Journies

It was a night just like any other when I lay myself down for a nice quiet night's sleep.As I woke up in the morning I was not in the place that I had settled down for bed, being a Wizard I am used to the unusual, but this was odd even for me.The room I found myself in when I awoke was a damp one and not entirely comfortable, and I had the sense that I had been in some way changed by one of the Lords or Ladies of the lands It took me a bit to wake up enough to realize in what way I had been changed, I am not a morning person I must admit and am quite slow on the uptake in the morning. I decided to find my way to my office to review the notes on my desk to see if I had missed something important in one of them, and sealed with a Golden crest I saw a note from The Harper's immortal leader.I won't go into the detail of the contents of the note I found on my desk, but it will suffice to say that he wanted to clear the dead wood out of the clan by removing the current leadership, explaining my unexpected awakening. This next part is a bit of a stretch for those of you that may not know the intricacies of the Harpers but I must preface it by saying that we have always been a democracy. This letter from the immortal member of the clan stated that he was planning on changing all that I had worked so hard to bring the clan to, so I packed my bags and left. I do not know where to go from here, and I do wish my Family the best, but for now I must wander the realms alone in search of something I may never find. Jovik - The Loner Harper Recruiter

A new story .. Pt 3

My return was somewhat less spectacular. I returned to a small grove of cherry blossom trees under a beautiful night sky that I had all but forgotten. Although returned I had been changed. My demonic encounter had changed my form and structure I was a Vampire. Although made of dead ungrowing flesh, I still continued developing, my body seeking to return to its origional state before my demise. I was 21 when I died, and as such am sure I still have some developing to do. I am Seraphim Shadoween. I Exist. And this is my story... Seraphim Shadoween.

A new story .. Pt 2

Although I wont go into detail in this memoir I will say this about him Solomon is a Demon Essence, of the purest Malificence. He has plagued my life and the life of my father, sister Zariel, and the lives of all we hold dear. It is his hand that held the blade that ended my mortal life, and began my exile into the darkness. About 5 years ago my father and I disappeared from this realm for a long time almost 3 full years. I went to battle Solomon, and win from him my sisters freedom from his torture. My father went to stop me. He told me it was too dangerous and that we could not hope to win. Coward. The truth is I knew I couldn't win, but how could I sit by and watch him destroy all I loved. The battle was long, but one sided. The demon was more than I could have imagined and it was only my exceptional speed that allowed me to survive as long as I did. In the end however it made no difference. In the end I lay dead. My father returned to the realms after returning Solomon to his prison and brought with him the news of my death. The world here had changed... loved ones disappearing, or changing... places and names different... and most notably my beloved Valkyrie's departure for the divine realm.

A new Story..Pt 1

Every life has a story... and every story... a beginning. This is mine. My name, is Seraphim Shadoween. I am the son of a god. I wont go into the dark story that is my past or the unique events that conspired to create me. What I will tell you is that I am not what you would expect. I am an Esper. Filled with magical powers I didn't ask for and don't understand. I am a Vampire. A dead thing, walking the night and feeding on the blood of the living. I am both of these things, yet these are but words. They aren't WHO I am they don't say anything about ME. I am not a heartless killer, or an insane tyrant, or a valiant knight, or a noble Saint. I am none of these things yet the element of them all are in me, as with in all creatures. I live by my choices. A very long time ago I forbade my father from interfering in my life. His actions are known well to those who watch such happenings, and to those who don't? Be thankful. I see my father, Lord Sylus Shadoween, as the worlds greatest let down and failure. The man has led a life of suffering and pain. But instead of suffering alone as he should have, he drags all he loves into it and shares with them this pain. Many people out there disagree with me, but this isn't their story... My life origionally was very happy. I knew the love of the Goddess Hanali, and worshipped her freely and happily. I was engaged to a lovely Angel warrior and my skills as a warrior were, in my opinion, exemplary. But this all came to a crashing halt thanks to one man. Solomon.

Aquisitions (III)

After a long journey down the blackened corridor, and the quick search of many old rooms and personal quarters along its length the StrifeLord of Intrigue reached a grand summoning chamber. Its vaulted ceiling depicted great victories and heroic stories of the rise of Cyric and its walls were carefully and artistically painted with murals, faded but still evident, of the conquests and exploits of faithful of the One and All. At the center of the room, a grand black throne stood, with the skeletal remains of some long forgotten Strife Wizard seated upon it. More notably, the hands of the figure clutched a dusty but undeniably powerful artifact. A black staff bearing no marking aside from the silver spiral circling its entire length. After recasting his detection spell, the figure slowly crept forward, toward the black throne, and the treasure its seated occupant, held. Seeing no danger, even after a long pause at the throne itself, the figure reached for the staff. As the StrifeLord grasped the Staff, the skeletal figure seemed to leap out of its reverie and begin to cast a spell. The StrifeLord reacted quicker and drew his silver capped rod from its belthoop and dashed it explodingly into the side of the creature's head. The antimagic of the rod broke through the creature's defences and crushed its skull instantly. The form crumpled to the floor in a pile of rags and bones. Replacing the rod and picking up a few pieces of the skull he remembered some words Raistlin had once uttered. Never be too dependant on magic my friend, for it can be the downfall of our kind. Smiling to himself on how his antimagic rod had pierced the creature's mantles, it was only too true. At this he looked at the object in his other hand with renewed interest. Welcome Setzer, the staff telepathically spoke. You are the new Magister. Finally, Setzer thought. We can truly begin what we so long have desired to do. S.

