their sockets as the resistance continued to gain in strength and Thantor was forced to momentarily break off his healing work to assess the situation.
Thantor was well aware of Bloodstalker’s negative reaction to magic, but he had been hopeful that divine energies would not have the same impact. Unfortunately, that did not appear to be the case. A slim glimmer of hope, however, rested on Thantor’s observation that Bloodstalker did not appear to have an complete aversion to magic but more of a intolerance as if…. Thantor once again placed his hands on Bloodstalker, scanning him psionically. Then he attempted to beginning the healing again. Something was blocking his healing spells, some kind of barrier. It was mental! His surprise was momentarily forgotten as BS's body seemed to collapse in on itself, growing limp and to all outward appearances look as if it were lifeless on the stone floor. Gathering himself, Thantor again reached in psionically, probing, trying to find a link to BS's mind, searching the void where he should have met Bloostalker's mental presence, trying desperately to catch his fading will and bring it back into the body it had seemed to abandon.
*************************************************
Bloodstalker stood alone, peering about himself, aware of nothing but the deep cold of the darkness that had closed about him. He reached out with his hand, noting with mild surprise that it was no longer broken, only to encounter nothing. Shivering, he began to move forward through the darkness, seeking something of substance to fix on as a guide. Around him, there was nothing, only the hissing of the cold wind blowing from everywhere. Blowing, but not touching him. Slowly, realization came to him. It wasn't the winds that chilled him, they didn't even touch his form. He had no solid form, he realized. His reasoning lead him to the inevitable conclusion, although this wasn't what he had expected from death. He had envisioned nothingness and was not prepared for this consciousness in the midst of a dark, forbidding void.
But then he was no longer standing in the midst of a black nothingness. Instead, while he had been contemplating, he had somehow came to rest on a snow covered hill, looking out over the vast wastes of Icewind Dale. He wondered if this was some kind of remnant of his memory, a deep longing for home that wouldn't even abandon him in death. His eyes drank in the sight of his first tastes of freedom, then watched in horror as the peaceful blanket of white began to change, a red flood of blood covering the snow. He knew the significance, knew in whatever was left of his consciousness that this was blood that he had spilled. Even in death, the guilt of those he had slaughtered gave him no solace. He grimly considered it for a moment, appreciating in a macabre way the fittingness of this punishment.
Thantor was well aware of Bloodstalker’s negative reaction to magic, but he had been hopeful that divine energies would not have the same impact. Unfortunately, that did not appear to be the case. A slim glimmer of hope, however, rested on Thantor’s observation that Bloodstalker did not appear to have an complete aversion to magic but more of a intolerance as if…. Thantor once again placed his hands on Bloodstalker, scanning him psionically. Then he attempted to beginning the healing again. Something was blocking his healing spells, some kind of barrier. It was mental! His surprise was momentarily forgotten as BS's body seemed to collapse in on itself, growing limp and to all outward appearances look as if it were lifeless on the stone floor. Gathering himself, Thantor again reached in psionically, probing, trying to find a link to BS's mind, searching the void where he should have met Bloostalker's mental presence, trying desperately to catch his fading will and bring it back into the body it had seemed to abandon.
*************************************************
Bloodstalker stood alone, peering about himself, aware of nothing but the deep cold of the darkness that had closed about him. He reached out with his hand, noting with mild surprise that it was no longer broken, only to encounter nothing. Shivering, he began to move forward through the darkness, seeking something of substance to fix on as a guide. Around him, there was nothing, only the hissing of the cold wind blowing from everywhere. Blowing, but not touching him. Slowly, realization came to him. It wasn't the winds that chilled him, they didn't even touch his form. He had no solid form, he realized. His reasoning lead him to the inevitable conclusion, although this wasn't what he had expected from death. He had envisioned nothingness and was not prepared for this consciousness in the midst of a dark, forbidding void.
But then he was no longer standing in the midst of a black nothingness. Instead, while he had been contemplating, he had somehow came to rest on a snow covered hill, looking out over the vast wastes of Icewind Dale. He wondered if this was some kind of remnant of his memory, a deep longing for home that wouldn't even abandon him in death. His eyes drank in the sight of his first tastes of freedom, then watched in horror as the peaceful blanket of white began to change, a red flood of blood covering the snow. He knew the significance, knew in whatever was left of his consciousness that this was blood that he had spilled. Even in death, the guilt of those he had slaughtered gave him no solace. He grimly considered it for a moment, appreciating in a macabre way the fittingness of this punishment.
Lord of Lurkers
Guess what? I got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell!
Guess what? I got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell!
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Bloodstalker
- Posts: 15512
- Joined: Wed Apr 18, 2001 10:00 pm
- Location: Hell if I know
- Contact:
Sweat beading on his forehead, Thantor delved deep into Bloodstalker’s subconscious. The fact that he could do this so readily was not a good sign, signaling Bloodstalker’s closeness to death. He searched desperately for the small flicker of life that would allow him to hook into Bloodstalker’s consciousness and perhaps reconnect it with his mortal form. Deep he went, stretching to the limit of his skill, but to no avail. Cutting his way through the images and residual memories, he fought to maintain his composure. The images assailed him, threatened to turn him away from his task. He saw wizards, mighty and terrible in their power, cut down without a second thought. A fleeting glimpse of a flight from BS's homeland presented itself, only for a moment, before it too receded before Thantor’s will, moving further into Bloodstalker’s past, trusting his intuition that what he sought was there buried deep in the past.
