Fatigue lined her features as the young woman, kneeling, gazed at the ebon orb in her hand, no bigger than a large pebble, smooth and shimmering in the last light of dusk. It wasn’t long before her hand began to tremble under its weight, and she reluctantly tucked it into the bag of holding at her side. She breathed a sigh of relief as the weight disappeared. She had half-expected the orb to jump back out, like some disobedient child. When dealing with powerful magic, one just never knew. Well, most anyone. She smiled privately. Magus would have known. An expert on all things magical (and many other things besides), he could identify multitudes of common magical items just by their “feel.” A remarkable man, he was.
She sighed, a gentle breeze blowing through her silky golden-brown hair, as if in sympathy. Even haggard as she was, her beauty was breathtaking. Young by elven standards, she was slim and shapely, her skin a soft, smooth white even after the travels of the past two months. Her face was angular and refined, her ears slender and pointed, unmistakable signs of her elven heritage. With the scars on her back long healed by potent divine magic, only the glimmering silvery tattoos on her cheeks and forehead remained to hint at her true ancestry. Few indeed were those who knew she was a full-blooded avariel, one of the rare and exquisite people of the sky.
But most striking of all was the shy innocence that shone in her features like an inner light, softening a face worn by hardship and fatigue. Though that innocence had been tempered as of late by grief and loss, in her almond, blue-grey eyes lied a faith and trust in the good peoples of Faerun that would never disappear, no matter the malice, deception, and depravity she might face.
-Darkness is upon us. It would be best to be away from here- whispered a dark, ghostly voice in her mind, like an errant thought.
Aerie turned to regard her friend and companion. Two disembodied crimson eyes stared back at her from the shadows, then returned to their watchful vigil. With her sharp elven eyes, she could just make out the hakeashar’s murky form in the dim light. An incorporeal creature formed of pure magical essence, a hakeashar was a formidable foe. Immune to unenchanted weapons, they had a voracious appetite for anything magical, and were known to devour minor magical blades before a foe’s very eyes. But Void was different. Familiar to the renowned Archmage Magus, Void had powers that surpassed even those of his common kin. Inhumanly intelligent, he (loosely used—a hakeashar is genderless) often amused himself by toying with humans and their demi-human ilk, whose boundless propensity for ignorance and blind stupidity never failed to entertain him. Yet, as Aerie well knew, there was more to Void than met the eye. Beneath the hostile, alien exterior was a loyal friend, and a fearless guardian. And though he played well the role of the demonic servant, he found no pleasure in taking life for its own sake.
But never mistake Void for a mere minion. For even Magus knew the folly of that.
Aerie nodded and rose, shivering as a chill wind blew by, biting through her pure white woolen robes as if they were rags. Against the chill of death…mere garments were no barrier. She fingered her holy symbol and glanced around nervously. Crumbling gravestones and weathered tombs were all that remained of the ruined cemetary. Piles of bones littered the area here and there. Around them lied odd bits of weaponry and other adventuring gear, strewn about in various states of disrepair. That no one before had entered and left here alive was testament to the deadly legacy of the Netherese. Only with Void’s aid had she even managed to punch through the arcane barrier surrounding the place. And now that she had the artifact, they had the only way out.
-Quickly! They come!-
She broke into a sprint as the night came to life. All around the earth shook and overturned as the dead of Netheril rose again, their ranks swelled by centuries of fallen adventurers. Aerie ran for her life, knowing full well the price of death in this place. A zombie lord climbed from the earth ahead, placing itself in her path. Without slowing Aerie pulled a meticulously-detailed mace of finest silver from her hip and struck the creature. The mace flashed brilliantly, and in the next instant there was nothing left but a pile of ash. She continued running. She was almost to the barrier when a hand reached up from the ground and grabbed her ankle. She fell, hard. Pain shot up her leg like wild fire. Sensing the mass of evil closing in, she grabbed her holy symbol and beseeched her goddess, Aerdrie Faenya, for aid. Blinding white light surrounded her even as her first contingency triggered, mending her knee as the swarming undead around her felt the divine wrath of the Avariel’s patron goddess. Skeleton warriors crumbled and vengeful revenants cowered before the hateful light, and in seconds Aerie was on her feet again. She raced for the barrier, reaching into her bag, not daring to pull the orb out until she was there for fear of dropping it. Finally she reached the barrier’s edge.
She felt the weight heavy in her hand as she drew the orb forth. It began to shine with a black light. It pulsated, and a breech slowly started to form in the barrier.
Suddenly a cold, slimy hand grabbed her from behind. Her body stiffened as the fingers wrapped crushingly around her neck. Turning her head with a tremendous effort of will, she looked into the grinning skeletal face of a lich. She tried to struggle, but it was hopeless. She was completely paralyzed.
Two crimson eyes appeared behind the lich. In the next instant it was screaming, a terrible deathly wail, and Aerie was on the ground gasping for breath. The orb was on the ground next to her, lifeless. She grabbed it, and the repaired barrier began to part once more. The lich’s shrieking was quickly fading. She glanced over her shoulder. Void was wrapped around the lich, draining the last bit of magical essence from its ancient frame. The lich gave a last shudder and vanished in a cloud of dust.
She could hear the horde closing in. The breech was almost big enough to fit through…just a little more. If only she could use her spells...but the orb was too heavy, and she feared disturbing it might cause the hole to close again. She felt a rush of heat behind her as Void began to unleash the magic he had regained from his feeding.
-Hurry!- Void hissed.
“I know, I know!” she whispered, speaking out of habit. There! It was open! She began to rise…but her arm wouldn’t cooperate. The orb! It was too heavy to lift!
-What? Leave it, then! We’ll come back for it- Void commanded sharply. The more powerful undead were already breaking through his fire wall. He zapped them with spidery bolts of lightning, but it only slowed them.
Aerie shook her head violently. “No! It might not open again! I’m not leaving without it!” She dropped the orb and chanted the words to a spell. The hole began to close.
-…That won’t work! Do you think the ancient magicks of Netheril would be compromised by some modern cantrip?!-
Aerie ignored him. She finished the spell. The hole stopped closing. She picked up the orb, now light as before. “Let’s go!” She dove through the hole as spectral hands grabbed the thin air where she’d been only a second before.
Void paused only to disdainfully snag a helmed horror before he too jetted through the collapsing gateway.
Lost Souls Story Thread
Lost Souls Story Thread
Lost Souls: A bereft lover. A masterless familiar. Friends gone their separate ways. Time marches on, and destiny heralds the meeting of comrades old and new. Can they find what they're seeking? Or will the search bring them only more pain?
Aerie squinted into the noon sun as she rose to her feet. She looked around, confused. They were back…but it was daytime. She turned around. The Hill of Lost Souls rose ahead, the vegetation wilted and rotted, the life utterly drained from the once green shoots. There was no sign of the graveyard. With the barrier closed and the artifact gone, the graveyard had disappeared once more. This time…hopefully for good.
“May your tormented souls now find peace,” Aerie whispered. She looked down at the ebon orb in her hand. It pulsated weakly as she gazed at it, as if saying a feeble goodbye to its millennia-long resting place. It still took an effort to hold it, though it was much lighter than before.
She heard the clink of metal, and turned to see a suit of plate armor clatter to the ground. Void floated above it, his eyes narrowed at her.
-What exactly do you think you were doing? Trying to be a hero? Or just a fool? You don’t even understand what just happened, do you?-
Aerie met his gaze casually. “It worked, didn’t it?” She glanced at the orb once more before tucking it in her bag of holding.
-Idiot elf! You dabble with forces you don’t understand, staking all on some flighty conjecture. Pfft…I’ve met goblins with more sense than you.-
“If you don’t like it, then why don’t you go find some friends of yours and chat to your nonexistent heart’s content about us insufferable mortals? I will find Magus no matter what it takes, and I can’t have some selfish, half-hearted summons hanging on my coattails.”
Void’s eyes darkened. -See here, fool. If it weren’t for me, you’d be dead several times over. Know this: without me you don’t have a chance of finding him. I am not your servant, and you’d best remember that. Listen to yourself. Magus would be ashamed. And he would be appalled by such reckless behavior from his very wife.-
Silence prevailed as they stood there, their eyes refusing to meet. Finally Aerie shook her head and started walking. They didn’t have time for this. They needed to get back to town. Now that they had the orb, she needed to divine where they had to go next. She would need materials for the ritual, and she had spent the last of her money on travel provisions. She would have to get a job to cover the cost, which wouldn’t be cheap. At this rate…
She shook her head, banishing the thought. Now wasn’t the time to think negatively. Just take it one step at a time. Once she earned a few coins, at least she could sleep in a nice warm bed for once…
Aerie quickened her pace, Void trailing silently behind.
* * * * *
The crescent moon waned in the sky when the two reached the outskirts of Pedsgin. Pedsgin was a small town nestled between the Hill of Lost Souls and the Forest of Wyrms, a bastion of civilization of sorts in the midst of the untamed northeast of the Western Heartlands. The nearest town, Boltswick, was a couple days’ travel to the north, a medium-sized port town sitting on the Winding Water River. The closest towns beyond that were Hill’s Edge across the River Reaching to the southeast, and Soubar on the other side of the Forest of Wyrms to the west. All in all, the towns of Boltswick and Pedsgin had to fend for themselves for the most part, and regular trade between the two sister towns provided for a steady existence, if not prosperity. The local militia kept the peace when things got out of hand, and drove away the occasional monsters that wandered out of the Forest of Wyrms or the Trielta Hills to the southwest, or the undead that sometimes ambled in from the east. Lately though, the monsters had become more troublesome, often ambushing travelers between the two towns. The militia patrolled the road when it could, but the way was still dangerous, and it was unwise to venture out without some sort of armed escort.
With the recent trouble, security was tighter than usual at the modest town gates, and the guards came to attention at Aerie’s approach.
“Hold! Who are you, and what is your business in Pedsgin?” shouted a young man in splint mail, walking forward.
Aerie drew closer. “My name is Aerie. I have traveled the night and wish only to rest my weary body and tired mind. You wouldn’t refuse a lady her rest, would you?” she asked, smiling prettily.
The young man blushed. “N-no, not at all. Have a good stay in Pedsgin. Y-you know, if you need directions…”
But Aerie had already walked off. The guard sighed wistfully as he watched her retreating back.
“Geldyn! Stop drooling and get back to your post!” yelled an older man, his face pitted and scarred from a lifetime of militia service.
“Yes sir!” He glanced one last time at the receding beauty before returning to his vigil. He didn’t see the shadow that flitted past them, following the young lady.
* * * * *
Aerie stepped through the door of the Traveler’s Haven. As the name suggested, the place was clean and tidy, deserted at this time of hour except for the grizzled old lady behind the bar, cleaning an ale mug.
“Excuse me. Ma’am?”
The stout old lady looked up. “Yes, what is it?” Her tone was flat, as if she didn’t really care whether this young wisp of a girl was a potential customer or not.
“I was wondering if you have any rooms available. I’m afraid I don’t have any money, but I have skills that might be useful to you.”
“Oh?” Raising her thick eyebrows, the lady looked her over. “I suppose you would make a comely wench. I am a bit low on hired help.”
Aerie tried to disguise her disgust. “I’m afraid you misunderstand me. I’m a cleric, and a fair hand with wizard’s magic.” She held out her hand.
“Lumina.”
