the awakening

The boy awoke, gasping for air. Looking around him, the room looked strange and different. He had slept for a long time. Years even. Perhaps this was the curse of all Celestials, for inactivity often brought a yawn to the child's face. Clamoring out of bed, Kyarn scanned out the window, and saw the Keep as it always was, empty and desolate yet at the same time bustling with activity. Only to the trained eye could one see the latter however. Shadows crept along the walls, and the distant sound of training priests and warriors could be heard well below his chamber, pleasing to the ears. Dressing quickly, throwing on his custom baby blue kimono and strapping on his swordbelt, he cast some protective magics and strolled slowly down towards the main hallway of the keep, allowing his childish muscles a chance to warm up. "So I'm finally back. There is much to be done around here, and I must speak to the other Strifelords. They will inform me on anything that has changed in the realms during my absence." Kyarn continued to walk, but slowed his steps as he entered the chamber. "Alia." Kyarn ran his fingers around the ring that adorned his left hand, and waved his hand in a circle before him. A scrying portal appeared, and peering intently into the image, Kyarn smiled softly as always. She was okay, and that was what mattered. He would inform her that he had returned to the land of the waking as soon as his duties were complete. For now, he would be kept busy for the days to come by resettling into the daily chores and tasks that were his responsibility as the smallest and most innocent Strifelord to complete. innocent. perhaps. but uncapable? Never. The time for the awakening slowly made it's way, the future becoming the present. All Hail Cyric. The Lord of Murder, the Prince of Lies, The Lord of Three Crowns.

Draconic Restoration Part II

The three Hawks gathered near their parents grave and Icehawk uncovered a small stone in the ground. They fored a triangle, hands outstretched to eachother palm-out. They began to chant a chant long dead to the world, a chant in a launguage long forgotten yet wholely unique. It was a chant of the Draconian Hawks. A pulse in the chant began to not only be felt in the words, but in the ground, a solid beat. The feeling grew stronger. A flicker of flame blinked in Firehawk's palm. A touch of snow began to spin around Icehawk's wrists. A crackle of electricity coursed through Thunderhawk's arms. The three chanted louder, the spell woven tight for so long began to unravel. As the ritual of restoration progressed, another voice could be heard, one so deep and unique. It spoke of the Earth and their father. Their hearts reached out for his long past. But the voice grew stronger than they had heard it before and Icehawk's eyes fluttered open at how the spell felt changed! It wasn't working! What was happening! Suddenly he felt a spasm in his back, then a tearing sensation. His hand remained outstretched as he experieced pain that which he did not expect among this ritual! Wings shot out of his back, large and draconic, and a tail spring out! Icehawk forced his eyes open and saw Firehawk experiecing his pain, agony in his eyes. But another thing was happeneing, Thunderhawk was also changing. Icehawk didn't forsee this! But as fast as the transformation has started, it was over. Icehawk wholy expected to be completely changed back to his orignal, draconic self. But the eyes of his eldest brother told him not. The three heard a voice, the same as they had heard before. "You took these forms to live safely, but you cannot return wholely to yourselves. I am sorry my children, but was has been done can not be wholy undone at your will. I-- I miss you my sons, and I wish you your desires, but you must take what you have. Be happy my sons. I love you." At these words, the three hawks collapsed. Hours later, as they awoke, they began to see what had taken place. The spell had been initiated, but was not able to be finished. The result was, as they discovered, was that Icehawk and Thunderhawk had gained a futional set of wings and tails. Strangely, they retained their human likenesses and upon closer experimentation found that by some feat of magic, the wings could retract to a much smaller size than was able to Firehawk. "Well brothers," Firehawk adressed his siblings, "What do we consider this?" Icehawk thought it over a moment and slowly replied. "I find that it was not really a failure. We have our wings and to what I can gather," ICehawk demonstrated snapping a large board as if it were nothing, "We have our strength. We simply have the cosmetic appearance of humans. This might have been a better alternative I didn't consider. Thunderhawk, I know you did not wish this, what is your take on the matter?" "My take? I came here to help you and in return I've got my stregth and my wings. I'm friggin happy and I say we not nix this and leave here." The three agreed wholy. Icehawk reached into his bag and brought out a gem-studded magical device. After hitting a few buttons, a medium-sized airship appeared right above them. Thunderhawk grumbled about how he had to walk when they could have flown here in that. Icehawk smiled benevolently and boarded his ship with his brothers as they took off into the sunset...