Visions of assassins, death, and strife mingled with isolated moments of peace and tranquility in snow-swept mountains. Thantor experienced ghostly pangs of remorse, the heated fury of absolute hatred, and the yearning for a peaceful existence mixed together in a chaotic collage. His mind took in the scenes of devastation, scenes that where all too familiar but nonetheless shocking in their scope nonetheless. These memories were not what he would have expected to find within one who had just moments before fought valiantly besides himself and his companions. However, he had ceased to be surprised at the depth of pain or the shadow of death that seem to be a part of every person he had worked with over his many years. As always, a rippling sense of compassion moved through him, spurring him even more fervently to save Bloodstalker’s life.
A hill loomed before him suddenly, a tower sitting high silhouetted against the sky. A deep, unsettling hatred was pervade this tower and Thantor pressed on, only to find himself unprepared for the horror that welled up from the depth of Bloodstalker’s mind. Parting the veils of memory and peering inside this place of doom, Thantor experienced slaves, chained and barely alive, having their minds and body probed with black magics, others forced to fight in the pits for the dark amusement. A overwhelming feeling of revulsion accompanied the viewing of another process, an unholy binding of the last remnants of a dying slave’s life force to the dead body, perverting the natural force of life into the creation of a monstrosity bound to the will of these defiled wizards.
Coming to a door, Thantor halted, knowing that time was of the essence. A few more moments and BS would have slipped past the mortal coil into the embrace of death. Opening the door, he saw the terror of the children, screaming under the whip, those that were alive crying for mercy or death, those already beyond the lashes blows heaped in a pile to be taken away as garbage. His heart rent as he watched the lash fall on one such child, a scream piercing through the passageways of Bloodstalker’s mind...
************************************
Turning from the sight of the blood drenched snow, BS found himself staring into the dark form of the Chamber. He felt the hate and rage of discovering that his eternity, like his life, was to be bound to this evil place. His anger ebbed, again seeing the twisted logic of his punishment. For years he had done as bad as these mages in his thirst for vengeance. He had slain what in his mind had been evil, but in reality, he wondered now how many of those he had killed had been guilty of only possessing the ability to manipulate magic. Thinking of his last moments fighting alongside the Dark Flames, he was filled with remorse. He had erred and grievously. He wondered how many lives he had ended, and how many of those deserved better than he had dealt them. His shoulders slumped under the sudden weight of his emotions, and he raised his eyes in determination to look once again upon the Chamber. He had been bound in life to this place through no fault of his own. Now, in death, he found the binding of his spirit to this place entirely of his own doing. He had called it vengeance, but it was a poor mask for the real word that described his action in these wastes. Murder.
Gathering himself, he began to walk, not away from the towering image, but toward it. If this was his destiny, a torment of his own making, and he would not run or cower from it now. What was left of his mind screamed for him to turn and run, but he would not heed. He had brought this judgment upon himself. He would not deny in death what he had tried to hide in life. He would bear his guilt and pain, and would not allow himself to try and alleviate any of it.
He paused at the door, searching for some way to gain entry. reaching out, he ran his hands over the cold stone, finally finding the lock on the door. Steeling himself, he began to turn the lock, but found his wrist suddenly gripped with a strength that would not allow him to complete the motion. Looking down, he saw two hands, bound together with a scarlet cord, holding him fast, not allowing him entry. He looked for the body, but there was none. The only thing he could discern was a voice, distant, yet commanding. It spoke only once.
"Unfinished."
BS gathered himself, his confusion turning to anger. Unfinished? He was dead, what could be left for him? The thought of returning to his life sent waves of loathing through his incorporeal form.
"There is nothing to return to. I have made this destiny of my own will," he screamed into the wind… to be answered only with his own echo. For a long moment he stood there, conscience that the hands had disappeared, leaving him alone, and with a choice it would seem. Reaching for the door once again, he found nothing barring his path this time. But his own doubt stayed his hand, and he let his arm drop limply to his side. He stood for a long moment, mind racing, waging his own private war with his guilt before he spoke.
"I would return, but to what end? I have been death to all I know. What could I possibly have to offer anyone?" he railed into the silence. Again the voice. Again, same word.
"Unfinished."
BS fell back in confusion as the door to the Chamber blew open. The sights assaulting him, bringing back long buried memories. He saw the taskmaster, watched in panic as the lash descended, and felt as though the sound of the child screaming would echo forever within his mind. His revulsion and outrage boiled up in a single, primal scream….
Visions of assassins, death, and strife mingled with isolated moments of peace and tranquility in snow-swept mountains. Thantor experienced ghostly pangs of remorse, the heated fury of absolute hatred, and the yearning for a peaceful existence mixed together in a chaotic collage. His mind took in the scenes of devastation, scenes that where all too familiar but nonetheless shocking in their scope nonetheless. These memories were not what he would have expected to find within one who had just moments before fought valiantly besides himself and his companions. However, he had ceased to be surprised at the depth of pain or the shadow of death that seem to be a part of every person he had worked with over his many years. As always, a rippling sense of compassion moved through him, spurring him even more fervently to save Bloodstalker’s life.
A hill loomed before him suddenly, a tower sitting high silhouetted against the sky. A deep, unsettling hatred was pervade this tower and Thantor pressed on, only to find himself unprepared for the horror that welled up from the depth of Bloodstalker’s mind. Parting the veils of memory and peering inside this place of doom, Thantor experienced slaves, chained and barely alive, having their minds and body probed with black magics, others forced to fight in the pits for the dark amusement. A overwhelming feeling of revulsion accompanied the viewing of another process, an unholy binding of the last remnants of a dying slave’s life force to the dead body, perverting the natural force of life into the creation of a monstrosity bound to the will of these defiled wizards.