A glowing ball of multicolored light appeared in her hand. She covered it with her other hand, and when she lifted it again, the light was gone.
“Hmph. You should have just said you were a trickster in the first place. Very well, you may stay here. In exchange, you will do an act when the bar opens in the evening, and again an hour before closing. Agreed?”
Aerie nodded. “Agreed.” The lady gave her the keys to her room, and Aerie climbed the stairs for a well-earned rest.
The nerve of that hag…calling me a trickster.
-You were lucky she did. She would have chased you out if she believed you were a wizard.- Void commented off-handedly.
“Hmph.” She wanted to scold him for probing others’ minds again, but she was just too tired. She just wanted to rest right now.
Could you go haunt someone else? I really need to sleep.
Void was readying a retort when he suddenly thought better of it. If that’s what she really wanted…
It seemed he might find some amusement this night after all.
“May your tormented souls now find peace,” Aerie whispered. She looked down at the ebon orb in her hand. It pulsated weakly as she gazed at it, as if saying a feeble goodbye to its millennia-long resting place. It still took an effort to hold it, though it was much lighter than before.
She heard the clink of metal, and turned to see a suit of plate armor clatter to the ground. Void floated above it, his eyes narrowed at her.
-What exactly do you think you were doing? Trying to be a hero? Or just a fool? You don’t even understand what just happened, do you?-
Aerie met his gaze casually. “It worked, didn’t it?” She glanced at the orb once more before tucking it in her bag of holding.
-Idiot elf! You dabble with forces you don’t understand, staking all on some flighty conjecture. Pfft…I’ve met goblins with more sense than you.-
“If you don’t like it, then why don’t you go find some friends of yours and chat to your nonexistent heart’s content about us insufferable mortals? I will find Magus no matter what it takes, and I can’t have some selfish, half-hearted summons hanging on my coattails.”
Void’s eyes darkened. -See here, fool. If it weren’t for me, you’d be dead several times over. Know this: without me you don’t have a chance of finding him. I am not your servant, and you’d best remember that. Listen to yourself. Magus would be ashamed. And he would be appalled by such reckless behavior from his very wife.-
Silence prevailed as they stood there, their eyes refusing to meet. Finally Aerie shook her head and started walking. They didn’t have time for this. They needed to get back to town. Now that they had the orb, she needed to divine where they had to go next. She would need materials for the ritual, and she had spent the last of her money on travel provisions. She would have to get a job to cover the cost, which wouldn’t be cheap. At this rate…
She shook her head, banishing the thought. Now wasn’t the time to think negatively. Just take it one step at a time. Once she earned a few coins, at least she could sleep in a nice warm bed for once…
Aerie quickened her pace, Void trailing silently behind.
* * * * *
The crescent moon waned in the sky when the two reached the outskirts of Pedsgin. Pedsgin was a small town nestled between the Hill of Lost Souls and the Forest of Wyrms, a bastion of civilization of sorts in the midst of the untamed northeast of the Western Heartlands. The nearest town, Boltswick, was a couple days’ travel to the north, a medium-sized port town sitting on the Winding Water River. The closest towns beyond that were Hill’s Edge across the River Reaching to the southeast, and Soubar on the other side of the Forest of Wyrms to the west. All in all, the towns of Boltswick and Pedsgin had to fend for themselves for the most part, and regular trade between the two sister towns provided for a steady existence, if not prosperity. The local militia kept the peace when things got out of hand, and drove away the occasional monsters that wandered out of the Forest of Wyrms or the Trielta Hills to the southwest, or the undead that sometimes ambled in from the east. Lately though, the monsters had become more troublesome, often ambushing travelers between the two towns. The militia patrolled the road when it could, but the way was still dangerous, and it was unwise to venture out without some sort of armed escort.
With the recent trouble, security was tighter than usual at the modest town gates, and the guards came to attention at Aerie’s approach.
“Hold! Who are you, and what is your business in Pedsgin?” shouted a young man in splint mail, walking forward.
Aerie drew closer. “My name is Aerie. I have traveled the night and wish only to rest my weary body and tired mind. You wouldn’t refuse a lady her rest, would you?” she asked, smiling prettily.
The young man blushed. “N-no, not at all. Have a good stay in Pedsgin. Y-you know, if you need directions…”
But Aerie had already walked off. The guard sighed wistfully as he watched her retreating back.
“Geldyn! Stop drooling and get back to your post!” yelled an older man, his face pitted and scarred from a lifetime of militia service.
“Yes sir!” He glanced one last time at the receding beauty before returning to his vigil. He didn’t see the shadow that flitted past them, following the young lady.
* * * * *
Aerie stepped through the door of the Traveler’s Haven. As the name suggested, the place was clean and tidy, deserted at this time of hour except for the grizzled old lady behind the bar, cleaning an ale mug.
“Excuse me. Ma’am?”
The stout old lady looked up. “Yes, what is it?” Her tone was flat, as if she didn’t really care whether this young wisp of a girl was a potential customer or not.
“I was wondering if you have any rooms available. I’m afraid I don’t have any money, but I have skills that might be useful to you.”
“Oh?” Raising her thick eyebrows, the lady looked her over. “I suppose you would make a comely wench. I am a bit low on hired help.”
Aerie tried to disguise her disgust. “I’m afraid you misunderstand me. I’m a cleric, and a fair hand with wizard’s magic.” She held out her hand.
“Lumina.”
A glowing ball of multicolored light appeared in her hand. She covered it with her other hand, and when she lifted it again, the light was gone.
“Hmph. You should have just said you were a trickster in the first place. Very well, you may stay here. In exchange, you will do an act when the bar opens in the evening, and again an hour before closing. Agreed?”
Aerie nodded. “Agreed.” The lady gave her the keys to her room, and Aerie climbed the stairs for a well-earned rest.
The nerve of that hag…calling me a trickster.
-You were lucky she did. She would have chased you out if she believed you were a wizard.- Void commented off-handedly.
“Hmph.” She wanted to scold him for probing others’ minds again, but she was just too tired. She just wanted to rest right now.
Could you go haunt someone else? I really need to sleep.
Void was readying a retort when he suddenly thought better of it. If that’s what she really wanted…
It seemed he might find some amusement this night after all.
Lost Souls: A bereft lover. A masterless familiar. Friends gone their separate ways. Time marches on, and destiny heralds the meeting of comrades old and new. Can they find what they're seeking? Or will the search bring them only more pain?
Virrilis rested heavily against one of the derelict buildings that arched around the alley as if they were mighty canyons. Dark windows, some boarded up, leared out towards him, shrouding any would be assailant inside them with near perfection. At least in the City of Theives. His hands rested wearily on the twin blades at his hip, one the scimitar he used to battle Lazal, the other a dirk he had replaced his missing scimitar with. Over the months, he come to appreciate the lesser weight of the new found weapon, and remained just as deadly with it, as with his previous, longer curved blade. He waited patiently. He had come to the alley alone, against the wishes of both Ferchen and Rail. The mystery of a letter was too much for him to pass up, especially when it was signed "Your Better Half...". It was Sethin. He knew it. He kept his eyes panning from one side of the alley to the other, watchful of any movement, of any sound. It had been close to an hour, with nothing to show for it.
Virrilis shuffled impatiently. After only a moment longer, he pushed himself from the building, and turned towards the path that would take him out of the winding maze of Calminshan buildings. Maybe it was a mistake.
"I would have figured you to be a more patient type..." a cool voice said, almost mockingly, from behind and above.
Virrilis stopped, spinning wildly in his tracks, the loose sand creating a small mound around his leather boots. In the same motion, both blades were drawn, the scimitar beared across his frame, and the dirk held with the blade paralell to his forearm. His gaze went up slowly to meet that of the other elf sitting on a wooden beam across the alley no more than fifteen feet above him.
"You look upset..." Sethin ****ed his head a bit, his long hair shifting slightly with the movement. After a second, the mimic dropped from the ledge, his hair creating a cascading trail as he fell.
Virrilis noted the extreme change in Sethin's appearance. The double had grown his hair to such a length, it was a wonder he would not trip over it during combat. Sethin strode towards Virrilis, his own weapons remaining confidently placed in their sheathes.
"Come now. You can't think of anything to say to me... Afterall we've been through..." Sethin grinned a ****y grin.
"I've come to finish our business!" Virrilis then charged forward, his blades already forming a wave of motion.
In a brief flash of light, Sethin's own blades, a finely forged Katana and matching wakizashi was drawn, and firmly placed in the path of Virrilis' weapons. In the following seconds, the alley became lightened with the sparks of metal colliding, the blades shreikingly protesting every thrust, every parry. The two elves seemed to flow as one, each blade turning aside the others attack. The acrobatic talent mixed with the intensity of the battle did little to take away from the ferocity of each attack.
Virrilis kicked out to the side, sending his dirk in a wide arc in front of him, only to be countered by Sethin's Wakizashi. The double spun with the same motion, sending his other blade out to combat his original. As his katana met only the ringing sound of Virrilis' scimitar, a twisted smile appeared on his face, and he brought the wakizashi in to lock the blade together. Once done, he leaned in close to Virrilis.
"Do you not miss the challenge? The thirll of combating your complete equal!" Sethin mocked the Bladesinger.
Virrilis heaved the clone away from him, sending a wave of sparks from the blades. He watched Sethin for a moment, standing, poised to defend another onslaught of attacks, his own blades positionged in the same manner.
"How many more souls did you take to carve out your empire in the desert?" Virrilis almost hissed the words as he spoke, his bitter hatred of all Sethin stood for seeping through his teeth.
"My empire?" Sethin almost laughed, his now incredulous appearance setting Virrilis off slightly with uncertainty. "This is hardly my empire, Bladesinger. What I have done, I have done for the Pasha."
"That does not excuse what you have taken from me, and countless others..." Virrilis shuffled slightly, angling himself for another attack.
"Nor does it excuse what he has now done to me!" Sethin dropped his blades to his side, and Virrilis stopped in his tracks...
Virrilis shuffled impatiently. After only a moment longer, he pushed himself from the building, and turned towards the path that would take him out of the winding maze of Calminshan buildings. Maybe it was a mistake.
"I would have figured you to be a more patient type..." a cool voice said, almost mockingly, from behind and above.
Virrilis stopped, spinning wildly in his tracks, the loose sand creating a small mound around his leather boots. In the same motion, both blades were drawn, the scimitar beared across his frame, and the dirk held with the blade paralell to his forearm. His gaze went up slowly to meet that of the other elf sitting on a wooden beam across the alley no more than fifteen feet above him.
"You look upset..." Sethin ****ed his head a bit, his long hair shifting slightly with the movement. After a second, the mimic dropped from the ledge, his hair creating a cascading trail as he fell.
Virrilis noted the extreme change in Sethin's appearance. The double had grown his hair to such a length, it was a wonder he would not trip over it during combat. Sethin strode towards Virrilis, his own weapons remaining confidently placed in their sheathes.
"Come now. You can't think of anything to say to me... Afterall we've been through..." Sethin grinned a ****y grin.
"I've come to finish our business!" Virrilis then charged forward, his blades already forming a wave of motion.
In a brief flash of light, Sethin's own blades, a finely forged Katana and matching wakizashi was drawn, and firmly placed in the path of Virrilis' weapons. In the following seconds, the alley became lightened with the sparks of metal colliding, the blades shreikingly protesting every thrust, every parry. The two elves seemed to flow as one, each blade turning aside the others attack. The acrobatic talent mixed with the intensity of the battle did little to take away from the ferocity of each attack.
