The Damned and the eternal. Another whisper on the wind.

The room seems never ending a circular chamber that pushes from the earth from nowhere, just appearing as it seems, The ceiling constantly climbs, the room forever cold. In the shadows, a pair of eyes glitter down in anticipation from the belcony, down half the length of the circular room, still many feet from the belcony a string of nets and ropes. Slowly the eyes turn, to gaze at the figure restrained before them, burning heat as they gaze, intently boring into the young womans soul. She knows that the thoughts coming from those eyes are wrong. The only reward in the poion of this existence is death, eternal death, complete distruction..... But still she accepts it, it burns her throat, numbs her libs. She falls. She stops........ Far to soon. The girl is blown from the balcony by a new gust of wynd, and topples over the sides, falling far below, falling into the ropes and nets, suspended a moment in time. A noose for every limb, for neck, for waist -puppet on a string, on threads... High above, naked, gleaming, skeletal hands twitch, play among the ropes... Dancing strings... Dancing the girl... The girl in the nets clears her head and grabs at the cords, pulls herself up, climbs to the cross piece. Now the hands have an attached body, a figure lost in the shadows of this place. Good girl.... Keep moving. The hands stop, the eyes stoop forward to peer down at their plaything, As she stares the face and being Vanish, and a new figure appears, appearing as herself, her own chilling smile, as the hands reach out. This may be the end, and I can not help her.... She falls again in a shower of blood, lands broken in her harness. The eyes begin again, carefuly dancing the ropes, carefully dancing the girl, Time passes perhaps. In exhaustion she sees things she cant remember... The wall is the floor. Planks to pale for wood line the darkness. The crimson splashes change colour, dancing with her. She closes her eyes in futile defence, but even blind her vision clouds.... Then the fog becomes flames.. And the flames become words. If you give up now..... We stay here. Slowly the words come from the fire and from the mist that stand before her: A girl. Her body is awake...... Her spirit has left..... She will live, be reborn... She wipes off the blood from her dress.... But her hands won't come clean, she laughs bitterly from a dry throat No angel would be coming for me.... The girl feels the eyes turn to her, her body lifting over the belcony, to rest down before the figure that once again stands before her. But now you don't need one.... came the voice, and she knew the figure was right.

The damned hand the eternal

The shadows seem to drift up the street post like a whisp of smoke from an extinguished candle, and soon it is joined by another shadow, dancing around, writhing in silent prayer to the darkness. Silently the figure in the bushes watches, watches as the whisps of shadow entwine around the post, circle each other almost as if the shadows comunicate, a whisper carried on the wind. He is the one....... The figure in the bushes closes their eyes listening to the two hissing voices that float from no where. Envisioning the picture that floods their mind. A charity ball, rich and decadent, the last bastion of the waltz.... The gentleman dances slowly to the antiquated tune with his target. Other couples surrounding them. Jewled clockwork. Even tha dancers are machines now.  The gentlemans every move, every action betrays his lust toward the woman his is to assasinate, A vacant smile, a deliberate blush, and the woman shall follow him.... None ever going to see... Skillfull, but this gentleman has a heart of steel... His eyes are empty... The gentleman watches the window, tracks his ladies reflection, Then he sees his own, his gloves, his cloak-floating, It hides the stileto he holds close to him, he crosses across from the window and draws close the curtain.. Style... Grace... A gift well given whisper the voices together in unison, the shadows still whisping about in their own private darkness. He turns to face her, his cloak coming off, while she struggles with remaining behaving proper. He slips the long knife from its place on his waist, gliding closer.... Attacks, The motion so smooth and swift, she never sees the blade. He is our chosen.... whisper the voices again, and slowly drift a part and vanish, leaving the street cold and empty, slowly, confused and bewildered at what they had witnessed the figure emerges from the bushes but its to late, he never saw the the third shadow, eyes wide, and mouth held in that silent horrfied scream, the meat falls to the dirt, the third shadow following after the others. 

Searching [Part: II]

Suddenly waking up from some sound Kronos stood up from the chair he had slept on. The night before he spent most of his time thinking and trying to remember everything about his past, before the Crimson Guardians. But as hard as he could look back he couldn't find anything. He looked around his room trying to find the object or thing that might have cause him to wake up but he didn't find anything. Nothing in his room was out of place. To get his head clear, Kronos decided to go take a bath in the Guardian pools and have some breakfast. As he was about to leave his room, he heard like a faint voice calling to him. He turned around to see who it was but noone in the room was there. "What's happening to me..." He told him self leaving his room and walking down the hall to the Guardian pools. After a good breakfast and a nice bath, Kronos felt regenerated and ready for a long day of searching. His first task was to go and see Elminster and talk with him about the scrolls of rememberance. He knew that those scrolls were the records of all the past members and the current ones. He maybe could find some information about his own past before his coming to the Clan. As Kronos approached Elminster's chambers he knocked 3 times and waited for a responce. None came. He knocked again and waited, still none came. He then remembered that Elminster had left for a couple of days to help some sick people in the northern parts of Faerun. Kronos was about to walk back to his own chambers when a sudden flash of pain and blinding light flooded his mind. It was a kind of pain that can't be described with words but only with the feeling of it. It lasted only seconds, but in his mind it felt like hours. Kronos woke up again but this time he wasn't in his room. He could feel something cold under his body. As he looked around he realized that he was in the Guardians healing room. He was lying on the Marble table. Sitting on a chair next to the door was Dieppe, he had fallen asleep. A wet cloth had been placed on his forehead. As he removed it, Dieppe suddenly woke up. "Ahh Kronos your finaly awake." said Dieppe. And as he said those words, Taryn entered the room. "Sleep well?" said Taryn. Kronos was still confused on what he was doing in the Healing room, but he thought that he would have enough time to ask questions on how he got there.

Searching

It was a cloudless night and the stars could be clearly seen with all the different constellations. The Moon was shining all around and many shadows could be seen being casted by the different trees. A cold breeze could be felt, winter was coming and all the trees had already lost their leaves. Most birds had flown south and mostly the sound of crows could be heard during the day and night. Kronos was meditating on the balcony of his chambers when someone knocked on his door, it was Dieppe. He entered the room in silence, placed a package he held under his arm on the oak table that was in the middle of Kronos' room. As he turned around to leave he almost toppled one of Kronos' glass vials that was placed on the shelf close to his door. Two hours after Dieppe had entered Kronos' room, Kronos came out of his meditating. As he looked around he felt a slight disorientation but quickly regained it. He looked on the table and he saw a long wooden box almost as long as he was tall. Sitting on the side of the box was a note written on a parchement. He unrolled the parchement and it read: "To my only son, I leave my most praised possession." Kronos read the parchement again and again trying to understand what it ment. He could not understand the meaning because of his past wich he couldn't remember. He had never known his parents or anyone else before the Crimson Guardians. He turned the parchement and looked for something that would lead him to who wrote this message. All he found was a crest pressed in candle wax. Kronos stumbled back and pulled a chair out and sat. He sat there looking at the wodden box with the parchement in one hand and the crest in the other. He was in deep denial. The only family he had ever know was the Crimson Guardians. But now that he's recieved this package he is unsure...