Coming to a door, Thantor halted, knowing that time was of the essence. A few more moments and BS would have slipped past the mortal coil into the embrace of death. Opening the door, he saw the terror of the children, screaming under the whip, those that were alive crying for mercy or death, those already beyond the lashes blows heaped in a pile to be taken away as garbage. His heart rent as he watched the lash fall on one such child, a scream piercing through the passageways of Bloodstalker’s mind...
************************************
Turning from the sight of the blood drenched snow, BS found himself staring into the dark form of the Chamber. He felt the hate and rage of discovering that his eternity, like his life, was to be bound to this evil place. His anger ebbed, again seeing the twisted logic of his punishment. For years he had done as bad as these mages in his thirst for vengeance. He had slain what in his mind had been evil, but in reality, he wondered now how many of those he had killed had been guilty of only possessing the ability to manipulate magic. Thinking of his last moments fighting alongside the Dark Flames, he was filled with remorse. He had erred and grievously. He wondered how many lives he had ended, and how many of those deserved better than he had dealt them. His shoulders slumped under the sudden weight of his emotions, and he raised his eyes in determination to look once again upon the Chamber. He had been bound in life to this place through no fault of his own. Now, in death, he found the binding of his spirit to this place entirely of his own doing. He had called it vengeance, but it was a poor mask for the real word that described his action in these wastes. Murder.
Gathering himself, he began to walk, not away from the towering image, but toward it. If this was his destiny, a torment of his own making, and he would not run or cower from it now. What was left of his mind screamed for him to turn and run, but he would not heed. He had brought this judgment upon himself. He would not deny in death what he had tried to hide in life. He would bear his guilt and pain, and would not allow himself to try and alleviate any of it.
He paused at the door, searching for some way to gain entry. reaching out, he ran his hands over the cold stone, finally finding the lock on the door. Steeling himself, he began to turn the lock, but found his wrist suddenly gripped with a strength that would not allow him to complete the motion. Looking down, he saw two hands, bound together with a scarlet cord, holding him fast, not allowing him entry. He looked for the body, but there was none. The only thing he could discern was a voice, distant, yet commanding. It spoke only once.
"Unfinished."
BS gathered himself, his confusion turning to anger. Unfinished? He was dead, what could be left for him? The thought of returning to his life sent waves of loathing through his incorporeal form.
"There is nothing to return to. I have made this destiny of my own will," he screamed into the wind… to be answered only with his own echo. For a long moment he stood there, conscience that the hands had disappeared, leaving him alone, and with a choice it would seem. Reaching for the door once again, he found nothing barring his path this time. But his own doubt stayed his hand, and he let his arm drop limply to his side. He stood for a long moment, mind racing, waging his own private war with his guilt before he spoke.
"I would return, but to what end? I have been death to all I know. What could I possibly have to offer anyone?" he railed into the silence. Again the voice. Again, same word.
"Unfinished."
BS fell back in confusion as the door to the Chamber blew open. The sights assaulting him, bringing back long buried memories. He saw the taskmaster, watched in panic as the lash descended, and felt as though the sound of the child screaming would echo forever within his mind. His revulsion and outrage boiled up in a single, primal scream….
Lord of Lurkers
Guess what? I got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell!
Guess what? I got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell!
-
Bloodstalker
- Posts: 15512
- Joined: Wed Apr 18, 2001 10:00 pm
- Location: Hell if I know
- Contact:
Thantor was taken off guard by the bursting open of a door, followed by the voice of agony and defiance. Searching in the direction of the cry, he found what he had been searching for. Bloodstalker's essence was there, frozen in anger and viewing the same scene Thantor had seen only moments before. Reaching out, he touched BS's mental awareness, trying to pull it back through the dark void, but BS resisted. His will, which had been so weak a few moments before so as to remain hidden, was now iron in it's strength. It refused to turn away from the image of the child, determined to stay and free this innocent, all it's guilt and frustration forming into a wall of rage.
Thantor gently tried to thaw this misguided determination, but BS was paying him no mind. He was locked in his vision, desperate in his grief. Sensing the time fading, Thantor attempted to impart a thought in BS's consciousness, telling him what he was seeing was the past, long beyond helping. BS faltered, his resolve slipping as he recognized the truth, but the thought came screaming back to Thantor that this place was as much a part of the present as the past.
Thantor fought back his own reaction at the thought that such a place of suffering and death still stood, but knew that he had to push his advantage now before BS's body was too far gone to be reunited with his essence. He sent one last attempt out, mentally reaching across the void with a thought BS could comprehend: "Then come back to the present. You cannot change what is past, but you can change what is to be in the future"
To his relief, BS's mind responded to this idea and moved to follow. Not waiting for any other distraction, Thantor seized on the moment and solidified the link, pulling BS back from the depths of his own mind, past the memories of the past, and pack into the present. Clearing the last mists of memory, Thantor was again in his own body, but held the mental link as BS's mind reanimated with his wounded material form. He implored BS to trust him, communicating that with his guidance, BS's mental barrier needed to be circumvented for the healing to begin. He felt a faint sense of affirmation and permission come from Bloodstalker. Thantor turned his attention to the web of mental force that was impeding the curative touch of his magic, working with BS to part the web, opening holes in his mental defenses to allow the infusion of divine energies.