Virrilis kicked out to the side, sending his dirk in a wide arc in front of him, only to be countered by Sethin's Wakizashi. The double spun with the same motion, sending his other blade out to combat his original. As his katana met only the ringing sound of Virrilis' scimitar, a twisted smile appeared on his face, and he brought the wakizashi in to lock the blade together. Once done, he leaned in close to Virrilis.
"Do you not miss the challenge? The thirll of combating your complete equal!" Sethin mocked the Bladesinger.
Virrilis heaved the clone away from him, sending a wave of sparks from the blades. He watched Sethin for a moment, standing, poised to defend another onslaught of attacks, his own blades positionged in the same manner.
"How many more souls did you take to carve out your empire in the desert?" Virrilis almost hissed the words as he spoke, his bitter hatred of all Sethin stood for seeping through his teeth.
"My empire?" Sethin almost laughed, his now incredulous appearance setting Virrilis off slightly with uncertainty. "This is hardly my empire, Bladesinger. What I have done, I have done for the Pasha."
"That does not excuse what you have taken from me, and countless others..." Virrilis shuffled slightly, angling himself for another attack.
"Nor does it excuse what he has now done to me!" Sethin dropped his blades to his side, and Virrilis stopped in his tracks...
It was late in the evening when the caravan stopped in front of the city gates of the small town Pedsgin. The caravan driver dropped down from his wagon and went to talk to the city guards, and soon after got permission to drive through the gates. Just on the other side of the gates, the caravan halted again, in the midst of some tents and rural housing, and people started to unload the cargo.
A figure stepped of one of the wagons. Wearing a dusty rope and a cloak, the only thing giving away the nature of the figure was the glimpses of well-worn plate armour beneath the rope as the figure stepped down.
The dusty greyish cloak covered half the figures face, only the lower half was visible, and it revealed a rugged face with day old beard stubs and a few minor cuts.
On the back, the figure carried a sword, wrapped in rags, only the hilt was visible, but clearly gave away the nature of the wrapped contents.
The figure reached up into the wagon and pulled down a shield, wiped some dust of, and the engraved word “Curator” became visible on the shield.
The figure flipped back the hood of his cloak and looked around. The figure was that of a human male, around his mid twenties, with bright white hair. With his whole face visible a large cut down the left side of his face were also visible. The cut extended from the forehead, down over the eye and down over his cheek, it was amazing that the man still had retained sight on the eye.
Xandax looked around, trying to decide where to go. The Caravan driver must have noticed Xandax’ indecision and stepped down beside him.
”There is a tavern where you can get some food and a bath, down there” The driver pointed down a makeshift road between some crude housing and tents. “It is called Traveler’s Haven”.
Xandax swung his shield onto his back, and one could hear it hit the armour under the rope, with a damped clang. Xandax placed his hood up, and then he started walking down the road, as he nodded to the caravan driver.
Xandax entered the tavern, and went up to the woman at behind the bar.
”Do you have any free rooms?” Xandax asked with a rusted voice.
The woman behind the bar looked Xandax over and noticed his dusted clothes, and spoke uninterested. ”We don’t give out to charity; try the …” she never finished her sentence, as Xandax flipped five gold coins on the bar. “Is this sufficient?” he replied to her words. “Certainly” she replied baffled, and gave Xandax a key. “Up the stairs to the left. There is fresh water in the room, and I can bring up something to eat”
Xandax was already on his way up the stairs.
A figure stepped of one of the wagons. Wearing a dusty rope and a cloak, the only thing giving away the nature of the figure was the glimpses of well-worn plate armour beneath the rope as the figure stepped down.
The dusty greyish cloak covered half the figures face, only the lower half was visible, and it revealed a rugged face with day old beard stubs and a few minor cuts.
On the back, the figure carried a sword, wrapped in rags, only the hilt was visible, but clearly gave away the nature of the wrapped contents.
The figure reached up into the wagon and pulled down a shield, wiped some dust of, and the engraved word “Curator” became visible on the shield.
The figure flipped back the hood of his cloak and looked around. The figure was that of a human male, around his mid twenties, with bright white hair. With his whole face visible a large cut down the left side of his face were also visible. The cut extended from the forehead, down over the eye and down over his cheek, it was amazing that the man still had retained sight on the eye.
Xandax looked around, trying to decide where to go. The Caravan driver must have noticed Xandax’ indecision and stepped down beside him.
”There is a tavern where you can get some food and a bath, down there” The driver pointed down a makeshift road between some crude housing and tents. “It is called Traveler’s Haven”.
Xandax swung his shield onto his back, and one could hear it hit the armour under the rope, with a damped clang. Xandax placed his hood up, and then he started walking down the road, as he nodded to the caravan driver.
Xandax entered the tavern, and went up to the woman at behind the bar.
”Do you have any free rooms?” Xandax asked with a rusted voice.
The woman behind the bar looked Xandax over and noticed his dusted clothes, and spoke uninterested. ”We don’t give out to charity; try the …” she never finished her sentence, as Xandax flipped five gold coins on the bar. “Is this sufficient?” he replied to her words. “Certainly” she replied baffled, and gave Xandax a key. “Up the stairs to the left. There is fresh water in the room, and I can bring up something to eat”
Xandax was already on his way up the stairs.
Insert signature here.
Where to begin, Void wondered idly as he drifted from room to room, looking for his first victim. The magic-fearing bar woman would make an amusing toy, but then again, the illicit couple two doors over demanded a rude awakening as well. So much to do…so little time.
Hmm…what was this? He sensed magic. Powerful magic. The hunger arose suddenly, threatening to overtake him. Damn…he felt like a human, controlled by their inner lusts and petty emotions. It didn’t used to be like this. But nowadays he could hardly keep himself from draining Aerie’s magical essence as she slept. No, he would not be controlled. He would not give in, no matter the cost.
Still, he was intrigued. What was potent magic doing in this little backwater? No harm in just looking. He vanished into the wall, finding himself in the room of a warrior. A suit of full plate lied neatly on a clean makeshift dresser, flashing silver in the moonlight from the room’s small window. Against the back wall, within arm’s reach of the sleeping man, were propped a sword and shield, the sources of the strong magical energy Void had sensed. The man twisted and turned in his sleep, and vivid scenes of death and torment flashed in Void’s mind as he observed.
That sword…it looked familiar. It glowed faintly as he drew closer. Yes…this magic…he remembered it from a time when his lust for magic was like that of a child for sweets, rather than the obsession it was now. It had been a curiosity then, nothing more. Now it seemed to call to him, tempting him with its sweet energies, coursing through it like life’s blood, pulsing with delicious vigor. Crying out to be absorbed and savored, to finally be made one with a being that valued its aromatic fragrance, its exquisite flavor. He drifted even closer. Yes, it was best this way, after all. The foolish human would never know what happened. He would never know…
As a shadow smothers the light, Void flew forward to wrap himself around the now brightly glowing sword.
Hmm…what was this? He sensed magic. Powerful magic. The hunger arose suddenly, threatening to overtake him. Damn…he felt like a human, controlled by their inner lusts and petty emotions. It didn’t used to be like this. But nowadays he could hardly keep himself from draining Aerie’s magical essence as she slept. No, he would not be controlled. He would not give in, no matter the cost.
Still, he was intrigued. What was potent magic doing in this little backwater? No harm in just looking. He vanished into the wall, finding himself in the room of a warrior. A suit of full plate lied neatly on a clean makeshift dresser, flashing silver in the moonlight from the room’s small window. Against the back wall, within arm’s reach of the sleeping man, were propped a sword and shield, the sources of the strong magical energy Void had sensed. The man twisted and turned in his sleep, and vivid scenes of death and torment flashed in Void’s mind as he observed.
That sword…it looked familiar. It glowed faintly as he drew closer. Yes…this magic…he remembered it from a time when his lust for magic was like that of a child for sweets, rather than the obsession it was now. It had been a curiosity then, nothing more. Now it seemed to call to him, tempting him with its sweet energies, coursing through it like life’s blood, pulsing with delicious vigor. Crying out to be absorbed and savored, to finally be made one with a being that valued its aromatic fragrance, its exquisite flavor. He drifted even closer. Yes, it was best this way, after all. The foolish human would never know what happened. He would never know…
As a shadow smothers the light, Void flew forward to wrap himself around the now brightly glowing sword.
Lost Souls: A bereft lover. A masterless familiar. Friends gone their separate ways. Time marches on, and destiny heralds the meeting of comrades old and new. Can they find what they're seeking? Or will the search bring them only more pain?
Xandax slept uneasy, as he was accustomed to. Fighting each night to keep his sanity and his life, to keep it being drained away from him, he would not succumb, not in his dreams and not in his life.
Xandax opened his eyes, but did not move, he could sense something in the room with him, something ……. unnatural. “Ferox” gave off a light glow, illuminating the area around it. With reflexes trained through a lifetime, Xandax quickly extended his hand toward the hilt, and “Ferox” almost leaped with anticipation up into his hands, in the same movement Xandax rolled out of the bed and stood with his back against the corner of the room ready to fight of the assailant. Numerous cuts and scars were visible on the upper body of Xandax, many of them would have proven lethal to others. One cut especially on his left side, spoke of a deep cut with an axe.
Xandax looked around the darkened room, weary.
What was this, two red ….. eyes? They were eyes, floating in the air.
Xandax rotated his swordhand, and the sword gave of a whistle as it span in the air.
Xandax recalled last time he saw such a sight. It was the pet of “that mage”, could it be the same? Xandax didn’t like such unnatural creatures.
He stood vigilant, trying to observe the misty figure, it was “its” move now.
Xandax rotated his wrist and the sword whistled once more.
Xandax opened his eyes, but did not move, he could sense something in the room with him, something ……. unnatural. “Ferox” gave off a light glow, illuminating the area around it. With reflexes trained through a lifetime, Xandax quickly extended his hand toward the hilt, and “Ferox” almost leaped with anticipation up into his hands, in the same movement Xandax rolled out of the bed and stood with his back against the corner of the room ready to fight of the assailant. Numerous cuts and scars were visible on the upper body of Xandax, many of them would have proven lethal to others. One cut especially on his left side, spoke of a deep cut with an axe.
Xandax looked around the darkened room, weary.
What was this, two red ….. eyes? They were eyes, floating in the air.
Xandax rotated his swordhand, and the sword gave of a whistle as it span in the air.
Xandax recalled last time he saw such a sight. It was the pet of “that mage”, could it be the same? Xandax didn’t like such unnatural creatures.
He stood vigilant, trying to observe the misty figure, it was “its” move now.
Xandax rotated his wrist and the sword whistled once more.
Insert signature here.
Too late…the man grabbed the sword and rolled from his bed into fighting position.
Void’s eyes flared crimson. His feeding forestalled, he nearly lunged at the man, but stopped himself at the last moment. His eyes narrowed at the impudent human that dared stand between him and his prize.
-I must have it…give it to me!-
The man didn’t budge an inch.
-Then I’ll pry it from your comatose hands!-
Xandax’s mind was suddenly ablaze with agony. In the next instant the creature was wrapped around his sword, its light extinguished by the enveloping shadow.
Void’s eyes flared crimson. His feeding forestalled, he nearly lunged at the man, but stopped himself at the last moment. His eyes narrowed at the impudent human that dared stand between him and his prize.