Aquisitions (II)

Now in a large hallway, and up to his knees in running water the cloaked form articulated a few arcane words to a light spell and saw his robes runes increase in their intensity. A couple slight sharp hand gestures and he floated above the frigid underground stream. His detection spell still active, he proceeded down the hall and avoided or disarmed any wards or traps found and travelled down the tunnels he had once walked as a neonate of the Prince of Lies. He came to a large room that seemed to list to one side, as if the entire plateau had shifted in a great quake. One half lay dry, with a doorway clearly visible and the other lay in deep water, its doorway nearly completely submerged beneath the watery depths. Concentrating on the now much clearer whispers in his mind, he discerned that the dry path was the one to take. Relieved, he landed lightly on the dry floor and after a brief scan of the archway, and the hall beyond he moved gingerly through it. A thunderous snap sounded as his protective spells absorbed the brunt of the hidden ward. Stunned, and sent sprawling he shook off the daze and regained his senses. Muttering an oath not so polite to Raistlin's heritage he narrowed his eyes at the now apparent ward. It was definitely Raistlin's, the stylized 'R' being a clear indication. Watching in silence as it slowly faded he scanned the room again as he recast his protective mantle against lightning. He stood and stretched his statically charged muscles and then continued, more cautiously, down the corridor to a dim glow at the other end. He found himself standing in a large circular room with several other exits, some viable and others collapsed and impassible by normal means. The glow emanated from a single sphere hanging in the air at the center of the chamber. The chamber seemed to silence the mind whispers that had brought the StrifeLord here. Glancing at the other exits, there was no indication of the correct one to take. Most certainly, the wrong direction would lead to several wards and potentially fatal injuries. He unstrung a symbol from his belt and sneered as he gazed upon the emblem bearing a Flame surrounded by Eight Stars. A Holy symbol of Mystra recently taken from the corpse of a high ranking Wizard within that faith. Completing another arcane phrase, the object softly glowed and levitated from his hand. It suddenly cracked and fell into dust on the floor. The Lord looked at the marking the dust had formed. An arrow pointing directly to the first exit to his left. S.

Aquisitions (I)

Lightning flashed and struck the earth with a resounding crack and a lone figure, clad in a dark cloak stood on the massive stone escarpment that was once an ancient clanhold of the Church of Cyric. Once known as the original Church of Strife, its towers pierced the skies with spear-like points and its battlements loomed over the surrounding country like a great and terrible shadow. Now, it was no more then a massive mound of rubble and recollections of a forgotten age. Its battlements reduced to piles of rock covered in moss and dirt, and its glories and treasures buried deep under the plateau that was now buffeted by chill winds and ceaseless rain. As the figure picked his way through the surface remains of walls, hallways, and rooms he began to recall several fond memories of his time as a member, then leader, lost, then found again devotee of Cyric. These memories had brought this silent and powerful Cyricist to this lost place. As the wind rushed through the cavernous openings of the plateau it caused shrill banshee-like cries to echo in the mountainous region. The traveller paused a moment, and listened, his fine pointed ears heeding the calls of the tormented souls still bound to the castle. His sharp icy blue eyes scanned the large room he was in. The old library of the keep now stood as a burnt husk, with its ceiling open to the elements. Rainwater cascaded down the walls giving the slick black stone an almost liquid appearance. It was not the water that caught the figure's attention, but the way that it seemed to collect in a shallow at one end of the room and swirl in a tiny whirlpool. Had it not been raining, he might not have noticed the hidden and cracked seal over the secret staircase. His thin pale lips curled into a smirk at Raistlin's ingenuity. Raistlin knew his friend had always loved the rain, and therefore would be most likely to understand its nature and its secrets. The form drew a few pinches of dust from within his the confines of his robes. Careful to keep it from the elements he invoked a spell of water destruction and watched passively as the water in the shallow faded into nothingness. He quickly moved to the seal and uttered another spell, this one of detection to discern any wards present. None of consequence being found, he uttered a third and final spell and was rewarded as the Dark Sun seal descended, into a spiral staircase which he quickly walked down. Not long after reaching the bottom, the figure watched the staircase elevate itself back into its dark seal at the center of the library. S.