He watched the rise and fall of her breath and Velentham found himself breathing in rhythm. He had held his prize long enough to work her mind to the point that at least now, he could let her speak. Her words were befuddled, but not openly resentful. The hatred in her eyes had softened, even if it wasn't outright love. Not yet. Not that it mattered right this moment. This moment was caught up in matching breaths and small beads of perspiration from tremendous magical efforts.
He had been holding up the magic forcefield for days now, and between working Sanria's mind, keeping her magic subdued, and keeping the tent up, the exertion was taking its toll. He found himself snapping on her when she'd allude to Gilean, and that was almost enough to drive him to see red. But he'd taken care of her little secret, oh yes, he'd reached into her with magic and snuffed out what he found - the way he'd do with Gilean given the chance. Close enough. Other times he'd catch himself dozing off, woken by the intense furnace-like heat. Still other times he'd hear his father talking to him, "Calm yourself, son. The Tribunal won't tolerate insanity." Insane. Bah. He wasn't insane. He was winning. He was victorious.
He ran his hand through Sanria's hair, noting how she let out a small sigh. Lie after lie after lie he had to tell her to keep her here. The stage after confusion, however, wasn't far off. Eventually, she'd stop asking, she'd stop even feeling something was missing. Eventually she would belong to him. Once that happened, once he had kept them away long enough, he'd find a place for them to stay while he figured out how to travel the planes.
Velentham smiled. His people would love her and grant her eternity, he was certain of it. They could live forever in a place - content, complete, and together. They could raise a family and-
The infernal heat woke him and quickly he renewed the spell that kept the torment outside at bay. Sanria's hair was now plastered to her skin with sweat, and Velentham cleared it away. She'd sleep until he woke her, and with nothing more to do, he drifted back into his dreams of success until woken by the heat again.
written in magic
Sliver had recognized the runes as those of our Order. The truth was that the inks that the Order used for its most secret documents were derived from old and lost magic inks. The inks were not written upon the page they were placed through mentally acuity and emotional will.
wMuch like any other spell the writer would have to have full control over his mental and physical ability. The experience was not entirely pleasant and the older inks such as this one often left the writer mentally drained, and physically ill. Whomever had prepared this part of the book had paid a heavy price to hide its information. The Order's private inks required much less physical expenditures and they were extended from a single mental force to be group friendly.
Wrack's book held no such modifications. Any who would wish to read it would need a certain level of physical connection with the writer. This additional cost Psycho believed could be found in the boy's blood. Once the book was paid it would be encouraged to share with it's self with the reader.
The pages would provide a vision into the life of the writer. More than a vision the book would fill the reader with personal memories of the writer, ripped straight from their head. Once the book became familiar with the reader or the writer the subsequent costs of using the book would be lightened to some degree.
Psycho realized he had been staring at the book for too long. 'The book you have is called a vision book. They are quite rare because of the cost to the writer. If this is your father's book there may be much about him that you did not know.'
'I only knew him as a farmer, not any sort of wizard.'
'I will require more time with your book before we can read what is written beyond your ink. I can assure you I will hold your book the highest level of respect for both you and your father. If my suspicions are correct this may hold some answers for you about his past.'
'I can tell you what it says on the cover Versel Turasjir Di Mitne Nakta It loosely translated to Greater Book of Candle's Keep. I can assure you it is no ordinary spell book.'
wMuch like any other spell the writer would have to have full control over his mental and physical ability. The experience was not entirely pleasant and the older inks such as this one often left the writer mentally drained, and physically ill. Whomever had prepared this part of the book had paid a heavy price to hide its information. The Order's private inks required much less physical expenditures and they were extended from a single mental force to be group friendly.
Wrack's book held no such modifications. Any who would wish to read it would need a certain level of physical connection with the writer. This additional cost Psycho believed could be found in the boy's blood. Once the book was paid it would be encouraged to share with it's self with the reader.
The pages would provide a vision into the life of the writer. More than a vision the book would fill the reader with personal memories of the writer, ripped straight from their head. Once the book became familiar with the reader or the writer the subsequent costs of using the book would be lightened to some degree.
Psycho realized he had been staring at the book for too long. 'The book you have is called a vision book. They are quite rare because of the cost to the writer. If this is your father's book there may be much about him that you did not know.'
'I only knew him as a farmer, not any sort of wizard.'
'I will require more time with your book before we can read what is written beyond your ink. I can assure you I will hold your book the highest level of respect for both you and your father. If my suspicions are correct this may hold some answers for you about his past.'
'I can tell you what it says on the cover Versel Turasjir Di Mitne Nakta It loosely translated to Greater Book of Candle's Keep. I can assure you it is no ordinary spell book.'
written in ink
Wrack explained to Psycho that the book had belonged to his father. It held incredible sentimental value and its was obvious that Wrack had given the book to few if no other people.
Psycho knew the book was no book of any farmer. Draconian was not only a very old language but a difficult one as well. The pages appeared to be made of fine parchment, and contained simple ink writing at the start of the book. The written words were a journal, that held little details about Beglos's true past. It contained records of the season's harvest and the price each crop received for the harvest. The notes were detailed but was ultimately banal.
After the farming records written on tear stained pages was what could only be Wrack's own writing. It dictated the horrors that the Kobolds inflicted upon the village. The pain that Wrack felt was evident on the pages, not just in his writing but because the book was magical.
Flipping past Wrack's personal information Psycho realized that there was indeed more to this book than first impressions would initially give off. The pages seemed infinite in number, each page of equivalent parchment quality, color and weight. Turning the page did not advance the reader through the book.Each page was at the very center of the book with no apparent numbering.