-I must have it…give it to me!-
The man didn’t budge an inch.
-Then I’ll pry it from your comatose hands!-
Xandax’s mind was suddenly ablaze with agony. In the next instant the creature was wrapped around his sword, its light extinguished by the enveloping shadow.
Lost Souls: A bereft lover. A masterless familiar. Friends gone their separate ways. Time marches on, and destiny heralds the meeting of comrades old and new. Can they find what they're seeking? Or will the search bring them only more pain?
-
Rob-hin
- Posts: 4832
- Joined: Tue Aug 21, 2001 11:00 am
- Location: In the Batcave with catwoman. *prrrr*
- Contact:
-What is it you hope to find here? Sure, there has been some out of the ordinary activity lately, but can’t be worth your attention, can it?-
Yolta smiled at Japheth’s comment. The telepathic bond they created recently lightened the burden of travelling alone; especially as Yolta didn’t have a familiar. Japheth is one of the few Yolta would travel with, but he rarely leaves Mathghamhna, the Arcane Order’s campus. This telepathic bond, though hard to create and maintain, was their only way to keep in touch. But once again, Yolta travels alone.
–It’s just a feeling, perhaps it’s nothing at all.- The answer followed the question in a split second; telepathy was as quick as thinking itself. –You travelled all the way into no man’s land, just on a feeling?-
-Yes, just on a feeling.-
-You’re even crazier then I thought, you old sod.- The two men smiled, and though they could not see each other, they could feel it.
-We’ll see my friend, we’ll see.-
The voice went silent, tucked away in a corner or Yolta’s mind until they wished to continue their conversation. For now, Yolta focused on his surroundings, an unknown wood at night.
He wondered how far it was to the next village, as he didn’t feel like spending the night here in these dark woods. Naturally, he could create an extradimentional space to rest in, but what would be the fun in that? Yolta enjoyed the simple things of travelling; the common folk in the local inn, wild animals roaming the forest and the clear heaven filled with stars.
As he looked back on his most recent finding, a scroll of yet unknown origin; now being studied back at campus, Yolta couldn’t help but hoping that there was something interesting in these parts. Perhaps this new monster activity was caused by an undead who had luckily stumbled upon an item of power. A new item for the Order to investigate is always welcome, and it is for that reason that he was here. But for now, he decided, I must focus on the here and now. Can’t risk being surprised.
-Let them try, you’re not the easy prey you may seem to be.-
A bit startled, Yolta responded. –I thought you’d be asleep by now.-
-Too many things to do, even though it’s almost morning and I haven’t had any shut eyes all night.-
-Please try to get some sleep, you can study that scroll further tomorrow. This is no time for me to be distracted.- Yolta held a sturdy pass though the woods.
-Just teleport to next village then.- Not awaiting a response, the voice went silent again.
Japheth didn’t understand that the simple things are what made travelling worth wild. He never really understood the common folk, for this very same reason. Not the way Yolta did, though common folk rarely understood him back. He forgave them for this, for the reason was simple. No matter what he did, he was still an Xvart. Nothing to be done about that…
-Is that a light in the distance?- He wondered, and picked up the pass again, making his way towards the village on the horizon.
Yolta smiled at Japheth’s comment. The telepathic bond they created recently lightened the burden of travelling alone; especially as Yolta didn’t have a familiar. Japheth is one of the few Yolta would travel with, but he rarely leaves Mathghamhna, the Arcane Order’s campus. This telepathic bond, though hard to create and maintain, was their only way to keep in touch. But once again, Yolta travels alone.
–It’s just a feeling, perhaps it’s nothing at all.- The answer followed the question in a split second; telepathy was as quick as thinking itself. –You travelled all the way into no man’s land, just on a feeling?-
-Yes, just on a feeling.-
-You’re even crazier then I thought, you old sod.- The two men smiled, and though they could not see each other, they could feel it.
-We’ll see my friend, we’ll see.-
The voice went silent, tucked away in a corner or Yolta’s mind until they wished to continue their conversation. For now, Yolta focused on his surroundings, an unknown wood at night.
He wondered how far it was to the next village, as he didn’t feel like spending the night here in these dark woods. Naturally, he could create an extradimentional space to rest in, but what would be the fun in that? Yolta enjoyed the simple things of travelling; the common folk in the local inn, wild animals roaming the forest and the clear heaven filled with stars.
As he looked back on his most recent finding, a scroll of yet unknown origin; now being studied back at campus, Yolta couldn’t help but hoping that there was something interesting in these parts. Perhaps this new monster activity was caused by an undead who had luckily stumbled upon an item of power. A new item for the Order to investigate is always welcome, and it is for that reason that he was here. But for now, he decided, I must focus on the here and now. Can’t risk being surprised.
-Let them try, you’re not the easy prey you may seem to be.-
A bit startled, Yolta responded. –I thought you’d be asleep by now.-
-Too many things to do, even though it’s almost morning and I haven’t had any shut eyes all night.-
-Please try to get some sleep, you can study that scroll further tomorrow. This is no time for me to be distracted.- Yolta held a sturdy pass though the woods.
-Just teleport to next village then.- Not awaiting a response, the voice went silent again.
Japheth didn’t understand that the simple things are what made travelling worth wild. He never really understood the common folk, for this very same reason. Not the way Yolta did, though common folk rarely understood him back. He forgave them for this, for the reason was simple. No matter what he did, he was still an Xvart. Nothing to be done about that…
-Is that a light in the distance?- He wondered, and picked up the pass again, making his way towards the village on the horizon.
Guinness is good for you.
Gives you strength.
Gives you strength.
Virrilis looked to his double incredously, his blades never waivering from their dangerous positions.
Sethin offer another odd smirk, and sheathed his blade, both blades disappearing behind the cascading sheet of hair. "I thought as much." He took a couple steps forward. "Indeed, I worked for Pasha Trium, and for a time, he rewarded me."
The bladesinger kept his gaze locked on Sethin as he neared, unsure of what to expect.
"He betrayed me, you know. Ironic, don't you think? I was an agent of his that elminated those that betrayed him, but what happens he betrays me?"
"You speak as though I should pity you..." Virrilis raised his scimitar up, as if preparing to attack the double. "You are a creation evil. A minion summoned by Lazal. You deserve no less then death!"
Sethin smirked again. "It is not so simple, Virrilis." Sethin slowly removed one of the tough leather gloves from his hands, and took a small trinket from a pouch hanging from his belt. Virrilis watched, unsure of what to make of it. The trinket, a cylinder no larger thena tiny stone engraved with a series of markings, appeared simple in nature, but the way Sethin looked at it betrayed it's true value. Sethin glanced at the Bladesinger. "Interesting, no? It's an artifact of ancient Nethril. Something the Pasha went to great lengths to have me acquire." He quickly palmed the trinket and returned it to the pouch.
"You avoid the facts, demon..." Virrilis edged close slightly, his body tensed tightly, ready to spring at the first instant. "I care only in my mission to cleanse the lands of your taint!"
"Fool!" Sethin waved his hand across his field of vision, as if emphasizing the word. "I am a product of you! For one with the gift of magic, it is astounding you would not realize such a fact!"
Virrilis merely quirked his brow, unsure of where the conversation was headed.
"It was more than a simple Simulcrum spell that Lazal cast upon you! A demon prince of such power wouldn't trouble himself with such inadequete sorcery." Sethin took another step close, within arm reach of Virrilis' blades. Before the Bladesinger could react, Sethin's ungloved hand shot out, and grabbed the fine edge of the scimitar, and gripped it tightly enough. A thin line of crimson ran the edge of the blade, and Sethin grimaced slightly with the stinging pain. On the other side, Virrilis mimiced the image of Sethin, his own face knotting up, fighting a sharp pain, a thin train of blood running down his own forearm.
Almost as swiftly as Sethin grabbed the blade, he released it. With a couple deep breaths, he regained his composure, and began to idle turn a loose bit of material from his clothing to creating a turnacott. Virrilis fought with himself to maintain a hold of the dirk being held by his now bloodied hand. "Perhaps you understand now. I am very much you, as you are me, Bladesinger. It is why I have allowed you to find me. If the Pasha kills me, he kills you."
"I'm touched that my death would mean so much to you..." Virrilis snarled the sarcastic remake back towards his clone.
"Don't be. The Pasha is no novice to the arcane. He was smart enough to devise my origin, and was smart enough to realize that if he were to kill the original, I would die as well." Sethin bit one end of the bandage, and gave a tug with his other hand, tightening the quickly reddening material. After a moment, he turned his attention back to Virrilis. "This is why I wished to find you. I have little desire to die, and I am sure you do not wish to forfeit your life either."
"If I could drag you to the hells themselves, then I do not see the porblem..." Virrilis said definatly, still not moving to stanch the flow of blood from his hand.
"Drop the righteousness!" Sethin turned his body towards the exit of the maze of derelict buildings. "There is far too much of you in me for me to think you are that self sacrificing! For instance, the human woman. Would you wish to simply leave her?" Sethin twisted his body to face Virrilis, a knowing smirk on his face.
"Thought not." he added.
Virrilis looked to Sethin, his head swimming in what he was being told. "Then you seek an alliance, or a truce?"
"Neither, if I could help it. But, as I said, since Lazal brought me into this world, I have had little desire to leave it." Sethin turned and walked towards Virrilis, who was begining to drop his blades. "I merey suggest we leave Calimshan together. Once done, and out of Pasha Trium's sphere of influence. He is a lesser Pasha of the city, and his power does not stretch far. You help me, and I'll help you from being killed, which result in my own death." Sethin offered his gloved hand to Virrilis.
After a tense moment of silence between the two, the two blades of the Bladesinger were returned to their sheathes, and he clasped his hand in Sethin's. "We settle this when we are out of the Pasha's reach."
"I would have it no other way..." Sethin then looked towards the darkened holes serving as windows in the derelict buildings, and then to the adjoining alleyways. As he let go of Virrilis' hand, something cought his eye in one of the darkened windows. A glint of steel. "Down!" Sethin sprung over Virrilis, knocking both to the ground, the crossbow quarrel whistling by harmlessly overhead, yet dangerously close.
The Pasha's Assassin's began to crawl from the darkness...
Sethin offer another odd smirk, and sheathed his blade, both blades disappearing behind the cascading sheet of hair. "I thought as much." He took a couple steps forward. "Indeed, I worked for Pasha Trium, and for a time, he rewarded me."
The bladesinger kept his gaze locked on Sethin as he neared, unsure of what to expect.
"He betrayed me, you know. Ironic, don't you think? I was an agent of his that elminated those that betrayed him, but what happens he betrays me?"
"You speak as though I should pity you..." Virrilis raised his scimitar up, as if preparing to attack the double. "You are a creation evil. A minion summoned by Lazal. You deserve no less then death!"
Sethin smirked again. "It is not so simple, Virrilis." Sethin slowly removed one of the tough leather gloves from his hands, and took a small trinket from a pouch hanging from his belt. Virrilis watched, unsure of what to make of it. The trinket, a cylinder no larger thena tiny stone engraved with a series of markings, appeared simple in nature, but the way Sethin looked at it betrayed it's true value. Sethin glanced at the Bladesinger. "Interesting, no? It's an artifact of ancient Nethril. Something the Pasha went to great lengths to have me acquire." He quickly palmed the trinket and returned it to the pouch.
