Further up a terraced hill was a Victorian styled mansion, and under the cover of the night a figure walked over the black stone pavement to the entrance. On the way he passed a fountain, shaped like a dragon, but it had stopped gurgling water a while ago. Reaching the door, he simply stepped through. Pass door has its uses, thought Ror as he looked up from under his hood to the glorious, marble entry hall. Very fancy, he thought and he stepped on the soft rug, muffling his footsteps. Passing an extinct fireplace, he practically glided through the hallways of the mansion, unseen and quiet, until he found a door with on it "Authorized Personell Only". Ror stopped, sensing the air around him, then decided to go up the spiral staircase instead. He wandered around the mansion, inspecting rooms one by one. Eventually, he went up into a tower that had an interesting number of chambers, each one more magically impressive than the other. And at last, at the top of the tower, Ror found what he had been looking for: a devastated workroom; Throm's devastated workroom.
Having read Throm's notes for days, the research logs, and every scrap of information he could find in the Tripower Archive, he had a pretty good idea of what happened here. He kneeled and picked up a crystal from the floor with his black leather gloved hand. He pocketed it safely away, before sampling some of the mist with an empty test tube. Ror had made it a habit to carry a few empty ones with him.
He stood up, then magically disappeared, returning to the Tripower.
To do list
Information needed on the following:
Area directions
Area directions
- General area directions: check on areas command vs. areas on the directions list.
- More directions to pubs, inns and the like from endpoints (EP).
- Still plenty of books left to find!
- Any major roleplay events between 2003 and 2013. (Warning: long post, scroll down to the end.)
Angry, Angry, Angsty-Pants
Leandra stared at the brook by the cavern and finally broke down. She wanted a lot of things she couldn't have, and now it really hit her and now she just felt stupid. She was old enough to know better - her mom was married to another man and was now missing. Sure, she borderline hated her mom, but not if she'd get back together with her dad and love him. Trouble was her dad didn't even remember being her dad in the first place. Watching him move around the cavern doing weird things because he thought some dude was after him... but even with all that... even without remembering, he was going to go try to save her mom. Leandra wept knowing she had hoped her mom stayed gone. She wept knowing she'd never have that part of her life.
Her thoughts turned to Askari and Heiyu. She had a son she barely paid attention to and the truth was she didn't know how. Gods knew she never had much attention... she wasn't even sure if she loved the boy - or Askari. She was just so damned mad all the time. She couldn't make it stop. No good reason. Or maybe just being alive was reason enough.
Her thoughts turned to Askari and Heiyu. She had a son she barely paid attention to and the truth was she didn't know how. Gods knew she never had much attention... she wasn't even sure if she loved the boy - or Askari. She was just so damned mad all the time. She couldn't make it stop. No good reason. Or maybe just being alive was reason enough.
Boiled Memories
Sanria knew there was something wrong. Something missing. Something she should have been doing. She'd turn to her boyfriend... no... husband... no.. Velentham and ask him, but his answers were always vague or complicated. They were here to get away from it all - a vacation, but who wanted a vacation spent entirely in a tent? Not only that, but she hadn't told... En... Enm... the silvery woman that she was going anywhere and she had business at... that place... the castle. But before she could truly launch into any reason that she needed to leave, he'd gently touch her face, shine his silver eyes into hers, and like magic, Sanria would utterly lose her train of thought.
Sleep, too, was frought with dreams and scattered tatters of truths. Faces would dance before her and she'd try to call out to them, but she just couldn't remember their names. She chased them through the fog in her mind, the one in brown robes, the one in white robes, the hulking muscular one, the one with pointed ears and armor, the one with green eyes, the young ones, the children, the ones with silver skin - the whole while calling, "Wait! Please, wait!" and they'd call back:
"Remember."
"How can I if you keep running away?!"
"Remember."
Sanria would wake instantly, as if she'd just been pulled out of water after nearly drowning. There'd be her husband... no... enemy... no... Velentham, looking at her with expectant adoration, as if he were waiting on her to do or say something. She'd tried, but she never knew how he was going to react. When she mentioned him getting so much time away from the temple, his smile left, his eyes narrowed, and he venomously said, "I don't want to talk about that. Don't bring it up again! It's just you and me now!" A single name she'd remembered, Matinus, and she'd said it and he'd put his hand on her face, cupped her cheek with a stern glance, and she was suddenly dreaming again.
Her body didn't feel right, her mind was on hiatus, and her emotions were all over. Each time she shot awake, his face was there. The only trouble was, itwas getting harder and harder for Sanria to remember what to think about it. Each time she looked on the narrow, gaunt being, she'd feel a tingle in her skull and something in her mind would whisper in a phantom's voice, "Love me, please, love me." Something else kept fighting back, but the fight was growing weaker and the voice ever so pleadingly present, and the silver eyes kept on watching her with a desperation hovering on madness.
Sleep, too, was frought with dreams and scattered tatters of truths. Faces would dance before her and she'd try to call out to them, but she just couldn't remember their names. She chased them through the fog in her mind, the one in brown robes, the one in white robes, the hulking muscular one, the one with pointed ears and armor, the one with green eyes, the young ones, the children, the ones with silver skin - the whole while calling, "Wait! Please, wait!" and they'd call back:
"Remember."
"How can I if you keep running away?!"
"Remember."
Sanria would wake instantly, as if she'd just been pulled out of water after nearly drowning. There'd be her husband... no... enemy... no... Velentham, looking at her with expectant adoration, as if he were waiting on her to do or say something. She'd tried, but she never knew how he was going to react. When she mentioned him getting so much time away from the temple, his smile left, his eyes narrowed, and he venomously said, "I don't want to talk about that. Don't bring it up again! It's just you and me now!" A single name she'd remembered, Matinus, and she'd said it and he'd put his hand on her face, cupped her cheek with a stern glance, and she was suddenly dreaming again.
Her body didn't feel right, her mind was on hiatus, and her emotions were all over. Each time she shot awake, his face was there. The only trouble was, itwas getting harder and harder for Sanria to remember what to think about it. Each time she looked on the narrow, gaunt being, she'd feel a tingle in her skull and something in her mind would whisper in a phantom's voice, "Love me, please, love me." Something else kept fighting back, but the fight was growing weaker and the voice ever so pleadingly present, and the silver eyes kept on watching her with a desperation hovering on madness.
Winning
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.
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.'
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