Draconic Restoration Part I

It was cold, and Thunderhawk was bitching. But Icehawk could care less about the cold and cared even smaller for his brother's whining. They had traveled for days to reach this area and no amount of complaining would stop Icehawk from what he wanted-- his wings. To his brothers he had briefly explained his desire but not to both at the same time. Neither Firehawk nor Thunderhawk new the other was coming. But all three brothers were neccessary for the ritual, and Icehawk would have no arguement. They arrived at a clearing in the woods where two stones were standing in the ground. A large scorch mark and the ruins of a burnt building dominated the clearing. In the middle of it all stood Firehawk, staring down at the graves, his large wings seemed to droop as his scaly form wept at the memories of long past. Icehawk suddenly realized Thunderhawk had sneaked off without his knowledge. "Greetings, brother!" Icehawk called out. "Greetings to you too, Ice. Let us do our business and leave. I-" Firehawk choked a moment on his words then regained his composure. "I... I wish to not have to revisit this past too often." Icehawk nodded at this and continued toward the graves. "One thing, brother? How are we to do this?" Firehawk asked. "Simple. We reverse what we put in place." Icehawk answered. "Doesn't that take... well..." Firehawk's eyes narrowed at the thought and he suddenly was very aware at the silence of the creatures in the area. A dark shape shot out of the woods, glinting steel, straight at Firehawk. The large draconian dodged the strike and knocked his youngest sibling to the ground and put his foot on him. "I knew it! It has to involve him!" Firehawk glared down at Thuderhawk. "Yeah and what if it does!? He's still our brother!" Icehawk spat back. "And when were you planning to tell me he was coming?" Thunder growled up at Icehawk. "You had this all planned didn't you!" Icehawk merely nodded. "Well we're here, and we know what must be done." Firehawk looked at his two long-human brothers. "I tell you I will be hapy to be a family again." Icehawk looked back. "You have no idea..."

back to basics

"Some honeymoon this is turning out to be," Menhara murmured as she pulled the hood of her cloak around her face. Fear shone in her eyes, though she fought to hide it, and she stepped out of the Yawning Portal with quick, purposeful steps. Behind her, she knew Taryn tended to Quaster's wound, and she felt a small tinge of guilt at her lack of concern for the man; her confidence in the healer's ability was strong, though, so it was merely a passing thought. She moved through the streets quickly, lost deep in thought. She cursed her ex-husband under her breath for keeping her out of the room while Berion and Taryn tended Basalt; it was a foolish thought, but she felt there might have been something she could have done. Now there was something - a demon, she wondered, or merely an angry spirit? - loose that took Basalt's body and used it to wield enormous power. She had poured a good deal of her own power into the shield, and it had only served to delay him. Finally, she reached her destination, and she stepped into the library with a silent nod to the guard. As she pulled her hood back, her fingers brushed the bump on her head where she had been hit. "I'm too old for this," she muttered to herself, the phrase having come much more frequently since her birthday. She could not, however, ignore the danger posed to her friends. She needed to study. She needed to find some way to tap into even greater powers. The library, its shelves of books far taller than she, was as familiar to the woman as her Church. Before the birth of the twins she had spent hours on end here, studying all she could, and if she had one regret about her life it was that she no longer studied. It showed in her magic as well; just as her fighting had become poor after arriving in Westbridge, her hold on her power was slipping with disuse. Lights for her children, her own flight, the occasional musical creation - all were simple tricks to her, nothing more. As she surveyed the shelves of books, however, it was these that she realized she must focus on. Years before, Trista had begun her instruction in magic by speaking on each wizard's core, their focus. She had drawn upon it in her attempt to detain Basalt. Floating from the ground without a thought, she scanned the books until finding a tome she'd passed by years before. Taking it into her hands, she nodded and returned to the ground. She would claim no mastery, but if there was one area of magic she felt she had the firmest grasp of, it was the elements. Air for her flight, water to keep her dry in the rain, fire to keep her children warm, light for so many reasonsand earth she had been dappling in with her music, though she knew this was easily her weak link. The book carefully held in her arms, she moved to a table and sat. Lighting the candle with a brush of her fingertip, she opened the tome and began to read.