******************************
Bloodstalker’s mind rejoined with his body in a sudden intake of breath, his lungs protesting being forced into service again, as his body convulsed in a fit of coughing, but this time, no blood flowed from his lips. He heeded Thantor mental instruction...saw for the first time the web of energy surrounding him. He could almost see it closing about him as the magic moved over him, could feel the constriction. A moment of panic seized him, but Thantor’s calming presence settled him, and following the cleric’s instructions, he began to manipulate the individual strands, parting them open himself. For a moment he felt nothing, then with a sudden rush he felt the divine force slow the flow of his blood as severed vessels closed, tissues regenerated, and the healing process took place. After a short time, Thantor's mental link lessened as it was no longer necessary. Bloodstalker’s breathing became less and less labored until finally the steady rhythm had returned to normal. Still weak from blood loss, Bloodatstalker open his eyes, and a silent exchange took place between the warrior and the cleric. Before words could form, Thantor broke the gaze and looked at BS's shattered arm.
"You're alive, but we need to do something about that arm," Thantor stated, preparing to begin another healing spell. BS caught Thantor’s arm with his good hand, preventing him from beginning the incantation.
"There is still another battle to fight," BS's said, his voice raspy and forced. "Save the healing, there may be more pressing need for it elsewhere. My arm will keep."
Thantor looked doubtfully at BS's broken limb, knowing the validity of BS's statement. But still, to leave the man in so much pain troubled him. Bloodstalker shot Thantor a knowing look. "It will keep", he reassured the him with a weak smile. "I have borne a lot worse." Thantor understood the meaning of his words. In his joining with BS, he had seen much of the mans suffering, and could not argue with that simple statement. Nodding his head, he stood up and looked about the faces of the gathered companions, hoping that BS was wrong about the more pressing need for healing in the future.
Thantor gently tried to thaw this misguided determination, but BS was paying him no mind. He was locked in his vision, desperate in his grief. Sensing the time fading, Thantor attempted to impart a thought in BS's consciousness, telling him what he was seeing was the past, long beyond helping. BS faltered, his resolve slipping as he recognized the truth, but the thought came screaming back to Thantor that this place was as much a part of the present as the past.
Thantor fought back his own reaction at the thought that such a place of suffering and death still stood, but knew that he had to push his advantage now before BS's body was too far gone to be reunited with his essence. He sent one last attempt out, mentally reaching across the void with a thought BS could comprehend: "Then come back to the present. You cannot change what is past, but you can change what is to be in the future"
To his relief, BS's mind responded to this idea and moved to follow. Not waiting for any other distraction, Thantor seized on the moment and solidified the link, pulling BS back from the depths of his own mind, past the memories of the past, and pack into the present. Clearing the last mists of memory, Thantor was again in his own body, but held the mental link as BS's mind reanimated with his wounded material form. He implored BS to trust him, communicating that with his guidance, BS's mental barrier needed to be circumvented for the healing to begin. He felt a faint sense of affirmation and permission come from Bloodstalker. Thantor turned his attention to the web of mental force that was impeding the curative touch of his magic, working with BS to part the web, opening holes in his mental defenses to allow the infusion of divine energies.
******************************
Bloodstalker’s mind rejoined with his body in a sudden intake of breath, his lungs protesting being forced into service again, as his body convulsed in a fit of coughing, but this time, no blood flowed from his lips. He heeded Thantor mental instruction...saw for the first time the web of energy surrounding him. He could almost see it closing about him as the magic moved over him, could feel the constriction. A moment of panic seized him, but Thantor’s calming presence settled him, and following the cleric’s instructions, he began to manipulate the individual strands, parting them open himself. For a moment he felt nothing, then with a sudden rush he felt the divine force slow the flow of his blood as severed vessels closed, tissues regenerated, and the healing process took place. After a short time, Thantor's mental link lessened as it was no longer necessary. Bloodstalker’s breathing became less and less labored until finally the steady rhythm had returned to normal. Still weak from blood loss, Bloodatstalker open his eyes, and a silent exchange took place between the warrior and the cleric. Before words could form, Thantor broke the gaze and looked at BS's shattered arm.
"You're alive, but we need to do something about that arm," Thantor stated, preparing to begin another healing spell. BS caught Thantor’s arm with his good hand, preventing him from beginning the incantation.
"There is still another battle to fight," BS's said, his voice raspy and forced. "Save the healing, there may be more pressing need for it elsewhere. My arm will keep."
Thantor looked doubtfully at BS's broken limb, knowing the validity of BS's statement. But still, to leave the man in so much pain troubled him. Bloodstalker shot Thantor a knowing look. "It will keep", he reassured the him with a weak smile. "I have borne a lot worse." Thantor understood the meaning of his words. In his joining with BS, he had seen much of the mans suffering, and could not argue with that simple statement. Nodding his head, he stood up and looked about the faces of the gathered companions, hoping that BS was wrong about the more pressing need for healing in the future.
Lord of Lurkers
Guess what? I got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell!
Guess what? I got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell!
Death knows no mercy, nor restraint.
The antechamber stood revealed in the light of day as the flaming sword of Nether tasted the dank, stagnant air of Shadar’thaa, the Inner Chambers of the Portal. Held aloft by the singing paladin, the ancient blade defied the intricately carved walls of the receiving chamber…webs of deceit and lies wove their subtle strands across vistas of murder and despair, intersected by rivers of blood…the Blood of Innocents. The glory of the Drow race lie before the tiefling’s eyes, the dark heart of the Spider Goddess pumping her twisted, vile malice through the bone and sinew of it all, animating the evil and cruelty of thousands of years of vicious brutality.