"You avoid the facts, demon..." Virrilis edged close slightly, his body tensed tightly, ready to spring at the first instant. "I care only in my mission to cleanse the lands of your taint!"
"Fool!" Sethin waved his hand across his field of vision, as if emphasizing the word. "I am a product of you! For one with the gift of magic, it is astounding you would not realize such a fact!"
Virrilis merely quirked his brow, unsure of where the conversation was headed.
"It was more than a simple Simulcrum spell that Lazal cast upon you! A demon prince of such power wouldn't trouble himself with such inadequete sorcery." Sethin took another step close, within arm reach of Virrilis' blades. Before the Bladesinger could react, Sethin's ungloved hand shot out, and grabbed the fine edge of the scimitar, and gripped it tightly enough. A thin line of crimson ran the edge of the blade, and Sethin grimaced slightly with the stinging pain. On the other side, Virrilis mimiced the image of Sethin, his own face knotting up, fighting a sharp pain, a thin train of blood running down his own forearm.
Almost as swiftly as Sethin grabbed the blade, he released it. With a couple deep breaths, he regained his composure, and began to idle turn a loose bit of material from his clothing to creating a turnacott. Virrilis fought with himself to maintain a hold of the dirk being held by his now bloodied hand. "Perhaps you understand now. I am very much you, as you are me, Bladesinger. It is why I have allowed you to find me. If the Pasha kills me, he kills you."
"I'm touched that my death would mean so much to you..." Virrilis snarled the sarcastic remake back towards his clone.
"Don't be. The Pasha is no novice to the arcane. He was smart enough to devise my origin, and was smart enough to realize that if he were to kill the original, I would die as well." Sethin bit one end of the bandage, and gave a tug with his other hand, tightening the quickly reddening material. After a moment, he turned his attention back to Virrilis. "This is why I wished to find you. I have little desire to die, and I am sure you do not wish to forfeit your life either."
"If I could drag you to the hells themselves, then I do not see the porblem..." Virrilis said definatly, still not moving to stanch the flow of blood from his hand.
"Drop the righteousness!" Sethin turned his body towards the exit of the maze of derelict buildings. "There is far too much of you in me for me to think you are that self sacrificing! For instance, the human woman. Would you wish to simply leave her?" Sethin twisted his body to face Virrilis, a knowing smirk on his face.
"Thought not." he added.
Virrilis looked to Sethin, his head swimming in what he was being told. "Then you seek an alliance, or a truce?"
"Neither, if I could help it. But, as I said, since Lazal brought me into this world, I have had little desire to leave it." Sethin turned and walked towards Virrilis, who was begining to drop his blades. "I merey suggest we leave Calimshan together. Once done, and out of Pasha Trium's sphere of influence. He is a lesser Pasha of the city, and his power does not stretch far. You help me, and I'll help you from being killed, which result in my own death." Sethin offered his gloved hand to Virrilis.
After a tense moment of silence between the two, the two blades of the Bladesinger were returned to their sheathes, and he clasped his hand in Sethin's. "We settle this when we are out of the Pasha's reach."
"I would have it no other way..." Sethin then looked towards the darkened holes serving as windows in the derelict buildings, and then to the adjoining alleyways. As he let go of Virrilis' hand, something cought his eye in one of the darkened windows. A glint of steel. "Down!" Sethin sprung over Virrilis, knocking both to the ground, the crossbow quarrel whistling by harmlessly overhead, yet dangerously close.
The Pasha's Assassin's began to crawl from the darkness...
-
Rob-hin
- Posts: 4832
- Joined: Tue Aug 21, 2001 11:00 am
- Location: In the Batcave with catwoman. *prrrr*
- Contact:
In the cloudless night, the moon lit the path ahead of Yolta, making it easy for him to see what was up ahead. But in this case, it was more important to know what was behind him. A shadow, a flash, a breaking twig. With axes raised high in the air, a group of orcs stormed out of cover as soon as they know their cover was blow. The blades reflected red in the moonlight, the colour of dried up blood.
Yolta turned around quickly, ready for anything. He relaxed as he noticed the small group of six orcs. He clapped his hands together and his leather gloves started glowing with power immediately.
With his feet firmly on the ground, Yolta braced himself. He stretched his right hand towards the closest orc storming towards him, the palm of his hand pointed to it. A huge hand materialised in front of the creature, blocking it in his path. It was big enough to hold the creature entirely. Not being able to stop in time, the beast ran into it.
With a short pushing movement with his arm, Yolta moved the huge hand forward with great speed, sending the poor orc flying though the air. With a crash, it landed against a tree, dropping to the ground motionless; leaving the tree almost broken in two, not to mention the orc.
The remaining orcs stopped in their path, surprised by the powers of this small creature. Grunting at each other, none of them dare made the decision, attack or retreat. They needed some more convincing…
With a grabbing movement, Yolta lifted the orc’s lifeless body. The huge hand lifted it with great ease. He made a hurling movement and the hand duplicated it, releasing the orc at the peek. With it flying lifelessly through the air once again, the beasts stared at events before them with great disbelieve. Before they realised it, the body landed on top of them, having them rolling over the road with it.
At this point, the creatures had enough. As soon as their feet could lift them again, they ran off in panic, back into the darkness of the night, leaving their fallen comrade behind. Seeing them off, Yolta was left alone again, or so he thought.
-I told you teleporting was a better idea, you’d be there hours ago.-
It surprised Yolta that his friend was still awake, as he had not noticed his presence in his mind anymore. –Faster, not better. There is a difference.-
This time however, Yolta decided to quicken his journey, he was tired of walking and he didn’t feel like another ambush. He felt Japheth childishly amusement. –I told you so.-
Yolta searched the Order’s spellpool for a simple teleport spell as he hadn’t memorised one himself. –I’ve made one available, just for you.- Again, amusement.
-Go to sleep my friend, it must be early in the morning where you are.- Japheth agreed with Yolta’s last comment. –Good night my friend.-
Casting the available spell, a portal opened up before Yolta and he stepped in. A split second later he appeared in the village he had seen for afar. Not knowingly he had appeared passed the guards at the gate.
Let’s see what we have here, he mumbled to himself, and started walking.
Yolta turned around quickly, ready for anything. He relaxed as he noticed the small group of six orcs. He clapped his hands together and his leather gloves started glowing with power immediately.
With his feet firmly on the ground, Yolta braced himself. He stretched his right hand towards the closest orc storming towards him, the palm of his hand pointed to it. A huge hand materialised in front of the creature, blocking it in his path. It was big enough to hold the creature entirely. Not being able to stop in time, the beast ran into it.
With a short pushing movement with his arm, Yolta moved the huge hand forward with great speed, sending the poor orc flying though the air. With a crash, it landed against a tree, dropping to the ground motionless; leaving the tree almost broken in two, not to mention the orc.
The remaining orcs stopped in their path, surprised by the powers of this small creature. Grunting at each other, none of them dare made the decision, attack or retreat. They needed some more convincing…
With a grabbing movement, Yolta lifted the orc’s lifeless body. The huge hand lifted it with great ease. He made a hurling movement and the hand duplicated it, releasing the orc at the peek. With it flying lifelessly through the air once again, the beasts stared at events before them with great disbelieve. Before they realised it, the body landed on top of them, having them rolling over the road with it.
At this point, the creatures had enough. As soon as their feet could lift them again, they ran off in panic, back into the darkness of the night, leaving their fallen comrade behind. Seeing them off, Yolta was left alone again, or so he thought.
-I told you teleporting was a better idea, you’d be there hours ago.-
It surprised Yolta that his friend was still awake, as he had not noticed his presence in his mind anymore. –Faster, not better. There is a difference.-
This time however, Yolta decided to quicken his journey, he was tired of walking and he didn’t feel like another ambush. He felt Japheth childishly amusement. –I told you so.-
Yolta searched the Order’s spellpool for a simple teleport spell as he hadn’t memorised one himself. –I’ve made one available, just for you.- Again, amusement.
-Go to sleep my friend, it must be early in the morning where you are.- Japheth agreed with Yolta’s last comment. –Good night my friend.-
Casting the available spell, a portal opened up before Yolta and he stepped in. A split second later he appeared in the village he had seen for afar. Not knowingly he had appeared passed the guards at the gate.
Let’s see what we have here, he mumbled to himself, and started walking.
Guinness is good for you.
Gives you strength.
Gives you strength.
It was getting dark and the faint howls of wolves could be heard in the distance. A small town lay ahead of Gidim as he slowly lurched forward. As he approached an older man in armor hurried towards him,
“Hold, old man! Who are you and what is your business in the town of Pedgsin.”
Gidim slowed to a stop and took his time gathering himself,
“I’m a simple old wanderer looking for a little warmth and food.”
The guard placed his hand on Gidim’s chest and gave him a quick shove back,
“We don’t allow beggars in Pedgsin anymore. Please leave now!”
With a quick sigh Gidim turned around and slowly moved away from the town. But something had made him interested in that town. An emotion, impressive, something led him to that town.
‘All I have left are those right?’ he said to himself.
With that he turned around and shouted, “Guard! You wouldn’t mind letting an old man rest himself outside of your gates?”
“Be my guest, but be warned that if you try anything funny, you’ll be run right through!”
‘That’s fine by me,’ he mumbled. Letting his body half collapse to the ground, Gidim reached into his cloak for his last piece of food. A stale piece of bread. Not very appetizing, but it would do to satisfy his hunger. As he sat there, his mind raced. His past, where he was, what he was doing, he could not remember any of them. But for the most part, why had he come here? There was something within those walls, which drew him to that town, and he was sure he would stay there until he found out.
As Gidim sat there a cold drizzle started to fall.
‘Only my luck….’
He pulled his tattered cloak closer to his body. It was going to be a long night.
“Hold, old man! Who are you and what is your business in the town of Pedgsin.”
Gidim slowed to a stop and took his time gathering himself,
“I’m a simple old wanderer looking for a little warmth and food.”
The guard placed his hand on Gidim’s chest and gave him a quick shove back,
“We don’t allow beggars in Pedgsin anymore. Please leave now!”
With a quick sigh Gidim turned around and slowly moved away from the town. But something had made him interested in that town. An emotion, impressive, something led him to that town.
‘All I have left are those right?’ he said to himself.
With that he turned around and shouted, “Guard! You wouldn’t mind letting an old man rest himself outside of your gates?”
“Be my guest, but be warned that if you try anything funny, you’ll be run right through!”
‘That’s fine by me,’ he mumbled. Letting his body half collapse to the ground, Gidim reached into his cloak for his last piece of food. A stale piece of bread. Not very appetizing, but it would do to satisfy his hunger. As he sat there, his mind raced. His past, where he was, what he was doing, he could not remember any of them. But for the most part, why had he come here? There was something within those walls, which drew him to that town, and he was sure he would stay there until he found out.
As Gidim sat there a cold drizzle started to fall.
‘Only my luck….’
He pulled his tattered cloak closer to his body. It was going to be a long night.
Lost Souls - The Search for Magus
Xandax fell down still grasping the hilt of the sword. He had forgotten this particular … creature had powerful psionic abilities. Xandax shook the effect, and cleared his mind, emptied it for all that could be used against him, as he had learned from his mother.