Demortes' fathers death

After a debate with some local citizens in Westbridge, Demortes heads to the Backstreet Billards Healing Area, for a short get-away. As the half-orc was sitting on the couch, drinking, a weird noise came from within the room. Demortes was the only one in the room. The fanged male was wierded out a little, but thought nothing big of the sound. Another sound came from behind the bar. The sound of glass shattering on the floor behind the bar continued. Demortes raised to his feet quickly. "Who's there?" said the frightened lich. A small human figure, about six foot in height. The short hair told Demortes it was a male. "Who, or what, are you?" bellowed the defensive half-orc. "Don't you know the spirit of you own flesh and blood?" cried a deep hallow voice. "Wha what?" cried the frightened Demortes. "I am your father," cried the voice once again. "My father is dead. Killed by mothers kind." "That is what you believe. Do you know what truly happened?" said the spirit. Demortes nodded, as he was looking disappointed. "You tried fleeing, you were fleeing from those that support the Rok, you bastard. As with my mother, I will die fighting against the Rok, not fleeing like you had done." The spirit came closer to his son. "Is that what they told you?" the father said. "Here let me show you," the father said, moving faster toward his own flesh, and blood. The father wasn't walking. He was floating. The almost translucent spirit had floated through Demortes at an incredible speed that Demortes had hit his head on the end of the couch he had fallen back on. He is now laying unconscious on the floor, dreaming, dreaming of the fathers death.

Redemption

'There is no life in the void, only death...' He roamed the emptiness for many years. Rest was denied to him, the very oblivion would be preferrable to this. Yet he endured it, knowing he provoked it. He had died in battle, yes, under the flag of his Lord's ethos. Yet his faith had been shaken during the last days of his mortal life and now there was no place for him among the angels of his Lord. For some reason his spirit had been preserved in this vast and empty space of nothingness, for what purpose he knew not. Today he felt restless and agitated in mind. After many long hours of anticipation he felt himself being dragged somewhere else, by some unseen hand. --------------------------------------------------------- He was lying on a stony floor, in some familiar temple. Naked and in pain, realization found him; He was alive once again, this time in flesh and blood and not in a partial undead form. He raised his head and saw a familiar figure approaching. Xeralis Xin stood above the reborn man and said in a loud and clear voice; 'Rise now, Khalan, for your time of loneliness and punishing emptiness has ended. You have endured the judgement of our Lord and you have been found worthy of a second chance to honor Him.' Khalan stood up and his mind was in peace for the first time after many long years. 'Come now, my brother, let us depart this holy place and enter the inner compounds of His sacred Church. Let us walk together, with honor, and enter the house of Tyr.' Walking side by side, Khalan Ghundabar and Xeralis Xin left the temple.

Shattered Keep [Part.1-3]