Thalimon Shestare knew no restraint, for the time of stealth had passed. The priestess of Lolth, alerted to his presence by his spellsong, swiftly uttered the Words of Summoning. Her pets would deal with this one. Greenish vapors signaled the arrival of their spidery forms before the Ward Door as the gleaming paladin, his form immolated in white fire, stepped from the adjoining tunnel…
From whence did this one come? What of the House guards?
A furnace blast of arid wind followed a thunderous report as Avenger cleaved into the first of the giant spiders…the Thukariin’s blade, flashing like lightning in the heart of a storm of raging, swirling light, plunged into the maw of many-eyed death…
The Drow priestess, cursing the spectacular failure of her summonings, raised her gloved fist high…
“I shall smite you, surface filth. Thaikol na birith sa Lolth!”
The fabric of reality shifted in response to the sound of the Drow’s blasphemy, opening a rift in space-time. With a deafening roar, glowing motes from the Abyss descended upon the whirling paladin in a rain of unholy death. The infernal hail hissed as it hammered upon the smooth, polished floor of Shadar’thaa…
A glowing aura enveloped the Dark Guard as he fought on, vaporizing the unholy particles before they touched his flaming limbs. Avenger flared as each mote struck…nullifying the magics of the Spider Queen’s thrall.
This was no ordinary surfacer, and Rayna immediately sensed her peril. Her amulet…
The last of the Lolth’s pets emptied their oozing innards upon the ensorcelled walls, bloated forms shriveling under the heat of cleansing fire. Without pause Thalimon turned upon the frantic priestess, silent as the veiled Lykanviiri of his distant desert home. His face betrayed no emotion, bathed in the golden radiance of Torm’s Holy Vengeance…
…the Drow’s hands closed upon an unadorned chain. The House amulet, her means of egress from the death which quickly approached, was absent from its mooring. She had been betrayed.
“Illlyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa……..”
If Quiri Kevon still drew breath, he would smile from the depths of his madness. The screams of the priestess rivaled those of his own, echoing far and wide as blinding light consumed her wicked, scheming soul. Such is the way of the Drow…death comes to the deserving, so they say. This kernel of truth, so ironic in the face of a society built upon lies and deceit, shone like a star in the gloomy fastness of Shadar’thaa. Death indeed has come to the deserving…
The antechamber stood revealed in the light of day as the flaming sword of Nether tasted the dank, stagnant air of Shadar’thaa, the Inner Chambers of the Portal. Held aloft by the singing paladin, the ancient blade defied the intricately carved walls of the receiving chamber…webs of deceit and lies wove their subtle strands across vistas of murder and despair, intersected by rivers of blood…the Blood of Innocents. The glory of the Drow race lie before the tiefling’s eyes, the dark heart of the Spider Goddess pumping her twisted, vile malice through the bone and sinew of it all, animating the evil and cruelty of thousands of years of vicious brutality.
Thalimon Shestare knew no restraint, for the time of stealth had passed. The priestess of Lolth, alerted to his presence by his spellsong, swiftly uttered the Words of Summoning. Her pets would deal with this one. Greenish vapors signaled the arrival of their spidery forms before the Ward Door as the gleaming paladin, his form immolated in white fire, stepped from the adjoining tunnel…
From whence did this one come? What of the House guards?
A furnace blast of arid wind followed a thunderous report as Avenger cleaved into the first of the giant spiders…the Thukariin’s blade, flashing like lightning in the heart of a storm of raging, swirling light, plunged into the maw of many-eyed death…
The Drow priestess, cursing the spectacular failure of her summonings, raised her gloved fist high…
“I shall smite you, surface filth. Thaikol na birith sa Lolth!”
The fabric of reality shifted in response to the sound of the Drow’s blasphemy, opening a rift in space-time. With a deafening roar, glowing motes from the Abyss descended upon the whirling paladin in a rain of unholy death. The infernal hail hissed as it hammered upon the smooth, polished floor of Shadar’thaa…
A glowing aura enveloped the Dark Guard as he fought on, vaporizing the unholy particles before they touched his flaming limbs. Avenger flared as each mote struck…nullifying the magics of the Spider Queen’s thrall.
This was no ordinary surfacer, and Rayna immediately sensed her peril. Her amulet…
The last of the Lolth’s pets emptied their oozing innards upon the ensorcelled walls, bloated forms shriveling under the heat of cleansing fire. Without pause Thalimon turned upon the frantic priestess, silent as the veiled Lykanviiri of his distant desert home. His face betrayed no emotion, bathed in the golden radiance of Torm’s Holy Vengeance…
…the Drow’s hands closed upon an unadorned chain. The House amulet, her means of egress from the death which quickly approached, was absent from its mooring. She had been betrayed.
“Illlyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa……..”
If Quiri Kevon still drew breath, he would smile from the depths of his madness. The screams of the priestess rivaled those of his own, echoing far and wide as blinding light consumed her wicked, scheming soul. Such is the way of the Drow…death comes to the deserving, so they say. This kernel of truth, so ironic in the face of a society built upon lies and deceit, shone like a star in the gloomy fastness of Shadar’thaa. Death indeed has come to the deserving…
CYNIC, n.:
A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.
-[url="http://www.alcyone.com/max/lit/devils/a.html"]The Devil's Dictionary[/url]
A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.
-[url="http://www.alcyone.com/max/lit/devils/a.html"]The Devil's Dictionary[/url]
Nova gingerly stepped about in the shadows. This was no ordinary surfacer. She watched in silent appreciation of his form as he dealt fatality to Rayna's little pets.