The sword glowed more and more faint as the creatures misty body wrapped it self around the blade. The letters Ferox were still vaguely visible, burning. Xandax let go of the hilt and stood up, reached down to his boots and pulled out a dagger. Even he did not understand Ferox’ powers, and he had wielded it for the better part of ten years. Xanadx remembered some of his battles from his earlier days; these types of monsters could be slain using enchanted weapons but not by magic itself. Xandax was ready to trust with the dagger, the creature were vulnerable now its attention were drawn elsewhere.
Then he remembered some of his last … communication …. with the creature, and he remembered its … well, it was almost vanity.
“So you crawl around as a beast, driven by your instincts, you are nothing more then a pet are you.”
Xandax spoke out loud, eventhough he was sure the creature would hear him if he thought it.
“Just the pet of that mage….”
Xandax said and thought to himself for a moment
“… Magus, right?”
The sword glowed more and more faint as the creatures misty body wrapped it self around the blade. The letters Ferox were still vaguely visible, burning. Xandax let go of the hilt and stood up, reached down to his boots and pulled out a dagger. Even he did not understand Ferox’ powers, and he had wielded it for the better part of ten years. Xanadx remembered some of his battles from his earlier days; these types of monsters could be slain using enchanted weapons but not by magic itself. Xandax was ready to trust with the dagger, the creature were vulnerable now its attention were drawn elsewhere.
Then he remembered some of his last … communication …. with the creature, and he remembered its … well, it was almost vanity.
“So you crawl around as a beast, driven by your instincts, you are nothing more then a pet are you.”
Xandax spoke out loud, eventhough he was sure the creature would hear him if he thought it.
“Just the pet of that mage….”
Xandax said and thought to himself for a moment
“… Magus, right?”
Insert signature here.
The creature’s attention was abruptly on Xandax. Its shapeless, misty form slowly coalesced to a slightly more humanoid one before his eyes.
-What do you know of Magus, human? Who are you?- The frenzy in its ruby eyes seemed to have subsided, its grip loosening on the sword. It glanced at the dagger in Xandax’s hand.
-You thought to harm me with such a petty blade? You have audacity, if not sense.-
It looked thoughtfully at Xandax, its body uncoiling from the glowing sword. It sensed Xandax’s thoughts as they formed in his mind. –Take a step closer and you’ll regret it, fool. I doubt magic resistance is among your repertoire of inane abilities.-
It continued to scrutinize Xandax, and he successfully repelled several little jabs at the edge of his consciousness. -Yes…we have met before, haven’t we? You’re one of those pawns Magus gathered. You were there. Fighting for a cause you didn’t even know. How typically human.-
Its eyes dimmed a bit, as if dismissing Xandax. –Pft…what was I thinking? As if you would know. Have your sword. I care not.-
With that the creature vanished through the floor, and Xandax was abruptly alone.
-What do you know of Magus, human? Who are you?- The frenzy in its ruby eyes seemed to have subsided, its grip loosening on the sword. It glanced at the dagger in Xandax’s hand.
-You thought to harm me with such a petty blade? You have audacity, if not sense.-
It looked thoughtfully at Xandax, its body uncoiling from the glowing sword. It sensed Xandax’s thoughts as they formed in his mind. –Take a step closer and you’ll regret it, fool. I doubt magic resistance is among your repertoire of inane abilities.-
It continued to scrutinize Xandax, and he successfully repelled several little jabs at the edge of his consciousness. -Yes…we have met before, haven’t we? You’re one of those pawns Magus gathered. You were there. Fighting for a cause you didn’t even know. How typically human.-
Its eyes dimmed a bit, as if dismissing Xandax. –Pft…what was I thinking? As if you would know. Have your sword. I care not.-
With that the creature vanished through the floor, and Xandax was abruptly alone.
Lost Souls: A bereft lover. A masterless familiar. Friends gone their separate ways. Time marches on, and destiny heralds the meeting of comrades old and new. Can they find what they're seeking? Or will the search bring them only more pain?
Geldyn rubbed his eyes. He had been taking a short break when suddenly this furry little creature dressed like a traveler popped out of nowhere.
“Sir, did you see that? One minute there was nothing, then all of a sudden that little guy was standing there.”
“What are you babbling about now? I don’t have time to…” The grizzled old sergeant rounded the corner and peered at the little runt standing about ten meters away. Probably just some street urchin. The kid started walking, and he caught a glimpse of blue fur. Wait a minute…fur?
“HEY! HEY YOU!” he yelled. The figure turned around. Son of a b*tch…an xvart?! “HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!” Pulling his sword, he advanced towards the intruder.
* * * * *
Gidim suddenly heard a shout nearby. Turning his head, he noticed there was no one in front of the gate.
“Sir, did you see that? One minute there was nothing, then all of a sudden that little guy was standing there.”
“What are you babbling about now? I don’t have time to…” The grizzled old sergeant rounded the corner and peered at the little runt standing about ten meters away. Probably just some street urchin. The kid started walking, and he caught a glimpse of blue fur. Wait a minute…fur?
“HEY! HEY YOU!” he yelled. The figure turned around. Son of a b*tch…an xvart?! “HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!” Pulling his sword, he advanced towards the intruder.
* * * * *
Gidim suddenly heard a shout nearby. Turning his head, he noticed there was no one in front of the gate.
Lost Souls: A bereft lover. A masterless familiar. Friends gone their separate ways. Time marches on, and destiny heralds the meeting of comrades old and new. Can they find what they're seeking? Or will the search bring them only more pain?
Three shadowy forms came crawling from the darkend holes of the buildings, brief flashes of steel flickering in the pale moonlight. One of the assassins edged along the narrow crossbeam Sethin had been sitting on only minutes before hand, a small crossbow in one hand, the other withdrawing a bolt from the quiver tied to his thigh. The other two assassins swiftly made their way down the side of the buildings, landing lightly on the sandy path that made up the streets of Calimshan. One of the men brandished sleek, polished saber, the cold steel glinting off the moon with an eerie blue hue. The other held a small sword in his hand, along the edge of the blade, small barbs protruded, each one dripping with a small amber liquid.
Virrilis pushed himelf off the ground, as did Sethin. Once standing, the Bladesinger edged his body back slightly, his bloodied hand raising his dirk defensivly across his body, his other hand releasing the Scimitar from it's sheath. Sethin was doing the same, both blades sliding out from underneath the sheet of hair, and placed defensively in front of him. The two elves seemed to move in coordination with each other, without a word passed amongst them, both seemingly knowing how the other would react to the threat. As the two preppared for the first attack, a loud cranking noise, that seemed to echo omniously in the Calim****e alley snapped their attention behind them.
Three more men had crawled out of the darkness, one wearing an assortment of rags and other types of refuse, obviously having sat in wait for them. The other two edfed along the side of the derelict buildings, each one holding swords, each one have the dull gleam of amber liquid dripping from the steel edges. The one in camoflauge held a crossbow at eye level, squaring the tip of the blade up with Sethin's chest.
Sethin motioned the tip of his blade towards the two men, then c0cked his head back, indicating one of the Assassins behind them. "Poison." Virrilis nodded in grim understanding. They both knew, without a doubt, the bolts from the crossbows would most likely be lined in a similar liquid. One cut would be fatal.
"It would seem Trium is well aware of your movements..." Virrilis said hesitantly, his focus aimed towards the three approaching at ground level.
"I never said he was incompetant..." Sethin retorted. Virrilis shrugged in response. "Though, I might add, his thugs often are..." He seemed to add the finally part with a light chuckle, almost sadistic in nature. As soon as the clone finished the sentence, he whipped his body around, his long, white hair cascading around, creating a flury of movement.
The click of a pair of bolts being released was heard almost instantly after, both snapping through the air, cutting through the screen of hair, both digging harmlessly into the dirt ground. Sethin was already on the move, his blades poised to strike at the nearest Assassin.
As if a mirror image, Virrilis leaped forward, his light feet pushing off the sandy alley ground easily, his first target in sight. He landed close to one of the sword wielding assassin's, his scimitar working swiftly, knocking the parry aside harmlessly. As the curved blade came in, the bloodied hand and dirk came in following, a thin streak of silver cutting past swiftly, catching the assasin undefended, and tracing a thin crimson line across the man's throat. In the same fluid motion, Virrilis' body spun, his torso now facing the next assassin who had swiftly moved in to try and attack the engaged elf. The Bladesinger's dirk snapped quickly across his body, meeting the steel of the assassin's blade inches before touching his body. Behind them, the other assassin began to crank another bolt into his crossbow.
Sethin's attack was made with far more brutality, yet with similar grave. As the clone charged in to the pair of assassin's closing in along the alley's ground, he forced the smaller blade past the one assassin's blade, the fine steel cutting through easily, plunging the tip deeply into the assassin's body, the thick leather armour doing nothing to stop the fine blades progress. As the one blade made the kill, the longer katana shot out to the side, knocking away the clumsy attack of the saber, the metal crying out in protest. As he parried the attack, the Wakizashi shot out of the now limp body of the first kill, the keen edge cleanly cutting through the flesh and bone, ripping out ust below the collar bone of the dead man, a wave of blood following suit. The clone spun quickly, whipping both blades around in the progress, tracing both across the, now defenseless, assassin's body, biting in deeply, sending the man back in convulsions, and pain, slowly dying. Sethin quickly turned his attention to the assassin along the cross beam, only to stare down the shaft of a loaded crossbow.
The assassin attacking Virrilis pressed in on the offense, never taking his blade back far enough to allow the Bladesinger an effective reprisal, his dirk moving swiftly, keeping each attack from the assassin from touching his body, his scimitar held back, ready to strike with the proper opening. Off to the side, he heard the cease of cranking, knowing the other assassin to have reloaded the crossbow. A thought sprang to mind immediatly, and began to wait for the chance. After a moment, Virrilis noticed a definate slowdown in the assassin's attacks. Capatilizing quickly on the pause, he quickly dropped his body, and lunged forward, his dirk being thrust towards the assassin's sternum, which was easily deflected. As the dirk was pushed away, Virrilis hooked the dull edge of the scimitar around the assassin, and tugged him about, whipping the man's back towards that of his comrade in comaflouge. The Bladesinger timed it perfectly. The other assassin let the bolt fly from the crossbow. The snap of the bolt was followed by a dull thud, and a thick gurgle as the bolt pierced the back of the assassin locked in combat with Virrilis. The poison coating worked fast, the man's face turning a sickly green, before draining of colour, the eyes turning a deep red, and the body convulsed. After a second, it subsided, and the body slumped to the ground, completly stiff, and dead.
The Assassin's comrade seemed unphased by the friendly fire. He dropped his crossbow, and his hand moved to withdraw a blade hidden beneath the comoflouge. Virrilis was faster. He used the dead assassin as a brace, and kicked off him, springing the distance swiftly, his scimitar flashing a deadly arc across the assassin's wrist, followed by his dirk digging into the man's chest, killing him almost instantly.
Sethin leapt the side just as the bolt whipped past him. He felt the brush of air as the deadly weapon pierced the air, and knew he would have to bring the man down from the crossbeam. He slid to stop a short distance from where the bolt had embedded itself into the soft ground, and looked to the assassin, who was already cranking in another bolt. After a moment, he knew what to do. He had sat atop the beam early, and knew it's stress limits. He knew one solid hit would bring it down. In a moment, he sprang off to the side, towards the edge of the alley, and one of the many crates littering the usually empty area. As soon as he came within reach, he shot his katana out, piercing the old wooden crate easily. With a single tug, he hoisted the crate off the ground. Spinning swiftly, he hurled the crate from his blade, into the air, towards the beam. The assassin saw at the last moment, and unsure if the crate was aimed at him, he dropped the bolt from the crossbow, and moved to the side as quickly as his balance would allow him.