As the fire elemental sat in the corner of his bare room, the flames flickering across his form made long ghostly shadows, dancing like demons upon the walls. His eyes never blinked as they were not real eyes, his form never moved, for it was not a real form. Minutes passed, and hours, and still it sat their unmoving. Simmer stirred as he felt a presence staring at him from the opposite corner of the room. In a slow seething voice, well worded but thick with annoyance, the elemental acknowledged the warrior. "What reason do you have to enter this chamber." The words echoed like knells of doom to the young warrior. Being blessed by the One saved his life that day, for he did not tremble with fear nor retort to the elemental, but rather stood still, his eyes small red glares beneath his full black helm. The purple cloak the warrior wore betrayed him with slight movement but the elemental did not mind. It made him curious, yet intrigued. So much potential. If only every warrior who gave praise to the God of Murder was so devout. Snapped come his contemplations, immediately he remembered that the warrior was still here. "Zantiath." What brings you to my room. Nodding to allow him to speak the warrior blurted out everything at once. "We're outnumbered! The heretics gather together by the gates of the Church of Celestia en masse and are beating back the warriors sent. I was sent to report to you, and ask you what to do." Simmer nodded and slowly got to his "feet". Walking out of the room without hesitation, Zantiath followed the elemental as he went to gather backup. Stopping by Vassago's and Haurelroot's rooms, he gave a quick knock and continued onward, knowing they would await him at the square. Entering the Dark Cathedral, he found Pftriscimius reading from a scroll. "Wizard, we have need of you. Your brothers are outnumbered at the gates of Celestia." The wizard's eyes darted from his scroll for a moment, a sarcastic sneer coming to his lips. "And pigs fly." Simmer growled. "This is serious Pftriscimius, it seems they have aid from the Dragon's Hoard, and some other of the clans scattered across the realms." Looking to Zantiath, he nodded and the young warrior spoke again. "Simmer speaks the truth, I saw it with my own two eyes! It seems the Tyrrans and Mystrans have also gated in to the Church of Celestia and the Dragon's Hoard as well! Against any two of them i'm sure we would have been able to handle the simple task, but their are now three churches and a powerful merchant band arrayed against us." Pftriscimius lowered his scroll and studied the young man's face for long seconds. "He speaks only the truth. Let me get my wands and scrolls, I will be ready within half a movement of the sun." Thus said, the group gathered at the Market Square of Westbridge and readied their weapons. Vassago and Pftrisicmius uttered arcane syllables and disappeared in a a cloud of purple smoke, opening a temporary gate for each of the warriors to step into. Haurelroot yawned and entered his gate lazily, while Simmer and Zantiath slid through steathily as was their typical entrance. Appearing before the entrance the two mercenaries of varying age and skill disappeared into the surroundings, scouting for hints and clues to where their kin may be lurking. Finding Jackal and Levistus, along with a small number of the remaining soldiers, they met back at the gate point. Vassago appeared suddenly, as it his wont to do, and smiled an evil leering grin. "The fools, Halo sleeps in their resting pool as if nothing goes on around him, while Zanis and the rest of them huddle behind the death traps and pin guards. There will be nothing protecting the priest from our onslaught." Haurelroot spun suddenly, sniffing the air and slammed his large nodachi down upon an innocent bush. Cleaving it in two, two dark forms jumped to the side, barely seen and barely noticable. All of Strife's champions knew them instantly thou, both from the champions knew them instantly thou, both from the customary garb of a Shadow Thief that they both wore, and from the weapons they clutched. The only question was why were they here. Pftriscimius readied his hands and let them dance into a beautiful weave, shimmering gold light forming between them. Nodding, The rest of the warriors surrounded the two and sneered. "You'd better have a good reason for being here, or your going to die right here." Jackal spat as he spoke. He was always ready to see the thieves die. Whysk brushed off his black tunic and removed his cowl, nodding to Vrulle to sheath his swords. "We're here to kill Celestians, just like you." Jackal gave a questioning look to Simmer, and Simmer shrugged. "Come along then. If you betray us, they will have to dig your burnt ashes and equipment out of my personal chest if they want anything to bury." Vrulle grinned and shrugged, slightly uneasy in this large group of Cyricists. He had faced worse odds. The group made it's way upon the gates that had been recently reinforced with a large group of Celestian guards. As the company approached they yelled for them to stay their ground and drop their weapons. Not even bothering to respond the group of the realms finest slammed into the guards, sounds of cutting swords biting through pure steel armor causing shrieks of pain to pierce the afternoon sky. Jackal and Haurelroot at the forefront with Whysk didn't even bother to parry the feeble responses, their swords cleaving soldiers often in two, the weapons slamming into the marble floor and cutting gashes into the virgin earth. Like a disease, they tore the guards and ground, the walls and gates to splinters. Blood flowed like springwater across the consecrated ground and caused the souls of those goodly heros that had been laid to rest beneath the church to cry out in unheard suffering. Making their way through the gates and scouring the halls, dispatching other pairs of guards, they found the place immaculately empty. Vassago and Pftriscimius, invisible as always, floating like ghosts through every crevice and crack, and past magical sentries and wards, finding both the pool and the hiding place of the remainder of the good forces. As they walked towards the healing pool, A darting figure made it's way with incredible stealth to the gates. No doubt it was a scout going for reinforcements. Vrulle and Zantiath were upon her long before she was aware, and as one their swords flashed into their hands as easy as if it were but a shrug, and tore great gashes into her back. Wendy screamed and stumbled towards the gates still, summoning a large cave bear to block the pursuing force. Meteors the size of barrels rained upon the bear, and in but the blink of an eye it was dead. Haurelroot and Whysk, large as oxen quickly stepped in her way, a heavy mailed fist punching her in the face stopped her in her tracks. Between the group of them, she was quick torn to shreds before anyone could notice, bits of her flesh were quickly eaten by the vermin that seemed to follow the Cyricists wherever they went. Continuing onward they approached the healing chambers, and there, all alone, sat the priest Halo. In a moment no more it was over, steel plated fingers sought vulnerable eyes and swords slit into his throat from both the left and right. A muted gurgle echoed through the now silent chamber, and the sound of his head could be heard, bubbling unused air as it floated on top of the sacred waters. Quickly snatching it up, as they had with Wendy's entrails, the wizards transferred them back to the keep for preserving, and for further enchantments that would form them into voodoo dolls. For the remainder of the time that the occupying force was within the church, no living creature dared stir or move, for the force made it's mark upon the walls and  marble, pissing and doing many other things that would desecrate the otherwise beautiful chambers. Defecating on the statue of Celestia, beating Cheiron nearly to death, the group was very pleased as they left for home. A pleasant day of work. All Hail the Lord of Three Crowns. The Prince of Lies The Lord of Murder Cyric.