The succubus smirked to herself as she carelessly bit into a head freshly plucked from one of the Ssythkakru. Draining it of its crimson juice, she carelessly tossed it aside.
Red and black wings ruffled behind her as she wiped her chin with the back of her hand. The Dark Guard radiated a red fire which burned deep within. His dark face glowed, casting a golden radiance which was accented by an emerald light flashing like lightning from his eyes.
Nova had seen beauty. She had bedded kings, and cambion alike, but this one stirred in her a new appreciation, a passion. She would have this one. First his body, then his soul, but not for that fat spider the drow worshipped. No, this one would be for her alone.
Her white teeth flashed in the dark as she witnessed Rayna meet her fate on the blade of the Dark Guard. Yes....this one was worthy. Her hand trailed down between her breasts in an absent minded gesture. Lazily she picked another "fruit".
The succubus smirked to herself as she carelessly bit into a head freshly plucked from one of the Ssythkakru. Draining it of its crimson juice, she carelessly tossed it aside.
Red and black wings ruffled behind her as she wiped her chin with the back of her hand. The Dark Guard radiated a red fire which burned deep within. His dark face glowed, casting a golden radiance which was accented by an emerald light flashing like lightning from his eyes.
Nova had seen beauty. She had bedded kings, and cambion alike, but this one stirred in her a new appreciation, a passion. She would have this one. First his body, then his soul, but not for that fat spider the drow worshipped. No, this one would be for her alone.
Her white teeth flashed in the dark as she witnessed Rayna meet her fate on the blade of the Dark Guard. Yes....this one was worthy. Her hand trailed down between her breasts in an absent minded gesture. Lazily she picked another "fruit".
Scayde Moody
(Pronounced Shayde)
The virtue of self sacrifice is the lie perpetuated by the weak to enslave the strong
Scayde looked up from her rifle to find BS again under attack. Damn !!!.....she fumbled with the shells, slamming them it's the magazine, too late. She watched helplessly as BS slumped to the ground. Blood poured from he chest like a macabre spring. She turned to Galdervan. "We have to go help him !"
"And do what Scayde . Don't be a fool, your friend is dead. Only a spell weaver can save him, and you have told me you have no ability." Galdervan tried to hold her arm, doing his best to reason with the stubborn Texan.
"You don't understand." Scayde returned. "In my world we have knowledge that could save him. I know these techniques, but I don't have long. I have to go now." Grabbing her rifle, she only wished she had time to teach Galdervan how to use it. Scayde jumped from the ledge and ran to where Nippy was laying Bloodstalker. By the time she got there, Thantor was already holding pressure on the wound. Scayde lunged toward the fallen warrior, but was stopped short by Dragon Wench.
"Scayde, wait. Don't disturb him."
"But he is dying", retorted Scayde. "No Scayde...he is dead. If he is to stand a chance, Thantor must reach him before his spirit departs. He is Bloodstalker's best chance."
Scayde shook her head in disbelief. "There are techniques. Tashara, I don't have much time." Dragon Wench held her fast. "Scayde, do these techniques work every time? Have you ever seen our healing. It is very powerful. I am sorry, but this is our friend. I must insist we stay with what we know."
Scayde looked on helplessly as Thantor worked with BS. Her mind was not at all put at ease by the fact that it looked not unlike the "faith healers" who prayed over the sick, and would not allow Drs. access to the patient. Suddenly BS convulsed. The blood stopped flowing and his eyes fluttered open. Scayde gasped in amazement. She had never seen anything like it. She would never have believed it.
Softly Thantor and Bloodstalker exchanged words before Thantor raised himself from the floor and headed back to the Dark Flames.
"Wow, that was amazing." Dragon Wench smiled at Scayde. "Yes, as often as I see it, I still marvel at the power of restorative magic."
Scayde knelt by Bloodstalker. "Looks like you still need that arm to be set. I don't have magic like Thantor, but I can stabilize it so it does not do more damage, and can heal on its own."
Bloodstalker smiled weakly up at Scayde. "I'd appreciate that...it'll save me from having to do it myself ." At that he managed a wink.
Scayde turned and grabbed a couple of arrows laying nearby. Taking a flask from her boot she offered it to Bloodstalker. "Here, Take a big swig of this." He raised a suspicious eyebrow. "What is it, a potion of some sort?" Scayde smiled at the question. "You might say that. It's called tequila. It's good for what ails you." She lifted the flask to his lips and held it as he drained half the bottle. "Now that is the kind of potion I like." The ranger offered a heartfelt smile and then gritting his teeth commanded, "Let's get this over with."
Scayde ripped the cotton shirt from under her chain mail top. Placing the strips of cloth on the ground, she laid the arrows lengthwise against BS's shattered arm. Then with deft manipulation, she pulled the arm lengthwise, and gently rotating it at the shoulder eased the bones back into their proper alignment. Bloodstalker gritted his teeth, but was silent except for a slow breath which he exhaled as she finished. She carefully tied the arrows around the arm, and tied the arm to Bloodstalker's chest. "That will hold you until you can get to a Dr."
....Bloodstalker grinned. "It'll be fine. Thanks." Nodding, red curls falling in her face, Scayde raised from the floor of the cavern.
"Yea, I think you will be."
Turning toward the tunnels, Scayde could not feel so sure about Thalimon. Fear gripped her heart. Picking up her rifle she headed in the direction where she had last seen him.