The crate hit the beam, and with a loud groan, followed by an even louder snap, the beam gave way, knocking the assassin off balance, sending both plumeting to the ground, and to a waiting Sethin. The clone ended the assassin's life quickly, his Wakizashi slitting the man's throat cleanly. With a final grim look, Sething wiped both blades off on the man's clothing, and returned them to their sheathes. He then turned to Virrilis, and watched as the Bladesinger did a similar ritual.
"Perhaps now you understand are peril..." Sethin said sombrely, not hint of sarcasm in the clones voice.
Virrilis only seemed to no in understanding. "Then we leave..." He turned to leave the alley. "But, we leave with Ferchen and Rail..."
Sethin shrugged non-chalently, and followed the Bladesinger a short distance away...
Virrilis pushed himelf off the ground, as did Sethin. Once standing, the Bladesinger edged his body back slightly, his bloodied hand raising his dirk defensivly across his body, his other hand releasing the Scimitar from it's sheath. Sethin was doing the same, both blades sliding out from underneath the sheet of hair, and placed defensively in front of him. The two elves seemed to move in coordination with each other, without a word passed amongst them, both seemingly knowing how the other would react to the threat. As the two preppared for the first attack, a loud cranking noise, that seemed to echo omniously in the Calim****e alley snapped their attention behind them.
Three more men had crawled out of the darkness, one wearing an assortment of rags and other types of refuse, obviously having sat in wait for them. The other two edfed along the side of the derelict buildings, each one holding swords, each one have the dull gleam of amber liquid dripping from the steel edges. The one in camoflauge held a crossbow at eye level, squaring the tip of the blade up with Sethin's chest.
Sethin motioned the tip of his blade towards the two men, then c0cked his head back, indicating one of the Assassins behind them. "Poison." Virrilis nodded in grim understanding. They both knew, without a doubt, the bolts from the crossbows would most likely be lined in a similar liquid. One cut would be fatal.
"It would seem Trium is well aware of your movements..." Virrilis said hesitantly, his focus aimed towards the three approaching at ground level.
"I never said he was incompetant..." Sethin retorted. Virrilis shrugged in response. "Though, I might add, his thugs often are..." He seemed to add the finally part with a light chuckle, almost sadistic in nature. As soon as the clone finished the sentence, he whipped his body around, his long, white hair cascading around, creating a flury of movement.
The click of a pair of bolts being released was heard almost instantly after, both snapping through the air, cutting through the screen of hair, both digging harmlessly into the dirt ground. Sethin was already on the move, his blades poised to strike at the nearest Assassin.
As if a mirror image, Virrilis leaped forward, his light feet pushing off the sandy alley ground easily, his first target in sight. He landed close to one of the sword wielding assassin's, his scimitar working swiftly, knocking the parry aside harmlessly. As the curved blade came in, the bloodied hand and dirk came in following, a thin streak of silver cutting past swiftly, catching the assasin undefended, and tracing a thin crimson line across the man's throat. In the same fluid motion, Virrilis' body spun, his torso now facing the next assassin who had swiftly moved in to try and attack the engaged elf. The Bladesinger's dirk snapped quickly across his body, meeting the steel of the assassin's blade inches before touching his body. Behind them, the other assassin began to crank another bolt into his crossbow.
Sethin's attack was made with far more brutality, yet with similar grave. As the clone charged in to the pair of assassin's closing in along the alley's ground, he forced the smaller blade past the one assassin's blade, the fine steel cutting through easily, plunging the tip deeply into the assassin's body, the thick leather armour doing nothing to stop the fine blades progress. As the one blade made the kill, the longer katana shot out to the side, knocking away the clumsy attack of the saber, the metal crying out in protest. As he parried the attack, the Wakizashi shot out of the now limp body of the first kill, the keen edge cleanly cutting through the flesh and bone, ripping out ust below the collar bone of the dead man, a wave of blood following suit. The clone spun quickly, whipping both blades around in the progress, tracing both across the, now defenseless, assassin's body, biting in deeply, sending the man back in convulsions, and pain, slowly dying. Sethin quickly turned his attention to the assassin along the cross beam, only to stare down the shaft of a loaded crossbow.
The assassin attacking Virrilis pressed in on the offense, never taking his blade back far enough to allow the Bladesinger an effective reprisal, his dirk moving swiftly, keeping each attack from the assassin from touching his body, his scimitar held back, ready to strike with the proper opening. Off to the side, he heard the cease of cranking, knowing the other assassin to have reloaded the crossbow. A thought sprang to mind immediatly, and began to wait for the chance. After a moment, Virrilis noticed a definate slowdown in the assassin's attacks. Capatilizing quickly on the pause, he quickly dropped his body, and lunged forward, his dirk being thrust towards the assassin's sternum, which was easily deflected. As the dirk was pushed away, Virrilis hooked the dull edge of the scimitar around the assassin, and tugged him about, whipping the man's back towards that of his comrade in comaflouge. The Bladesinger timed it perfectly. The other assassin let the bolt fly from the crossbow. The snap of the bolt was followed by a dull thud, and a thick gurgle as the bolt pierced the back of the assassin locked in combat with Virrilis. The poison coating worked fast, the man's face turning a sickly green, before draining of colour, the eyes turning a deep red, and the body convulsed. After a second, it subsided, and the body slumped to the ground, completly stiff, and dead.
The Assassin's comrade seemed unphased by the friendly fire. He dropped his crossbow, and his hand moved to withdraw a blade hidden beneath the comoflouge. Virrilis was faster. He used the dead assassin as a brace, and kicked off him, springing the distance swiftly, his scimitar flashing a deadly arc across the assassin's wrist, followed by his dirk digging into the man's chest, killing him almost instantly.
Sethin leapt the side just as the bolt whipped past him. He felt the brush of air as the deadly weapon pierced the air, and knew he would have to bring the man down from the crossbeam. He slid to stop a short distance from where the bolt had embedded itself into the soft ground, and looked to the assassin, who was already cranking in another bolt. After a moment, he knew what to do. He had sat atop the beam early, and knew it's stress limits. He knew one solid hit would bring it down. In a moment, he sprang off to the side, towards the edge of the alley, and one of the many crates littering the usually empty area. As soon as he came within reach, he shot his katana out, piercing the old wooden crate easily. With a single tug, he hoisted the crate off the ground. Spinning swiftly, he hurled the crate from his blade, into the air, towards the beam. The assassin saw at the last moment, and unsure if the crate was aimed at him, he dropped the bolt from the crossbow, and moved to the side as quickly as his balance would allow him.
The crate hit the beam, and with a loud groan, followed by an even louder snap, the beam gave way, knocking the assassin off balance, sending both plumeting to the ground, and to a waiting Sethin. The clone ended the assassin's life quickly, his Wakizashi slitting the man's throat cleanly. With a final grim look, Sething wiped both blades off on the man's clothing, and returned them to their sheathes. He then turned to Virrilis, and watched as the Bladesinger did a similar ritual.
"Perhaps now you understand are peril..." Sethin said sombrely, not hint of sarcasm in the clones voice.
Virrilis only seemed to no in understanding. "Then we leave..." He turned to leave the alley. "But, we leave with Ferchen and Rail..."
Sethin shrugged non-chalently, and followed the Bladesinger a short distance away...
The creature had vanished.
Xandax started to wonder what it did in these parts of the realm, it was not likely to separate from his owner …. Magus…. Xandax recalled the last encounters and his death. Xandax instantly moves his right arm and looked at it. It had seemed like a dream, but luckily Xandax could still separate the dream world from the real world … if indeed it was real and not vice versa.
Xandax picked up Ferox and span it around a little, it had lost none of its balance. He threw it in the air and watched it spin and then cought it at its hilt again. He had used Ferox so much that it was almost an extension of him now. He took it in his left hand and repeated the procedure.
Xandax wondered what to do now. Should he try to follow the creature or go to sleep again. Xandax opted to try and get some more sleep, he needed to get some rest, if only the nightmares would keep away.
He would see what was here in the morning.
Xandax started to wonder what it did in these parts of the realm, it was not likely to separate from his owner …. Magus…. Xandax recalled the last encounters and his death. Xandax instantly moves his right arm and looked at it. It had seemed like a dream, but luckily Xandax could still separate the dream world from the real world … if indeed it was real and not vice versa.
Xandax picked up Ferox and span it around a little, it had lost none of its balance. He threw it in the air and watched it spin and then cought it at its hilt again. He had used Ferox so much that it was almost an extension of him now. He took it in his left hand and repeated the procedure.
Xandax wondered what to do now. Should he try to follow the creature or go to sleep again. Xandax opted to try and get some more sleep, he needed to get some rest, if only the nightmares would keep away.
He would see what was here in the morning.
Insert signature here.
It had been a long year. Battle weary and longing for the feeling of family, Talwar was once again on his yearly pilgrimage to his hometown of Pedsgin. He had missed this pilgrimage in the past two years, for reasons he wishes his dead family would understand. He had saved a small child from a large tribe of bugbears and retuned him to his family two days later. That had happened two years ago on the eve of his pilgrimage. The last year he had been on his deathbed after an assassination attempt on his life for committing an act which angered the Pasha of the region. He had survived that encounter within an inch of his life, but now he was stronger and faster. How he had survived he did not know. He just woke up nearly two weeks later in a empty house, with all his wounds healed and a sash wrapped around his waist. How he had come there and who had healed him he did not know. But it wasn’t because of the gods. The gods had forsaken him and his family that night. That unforgettable night.
Clearing his mind, Talwar continued his way to the main gate of the village, where he saw as always his childhood friend Geldyn awaiting his arrival. Geldyn was a young guard now, and one of the few people Talwar considered a friend. Well the only person Talwar considered a friend that was alive. Geldyn waited every year on this night for his friend’s arrival. He had been there the night that scared Talwar’s life. He had watched it all with Talwar and helped his exact his revenge. They were not brothers of blood but in every other respect their bond was just as strong or if not stronger.
Talwar had begged Geldyn to come with him nearly 20 years ago, when they had avenged his family’s death. But Geldyn couldn’t leave his family behind, so Talwar set out on his own. He would return every year this same night and every year Geldyn would be there waiting for him. Though they saw each other once a year, their bond was just as strong as ever. As Talwar walked up the road, Geldyn let out a sigh of relief. Talwar had not shown up for two years and he was afraid his friend had died a horrible death. Seeing this solitary figure walk out of the night covered completely in the black garb of a Calim****e, Geldyn knew his friend was well and he couldn’t wait to talk to him.
Walking up to the gate, Geldyn and Talwar shared a silent hello as they shook hands and Talwar headed to where his house once stood. Geldyn fell silently in line, knowing what was to come and feeling helpless at not being able to help his friend. The land where the house once stood was only 10 minutes from the main gate and was just like Talwar remembered it. The remains of the house, where just like they had been 3 years ago. The grass was over grown and wild flowers dotted what once had been his mother’s garden patch. It had been 20 years, yet he remembered the plot like it was yesterday.