The pages beyond the handwritten journal was filled with runes that floated and changes on the page. These were the true reason they had brought him the book.
Psycho knew the book was no book of any farmer. Draconian was not only a very old language but a difficult one as well. The pages appeared to be made of fine parchment, and contained simple ink writing at the start of the book. The written words were a journal, that held little details about Beglos's true past. It contained records of the season's harvest and the price each crop received for the harvest. The notes were detailed but was ultimately banal.
After the farming records written on tear stained pages was what could only be Wrack's own writing. It dictated the horrors that the Kobolds inflicted upon the village. The pain that Wrack felt was evident on the pages, not just in his writing but because the book was magical.
Flipping past Wrack's personal information Psycho realized that there was indeed more to this book than first impressions would initially give off. The pages seemed infinite in number, each page of equivalent parchment quality, color and weight. Turning the page did not advance the reader through the book.Each page was at the very center of the book with no apparent numbering.
The pages beyond the handwritten journal was filled with runes that floated and changes on the page. These were the true reason they had brought him the book.
introductions to Wrack, and his book
Psycho had been expecting Sliver when she arrived, but when she entered Psycho could tell she was not alone. She had brought with her, someone that Psycho did not know. If the bug had brought him with her to Athkatla then he must be a strong candidate for membership. The city was a sacred and hidden place, the enchantments built into the city would assure Psycho that there the guest was unable to use illusionary magic. Many of the members had not been seen the walls of the city.
'Sliver, my most trusted Knight, a pleasure to see you as always.'
She held a red rose up and placed it upon the table next to Psycho. The two of them did not speak about the rose, as it was unspoken that they would have private matters to discuss after the guest.
Psycho walked over the the door, opened it and saw a human of no more than 25. His hair was cut short and although he was young life shown itself in his eyes and on his face. His Blue eyes were not just familiar they were nearly identical to two other men that Psycho knew. Purhaps there was more to this young man than any first impressions could provide. 'Please come in, there must be something important for Sliver to have brought you here.'
The young man nodded and produced a book as he stepped into the Library. The book was bound in brown leather with symbols that Psycho recognized as draconian.
'Sliver, my most trusted Knight, a pleasure to see you as always.'
She held a red rose up and placed it upon the table next to Psycho. The two of them did not speak about the rose, as it was unspoken that they would have private matters to discuss after the guest.
Psycho walked over the the door, opened it and saw a human of no more than 25. His hair was cut short and although he was young life shown itself in his eyes and on his face. His Blue eyes were not just familiar they were nearly identical to two other men that Psycho knew. Purhaps there was more to this young man than any first impressions could provide. 'Please come in, there must be something important for Sliver to have brought you here.'
The young man nodded and produced a book as he stepped into the Library. The book was bound in brown leather with symbols that Psycho recognized as draconian.
Hunting for Treasures
He backed away from the bodies of two parents laying upon the dirt floor, wiping the dagger wet with blood upon a rag in the kitchen.
He did so hate killing the weak and useless..
Tossing the bloodied rag at the nearest corpse, the young mother with her gaze forever transfixed at the second room with a look of complete fear, he stepped over her without a second glance to enter the small bedroom.
A makeshift bed lay in a corner, its threadbare sheets folded with care and a pair of lumpy pillows laying side by side, and hand-me-down crib sat beside it.
Stepping across the room, his eyes caught what he was looking for, a child of a few weeks, a daughter he could now see, whose body was lined by the telltale signs of magic power-- it was a faint lining, but surely there was something that could be done with her.
He had seen the couple carrying their baby through the market square of Westbridge but had distanced himself to keep from being noticed in his stalking.. But after following them to their home and awaiting nightfall, they would be prime for the picking.
The screams of the little girl were muted by the sphere of silence, but the emotions were still strong, as he picked her up from her crib.
Stalking back through the house, he opened the front door and stepped into the darkness of night. Outside, cloaked in shadows of black and purple and hidden to the naked eye, his two guards entered the house to clean up after his .. "mess."
Turning to face the ramshackle door that protected this feeble family from its hidden gem, he scrawled the mark of his lord in magic upon the door for the other cult followers to see..
Casting a spell of relocation, he moved to the next location a child was sighted..
He did so hate killing the weak and useless..
Tossing the bloodied rag at the nearest corpse, the young mother with her gaze forever transfixed at the second room with a look of complete fear, he stepped over her without a second glance to enter the small bedroom.
A makeshift bed lay in a corner, its threadbare sheets folded with care and a pair of lumpy pillows laying side by side, and hand-me-down crib sat beside it.
Stepping across the room, his eyes caught what he was looking for, a child of a few weeks, a daughter he could now see, whose body was lined by the telltale signs of magic power-- it was a faint lining, but surely there was something that could be done with her.
He had seen the couple carrying their baby through the market square of Westbridge but had distanced himself to keep from being noticed in his stalking.. But after following them to their home and awaiting nightfall, they would be prime for the picking.
The screams of the little girl were muted by the sphere of silence, but the emotions were still strong, as he picked her up from her crib.
Stalking back through the house, he opened the front door and stepped into the darkness of night. Outside, cloaked in shadows of black and purple and hidden to the naked eye, his two guards entered the house to clean up after his .. "mess."
Turning to face the ramshackle door that protected this feeble family from its hidden gem, he scrawled the mark of his lord in magic upon the door for the other cult followers to see..
Casting a spell of relocation, he moved to the next location a child was sighted..
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