Again Dragon Wench grabbed her by the arm. "Where do you think you are going?" She asked. Scayde turned to her friend. "Why is it you are always stopping me. I am worried about Thalimon, Why did he go in there by his self. He might me in trouble, or dead, don't you care?"
Pain washed across Tashara's face. "Yes, I care. He is my brother. He is the only family I have in this world. I care more than you can know. I don't know where he has gone, or why he went, but the bond we have tells me, where he is, we can't follow. If we could, I would already have gone."
"I am sorry, I should not have said that. I had no idea." Scayde's eyes brimmed with tears, finally spilling over in a torrent of sobs as Dragon Wench held her. " Oh Tashara, I am so afraid. What if he doesn't come back?"
"And do what Scayde . Don't be a fool, your friend is dead. Only a spell weaver can save him, and you have told me you have no ability." Galdervan tried to hold her arm, doing his best to reason with the stubborn Texan.
"You don't understand." Scayde returned. "In my world we have knowledge that could save him. I know these techniques, but I don't have long. I have to go now." Grabbing her rifle, she only wished she had time to teach Galdervan how to use it. Scayde jumped from the ledge and ran to where Nippy was laying Bloodstalker. By the time she got there, Thantor was already holding pressure on the wound. Scayde lunged toward the fallen warrior, but was stopped short by Dragon Wench.
"Scayde, wait. Don't disturb him."
"But he is dying", retorted Scayde. "No Scayde...he is dead. If he is to stand a chance, Thantor must reach him before his spirit departs. He is Bloodstalker's best chance."
Scayde shook her head in disbelief. "There are techniques. Tashara, I don't have much time." Dragon Wench held her fast. "Scayde, do these techniques work every time? Have you ever seen our healing. It is very powerful. I am sorry, but this is our friend. I must insist we stay with what we know."
Scayde looked on helplessly as Thantor worked with BS. Her mind was not at all put at ease by the fact that it looked not unlike the "faith healers" who prayed over the sick, and would not allow Drs. access to the patient. Suddenly BS convulsed. The blood stopped flowing and his eyes fluttered open. Scayde gasped in amazement. She had never seen anything like it. She would never have believed it.
Softly Thantor and Bloodstalker exchanged words before Thantor raised himself from the floor and headed back to the Dark Flames.
"Wow, that was amazing." Dragon Wench smiled at Scayde. "Yes, as often as I see it, I still marvel at the power of restorative magic."
Scayde knelt by Bloodstalker. "Looks like you still need that arm to be set. I don't have magic like Thantor, but I can stabilize it so it does not do more damage, and can heal on its own."
Bloodstalker smiled weakly up at Scayde. "I'd appreciate that...it'll save me from having to do it myself ." At that he managed a wink.
Scayde turned and grabbed a couple of arrows laying nearby. Taking a flask from her boot she offered it to Bloodstalker. "Here, Take a big swig of this." He raised a suspicious eyebrow. "What is it, a potion of some sort?" Scayde smiled at the question. "You might say that. It's called tequila. It's good for what ails you." She lifted the flask to his lips and held it as he drained half the bottle. "Now that is the kind of potion I like." The ranger offered a heartfelt smile and then gritting his teeth commanded, "Let's get this over with."
Scayde ripped the cotton shirt from under her chain mail top. Placing the strips of cloth on the ground, she laid the arrows lengthwise against BS's shattered arm. Then with deft manipulation, she pulled the arm lengthwise, and gently rotating it at the shoulder eased the bones back into their proper alignment. Bloodstalker gritted his teeth, but was silent except for a slow breath which he exhaled as she finished. She carefully tied the arrows around the arm, and tied the arm to Bloodstalker's chest. "That will hold you until you can get to a Dr."
....Bloodstalker grinned. "It'll be fine. Thanks." Nodding, red curls falling in her face, Scayde raised from the floor of the cavern.
"Yea, I think you will be."
Turning toward the tunnels, Scayde could not feel so sure about Thalimon. Fear gripped her heart. Picking up her rifle she headed in the direction where she had last seen him.
Again Dragon Wench grabbed her by the arm. "Where do you think you are going?" She asked. Scayde turned to her friend. "Why is it you are always stopping me. I am worried about Thalimon, Why did he go in there by his self. He might me in trouble, or dead, don't you care?"
Pain washed across Tashara's face. "Yes, I care. He is my brother. He is the only family I have in this world. I care more than you can know. I don't know where he has gone, or why he went, but the bond we have tells me, where he is, we can't follow. If we could, I would already have gone."
"I am sorry, I should not have said that. I had no idea." Scayde's eyes brimmed with tears, finally spilling over in a torrent of sobs as Dragon Wench held her. " Oh Tashara, I am so afraid. What if he doesn't come back?"
Scayde Moody
(Pronounced Shayde)
The virtue of self sacrifice is the lie perpetuated by the weak to enslave the strong
-
dragon wench
- Posts: 19609
- Joined: Tue Apr 24, 2001 10:00 pm
- Location: The maelstrom where chaos merges with lucidity
- Contact:
Deeply troubled, Tashara held her friend. She sensed, despite the short time that Scayde and her brother had known one another.... that there existed an undercurrent of profound energy between the two. It was one she recognised.... and she recalled her uneasy shudder when Thalimon had dissappeared into the portal... While the circumstances were vastly different... the action had been too familiar.
She shook her head sadly, and in silent empathy looked directly into Scayde's shattered expression. "There is nothing we can do to follow him... please trust me......Everyone has a path that they must pursue.... and most of the time it is a path that can only be travelled alone." She swallowed hard, and spoke again, "sometimes we need to lay aside the passions or fears that swirl in our hearts and allow both reason and destiny to be the hands that guide us." Her tone softened, "I know so very well how hard that is to accept, but all too often it is the only way." Then she added, hoping her words were true, "we can never know what lies before us, but I feel he will return....."