Shaking off the memories, Talwar gathered whatever strength he had and stepped through the doorway of his home. Geldyn knowing what was to come waited outside for his dearest friend. His family had been butchered at different places within the house. At each place Talwar had placed a marker, to remind him that this is where his sisters, brother and parents had been hurt and then killed. It reminded him of his weakness and his inability to help those that he loved. He would never let that happen again. Kneeling at various points around the house he said a silent prayer not to the gods but to his family members, believing they could hear all that he had to say. He spoke to them of various problems and what he had done over the years and asked for forgiveness of anything he may have done that would have brought shame to the family.
As always Geldyn stood like a statue outside the ruins, giving his friend the time and peace he needed and he would be outside when his friend needed him. It was daybreak when Talwar left the ruins of his home and emerged to see Geldyn waiting there for him with open arms. Talwar was so emotional exhausted that he just collapsed into Geldyn’s arms without saying a word, knowing that his friend would take him to his home, where his family would treat him like they always did. Like a son.
Clearing his mind, Talwar continued his way to the main gate of the village, where he saw as always his childhood friend Geldyn awaiting his arrival. Geldyn was a young guard now, and one of the few people Talwar considered a friend. Well the only person Talwar considered a friend that was alive. Geldyn waited every year on this night for his friend’s arrival. He had been there the night that scared Talwar’s life. He had watched it all with Talwar and helped his exact his revenge. They were not brothers of blood but in every other respect their bond was just as strong or if not stronger.
Talwar had begged Geldyn to come with him nearly 20 years ago, when they had avenged his family’s death. But Geldyn couldn’t leave his family behind, so Talwar set out on his own. He would return every year this same night and every year Geldyn would be there waiting for him. Though they saw each other once a year, their bond was just as strong as ever. As Talwar walked up the road, Geldyn let out a sigh of relief. Talwar had not shown up for two years and he was afraid his friend had died a horrible death. Seeing this solitary figure walk out of the night covered completely in the black garb of a Calim****e, Geldyn knew his friend was well and he couldn’t wait to talk to him.
Walking up to the gate, Geldyn and Talwar shared a silent hello as they shook hands and Talwar headed to where his house once stood. Geldyn fell silently in line, knowing what was to come and feeling helpless at not being able to help his friend. The land where the house once stood was only 10 minutes from the main gate and was just like Talwar remembered it. The remains of the house, where just like they had been 3 years ago. The grass was over grown and wild flowers dotted what once had been his mother’s garden patch. It had been 20 years, yet he remembered the plot like it was yesterday.
Shaking off the memories, Talwar gathered whatever strength he had and stepped through the doorway of his home. Geldyn knowing what was to come waited outside for his dearest friend. His family had been butchered at different places within the house. At each place Talwar had placed a marker, to remind him that this is where his sisters, brother and parents had been hurt and then killed. It reminded him of his weakness and his inability to help those that he loved. He would never let that happen again. Kneeling at various points around the house he said a silent prayer not to the gods but to his family members, believing they could hear all that he had to say. He spoke to them of various problems and what he had done over the years and asked for forgiveness of anything he may have done that would have brought shame to the family.
As always Geldyn stood like a statue outside the ruins, giving his friend the time and peace he needed and he would be outside when his friend needed him. It was daybreak when Talwar left the ruins of his home and emerged to see Geldyn waiting there for him with open arms. Talwar was so emotional exhausted that he just collapsed into Geldyn’s arms without saying a word, knowing that his friend would take him to his home, where his family would treat him like they always did. Like a son.
For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun? - Khalil Gibran
"We shall fight on the beaches. We shall fight on the landing grounds. We shall fight in the fields, and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender!" - Winston Churchill
"We shall fight on the beaches. We shall fight on the landing grounds. We shall fight in the fields, and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills. We shall never surrender!" - Winston Churchill
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Rob-hin
- Posts: 4832
- Joined: Tue Aug 21, 2001 11:00 am
- Location: In the Batcave with catwoman. *prrrr*
- Contact:
Yolta sighted, couldn’t he enter a village peacefully for a change?
Slowly, he turned around, showing himself to be harmless. The guard’s eyes widened as he saw more of this creature, standing in the middle of the village he had vowed to protect, and he wondered how this… thing had gotten in.
Yolta put on his most charming smile, though he knew it would mean little to the guard.
He approached the small blue figure. It was leaning heavily on a wand, an expensive looking one too. Other then that, he looked pretty simple, as to be expected from an xvart. A white beard decorated his face and it smiled at him friendly.
The guard leaned over and looked down at Yolta, his sword still drawn.
“How did you get in here?” He asked loudly, demanding an answer. “Speak!”
“Your vigilance is commendable.” Proper etiquette had proved effective at such accessions in the past. Yolta’s eyes glanced over the guard’s uniform. “Sergeant” He added and smiled again. “But I assure you, I pose no thread to you or your community.”
The sergeant just stared at this creature, every thing was wrong about it. Normally xvarts are violent and savage, quite the opposite of the one standing before him.
Yolta continued. “As for your enquiry how I entered, well, this is simple. Through the front gate, how else could I passed your watchful gaze?”
Talking like this got on his nerves, Yolta preferred simple and casual conversation. He pointed towards the front gate, towards the guard who saw him appear just a minute ago. “He let me in about fifteen minutes ago.”
Slowly, he turned around, showing himself to be harmless. The guard’s eyes widened as he saw more of this creature, standing in the middle of the village he had vowed to protect, and he wondered how this… thing had gotten in.
Yolta put on his most charming smile, though he knew it would mean little to the guard.
He approached the small blue figure. It was leaning heavily on a wand, an expensive looking one too. Other then that, he looked pretty simple, as to be expected from an xvart. A white beard decorated his face and it smiled at him friendly.
The guard leaned over and looked down at Yolta, his sword still drawn.
“How did you get in here?” He asked loudly, demanding an answer. “Speak!”
“Your vigilance is commendable.” Proper etiquette had proved effective at such accessions in the past. Yolta’s eyes glanced over the guard’s uniform. “Sergeant” He added and smiled again. “But I assure you, I pose no thread to you or your community.”
The sergeant just stared at this creature, every thing was wrong about it. Normally xvarts are violent and savage, quite the opposite of the one standing before him.
Yolta continued. “As for your enquiry how I entered, well, this is simple. Through the front gate, how else could I passed your watchful gaze?”
Talking like this got on his nerves, Yolta preferred simple and casual conversation. He pointed towards the front gate, towards the guard who saw him appear just a minute ago. “He let me in about fifteen minutes ago.”
Guinness is good for you.
Gives you strength.
Gives you strength.
The sergeant stared in disbelief at the creature in front of him. The thing talked? He’d come across such creatures before, always on the other end of his sword, always screaming and jabbering like wild animals. In his younger days, he’d helped put an entire village of them to the sword without a second thought. They were nasty, savage little goblin creatures, and the best xvart was a dead one as far as he cared.
This one was different though. And that made him suspicious.
He glanced at Geldyn. “You let this…thing in the town?” he asked skeptically, glaring at the younger man.
Geldyn met his gaze. “No sir. I let you know as soon as I saw him, sir.”
“That’s what I thought.” He looked at the xvart in front of him. “I don’t like you. I think you’re a spy. You’re coming with me. Now.” He brandished his powerful great sword, itching for an excuse to cleave this uppity goblinoid in two.
This one was different though. And that made him suspicious.
He glanced at Geldyn. “You let this…thing in the town?” he asked skeptically, glaring at the younger man.
Geldyn met his gaze. “No sir. I let you know as soon as I saw him, sir.”
“That’s what I thought.” He looked at the xvart in front of him. “I don’t like you. I think you’re a spy. You’re coming with me. Now.” He brandished his powerful great sword, itching for an excuse to cleave this uppity goblinoid in two.
Lost Souls: A bereft lover. A masterless familiar. Friends gone their separate ways. Time marches on, and destiny heralds the meeting of comrades old and new. Can they find what they're seeking? Or will the search bring them only more pain?
Her torch flickered, its small circle of light wavering within the oppressive darkness. Aerie forged ahead, scouring the room for hidden panels, buttons…anything. The air of the crypt was damp and moldy, and she felt sick to her stomach. Even empty as it was, she never felt comfortable in such places. The dusty scent of decay made her want to gag, but that was only half of it. She hated being underground…closed in on all sides like some trapped animal. The avariel needed to spread their wings…
She shook her head, dismissing the thought. Now was not the time for such musings. She ran her hand over the wall, and something clicked. The wall opened before her, revealing some moss-covered stairs leading down. She was almost there…
She reached the end of the stairs. Looking into the room, she saw she was not alone. A fire burned in the hearth on the opposite wall, and in front of it stood a man with his back to her. He was dressed in shimmering blue robes that seemed to shift before her eyes, the fabric sparkling with otherworldly luster. Fine pale blonde hair hung to his shoulders, and there was a certain dignity and majesty to his manner, evident even in the way he stood. He held an elaborate staff of fine wrought silver, topped with a magnificent gem that must have been worth a small kingdom alone. It glowed eerily as he grasped the staff, its prismatic colors at once dazzling and beautiful.
No…it couldn’t be…him. Could it? Could her long search be finally over?
“Magus?”
She whispered it, tentatively, as if upon uttering the name the scene would fade and disappear, and she would be alone once again.
The man turned, and she found herself face-to-face with the hideous skull of a lich. Glowing red eyes pierced her from the depths of bleached white eye sockets, bony taloned hands sliding along the luridly glowing staff. As she watched in horror, thick clumps of sickly blonde hair fell to the ground, piece by rotted piece. The monster grinned at her, its smile terrible as death itself.
AERIE…
Aerie awoke with a small shriek. Her heart pounding, gasping for breath, she lied her head back on her pillow. Tears streamed unchecked down her cheek, glinting in the silvery moonlight.
She shook her head, dismissing the thought. Now was not the time for such musings. She ran her hand over the wall, and something clicked. The wall opened before her, revealing some moss-covered stairs leading down. She was almost there…
She reached the end of the stairs. Looking into the room, she saw she was not alone. A fire burned in the hearth on the opposite wall, and in front of it stood a man with his back to her. He was dressed in shimmering blue robes that seemed to shift before her eyes, the fabric sparkling with otherworldly luster. Fine pale blonde hair hung to his shoulders, and there was a certain dignity and majesty to his manner, evident even in the way he stood. He held an elaborate staff of fine wrought silver, topped with a magnificent gem that must have been worth a small kingdom alone. It glowed eerily as he grasped the staff, its prismatic colors at once dazzling and beautiful.
No…it couldn’t be…him. Could it? Could her long search be finally over?
“Magus?”
She whispered it, tentatively, as if upon uttering the name the scene would fade and disappear, and she would be alone once again.
The man turned, and she found herself face-to-face with the hideous skull of a lich. Glowing red eyes pierced her from the depths of bleached white eye sockets, bony taloned hands sliding along the luridly glowing staff. As she watched in horror, thick clumps of sickly blonde hair fell to the ground, piece by rotted piece. The monster grinned at her, its smile terrible as death itself.
AERIE…
Aerie awoke with a small shriek. Her heart pounding, gasping for breath, she lied her head back on her pillow. Tears streamed unchecked down her cheek, glinting in the silvery moonlight.
Lost Souls: A bereft lover. A masterless familiar. Friends gone their separate ways. Time marches on, and destiny heralds the meeting of comrades old and new. Can they find what they're seeking? Or will the search bring them only more pain?