From their vantage point she could still see Thantor moving quietly about, offering healing to those that needed it and not for the first time she was struck by his skill at instinctively knowing precisely where the source of pain or injury lay. Yshania and Gwally, equally skilled, were similarly engaged, while others amongst them dealt final blows to a straggling spider or orc.
Bloody entrails, torn limbs and the palpable aura of death surrounded them. Absently, she fingered a recently found scroll... and overwhelmed by sadness and despair she expressed the sentiment that had recurred so often since descending into this foetid darkness..."Oh gods... how I wish we were away from this accursed place!"
She shook her head sadly, and in silent empathy looked directly into Scayde's shattered expression. "There is nothing we can do to follow him... please trust me......Everyone has a path that they must pursue.... and most of the time it is a path that can only be travelled alone." She swallowed hard, and spoke again, "sometimes we need to lay aside the passions or fears that swirl in our hearts and allow both reason and destiny to be the hands that guide us." Her tone softened, "I know so very well how hard that is to accept, but all too often it is the only way." Then she added, hoping her words were true, "we can never know what lies before us, but I feel he will return....."
From their vantage point she could still see Thantor moving quietly about, offering healing to those that needed it and not for the first time she was struck by his skill at instinctively knowing precisely where the source of pain or injury lay. Yshania and Gwally, equally skilled, were similarly engaged, while others amongst them dealt final blows to a straggling spider or orc.
Bloody entrails, torn limbs and the palpable aura of death surrounded them. Absently, she fingered a recently found scroll... and overwhelmed by sadness and despair she expressed the sentiment that had recurred so often since descending into this foetid darkness..."Oh gods... how I wish we were away from this accursed place!"
Spoiler
testingtest12
Spoiler
testingtest12
Nippy clutched Bloodstalkers good hand and smiled wanly as Bloodstalker was treated by Scayde, the click and grinding noise of the joint being worked into place hurt him more than his own injury.
"What was it like Bloodstalker, what did you see? Did Thantor's healing hurt you? Are you ok now? Can you fight?"
Questions tumbled out of Nippy's mouth without remorse. He stopped and shut his mouth, content with just seeing Bloodstalker alive and well.
"What was it like Bloodstalker, what did you see? Did Thantor's healing hurt you? Are you ok now? Can you fight?"
Questions tumbled out of Nippy's mouth without remorse. He stopped and shut his mouth, content with just seeing Bloodstalker alive and well.
Perverteer Paladin
Mysteria blinked once, twice. Why'd she feel like sewing all of a sudden. She looked down, almost expecting to see herself holding a needle, but she wasn't. She held her sword, no, the dead drow's sword, not knowing when she'd drawn it. She frowned and turned, shadows flickered against the wall and she caught Aegis's eye. She took two steps before she thought about having promised herself to stay away from the elf.
"There." His voice was a coarse whisper as he nodded. Following his line of sight, she caught sight of something moving in the shadows. "We should retreat or attack before they take the decision for us." He hefted his sword in his hand as Mysteria nodded, she had little doubt that he'd rather chose attack over retreat.
She took a few steps back, and, of course, bumped into somebody. She flashed a quick, apologetic smile at Gwally, then pointed back into the shadows. "Company." Another step took her closer to where they grouped around Bloodstalker. She squatted down. "I don't want to interrupt but I think we got some trouble heading our way." She jerked her thumb back.
"There." His voice was a coarse whisper as he nodded. Following his line of sight, she caught sight of something moving in the shadows. "We should retreat or attack before they take the decision for us." He hefted his sword in his hand as Mysteria nodded, she had little doubt that he'd rather chose attack over retreat.
She took a few steps back, and, of course, bumped into somebody. She flashed a quick, apologetic smile at Gwally, then pointed back into the shadows. "Company." Another step took her closer to where they grouped around Bloodstalker. She squatted down. "I don't want to interrupt but I think we got some trouble heading our way." She jerked her thumb back.
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players."
-
Bloodstalker
- Posts: 15512
- Joined: Wed Apr 18, 2001 10:00 pm
- Location: Hell if I know
- Contact:
Bloodstalker thought for a moment about Nippy's question. What HAD he seen? He wasn't sure whether he had been delerious, or if the visions had been real. At the moment, the fact that he wasn't bleeding was good enough for him.
"Ask me when we get out of here, and I'll tell you, just promise not to have me locked up somewhere after." He grinned. His eyes went serious for a second before he spoke again. "Thanks Nippy, looks like I owe you."
He turned his eyes to examine Scaydes work. His arm still hurt, but at least now it was less likely to be further injured. His thought was broken by Mysteria's announcement. Turning his head, he searched for Striker, then turned and grinned at Nippy.
"You gonna give me my damn sword back, or sit there and stare all day? "
"Ask me when we get out of here, and I'll tell you, just promise not to have me locked up somewhere after." He grinned. His eyes went serious for a second before he spoke again. "Thanks Nippy, looks like I owe you."
He turned his eyes to examine Scaydes work. His arm still hurt, but at least now it was less likely to be further injured. His thought was broken by Mysteria's announcement. Turning his head, he searched for Striker, then turned and grinned at Nippy.
"You gonna give me my damn sword back, or sit there and stare all day? "
Lord of Lurkers
Guess what? I got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell!
Guess what? I got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell!